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so-long-soldier-writes · 1 month ago

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Never Let Stiles Pick the Movie

liam dunbar x theo raeken

summary: an innocent pack bonding night goes south when something in the movie reminds theo of his past. luckily, liam's there to remind him he's not in another nightmare.

tags: pack bonding, movie night, based on the movie: the ring (2002) [i have never seen this movie, bare with me], emotional hurt / comfort, mentions of tara raeken, mentions of dread doctors, theo's nightmares, trauma, & ptsd, panic attacks, concerned liam, deep conversations, theo needs a hug (but he gets one!), mutual pining / they're in love they just don't know it yet, couch cuddling, emotional with a happy ending

word count: 4.5k

a/n: i intended to post this on halloween, but while i got it up on ao3 in time, the same cannot be said for tumblr, because i got distracted. apologies! let's just pretend it's still october, though, and besides, isn't every day spooky day for these poor teenagers?

also, i saw a post a while ago that was like, "how would theo react to seeing the ring?" and i can't find that post, but i haven't been able to let it go, thus producing this fic. if that was your post, thank you for the idea, lmao

Theo swears he’s never seen a pack do as much bonding shit as the McCall pack. It seems like every other night, they’re at their alpha’s house. Once every week, they’re sleeping over. And almost every single time, some stupid movie is played, and everyone’s expected to stay for the entirety of it. He is tired.

Not of the pack, necessarily. Theo’s just tired in general. He’s grateful to be included, actually, he just never expected there to be so much demand involved in being part of a pack. Theo’s gone from being the only person his age, hiding out in dark tunnels with the Dread Doctors, to his three more-or-less authoritative figures being erased from time, and him being plunged into civilization with a rowdy pack of teenaged wolves for company. And while he’s not complaining - he promises - it is a lot to take in. Especially considering half of the pack’s still unsure of his presence, and one person in particular is just too sweet to him.

Theo’s snapped out of his thoughts as that particular person is now waving him over to the couch, a bag of candy in his unoccupied hand. He takes a deep breath. The last thing Liam needs right now is candy, considering how bouncing off the walls he’s been for the past three hours.

“Theo!” He calls out, after unsuccessfully coaxing the chimera the other way.

“What?” He doesn’t mean to sound as tired as he is, but it’s exhausting to keep up the facade he works so hard to maintain.

“Come watch a movie with us!”

Mason turns out all the lights but one in the kitchen - the one right beside Theo - and shrugs at him playfully.

“Didn’t you guys watch a movie just the other day?” Theo asks, eyes bouncing back and forth between the close friends.

“Yeah, but this is a different one.”

“C’mon, dude, it’s Halloween. If you don’t give in, Liam’s gonna be upset,” Mason urges, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s getting better with Theo. Slowly.

The older boy rolls his eyes. It’s no secret how he feels about the young wolf - no matter how oblivious Liam himself may be.

“What is it, a horror movie?”

“Probably.”

Theo wants to comment on how he clearly heard Mason say he hates horror movies in the beginning of October, which contradicts the casual tone he uses about them now. Obviously, he just wants Theo to give in and join them, no matter his own reservations about the spooky tradition.

“Alright,” he groans, knowing he’s not winning this fight. Mason’s smile grows and he turns on his heel. Theo follows him to the living room, then nestles himself beside Liam and the arm of the couch. Mason goes to the couch’s opposite end, Corey beside him. Theo would try to avoid touching Liam’s leg, like he’s currently forced into doing, but the couch meant for three is occupied by all four of them, and no one seems to be itching to move. Liam and Corey look to have no qualms about practically sitting on top of each other. In a second, though, Corey shifts to sit on Mason’s lap, giving the beta some wiggle room, and Theo can meld a bit more into the couch and curl a little closer into the arm.

Across the room, Nolan and Alec are in a similar position. At first, Alec seated himself on the ground, but then Nolan coaxed him into the seat with him, making for a tight squeeze. Neither boy seems to be complaining, though, and are now sharing a bowl of popcorn much easier than they would be if Alec was still on the floor.

“What movie are we watching?” The youngest beta - now beating out Liam - asks. “The Conjuring?” He has a hopeful tone that Theo doesn’t understand in the slightest.

“No, no,” Corey waves him off, “The Ring.” Alec makes a face, prompting Corey to continue. “Stiles’ choice, from afar. We asked in the group chat earlier. He was the first to respond.”

Mason shudders. “I haven’t seen this movie in years. Remember, Liam?”

Liam frowns, seemingly agreeing. “I didn’t sleep for weeks.”

“Your mom was pissed.”

The troublemaker then laughs at that, as if bringing his mom emotional turmoil is something to be enjoyed. He’s just playing, though. Theo knows that about him.

“What’s it about?”

“Demon girl that kills anyone who watches a specific tape,” Mason replies vaguely, unwilling to spoil it to the unsuspecting chimera.

Theo raises an eyebrow but doesn’t reply. The movie begins, causing Nolan to shush no one in particular - no one had been speaking at that moment - and bringing everyone’s eyes to the screen. The familiar scent of trepidation takes over the pack, but the territory is safe. All rising heart beats and pauses of breath are to blame on the film as the narrator continues, introducing the scene.

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

Fear lingers in the air, but they’re used to it now. It carries a different scent - one Theo’s not too keen on - that holds a bit of thrill in it, like the pack is terrified, but they’re enjoying it. Theo’s not quite sure he’s enjoying this movie.

His whole life has practically been a horror movie. He doesn’t need to see one, he’s lived one for ten years. The only reason he agreed to this dumb thing was to be close to Liam and to bond with the pack. The more stupid shit he agrees to taking part in, the more accepting of him they’ll be.

Right now, though, he’s regretting that decision wholeheartedly. The moment he sees the girl - Samara, he thinks her name is - his blood runs cold. Her hair is long and black and covers her eyes. Her skin is pale and covered in grime. Her face is sullen, almost unreadable; he can’t tell if she’s more disappointed or angry. She reminds him of something seen only in nightmares. Something that haunts you in your darkest moments, when you’re most tired, but unable to close your eyes, because she’s there, waiting. She reminds him of Tara.

Theo tries his hardest to watch the movie. He tries to focus on his heartbeat, regulating it, keeping it steady, but he can hear it accelerate with every passing minute. He tries to calm himself, count sheep, focus on Liam’s scent, squeeze his eyes shut, but nothing works. His breaking point is when Samara finds her way out of the well. The sun has completely set now, making the McCall house dark, omitting the one light in the kitchen. Samara spots the man she’ll make her victim and rushes towards him. She crawls on her hands and knees before grabbing him. Theo springs up the minute she starts to crawl, the nightmares he thought he was finally pushing away resurfacing at the sight of her. He pays no attention to the way Liam instantly panics, reaching a hand out to him. He misses the concerned drawl of his name on the boy’s tongue, the worry in his eyes. Theo scrambles off the couch and out of the girl’s sight as fast as possible. He finds himself in the bathroom and shuts the door quickly, flicking on the lights. His breathing is erratic and the panic attack is inevitable. Theo clutches at his chest and throat, claws out, ready to attack, or rip her off him, or something, anything, he has to do to keep his heart.

He misses the short sentence Liam tells the rest of the pack: “I’m gonna go find him.”

He fails to hear the boy’s footsteps, or his nearby breathing, or his scent at the door.

He doesn’t acknowledge him until Liam’s right in front of him, grabbing his hands to pull his claws away from his delicate skin, whispering, begging to know if he’s okay.

“Theo,” he mutters, frowning, “talk to me.”

Tears form at the edges of the chimera’s eyes, worrying the beta further. Theo doesn’t cry. He never panics, and he certainly never cries.

“What happened? You can tell me, it’s okay.”

He trusts him, Liam. He trusts him with his life. He trusts him with the truth. He just can’t get the words out, can’t form them on his tongue. Theo opens his mouth to say, but nothing comes out. Nothing but air.

“Theo,” he urges. “Breathe. Settle down with me, okay? You have to breathe.” He looks around, still holding the boy’s fists in his hands. “What color shirt am I wearing?”

The older boy knits his eyebrows together. “What?”

“What color shirt am I wearing?” Liam repeats, providing no context.

“I don’t know, I can’t see.” The color swirls around in his mind. He thinks it’s green, but his vision’s too fuzzy to tell.

“Okay… What color are my eyes?”

Theo blinks. He knows that, of course he does. He knows it by heart. He knows it in his dreams. A beautiful light blue. Where the sea meets the sky. “Blue,” he says, wanting to say more, to be more descriptive, but limited by his dizzy mind.

“Good. That’s really good. Okay. What color are yours?”

“Green.”

Like moss agate, Liam wants to add. He doesn’t. “Good. Can you tell me what shirt color I’m wearing now?”

“Green, I think.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re doing really well. Can you name three other things in this room that are green?”

Theo narrows his eyes, but doesn’t question the prompt. “The walls, I guess, are green-ish. That shampoo bottle up on the shelf.” He scans the room once, then twice. “The curtain has a little bit of green in the design, if you look closely.”

“Good! Those are the same things I noticed. That’s great! Alright, how are you feeling?”

Theo pauses, contemplating the question. He almost answers terribly, and that he’s out of breath, and it feels like he’s going to die, but then he stills. He notices his heart isn’t beating so hard that it might jump from his chest, and his vision isn’t so fuzzy, he can actually see Liam in front of him, and the slight pain from his claws emerging from his palms is now absent, because his claws have retracted back into his hands, making him safe from himself.

Theo looks at Liam and swallows hard. He feels a bit vulnerable, but the boy isn’t looking at him in a way that makes him feel like he has to hide. He looks at him with pure concern and care, and almost love, if Theo isn’t mistaken. He shakes that thought away.

“Theo?” Liam prompts, leaning closer, squeezing his hands a bit harder, but still gently.

“I’m okay,” he finally responds. His mouth is dry and tastes faintly of blood, like he was biting his own cheeks, which he probably was. “I’m okay,” he repeats.

Liam visibly relaxes, posture deflating. “Good.” He squeezes his hand again. “You startled me.”

“What happened?” He remembers the questions, remembers the feeling, but can’t recall the trigger. It’s like a gap in his memory, despite just occurring.

“You had a panic attack. Maybe from the movie? I knew it was a bad idea to let Stiles pick the movie. Mason and I watched it when we were kids, and it scared me to death.”

With a sinking feeling in his chest, Theo remembers. It was the movie. It was her. Tara.

“Theo? You okay?” Liam senses the sudden anxiety rising in the other boy. “What color are my eyes?”

“Blue,” Theo replies, own eyes closing. “And the rug you’re sitting on is blue, too.”

Liam smiles, clearly elated that Theo’s caught on to his game. “Very good! You’re a quick learner.”

“So I’ve been told.” Theo finds himself smiling, but then remembers the memory that brought them here. He frowns. Liam cocks his head to the side. “The girl in the movie.”

“Mhm?”

“Reminds me of Tara.”

Liam’s mouth goes dry. Nerves bubble in his stomach. “Your sister?”

Theo nods. “When she escapes the well and goes after that guy… that’s what it was like in hell.” Liam’s face changes for a split second - a look of fear, to curiosity, then back to fear. He knows Theo’s time in hell had been… unpleasant, to say the least. He knows about hell from what he was taught as a kid, that it’s not a place of rest, but instead somewhere one atones for their crimes, and no matter how much they pay, they never get to find peace. He also knows Theo was desperate not to be sent back. He never gave details on what had happened to him, but he knows it was something horrible. Something for which Liam feels so guilty about; something he wishes he could wipe from Theo’s mind, erase his slate, as if he’d never been there at all.

Theo doesn’t talk much about his time in hell. Liam always wondered if his sister was down there, too. He gets his answer now.

“Every day was the same. I’d wake up in the hospital, in one of those beds in the morgue where they’d put the dead. I’d climb out, gasping for breath, confused. And then I’d wander into the halls, wondering where I am, what I’m doing in the hospital, and then she’d find me. She’d attack. She was pretty fast for, for, someone in her condition. She’d push me down and climb over my body, then rip her heart out from my chest, and watch me bleed until she became fuzzy to my eyes. She never stopped, no matter how much I begged. I know she was just taking back what was hers, but it hurt so goddamn bad every time.”

Liam stares, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as Theo talks. The revelation of what occurred in all those nightmares sends a jolt up his spine. The realization that he hadn’t been able to protect him from his own sister, his own nightmares, makes him choke on a sob he doesn’t know he’s trying to hold back.

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurts out.

“What? Why?”

“For us watching that stupid movie! I didn’t think about how it could look like Tara. I didn’t know-”

“You weren’t supposed to know, Liam,” he interrupts. “Have I ever even told you what she looks like? That’s not your fault.”

“She looks like you,” he assumes, “but, like, a girl.”

“Are you saying that Samara looks like me? Because I’m actually a little offended that you think that,” he jokes, desperately trying to rid the boy from his falling tears.

“No.” Liam hits him playfully, then wipes his eyes with his sleeve. But I should’ve been more aware that she could look like Tara. I hadn’t considered that.”

“That’s not your fault,” he repeats. “You didn’t even know Tara was in my nightmares. You knew something was haunting me, but I never told you what.”

“I should’ve given you a better synopsis of the movie,” he mutters.

“You’ve gotta stop finding ways to blame yourself for this.”

Liam’s quiet. He has so much to blame himself for, no matter what Theo’s saying now. The older boy was supposed to be his responsibility. He wasn’t only supposed to keep him in line, he was supposed to keep him safe.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Theo asks, trying to meet his eyes, realizing he’s been silent for much too long.

“You kept waking up in the hospital?” That’s not what he meant to ask, but it seems his curious mind and tongue are conspiring against him now.

“Yeah, Beacon Hills Memorial.”

Liam replays the flashback of the time he and Theo were tasked with distracting the Ghost Riders. As soon as they entered the hospital, something overtook Theo. His body was flooded with fear and his mind was hard to reach. Liam had to call his name several times, urgently, to snap him out of whatever trance he fell into.

Liam then remembers his plan of hiding in the morgue. He remembers the older boy’s resistance; fear, which quickly turned into defense.

“I think whatever happened to you, you deserved it.” He had regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, but stubbornly, couldn’t take them back. They were already out, chilling the room even colder than it was. Maybe he thought them for a second, believed them to be true for a moment, rehashing in his mind all that Theo had done to him and his pack, ripping them apart at the seams, but in reality, he always knew it wasn’t deserved. Everyone is at least worthy of trying to be redeemed. If hell is really the hell he was taught in school, Theo didn’t deserve that fate, when all he was doing was trying to survive.

“Liam,” Theo repeats, shaking the younger boy’s hand vigorously. Too deep in thought, he hadn’t heard the three previous times he’s called his name, but Liam finally responds now. “C’mon. Snap out of it.”

His touch brings him back to the surface, out of the memory. Theo had been hesitant to touch him, he always is, but it will always be the thing they both crave from each other.

“Sorry.”

“You okay?”

Liam shrugs. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

“What?”

“Hell, Tara haunting you, even the fucking Dread Doctors… you didn’t deserve any of that pain. You should’ve gotten to grow up like a child does, scared of a horror movie because it’s a horror movie, not because it reminds you of your past. It’s fucked up.”

“Liam-”

“If you’re gonna try to convince me I’m wrong, don’t even try.”

“The Doctors chose me because I had the potential to be evil.”

“That’s bullshit. They took you because you were a child, and children are easy to manipulate.”

“That’s why they took Mason,” he corrects. “I was never meant to be anything good.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re good to me.” Theo looks up in disbelief, frustrating Liam even more. “You anchor me, and you’re always there for me, and you’re my friend.”

“But-”

“And look at Corey. He trusts you now, because you’ve earned it. You’re a friend to him, too. And Alec, he looks up to you.”

“Alec looks terrified of me.”

“Well, you can be a little intimidating, but you’ve never given him a reason not to trust you. You’re older than the rest of us, but mesh better with us than the older pack. You’re like the most authoritative figure we have when Scott’s gone.”

“That’s scary-”

“You’re often the voice of reason in unknown situations. You protect us, all of us, sometimes from ourselves.” He drags a finger along Theo’s open palm, carefully, and relishes in the way his shoulders unconsciously relax. “I think Tara - the real Tara, your sister, not the deranged manifestation of her from hell - would be proud of you. I know I am.”

Theo sucks in a breath and knits his eyebrows together in confusion. “Liam-”

“You can’t convince me otherwise. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You survived ten years with those fucking freaks. You did what you had to do to survive, and yeah, you did some bad things, but we’ve all done bad things, but none of us have paid for them as horribly as you have. And now, all those things aside, you’re doing better. Emotionally scarred, yes, but physically? They deprived you of so much, but you’re learning now. They taught you nothing but pain, how to live in fear, how to ignite fear in others, but no one in this room’s afraid of you anymore. And you’re safe. We’re all pack, and we protect each other.”

“Nolan’s still scared of me.”

“Nolan’s scared of everyone.” Liam stares into Theo until the boy finally meets his gaze. “You didn’t deserve any of the literal or figurative hell you’ve been through, and I’m proud of you for surviving it, and turning out the way you have. In fact, I quite like the way you’ve turned out.”

Theo wants to let the words sink in, wants to let himself enjoy them as they fall off the other’s lips, wants to let them warm his heart, but he still isn’t used to receiving praise - no matter how often Liam seems to give it - and gives a slight chuckle instead. “How do you think baby Liam from a year ago would react to hearing you say that?”

Liam frowns. He chooses to ignore the baby part and answers honestly. “I think he’d be glad, because he never wanted you to be the bad guy. He always hoped you’d be good.” He shrugs. “And now, given different circumstances, you are. So, he wins.”

Theo’s shoulders deflate, as if being proved wrong for the fiftieth time in ten minutes is finally getting to be exhausting. “You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it. I don’t lie, Theo. Check my heart.”

“You’re a horrible liar even without listening to your heart. Your eyes are always trained to the floor, and the side of your lip curls up, and your hands are restlessly clasped together.”

Liam looks up, stunned by the detailed observation. “You’re just proving my point.”

Theo sighs, then smiles. He tries to catch a sound from beyond the bathroom door, but the screams of the characters that once filled his ears are now replaced by a haunting melody. The movie’s wrapping up to close. The demon, hopefully, was defeated.

“Are you okay to go back out?” Liam asks, also listening. “I think it’s finally over.”

Theo nods once. “Sorry to make you miss the end.”

“I don’t mind. If you hadn’t run out, I probably would’ve.” Theo begins to stand and Liam follows, still talking. “Mason and I both screamed when she climbed out of the well. My mom came running so fast, heart beating out of her chest, and soothed us both before settling us into bed. Then, the next morning, we got the worst scolding of our lives.” They stand in front of the mirror, Theo’s hand on the doorknob, Liam’s pinky finger inching towards his free hand, suddenly not ready to leave. “When I told her we were watching it tonight, I could already hear her heart starting to beat. She got that warning look in her eyes and wasted no time reminding me of how that went last time. The fact that Mason would be here, too, was no comfort to her, considering how equally scared he was. I was honestly surprised she even let me come, because even though she trusts me, she’s still super protective, y’know?” Theo nods, understanding, though curious as to what he’ll say next. “But then I assured her the whole pack would be there, it wasn’t just Mason and I. I told her you’d be there, and that’s when her posture relaxed and her rambling stopped, because she trusts you. She knows you keep me safe and grounded. She knows you’re good.”

Theo swallows. He suddenly becomes aware of Liam’s pinky grazing his, and fights the urge to take his hand in his own. He tries to ask, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Can I hug you?” Liam asks, somehow having the same question Theo did. He nods, and immediately, Liam’s reaching up on his tiptoes to hug the boy around his neck. Their bodies press close. Theo sneaks his hands around the smaller wolf’s waist, inhaling his scent at his chest. Liam nuzzles his nose into the crook of his neck, and before pulling away, plants a small kiss there without even realizing it. A shiver runs up Theo’s spine and the air around them changes. The gentlest shift of something that was once small growing into something more noticeable. Neither complain, but neither explore it further.

“Ready?”

The skin on Theo’s neck tingles, as do Liam’s lips. A dizzying, sweet scent floods their noses, overwhelms the room. Theo opens the door, letting the unfamiliar scent rush out into the house. Liam links their pinkies as they re-enter the living room, ignores the looks from the pack, and plops back down into his seat on the couch. Theo follows, but is careful not to touch Liam’s side, despite their hands still clasped together.

“You guys good?” Corey asks, pushing Liam with his socked foot. Liam rolls into Theo for a split second before Corey retracts his foot, giggling.

“Yeah. Did Samara crawl back from where she came?”

“No, they defeated her,” Alec supplies, eyes on Theo. He sits on Nolan’s lap still, but his shoulders are tense. He isn’t quite comfortable being so close, despite having such a painful, obvious crush on the human.

“Why was she so mad?”

“Thought you guys watched this movie before?” Corey asks instead of answering Liam’s question.

“Mom turned it off before we finished it,” he reveals.

Corey looks at Mason, jaw dropped. “You told me you finished it.”

Mason raises his hands. “I wanted to sound cool!”

Corey pushes him playfully. “You suck!”

“Well now I’ve finished it. These two are the only ones that haven’t.” He points to Liam and Theo. “Want me to rewind it?”

“No, no, no, we’re good,” Liam says quickly. “In fact, I’m good to never watch it again.” He pauses, watching the screen as something else dark and spooky fills it. “Okay… What’s this?”

“Chill out, it’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. Since you two big, bad werewolves can’t handle an actual scary movie.”

Liam sneers playfully at the younger chimera, who just throws his hands up unapologetically. Conversation ceases as the music begins to play, and everyone begins nestling further into the couches, getting comfortable for another film. Beside him, Theo’s heart rate is calm. He still smells slightly sweet, and seems to be making an effort to avoid getting too close to Liam, but Liam decides to quickly change that by putting a hand on his arm.

“What are you-?”

“C’mere,” he interrupts, keeping his senses out for any signs of him being uncomfortable. There’s none, but there is a fresh scent of the sweetness they both had earlier. “Cuddle me.” He puts up no fight as Liam nests himself into his personal space. Their thighs touch completely now, Liam enveloping his body with his own. He kisses the side of his head, causing the chimera to practically melt into him. Both heartbeats quicken, then relax as they settle into their new position on the couch.

Their closeness crosses the already thin line between them, but it was only a matter of time before that happened. Corey and Mason share the quietest of high-fives. Nolan stares, but isn’t complaining, as Theo relaxing into Liam seems to cause Alec to finally relax into him, as if the older boy nonverbally assures the other, it’s okay.

“What’s this movie about?” Theo mumbles, tired still, but satiated in Liam’s arms.

“Skeleton wanders too far outside of Halloween-town and ends up in Christmas-town, where he causes a major ruckus,” Mason offers.

“My mom used to play this movie all the time when we were kids,” Liam adds.

“So it’s Mom-approved?”

“Mhm. No creepy-crawly girls.”

He can feel Theo’s chuckle reverberate through his body. “Good.”

Liam smiles, then presses his lips into Theo’s shoulder once more. “You’re safe,” he mutters softly. The boy beneath him relaxes under his touch.

#liam dunbar x theo raeken fanfic #liam dunbar x theo raeken #thiam #thiam fic #thiam fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #thiam oneshot #emotional hurt/comfort #tw: mentions of theo's past & trauma & nightmares

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seattlewa-hq · 2 years ago

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An Introduction to the Beta Editor

Hello all! I’ve gotten some feedback that the tutorials on using the new Beta editor and xKit Rewritten has been confusing a few people, so I wanted to make my own! I’ll try to cover everything below, but if something isn’t clear or you need extra help, let me know please! This post is gonna be pretty long, but I sectioned it up so hopefully you can find what you need with ease.

Step 1. Switching to Beta

You very well may be able to skip this part, because all new blogs are automatically switched to the newer editor. But if you’re still using an older blog, don’t worry, it’s easy! There should be a big purple button in the corner, pretty hard to miss. Should look like this!

Go ahead and hit “Let’s go!” and, well... let’s go!

Step 2. Getting to Know Beta

The Beta editor is very, very different from what we’re all used to. But really, it’s kind of intuitive in a lot of ways. You have to know a lot less shortcuts. Whenever you highlight your text, you’ll see this little guy pop up:

Now, from left to right, here’s what we’re looking at: strikethrough, bold, italics, small text, link in text, and colored text. Most of your keyboard shortcuts should still work (I can’t speak for all computers, but the shortcut for small text no longer works for me with the Beta editor), but we also have handy-dandy buttons now, too! We also have the 'Regular' drop down menu, which opens this:

This one is pretty self explanatory, and it shows what the text will look like if you select that option.

Step 3. Finer Details

I’m still personally getting used to a lot of the smaller details that come with the Beta editor, but here are some that I’ve learned! Hopefully I’ll be adding to this list when more troubleshooting comes into my realm of knowledge.

Auto-Readmores: For whatever reason, Tumblr has taken to cropping any posts over a certain length by itself? Annoying, but this is something you can toggle on/off in your Dashboard Settings!

Editing Tags: This isn’t something that needs to be fixed, but it was big news to me! Instead of having to delete your tag completely when you’ve made a typo, you can just edit your post and edit the tag! Handy!

Links on Gifs: This isn’t a bad thing, it’s just new, different, and weird. But if you dislike it, there is a way to stop it from happening! It’s just a manual task. When you copy and paste a gif into your reply, you’ll see three little images on it. We’re going to click on the circled one below.

That’ll open up a link box, with a link to your gif. Just backspace that, hit the ‘Done’ button, and boom! No more link at the bottom of your gif!

Step 4. xKit Rewritten

I know what a lot of people’s main concern is: cropping replies. This is how we get to that point. The first step is going to be to download the newest iteration of xKit. You do not have to uninstall your old one to do this, they coexist on purpose! New xKit and xKit Rewritten have different features, so I’ve found it best to have both and utilize all the features!

xKit rewritten is a Chrome extension, and it can be found at this link! Just follow the instructions on that page to install it. Once it’s all good and installed, it’ll be found next to your other extensions, or by the URL bar on your browser window. Looks like this!

Now you have xKit Rewritten!

Step 5. Cropping Replies

Alright, this is where the money is. Just like with regular xKit, you have to toggle on the setting that allows you to cut replies down. Once you click on that purple X icon, you’ll see a drop down with lots of options. I’ve underlined the one we’re looking for right now, "Trim Reblogs."

Once you toggle that little switch on, you can go ahead and start replying. If you’re replying to a starter, then there is no need to worry about this feature. You have nothing to crop, so don’t worry! But if you’re replying to an active thread, here’s what you’re gonna do. Type out your reply, format it however you want, and then draft it. Then we’re gonna go into our drafts.

Here’s my thread with three tiers to it! The standard is two replies per post, and that’s what a lot of people like to stick to. So let’s make that happen! If you’ll notice at the bottom of that draft, there’s a scissor icon. I drew an arrow to it in the photo above. We’re gonna click on that.

And that icon brings this up! You’ll see it says “Select trail items to remove,” and it shows the trails separately. “Trails” are each individual reblog, and of course, we only want two of those, not three. This is really easy to fix! We’re just gonna select that top “trail,” aka the first reply in the thread, and hit the “Trim!” button.

And once we’ve done that, the first “trail” is gone! You just have the two more recent replies on the post, and you’re good to reblog it!

The one caveat of this is that you can no longer edit parts of other people’s replies, so you can’t format the posts to your heart’s content like we’re used to. A downside for sure, but so far, this isn’t something there’s a fix for. Hopefully in the future, xKit will figure that out for us!

Step 6. That’s All!

Once you have all that down, you’re a master of the Beta editor and a master of xKit Rewritten! Tumblr staff has mentioned phasing out the Legacy editor all together in the future, so it appears this will be our new reality. It is worth it to mention that the Beta editor is still, well, in beta, so it is subject to change. If it does and we get even more features or work-arounds, I’ll be sure to come back and edit this post! Until then, if you have any questions, please let me know! I am here to help!

xoxo, Kirby

#idek what to tag this...#sewa.admin #beta editor

13 notes · View notes

jadeitepandaproductions · 1 year ago

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PSA: Guys... i think we got Dropshippers.

OK, I have to share this with someone otherwise I'm going to go insane. I Think I encountered a scam ad on The Tumblr app. Let me walk you through what happened.

So… I'm going through a tag, and I run across this ad.

And at first I'm like... Huh. Legos. Thats cool. But then I look at the name and icon for the thing and I'm like..... huh. Heartwormin Be? And a random item as their image. Thats weird. So now im curious and I decide to click...

That.... thats the target logo. Up in the left corner. The name was something like... toyshop2019. Not the actual name bc fuck these folks. But i start scrolling down and...

Wait... is that dragon ball statues? But.. but i thought this was a lego website.

Wh- a ps5!? For 20 dollars!? Ok, something's gotta be up with this. There is no way this is a real shop. And after doing a little digging, I end up finding something interesting.

All these sites listed here? All these policy pages? Contain DIFFERENT WEBSITES.

It's like they were all copy and pasted from different websites. None of these lead back to the actual website this was found on. Even though every single one of these pages have a box that you can use to contact them. And do you want to know the best part about all this? Guess what I also found in these pages?

These websites, Which also take your IP address, and other data to use for things, Will do it whether or not you tell them not to. Not only is this thing gonna scam you out of your money, but theyre gonna STEAL YOUR DATA TOO!

DO NOT TRUST ANY OF THESE ADS! They're probably all huge scams! If you see ANYTHING advertising a product like this, CHECK THE WEBSITE AND DO RESEARCH BEFORE YOU BUY ANYTHING FROM THEM!

#scam #psa #ads on tumblr #ads on my dash #amy anunciates #I thought this was just shit from twitter #you cant even block them here or comment to tell folks its a scam #i hate modern internet shopping #drop shipping scams my beloathed.

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fandoms-of-a-random-existence · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 11,108 times in 2022

That's 6,733 more posts than 2021!

41 posts created (0%)

11,067 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@primeministerofantarctica

@gender-snatched

@thisisnotjuli

@cipher-fresh

@kaweeella

I tagged 1,042 of my posts in 2022

#ofmd - 84 posts

#twisted wonderland - 70 posts

#kitc - 64 posts

#kings in the corner - 58 posts

#<3 - 57 posts

#ofmd spoilers - 36 posts

#a3! - 20 posts

#otterson kitc - 18 posts

#yeah - 15 posts

#zoran kitc - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#you might be a genius in one area but you fail hard in other things. you try to apply your knowledge of one thing to something you aren't g

My Top Posts in 2022:

can't believe kitc has a canon roleswap!au universe sitting pretty right next door and all of the alternates with any sort of dream/veil/joker related powers have just decided "you know what time to come poke around" /pos

7 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

actively cannot stop thinking about Otterson telling Zoran she'd fuck his mom and then ae going "I don't know how to respond to that! Enjoy the nightmare dimension! Good luck not going insane!"

9 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

it's been a long while since I did art but Raevyn KitC lives in my brain rent free. I should do some Raeran art sometime those two drive me insane /pos

11 notes - Posted October 2, 2022

Yeah I kitc:

Kiss gayly

Inflict horrors

Traumatize

Crime

11 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Is this that thing that you like? (/j but also where would I be able to find it it looks interesting)

FSJFHSKFJSKHH I-

okay I will admit i was not expecting anyone to ask but holy shit/pos

Okay, so confession time, Kings in the Corner is actually a closed discord ARG that is actually on hiatus right now because of IRL things, however the mods decided to leave it as a sandbox for the players and we have steadily been descending into madness and brainrot (dreamscapes arc my beloved)

And so, I don't actually remember how we got on the topic but eventually a bunch of us came to the conclusion "being insane about the blorbos on the discord isn't enough, we need to subject the rest of the world to our brainrot, what if we posted on tumblr like it was an actual fandom with no context" and well I am giving context now but shhh don't worry about it sorry I took so long to reply, I just. there's so much...this is gonna be long- anyways since there really isn't any way to get kitc content besides the players brainrot spilling over, here~! (apologies for the way this is. not likely all that comprehensible)

The basic plot is you/your character has been invited to the Kingdom in the Four Corners where we have a King, Queen, and Jack for each card suit, and each player is/was assigned a suit based off of your vibes, and later on, just got shunted into diamonds due to the uh. tragedies. Anyways! Because of the way the invitation works, all the characters have the potential to be from different worlds and universes which has led to the colorful cast of characters including [looks at notes]

-Fallen London OC

-Twisted Wonderland OC

-An actual Warriorcat

-Doctor Who x the Beatles OC

-Charas from players own original worlds <3

-The personification of healing from grief who is also from pathologic now

-AND FUCKING HOMESTUCKED

All I really have to say about the last one is don't take any orange pills the Jokers give you. (The Jokers are... actually I should preface this with the information none of us take drugs irl, but they are the closest thing to medical doctors we've got so uh, if you want to take some joker drugs to get a funky hallucination to learn more details about the rebellion/experience the previous Ace's executions for yourself as a side effect for your stomach ache, well are they they guys you wanna see! Apparently Jokers start their training at age 10 and it's very fucked up and also there are domestic and feral jokers??? I am concerned.)

Honestly so much has happened in a relatively short period of time I don't think I could summarize all the important bits but some of the highlights so far include: -The Bitchless Allegations: King Dani of Diamonds (Incredibly Bitchless, the Universe told me-) accosted a group of candidates (Ash, Hugo(ne), Raevyn, and Riyo iirc) who proceeded to get his ass. He stabbed Hugo in retaliation with his fancy magic sword that he shouldn't have even really had, Hugo was spitting up red jewels for a while, and almost died. All Spades got free access to Diamonds tower though so uh,,, winning I guess??

-There was a bit more lore in the interim and some puzzled solved but to be honest I don't remember much-

-The Bear.

-Also the Hearts' resident gays Salem and Luci (Saluci beloved <3) (admittedly not together yet) hatched a plot to fake a fight so the could befriend everyone despite the wild and horrific state of relationships between the candidates. They fucked it up. Luci and Riyo's friendship will never return. Esp after the Hugone incident-

(And oh yeah, Riyo punched Luci at one point, breaking her face revealing the fact she's an artificial being made of porcelain and some sort of magical energy and I may be getting the lore wrong but she's so cool-)(Salem helped patch up the hole in her face with a pretty glass mosaic and waaaaa)

-At one point the 8 year old Diamond, and 11 year old Club stood on each others shoulders wearing a trench coat and called themselves "Painsley" (Paeden-Ainsley) to try and get joker drugs. They failed and only got glitter, and it was hilarious

-Olive the scientists experiments with almond water, I genuinely have no recollection of the details alas, but i have been told it was very neat and was unknowable by science. Also he got an entire almond out of it.

-One of the Most Days Ever: our small 8 year old boy made of clay had been recently possessed by a 45 yr old catholic man, who, while he was cooperative at first in helping getting Paeden back, soon realized if this went through he'd die, and so he ran off into the woods after burning the notes, and so candidates were sent to chase after him. It. Did not go well. (while the chasing him down and catching him went quite well, after the catching... not so good)

See the full post

25 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i am very normal about kitc actually (lie)

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finned-fish · 4 days ago

Note

The commentary is actually just “I’m aroace and sex+romace-repulsed and I would rather put a gun to my head and pull the trigger myself than ever see them so much as stand next to each other ever again, but I’m on iOS (so I can’t use browser extensions to get rid of those posts for me), and this website is un fucking navigable if you don’t want to see the popular ships in your fandom of choice. Tumblr’s base filters don’t do SHIT if every post under one tag you want to see is also tagged with another you have blocked.”

I am not kidding even a little bit when I say I have blocked over 200 different blogs over this (mostly radioapple and radiostatic). I have a list. I haven’t found one singular fucking person who is 1.) still active at all, 2.) still posts about Hazbin, 3.) isn’t actually 12 years old, and 4.) has never made/reblogged ship posts with alastor, selfship or otherwise. I’m really not a fan of any ship to be honest, I’d never see any of them if I had a choice. All of it makes me wildly uncomfortable. But if I genuinely can’t find anyone who doesn’t ship Alastor with someone else, there is no fucking shot I’m gonna find anyone who doesn’t ship any of them.

Fandom is, by definition, not made to include me, and “good representation” won’t suddenly make that untrue. But god dammit, I am so, so, so sick of being a fucking spectator all the goddamn time. I don’t feel included in larger society, I don’t feel included in LGBTQ+ conversations/events (and a lot of them are just flat out unsafe for me because of how sexual they are), I don’t feel included in niche internet communities, and I don’t even get to feel included in conversations about a character that’s supposed to be like me, with other people who are as close to me as I could possibly ever get (because most radioapple shippers are ALSO AROACE.) There isn’t a single place on this god forsaken rock that’s made to accomodate me other than spaces for actual children, and I guess I just hoped I could have one fucking guy I could still at least somewhat enjoy like everyone else if he was aroace too, at least stand in the corner with my one guy and pretend for a second that I belong here. But instead, I come out of #alastor feeling significantly worse than when I went in, and I have actually cried real tears more than once over this. There is no solution, because no amount of searching and filtering and blocking will bring into existence a community that just does not exist.

Other people get to feel seen, included, and heard with Alastor’s representation. They get to find a community of people who are like them, and show their relationships that don’t get any representation. Even if they are niche, they get to find those communities where they feel included and normal. I got to learn that that feeling of being alone in a room will never go away no matter how hard I try to be like everyone else. I will always be intruding in on a conversation I have no right being a part of, always a spectator watching everyone else get to experience what I want so fucking badly, and know in my heart of hearts simply does not exist for me. And I guess I just got my hopes up that all I needed was one character, one piece of media I could latch onto, that I’d find people through that eventually, and I’m starting to realize that that still just isn’t true. No amount of representation will make me a place in fandom, or pride, or the world as a whole, because I am that incompatible with the rest of the world. That’s what I’ve gotten out of Alastor.

So forgive me for being a little upset about it.

Okay, I understand all of this. Feeling alienated absolutely fucking sucks and is something I go through frequently. I get it. Completely. I act out because of it sometimes.

Doesn't justify antagonizing an innocent artist though. It is not their problem to fix. Get out of their inbox. @inuxi makes incredible beautiful art of characters they enjoy. It's really as simple as that. Whether an artist wants to appeal to a certain community or not is a personal choice that should be respected.

There are so many aroace artist communities. I've interacted with aroace artist communities. There are accommodative communities around. Saying you belong nowhere at all is a lie. It's easy to get overwhelmed by the majority, I've been there, but just take a step back for a moment.

I wish you the best of luck, man, I really do. Finding a community where you belong is something you ARE entitled to. Antagonizing an artist for art you don't like is NOT.

0 notes

ktsumu · 11 months ago

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hey guys guess who is back and THIS TIME without tags because tumblr limits you to 30 and i don't have that kind of restraint so. under the cut. spoilers dwell beneath here

who remembers when i lovingly asked where part 2 was in my last tags but it actually just turns out i cant read and it was there the whole time. trying to be a demanding bitch gets you nowhere damn

oh and i'd like to start this by saying i read user wttcsms' fics with my notes app on the other side of my screen because i actually can't retain EVERYTHING i like in the 20k words of content

so, this feedback is in CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER of reading. i wrote it WHILE i read it.

this is me livetweeting to my notes app. enjoy

_____

'You don’t laugh at his joke, but he does, and he does so in a manner that indicates that one, he doesn’t care if people laugh at his jokes or not, and two, he’s very accustomed to people not laughing with him.'

michael you're a freak and i can't tell if i hate you or not

'She’s the only other person who will continuously remind these girls that there are worse things to be in life than uncomfortable.'

stomach churned at this, i don't know why. i just got this sense of dread. felt so girl-to-girl

‘Thinking back on this, thinking about how Zeke showed no regret over his addiction, his reliance, his sole source of relief, Colt finds the courage to walk out the bathroom and head to the red light district.’

so you think i’m addictiveeee (i’m joking i take this dynamic very seriously sorry for ever implying that i don’t)

i also think calling reader an addiction in this sense is so dear to me because of how many connotations it could have otherwise given her line of work. like her whole occupation thrives on addiction and it's like mint gum to have that word used positively

help the gossip girl group too and the ‘oh not this again’ CRYING i like the humour i get in the middle of this

‘He says, and it sounds like how people who have their heads underwater for a prolonged period of time gasp for air the moment they’re able to have their head above the surface.’

me versus drowning metaphors. i am So Normal about drowning. So fucking normal about drowning (in a normal way)

but like seriously i'm not trying to be a literal weirdo but there's something about it when there's no external force being mentioned too, like nothing is holding them underwater. they just are and it's like i don't know

this ENTIRE scene with us talking to him like it’s the first time? my chest is so tight right now.

and oh my GOD getting you jewelry but it’s not a fucking necklace but it’s A WATCH. something ACTUALLY USEFUL to you but it still holds the same sentiment. actually no it holds way more. holy fuck

dropping to his knees? babe same

the whole theme of not being allowed to have personal desires is so fucking crushing but necessary so. i’ll allow it this once

‘And that betrayal is going to hurt the worst.’

if this is foreshadowing I’m gonna unfollow you and make a PSA about it (joking i'm whipped continuing on)

'Disarmed.'

im jumping

‘Colt is probably going to marry some beautiful, blushing bride’

if he lives long enough to see a wedding goddamn

sorry that was uncalled for but his future is ugly

HERES MY FAVOURITE

OOOOOOH USER WTTCSMS GOT ME WITH THE naked but not naked TROPE

it’s one thing to seen without clothes but it’s another to be naked. or something like that right

'He looks at you, and he undresses you, but it’s not clothes he’s trying to take off. He’s peeling layers of your masks, making you shed your faux skins all over the place, in some insignificant corner. Colt Grice stares at you, and he sees you, and it makes you feel special.'

what did i say about that naked shit again because this is literally it reoccurring I’m kicking my feet. also have a sense of dread because this feels too good to be true but I’m in too deep now anyway

i fuycking knew it you TRAITORRRRRR the sense of impending doom never lies oh my god

daylight [pt. ii] ; colt grice.

pairing colt grice x f!reader word count 19.2k synopsis colt grice's life has never been easy, and it's about to get a hell of a lot worse. content contains sw!reader, canon discrimination against eldians, derogatory terms towards women author's notes if you count part one, it took nearly 32k words for them to share their first kiss. who says the pwp writer can't have range? also, i'm always in a constant state of thanks to @mochalate, who constantly motivates me to work on this fic <3

part two: no kissing

Colt Grice’s first kiss catches him off guard.

He’s sixteen, and the positives that come from puberty are finally showing up. Now, instead of waking up with achy bones and joint pain, he’s nearly six feet tall. All traces of boyhood have been shredded, and in its place is a face with sharp features and nice bone structure that has spent years being hidden under baby fat. Like every other hopeless case living in Liberio, Colt enlists in the military because there aren’t many other options for him out there. He joins later than the others because up until he was fourteen, he wasn’t a hopeless case.

Then, Dad got sick. Bills needed to be paid. Colt was more than ready to sign up for the Marleyan military considering the fact that the average starting age is twelve — for “late bloomers,” that is. It had been this whole entire embarrassing ordeal, really. He stood out from his first bunkmates, all gangly bones and a less-than-sunny disposition on the world and its current state affairs compared to the hopefulness his younger fellow cadets all seemed to harbor.

Colt doesn’t want Marley to go to war. He doesn’t want to die; he only enlisted because his family needed him to, even if they begged and pleaded with him not to. His paychecks get sent directly to his family, by his request.

The uniform fits him awkwardly, too, at first. He thinks this is why he probably wasn’t on the receiving end of positive female attention. He sticks out like a sore thumb during mandatory lineup because he’s a whole head taller and several years older than everyone else who’s getting in formation. His pants fit weird, stopping at an odd point that’s an inch too high above his ankles, and the strap on his helmet is too tight and digs into the skin of his chin, resulting in him walking around with a constant red impression on the bottom of his face. He gets promoted quickly because of his test scores and ends up surpassing all his peers in his proper age bracket, too. It’s around this time that he starts taking charge, too used to having to play big brother for his original cadet class (with their chubby faces and short statures, they reminded him all too much of Falco and what he had to leave behind; settling into this role came too naturally). At this point, the uniform fits perfectly.

The yellow armband he’s rewarded with fits just right, too.

At age sixteen, Colt Grice is officially transferred to the Warrior Unit as a Candidate. He has to prove his devotion to the cause; this means choking down more propaganda to the point where everything that comes out of his mouth is coated in Marleyan ideals, and it’s this whole entire thing where he stands up and does an oath, swearing his eternal, unwavering allegiance to Marley. It’s a public affair. The Unit makes him out to be a role model, the poster boy of sorts, for the Warrior Unit. To show the world that while being an Eldian makes you equivalent to cannon fodder, that doesn’t mean you can’t be thankful.

He’s the closest thing this shithole has to a success story.

Armed with what can be considered a Marleyan stamp of approval, and the fact that Colt now fills out his uniform quite nicely, in that primitive, hyper-masculine way that makes the female hindbrain go buckwild at the sight of him in it, he gains an insane amount of popularity.

Colt isn’t a stranger to having so many admirers, now, but sometimes he still feels like that awkward fourteen year old boy playing at being a man. It’s why he’s so shocked when the girls who pursue him turn out to be very forward.

He doesn’t even expect the kiss. He’s back in the internment zone for a holiday break, and Susie had asked him to pretty please meet her behind the old schoolhouse. Colt doesn’t suspect anything will happen, but he does mentally prepare himself to give the usual response that he gives to all the confessions he receives: you’re a very nice girl, but I can’t give you the time and care you deserve; my current and only devotion lies with the military.

Susie is a very nice girl. With her short, curly brown hair and hazel-colored eyes, Colt is certain that there are plenty of boys who wouldn’t mind a love confession from her. She was one of the most popular girls back in school, or at least, Colt thinks she was. And her parents are one of the more well-off Eldians in the area; her dad’s a doctor. Her dad is Dad’s doctor, the recipient of a fourteen year old Colt’s meager military stipends. He wonders if she knows this, if she cares, if it would make a difference.

She doesn’t say anything to warn him that the kiss is coming. She rounds the corner, spots him in her line of vision, and heads straight towards him. He thinks she’ll stop at the last second, but she doesn’t, and by the time she’s too close for comfort, it’s too late.

Her lips press against his, and her eyes are closed. He knows her eyes are closed because his are wide open from shock. It lasts for two seconds, and it’s because that’s how long it took for him to regain control of his body and pull back.

Then he apologizes and tells her that that wasn’t supposed to happen, and he can’t be with anyone right now. Shock is still clearly in his system because without even thinking too hard about it, Colt immediately turns his back on her and runs straight home. To this day, he feels bad about how he handled the situation, but last he’s heard is that Susie is married now.

He licks his lips reflexively as he stares up at the ceiling. He wonders what your first kiss was like. He hopes for your sake that it was good, or as good as a first kiss can be. Then, he feels an unfamiliar, uncomfortable pit in his stomach at the idea of you kissing some nameless, faceless stranger. It gets even worse when he imagines that the kiss is good, that it’s something you enjoy. And then he just feels pathetic when he realizes that it’s jealousy he’s experiencing.

It’s unfair of him to be envious of any of your past partners because Colt knows that he does not have a claim on you. He does not own you, nor does he believe that you are a possession, that you’re something to be owned. He is well aware that you are your own person, with your own experiences, and a whole lifetime lived before and without him. For all he knows, he’s just a footnote in the story of your life.

This thought makes him sad.

Fuck. He wants to turn his body and plant his face into his pillow and scream. He won’t do that because he’s nothing but courteous to his bunkmates, but this has been such a recurring urge lately that Colt is wary that this is going to be a problem if he doesn’t get his shit together, and fast.

He finds himself thinking about you — he wouldn’t dare to go so far as to describe it as being “more often than he would like” because the fact of the matter is that he enjoys thinking about you, doesn’t mind you being the one singular thought that remains on his mind — and that’s the core of the issue.

He repeats your name in his head like a mantra, until he’s certain that he can formulate sentences using your name as the only word. He says it in his head with different cadences, stresses the syllables in a different way every time, wonders if you ever think about him in a similar manner.

It’s been a week since he last saw you. The bruises on his face have healed up quite nicely, and the cut isn’t even going to leave a scar, according to one of the nurses. As a result of falling asleep in your bed and having to limp back to base at the crack of dawn, Colt’s punishment is that he isn’t allowed to leave the grounds for the next two weeks.

“What the hell were you doing, boy?” Commander Magath has the type of voice that is always booming. He is consistently loud, and Colt has long since discovered that that’s just simply how Magath sounds. Colt recalls flinching at his commanding officer’s question (re: he’s still recovering from a mild concussion, and Magath’s loudness isn’t helping much in the healing process), and, because Colt happens to come back at the odd period of time where the soldiers on watch are doing their shift changes, there’s an audience.

Colt knows he’s stuck in between a rock and a hard place. He would rather run one hundred laps around base than ever admit he missed curfew because he was at a brothel. He also knows that he doesn’t have it in him to directly lie to an authority figure, especially when it’s a Marleyan officer. Looks like indoctrinating children really does have some lasting side effects.

“I fell asleep, sir.”

“Well, no shit!”

Colt attempts not to wince when some tiny droplets of spit fly out of Magath’s mouth and land on his cheeks. He thinks it would only piss off the commander some more.

“I think it’s because of the concussion, sir. I thought going into town would help clear my head, but I ended up knocking out before I could even remember to head back to base.” Not a lie. Colt would never willingly fall asleep on you because he knows most of his time with you is limited. He has to make the most of it.

At the mention of the injuries sustained, Colt thinks Magath’s expression somewhat softens. It must be a trick of the light, though, or maybe his head got more banged up than he realized because Magath is back to berating him, saying that he would expect this dumbass behavior from anyone else in the Warrior Unit but him — which could be taken as a sort of compliment, if only he didn’t follow it up with a reminder that everyone in said unit is such a breed of stupid that a common idiot off the street could be considered a genius compared to them. Well, idiot or not, Colt’s well aware that Magath’s definitely insulting him and his peers.

But when his only punishment is to remain confined to the base, he knows better than to try to argue his way to a lighter sentence.

On nights like these, nights where he can’t seem to fall asleep because every slumber pales in comparison to the one he spent with you, he stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom and prays to every power in the universe that you are having a good night.

As far as bad nights go, you think this one might top the list. At minimum, it ranks somewhere in the top ten worst nights of your life.

Ramzi is sick. You would think that being exposed to the elements on a daily basis and eating food well past its prime date for consumption would make Ramzi immune to most common ailments, but if anything, it makes him even more susceptible to sickness. While he’s plenty grown up now, being sick seems to make Ramzi revert back to a little kid, to indulge in the boyhood he never had the luxury of enjoying.

“You can’t leave me! I don’t feel well!”

Even with a runny nose, a persistent cough, and his ongoing battle against his body’s fluctuating temperatures (he’ll throw off his blankets because he’s overheating only to be shivering not even five minutes later), he still has just enough strength to test his luck and see if his complaints will be enough to get you to stay home.

His antics, while proof of his love for you, are starting to get on your nerves. The time you spend running around, trying to get him situated when his one goal in life is to act like he’s unbearably uncomfortable so you keep tending to him, is making you late. The other girls who live in this camp had stopped by earlier, asking if you were ready to leave. At that point, you had been in the process of bundling Ramzi up in several blankets (he frees himself ten minutes later, complaining that he was getting “too hot”) and told them to go along without you.

Now, you realize you’re going to be late to your first scheduled appointment of the night.

Fuck.

If you leave now and run like the hounds of hell are nipping at your heels, you could probably make it to the brothel at a decent enough time to where Willa wouldn’t have to intervene on your behalf. You know things are bad if Willa gets involved.

Before you lose your patience and snap at Ramzi, the opening of your tent is being pulled back.

“No work tonight?” Malik asks.

“I wish.” And then, “Did you need something?” The I’m kind of busy goes unsaid, but it’s clear in the agitated tone of your voice.

“Just wanted to stop by and check up on you two. It’s been a while.”

Malik doesn’t apologize. Probably on account of the toxic masculinity that seems to run rampant around this camp — this whole society, really — but he means well. Most of the time. From what you can see, at least.

You know him stopping by and saying this is his idea of extending an olive branch to you. Usually, you would tease him at this point, ask him if he forgot how to say the words “I’m sorry.” All you can think about, though, is that he has the worst fucking timing.

“Yeah, I guess it has been.” You tell him, opening up your trunk and pulling out the pair of socks Colt had gifted to you. In the box containing all of your meager possessions, the ointment lays on top of everything. You’re not facing Malik, anymore; instead, you pull on this pair of socks before slipping into your shoes.

The stark whiteness of the cotton stands out from the usual colorful swaths of fabric prevalent in the camp. It’s too bright, too squeaky clean, to properly fit in your life of once-grand clothes that have retained only a fraction of the beauty and boldness it once held. Malik innocently asks you where you got the socks from.

“A customer.” You answer, and this shuts him up for now. If there is anything in this world that Malik hates more than admitting his fault and apologizing, it is any discussion of what you do for work. It’s an unspoken rule that the two of you don’t talk about your time at the brothel. For once, you’re glad about it.

“I’m about to go to work right now. Could you do me a favor and watch over Ramzi for the time being? He’s sick, and I’m worried how he’s going to feel later on in the night.” Minding your manners, you look Malik in the eyes and tack on a please at the end of your request.

“You know I don’t mind.” He doesn’t break eye contact with you. You think you detect something different in the intensity of the stare he’s giving you; more serious, with an almost broody concern evident in those dark eyes of his. “I’ll be waiting here when you get back. We’ll talk more then, okay?”

You’re already running horribly late. You don’t have time to argue, to remind him that the last thing you’re in the mood for is a conversation you’re unprepared for, especially after a long shift. Instead, you give a slight nod in acknowledgment, and practically sprint out of the tent.

The cold wind whips you in the face as you make your way to the red light district. Usually, the sun is just barely starting to set when you make your journey; it’s jarring to see how different the walk feels when you’re by yourself, and it’s starting to get dark out.

The closer you get to the district, the more the fact that you are a woman, alone, in a more dangerous, more lawless area of the city, starts to loom over you. You tighten your coat around your body, practically hugging yourself as you try to quicken your pace. The cold air bites through the fabric of your clothes, chills you to your bones, leaves goosebumps all over your flesh.

The streetlights are dim, the pavement cracked, and you are well aware that the cold soaking through your skin right now isn’t just from the weather, but from the lecherous stares of the men walking down the street. This is the same path you’ve taken for years now, but tonight, it is entirely too different. You never noticed just how tiny you are compared to the heavyset frames of the men standing outside, with their burly shoulders that could easily knock you down if they were to accidentally run into you.

Even the scenery feels different. You’ve walked down this street enough times to recognize where the deep potholes in the road are, and usually the buildings lining the district are a source of odd comfort to you. There’s a familiar bar, but its usual warm glow of light emitting from within doesn’t serve as a means of brightness anymore. Now, the lighting from inside casts weird shadows on the faces of the passerby, distorts their features, gives your paranoia something to feed off of.

“Hey, girlie,” a raspy voice startles you. It’s been so long since you’ve had to worry about yourself — always choosing to focus on the surroundings for the sake of the other girls, always never having to because girls develop a sort of stupid invincibility when they link arms and take the town together — that you’re caught off guard by the sudden feel of a man’s hand on your shoulder.

Fight or flight.

You choose the weakest of the options: freeze.

You realize that you’re scared to look at the man. Your eyes dart nervously down the street, taking in the surrounding buildings, but you realize that there is no one here who will be able to rescue you. Survival instincts kick in, and you find yourself able to back away from him, but his hand grips down on your shoulder even harder. Like a claw, like a shackle.

“You one of those streetwalkers?” His words come out like a croak. You reason that it doesn’t matter what exactly he says; as long as it comes out of his mouth, with his dry, thirsty, cracked lips, spitting out sentences in between yellowing and rotting teeth, the words are going to sound disgusting regardless.

“Or ya just a whore for free?”

You take another step back. With what little light that shines from the streetlamps (that have certainly seen better days), you’re hyper aware of more figures approaching. Sometimes, there are other women who stand outside, some women who are the “streetwalkers” the man has accused you of being, but you know that they cannot come to your rescue. If they were to witness this scene right now, a scene that they’ve probably endured every night out here, they might not even recognize your plight.

“What’s going on here?” An authoritative voice cuts through your panic, and in the low lighting, you almost think it’s Colt that’s approaching this scene.

Wishful thinking is a silent killer. Like drugs and alcohol, the high you get from it, the relief, only lasts for so long. Coming down is even harder.

You know you shouldn’t feel disappointed at the sight of your savior, but this soldier is clearly Marleyan. For all you know, he’s just gotten done with a session with one of the girls you patch up every night.

He grips the man’s wrist, yanking it from your shoulder and assessing him.

“I asked you a question.” This blond-haired soldier shoots such a sharp, disgusted look at the man that you’re certain the effect would be similar to how it feels when a blade pierces through one’s intestines.

“Look, I don’t want no trouble.” The man snarls, pointing a grimy finger at you. “She’s the one solicitin’ people for cheap sex. Go arrest her, officer.” The way he spits out the title shows he harbors the same amount of respect for prostitutes and the police. The only thing stopping him from putting his hands on this soldier is probably the high chance that he’s got a weapon on him.

“Big fan of the law, are you? Should I take you both down to the station with me, then? We can file a report together, and you can tell my superiors what exactly your business being down here is.”

“Fuck you.”

You’re debating if you should test your luck and run. There’s a chance that the soldier would rather chase after you than deal with this man’s verbal assault and hair-pin trigger temper. However, the last thing you want is to get indicted for prostitution. Not because it’ll go on your record; you couldn’t care less about that. It just sounds like filing an official report would take a long time, possibly the whole night, and you can already picture all the money you’re losing by standing here instead of being in your room, ready to greet guests.

As if sensing your agitation, the soldier glances at you and then claps the man on the shoulder, guiding his hand upwards until it’s circled around the back of the man’s neck. He pulls the man closer to him, and because of the soldier’s height, he has to lean down slightly to get eye-level with your harasser.

Silence. You can feel the fear radiating off of the man, undercut with his drunken defiance. If there’s anything men have in common, no matter what race or class, it’s certainly audacity.

“Y’know what, I thought you had a bit more fire in you. ‘Fuck you’, seriously?” The soldier turns his head and looks at you, making a face as if trying to ask you can you believe this guy? “I know you can do better than that.” He takes his hand and pats the back of the man’s head. “Tell you what. I’m going to walk this lovely lady home, who was certainly not soliciting you, and then I’m going to come right back here. By the time I come back, you better come up with some better insults, or I’m going to be very disappointed.” Straightening himself up, he extends a hand to you; thankfully, not the hand that has touched that man.

What else are you supposed to do in this situation other than take it?

The longer you walk with this man, the more you study him. The more you study him, the more you realize that it was foolish to believe even for a second that he was Colt. They have similar builds, but Colt has a leaner figure, lighter hair, soft brown eyes. The way they carry themselves is different, too. This man walks with his arms swinging by his side, and while the first glance of him can fool people into thinking he’s a perfect soldier, upon closer inspection, you realize that his uniform is missing a button, his pants are slightly wrinkled, and there’s a strand of hair in the back that’s sticking up.

“So, you work at the Gentleman’s Club.” It’s not a question. His tone is light enough, though, to where you’re not on edge. He had let go of your hand the second you two left the immediate vicinity of the man.

“Yes.” There’s no point in lying.

“Don’t suppose you’ve run into many of them there.”

“Excuse me?”

“Gentlemen.” He clarifies. “I don’t think you’ve dealt with many gentlemen there, right?”

“The name’s all for marketing.”

“Hi, All For Marketing. Bit of a mouthful of a name.”

You don’t laugh at his joke, but he does, and he does so in a manner that indicates that one, he doesn’t care if people laugh at his jokes or not, and two, he’s very accustomed to people not laughing with him. You can’t tell if you like him or not.

“My name’s Michael.” He adds, after settling down. “Willa told me telling you my name would make you feel better.”

“Willa told you that?” You narrow your eyes at him. “How do you know Willa?” Willa’s the reason why any of the girls feel remotely safe in the Club. She’s older than you, but only by a few years. With the life she’s led, you’re only surprised that she’s not older — or dead.

“She kicked me in the nuts once, and I was a goner ever since.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, and he doesn’t clarify. Instead, he drops you off at the front of the brothel, not even saying goodbye. He just turns right on his heels and starts to whistle an unfamiliar tune. You don’t tell him that this part of town isn’t the area where you want to whistle as you skip down the street, but considering the fact that you hadn’t felt any more slimy stares directed at you as you walked with him, maybe he can handle himself just fine.

“Is everything okay?” Willa rarely calls anyone to her office. Tucked away in an odd corner of the brothel, it’s almost as if she doesn’t want anyone to know where her office is. The first and only time you’ve been in here had been on your first day of work, when she made you tea and told you that this is going to be a horrible experience, and that her job isn’t to ensure the girls’ comfort but rather their survival.

She’s the first person to truly ingrain this idea into your head: survival over everything. She’s the only other person who will continuously remind these girls that there are worse things to be in life than uncomfortable.

The three jagged scars running down her face, starting from an inch below her left eye, down her cheek, traveling all the way to her throat, surely must have been more than just an uncomfortable ordeal. But here she is now, standing tall, pouring hot water into cups. The smell of tea brewing fills the small room.

“Yes, of course.” You tell her, not sure why she had been waiting for you in the lobby, only to usher you into her office.

“Hmm.” Her back is still turned to you. Her desk isn’t spotless like you would imagine it to be; she runs such a tight ship in this brothel, you envisioned that every other aspect of her life must be dictated by her militant extremes. There are papers covering every surface, pinned to the walls, even, and books stacked on the floor. You can’t imagine finding anything in this mess. Anything of importance would most likely be hidden in plain sight.

“Is this about the two appointments I missed? Willa, I—”

“Already handled it.” She turns to face you, offering you a teacup. The warmth travels from your hand and spreads to the rest of your body. You didn’t even realize just how cold you are.

“Are you going to fire me now?” The newfound warmth in your body immediately dissipates. You’re not above begging. If it comes down to it, you’ll do anything to keep this job. The sounds of Ramzi’s coughs fill your mind as you continue speaking, “Willa, I have never been late before this—”

“I’m not going to fire you.” She takes a seat on the edge of her desk, some papers falling to the ground as a result. “I just wanted to talk.”

“About?”

She shrugs, placidly, but you’re certain it’s just an act. She’s sitting too rigidly on her desk, and Willa is not the type of person to waste time (time is money, after all), especially just to shoot the shit. Finally, after the protracted silence, she sighs.

“Don’t you wish you could hop on a ship and leave this shithole? Sounds pretty nice, right?”

You allow yourself three seconds of some more wishful thinking, but the idea of ever leaving Marley and having a life that’s better than the one you’re currently living right now seems so out of reach, your mind can’t even wrap around such an idea.

“Wherever I go, I’d still be me.”

“It’s a total hypothetical, [Name]. What if you ran away and had a whole new identity?” Her green eyes are very sharp. Actually, every feature of Willa is pointed and sharp. Depending on the lighting, she either looks delicate like a doll or downright dangerous.

“What’s the point? What’s the point of living if you’re not yourself?”

She smiles at you, almost like the two of you are sharing some intimate secret.

“I should probably go.” You tell her. You didn’t make this trip just to leave the brothel with empty pockets. There’s only so many hours left in the night. “Thanks for the tea.”

You set the cup back on the small table crammed in the corner of her office. You didn’t even take a single sip.

Your hair is a matted, tangled mess, some strands sticking to your sweaty face. Regular customers range from the dregs of society to silent men who like to think themselves unemotional and cold but fuck with a vigor and passion that has them grunting out the name of the woman they truly wished was under them. For the most part, you don’t mind the men who fuck you with this sort of detached lust.

Some nights, it’s even mildly entertaining.

Tonight, it just hurts.

It’s like every man who stumbles into your room tonight has a lover in his head. Lover might be too sweet of a word, though. You can’t picture any of these men being loving, but sometimes, you can hear it in their distressed groans. Something animalistic and wounded, filled with want and desire.

You wonder what the big fucking deal is. If you’re infatuated — even foolish enough to think yourself in love — with somebody, why are you paying to have sex with someone else? What’s stopping them from pursuing these women freely? The fact that they’re losers?

Your pessimistic thoughts give way to something more personal, though. When you’re left to sit in the silence after hearing the nonstop exclamations of every woman’s name but your own — each of them said in such a desperate, longing manner, it was probably a love confession — you realize that only a select few people outside the refugee camp know your name.

You stare at your door, willing it to open.

Hoping. Wanting. Waiting.

Just like every other night this past week, just like every other night that followed after you acted just as foolish as these men and whispered your name to him, he doesn’t show up.

You sink into your mattress.

Hope’s going to kill you before anything else gets the chance.

Colt stares at his reflection in the barracks’ bathroom. There’s a tiny crack running down the mirror that hangs over the sink he used to wet his toothbrush and rinse his mouth — the one with the perpetual leaky faucet — and the constant drip drip drip of water slowly plopping down in the discolored porcelain does nothing to ease his nerves.

Tonight is his first night of renewed freedom.

There’s little to no trace of the sparring match from two weeks ago. Claire had been right in her assessment: there is no lasting scar from the cut. He feels himself tracing the areas on his cheek where the bruises formed. There’s nothing left of them, now, but he can trick himself into feeling the ghost of your touch when he does this.

The only good thing to come out of not seeing you for two weeks is that he has considerably much more money saved up, allowing him to purchase more of your time.

The crack in the mirror travels from the upper-right hand edge down to the lower left-hand corner. It’s jagged, but faint; just enough to distort his reflection, make it look like he’s some messed up puzzle where the two pieces aren’t aligned right yet. His haircut came courtesy of his enlistment, so it’s no surprise to him when he finds he can’t style it in any other way besides the military guideline approved gelled parting. It usually doesn’t matter, considering he’s either on base or hiding his hair underneath a helmet, but now he’s standing in this cold bathroom, hyper aware of his looks.

He knows that he’s considered to be handsome. Handsome in a rather generic way, he thinks. He holds none of the rugged appeal some of the girls claim Porco possesses, nor does he hold the same amount of inviting charm Michael seems to waste, since every time he manages to attract a girl, he opens his mouth and they start running in the other direction. His looks are nothing special. This realization wouldn’t bother him on any other day, but when he’s spent two weeks thinking about reuniting with you, in all his plain glory, he feels like heading back to his room and never seeing the light of day again.

But he’s a soldier, a Warrior Candidate, the next inheritor of the Beast Titan. He brought pride to his family, proved to everyone that he was at least someone worth giving a damn about, and—

—he wants to see you again.

Wanting is proof that he is human. Animals survive on a basis of need. They eat the food that they can hunt because they need to survive. They burrow into holes in the ground or sleep on rocks because they need to survive. They claw at each other, spitting mad, snarling, sharp teeth, bloody paws, all because they need to survive. A textbook from his childhood, a textbook still included in Falco’s curriculum, states that Eldians are more animal than human.

Colt is aware that he’s done lots of things for the sake of survival, out of need, but there is something wonderfully human that continues to live inside of him, an ache in his body that can only be relieved by giving into his wants.

He thinks back to earlier this week, when Zeke calls for him so they can toss a baseball back and forth to each other. Colt always gets the feeling that Zeke is in a perpetual state of holding back. He’ll talk to Colt and make the occasional joke, drops an insignificant anecdote from his earlier years, all of which are scraps that Colt clings to because it won’t be long until Zeke isn’t here anymore. He’s well aware of how morbid it sounds, but Colt doesn’t view death in the disgusting, grotesque way most people do. He’s sappy. He softens it, like how he softens most things. He likens it to a well-earned rest.

He collects these little bits and pieces of information from Zeke so that at least his memory won’t be buried in the grave with him. He accidentally lets this slip out when they’re done tossing the baseball, and they’re just leaning against the brick ball, enjoying a break away from the other soldiers.

Zeke had asked him why he cares so much, and after getting his answer, Zeke fumbles around in his front pocket, procuring a lighter and a cigarette.

After lighting it and taking a long drag, he tells Colt, “You’re a good person, you know.”

Zeke isn’t the type of guy who says things just to flatter people. In fact, most of the Warriors seem to go out of their way to push their luck and see what types of out of pocket things they can get away with saying. Porco tops all of them, easily.

“Thank you,” Colt isn’t good at dealing with praise. Most of the superior officers here aren’t keen on giving compliments to Eldian soldiers, and so Colt gets used to savoring the silence in between insults.

“But, you know that memories get inherited, too, right? Can’t remember if they wrote it in the damn textbook or if I mentioned it to you before.”

“Both.” Colt answers. He remembers, because the camaraderie of it all had sounded so appealing to a young Colt. Later, he realizes that it’s because all blessings come attached with a curse; unimaginable power and a means to do right by the people you love and your state, but you die shortly after. Maybe it’s only fair that memories get passed down, to make up for all the memories you won’t ever get to make.

“So, what’s the point in trying to remember all the stuff I tell you?”

The rough exterior of the bricks digs into Colt’s back. “What if not all memories get transferred over? Maybe the ones I remember on your behalf don’t pass over, but since I know them, they get to live on.”

Zeke appears to be thoughtful for a minute, letting the words sink in, soak him straight to the bone. “Can’t argue with that.” Zeke can actually argue quite well; Colt knows this. What Zeke means to say is that he doesn’t want to argue. Zeke digs into his pocket, pulls out a carton, and offers it up to Colt.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Good for you. Don’t start.” The advice seems insincere, since Zeke tosses the butt of his cigarette to the ground and immediately lights up another one.

Maybe if he had regenerative abilities and didn’t have to worry about black lungs, Colt would also try out smoking. Probably not. His mother is always reminding him to take care of himself and taking up Zeke on his offer of cigarettes would feel like a betrayal to her.

Zeke is no stranger to smoking. Colt would go so far as to call it an addiction, what with the way his fingers seem to always naturally find their way to a lighter and a cigarette. The smell of smoke clings to his jacket, and you can occasionally see him reflexively twitch his fingers when he’s gone too long without a smoke.

Colt wonders what would happen if he goes too long without seeing you again. Would his knee bounce anxiously? Would his hands clench and unclench, just from the strain of having to resist the urge to run to your side? He’s not familiar with such a concept; it feels insane to be reduced to nothing but his wants.

“Do you regret starting?” Colt nods to the cigarette burning in Zeke’s hand.

“Not really, no.”

The crunch of gravel being grinded underneath his boots, the way the tiny embers of a persistent flame clinging to the cigarette are immediately extinguished, just from one well-aimed stomp from Zeke, had Colt excusing himself to prepare for his meeting with you.

Thinking back on this, thinking about how Zeke showed no regret over his addiction, his reliance, his sole source of relief, Colt finds the courage to walk out the bathroom and head to the red light district.

“And then he fucking coughed on me!” Alize is an animated storyteller. You can see the disgusted look on her face, almost as if she’s reliving the very scene she’s describing in horrifying detail for you all. As one of the only Eldians working here, Alize gets some of the worst clients. The type to fetishize her for the armband she’s mandated to wear.

“No!” Margaret gasps, like she is oh-so shocked at such a thing happening, even though this is a very tame thing in comparison to a lot of the situations everyone encounters. All the girls sitting in the circle are laughing, and it feels good, truly, to have a chance to gather like this and rehash traumatic events together like girls gossiping at a sleepover. If you can’t make fun of it, what’s the point of enduring it?

Nadia is sitting next to you, back slightly hunched, knees pulled up to her chest so her little chin can rest atop them. She’s not laughing, and she’s not sharing her own stories.

“Why don’t we ever share any good stories?” You ask, and that brings up another round of laughter. Good? In this place? Get real.

But when you’re surrounded by these girls, sitting close together, enjoying each other’s company, it’s almost easy to forget that anything bad has happened here. You want Nadia to see that.

“I’m being serious, come on. All of us can remember at least one good story.”

“Well, there was that one guy who used to come in and dress me up in lingerie. Brand new panties and bras every week; the good stuff, too. I’m talking lace.” Margaret leans in to the circle when she says this, and everyone’s hooked. Lacy lingerie? That’s a luxury.

“Mags, that’s not a good story! His wife caught him spending all his paychecks on playing dirty dress-up with you, and she came down here, causing an absolute ruckus!” Delia feels most passionately about this because she happened to be in the lobby when the man’s wife came around, and then got accused of being “that whore.” Delia never lets Margaret forget that she took a slap to the face for her; as if Margaret would ever forget that.

“You know what I’m not hearing? Anything good.” You point out.

“What are you looking for? A fucking love story?” Alize snickers, before you make eye contact with her, subtly letting your eyes flicker to a hopeless looking Nadia. Alize understands immediately.

“You know, there is that rumor about that one girl who met her husband here.” Alize starts but is immediately met with interjections.

“Not this again—”

“Get real, Ali—”

“Shut up! I’m telling the story, here, aren’t I?” Alize gives everyone in the circle a warning stare before continuing. “He was a businessman.”

“Okay, businessmen are the worst, I don’t—” You knock your body against Margaret’s, effectively getting her to quiet down so Alize can actually finish her story before you all have to head to your separate rooms to get to work.

“And he wasn’t looking for love, by the way. Don’t get it twisted, girls. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that men don’t come to girls like us with the game plan of meeting their one true love. Got it?” The reminder seems to be aimed at Nadia, who begins to peek out of her shell at the word “love.”

“So, this businessman, he ends up at this place because he’s new to the area and some cab driver totally screwed him over. Pulled right outside our lovely little area of the city and robbed him! Now, he’s broke, but looks way too good to be in an area like this. And our girl, Nadia—” The name of the girl who gets the happy ending always changes. No one has any idea how this rumor started; apparently, it always happens to be right before the time the oldest girl at the brothel started. By the time people start requesting for someone to tell this story, it’s usually not for their sake, but for pulling out some other girl from the darkness of this place. Nadia is definitely latching on, allowing herself to be rescued. Even if the story is just a fantasy, it’s still better than wallowing in a pit of despair.

“—she spots him. She’s about to head to our little club here until she spots him. He looked so out of place and like easy pickings. If she didn’t approach him, who knows where he’d be?”

“Dead in a ditch, probably,” A voice pipes up, followed by quiet giggles.

“Naked, too. You know they would’ve robbed him for anything he had.” Margaret adds in, resulting in another round of laughter. You smile at her response; she’s not wrong.

“Well, isn’t he just so lucky to have met Nadia, then! Anyway, Nadia finds this hopeless case of a man and is like, ‘you’re not from around here, are you?’ and he goes, ‘what gave it away?’, and she says, ‘you’re not unzipping your pants at the sight of me.’ Oh, Nadia. What a class act she was.” Alize sighs. “She takes him to the brothel and lets him go straight to her room, and she tells him, ‘you can spend the night here.’ Of course, he’s a businessman. He knows nothing in life is free. So he asks her, ‘what’ll it cost me?’ And she tells him a price that’s worth three nights of work! He agrees to it, but tells her he doesn’t have any money to pay her right away. Now, Nadia is a little risk taker, because me personally? I’m not doing a damn thing for a broke man under this roof. But she trusts him! Guess he had that type of straight and narrow look about him. Only, instead of sleeping, he strikes up a conversation with her!”

“Now that’s unrealistic.” Delia mutters under her breath. “What kind of a man just wants to talk?”

“And they stayed up all night just talking, and the businessman and Nadia both have never felt so seen by someone else. So, she sends back to the nice side of town, and he comes back during the night with twice as much money as he promised. He starts visiting her every night, bringing her gifts and whatnot, and on the last day he’s about to leave town, he shows up with a ring and, well… It’s a good story. We all know how it ends.” Alize waves her hand in the air like she can’t be bothered to tell the rest. “Clearly there’s hope for us all. Especially you.” Alize reaches over to gently poke Nadia’s leg. “Maybe our little Nadia will meet a nice businessman.”

She no longer looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up, but it’s not a fairytale from Alize that Nadia is searching for. She looks up at you, searching hard for any dishonesty when she asks you, “Has anything good happened to you here?”

You’ve come to terms with the fact that Colt is never coming back. Even thinking about his name fills you with regret because you gave up a part of yourself that was supposed to remain forever locked away in your ribcage. You haven’t thrown out the ointment or the socks yet; not because you’re sentimental, but because you’re not wasteful. Both items are kept buried in your trunk, though, underneath piles of your more familiar, more worn out pieces of clothing. Pretending that Colt has never walked into your life would protect your heart and state of mind. Admitting to the kindness he showed you would keep Nadia going. You already know what you’re going to say.

“There used to be a soldier who would visit me and all we would ever do is talk. He didn’t even want to lay in bed.” You can hear surprised whispers from the other girls, but you focus only on Nadia. “He brought me socks and ointment for a bruise I didn’t even tell him I had. He just…had a way of noticing things.”

Nadia is raised within the same cultural environment as your own. Her eyes only further widen at the mention of the gifts he brought you. “And food? Did he bring you food?”

It sounds silly to the Eldian girls in the room, but you can feel the watchful eyes of your neighbors. You shake your head. “No.”

“Not yet.” This is the most certain Nadia has ever sounded about anything. “But he will. I know he will.”

“Get ready, girls!” Willa knocks on the door, signaling to them that the fun is over. It’s time to go to work.

Before everyone can file out, little Nadia grabs your wrist, making sure you stay to hear what she has to say. Everyone is trying to be polite, but they are noticeably crowding around the door but not actually exiting.

“So then the next story girls tell when they want to talk about love will be yours. At least it’ll be a real story this time, too.”

Willa doesn’t enter your room, but she does let you know that someone has booked you for the whole night.

Pro: guaranteed money.

Con: only a real freak would do that.

You’re not sure what to expect, but you do prepare yourself for the worst.

If you survived everything before this, you can survive this.

You repeat the mantra in your head until you get sick of it, and by the time the door swings on its hinges, you are nothing but calm and collected.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Fresh, clean, and looking even better than your memories cited him to be, Warrior Candidate Colt is standing in your room.

“Hi, honey,” you greet him, same as you would anybody else. There’s a sadistic sort of satisfaction that settles in your system when you see a wounded expression on his healed-up face. The sad puppy dog eyes he unknowingly gives you is almost enough to shatter your resolve.

Good stories don’t come from places like these. There is no man looking for love here. Don’t act like a child and hang on to some stupid hope.

“Hi,” he says, and it sounds like how people who have their heads underwater for a prolonged period of time gasp for air the moment they’re able to have their head above the surface. Like he needs air, like life is being shot right back into his system. Like how the men from those nights before had groaned those women’s names.

“You plan on just standing there the whole night?” Like a good hostess, you pat down the empty space on the bed next to you. He swallows hard, eyeing the bed, staring at it like he’s remembering the last time he was in here with you.

“If that’s what you want me to do.”

There he goes again, with the wanting, with the letting you take control. You want to ask him why he left you alone for two weeks, but that still won’t account for why it hurt you so much. You want him to tell you that he’s sorry, but you know he doesn’t owe you an apology. He’s technically nothing to you, or at least, he should be. You want him to sit down on this bed so you can play with his perfect hair and admire his perfect face and play pretend that this is the type of good story where the man loves the woman, and everything ends happily. You want, you want, you want.

But that’s not the role you decided on. You are not The Girl Who Wants. You’re a prostitute who calls people honey and doesn’t form any emotional attachments to the men who walk into this room. This character — she knows nothing about bruise ointment and thick socks, the fear of seeing his bruised face, the peacefulness of him sleeping soundly in the bed, the gentle way he whispered your name in the dark, half-asleep but determined to say it still. The curve of his lips, the smile on his features after he said it — none of that has happened to her.

“Oh, come on, honey. Don’t be shy.” You cock your head, looking at him and wishing to see nothing but a stranger in his place. “Don’t tell me it’s your first time?”

Oh, Colt realizes. So this is what it’s like to be stabbed.

He wonders if he was so insignificant to you that he truly didn’t make a lasting impression. The faint memory of his hair being played with, the careful way you applied the ointment, everything, was all just a fleeting moment in time. What he has spent time savoring, clinging onto, reaching for, has meant nothing.

“I should go.” He blurts out, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

What would this character do? Let him go? Let him walk out and celebrate how you have a peaceful night to yourself and you’re getting paid? Tease him?

“Um, before I do, I just wanted to give you this.” He pulls out a plain black box. When he walks over to hand it to you, you instantly feel the smoothness of the fabric. It’s velvet. Expensive, and it’s not even the gift, just the case it’s in. “If you don’t like it, I can always return it.” He cannot. The jeweler on base had been very adamant that he does not do returns. Kids in the military fancy the idea of marrying young, but if the jeweler accepted every returned ring and necklace that came his way, he wouldn’t have money, just refurbished jewelry. Who the hell wants to buy a returned engagement ring? The jeweler had asked him. Sounds like a fuckin’ curse.

Inside the case is a simple silver watch. It has a thin band, with a tiny face, but it’s shiny and pretty, and it looks way too nice. You hesitantly remove it from the case, only to realize that it has some weight to it, too. Clearly, this wasn’t cheap.

You look up at him, shocked, surprised. You know you hurt him and if you felt bad for your treatment of him before, you feel infinitely worse now.

“Time seems very important.” He explains, sometimes staring at his polished shoes as if he’s never seen them before, sometimes letting his eyes flicker up towards your face, almost like he wants to gauge your reaction. “I figured a watch would be useful. To track time. To make sure that no one wastes yours, or tries to claim that they spent less time than they actually did—”

“I love it.” You tell him.

There’s that pleasant warm feeling he gets inside of him every time you praise him. You like — no, love — something he’s picked out for you! He wants to launch into the story of how he got it, tell you how he spent two hours in that store trying to get it just right, how he’s happy that you like it because he can’t return it. He doesn’t, though. He just gives you a small smile and is about to head back to base until you ask him,

“Why were you gone for so long?”

You’re in a tiny room, and yet, you want to make your voice even tinier. You say the words like you’re scared they’re going to come alive and punch you in the face. If there is one person in the world who wouldn’t use how small you feel against you, it’s the soldier standing right in front of you.

He drops to his knees immediately.

“Oh.” He looks like he wants to reach for you, to cradle your face. It’s a military feat, the type of self-restraint he possesses. All those years of depriving himself, of telling himself he’s not allowed to want, are suddenly paying off. “No, no, I swear to you I didn’t stop showing up because I didn’t want to see you anymore. After the last time I was here, I missed curfew, and my commanding officer wouldn’t give me permission to leave until today. Please, look at me.” The last sentence comes out all strangled and pained, like if you don’t, he might just do something stupid, like run out into traffic.

It is an odd feeling to be the one who looks down on someone for once. He’s so tall, even on his knees and even with you sitting upright on the bed, his eyes are still practically level with your own. Sincere.

That’s what he is.

You can tell just by looking into his eyes. He may stutter and choke on his words, but his eyes tell you enough. He is pleading with you, he is searching for forgiveness that he should have never needed in the first place, he is everything.

“Colt.” You remember thinking to yourself, how would it feel to hear someone say your name with such rampant desire? You should’ve been wondering, how does it feel to be the one who desires?

You say his name, and he knows it means forgiveness. You say his name, and he knows it means want. You say his name, and he knows it means something, but he doesn’t dare to dream so big, not yet.

“You forgive me?”

It’s hard to say no to someone who looks like that. With the way he’s staring up at you, all hopeful and earnest, you realize that he truly has no idea of his effect on people.

“Help me put this watch on, soldier. Pretty please?” You get to swing your feet a little, happily extending out your wrist so he can wrap the watch around it for you.

“Too tight?” He asks you, brows furrowed, focused on the dainty piece. You’ve never realized just how big his hands are. One of these nights, you’re going to convince him to let you take a finger and trace the whole entire expanse of his broad hands.

Colt handles things gently. You wonder if it’s hard to be so soft and caring all the time, especially when he so clearly has a soldier’s hand. All rough calluses and thick fingers. Maybe being soft and caring is just in his nature. His chemical makeup is all sugar.

“Nope. It’s perfect as is.”

He clasps it for you, a tiny, satisfying click locking it in place. He takes a seat next to you on the bed, and it creaks under his weight.

“Did you really think I just left you?” He sounds hurt, and once again, the overwhelming feeling of not being a very nice person comes back to hit you in the face.

You try to think of how to properly word it in a way that wouldn’t make him feel any worse.

“In my line of work, it’s usually the man that does the leaving. I’ll still always be here, so I guess that makes it easier to find me if they ever decide to come back.” You shrug, like it’s just that simple. Judging by the wounded look on his face, it’s clear that you weren’t successful in your task to not make him feel any worse.

Colt normally doesn’t have an issue with speaking without thinking. He’s always been held to a much higher standard than any of his other peers, and he’s always used to treading carefully. But he can’t seem to help himself whenever he’s around you; you look at him, and all his carefully constructed self-restraint evaporates.

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to leave you.”

You think back to your group of giggling girls — sisters, or at least, the closest thing you will ever get — and how it’s in all of your instincts to look out for one another.

Be careful of the smooth talkers, Alize always warns you all. They seem like they’re the nicest men you’ll ever meet. They’ll fatten you up with sweet kisses and hope, only to let you down in the end. You’ll say, ‘but Alize! He would never hurt me in the same way all these other men do!’, and I’ll tell you right now, he might not hit you or choke you or even call you filthy names, but no matter what he does, he’s going to find a way to disappoint you. To reveal that he is not sweet.

And that betrayal is going to hurt the worst.

Just a couple of days with Colt, and his absence left you desperate, lonely. Who’s to say that he just won’t leave you again? You search his eyes, looking for a hint of dishonesty, for uncertainty, for boredom — anything that will tell you that he doesn’t mean what he said. That he’s just talking. That this is all just a game, a soldier wanting to stir up a different kind of war.

Survival instincts, a choice to be made: fight or flight.

You’ve seen your fair share of handsome men. Believe it or not, attractive people frequent brothels too. You don’t normally make a habit of studying your clients, but Colt’s face is so close to your own, and the last time you had a chance to look at him in such close proximity, he had clearly just lost a fight.

The tall bridge of his nose is slightly crooked, noticeable only when you stare at him too closely and for too long. It looks like it was broken and the doctor hadn’t cared to make sure he was even straightening the bone when he fixed it. The tips of his blond hair hang over his forehead, casting tiny shadows, adding dimension to his face. His eyes aren’t the plain brown they appear to be. There are tiny flecks of lighter hues, almost golden, little rays of sunlight filtering his point of view.

You don’t want to go about life always in a constant state of survival. You want to live.

“And are you? Going to leave?” A challenge. A soldier pulling back the safety on her gun, hands shaking, but the barrel is still pointed straight at him. Finger on the trigger.

“Only if you want me to.”

Disarmed.

Colt’s finishing up a retelling of his first kiss. You think it’s cute how he gets so easily embarrassed, and it doesn’t help that you keep asking questions he doesn’t anticipate, prolonging the story.

“Was she cute?” You ask. You’re laying on your belly, body spread comfortably over the mattress. Colt resigns himself to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce. The floor must be cold and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, and it makes you wonder about his training.

You think about Colt’s life a lot. He’s the most open and honest person you’ve ever encountered, and sometimes, you forget that all you have to do is ask him, and he’ll tell you.

“She was considered to be pretty, yes.”

“Diplomatic answer!” You point at him, laughing. Happy. “Did you think she was cute?”

“I did.” He says, looking down immediately after, playing absentmindedly with a piece of lint on the floor.

“You did? Well, gee, what happened to her?” Colt doesn’t seem like the type to judge based on physical appearance. You think about Willa’s scars, and then picture them on your face. Would Colt still look at you the same way if your face’s flaws were staring back at him, head on?

“Nothing. She’s actually married now.”

“Oh. So you don’t have a thing for married women?” That seems like the type of respectful mannerisms Colt would possess. The more time you spend with him, the more you realize that he truly is a good man. Not for glory, not for praise, but good for the sake of being good.

“Sure.” He doesn’t tell you that no woman looks attractive to him after he’s seen you. It would sound sappy, or even worse, disingenuous. “Let’s go with that.”

You narrow your pretty eyes at him, almost like you’re trying to appear stern, to get him to give in and tell you the full answer. Instead, you relax your face, the left side of your cheek pressed against your arm as you stare at him sideways. “I bet you’ve been with a lot of pretty girls.” It’s supposed to be a teasing remark, but to your ears, you are nervously aware of the hints of jealousy creeping in your tone.

“My bunkmates will have you believing that.” It’s a running joke within the soldiers to make fun of Colt. One year, a list got exposed, where the girls in all the units voted on who they thought was the most handsome soldier. Colt had won by a pretty wide margin. A landslide victory. He had stayed hidden in his room, only leaving when absolutely necessary, for a whole week.

“Tell me about your first girlfriend.”

“I never had one.” Admitting it out loud to you makes him feel like a loser.

“So you’re a—”

“No!” He’s blushing. “I—”

“You totally seduce women into warming your bed every night, and then you kick them out! You probably don’t even wait ‘til the morning! You make them leave right after you’re finished!” The exaggerated accusation makes you laugh, and you can’t stop because the horrified, distressed look on his face is so cute, it’s so obvious that what you said is far from the truth. The satisfaction you feel from Colt’s unchanging relationship status makes you feel gross, like you’re an awful person for taking pleasure in having him all to yourself.

You’re aware, of course, that the two of you haven’t even touched, save for your fingers on his face that one night. In the future, Colt is probably going to marry some beautiful, blushing bride, and he will have forgotten all about you. Foolishly, you cast aside those self-preserving thoughts, the ones that warn you not to get too attached. It’s been so long since you didn’t have to share with anyone else; who can blame you for wanting to take all of Colt’s attention?

“I would never!” He exclaims, his indignation endearing.

As stoic as your soldier appears to be, you know the truth: Colt is a reactive person. You can read him from the way his brows are furrowed, or from the rush of blood and heat to his cheeks and ears, or even from the imperceptible movements of his fingers, of his hands. Colt is one hundred percent alive — full of life. Brimming with it. Overflowing with it, and sometimes, you get lucky, and you get to snatch up some of the excess, jar it, save it on the cold, dark nights where he can’t come and see you.

“I know.” You’re smiling at him.

In fact, you would tell him that you’re damn near certain that he gets a big fat A-plus for aftercare. You can tell how a man will treat you by how he handles everything else. Colt is careful with his hands, with sure and steady movements, and he treats fragile things gently. You think about how it felt to have the tips of his calloused fingers brush against the palm of your hand when he brought you the ointment, how it felt like a shot of adrenaline.

Feeling pity for him, you toy with the threadbare sheet underneath your body. You want to look him in the eyes when you tell him this, so he knows you’re not just playing coy or teasing him. You want to fill him up with the same sincerity he seems to effortlessly give to you.

Colt is deceptively cute; with his flushed expression and defensive stance on his character, it is too easy to overlook the fact that he’s a soldier, built for battle, bred for war.

Being honest is scary. You don’t know how he manages it every second of his life.

“I’ve never been kissed before.”

Colt doesn’t know what to say to that. You don’t even know what you’re expecting him to say.

“I hope it’s good. When you do get kissed.” He tells you. “You deserve to have it be good.”

Oh. You didn’t know that this was what you wanted to hear until he went out and said it.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Pieck says, with her body draped all sorts of way across the couch. Lounging. Like a cat, Colt thinks.

Porco pokes her back, and she shoots him a lazy, half-assed glare with no real venom behind it. “You’re takin’ up all the space on the couch.”

“I just got back from an assignment. This feels comfortable.” As if doubling-down on her decision, Pieck shimmies her body, getting more settled in. Colt feels like she’ll sink into the cushions if they leave her unattended.

Porco grumbles something, and then speaks up when he asks, “What’s the point of going out for drinks anyway?”

“It’ll boost morale.” Pieck says. “We captured an enemy port, and soldiers were sent back home. Might as well go out and celebrate.”

“The port we captured was tiny and not worth a damn.” Porco points out.

Pieck ignores this very factual statement. “All the Eldian units will be going out tonight. There’s no harm in attending.”

“Whose idea was this, anyway? For all we know, this is a Marleyan officer’s ploy to get most of us too drunk off our asses to notice them ushering us into a navy ship so they can shoot us out of cannons.”

At the beginning of the Mid-East War, Marleyan citizens were hopeful that this would be a conflict resolved swiftly and succinctly. With the two year anniversary and no end in sight, the effects of war are starting to settle in the country. More posters are being hung up about not wasting food or precious resources, more colorful pamphlets filled with propaganda are being delivered to schoolhouses, and every week, organizations are taking up donations to help cover military costs. If Porco doesn’t shut up, a Marleyan officer might hear and take him up on the offer; it’ll save on ammunition costs, at least.

Seeing Porco’s stance on the invitation (a pretty obvious rejection), Pieck turns her attention to Colt. “You know, there are some Eldian nurses who would like to meet you.”

“He has a girlfriend. I told you this already!” Porco interjects.

“Is that true?” She asks Colt. “You have a girlfriend?”

Now Porco’s staring at him. Colt feels very much like he’s being put on the spot, and he doesn’t enjoy this feeling one bit.

“Well, she’s a girl. And I would say we’re friends.”

Porco groans. “Don’t be so pathetic, Grice.”

If Pieck was feeling up to it, she would have slapped Porco on Colt’s behalf. Instead, she tosses him a lifeline. “You could bring her to the bar. Girlfriend or friend that’s a girl; whatever she is. It’ll probably help you out if your plan is to not get approached by girls tonight.”

Colt latches on, grateful. “Sure. I’ll ask her.”

He does ask you, albeit not as smoothly as he initially plans on. He wants to toss out the question, all casual-like, like no big deal, but I was wondering if you wanted to get drinks with my friends and fellow soldiers?

What ends up happening is that he starts rambling. Somewhere between his nervous declaration that “it’s entirely your choice, and I don’t want you to feel obligated” and his speedrun of his relationship with everyone attending (“Porco only sounds like that, but he’s a nice guy when he tries, so just don’t take anything he says to heart”), you laugh.

He doesn’t know what it means to you, the fact that he doesn’t mind being seen with you. In front of, not just strangers, but people that he actually sees when the sun is up.

“Well, with a business pitch like that, how could I say no? What night are you taking me?”

“It’s tonight.” Colt says, and you just stare at him, like he’s from a different planet. “Does tonight not work for you?” He knows that he bought all your time for tonight, just in the hopes that you would say yes.

“I’m not dressed appropriately to go out to a bar and meet all your friends!” You point at your nightdress, the almost-translucent gown that would glow in the moonlight, if only you actually had a window in this room. The clothes that you wear on your way to the brothel are folded neatly in your dresser next to the bed, but somehow those feel like rags compared to what you’re sure his friends and their girlfriends are going to be wearing.

“I could walk you home first, and you could change.” He suggests helpfully, but the idea of Colt stepping foot in your camp only serves to add to your panic.

“No!” You wince when you realize how loud you got, how harsh it sounds. “No, we can’t go to my place. My brother is probably sleeping, and I don’t want to bother him.” Again, it’s not a lie. But as the weeks go by, as months pass by, you are aware that you are falling deeper and deeper into Colt’s pull. Having him stand inside your home feels too intimate, like you’ll be past the point of no return if this were to happen.

“That’s okay.” He tells you. “I don’t care what we do. I just want to spend time with you.”

Right when you think he can’t pull you any deeper, he says something — says it so sincerely, too — that grabs you by your ankle and tugs you back to his side. You let yourself get pulled away.

“I have a change of clothes here.” You say, pulling open the dresser drawer. Colt looks like he’s about to say something, but then you start yanking your current nightgown over your head, and after taking it off yourself completely, you’re still only met with silence.

His back is turned to you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, daring to step a couple steps towards him, even going so far as to brush your fingers against his shoulder, a silent plea for him to turn around.

“No.” The word comes out sounding tight and tense.

“Colt, did I do something wrong?”

He shuts his eyes even tighter, willing himself not to turn around. The ghost of your touch lingers on the surface of his shoulder, and the flash of skin he glimpsed at before he realized you were undressing lives rent-free in his mind. Are you still undressed right now? The thought of you being near naked, saying his name so sweetly, is torturous.

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong at all.” He breathes out. He tries to focus on mundane things. He tries to think about the slop they served for lunch on base. He tries to think about tossing a baseball back and forth with Zeke. He thinks about Porco, who chews with his mouth open and burps without warning.

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

You do something to him. He doesn’t know what, isn’t sure if there’s a word in the dictionary that would properly describe it, but you do.

“You’re getting undressed. It wouldn’t be…proper of me to look.”

You didn’t think hearts could feel this way, with this tightness that surely isn’t good for your health. He says the silliest things sometimes, and it gives your tummy a nervous, fluttering feeling. All the men who have seen you naked don’t even know your name. Colt is standing here, knowing more about you than all of those men combined, and he won’t even look at your body. You wonder if he would turn around if you asked him to.

You wonder if you want him to.

Scared of what your answer might be, you’re quick to throw on the dress you originally left the house with, awkwardly smoothing it down even though you don’t think there are any wrinkles.

“You can look now.”

He turns around slowly, almost like he’s afraid that you’re tricking him, but then he takes you in. Takes in the faded yellowness of the dress, and the peek of white cotton that sticks out from your shoes because the socks stop right above your ankle. He likes seeing you dressed in colors, he decides. If this is how good you look in the dark, he can only imagine seeing you in the daylight. You’d have him frozen in the middle of the street with just a single glance, he reckons.

“You’re beautiful.”

He says this, and it strips you naked. Not in a way that you’re used to, either. You feel seen, like he sees everything about you and still isn’t disgusted. You’ve been called a lot of things, but never beautiful. You think you could continue living in this wretched brothel for the rest of your life with just the memory of this high to keep you going.

“So, you’re the girlfriend,”

You know, instinctively, that this is the “Porco” Colt had attempted to warn you about. You adjust the thick jacket hanging on your shoulders. It’s a cold night and a long walk from the district to the bar; you don’t know how Colt didn’t freeze to death in just the thin long sleeve he wears underneath his military uniform.

“Is that what he told you? That I’m his girlfriend?”

“Not explicitly. But it was implied.” Porco does not mention that it was certainly not implied, but rather was an idea that he kept forcing upon Colt, and really, no one likes arguing with Porco. It’s best to just go along with whatever he says and hope he gets bored and leaves you alone.

“It was not implied,” someone new enters the conversation, taking the stool next to Porco. She’s a very pretty girl. A flash of white-hot envy burns in your heart, sizzles down to your stomach, makes you hyper-aware of your body and sense of self. She’s sporting a red armband, same as Porco.

“Hi.” She smiles at you, soft and incredibly friendly. “I’m Pieck.”

You smile back, too afraid to open your mouth and accidentally say something wrong. Colt is on the other side of the bar, trying to calm down the rowdy soldiers who are all repeatedly screaming at him to take a shot. They had dragged him away from you the moment the two of you entered the bar together, and he shot you such a panicked look that you realized you would have to be the strong one and remain calm.

As if feeling your gaze on him, he turns around. Locking eyes with him from so far away, in such a public space, makes this feel even more real. The weight of his jacket keeps you grounded, makes you not slip off the stool because you’ve never seen him look at you so intensely.

“Shot! Shot! Shot!” Cheers erupt from the crowd of soldiers as they gleefully watch Colt finally take the damn shot. You watch the way he tips his head back, the way his angular jaw seems sharp enough to cut, the way you can see him swallow down the alcohol. The small glass looks impossibly tinier when it’s being held in his hand.

You don’t realize how hard you’re watching him until loud laughter breaks your concentration.

“I can’t believe it! Grice really does have a girlfriend. Or, at least a girl who likes him.” Porco wipes at the corner of his eyes, as if he’s been laughing so hard, tears sprang up. Pieck rolls her eyes at her friend’s antics, mouthing out an I’m sorry, before tugging on Porco’s arm.

“Let’s go. You’re being annoying.” She shoots you an apologetic look. “He’s drunk. And probably jealous. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t exactly get as much attention as Colt.”

“Hey, I’m still here!” He grumbles.

“It was really nice meeting you. I hope we’ll get a chance to meet again.” As she drags Porco away, you catch snippets of their conversation. Mainly from Porco, whose loud voice seems to boom over every other loud noise in this bar.

“She’s not Eldian. What the hell is Grice thinking?”

The warm buzz of happiness from tonight dissipates. Porco isn’t wrong; you aren’t Eldian. This hadn’t seemed like such a major issue up until now, and before you can get up to try and get some fresh air, to regroup and think about what your next move should be, Colt appears.

“Hi.” He says, cheeks pink. He’s been drinking some more. If the soldiers put as much effort into fighting as they do in goading Colt Grice to drink his weight in alcohol, the Mid-East War would have been over a year ago.

“Hi.”

“How are we doin’?” His words come out a little slurred, sliding off his tongue but getting jumbled up together in the process.

“I’m doing fine. I’m not so sure about you, though.” You poke his stomach, but are only met with the feel of hard, taut muscle underneath the fabric of his shirt.

He frowns. “I’m happy you’re here, y’know. But us — how are we doing?”

“I think we’re doing just fine, too.” You gesture to the stool next to you. “Take a seat, soldier. You look like you’re going to fall over any second now.”

He ignores your suggestion, still frowning. “You’re lyin’. What happened?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”

“Every time something’s wrong with us, you make that face.” He shakes his head. “I like everything about your face, don’t get me wrong, but it’s this look you give me. Like you hate starin’ at me, like it makes you sad. And every time you give me that look, you say something, like callin’ me ‘honey.’”

You thought men were supposed to be oblivious creatures. You feel like Colt Grice is the first person to notice everything about you, and you thought you would hate it, the feeling of being utterly exposed, and maybe it would be, if it were anyone else. But it’s Colt. For a soldier, he hasn’t turned anything into a weapon against you yet, and you’re starting to think that maybe he never will.

You decide to be just as unfiltered as he is.

“I’m not Eldian. Your friend pointed it out.”

“Who did?” And then Colt turns around, his movements loose and a bit unsteady. “Who said that to you?”

“It wasn’t an insult, Colt.” You play with the sleeve of his jacket. “He was probably just being realistic.”

“Porco.” Colt says this flatly. “Porco told you that.”

“No, he told it to Pieck when she was dragging him away. I don’t think I was supposed to hear.”

“But you did. And now you’re having second thoughts.”

“I’m not, it’s just—” You tighten his jacket around your shoulders once more, breathing in the familiar scent of the soap he uses. “I wouldn’t fit into your perfect life. I know you’re popular around here, that girls are lining up to date you.” Your sentences come out shaky. Vulnerability sucks. You never want to grapple with it ever again.

“Hey,” he says softly. His hand reaches up to cradle your face. You can feel the warmth of his hand pressed against you, gently tilting your head until you’re staring up at him. His thumb caresses the top of your cheekbone. He thinks you feel softer than you look, and he doesn’t think it’s possible for you to be made out of flesh and bone, like a regular human. He thinks you’re made of something softer, sweeter, otherworldly. Like a cloud, or cotton-candy. He’s so, so scared that he’s going to blink, and you’re going to disappear.

The overwhelming urge of want kicks him right in the stomach. He wants to kiss you, wants to feel the shape of your lips and see how they align with his. He wants to bundle you up in his clothes, this senseless want making his brain act all possessive over you.

“Here I am, thinking I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” His thumb traces your cheek.

You think he’s going to kiss you now. You think you’re not going to stop him.

A loud crash comes from nearby. Two men sitting further down the bar are getting into it now, and as if his body forgets that he’s drunk, Colt moves quickly. He instinctively moves his body in front of yours, shielding you from any potential danger. He assesses the situation, eyes narrowing at how more people seem to want to pile on top of the men.

“I think it’s time we called it a night.” Colt mumbles, helping you off the stool and pressing you to his side as he guides you to safety.

“Do you want me to walk you home? Just to make sure you get there safely. I won’t interrupt your brother’s sleep, or anything.” He asks you, taking special care in making sure that you don’t accidentally trip on anything. It’s dark outside, after all.

“You can just take me back to the brothel. I normally walk back home with the other girls.” You try to stifle your yawn, but of course he notices.

“Let me know if you get too tired. I can carry you back.”

If he kissed you, you would have definitely let him. You would have even kissed him back.

You know it’s supposed to be a cold night, but with his jacket draped over your body, you don’t feel a single breeze.

“Ramzi! Stop throwing stuff around! I just cleaned.” You chastise your brother, refolding his blanket and placing it inside his trunk.

“I don’t get it. Why are you cleaning so much?” He mumbles, crossing his arms and pouting at you. You’re in too good of a mood to let his attitude bother you. Instead, you pinch his cheek, already mourning his future loss of baby fat.

“Because someone is coming over to visit.”

Colt’s jacket is folded neatly, freshly washed and even ironed. The night he took you out to the bar seemed to have solidified your relationship with him, or at least, it eased any leftover doubts you had. Colt Grice is a good man.

And he wants you. You! It’s been a week since the night at the bar, and Colt keeps telling you that he doesn’t need the jacket back, that he doesn’t mind you wearing it, but you’ve been searching for an opportunity to see him again. Rather than just flat-out admitting to him that you want him — trust him enough — to finally see you in the comfort of your own home, you like to mastermind situations, just to test his receptivity.

When you tell him, feigning a nonchalant attitude, that he can stop by the camp and pick up his jacket, you try to gauge his reaction. He can’t even contain his smile, which makes you drop the whole “cool” act and smile right back at him.

Your fingers brushed against his as you passed him the piece of paper detailing where he could find you. Before Colt, you figure you could spend the rest of your life never being touched by another man again and be just fine. After feeling the contact of his skin touching your own, always innocently, always fleeting, all this want started building up in your body. You’re overflowing with yearning. The only consolation you have is knowing that he feels the same way.

Porco is an opinionated person. Colt is well aware of that. Sometimes, it even feels like Porco goes out of his way to be as reactionary as possible, just because he likes to push people’s buttons.

“Did you hear about the Eldian couple that went missing? Brass doesn’t even give a single shit. The officers assigned to the case are just dicking around.”

Occasionally, though, Porco will have a point. The world is most likely ending when that happens.

“I’m not too surprised. Some officers don’t take missing persons reports seriously.” The answer is about as opinionated as Colt dares to get. Ever since childhood, he’s had the sinking feeling that he’s always being watched. For all he knows, the whole entire base is bugged.

Porco makes a disgusted face. “You mean when it comes to missing Eldians, they don’t take the reports seriously.”

Colt doesn’t correct him, which in and of itself is a confirmation of Colt’s stance on the matter. Seeing that complaining about the situation isn’t going to change anything, Porco sighs before continuing to walk alongside him.

“Where’re you going so early in the afternoon? You’re going to miss lunch. Heard it might actually be edible today.”

“I’m visiting someone.”

“The girl.” Porco shakes his head. “When are you gonna give her up, man? I’m not saying it to be an asshole—” That would be a first, Colt thinks. “—but get real. Are you seriously going to mess up everything for a Marleyan girl?” He at least has the decency to whisper the last part, lest the two of them get taken out back to get shot in the head.

“Porco,” Colt says calmly, trying to hold in his laughter. “She’s not Marleyan. She’s a refugee.”

“Well, fuck!” Porco whacks Colt’s shoulder. “Good for you, Grice. Knew you weren’t that stupid.”

Colt certainly feels stupid. He looks over the note you gave him, but no matter how many times he rereads it, he still can’t find your tent.

There are people outside, walking, laughing, kids running and playing make-believe. Honestly, it’s a similar scene as any other neighborhood in Liberio, Eldian or Marleyan. The only difference is that instead of pavement and sidewalks, it’s nothing but green grass and a sparkling lake in the distance. He knows that the living conditions might not be ideal, but taking in the camp and viewing it under the sun, it looks peaceful. Like home.

He can see why you wouldn’t trust just anyone to enter.

He ventures further into the camp, but all the tents seem to blur and blend in with each other. Most are mainly built with some type of white cloth, but the whole place seems to be bursting with color. Different colored curtains dot the landscape. He spots people rolling out intricately designed rugs. He smells spices sizzling in a pan.

He’s acutely aware of the watchful eyes of everyone around him. Colt is no stranger to public scrutiny, but it feels different this time around. He doesn’t want to do anything that would make them hate him. You told him, once, that everyone here knows your name. He knows that that’s important to you, which means that these people are important to you.

Colt pauses, tries to take in his surroundings, ground himself. Maybe word will spread that there’s an idiotic soldier traipsing around people’s backyards, and hopefully it’ll reach your ears and you’ll halt the manhunt for him. A reasonable person would ask someone for help, but he’s aware of how he’s viewed. For all he knows, reaching out would do more harm than good. Believe it or not, he knows when people are scared of him.

“Excuse me, are you looking for someone?” A tiny voice pipes up, and Colt looks down. There’s a girl speaking to him, with wide eyes and a long braid running down her back.

“I am, actually!” Colt places the paper back inside his pocket. “Do you think you can help me?”

“You’re looking for a brothel worker, right?”

Colt wonders if you’ve ever spoken about him to anyone else. He doesn’t need to wonder why he likes the idea of that.

“I am.”

The stares get more intense when he has this girl skipping by his side. She tells him her name, Nadia. He tells her that’s a very nice name, and he means it.

“Did you bring her food?” She asks, sounding eager.

He didn’t, but now he’s thinking he should have. Are you hungry? Is he supposed to bring you food? He had been so excited at the prospect of seeing you, of getting to be with during the day, that he didn’t think much about anything else.

Before he can answer, you’re sticking your head out the tent, smiling brightly.

“Colt!”

Breathless. That’s how he feels.

He thinks you were made to be seen in the sun.

“You found me!” Your smiles come easily when you’re at home. He wants so badly for you to always be like this: happy and carefree.

“Nadia helped.” He nods to where the girl should be standing, but she had already sneaked off the moment she saw you come out. “Should I have brought food?”

“Oh, that’s just… It’s a cultural thing. From our country. Don’t worry about it.” You grab his hand, tugging gently. “Come in, I’ll give you a house tour!”

He follows you, but he’s thinking over your words. Since you told him to specifically not worry about it, Colt knows that he is going to spend many restless nights doing the exact opposite of your request.

The tent is spacious. The way it’s arranged, it’s comfortable to stand in, even without fear of your head hitting the ceiling. The carpet cushions the hard packed earth underneath, and there’s a wooden table in the middle. You’re watching him closely, trying to catch the first signs of disappointment or disgust, but all you see is pure curiosity.

“Well, one thing ruins the whole place.” He says, shaking his head like he’s sad he has to say this. “It’s so ugly, I can’t believe you left it in here.” He picks up his jacket, wrinkling his nose. “Seriously, I’m surprised you didn’t toss this outside.”

You laugh, relief flooding through your veins. “You’re the most unserious soldier I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t believe that. I’ve seen the state of our military.” He slings his spare jacket over one shoulder. He’s not sure what you had planned for today, but he’s hoping you want to spend it with him.

“They should make you their leader, then. I think you’d straighten them all out.” Reaching for his hand comes naturally to you, and he doesn’t ever say anything when you slip your fingers in between his. Walking back out to camp, Ramzi comes barreling towards the two of you.

“Ramzi, what’s wrong?” You immediately crouch down to hug your brother, who’s gasping and panting for breath.

“You can’t marry this soldier! You can’t!” Peeking his head out from the embrace you have him in, Ramzi’s eyes narrow at Colt.

“Ramzi!” You pull back, shocked. You’re clearly embarrassed, and Colt wants to tell you that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but he’s not sure if that would actually help. “Why would you say that?”

“You promised Malik you would marry him!”

“I— Ramzi, go inside. Now.” Your voice is shaking. Nerves. Anger. Panic. You know that Ramzi looks up to Malik. The minute you told Ramzi that a friend, a Warrior Unit soldier, would be coming, he had been excited. He ran out, in search of the toy soldier figurines he let some other children borrow because he wanted to present them to Colt.

You’re not sure when discussions of marriage came up.

It’s true that Malik intends on proposing. For a while, you even accepted it, resigned to your fate. Nothing was ever official, but he had been the one to make sure that you and Ramzi were taken care of when you first landed in Marley. He brought you food during times when there wasn’t even enough for his own family to eat, and before you started at the brothel, he always took care in securing you clothes and blankets. He watches over Ramzi, just like he would his own little brothers. You don’t think you’re capable of love, not in the romantic sense, and you’re fine with that. True love is a rare commodity, and you’ve been living in survival mode for so long, you didn’t even see the point in searching for it.

Besides, you could do much worse than Malik.

On the night when Ramzi was sick and the sounds of his sniffles started mixing in with the memories of those men and their groans of those unreachable women’s names, you weren’t in the mood to talk. Malik had been sitting on the ground, tea cups sitting on the table. He stayed up, watching over Ramzi, as promised, but also to make sure you would make it home and so he could have a chat with you, as promised.

You sit across from him, tucking your feet underneath you. The tea brewed at the camp isn’t as strong as Willa’s, and you regret not drinking what she offered you. The cup Malik slides over to you pales in comparison. It’s cold, you realize dejectedly, when you take a sip. It’s cold, and bitter.

“We’ve known each other for a long time now.” He clears his throat, looks you in the eyes. “You must know my intentions?”

“What intentions?”

You’re not blind. You know Malik is handsome, with his tanned skin and dark curls. He fills out his shirts well, from all the manual labor he does around the town, twelve to fourteen hour work days depending on how fast it gets dark outside. As far as options go, Malik might be the best person to shack up with.

“I would like for us to get married.”

Colt had been gone. The bad part about having someone take up space in your heart is that you realize what an empty organ it is when they disappear. At this moment, you’re exhausted, and cold, and you don’t want to talk anymore. You want to curl up next to Ramzi, and sleep this whole entire year off, and maybe, if you’re lucky, you won’t even wake up.

“The proposal ritual. Are you saying you’re going to go through with that?”

��There’s only one last thing to do, right?”

He says it in a way that makes you feel like a whore. You don’t waste your time daydreaming because there’s simply no point in it. Sometimes, though, you give in. Close your eyes. Picture a nameless, faceless man as your husband. When your husband fucks you, you think sex will be different. It’ll be making love, even. The euphemism always made you giggle; how corny, you would think to yourself. Call it what it is: fucking.

But wouldn’t it be nice to want to feel someone’s touch and know that they love you?

No. People in love are always the corniest people in existence. You think infatuation must cause some horrible imbalances in the body and brain or something, because the moment someone meets their One True Love, they start acting irrational. All the girls in the brothel made a pact: if one of you ever falls in love and starts acting a fool, you all have permission to slap the offending girl out of it.

In your culture, a man proposes through a series of tests. Considering the circumstances, the elders are willing to acknowledge the bare minimum. First, the man must present the girl with clothes and then food. It proves that he’s a provider. Then, the potential couple lays together. When she lets him in her bed, it’s her acceptance to the proposal.

“Three months,” is what you tell Malik. “Three months, and I will give you my answer.”

The deadline for your answer is fast approaching. There’s barely three weeks for you to decide whether or not you allow Malik into your bed. Three months ago, you considered your answer to be a reluctant yes. What else could you say? No? You thought about it, thought about spending the rest of your life living on your charm and resilience. How much longer could you survive in the brothel? Youth and beauty sells — not old, damaged goods. Now, when you brush the grass stains from your skirt, you look at Colt and feel conflicted.

You need to give Malik an answer — and soon. Before Colt re-entered your life, you knew what you needed to do to ensure survival. Now, you know what you want in your life. Needing versus wanting. Surviving versus living.

“Want to walk me to an exit?” Colt offers a hand to help pull you up. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you realize it’s because he’s purposely working hard to shut you out. You can’t even be upset with him for it.

The two of you walk together in silence.

“It’s not official.” You offer up, when you can’t take it anymore. You’re not a very talkative person, but it feels weird to have something hanging over the two of you, left unsaid. Even if he never wants to see you again, you want to lay it all out.

“Your brother seems passionate about it.” Colt points out.

“Ramzi doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

A beat.

“If it’s not official, there’s definitely something unofficial going on, though, right?”

“I guess.”

“Is he nice? The man giving you an unofficial proposal?”

“He’s Malik.” You say flatly. “He is… The best option.” Your only option.

“But does he treat you well?” Colt presses.

“What does it matter?” You snap, stopping so you can turn to face him. You will not cry. “Who cares if he’s nice?”

“It matters because it’s you! I care, I want to know that you are living well. That you get the life you deserve.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the intensity of his words wraps around you, squeezes you tight.

That’s the issue with Colt, you think to yourself. He makes it so damn hard to hate him.

“Maybe I do deserve this. Maybe this is as good as it gets for me in this life.”

You turn your back on him, heading right back to your tent. You will not cry. Colt is so stupid. He probably thinks marriage is built on silly things, like love. You will not cry.

Putting one foot in front of the other takes a tremendous amount of effort, but you make progress. When you think you’re a far enough distance to not run immediately back to his side, you dare to turn around.

He’s still rooted in the same spot you left him, staring at you with the most wounded, tortured look you’ve ever seen on a person.

When you’re so far that your figure becomes a tiny speck in the distance, and then that tiny speck disappears, only then does Colt move from his position. He continues to walk, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the ground. He only looks up when he feels a presence.

“Did she say no?” Nadia asks him.

“Didn’t even stand a chance.” He smiles sadly at her. It makes sense that you would have suitors lining up to propose to you. Official or not, Ramzi seems certain that it’s a sure thing between you and Malik. Colt feels the pressure of his armband on his bicep. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? It was stupid of him to even bother in the first place. He kicks a rock, watches it skip down the slope of the land.

“I don’t believe that.” She says. “I think she likes you a lot.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nadia.”

“I’m not just making things up! I know if you proposed, she would marry you. She would pick you over any other man in the world!” She pauses. “It’s because you didn’t bring any food.”

“She’s upset with me because I didn’t give her any food?” Colt raises an eyebrow. You didn’t seem hangry. Nadia’s childlike conclusion is refreshing, though. If only things were that simple. He would bring you dinner, and everything would be settled.

“You gave her socks, and I saw her wear your jacket.” Nadia points to the one slung over his shoulder. “Now, you bring her a big meal to prove that you can provide for her and keep her well-fed, and then she invites you to bed.”

“She doesn’t have to invite me to her bed.” Colt quickly looks at everything but Nadia’s earnest expression.

“You would do all that for her for nothing?” She shakes her head, like she thinks he’s an idiot. Maybe he is. “That’s how you propose. You provide, and then you show her your devotion in her bed, and then she decides if she wants to spend her whole life with you.” Nadia eyes him up and down. “I think she would like your devotion very much.”

Colt has no answer to that.

“Were you burning something?” He asks instead, nodding to the large bonfire that has fizzled out. All the remains are burnt pieces of wood and ashes.

“Oh, no!” Nadia gasps, rushing to it. She grabs a stick and pokes at the pile, but nothing happens. “This isn’t supposed to happen!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Usually, there’s a roaring fire here, so people can gather here and try to warm up during the night. It was harder to get wood these past few days, and they keep sending the men out to work earlier and earlier. I guess the fire was built too fast, and now it’s gone.” She tosses the stick to the ground. “By the time the men get back, it’ll be too dark out to go to the woods and collect enough kindling to get a large enough fire starting.”

Colt glances down at his watch, then looks up at the sun still hanging high in the sky.

He’s got time.

By the time he hauls all the dead wood he can find, he’s well acquainted with both the campground and the surrounding woods. Nadia eventually gets a cart on wheels from one of the older ladies, and she brings it to him so he doesn’t have to constantly walk back and forth for small hauls.

Once he collects all the kindling necessary, he gets to work on starting the fire. He’s sweating, and he thinks Magath would be proud — or as proud as Magath can get, anyway. Today was supposed to be a free day, and here he is, tossing off his military jacket in an attempt to cool down.

Wearing only his undershirt, Colt takes the ax Nadia offers him, and he begins to chop away at the logs. He wants a decent stash for them, so that way on the days they can’t collect wood, they’ll still have this stockpile. When he gets the fire going, a crowd has already started to form around them. They cheer when they watch the flames grow higher and higher, and for once, Colt almost forgets about you and Malik.

And then he catches you in the crowd, and the pleasure he feels from not being hated or feared by the people in this camp evaporates.

Women are approaching him. He catches snippets of their gratitude, their invitations to bring him to their tent, the not-so subtle remarks on their unmarried daughters. He smiles at them, but he doesn’t stop moving until he’s standing in front of you. He didn’t even consciously think about it; his feet just guided him there.

“If I marry him, I won’t work at the brothel anymore.” You tell him.

As if sensing this is a private moment, the crowd disperses. It’s all an act, though. They’re clearly trying to eavesdrop. Neither of you seem to care.

“That makes sense.”

“If I don’t work at the brothel anymore, I won’t ever see you again.”

“So this is goodbye, then?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“But we’re never going to see each other again.” He points out.

“If I marry him.” You point that right back at him.

“Are you going to marry him?”

This seems to be the direction you planned the conversation on heading towards. He’s never seen you so shy, so demure. This nervous silence, the reluctance, it doesn’t suit you. He wants you to confront him head-on, in your usual bold manner.

“Do you see a future with me? One where I’m not the girl who you have to pay to meet in the shady part of town?” His answer determines your answer to Malik.

“I already don’t see you in that way. You’ve never been just the girl I pay to see.” A glint of silver catches his eye. It brings him back to the sparring match, the one with the Marleyan boy who brought the knife to his face. It’s not a blade, but something on your wrist.

The watch. You’re wearing the watch he gave you.

“But a future.” You press. “Do you see a realistic future for us?”

Colt’s never given much thought to the immediate future. Most of the time, it feels like his life has been planned for him since the beginning. The cards he’s been dealt with aren’t the greatest hand, but he feels like he makes it work. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t wince, doesn’t go insane. He doesn’t even ask the universe for much. Even when he does make a wish, it’s always for the benefit of others.

If he closes his eyes and pictures a future with you, what does he see? Church bells, and you dressed in white? Kids? No more barriers between the two of you, no more fronts. In an ideal future, you are happy, and you want him by your side.

Things can’t ever be that simple, but damn it, he at least has to try.

“Yes.” He takes a step forward. The setting sun causes a warm glow to be cast on your face; it envelopes your whole body, actually. You are radiant. He thinks he should tell you that and then wonders if that sounds corny. Probably. He figures he’s said plenty of dumb, cheesy stuff already, and you’re not backing away from him.

“Radiant?” You repeat, giggling softly.

You wonder what you look like from his point of view. Colt Grice stares at you in a way no one’s done before, and his refusal to look at you when you’re half-naked comes to mind. He looks at you, and he undresses you, but it’s not clothes he’s trying to take off. He’s peeling layers of your masks, making you shed your faux skins all over the place, in some insignificant corner. Colt Grice stares at you, and he sees you, and it makes you feel special. You’ve spent a majority of your life feeling like gum stuck on the bottom of someone’s shoe, only worth their time when they’re scraping you off, swearing at what an inconvenience you are.

You notice the watch on his wrist, and you’re pleased to realize that it looks similar to your own, just wider. More masculine. Like “his and her” goods. The feeling of being special only grows.

“Colt.” You’re going to do something very stupid now. You’ve been feeling it for weeks now, that feeling of him pulling you past the point of no return. If you do this, you know that you’re never going to be able to give him up. Everything will change afterwards. Somehow, the thought of that doesn’t seem as scary or daunting as before. “Can I kiss you, please?”

This is a real shining moment, Colt thinks. He’ll remember this forever, and when he inherits the Beast, he hopes that this memory gets passed down for all generations. Even if nothing else gets remembered, this certainly will leave its mark on history.

Your lips are soft, and he tastes something sweet, and he wants to savor it, savor you. He keeps himself in check, forcing himself to not deepen the kiss, and then you’re pulling back from him.

So this is what kissing is all about, you think to yourself, touching your lips.

Confession time: sometimes you feel like you don’t know how to be human. You think you spent so long always on edge, always afraid, that you’re starting to forget the fun stuff about being alive. Your job is to do what people are supposed to consider the most ultimate act of intimacy, and you spend all your time disgusted by it. Dissociating from it. Perfecting the art of detachment.

You give him nothing more than a simple, chaste kiss on the lips. Not even a second (you would know; you feel for the tick of the watch against your wrist). But it’s enough to charge you, leaves you feeling wired, electrified.

Alive.

You’re aware of your neighbors witnessing this scene. You almost forgot about them, too focused on the man standing in front of you. You watched him, the flex of his muscles and the way he selflessly spent his time to help out the camp. He didn’t have to do that; he doesn’t owe them anything. You think you broke him for a second, turning your back and leaving him like he was nothing. He had every right to just walk out of here and be done with this camp for good.

But he didn’t. And if he can do that, you can put a stop to Malik’s proposal ritual. You won’t let him in your bed. You won’t let him in your heart. You won’t let anyone in.

The lingering effects of the kiss still rests on your lips. You don’t realize how hungry you are until you get a tiny taste to whet your appetite. You like kissing, you decide. You wonder why the hell you haven’t done it before.

Colt’s grin is so wide, it makes it hard for you to not try to mimic that happiness. Smiling comes easy when you’re with Colt. It’s like his shiny disposition is infectious, contagious.

No. You know why you’ve been saving your kiss, your name, the space inside your life, all of it—

—all of it was reserved for this golden soldier.

Colt is still riding the high of the kiss — of the kisses — you gave him.

Maybe this is finally the universe turning his luck around. Good karma. Every ounce of good he’s done in this lifetime, and he’s finally cashing out. You kissed him. You kissed him. You kissed him.

He can’t even wipe the dopey grin off his face as he checks back into base. He feels like Michael, like he wants to swing his arms and whistle silly tunes. He thinks he could get punched in the face right now, and not even feel a thing. The next time he sees you, Colt decides, he’s going to bring you a feast, and then he’s going to kiss you like a man going off to war.

His spirits are still high as he enters his bedroom, ready to lay down on his bed and relive those kisses over and over again until exhaustion takes control of his body, but he pauses when he sees the thick cardstock folded on his bed.

It’s closed, sealed with wax that has the Marleyan military coat of arms imprinted on it. He rips into the paper, eyes scanning over the letter quickly. He sees what he’s searching for, letting the paper drop to the ground.

Fuck. So much for good karma.

This letter serves as your official deployment orders from the Marleyan Military. You are hereby directed to join the offensive operation aimed at capturing Fort Helena. Upon receipt of this letter, you are to report to the designated assembly point where you will receive further instructions and join your assigned unit. Your role in this operation will be briefed in detail upon your arrival.

It is imperative that you prepare for immediate deployment. Ensure your personal affairs are in order, and report with full combat readiness.

#please don't read these rbs they're so unserious i was literally going through it #but no seriously i should comb through and find things i missed again this was insane #i love this series but like i just know it's gonna leave me empty #user ktsumu when she realizes she can't read daylight for the first time again and is reminded no one remembers who colt is #EVERYONE READ THIS PLEASE #recs #i can't believe i waited so long to read this #i have SO much to say on the whole naked thing and the dr*wning (kit shut the FUCK UP about the water) but mmm #putting tape over my mouth

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gummybear1178 · 2 years ago

Text

F-14 (Family of 14)

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Also on AO3:

So, I’ve never posted on tumblr before but decided to start spreading my works onto here. So here is my first Top Gun Fanfiction. More chapters to come! Let me know what yall think! If yall have any advice for me for using tumblr please give it! I’m just starting to learn it! I did learn the keep reading bar thing before I posted this so I hopefully don’t clog the feed!

Not fully sure where this story is going other than it will be IceMav and their 12 adopted dagger squadron kids!

Followed Maverick plot but Icemav is a thing, some changes along the way, all set up to show Mav and Ice and their adopted Dagger Squadron kids!

The dagger squad is determined to find out who Maverick is married to, leading to some shenanigans and eventually the reveal! Followed by one shots featuring MavDad Icemav and Dadmiral with the Daggers! Feel free to leave requests and ideas!

My first Top Gun Fanfic and being used to pull me out of writers block. May not be some of my best work but you can edit a story but not a blank page.

No matter what let it be known that dagger squadron is in fact not oblivious. Well, they are not always oblivious. They do have their moments though, however this, was not one of those moments.

"So, everyone else has seen the ring on Mavericks dog tags, correct?" Payback asked.

"Yes, and yet we have had no mention of it is." Hangman rolled his eyes at the fact this conversation was starting again. They had been theorizing since they first saw the ring.

"Obviously, it has to be Penny. I mean you guys saw him flirting up a storm with her our first night at the hard deck. How else could he have gotten permission for us to use the beach for football yesterday?" Fanboy asked aloud.

"No, that was more," Phoenix paused for a moment trying to find the right word, "Familiar banter. They've obviously known each other for years, but they are not married. More like long term friends."

Rooster just sat in the corner shaking his head. For he had all the answers, but absolutely no will to give them.

---

The next day was the day everything took a turn for the worse.

Jake stared at the radio from the ground helpless hearing Maverick yelling at his best friend trying to pull him out of G-Lock.

"Come on Javy." He muttered under his breath.

A weight was lifted off his shoulders as soon as he heard Javy say he was okay, and Maverick also took a breath.

Only for the next tragedy to occur.

"Bird strike!" Maverick yelled out over the comms.

This time it was Bradley's turn to freeze and stare at the radio begging anything and everyone that his best friend would be okay as Phoenix spoke everything she was doing. While Maverick told her to eject.

Though even when Maverick announced he saw the two parachutes, he did not let the tension go.

He knew better than most anyone that a chute didn't mean much. Especially after Top Gun in '86.

Until he heard confirmation from Phoenix, he wasn't believing anything.

"Rooster, there were two chutes." Hangman tried to pull him out of his stupor, only still in the room because he was waiting on Coyote to get back.

"Chutes mean nothing Hangman. I'll believe it when I see them with my own two eyes."

Jake nodded, knowing what they had been told in flight school. Before heading out to the tarmac to wait on Coyote.

Rooster knew he wasn't going to get info from anyone, not until the copter was back from picking them up and probably not until medical had checked them out.

So he sat in the rec room until he heard otherwise. Someone with information would eventually make it in here, and he didn't want to miss that info.

Eventually, news did make his way, just not in the carrier he would have wished for.

"They'll keep Phoenix and Bob in the hospital overnight for observation," Maverick broke the silence, "They're gonna be okay."

"That's good," Bradley took a deep breath, "I've never lost a wingman."

"You're lucky. Fly long enough, it'll happen. There will be others."

"Easy for you to say. No family. No kids. Nobody to mourn you when you burn in other than Ice. All you've got left in your life is on man."

"Go home. Just get some sleep."

"Why'd you pull my papers at the academy?" Rooster suddenly moved, having remained mostly still, "Why did you stand in my way!"

"You weren't ready." Maverick said softly, the day Bradley left flowing through his mind.

"Ready for what? Huh? Ready to fly like you?"

"No. Ready to forget the book. Trust your instincts. Don't think, just do." Maverick shook his head, "You think up there, you're dead, believe me."

"My dad believed in you. I'm not gonna make the same mistake." Rooster said putting all the venom he could in that one bite. He knew what words would hurt the most and he was willing to use them.

Before Maverick could say another word Bradley stormed out the door, just like he had all those years ago.

Maverick leaned against the wall and slid downwards til he was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled close to his chest.

Flashes of the night Bradley left covering his sight before changing to his days with Goose. Until his line of sight was engulfed by memories, his mind unable to comprehend anything else.

All he could hear was Bradley's words on repeat, only broken up by the sound of Goose's neck hitting the canopy.

"Maverick." Another noise breaking through the sounds, but he kept fading back out.

Warlock had come to check on the captain after the insane day, and especially after seeing a fuming Rooster leave the room.

Realizing words would not get through to him, Warlock decided to pull the emergency card, one he really hoped he wouldn't have to use.

Seeing Maverick's phone sticking out of his pocket he gently grabbed it, only to realize there was a password on it. One Warlock did not know.

Shaking his head he pulled out his own phone and called Cyclone.

"Warlock?" Cyclone answered professionally though unsure what his co worker would be calling him for having seen him mere minutes ago.

"I need you to get medical to the rec room, and I need you to make another call..."

"Why do you need medical in the rec room?"

"Sir, Maverick is having a panic attack."

"No, we don't call medical-"

"But sir-"

"No, I was given special notes on who to call for this and we avoid medical."

"Understood sir, I'll stay with him."

Cyclone stared down at his phone for a moment, before taking a deep breath and pressing call on a contact he had only ever been called by.

"Admiral Kazansky." The voice on the other end answered.

"Sir this is Cyclone, your orders were to call you directly for anything concerning Mav-"

"Get to the point Admiral." Ice spoke coldly, he was not one for wasted time espeically when it came to the wellbeing of his husband.

"Sir, Maverick is experiencing a panic attack." Cyclone said bluntly realizing it was the best way to go.

"Is anyone with him?"

"Yes sir, Warlock."

"Understood, I will be calling Maverick's phone, have Warlock answer."

"Understood sir."

The phone made a click as it hung up as Cyclone then began texting Warlock the instructions.

---

The phone Warlock had pulled from Mavericks pocket mere minutes ago began ringing as a text from Cyclone came through with instructions.

Warlock answered immediately and was met by the face of the COMPACFLT.

"Sir"

"Thank you, please put the phone in Maverick's hand with the screen facing him and exit the room, wait just outside."

"Yes sir."

"Mav, I need you to breath ok. Just breath." Ice spoke softly, but still loud enough to be heard through the phones speaker.

Maverick was slowly coming out of the attack, and that was being expedited from hearing Ice's voice.

"Mav, it's Ice, just breath, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, alright now breath out." Ice continued to talk him through breathing as his car took off towards Top Gun.

Ice watched at Mav slowly started to slow his breathing down to match the counts.

"Mav, I need you to start listing off things you can see." Ice saw the panic in Mavericks eyes as he went to speak.

"Hey, Mav, it's okay. Take a second. You aren't in the ocean or in a plane. You are on the ground in the rec room at Top Gun. I need you to keep breathing for me."

The panic began to subside from his eyes once more as he became more aware of his surroundings.

"Ice." Maverick choked out.

"Yea, it's me Mav," Ice nodded over the phone glancing up to see they were approaching the Top Gun building. "I will be there in just a few minutes ok, just keep breathing."

As soon as the car stopped in front of the entrance closest to the rec room Ice jumped out of the car and took off. A few people did a double take as the Commander of the Pacific Fleet ran through the building.

Warlock's eyes widened as he saw the admiral turn the corner. He opened the door as Ice nodded a look of thanks before entering. Slowing his speed as not to startle Maverick.

"Mav, hey, I'm here."

"Ice." Maverick said much more clearly this time.

"Hey, Mav, I've got you it's going to be okay. Just breath with me." Ice spoke softly tugging the other man against him. Maverick held on tight breathing in Ice's scent, mostly coming out of the panic.

"Alright, I need you to name five things you can see."

"You, the tarmac outside, the tables, a radio, umm..." Maverick paused for a moment.

"That's four, just one more Mav."

"The chairs."

"Good, alright, four things you can hear."

"Your voice," Mav smiled softly, just barely, for a second remember the time when they weren't sure they would ever hear it again. Ice smiled with him. "Your breathing, jets taking off, and people talking outside."

"Good, now name three things you can feel."

"Your heartbeat, your arms around me, and your presence."

"I'm not sure if the last one counts Mav, but I'll take it."

"Fine, if your being picky, the floor." Mav snarked back a bit making Ice smile, seeing him really coming out of the panic attack.

"Alright, two things you can smell."

"You and jet fuel."

"Good." Ice breathed out pulling Maverick back into a tight hug.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Ice asked softly.

"Not here. Tonight." Maverick promised.

"Alright, are you good to head back outside yet, or do you want to sit here for a few more minutes."

"Few more minutes. I haven't seen you since this morning." Mav smiled into Ice's neck.

"Yeah well, at least we get to see each other every morning and night right now. Might even be able to keep that up if you don't make another admiral mad."

"Yea well, if they would stop doing stupid stuff I would stop making them mad."

"Yeah I know, though not all of them are your fault some are their fault." Ice rolled his eyes.

"Come on, you know you had fun ruining Cain's fun."

"I did have fun with that one, you ejecting at mach 10.4 not so much."

"Details."

"Are you ready?"

"Ready? To let you go? Never. Can I go out now? Yes."

Ice nodded at the answer, pulling away just enough to give his wingman a kiss.

"You head out, send Warlock in. I'll talk to him then head back to my office. I'll see you at home tonight." Ice promised before releasing his husband from the hug. "I love you."

"I love you too." Maverick said as he went to leave before stopping, "Don't get mad until I tell you what happened at home ok. I just want to talk about it there, not here. I'm not trying to hide it. I promise."

"I believe you." Ice nodded watching as Maverick left and Warlock entered.

"Sir."

"Thank you for assisting. I expect your discretion on this matter."

"Yes sir."

"Beside this, how has it been going, and don't give me the official wording."

"Maverick is a better teacher than he wants to say. The kids rally behind him. They recognize his skills and abilities, albeit they didn't at first. He definitely has an unorthodox method to teaching and life in general, but that just seems to be Maverick over all."

"Unorthodox is definitely a good way to describe him."

"But I think I understand why you were so insistent on him teaching this mission. I don't think anyone else could. Not with his expectation of them all making it home."

"That's part of why it needed to be him. His acceptable losses are always zero. If he doesn't believe they can execute the mission and make it back, then they never will."

"He believes in them, but I'm not sure they are ready to believe in themselves yet. He finally made them start becoming a team after his beach football stunt the other day, but none of them have successfully completed any part of the mission in the time allotted or the elevation."

"Then maybe he just has to show them..." Ice trailed off coming up with a plan to tell his wingman later that night.

"Sir, I don't want to overstep, but why were there orders not to contact medical?"

"It would have just freaked him out more. I know you are aware of what happened to his RIO during his time at Top Gun," Warlock nodded, "He was with him for medical after, and those moments as well as those once he made it to the medical bay are still ingrained in his memory. To be surrounded by that makes it harder for him to come out of the attack."

Warlock nodded in understanding knowing of others who had a serious distaste for hospitals after certain events.

"Off the record, how is he doing with Lt. Bradshaw?"

"Off record, I'm waiting on the bomb to go off. If it didn't already. In the sky Rooster finally flies as well as he could not being held back, until suddenly he goes back to his careful flying. He bounces between your style but slower and less instinctive and Mavericks in the sky. But not in an efficient way, rather he is too careful then too reckless. If he would just fly he would be fine, but he won't let go."

"Part of that is Maverick being here, and part of that is what has happened between the two in the past. Then Goose on top of all of that." Ice shook his head. "What do you mean if the bomb didn't go off already?

"I was walking here to check on Maverick after the events of the day, and as I was walking up I saw a fuming Rooster leaving."

Ice closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"So that's what set it off."

"That and a couple of other incidents."

"Incidents?"

"Coyote went into G-Lock on the last hop, and immediately after there was a bird strike, Phoenix and her WSO Bob were forced to eject. Everyone should be okay, but that doesn't make the day any easier."

"No it doesn't." Ice nodded taking in the information. "Thank you for you time admiral."

Ice went back into admiral mode and made his way back to his car then back to his office. Knowing he and Mav would have a lot to talk about when they got home.

---

Dagger Group Chat

Fanboy GUYS!!!

Payback What?

Fanboy DID YALL HEAR WHO WAS ON BASE!?!?

Phoenix I've been stuck at medical, who?

Fanboy Admiral Kazansky! THE COMMANDER OF THE PACIFIC FLEET

Phoenix I know who Admiral Kazansky! But why was he on base??

Bob Well is kind of in charge of Top Gun and you know the whole Pacific Fleet and every naval base on this side of the country.

Fanboy Yea, but apparently he was literally sprinting across base

Yale Did they maybe call him in since we had two incidents today?

Fanboy Why would they call him in? Seems like more of a report on his desk kind of thing, unless he was here to chew some people out. Do you think Maverick got in trouble?

Payback It's not like either of the incidents were within our control. For heavens sake, one was a bird strike.

Rooster Wait! When was Admiral Kazansky on base?

Fanboy If the rumor mill is to be believed then about an hour or two after we everyone touched back down.

Phoenix Well since I doubt we will get any further on this mystery tonight, I need to be entertained while stuck in medical all night, so anymore theories on who wears the ring to go with Mavericks?

Fanboy To list out our list of ideas we have: Cyclone, Hondo, Penny, and Warlock.

Payback I still think Cyclone is absolutely not it.

Bob For all we know at this point we may not even know of this person at all

---

"Mav?" Ice called out as he walked in the front door of their home, locking the door as he hung his keys.

"Living room!" Maverick called back.

"Hey." Ice greeted pulling Maverick into a hug.

"Hey." Maverick sighed holding on tight to Ice.

"Food is already in the crock pot and ready for us. Then we are talking."

"I know, but I just want to stand here for one more minute."

Ice nodded pulling Mav even closer.

Mav took a deep breath before pulling away.

"Alright, I'm hungry and this food has been smelling amazing for the past 10 minutes I have been home, let's eat." Maverick announces.

Ice smiled following his wingman to the kitchen.

They sat down at their table and began eating, when Ice finally broke the silence.

"Maverick-"

"I know," Maverick cut Ice off. "I am trying to find the words."

"Don't worry about finding the perfect words, just get it out and clarify from there." Ice knew his mind was going faster than an f-18 being flown by Maverick and he just needed to start speaking. That was the trick, once he started talking he would figure it out.

"How much did Warlock tell you?"

"Not much, but I want to hear your side and version. He gave me basic facts, you will give me the info I actually need to know."

"We were on a Hop, the goal was practicing the targeting followed by coffin corner. Coyote went into G-Lock." Maverick paused, staring off in the distance.

"Mav..." Ice comforted reaching his hand to take the other mans.

"Just before he would have crashed I got tone on him and he snapped out of it. We leveled out. Everything should have been fine. Then there was a bird strike. I managed to maneuver away in time but Phoenix and Bob got caught in it," Maverick looked down sighing, "She did everything right, she was calling out every step of the way, but there was no saving the plane. It was gone. They ejected. There was two chutes. I saw the two chutes. You and I both know chutes don't mean anything, but they made it. Just a little bruised and shaken."

"Maverick," Ice said softly, "They made it out. You made it out. Everyone is fine."

"I know."

"There is more."

"Yea."

Maverick moved the food around on his plate, taking a few bites, before pushing away the now nearly empty plate.

Ice saw this for what it was, Mav wanted to delay the second part for a few minutes, and he did not want to have it at the kitchen table.

Ice was not a fool, it was not a coincidence that a fuming Bradley Bradshaw was seen just before Maverick was found. That was the reason Ice wasn't pushing the conversation yet.

Ice followed Maverick with his own empty plate. Rinsing them off before placing them in the dish washer.

He wrapped an arm around Maverick, who leaned into him, before guiding him to their couch.

Maverick curled into his side before he began to speak. Ice rubbing his hand up and down Maverick's arm.

"I knew Bradley was in the rec room. He and Phoenix are close. I knew he was waiting on an update. He knows just as we do that chutes don't mean all is well. I told him they would be kept overnight for observation, and it just escalated from there."

"Maverick, what did he say to you?"

"Told me no one other than you would mourn me when I burned it. Told me I had no kids."

"Mav..."

"He told me that his father trusted me, and that-that he wouldn't make the same mistake."

"Pete..." Ice's eyes widened, he pulled Maverick tight against his side. "He knows what buttons to press. He knows how to hurt you. Just as you know how to hurt him. That doesn't make anything he said right. Bradley is our kid. We helped raise him for most of his life, you even before me. Then after Carol we did raise him. He is your kid, no matter how mad he is. He may not want to say it out loud, but he would mourn you. If he wouldn't then he wouldn't care."

"Ice, if I put him on this mission I could actually lose him forever, but if I don't... I lose him anyway."

"Pete. You are a better teacher than you will probably ever realize. You have something that cannot be taught, you give a care about those kids. About their lives. You aren't just there to send them on a mission and be done with them, you want them to come out alive and better pilots. You will choose who is best for this mission, and that is all you can do. That is what you are there to do, you are training them to make it back from the mission. Not just to complete it as everyone else would do."

"They don't believe they can do it."

"Then show them."

"How?"

"I've known you a long time. You always manage to find a way, especially when no one else can."

The cogs in Mavericks brain started to turn.

"Ice, can you authorize and f-18 for me in the morning?"

"Is this you finding a way?"

"I think I already found the way, however it's less paperwork for you later if you authorize the f-18 rather than me just taking one."

"I do appreciate less paperwork considering how often you cause me to have more paper work."

"See, I'm improving."

Ice rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I love you too."

---

Cyclone stood in front of the 12 pilots in the classroom, having no clue what to expect. All he knew was that Maverick wanted them all in the room.

That alone scared Cyclone.

Though maybe not as much as the f-18 authorization he had received for Maverick this morning, conveniently timed after he tried to ground maverick after his panic attack yesterday fearing he wouldn't be able to carry out the mission training much less fly. Maverick and his guardian angel. Honestly, if Cyclone didn't look up to and respect Iceman as much as he did he would call him insane for putting up with Maverick at all. He didn't see how he did it. Much less why he put up with it. Though he understood it a lot more when he found out the worst kept secret in the navy was true and not just gossip and the wingmen were in fact together. Married at that. Further confirmed when Cyclone got Maverick's file for this mission.

Once again a mess to deal with since that file was filled to the brim.

The aviators were talking amongst themselves trying to figure out what crazy idea Maverick had for them today, and Cyclone couldn't blame them because he was curious too.

"Maverick to Range Control. Entering point Alpha. Confirm green range."

"Maverick, Range Control green range is confirmed"

"What's he up to?" Phoenix mumbled.

"Setting time to target. 2 minutes, 15 seconds."

"2-15, that's impossible." Payback said

"Final attack point. Maverick's inbound."

"Popping in 3, 2, 1. Bombs away."

Cyclone and the pilots all stared up at the screen in shock watching with anticipated breaths.

9.5 G

TIME ON TARGET

00:00.16

"Bullseye!" Fanboy shouted

"Damn." Hangman mumbled, this was the Maverick from the stories.

---

Maverick looked at his phone as he changed out of his flight suit.

Ice They are making you mission leader. I'll be on the carrier now. The third miracle was never optional, but now it really isn't. You will come home to me. That is non-negotiable.

Maverick stared at the messages for a minute.

He was going on this mission.

---

Maverick stood looking out at the water.

"You are coming back to me."

"You know I can't promise that."

"You can promise me that you will do everything possible to come back to me."

"I can promise you that, but I am doing the same to make sure the others come back. Especially Bradley."

"I know. They know that too. They believe in you, and they believe that you believe in them. I saw it in their eyes when you announced your pilots."

Ice hugged his wingman as they stared at the open waters, the calm before the storm.

---

Ice watched the command room with a bated breath as updates came through. They were nearly to the target.

He listened, not speaking a word, letting everyone else do their jobs.

He stayed ice cold as his name suggested and his reputation supported.

He stayed that way, until he heard Bradley's panicked voice announce he was out of flares and SAMs were on him.

Only those who knew him well or were paying close attention would see the change, but anyone could see it when the words 'Dagger one is hit' came over the comms.

His entire world was shaken.

Cyclone and Warlock's eyes widened as they risked a glance back at the admiral, scared of what they might see.

The mighty Iceman's ice cold face was gone, and in it's place was terror and heartbreak.

His world collapsed further when they call out that Dagger two is hit.

---

Ice leaned against the wall of the command room, wishing to Goose above to bring back their kid and Maverick.

Iceman was generally very patient, something that made him very dangerous and feared, but when it came to the well-being of Maverick and Bradley, well his patience went out the window.

His head shot up as fast as Maverick flies when they had something pop up on radar.

"It's an f-14 sir."

"Maverick." Ice finally spoke.

Cyclone shook his head with an impressed look on his face.

"Launch Hangman." Iceman ordered.

"Goose, save our boys." Ice mumbled under his breath.

---

Ice stood in the tower, bracing himself for the inevitable buzzing of the tower. A smile on his face as he laughed.

He watched their landings from above, and watched his husband and son hug for the first time in many years, before heading to his quarters to wait on his wingman. The flight deck didn't need him down there. He would ruin their celebration, and they deserved a celebration.

---

Ice watched from the window as a blue bronco pulled up to his house for the first time since Bradley had left 15 years prior.

"He actually came." Maverick spoke so softly Ice wasn't even sure if he knew he spoke it aloud.

"He will always come back home, it just took longer this time."

A tentative knock came from the door.

"I'll be upstairs. You two talk. I'll join after." Ice nodded knowing this conversation needed to be between just those two for now.

"Bradley." Maverick breathed out as he opened the door.

"Mav."

They made their way to the couch, tension was evident in the air. No one was sure how to start a conversation that had been in waiting for 15 years.

"You said we would talk. Why did you do it?"

"You weren't ready."

"You've said that, but I know that's not all of it. The academy would help me get ready. You and Ice would help me get ready. So tell me the rest."

"I made a promise."

"You held me back because you made a promise? Why would you promise to keep me from the academy? From flying? Like you and ice and dad-"

It clicked. There was only one person Mav would make that promise too.

"You promised my mom."

"She didn't want you to fly and risk dying young like Goose. She wanted you to live a full life."

"Why didn't you ever tell me that?"

"You weren't talking to me anyway. I wasn't going to hold that over your head."

"Why didn't you tell me when I asked you in the rec room?"

Maverick realized Bradley wasn't going to let this go.

"You hated me. You didn't need to hate her too. I couldn't ruin your memory of your mom."

Bradley froze.

"I'm sorry for the thing I said you. I didn't mean them. I regretted them as soon as they came out of my mouth, but I just kept going because I knew it would hurt you. I could never hate her. I couldn't even hate you, and I tried. Trust me I tried. I couldn't even hate Ice. "

"I love you Bradley."

"I-I love you too dad."

Maverick's eyes watered, it had been 15 years since he had been called that. Bradley had for years used Mav and Dad interchangeably, part of why him saying he had no kids had stung so much. Bradley was his kid.

"Will Pops ever forgive me?" Bradley asked softly hugging Maverick tight.

"I already did Baby Goose." Ice said from the stairs behind them.

"Pops." Bradley gasps, standing up slowly.

"I forgave you the moment everything happened, I've waited for the day you would walk back through the door."

"I missed you Pops."

"I've missed you Baby Goose, now how about you come sit with us for dinner and tell us what you've been up to the past few years that didn't make it in your file and that your uncles never told us."

"Well for starters Dagger Squadron currently has a bet going to figure out who you are married to Mav."

---

More to come!! There will be Mav and Ice with their adopted squadron!

Chapter 2

#icemav #topgun #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #iceman #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #maverick #dagger squad #dagger kids #mavdad #fanfiction

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dreamcatcherrs · 4 years ago

Note

a high school prom au where the reader and Dream are like childhood best friends and the readers date shows up with someone else then when the reader feels all lonely, Dream is like “what if we danced🥺” ??? anyways love you and your fanfics you’re like my favorite writer on tumblr💖💘

+ this is such a cute concept! I’ve never written anything like this, but I hope it was what you wanted<3

++ also this is such an old request, I’m so sorry

prom night - dream

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: high school au! dream x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after being abandoned by your prom date, the person you expected the least to spend the night with asks you for a dance.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.501

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, fluff, swearing, slight mention of alcohol use.

song recommendation: love on the brain - rihanna

you couldn’t believe your eyes.

there your date stood, arm wrapped around a person that you for sure knew wasn't you. the excitement disappeared from every corner and edge of your body, hands falling to your sides in complete disappointment.

proudly, your so-called date stepped forward in line with a smile on their face, waiting to be the next for the photo shoot the had been set up. your smile was gone. and so was your passion for continuing this prom.

looking down, you turned on your heels, walking away from the great asshole of a date, and finding an empty seat by one of the available tables.

you’d wondered why it took so long for your date to arrive - you should’ve known, really. but no - now you were just left sitting alone by an empty table. what was the point of even being there anymore when all you could feel was loneliness?

everyone else was having fun, partying and smiling about the night ahead of them - just like you should’ve been. but now, you were just left with feeling disappointed in yourself. how could you make yourself believe that someone actually wanted to bring a date like you to the prom? what were you thinking?

you sighed deeply as you rested your head in the palm of your hand, other hand busy with tracing the cutouts on the table.

“just go over there, man!”

“yeah, they’re just sitting there all alone… this is your perfect chance!”

clay scratched the back of his head, staring down at the drink in his hand.

“I don't know… what if they say no?”

george and nick both rolled their eyes. the only one who really believed that was gonna happen would be clay. it was crystal clear to literally everyone else that the two of you had developed feelings for each other over the many years of knowing one another. clay would always brush it off with a “we’re just friends”, but really, he knew they were right.

he’d known you since he was 8 and you 7 - having been best friends since that day and until last year. you'd kinda… broken off since then. as you grew older, more important things had distracted you from keeping the connection, and eventually, you just slipped away.

he knew he liked you as more than a friend. but he was certain you didn't.

after all, you wanted to go with a complete dickhead, who ditched you anyway. and now look where you were.

“hey guys~ why are you wasting the night just standing here? let’s party!” karl slurred as he came crashing into george and nick, swinging both arms around their shoulder from behind.

as george was busy pushing karls’ arm off of him, and nick pulling him closer, clay’s eyes were only focused on you. you looked so… sad. no one should be sad on their prom night, and frankly, maybe his friends were right.

before he knew it, his feet dragged him across the dance floor, towards your place on the chair. george’s eyes widened, a big smile spreading across his face, showing off his braces.

“would you two stop flirting with each other and watch what is happening right now?”

nick and karl giggled.

“why, are you jealous gogy?” nick teased, causing a light shade of pink to brush across george’s cheeks.

“shut up-”

“hey.”

the second you broke away from your melancholy stare at the table, your heart started racing and a wave of sweat danced across your skin. he hadn't talked to you since… you couldn’t even remember the last time.

lifting your head off your hand, you sat up straight, watching as clay scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“hi,” you responded, voice quiet and unsure.

why was he talking to you all of a sudden? after all these months with absolutely no contact with each other, now he wants to talk to you? on the other hand, it’s not like you'd been very communicative with him either…

clay hesitated slightly, shifting on his feet. “why are you sitting here all alone? I thought you had a date?”

you sighed, corner of your lips turning down slightly. “yeah… they ditched me.” you looked away from him, feeling somewhat embarrassed that you'd let yourself get into a situation like that.

clay felt bad. how could someone let go so easily of someone as perfect as you? on the other hand, this meant that no one else could have you - and that made him kind of relieved.

he hesitated a little before speaking up again; “what a dickhead.”

that made you laugh a little. “yeah.”

silence approached after that, and a tension started building up. the both of you could feel the unspoken words you'd been keeping from each other rise up - yet you remained quiet.

after all, there wasn’t really anyone you could blame your fading friendship on - apart from yourselves.

clay cleared his throat, as a new, slower song came on, hand reaching out in front of him, hovering right before you. your eyes trailed along his tux-clad arm and up to his eyes, noticing the withheld love in them.

“do you wanna dance with me?”

you blinked at him, thankful that the fluorescent lights made it hard for him to see the blush on your cheeks. your heart felt as if it was pounding out of your chest.

“I-,” you stuttered, recollecting yourself quickly before placing your hand into his, fitting perfectly right into his palm. you smiled up at him softly. “I’d love to.” he smiled back to you, gripping onto your hand and lead you through the large crowd of people onto the dance floor.

he turned to you, taking in how absolutely breathtaking you looked right then. it was hard for him not to blurt out compliments at you at any given chance.

his hands found their place on your waist, and you let your hand snake around his neck, resting right where his haircut ended. it tickled him in a way that made him realise just how much he had missed your touch - hell, even talking to you reminded him of how lonely he’d felt without you.

slowly, the two of you swayed from side to side along to the song, just staring into each others eyes. clay sneaked a glance down at your lips, quickly averting his eyes again once you parted them.

“I’m really sorry we haven’t talked for so long,” you spoke, twirling a finger around one of his locks. “I miss it a lot. I missed you, clay.”

you stared at him with a look of guilt, biting down on your bottom lips once you'd finished your sentence. you looked down again, feeling sorry that you hadn't reached out to him before.

clay moved a hand to your cheek, tilting your head upwards so you'd look at him again. your eyes widened at the touch of his fingers, and you melted into his hand once his thumb bushed across the soft skin of your cheek.

“I missed you too, y/n. don't be sorry about that - I could’ve reached out too, y’know? we’re both guilty on that note. but, now that I can finally talk to you again, I don't wanna worry about the past, okay? I just want you to have a good night.”

you smiled softly at his words, feeling a wave of forgiveness wash over you. it felt good to know that you had your friend back again.

“I don't think my night can be ruined at this point,” you smiled, moving your hands from his nape to his shoulders instead.

“well, can I still make it a little bit better?” you raised an eyebrow at him, cocking your head to the side slightly.

his eyes fell down to look at your lips again, this time not being able to hold back from the temptation.

your lips attached to his.

and everything around you just stopped.

your eyes fluttered closed, leaning into the kiss once you realised what was happening, only making him pull you closer to him. his lips moved so gently, slowly against yours, a withheld desire finally being released.

who cared about the things that’d gotten in the way of your friendship? all that mattered right now was this very moment - that’s all that ever mattered.

“yes clay!”

“finally he fucking did it.”

the yelling coming from karl and nick from a distance away made the two of you break away from each other, turning your heads to the direction of them. george elbowed nick in the stomach to stop him from jumping into the air, revealing their spying spot.

you chuckled lightly at them, slowly turning your head back to clay with a lick of your lips. clay sent them a nice “fuck off” with his middle fingers, before also returning to the current situation and smiling at you widely.

“better now?”

you smiled wider at that. if only he knew.

______________________________________

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hxseok-honee · 4 years ago

Text

3005 || part 11

3005 [part 11] || "Perks of dating a Slytherin"

[no matter what you say and what you do // when i’m alone, i’d rather be with you]

previous || masterlist || next

a/n : mayhaps i,,, went a little crazy,,, writing this,,,

taglist [open] :

@deepseavibez @lele-bb @monamone @unadulteratedlyunique @bluefaeriefury @hooniepie @loveyoongles @lilacdreams-00 @ramyagovindraj @skyrro @diminieshoe @calling-dips-on-j-hope @yuusilverscar @butterflylion @dingzerenistall @miki-chi @army-moa75 @drpepperobsessed @cecedrake2217 @somelazysundays @xxxanimangxxx @cosmicdaylight @navybluewonderland @itismochirice @dreadity @secretlycrazyhummingbird @taeshuworld @lochness-butmakeitsexy @beeeb05 @preciouschimine @thetrueghostqueen @sonderkook @pb-n-juju @aviwasabi21

a/n : there were some blogs that tumblr wouldnt let me tag -- sorry about that!

_________________________________

“Jeez, it’s insane in here -- we’re packed like sardines!” Y/n trails into the Three Broomsticks after Jimin and Tae, barely managing to catch the Ravenclaw’s complaint over the noise of the crowd. She’s barely made it in the door of the pub, but she can already see that she might be stuck there a while. It’s full to capacity, a sea of colored scarves and matching hats -- early November has brought nothing but cloudy mornings and chilly nights, the lower levels of Hogwarts particularly affected by the evening drafts. She’s lucky that Hufflepuff is kept at a consistent level of cozy warmth, but she can tell Slytherins must deal with constant cold by the way that Hoseok and Yoongi, who hover in the doorway behind her, have only draped their deep green scarves over thin long-sleeve shirts.

From the front, Jimin complains, trying to no avail to push through the mass of students and find a free table or even call dibs on one that’s busy. And even from behind Tae, Y/n can see the Gryffindor is pouting, which is entirely endearing, but she doesn’t get the chance to point it out to him -- there’s a hand on her waist, gently guiding her to the side. Another hand wraps around her wrist, this one shockingly warm against her cold skin, and she turns to see Yoongi pulling her in silently toward him while Hoseok brushes past her on the other side. The smaller Slytherin pulls her in close enough that she has to cross her eyes to properly see him, but he’s not even looking at her. He’s gazing expectantly in Hoseok’s direction.

Following his eyes, she sees that something of a miracle is occurring -- the mass is parting for Hoseok, students bumping into each other as they rush to get out of his way. He says nothing, simply making his way through the crowd and beckoning them in after him. Tae stumbles after Jimin, and Y/n only follows when Yoongi quietly moves his hand to the small of her back and nudges her in their direction. Before she can get too far from him, she feels his lips press against the shell of her ear as he whispers to her.

“Perks of dating a Slytherin -- nice, huh?” Y/n’s heart jumps to her throat, and she lurches forward slightly, putting distance between them. She still hears as he snickers behind her, but she ignores it and follows after Tae.

As she goes, she sees that, ahead of her, Hoseok has reached a round booth, just big enough to fit the five of them. There’s a couple of Ravenclaws that get there at the same time he does, and when he turns to look at them, Y/n can see exactly why the crowd had parted for him. He’s got a look in his eye -- nothing compared to the look he’d given Remus in the forest all those weeks ago -- but it’s almost as if he knows he doesn’t need it. His face is blank and his eyes are empty, something entirely terrifying to someone unfamiliar with Hoseok. He looks like a true Slytherin, one that commands obedience with his mere presence.

One of the Ravenclaws takes one look at Hoseok and is immediately stepping back, pulling his companion along with him. Hoseok only nods gratefully to them, clearly showing that he hadn’t meant to be intimidating -- it’s just who he is. Then he turns and waves them forward, Jimin rushing in a bit fast and shooting his housemates an apologetic smile. He slips into the booth, Tae following close behind. They file in like that, Hoseok sliding in after Yoongi and letting his hand fall comfortably to his boyfriend’s thigh once he’s settled. Y/n sees the movement and notes in the back of her mind with surprise that Hoseok’s hand is much bigger than expected -- it covers almost all of Yoongi’s thigh.

“See something you like, Princess?” Hoseok leans in to whisper it, but, judging by the looks of disgust that cross Jimin and Tae’s faces, he hadn’t been quiet enough.

“And on that note, I’m gonna order us some food!” Jimin scoots out of the booth, making a beeline for the bar as Taehyung reaches dramatically after his best friend. He turns back, resigning himself to the strange dynamic of the trio before him. But Y/n only scoots in to cling to his arm, smiling up at him, and the Gryffindor relaxes.

“So, is there anywhere you guys need to go after lunch? Jimin and I want to stop at Honeydukes!” Hoseok nods along to Taehyung’s request, humming in consideration.

“I could really go for some jelly slugs…” Y/n and Tae stare at him in disbelief, unsure if he’s just messing with them. The idea that Jung Hoseok -- the guy that had just moved an entire crowd for them with no more than a look -- could enjoy something so… sugary… is beyond them. But apparently, it’s a topic of regular conversation in the 7th year Slytherin boys’ dorm.

“I told you, that shit’s bad for your teeth--”

“Says the one who sits in class chewing on sugar quills instead of using a real quill to take notes.” Hoseok cuts Yoongi off with finality, challenging him to continue, but the shorter boy only grimaces and mumbles under his breath about Jimin taking too long. Y/n and Taehyung look to each other for answers, only finding more confusion.

When Jimin does finally return -- somehow managing to balance 5 plates of food in his arms -- the group settles in to eat, chatting about various things until they finish their food. It’s nice, Y/n decides, to hang out with friends she doesn’t always find herself with. Although she’d become rather close with Jimin and Taehyung recently, she’d spent every Hogsmeade weekend with Jin and Namjoon until now, so this is all still relatively new to her.

It’s especially new to hang out so closely with Yoongi and Hoseok -- she admits that she’d definitely gotten comfortable with them since the day that Yoongi had claimed her bed as his own while she’d had a strangely deep heart to heart with Hoseok, but she still feels slightly tense around them. Their constant flirting has been more than disarming, but it flusters her most when they’re right in front of her. At least when they’re texting, she can hide in the comfort of her room, but here… she has nowhere to run if they decide to start teasing her.

As if to drag her out of her thoughts by proving her right, the warmth of a palm sliding across the expanse of her thigh startles her back to reality. She glances down quickly, taking in the fact that there is actually a hand on her leg, before following the arm up to its owner. Hoseok only eyes her with confusion, having reached across Yoongi to get her attention.

Turning quickly to Taehyung, she looks up at him with confused panic, as if to confirm that she’s not hallucinating. The Gryffindor’s already staring down at her leg, having seen the movement out of the corner of his eye. He meets her gaze with wide eyes before turning away, as if to tell her it’s none of his business what she gets up to with Hoseok in the middle of this pub. When she tries to lean in further for his attention, Tae only turns his whole body away from her, sipping at his drink and denying her silent plea for assistance with feigned ignorance.

He catches Jimin’s eye in doing so, and the Ravenclaw glances over quickly, his gaze catching on Hoseok’s ringed fingers resting on the inside seam of Y/n’s jeans. Immediately, Jimin’s choking on his food, turning away with reddening ears as he puts his napkin up to his mouth. Hoseok looks around, eyes wide with confusion at the reactions he’s getting. Yoongi only closes his eyes and nods, fully having expected this chain of commotion in the booth.

Y/n looks down at the hand in her lap once more, hating that the only thing coming to mind is that now she can definitely confirm that Hoseok’s hand is as large as she’d noted previously. She stares down at it, scandalized, only coming back to reality when Hoseok squeezes her thigh, drawing her attention back to him. He’s smiling, but it’s filled with bemusement.

“Princess, I’ve been talking to you for like five minutes -- where was your head?”

It was thinking about yo--

Y/n blinks, shaking her head both to answer Hoseok and to rid herself of the intrusive thought she’d just had. She looks to Yoongi quickly, terrified that he might somehow be sitting close enough to have heard the unexpected words that had crossed her mind. He’s examining her carefully out of the corner of his eye, but his face is void of emotion except for the hint of amusement in his gaze. When she makes eye contact with him, he leans in, holding her gaze and whispering to her in a low voice.

“He’s only trying to give you your potion for today -- are your thoughts wandering somewhere they shouldn’t be, babe?” Y/n leans away the closer Yoongi gets, deciding they’re both much too close for comfort. Pulling her leg gently from Hoseok’s grasp, she scoots in the booth until she’s flush with Taehyung, who continues to sip at his drink with vigor, as if he hadn’t just heard the entire exchange. She’s about to force the Gryffindor to acknowledge her existence and help her, but there’s another hand falling to her lap, this one different but warm all the same.

It’s Yoongi’s, and while he has his palm turned up toward her -- a vial filled with familiar contents sitting innocently there -- the contact is enough to have Taehyung elbowing Jimin urgently, decidedly finished with his lunch. The Ravenclaw scoots toward the edge of the booth, taking one last gulp of his butterbeer before gesturing vaguely at his coat pocket, where his phone sits untouched.

“Text from Namjoon -- bookstore -- gotta meet hi-- bye!” Wrapping his hand around Taehyung’s wrist, he pulls the boy with him out of the booth, and with that, the two of them disappear into the crowd and out the door. Y/n stares after them, panic seeping into every fiber of her being as she turns slowly to face the two Slytherins she’s been left alone with. Hoseok’s also staring at the spot their friends had disappeared into, but Yoongi only presses his hand further into Y/n’s lap, urging her to take the vial.

“Full moon’s tomorrow -- drink up, babe.”

“No, that has to be a fucking joke -- you’re lying to me--”

“I’m not lying! I hiked my ass up that fucking tree and sat there throwing sticks at this girl so she would stop hurting herself until 5 o’clock in the morning!” Y/n groans and hides behind her hands, laughing out of sheer humiliation while Hoseok retells the story of the night they’d met -- the night she’d almost killed him. Yoongi leans his head back against the booth and breathes out a laugh, unable to believe what he’s just heard. He turns to Y/n, reaching out and tugging on her wrists until her eyes appear from behind her hands.

“Thank you very much for not ripping my boyfriend to shreds before I could confess. I would have been pissed.” She pulls her wrist from Yoongi’s grasp, pushing at his shoulder with another groan. She notices out of the corner of her eye that Hoseok’s gesturing silently toward the bar, holding up three fingers before pointing at their table -- their third set of refills in the last two hours. The glint of the metal bands on his fingers catches her attention, and she swallows hard as she returns her gaze to Yoongi’s face. The look he’s giving her tells her he’s caught her staring, but he only smiles when she clears her throat and attempts to move on.

“I just think it’s ridiculous that -- for someone who claims to be obsessed with magizoology and all things magical creatures -- Hoseok didn’t think ahead before wandering out to the Forbidden Forest on a full moon night.” Hoseok cracks a smile, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at her jab before focusing in on the waiter that’s sliding three fresh butterbeers onto their table. He slips the man a tip with a quick thanks, man, before pushing two of the drinks over to Y/n and Yoongi. There’s something so effortlessly smooth about the way Hoseok had handled the entire interaction -- as mundane and simple as it’d been -- that sets Y/n’s nerves on fire, and she accepts the drink shyly. Her mind flashes back to the one time she’d been here with her brother and his friends, the way Remus had stumbled over his words and almost spilled his drink on the table. It isn’t as cute to her now as it was back then--

Wait, what the hell?

“Princess?” She looks up from her drink and finds both Hoseok and Yoongi staring at her, heads tilted in matching confusion. Hoseok’s eyes flick down to her drink, and he gestures toward the bar with his thumb. “You’ve been drinking them cold this whole time, but I can get you something else if you don’t want it--”

“No! No… Thank you. This is good.” Hoseok stops short at her outburst, Yoongi’s eyebrows lifting past his fringe in surprise. Y/n only looks between them for a moment before lifting the drink to her lips awkwardly. When she sets it down again, she doesn’t notice the line of foam stretching across her top lip. The boys focus in on it, Yoongi taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he decidedly leans toward her after a moment. Resting two fingers under her chin, he swipes his thumb slowly over her mouth, sitting back and sticking that same thumb in his mouth to clean the sugar off his skin when he’s done. Hoseok watches the exchange with unwavering intensity, following the path of Yoongi’s hand all the way to the smaller boy’s mouth. Y/n doesn’t realize she’s done the same.

Seeing that he’s being stared at, Yoongi smiles awkwardly, leaning his elbows on the table as the tips of his ears turn pink. Looking to his boyfriend, he opens his mouth.

“So… it’s your fault you almost died?” Hoseok blinks, the moment gone. Y/n takes another sip of her drink, giving herself time to hide behind the large mug that covers much of her reddening face when she tilts it back. She swipes self-consciously at her mouth with her sleeve when she’s done, hoping they wouldn’t have to repeat the intimate display from before. She thinks that, if not for the fact that she’s found herself sensitized to the sound of Hoseok’s voice, she would have missed his response.

“Alright, I feel like I have to defend myself here -- I mean, I was 13 and way too excited about finding that pack of sentient wolves I’d read about. You really can’t blame me for not expecting there to be students of Y/n’s… special nature.” Hoseok glances around the pub inconspicuously, and Y/n finds herself covered in goosebumps when he lowers his voice at the end.

What the hell is happening to me?

Y/n blinks quickly, willing her frazzled state to just disappear, and focuses on what he’d said previously instead. She meets his eyes, sighing slightly when she sees that he’s already peering at her, thoroughly entertained by whatever it is that he’s finding on her face.

“So--” Hoseok straightens, discarding whatever he’d been thinking about to pay attention. “--are you just a total magizoology nerd then? Is that what you wanna do after graduation?” As if he hadn’t been expecting her genuine interest in his life, Hoseok bows his head slightly at her question, visibly shy. Beside him, Yoongi smiles fondly, and Y/n’s reminded of that day in the forest, when their roles had been switched.

“Oh… Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m interested in…” Hoseok trails off, but Y/n watches Yoongi nudge him almost teasingly, urging him to continue what he hadn’t wanted to say before. “I-uh-- I’ve been looking at internships at St. Mungo’s, but I really don’t think I’m gonna get--”

“He’s going to get in. They’d be crazy not to take him.” Yoongi interrupts him, practically beaming with pride. “How could they not? He’s got real passion for it, it’s obvious. I’m kinda jealous -- I wish I could do something cool like that.” Hoseok takes a sip of his drink, clearly doing what Y/n had done earlier to hide from them, but she lets it slide with a teasing glance when he meets her eyes over the rim of the glass. Turning to Yoongi, she hums, noting that he doesn’t seem fazed at all with admitting something about his future.

“You can’t do something cool like that?” She doesn’t mean to pry, but even after she realizes that the question could be sensitive, Yoongi only breathes out a laugh, shaking his head. She’s relieved he hadn’t taken any kind of offense.

“Nah -- my parents are what you’d call… elitist freaks. They’ve got a serious hard-on for that psychopath running around with his cult, so… I’m honestly lucky if I make it out of this war with all my morals intact.” She is deeply unprepared for Yoongi’s response, the sudden heartbreak she’s experiencing only worsened by the fact that he says it with a straight face, as if he’d long resigned himself to the truth of his words. When he sees the look on her face, Yoongi’s expression softens, and he tilts his head to look at her, his eyes twinkling with endearment.

“Don’t pout at me like that, babe -- you're making me want to kiss it better.” If Y/n hadn’t been expecting that comment, Hoseok really hadn’t been expecting it. He chokes on his butterbeer immediately, waving at Y/n frantically when she tries to help. Slamming his drink down on the table, Hoseok grabs Yoongi, pulling the smaller boy to him, hiding his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder while he finishes his coughing fit. Yoongi only pats his back, making a face of playful disgust at being used as a napkin.

“Well, now that Hoseok’s thoroughly embarrassed himself and his Slytherin reputation in front of, like, a million people, I think it’s time we go get him his jelly slugs.” Yoongi nudges his boyfriend out of the booth, gesturing with a nod of his head for Y/n to follow as he sets some money on the table and slides out of the booth.

In contrast to the way Hoseok had entered the Three Broomsticks, he leaves with his head bowed, ears red as he slouches his way to the door. Yoongi chuckles from behind Y/n, shaking his head as he guides her through the crowd with his hand on her waist.

“Look at him go -- my tall, embarrassed boyfriend. How cute. Gotta get him his jelly slugs.” He says all this like he’s talking to himself -- not quite in full sentences, each word full of a kind of exasperated adoration that Y/n finds impossibly cute. Yoongi’s shaking his head like he’s disappointed by Hoseok’s rare awkwardness, but he’s smiling like he’s in love. Y/n feels both giddy by the display of affection and strange that she’s granted this kind of access to their relationship. She feels torn, quite frankly. Like she shouldn’t be allowed to see this side of them.

By the time they finally reach Honeydukes, Hoseok has regained his confidence, going so far as to walk backwards while he talks to them. It’s ridiculous, really, the way he changes before her eyes -- the slouching boy from before transforms into the arrogant Hoseok she knows well, the one who practically hangs off of her now, looking for any excuse to touch her. One hand pulls at her scarf, adjusting it, while the other grabs for her fingertips, asking with a smirk if she’d like him to warm her up before linking their fingers together playfully. Yoongi only follows along, smiling and feigning innocence when Y/n turns to him for help.

They’re so busy causing chaos amongst themselves that they don’t notice another group headed straight for the doors of Honeydukes -- when Y/n does finally see them, she’s startled simply because, in any other case on any other day, she would have noticed them from a mile away.

“Y/n, hi!” Remus smiles wide at her, waving excitedly when he catches her attention. Y/n stops short, shocked by his sudden appearance which, really, is not all that sudden. “I texted you to see if you wanted to meet up today, but I guess luck’s on our side, huh?” Making a noise of surprise, she reaches for her coat pocket, where her phone remains unchecked. She hadn’t even felt the vibrations of a notification, too distracted by Hoseok and Yoongi.

As she’s checking her phone -- and seeing that she does, in fact, have an unseen message from Remus -- she misses the way James’ gaze hones in on where her hand is still attached to Hoseok’s, but she certainly feels when Hoseok rips his hand from hers and stuffs it into the pocket of his jeans. Looking up in confusion, she finds that he’s not looking at her, only staring with determination at the display in the Honeydukes window. He looks conflicted, almost guilty, and when she turns to the Marauders, the expression of scandalized surprise on James and Sirius’ faces tells her why. If Remus had seen them holding hands, his face betrays nothing.

“I’m gonna just… go get my jelly slugs. I’ll see you inside.” Hoseok brushes past her, leaving her there with Remus as he heads into the sweets shop. Yoongi looks after his boyfriend, and Y/n sees him start to follow but stop in his tracks, choosing in the end to remain beside her. The decision throws her, but she’s learned that Yoongi doesn’t do anything without thinking it through first, so she lets it go. Turning to the boys, she smiles sweetly, addressing them with surprising ease, considering she’s in the company of her childhood crush.

“Did you guys just get here? I didn’t see you at the Three Broomsticks at all.” James shakes his head, pushing away the memory of her display of physical affection with Hoseok as he responds. Sirius, however, continues to squint suspiciously, looking between her and Yoongi as he hovers near Remus.

“Nah, we were just at Zonko’s for like two hours -- gotta stock up, you know.” He shakes a large plastic bag filled with tricks and pranks for effect, and Y/n steps forward to peer inside.

“Woah… I can only imagine how many detentions this’ll get you.” The boys all laugh at how well she knows them, but Sirius leans in with a conspiratorial grin.

“Say, Y/n -- I feel like we haven’t seen you in forever! Why’s that, hm?” Y/n meets his eyes, lost.

“What do you mean? We talk all the time--”

“Well, yeah, but with your brother glued to Jin now, our crew’s been feeling so… empty these days. The Telepathy Twins have abandoned us!” He drapes himself over Remus’ back and cries out dramatically as he finishes complaining, something that has Y/n rolling her eyes with a smile.

“I’ve been here, Sirius -- we can hang out whenever you want!” Sirius perks up, leaning in toward her face with a sly grin.

“How ‘bout now?” Y/n lifts a single eyebrow, leaning away from him with a look of disbelief.

“Now? But…” She’s about to say that she’s busy and can’t leave with them, even if Remus is right there offering to hang out. But her hesitation sets Yoongi on edge, and he steps in quickly, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and tugging her back toward him. When she’s close enough, he takes his arm and throws it around her waist, moving behind her as he pulls her flush against his chest. She’s suddenly trapped against him, something made more clear in the way Yoongi leans his chin on her shoulder. She can almost feel the smirk spread across his lips as he speaks, his voice vibrating against the shell of her ear.

“Sorry boys, but Y/n’s really hard to get a hold of these days. Hoseok and I barely managed to reserve time with her today -- what kind of person would I be if I just let you steal her away from us?” Y/n’s not sure what to do with the show Yoongi’s putting on, and she knows by the way his arm is firm against her waist that he’s not letting her go anytime soon.

She watches lamely as Sirius hums contemplatively, having expected some sort of reaction from Yoongi but not quite this. Remus’ eyebrows lift in surprise as his gaze drops to the arm wrapped around her, but he doesn’t say anything. James is the first to respond, shaken from his shock at Yoongi’s bold move by the realization that this looks not unlike a literal standoff right in front of a crowded shop.

“Well, we’ll just have to schedule our own time later on, then, won’t w-- oh!” He reacts when the doorbell above the Honeydukes door rings out, revealing Hoseok as he exits, holding a bag of jelly slugs and sugar quills for Yoongi. There are a couple chocolate bars in his hand, something he knows helps Y/n after the full moon. He’s so busy sifting through his bag that it takes him a second to see the scene he’s just walked into.

When he does look up, he’s stopping short, eyes trained evenly on the compromising position his boyfriend’s in. Whatever thoughts are crossing his mind in that moment are unseen on his face, his eyes unblinking as they pass over Yoongi’s arm, Yoongi’s chin, Yoongi’s lips pressed against Y/n’s ear as she’s pressed against his chest. They all stand there for a moment, frozen, waiting for Hoseok to react.

And then he’s blinking, looking away as he moves toward Remus and holds out one of the chocolate bars in his hand. Remus takes it, uncertain of what’s happening in Hoseok’s head right now. The Slytherin explains with one line and a polite smile.

“You look tired.” He’s not wrong -- Remus’ eyes show his exhaustion, his face and shoulders more slouched than usual as his body fights against the force of the moon, almost full. He looks how Y/n feels inside, but the adrenaline from the day spent with Hoseok and Yoongi -- apparently not yet over -- had kept her from feeling the full effects of the near future. Now that Hoseok’s mentioning it, Y/n feels herself start to become drained of energy, something that she knows Yoongi notices when she shifts in his arms and he tightens his hold on her.

Remus takes the chocolate with a tired smile, thanking Hoseok under his breath. And then he’s leaning around the Slytherin to wave kindly -- albeit a bit awkwardly -- at Y/n and Yoongi, still entangled in each other’s limbs.

“Good luck tomorrow, Y/n -- let me know if you need me, okay?” It’s innocent, it truly is. And Y/n’s grateful for it, the way Remus has always looked out for her. But the way Hoseok glances over his shoulder at her, his eyes appearing almost resigned, leaves her unsettled. And when the tips of Yoongi’s fingers dig into her side, betraying his annoyance with the comment, Y/n can’t help the fluttering feeling that rushes into the pit of her stomach. A feeling strictly reserved for Remus -- until now.

She waves awkwardly as they go, painfully aware of the sudden wave of crisp air hitting her back when Yoongi finally steps away from her. He holds his hand out for Hoseok’s bag, offering to carry it. Hoseok hands him the sweets, passing Y/n her chocolate bar without a word. The three of them are quiet as they exchange items, none of them quite certain how to proceed from what had just happened. Y/n feels guilty, like she’s the reason Hoseok and Yoongi are silent with each other.

Then, Hoseok’s turning to her, decidedly ignoring the entire situation with an easy grin. But there, in his eyes, is a glint of mischief, something teasing and light but intense enough to tell her that he won’t be forgetting about this moment for a long time, and that ignites something in her that she’s never felt before -- not even with Remus. It sends her heartbeat straight to her ears, muffling everything around her as her stomach drops in a way that she can’t bring herself to describe negatively. She barely registers Hoseok’s hand on her elbow, calling for her attention as he directs a bright smile at her.

“Ready to go, Princess?”

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #jung hoseok #min yoongi #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #bts poly au

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years ago

Text

sugar sugar - october.

Summary: Henry invites her to a rooftop party and that is only the beginnings of a whole lot of changes for Becky.

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Just an idiot who doesn’t take no for an answer, but that’s it.

Wordcount: 8.5k 🙈

A/N: I hope you guys like this chapter (and please Tumblr, don’t eat comments anymore, thank you very much)

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

October 1st 8 p.m.

Henry asked me if I wanted to go with him to a rooftop party. I mean, of course I wanted to go with him, because I’ve never been to a party like that. However, as I try to find something to wear, I’m left with barely anything. The money he gave me, went straight to the bank to pay off a tiny bit of my severe debt. I kinda want to ask Henry to just pay it all off, but I’m too scared to ask him.

But now I sorta wished I spend it on clothes. I don’t even know what one wears to a rooftop party.

I slip on my black heels after I put on a simple black shirt with long sleeves, that’s tugged in a grey checkered pants. This looks sort of sophisticated.

I hope.

With my purse in hand, I walk out of my door. I know Henry is already here, so now I only need to sneak passed mister Del Rossi.

Let’s just hope he is watching some series again.

After I peeked around the corner, I see he is too invested in a different movie, so I shoot out of the building without him noticing me. Once I’m outside, I see Henry leaning against his Range Rover.

He looks so expensive. I think his belt is probably worth more than my entire outfit. The black slacks accentuate the firmness of his legs (and probably the firmness of his ass too, but only time will tell) and he paired it with a tight white blouse, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong underarms and probably severely overpriced watch.

Instead of greeting him, like you usually do when you see someone you know, I let the words: ‘I’m severely underdressed,’ slip, whilst stopping in the middle of the curb.

’No, you’re not,’ Henry says. ‘You look perfect.’

Perfect isn’t a word I would associate with me. Ever. Even my parents and siblings would agree that perfect and I don’t go hand in hand.

‘Excuse me, what?’

‘You look perfect,’ he repeats. ‘If you think you’re underdressed though, you and I could go shopping first. We have time.’

‘Really?’ I ask. ‘I mean, you wanted to go to the party tonight. Don’t you wanna be on time?’

‘There is a thing called fashionably late,’ he says. ‘Besides, I don’t want you to feel underdressed.’

Is this honestly my life now? I sort of say I want something and he just puts his life on hold, simply to give it to me?

I could get used to that.

‘How much time do we have left?’ I ask. ‘I mean, is there even a store open now?’

‘We have all the time in the world. Now get in, Becky,’ he says with a smile, ‘I know a place that is still open.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When Henry says he knows a place, he really does know a place. He takes me to the most luxurious boutique in the entirety of Manhattan and the owner (who is a lot smaller than Henry, but wow, is he very handsome. Totally someone I would break my neck for if I saw him passing me) holds up his hand when he spots us. ‘Henry, what a surprise.’ His brown eyes land on me and he smiles even brighter than before. ‘Hi there, I’m Peter.’

He holds out his hand and I carefully take it. ‘I’m Becky, nice to meet you.’

‘What can I do for you today?’

‘We’re going to the rooftop party at Gino’s,’ Henry says, his hand possessively in the dip of my waist, almost as he wants everyone in the store (and that includes the four rich looking guys in the back of the store) to know I’m with him. ‘And we want something for her to wear. Though I think she looks beautiful already, she should feel comfortable.’

Excuse me, my legs should not feel this wobbly.

Peter nods. ‘Well, I have just the thing for you. Walk with me, Becky.’

Henry squeezes my waist, before I walk with Peter to the left of the store.

‘So,’ Peter says, ‘are you enjoying this type of lifestyle?’

How does one respond to this implication, especially when it’s true? ‘Hm, what?’

‘Oh love, I know all about what you two have,’ he says. ‘Henry and I go way back.’ He goes through the clothing racks, as his eyes scan every item on the it. ‘We went to high school together and became best friends. We still are. So, after college, he goes to start Midnight and became filthy rich and I didn’t. I worked in cheap clothing stores after studying fashion and when he saw me struggle, he gave me the head start I needed. And now, look at me. One of the greatest boutiques here in Manhattan.’

‘Really?’ I ask him. ‘Does he give away money like that all the time to anyone?’

He shakes his head as a chuckle leaves his lips. ‘No,’ Peter answers. ‘He barely does it. Only to charities, but he always does it anonymous. You know, it was my idea to sign him up for Sugar Sugar. He is getting pretty lonely.’

‘How?’ I ask. ‘I mean, how does someone who looks like that, doesn’t have someone in his life?’

‘He is…’ Peter starts, ‘wait a minute, how do I say this? Keen on a solitary life.’

‘But why did he sign up then?’

‘Because the solitary life isn’t doing him any good.’ He smiles and says: ‘Becky with the good hair was the first profile to pop up on his feed and it was all he needed to see.’

I’m oddly flattered. ‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Why?’ I try to think about my profile picture, which was a very plain picture of me sitting in the grass during a picnic with Genevieve and Viola.

‘I don’t know. We signed him up and he was sold the second he saw your pictures and read your profile. He didn’t even check other profiles, just clicked on yours to send you a message.’ Peter has obtained a set: a tight black skirt with a white long-sleeved crop top. He ushers me to follow him and like a puppy I trail behind him. He grabs some black shiny boots, with a high thin heel after he asked for my shoe size. He even takes some jewelry with him.

Peter hangs everything up for me in the dressing room, as Henry takes a sit in a chair. ‘Show me when you’re dressed, okay?’ he says to me. I nod and when Peter stepped out of the dressing room, I close the curtain behind me.

While I’m changing, I hear them softly talking. I lean towards the curtain with my ear and try to decipher what they are talking about, but I can’t understand what they’re saying.

Is it true though, what Peter told me? Was Henry really sold the second he saw my profile? Meaning, he is not lying when he calls me beautiful?

I look at myself in the mirror and grab the silver collier and the matching ring. This looks amazing, I think to myself, as the skirt and top give my such an hour glass figure. My work attire is a star in hiding the few curves I have and my other clothes don’t quite accentuate it. I put on the heels and open the curtain.

‘My oh my,’ Peter says as I step out. ‘You are stunning.’

‘Thanks to you,’ I chuckle. ‘I absolutely love it.’

Peter walks over to me, pulling the skirt a little straighter. ‘You know, I love every piece of clothing in this boutique, but it’s always the model who makes it work. You sure you don’t want to model for me?’

I should not be blushing. ‘I don’t think I would be good enough for that.’

‘Nonsense,’ Peter says. ‘You don’t have to say yes straight away, but think about it.’ From the looks of it, he is dead serious.

Henry stands up and gets closer to me, causing him to literally tower over me. He grabs his hand in mine, inspecting the ring. ‘Peter,’ he says, ‘do you have a ring that is a little bit more delicate?’

His friend nods and walks into the store to grab a different ring. Henry gently pulls the ring off my finger.

‘What do you think?’ I ask him. ‘I mean, you’re probably gonna pay for it.’

‘I am gonna pay for it,’ he says with a smirk. ‘What Peter said: you’re stunning. I think I’ll be making everyone very jealous with you by my side.’

I highly doubt it, but this sure is a nice compliment.

Peter comes back with a different ring and after they exchanged them, Henry slides on the other ring around my finger.

This sure gives me enough to work with for my next dream, I can tell you that. The ring is a little bit more delicate, but when I look at it, it’s indeed better around my finger. ‘Perfect,’ Henry says. ‘You want a clutch to match with this?’

‘I’d rather have a purse,’ I mumble.

I don’t have to tell Henry twice. ‘Peter, could you grab some purses for her to check out?’

The store owner hurries back to the store once again, this time to fetch us some purses.

‘Should I put my other clothes in a bag?’ I suggest. ‘I can do that, while we wait.’

I already turn around, but Henry pulls me back. ‘No,’ he sternly says, ‘stay here.’

While Peter gives us four purses to show, he is actually the one that puts my other clothes in a bag, neatly folding it in a way I never do that. I pick a black and white purse, though I really like the pink one. It’s just that I’m not confident enough to pull off a bright pink purse with this outfit.

After Peter cut out the tags off my clothes and Henry paid for them (it was a good two thousand dollars, my poor heart), he receives the bag with my clothing from his friend and we say our goodbyes to Peter. ‘Can we go here more often?’ I ask Henry, as he opens the door for me.

‘If you want that, of course.’

Once we’re seated in his car again, I look to the side. ‘Thank you, I absolutely love it.’

‘Good,’ he says, starting the car. ‘You look like an absolute vision, Becky.’

✤ ✤ ✤

I know about how valets work, but I’ve never seen it happen in real life. I actually thought about working as a valet, but then I remembered I don’t have a drivers license, so that possibility went off the table fairly quick.

Henry held up his hand when a valet guy wanted to walk around the car to open my door, only to do it himself. He offered me his hand and once I took it, he helped me out of the car. Now, we’re stepping into the elevator that’s prettier than the entire apartment building I live in.

‘Gino is a good friend of mine,’ he says. ‘His parties are usually pretty okay, but if you want to leave, just let me know.’

‘Okay,’ I say.

‘And I don’t know how your alcohol tolerance is,’ he continues to say, ‘but his drinks are pretty strong, so watch out for that.’

Good to know. I can’t handle alcohol very well, except maybe a nice wine. ‘Is there wine?’ I ask him.

‘I’ll check for you. Also, remember not to take drinks from anyone, but me, okay?’

I scoff. ‘How old do you think I am?’ I ask. ‘I’m a grown woman, Henry.’

He smiles. ‘Well, you know, Becky,’ he continues to say, ‘Gino might be nice, but his friends are not always.’ He looks to the side. ‘If I were you, I’d stay close.’

‘I was thinking the same,’ I mumble, my cockiness dissolving as we speak. ‘I’m not really good at parties,’ I admit. ‘My last party was prom and it was horrendous. And that with people I actually knew.’

He nods. ‘Another reason to stay close.’

We step out of the elevator and oh my gosh, the aesthetic of the rooftop party is beautiful. I see golden lights everywhere and with the terrace heaters, the place has a nice temperature, so I’m not freezing to death in this outfit. I hear some music, watch some people dancing in the middle of the roof, whilst other are standing near the bar or sitting on large lounge sofa’s.

Okay, the people seem okay, just they all look so expensive, while I on the other hand look really poor, even in this two thousand dollar outfit. Is Henry absolutely sure he wants me to interact with these bouche people? I mean, I am part of his reputation now. If they think low of me, I honestly don’t mind, since I’ll probably ever see them again, but if they think low of Henry, because of me… That can’t be good, especially because he pays me to be by his side.

Henry must sense my discomfort, because after he places a heavy hand on my lower back, he leans down to my ear and whispers: ‘If I were afraid you were gonna embarrass me, I wouldn’t have taken you here. Just be yourself.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘Henry, I’m not even content with myself. I can fake something, get an alter ego. Just give me a minute to prepare.’

‘No,’ he says sternly, ‘I want you.’

My knees barely recover from that comment. He wants me…

…to be by his side, without putting up an act. This has no sexual meaning what so ever. We agreed on that, I know that. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Just me. Sure?’

He chuckles. ‘Sure,’ he confirms. We walk towards a table and he hands me a glass of wine, before getting himself some whiskey.

Rich men really drink that?

His hand has risen from my lower back, to the midst of my back, his thumb caressing the bare part between my skirt and crop top. It’s such a casual and simple gesture from his side, but it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, with added heart palpitations.

‘If anyone asks,’ Henry says, ‘you’re my date.’

I actually wonder if anyone is even gonna notice me, because has Henry seen himself? Right when I want to say something to him, a man walks up to us. ‘Henry, you made it!’

‘Gino, nice to see you again.’ Henry holds out his hand and the two shake hands.

Oh, Gino is quite handsome as well. Does Henry only know beautiful people? I thought Peter was to die for already, but Gino sure is a sight for the eye as well. ‘Hello there,’ Gino says, a lovely smile appearing on his face.

‘Hi,’ I say, not quite sure if I should introduce myself or wait for him to ask my name.

‘This is Becky,’ Henry says, when he senses my incapability to be polite. ‘Becky, this is Gino.’

‘Nice to meet you, Becky,’ Gino says, shaking my hand with full enthusiasm, that my shoulder nearly gets dislocated. But it’s nice to be welcomed to someones party with this much excitement. Especially because I have never met the man before.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ I finally manage to say. ‘I love the aesthetic of the party. Very warm and beautiful.’

Gino smiles. ‘You know, you’re the first one to actually say something about it.’ He looks at Henry. ‘I like her.’

He ushers us to follow him to a lounge couch in the corner and while we trail behind, I tug Henry’s hand. ‘He likes me?’ I ask him. ‘Did he really say that?’

‘He did,’ Henry says with a smile.

I watch Gino shooing people away from the couch and holds out his hand, gesturing for us to take a sit. Henry and Gino both wait till I’m seated and I place my purse on my lap, since I’m not sure how far up my skirt you can look if I just normally sit. When I crossed my legs as well, Henry places his hand on knee, as he talks business with Gino.

My entire skin burns, even the part where his cold ring is making contact with my leg.

While I’m slightly disappointed that Henry and Gino aren’t involving me in the conversation, I realize it’s not about me. Of course it’s not about me. I’m tagging along with Henry, who is much more important than I am and who has business to do, even at a party.

I let my eyes wander over the people, who all seem to know each other. People kissing each other on the cheeks as they approach someone. Women wrapping their arms around some guy, who pulls them close as they clink their glasses.

‘Where are the restrooms?’ I ask them.

‘Near the elevators,’ Gino answers. ‘On your right hand.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ I look at Henry and softly say: ‘I’ll be right back.’

I place my empty wineglass on a table and walk through the people towards the restrooms. Not to pee or anything, but to regain my thoughts. Everyone here is so pretty and gorgeous and I feel so out of place.

I mean, even the bathroom is decorated in such a pretty and rich manner, and I’m none of that. I look into the mirror and decide to touch up some of my lipstick. I do some breathing exercises, because I feel like I’m totally working myself up.

After a short break from the party, I decide to walk back to the lounge couch. I push myself through the enormous crowd of people, but when I’m really close to Henry and Gino again, I bump into someone.

‘Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry,’ I say.

The guy who I bumped into smiles at me and all of the sudden I’m in desperate need of a pair of sunglasses. Why are his teeth so white? Is that even healthy? ‘No, it’s okay,’ he says. ‘Who you here with?’ he then asks me.

‘I’m with him,’ I say, pointing at the lounge couch, only to see Henry already looking at us.

‘Want something to drink?’

Yeah, that’s a no. I’m not accepting a drink from someone who clearly has had one too many. ‘No, but thank you for offering,’ I say, taking Henry’s advice on not taking drinks from anyone, but him to heart. ‘I’ve gotta go.’

I want to walk passed him, but the man grabs my wrist tightly. ‘Come on, one drink.’

I barely learned anything in juvie, but there is one thing I learned pretty damn quickly: if you want to break yourself free from someone’s grasp, rotate your arm towards their thumb. They can’t hold onto you, even if they wanted to and seeing this man’s level of intoxication, I think it’ll be doable.

I twist my arm towards his thumb and like I predicted, he lets go of me. ‘No thanks,’ I say, quickly walking up to the lounge corner. Henry is on the edge of his seat and when I approach him, he stands up. ‘Was he harassing you?’ he asks me, his eyes a few shades darker, as he places his hand on my upper arm.

Why does Henry look like he is ready to skin the guy alive and why is that so hot?

‘No,’ I say.

‘It sure looked like it to me.’

He wants to pass me, but I place my hand on his chest (okay, that was the original plan, but it lands on his stomach). ‘I took care of it, Henry,’ I say, as we both look at the guy who is still rubbing his hand, meaning I took him by surprise. ‘I promise you, I’m fine.’

He clears his throat, almost as if he has to restrain himself not to do anything about it. He simply nods and when the two of us sit down again, he places a heavy hand on my leg, as he talks to Gino about more business stuff. His grip on my leg slightly tightens every time the guy looks our way.

While I might not understand a lot of it, I am completely drawn in by the way Henry speaks. He sounds so confident when talking about something of his own field of expertise. Tine goes by, but there isn’t a second I’m bored.

I wrap my arm around his and place my cheek against his thick upper arm.

That sparks his attention. ‘Look at you,’ he says with an endearing smile on his face. ‘You tired, Becky?’

‘No,’ I say, but that’s a lie. In all honesty: I’m dog tired.

‘We’ve been here for quite some time,’ he says, looking at his watch. ‘Two hours nearly.’

‘We’ve been here for two hours?’ I ask him. It sure doesn’t feel like that. No wonder I’m tired, it’s way passed my bedtime. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I think we should go.’

‘No, we don’t have to, not if you’re still busy.’

‘We’re going,’ he tells me.

Yeah, I can’t argue with that.

I sit up straight and when he is standing, he holds out his hand for me to take. While I’m perfectly capable to get up myself, I gladly take him up on his offer. We say our goodbyes to Gino (who actually pulls me into a hug, as apparently you do when you’re rich? I don’t know) and once we’re in the elevator again, I can’t hide my smile. ‘Gino’s nice.’

‘He is.’

‘You’re not mad about the other guy, right?’ I ask.

He scoffs, but I feel like that is the answer to my question.

‘It’s not that bad, Henry.’

‘It was to me,’ he says.

The valet pulls up the car and Henry helps me in the car again, a trait I very much appreciate and hope it never stops. Whilst Henry drives me home, I lean back against the seat and turn my head to the side. ‘What’s up?’ he asks me, turning the steering wheel with just one hand.

‘I never heard you talk that much about work,’ I say. ‘It’s nice to hear you talking about something you’re passionate about. You know, you talk a lot with your hands, once you get thrilled about something. It’s endearing.’

Henry laughs. ‘Endearing you say?’

‘Oh, right, you’re a tough guy. Endearing doesn’t match with your reputation.’

He stops the car in front of my building. ‘Thanks for going with me.’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘If Gino has another rooftop party, please invite me. I love the way he decorates it. Or lets it decorate, I don’t know. I feel like there should be a little bit more orange and yellow added to it. Not those neon colors, but those warm and soft— Henry, why are you laughing?’

‘It’s nice to hear you talking about something you’re passionate about,’ he says with a smile. ‘You want me to walk with you?’

’No, if my landlord sees me walking in with a man like you, I have no idea how he is gonna react and I don’t want to find out.’

He opens the door for me after he got out himself and hands me the bag with my old clothes. ‘I’m taking you shopping soon,’ he says.

I like how he tries to formulate it as a question, but fails. Shows me that no matter how much money he has, he is still human. ‘Really? We’re going to Peter again?’

He nods. ‘Among other shops, yes.’

‘Great, sure. Thank you for tonight. I really had fun.’

‘Me too,’ he says.

I don’t know how to say goodbye to him, so I simply smile and walk towards the entrance of the apartment building. I look over my shoulder one more time and shyly wave at him.

I quickly run up the stairs and once I’m in my room, my phone beeps in my purse. Henry transferred a thousand dollars to me? Thank you for your company tonight, Becky it says in the description.

I can’t help but smile, though it doesn’t last very long, because I know that I have to save part of this money to pay off mister Del Rossi and the rest for my debt.

Meaning that I can’t enjoy it yet.

But that’ll come soon, I’m sure.

October 3rd 2 p.m.

Henry takes me shopping like he promised, but after the morning I had in Retro House, I continue to yawn and feel absolutely exhausted. Even in the dressing rooms, I sometimes just sit on the little stool, hoping to regain some energy. However, I pull myself together fairly quickly when I realize Henry is here to pay for everything my heart desires. The least I can do is be a nice shopping partner.

We decide to take a bit of a coffee break at a nearby cafe and thankfully that means I can get some caffeine in my body. I sure need it.

‘You’re tired,’ Henry notes.

Okay, I’m not doing a very good job at hiding it apparently. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. Rough morning at the restaurant,’ I say. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes as the soft sun rays shine on my face. ‘I also slept like shit last night.’

‘You want another job?’ he asks.

I open my eyes again, to look at him. ‘Oh absolutely, but I have very little to offer,’ I say. ‘I’m not qualified for anything.’

‘How about you just quit your job?’ he suggests.

I choke on my own spit. Did he honestly just say that I quit my job? As lousy as working at Retro House is, I can’t just stop. ‘Excuse me, what?’ I ask. ‘That I’m pretty dependable on you already is out of my own comfort zone, but quitting my job? Seriously? What do you want me to do with my time? Take your credit card and shop till I drop?’

Come to think of it, that actually sounds like something I would thoroughly enjoy.

Henry chuckles. ‘I was going to offer you a different job,’ he says.

While the fantasy of me walking downtown with Henry’s credit card in my thousand dollar purse, an assistant who carries my bags and a little chihuahua walking next to me in a matching outfit runs through my mind, I realize that another job might be better for my pride.

‘Oh,’ I say, as the idea of a new job sparks my interest. ‘What type of job?’

‘Midnight is looking for someone who can work in the archives. It’s currently a mess there and it’s only getting worse, unless someone is there to organize it.’

I think I can actually do that. ‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I don’t want to work for you because you feel sorry for me.’

‘I don’t feel sorry for you,’ Henry tells me. ‘I want to give you an opportunity to make money, before your writing career takes off.’

I snort. ‘Yeah, like that’ll ever happen

He tilts his head. ‘It’ll happen, Becky, I’m sure of that. You know, the money you earn with this job, can go to your bank account and you save up.’

‘Are you serious?’

He nods. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered.’

This is an amazing opportunity. I mean, working in the archives, that’s a job I would actually quite love to do. This will give me the opportunity to provide for myself and work on my books, while Henry still does what he does as my… I really don’t want to think about the word…

The things he does as my sugar daddy.

But there is one thing that is holding me back. ‘I can’t take you up on that offer,’ I say. ‘You see, your office is too far from my place. It’s around an hour by car. I don’t have a car, nor can I drive and… Going with public transportation is just something I can’t afford.’

‘You can’t drive?’ he asks me.

I shake my head.

‘You want to be able to drive?’

I shrug. ‘Maybe on abandoned roads somewhere else, but not here in New York. That just gives me stress.’

Henry nods. ‘Well, I’ll arrange a car for you to pick you up whenever you have to go to work. However, on your first day, I’ll pick you up, so I can help you around, get you a bit more familiar with the place.’

My eyes widen. ‘Seriously?’

‘Of course,’ he says.

‘Isn’t that a hassle? I mean—’

‘I don’t mind driving,’ he interrupts me, ‘and I don’t mind picking you up.’

I feel like I can’t argue with that, so I nod. ‘How much money would I make?’

‘Around three thousand a month, but you and I can negotiate about that.’

I think three thousand a month is absolutely fine, especially because I can pay back mister Del Rossi in no time once I have a steady salary. ‘Henry, I don’t know how to thank you. This is absolutely amazing.’

‘You can thank me by accepting the job. We’ll sign something tonight.’ He pulls out his phone and says: ‘I’ll have my assistant working on that. I’ll call him right now.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Becky: LISTEN UP LISTEN UP

Becky: I quit my job!!

Genevieve: You’re a full time sugar baby now?

Genevieve: I mean, I thought the sites told you not to do that?

Becky: No, I have another job.

Viola: Oh really??? Tell us all about it!

Becky: Meet Midnight’s new archivist: Miss Rebecca Kim.

Genevieve: Beck, you serious? You’re gonna work for your daddy?

Becky: Yes I’m serious and whenever you refer to Henry, either use his full name or the term SUGAR daddy.

Genevieve: I’ll think about it 😉

Genevieve: It’s just that daddy has a nice ring to it.

Genevieve: Daddy Henry omfg

Becky: ANYWAYS

Becky: I’m gonna make 3000 a month!

Viola: I love my bf, but at this point I want what you have.

Viola: I want to make $3000 a month, whilst also getting lovely gifts too.

Viola: I’m so happy for you!!

Genevieve: BECKY!!! I HAVE A GOOD IDEA!!

Genevieve: GIVE HIM BLOWJOBS WHILE HE IS WORKING AND YOU’RE UNDERNEATH THE DESK!!

Becky: GEN, NO!!!!

October 7th 7:30 a.m.

We settled on the normal three thousand a month, since I don’t want special treatment simply because I am Henry’s sugar baby. We also decided that Henry offered me the job, after visiting Retro House a few times and we got to talk about something I want to do with my future. I mean, it’s not a total lie, so it’s easy to sell if anyone asks.

After he called his assistant, we went to even more stores, because I need to dress to impress, especially on my first day of work.

And today is the day. I would lie if I said I wasn’t nervous, because last night I couldn’t sleep at all. I was tossing and turning, to a point I fell off my bed.

Twice.

Henry kept his promise and picked me up and we’re already ten minutes on the road. But the traffic is really bad today, however I feel like it wouldn’t matter if I was late on my first day, when you drive along with your boss, a.k.a. the CEO of the entire company.

Henry leans back in his seat, as he watches the road. We’re standing completely still and that makes me even more nervous. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, ‘it’ll go fine today.’

‘Really?’ I ask him. ‘I mean… I don’t know why I’m so nervous. What if no one likes me?’

‘Impossible,’ Henry retorts within a second. ‘You have a very likable personality, Becky. If someone doesn’t like you, maybe I should fire them.’

That should not make me this giggly from the inside, but it still does. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

Henry pulls up, only to stop shortly afterwards. The road is jam packed and he is getting very frustrated now, though he tries his best to hide it.

‘Do I have breaks?’ I ask him.

‘You can have as many breaks as you want,’ he says.

‘Henry, I don’t want special treatment just because I’m your… You know what. I want to be just like one of your other employees.’

He chuckles. ‘Well, since you work from eight—though I think today you start at nine, with this traffic—till two or three, you should have two breaks of thirty minutes.’

‘That’s long,’ I note.

‘I like to give my employees a lot of breaks,’ he says. ‘Helps them to keep concentrated. You can grab your lunch in the cafeteria, it’s all free, so don’t worry about that. You can hang around there, but the view from the archives is lovely, so who knows you want to stay there. That’s up to you.’

I look to the side, at the exact moment Henry runs his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘On normal days,’ I say, ‘do I see you?’

‘You can come up to my office whenever you want.’

‘Henry,’ I mutter, ‘I’m just like your other employees.’

‘I know that,’ he says. ‘But I literally personally hired you. Meaning you’re not like my employees to begin with.’

I let out a chuckle. ‘Mhm, we’ll see.’

✤ ✤ ✤

The exterior of the Midnight building is magnificent, but the inside is even more ravishing. The floors shine, the walls are either painted or covered in wallpaper, I can’t tell the difference and even the ceiling is decorated.

I receive my own pass that gives me access to any room, including the upper floor, which is Henry’s office where only he, his assistant and people who are invited are allowed. He shows me the floors and I try to ignore every glare I receive from people who are obviously surprised and confused by the CEO giving me a tour of this place.

We finally arrive on the seventeenth floor and after we walked through a long hallway, we arrive at the archives.

And to call this a mess, is an understatement. I don’t think I have ever seen this much paper unorganized on the floor in my life. ‘How is your company this successful?’ I ask Henry, who stands behind me, taking in the mess. ‘This is absolutely appalling.’

‘It is,’ he admits. ‘You’re still up for the job?’

‘I think I am,’ I mumble. ‘Just tell me how you want it and I’ll start right away.’

Henry explains he wants everything put in folders, boxes and preferably both alphabetized and sorted out by year. That is something I totally agree with.

After I placed my bag in the only free space of this room (the right corner), I crouch down to collect some paper, making sure the entrance is sort of free from paper. Henry walks around the corner, trying to find a label maker, stapler and other office supplies I might need.

The door creaks and I feel this enormous pack of paper land on my back. I wince as I look over my shoulder, to see this guy with such a smug grin on his face.

‘Excuse me,’ I ask, ‘what’s your problem?’

‘Just bringing some paper,’ he says.

‘Are you blind? Can’t you see I’m trying to organize this place?’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, just giving you more to do.’

I clench my jaw. Is this man for real? Firstly, he attacked me with paper. Secondly, he has the audacity to call me sweetheart. What’s next? He asks me to take off my clothes and organize this mess naked, while he grabs some popcorn, to enjoy the show and gives me more to do here?

‘Well,’ I say, ‘since it’s my first day here, I don’t think it would be nice of me to ram this pack of paper up your ass, but let me tell you this: if you ever have the nerve to throw a something in this room, I swear to—’

‘Mister Miller,’ I hear behind me. ‘Causing trouble again?’

The color in Miller’s face disappears, as he gulps, realizing Henry has both seen and heard what he said. ‘No, sir, absolutely not,’ he stammers.

Henry walks over to us, placing a box next to my feet. ‘Let’s have a talk outside,’ he says, placing his hand on the guy’s shoulder, ready to escort him out of the room. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he says to me, before walking out.

I open the box Henry placed next to my feet and I see a lot of supplies. I massage the spot on my back, where the thick pack of paper hit me. I bruise like a peach, I know that. A strong wind could break my nose and I’m sure I’ll feel this unfortunate meeting of this pack of paper against my back for awhile.

‘You’re alright?’ I hear Henry ask, when he comes back.

‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Just a small downgrade of his job description.’ The nonchalance in his voice cannot be missed. He seems like a tough boss, someone who applies the rule ‘one strike and you’re out’, but at the same time, he seems like the boss that would give you as much time off as you need, when you have a personal matter and actually visits you to check in with you. ‘I have a last minute meeting,’ he tells me, ‘but you’ll manage, right?’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘If you need anything, just text me. I’ll arrange something for you right away.’

Of course he will. I nod. ‘Okay, thanks, Henry.’

He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. He simply nods and walks out of the room.

✤ ✤ ✤

Working at Retro House, left me with defect: I can’t take a long break, not even one. If I took a fifteen minute break during an eight hour day, that would be a reason to celebrate. Now, I can take breaks whenever I want, how long I want.

That’s too much freedom in the work environment.

It just doesn’t feel good to chill around, while I could also be working. However, at around one in the afternoon, my lack of sleep is slowly catching up with me and I sit in the corner, stapling some papers together. It’s just that the way the sun shines onto the spot, that makes me even more drowsy than I already was.

As I stare out of the window, I realize Henry’s right. The view is beautiful here. My eyelids become heavier and heavier and I slowly drift off to sleep.

I don’t know how long I’m sleeping, but I wake up when I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder. I jolt awake, ready to karate chop the person who touches me, only to see it’s Henry. ‘Oh,’I say, ‘I’m so sorry. Don’t think I’ve slept the entire time. I just felt a bit tired and I guess I drifted off to sleep and—’

He shushes. ‘No, no, none of that. I can see how much work you’ve done in one day.’

He’s not mad? ‘You’re not mad?’

Henry frowns. ‘Why would I be mad?’

‘I don’t know,’ I stammer. ‘Just… Never mind. How was your day?’

‘It was good,’ he says. ‘I think you’re done for today. You’ve done enough.’

‘Henry, my shift isn’t over.’

He smirks. ‘Well, the boss says it is.’ He holds out his hand and helps me up. ‘I’ll take you back home.’

When we’re in the car, Henry doesn’t quite say anything. While I’m figuring out what to say to him, he takes a deep breath and says: ‘I’ll be busy for the next two weeks or so.’

I should not be disappointed, yet I am. ‘Oh, okay.’

‘I won’t be able to meet up or see you at work.’

That’s a bummer. ‘That’s fine,’ I say to him.

‘Tomorrow a driver will pick you up,’ he continues. ‘His name is Laurence, he drives me around from time to time. Very nice man.’

‘Alright,’ I say.

‘And if you need anything from me, you can always text me.’ He looks to the side as he waits for the red traffic light. ‘Promise me, Becky.’

I chuckle as I nod. ‘I promise, Henry.’

October 21st 9 p.m.

Working in the archives is pretty much a solo job. I’ve snapped at people multiple times, before they get a chance to throw papers into the room and now, everyone gently places their papers on a designated table.

Maybe people don’t like me because of I yelled at them, but come to think of it: I only yelled at men.

A group of women asked me to join them on their lunch breaks. While at first glance, they didn’t seem like the type of people I’d personally pick out to eat my lunch with, they are very pleasant to be around with and I’m happy they invited me.

They, of course, all have their own lives, with husbands and children, but it’s nice to not spend my time alone.

I do however have slight issues with stopping today, because the room finally looks a bit more presentable. It’s nowhere near done, don’t get me wrong, but it’s nice to see the entire floor.

With my bag over my shoulder, I wait for the elevator doors to open. These passed two weeks, I indeed barely saw Henry, but he did transfer a thousand dollars to my bank account (with the description ‘just because’). He sometimes texted me, reminding me to take my well deserved breaks and to not only work on organizing the archives, but also work on my book, as it—and I quote—“doesn’t write itself”.

While the elevator takes its sweet time to come up to the right floor, I see that Laurence texted me that unfortunately he has a family matter. I quickly text him back that it’s okay and that I hope everything will be okay for him soon. I step into the elevator. I want to press the button to go to the ground floor, but my eyes land on the button for the upper floor.

I know Henry is in the office today and I could… You know… Talk to him.

I’m not gonna lie, but I missed him. I really wished it wasn’t like that, because I don’t think you should attach to your sugar daddy that much, but I can’t help it. I miss being around him.

When I press the button to go to the upper floor, I have to scan my pass, granting me access. The elevator takes me all the way to the top and when the doors slide open, I can already see Henry sitting behind his desk.

He looks up and smiles when he notices it’s me. ‘I was wondering when I would see you up here.’

‘Well, I don’t have a ride home. Laurence has a family matter.’

‘Yeah, so I’ve heard,’ he says. ‘He texted me a second ago. It’s pretty severe, so he won’t be able to drive you for a while.’ He nods for me to come closer.

‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ I say. ‘If you give me his address, I’ll send him a card.’

‘I’ll text you the address.’ He pats on the wooden top of his desk and I carefully take a seat. ‘You know, I’ll drive you back to your place, just have to save something and log out. Tell me: how are you?’

‘I’m good,’ I answer. ‘I really like it at the archives and it’s finally getting a bit more organized, meaning I can properly start very soon.’

‘I’ve seen it this morning, before you arrived,’ he says. ‘It looked good, Becky. Very proud of you.’

When was the last time I heard those words? I don’t think someone—besides Viola and Genevieve—has ever been proud of me. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say.

He leans back in his chair. Henry looks tired, as if these last two weeks have been pretty hard on him.

‘How are you?’ I ask him.

‘Better now you’re here,’ he quietly says, almost like he doesn’t want me to hear it, but I heard it and I’m so gonna text this to Genevieve and Viola. ‘You know, I have an offer for you.’

‘Oh, okay,’ I say. ‘Tell me.’

‘I could buy you an apartment.’

My eyes nearly roll out of their sockets. ‘What?’ I want to add a ‘No, that’s not necessary’ to it, but I know Henry long enough to realize that’s not gonna work. ‘Where?’ I ask.

He seems surprised by me not resisting the idea (believe me, I’m quite shocked myself), but he quickly regains his composure. ‘Madison Square Park Tower.’

I gasp out load. ‘What? That shit is expensive,’ I exclaim.

‘I can afford it,’ Henry says with a smile.

‘I’ve checked those apartments out before with Viola and Genevieve. It’s very very expensive, Henry. Isn’t it even a bit out of your price range?’

He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, your profile said your fortune was ten million.

Henry scoffs, almost like he’s offended. ‘Well, you can multiply that by a few.’

I am in shock. By a few? What’s a few? How much money does this man have? I don’t think I can respond to this. He is honestly that wealthy? Oh my, this is unbelievable.

This man is a catch.

‘I have a penthouse in the same building,’ he says, ‘so you can travel with me to work if you want.’

‘Of course you have a penthouse,’ I mutter. ‘If I were to say yes, just know that I don’t want a penthouse. An apartment is more than enough.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks me. ‘I can buy you a penthouse.’

‘Promise me, only an apartment,’ I say in the same tone I use to everyone who walks into the archives, before they throw their paper in the room.

He smiles. ‘Okay, only an apartment. Want to check it out?’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now.’

I clear my throat. I should be asleep, but going to Madison Square Park Tower weirdly does not happen to me a lot, so I nod. ‘Okay, sure.’

✤ ✤ ✤

My jaw is probably dislocated by the time we finished our tour on the twenty-fifth floor in apartment 25B of Madison Square Park Tower. Henry is that rich, he can literally ask the receptionist for a key, because he wants to check out an apartment and she just gives him it!

What kind of sorcery is this?

The place is totally up my alley, if I were rich and able to afford it. There are so many opportunities and possibilities to redo this place with the walls and the floors. Decorating the interior to my likings.

‘You want it?’ Henry asks me.

Yes! ‘I don’t know,’ I say to him. ‘I really don’t know, Henry.’ I stand near the window, admiring the view.

Becky, you so want this apartment. Just listen to your gut, ignore that voice of reason.

‘It’s a lot of money and I feel like you are losing yourself,’ I say to him. ‘Remember, I am your sugar baby, not your best friend like Peter, or your girlfriend. What if you and I stop for this arrangement? I can’t afford this apartment, even with all the money I’m saving and are gonna save.’

Henry lets out a deep sigh, but doesn’t say anything.

‘I very much appreciate all the things you do for me. Really. The laptop, the phone, the job. You are giving me the opportunities in life I never knew I could have. But… This is not just a studio. This is millions of dollars.’

He sits on the windowsill, crossing his arms.

I have probably fucked up big time, but that doesn’t stop me from adding: ‘You only know me for a month, Henry. I can’t accept it.’

‘I’m paying for the place,’ he says, ‘and how you want to furnish it, allowing you to save the money you make and I give you. When you and I stop our arrangement, I’m selling the place again, probably with profit and you have the kick start you need on your bank account.’

Okay, I think I can live with that. Emphasis on think. ‘You really want to do that?’ I ask him one more time. ‘Absolutely positive?’

‘Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have offered it, Becky. I want to buy you this place, so you can move out of… the place you’re currently living in.’

‘For someone with my former salary, it was a great apartment. It even came with a hallway rat.’

He looks to the side, slightly mortified. ‘Please accept my offer.’

I take a deep breath. I know if I say no, I’m going to regret it and Genevieve will kill me. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I accept your offer.’

‘Good,’ he says, ‘it’s yours next week.’

✤ ✤ ✤

‘Mister Del Rossi,’ I say, as I run into the his condo. He lets out a loud scream from his bed and then I realize, it’s almost midnight. Of course he was sleeping. I should’ve knocked or he should’ve locked his door, because it’s not safe that I can just barge in.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks me. ‘Unless you have the money—’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ I say. ‘I’m moving out soon.’

While he first looked slightly pissed because I woke him up, he now seems furious and ready to strangle me.

Which is very understandable.

‘But,’ I quickly say, ‘if you have around one more month of patience, I’ll pay you five months worth of rent and you can keep my deposit.’

Now I have piqued his interest. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I have an amazing job now, an opportunity to move to a different place and I promise you, I’ll pay you. Like, at the end of November probably.’

He thinks about it, but knowing he can keep the deposit, must make this decision quite easy to make. ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘but I need you to sign something, miss Kim. I’ve had it with you and your promises.’

I totally don’t blame him for that. ‘Of course, mister Del Rossi. Thank you so so much!’

‘And now get outta here.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ I walk towards the door and before I close it I say: ‘Sweet dreams, mister Del Rossi.’

October 22nd 7 a.m.

Becky: Girls, I’m moving

Genevieve: What? Seriously? Daddy Henry bought you a place?

Becky: 🖕🏼🖕🏼

Genevieve: I’ll take that as a yes 😉

Viola: Finally you’re moving out of that dump.

Viola: Where are you moving to?

Becky: Madison Square Park Tower

Genevieve: You need a roommate? I’ll dump Greg right away to move in with you.

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