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Breaking The Wall - Part Four of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 7,593

Tags/Warnings: Cop procedures, police work, angst (so much), tension, violence

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Posting schedule will be 1 to 2 times a week for this series. We'll see how it goes!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Four: Weight Of Silence

Monday – 7:44 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Cruiser Bay

The hum of the morning hadn’t quite settled in yet—murmurs of briefings, the hiss of steam from the break room coffee machine, boots moving across linoleum. But Tim and Rachel were already at the cruiser, same as always.

She was checking the laptop mount, one hand resting on the frame, posture sharp. Tim arrived a second later with two coffees.

He handed her one.

She didn’t look up, didn’t blink.

Just took it.

Sipped once.

And then murmured, “Thanks.”

Not out of obligation.

Not out of habit.

But as if she meant it.

Tim opened the driver’s side door and slid in without a word.

Rachel followed.

The cruiser door shut with a dull thud, sealing them into the familiar quiet.

But something about it had changed.

They didn’t check the MDT first.

They didn’t speak about their first call.

They just sat, engines off, letting the silence settle.

Tim broke it, but barely. “Got a 459 on Beverly. Could be nothing.”

Rachel nodded. “Let’s see what it is.”

Her tone was flat, but not distant.

Not today.

As they drove, they didn’t speak much. They didn’t need to. Their timing had always been efficient, but today it was seamless. No correction, no second-guessing. A glance from her was enough for him to adjust. A shift in his weight, and she was already reading the angle.

On the scene, they cleared a back alley behind a closed convenience store. False alarm. Broken window. Owner confirmed no entry.

But it wasn’t about the call.

It was about how they moved.

When Rachel checked the perimeter, Tim didn’t follow—he flanked.

When she motioned toward the rear door, he didn’t wait—he mirrored.

Later, back in the cruiser, Rachel handed him a protein bar from her bag.

He took it.

No comment.

And in that silence, there was something close to trust.

Something more than the job.

The shift wasn’t in what they said.

It was in what they didn’t have to say anymore.

Monday – 10:13 A.M. – Hollywood Boulevard, Noise Disturbance

Dispatch came over the radio: “7-Adam-07, code 415, reported disturbance at storefront, 6700 block of Hollywood. Complainant reports a possible altercation inside.”

Tim responded calmly. “7-Adam-07, en route.”

Rachel tapped a few keys into the laptop, pulling up the address. “Second complaint in three days. Last time, it was nothing.”

“Maybe today we get lucky.”

She gave a soft huff that almost—almost—passed for a laugh.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was understood.

When they arrived, it was mid-morning foot traffic, the boulevard pulsing with tourists and bored locals. The shop in question was a small, cluttered art gallery tucked between a vape shop and a tourist t-shirt stand.

Inside, the scene was calm—visually.

But emotionally?

Tense.

A man and woman stood near the register, voices low but sharp. The woman’s arms were folded, jaw tight. The man’s hands never stopped moving. Frustrated. Defensive.

Rachel took the lead. Tim held back, giving her room.

“Sir,” she said, even, clear, “you mind stepping outside with my partner?”

The man bristled. “We’re not fighting.”

Rachel’s voice didn’t change. “That’s fine. You’ll still come outside.”

The man glanced at Tim—saw the quiet, solid figure waiting near the door—and something in him deflated. He went.

Rachel stayed with the woman.

Tim didn’t have to glance back.

But he did.

She was listening—really listening. One hand resting lightly on the countertop. Her posture calm but present.

The woman’s voice softened.

Outside, the man muttered, “It’s not what it looks like.”

Tim replied, “Then explain it.”

It de-escalated clean. No cuffs. No drama.

Back in the cruiser, Rachel sat forward slightly, typing notes.

Tim drove.

Then, from her side, without looking up—

“You didn’t step in.”

He glanced sideways. “Didn’t need to.”

Rachel paused, then said, quieter, “Thanks.”

Not for the call.

For the space.

Tim didn’t respond.

Just kept driving.

But he felt it.

Whatever wall had once stood between them was no longer unbreakable.

It was flexing.

Not enough to collapse.

But enough to bend.

Tuesday – 1:27 P.M. – Residential Call, Echo Park

The address was listed as a welfare check. Elderly male. A neighbor reported yelling, possibly a fall, then no answer at the door.

Tim pulled the cruiser to a slow stop in front of a weathered blue house with overgrown hedges and a crooked mailbox.

Rachel scanned the porch from her seat. “Back door might be open.”

“Let’s knock first. See what we’re dealing with.”

They approached the house in quiet steps, boots soft on the cracked concrete walk. Tim knocked firmly.

“LAPD. Mr. Lafferty? You alright in there?”

No answer.

He knocked again, louder this time.

Nothing.

Rachel glanced at the neighbor watching from across the lawn. “You the one who called?”

The woman nodded, arms crossed against the slight chill. “He’s alone. Lost his wife last year. He’s been... yelling lately. Not at anyone. Just… memories, I think.”

Tim turned back to the door.

“Let’s check the side,” Rachel said.

They found it unlocked.

Inside, the house was dim, quiet, musty. The living room was cluttered but clean. A framed photo of a woman sat on the mantel—dustless, clearly touched often.

They found the man in the kitchen.

He was on the floor, conscious but disoriented, gripping a towel soaked with blood. Cut on his forehead. Not deep, but bleeding fast.

Tim knelt beside him immediately. “Sir, you hit your head?”

The man blinked slowly. “Slipped… trying to feed the damn cat.”

Rachel crouched nearby, already pulling gloves on. “You live here alone?”

“Not always,” the man murmured. “But yeah. Now.”

Tim’s jaw tightened at the familiarity of it—the mess, the loneliness, the quiet.

Rachel glanced at him.

She saw it.

And for once—she took the lead.

She gently knelt in front of the man, voice soft. “We’re going to get you help, okay? You’re not in trouble.”

He grunted. “Don’t want to go to the hospital.”

Rachel stayed still. “Then let’s get you cleaned up here, and we’ll decide after.”

Her tone shifted—less directive, more human.

Tim watched her.

There was something different in the way she handled it—not by the book, but right.

He stepped back just enough to let her finish the bandaging herself.

Later, when they were walking back to the cruiser, Rachel was quiet.

Tim didn’t press.

But just before he opened his door, she said: “My grandfather fell like that. No one found him until the next day.”

Tim looked at her, silent.

She didn’t say more.

She didn’t have to.

It was the first personal thing she’d offered him, unprompted.

He gave a quiet nod.

“I’m glad you were there today,” he said.

She glanced at him once.

Then got in the car.

And this time, the silence between them wasn’t about distance.

It was about understanding.

Thursday – 6:47 P.M. – Small Café, Koreatown

It wasn’t her usual place. Rachel didn’t have a usual place. But tonight, she needed something quiet. Something not fluorescent, not a locker room, not the hum of radios and boots and bulletproof vests.

The café was tucked into a corner strip, barely half full. Indie music played softly over the speakers. She sat in the back, hair down, sweater sleeves pulled over her hands, a cup of tea cooling in front of her.

No phone in her hand. No book open. Just quiet.

She hadn’t told anyone she was here.

Which was why, when the bell above the door jingled and she looked up instinctively—seeing him stopped her breath for just a second.

Tim.

Off-duty. Civilian clothes. Jacket slung over one arm. He spotted her a heartbeat later.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t look surprised.

Just met her eyes.

Then walked over.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said as he approached.

Rachel tilted her head faintly. “Didn’t expect to be here.”

He gestured to the seat across from her. “Okay if I sit?”

She hesitated half a second. Then: “Yeah.”

He sat down without a word. Didn’t ask what she was drinking. Didn’t comment on how different she looked in the soft light, in her sweater, with no badge between them.

She didn’t ask why he came in.

And neither of them asked the obvious question.

What are you doing here?

Because maybe they both already knew.

Minutes passed like that.

Not full of silence.

Full of something else.

Something that had become easy between them.

Rachel finally took a sip of her tea and said, “This place is quiet.”

Tim nodded. “It’s good.”

Another pause.

Then—his voice low: “You okay this week?”

She looked at him. Really looked. And said, simply, “Getting there.”

Tim nodded once.

No need to press.

No need to explain.

They stayed like that a while longer, the late-day light fading into the windows around them.

Not cops.

Not partners.

Just them.

Thursday – 7:28 P.M. – Outside the Café, Koreatown

The street outside was washed in the golden-pink hue of a city easing into night. Storefronts glowed. Tires whispered across damp pavement. Neon signs began to flicker on one by one, casting puddles of color on the sidewalk.

Rachel stepped out of the café first, hands in her coat pockets, her tea nearly finished. Tim followed a few seconds later, slower.

He didn’t offer to walk her to her car.

She didn’t offer to stay.

But they paused outside the door.

Both of them looking in opposite directions—and neither one moving.

Finally, Rachel turned her head slightly.

“Thanks for the company,” she said. Low. Like the words weren’t ones she used often, but still meant.

Tim gave a small nod. “Always.”

She looked at him for a second longer than necessary.

And then turned away.

Down the sidewalk, steps even. Not rushed.

But halfway down the block, she slowed.

She wasn’t thinking about the day’s calls.

Or the old injury still tight in her shoulder.

She was thinking about how not alone she’d felt across that small table.

And she didn’t hate it.

Didn’t fear it.

Didn’t push it away.

The wind brushed loose strands of hair across her face. She tucked them behind her ear. Her reflection passed in the shopfront glass beside her.

Same posture.

Same clothes.

Same Rachel.

But she knew something was different.

Because this time, as she walked back to her car, she carried something unfamiliar—

Softness.

Steadiness.

Not from herself.

But from someone who just showed up.

And stayed.

Friday – 8:02 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Cruiser Bay

Tim leaned against the front of the cruiser, sipping coffee that had already gone cold. The lot was buzzing with the usual start-of-shift shuffle—engines turning over, radios crackling, clipped footsteps echoing across the concrete.

Then she arrived.

Rachel.

Same uniform. Same stride. Same pulled-back hair, tight and neat. She crossed the lot without glancing around, focused and efficient. Her presence was like always—sharp at the edges, controlled down to the smallest gesture.

But Tim saw it.

The difference.

Subtle. So small most people wouldn’t notice.

But he did.

Because he knew how to read the way her shoulders usually set like armor.

Today? They weren’t quite as locked.

She walked straight toward him, not like someone reporting for duty, but like someone meeting him. Intentional.

Tim didn’t say anything right away.

She handed him a coffee—black, still hot. Just like before.

But this time, her fingers brushed his when she passed it over.

Not deliberately.

Just… unconcerned.

And that was new.

“Morning,” she said.

Soft. Not detached.

Tim nodded. “Hey.”

She didn’t offer any commentary about the calls ahead. Didn’t ask what he’d done the night before.

But she stood beside him.

Still.

Easy.

They drank in silence.

And Tim realized something—Rachel had always been quiet.

But now she was present.

Before, she’d keep a half-step back.

Now?

She didn’t hold the space.

She shared it.

It was like standing beside someone who didn’t need to be protected—but who, for the first time, wasn’t afraid to let you stand with them.

Tim looked over at her just as she took a sip of her coffee, eyes scanning the precinct lot.

And she glanced back.

Not startled.

Not guarded.

Just… there.

She didn’t smile.

But her eyes didn’t look through him anymore.

They landed.

Stayed.

And that said more than any conversation ever could.

Tim exhaled slowly.

Yeah.

Something had shifted.

Not everything.

Not yet.

But enough that when she opened the cruiser door and waited, just barely, for him to fall into step beside her—

He did.

No hesitation.

No question.

They got in the car.

And the door shut behind them like it always did.

Only now—

The quiet between them didn’t feel like distance.

It felt like trust.

Friday – 10:41 A.M. – Downtown L.A., Armed Robbery in Progress

The call hit hard.

“Multiple suspects, possible firearms, active robbery in progress—3rd and Alameda. All available units respond. Approach with caution.”

Tim gripped the wheel tight, lights flashing as they tore through the intersection. Rachel was already pulling up the layout of the block on the MDT, her voice calm.

“Two entrances—front off 3rd, alley side access to the east. Building shares walls with a bodega and pawn shop.”

Tim nodded. “Take alley. I’ll breach with Lopez.”

Rachel was already grabbing her rifle. “Got it.”

They didn’t have to confirm anything else.

Didn’t outline the timing.

Didn’t repeat each other’s instructions.

They moved.

The scene was chaos when they arrived—customers scattering from the storefront, one employee hiding behind a parked car, crying into a phone.

Grey’s SUV pulled up just behind them, stepping out with eyes already scanning the layout.

“Bradford, Grace—contain the flank, eyes on the back alley. SWAT is inbound but you’re up first.”

Rachel was already moving.

Tim didn’t look back. He didn’t need to.

They circled in opposite directions—him to the front with Lopez, her cutting through the tight alley between buildings like she’d mapped it from memory.

Inside, shouts.

Then—a gunshot.

Rachel reached the rear door first.

Checked.

Listened.

Signaled: two inside, moving fast.

Lopez moved up. “Tim—go!”

He did.

Breach clean. Entry fluid.

The suspects ran—straight into the alley.

Rachel stepped out from behind a stack of crates like she’d been waiting.

“Gun down!” she shouted, steady.

One dropped his weapon and hit the ground immediately.

The other bolted sideways—desperate.

Rachel tracked him.

But didn’t shoot.

Instead, she moved—body angled, fast, cut him off against the fence like she knew where he’d try to go.

Tim came around the corner just in time to see her pin the suspect hard against the wall, weapon still in hand but unnecessary now.

Clean.

Flawless.

Grey watched it all from the curb.

Silent.

Hands on his hips.

The kind of silence that said everything.

Later, after the suspects were secured and statements collected, Grey called them both over.

Tim and Rachel stepped up side by side, posture easy. Calm. Efficient.

“Anything unusual about that call?” Grey asked, folding his arms.

Rachel said, “No, sir.”

Tim added, “Went clean.”

Grey tilted his head slightly. “Mm.”

He looked between them.

“You two working telepathically now, or was that just a damn good coincidence?”

Rachel said nothing.

Tim didn’t smile—but the corner of his mouth ticked upward. “We’re just… synced.”

Grey studied them for a long beat. Then gave the faintest smirk. “You know, it took me a while to figure out what was missing.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Missing?”

“Yeah,” Grey said. “All those early shifts with the reports, the tension, the quiet storm around you two… and now?”

He looked between them again.

“I don’t hear a damn thing.”

Rachel’s eyes flicked to Tim for half a second.

Then back.

Grey continued, quieter. “When it gets that quiet… either it’s broken, or it’s working.”

He turned away.

And over his shoulder:

“Glad to see it’s the second one.”

Rachel and Tim stood still for a moment after Grey walked off.

She didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But when they turned to walk back to the cruiser, they moved in step.

Unspoken.

Unshakable.

And seen.

Monday – 7:58 A.M. – Grey’s Office, Mid-Wilshire Division

The briefing room had just emptied. Officers filtered out with coffee and call slips in hand. Tim was heading toward the cruiser bay when Grey’s voice cut through the hallway.

“Bradford. My office.”

Tim didn’t hesitate. Just pivoted and followed.

Grey sat behind his desk, the blinds drawn halfway. Morning light stretched in thin slats across a neat pile of files. He didn’t gesture for Tim to sit—he didn’t need to. Tim took the chair anyway, posture straight but relaxed.

“Something wrong, sir?” he asked.

Grey didn’t answer right away. He folded his hands, studied Tim for a moment like he was weighing the full scale of the conversation before deciding where to begin.

“This isn’t about your report,” Grey said finally. “You and Grace have been solid. Fieldwork’s sharp. Debrief was clean.”

Tim nodded once, not sure where it was going. “Alright.”

Grey exhaled through his nose and leaned back slightly.

“But I want you to understand something about your partner. Something she likely won’t tell you.”

Tim’s expression shifted—just slightly. Alert now.

Grey opened a folder in front of him. One photo sat near the top—faded, creased at the corner. Jake O’Hare. Dark blond hair. Easy grin. Blue eyes like they belonged in a recruiting poster.

“Jake was one of mine before he transferred,” Grey said quietly. “Started here as a rookie. Trained under Captain Martinez. Natural leader. Steady under pressure. Didn’t just know the job—he understood it.”

He tapped the photo gently, like it was muscle memory.

“When Rachel joined his department, they were paired up for several years. Tight. Too tight for most people to miss. He trained her harder than anyone. But he protected her, too.”

Tim didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

“When the call went south,” Grey continued, voice low, “it was an ambush. Jake saw the threat. Reacted fast. Shielded her. Took the round clean through the chest. No pulse on scene. DOA at the hospital.”

Tim’s jaw tensed, hands resting still in his lap.

Grey went on, measured. “After that, Rachel didn’t spiral. Didn’t break. But she stopped talking. Shut down. Tried to carry on, and from what I gathered… that precinct let her. Let her disappear into the job until she started pushing too far. Too fast. Her captain eventually reached out—not to discipline her, but to move her.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Why here?”

Grey gave a quiet half-smile. “Because I owed Jake. And I knew she wouldn’t survive another precinct where no one gave a damn if she burned out.”

There was a long pause.

Then Grey added, with a quiet finality: “You’ve done more for her in the last couple months than anyone has in the last two years.”

Tim looked down for a moment, thoughtful. “I didn’t do anything special.”

Grey met his eyes. “You showed up. And she let you stay.”

That landed heavier than Tim expected.

Grey closed the folder, the photo of Jake still on top. “I’m telling you this so you understand what you’re standing in the middle of. Rachel Grace doesn’t ask for help. She doesn’t want to need it. But she hasn’t run from you.”

Tim nodded slowly. “No. She hasn’t.”

Grey leaned back again, the edge in his voice soft now. “Just… don’t underestimate what that means.”

Tim stood, posture still crisp.

“Thank you, sir.”

As he reached the door, Grey said one more thing: “He was one of the best. Jake. The kind of cop we all hoped our rookies would become.”

Tim didn’t look back when he answered. “I think Rachel already has.”

And then he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him.

Monday – 2:16 P.M. – Back Lot of a Strip Mall, Mid-Shift Lull

The last call had been routine. A trespasser outside a closed-down pharmacy. Nothing serious. Paperwork was done. Their cruiser sat parked in the shade behind a row of crumbling brick storefronts, engine idling low, windows cracked just enough to let the late sun breathe through.

Rachel stood outside the passenger door, arms folded loosely, sipping water from a bottle she hadn’t touched since that morning. Her sunglasses were on, hiding her eyes, but Tim could read her anyway.

Something about her had been quieter than usual since lunch.

He stepped out, closing the door behind him softly, and leaned beside the front fender. Not close. Not far.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t acknowledge his presence.

But she didn’t move away either.

He watched the breeze stir her hair, the way she tilted her head slightly, just enough to feel it.

“You ever take breaks like this before Mid-Wilshire?” he asked, casual.

Rachel gave the faintest shrug. “Didn’t really have anyone to take them with.”

That was new.

Not a deflection.

Just the truth.

Tim nodded, glancing at the lot. “This spot’s not bad. Quiet.”

“Mm.” She sipped her water again. “Still got eyes on both exits.”

He smiled a little at that. “Knew you’d say that.”

Another pause.

The sun shifted.

And then, softly—barely audible: “You knew him, didn’t you?” she asked.

His brow knit, just slightly. “Jake?”

She nodded. Still didn’t look at him. “Grey said he was one of his.”

Tim let the quiet stretch a beat longer. “Only in passing,” he admitted. “Big reputation. Everyone said the same thing.”

Rachel’s voice was almost too low to hear. “What’s that?”

“He was the kind of partner that made you better.”

She didn’t respond. Not with words.

But he saw it.

The way her arms tightened, just for a second.

Then relaxed.

Tim stepped forward—not too close—and leaned against the cruiser beside her. “I’m not trying to take his place,” he said, tone even. Measured.

Rachel looked at him, then. Just a flick of her eyes behind the dark lenses. “You’re not.”

She didn’t say more.

Didn’t need to.

But in the silence that followed, something shifted again.

The kind of shift that doesn’t shout.

It settles.

Tim didn’t try to carry her pain.

Didn’t try to fix it.

He just stood there, beside her, looking out at the empty lot.

Present.

Like always.

And for the first time, Rachel didn’t brace against it.

She let it be.

Wednesday – 5:19 P.M. – Locker Room, Mid-Wilshire Division

The day had wound down. The locker room was nearly empty, the last shuffle of boots echoing as officers cleared out. The buzz of the vending machine filled the quiet.

Tim sat on the bench, lacing up his boots. He was already halfway out of uniform, hoodie on over his undershirt, sleeves pushed to the elbows. Calm. Normal.

Until Lucy Chen walked in.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just moved to her locker, set her bag down, and stood there a second longer than necessary.

Tim looked over. “Something up?”

She opened her locker. “Not with me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She turned to face him, arms crossed casually. “You and Rachel Grace.”

Tim didn’t answer. Just waited.

Lucy’s voice stayed even. “Whatever’s happening there—don’t wait until it’s too late to admit it matters.”

He straightened a little. “We’re just working well together.”

“You were also ‘just working well’ with me when you checked my six like your life depended on it.”

A beat.

“I know you,” she added, softer. “You don’t let people in unless they’ve earned it. And once they do? You don’t un-care.”

Tim looked down, finishing the knot in his boot. “It’s not like that.”

Lucy nodded, not arguing. “Maybe not. Yet.”

She let that hang in the air.

Then Angela stepped in, tossing her gear bag onto the bench. She glanced between them and didn’t miss the tension.

“You telling him?” she asked Lucy.

“Already did.”

Angela turned to Tim, calm. “She won’t ask you to pay attention, Tim. But if you do—she’ll notice. And if you don’t… she’ll feel it.”

Tim exhaled slowly.

Lucy took a step closer. “This isn’t a warning, Tim. It’s a heads-up. We’ve seen you at your worst. And we’re watching something good build between you two.”

Angela added, quieter now, “Just don’t pretend it’s nothing until it’s something you can’t fix.”

Tim didn’t respond right away.

Then, finally: “I hear you.”

Lucy nodded. “Good.”

Angela smiled faintly. “Then we’re done.”

They left him there, door swinging softly shut behind them.

And Tim sat on the bench, alone again.

Only this time, the silence wasn’t empty.

It was full of everything he wasn’t ready to say yet—

But couldn’t ignore anymore.

Wednesday – 5:46 P.M. – Locker Room, Empty Now

The bench was cold beneath him. The locker room quiet.

Tim sat there, elbows resting on his knees, hands loose, boots planted. The door had closed behind Lucy and Angela a few minutes ago, but their words still hung in the air like smoke that hadn’t cleared.

You don’t un-care.

It wasn’t wrong.

He hadn’t even tried.

Rachel had gotten under his skin before he realized it. Not by force. Not by charm. Just by being who she was—sharp, unreadable, steady as hell. And maybe it started with respect. Maybe that’s all it should be.

But he’d seen the crack.

The moment her voice broke when she thought he’d gone down.

The way she moved just a little closer now. Trusted him to lead—or followed without hesitation. Trusted him, period.

And he’d let himself fall into that rhythm without asking what it meant.

Now Lucy was asking.

Angela was warning.

Not to scare him off. But because they knew him. They’d seen what happened when he buried feelings deep enough to rot. He wasn’t that guy anymore. Couldn’t afford to be.

She won’t ask you to pay attention, but if you do—she’ll notice.

He rubbed the back of his neck, breathing out through his nose.

Rachel wasn’t the type to ask for anything.

Not reassurance. Not closeness. Not space.

But she hadn’t pushed him away.

Even when she could have.

And that mattered.

More than he wanted to admit.

He looked down at his hands.

Steady. Trained. Reliable.

Always had been.

But now he wasn’t sure if steady was enough.

Not with her.

Because she didn’t need someone to rescue her. Didn’t want it. She needed someone who saw her. Really saw her—and stayed anyway.

And maybe… he already was that.

Maybe the question wasn’t if it mattered.

Maybe it was what he was going to do now that he knew it did.

Friday – 11:38 A.M. – City Parking Lot, Between Calls

The morning had been filled with routine noise: a shoplifter, a traffic altercation, a loud neighbor complaint that turned into two hours of mediation. It was the kind of day that ground down on most people. But Tim had learned to let the repetition sharpen his focus.

He sat behind the wheel of the cruiser, parked under the edge of a covered garage structure while Rachel finished up a quick check-in with a building manager.

She came back a minute later, expression unreadable. The kind of neutral she wore like a second skin.

“False alarm,” she said as she got in. “Manager’s just a chronic over-reporter. Whole building hates him.”

Tim smirked faintly. “One of those guys.”

She didn’t smile, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. And that was something.

They sat there for a second, waiting for the next call, sunlight crawling across the windshield in slow strips.

Tim reached for the radio to confirm their clear status—just out of habit.

And Rachel reached forward at the same time.

Not for the radio.

For his coffee.

It was sitting in the console. Half full. No lid.

She grabbed it and handed it to him without looking. Like she’d done it a hundred times.

He blinked, caught off guard.

“Forgot you hadn’t finished it,” she said.

Her voice was even. Unbothered.

She didn’t make a thing of it.

Didn’t ask if he wanted it.

Didn’t comment on how he always let it go cold by noon.

She just noticed.

And did something about it.

That was all.

But Tim sat there, coffee in hand, watching her settle back in her seat, already scanning the lot again like nothing had happened.

And he realized—

That was her way of saying she was paying attention.

Not just to the job.

To him.

He remembered what Lucy had said: She won’t ask you to pay attention. But if you do, she’ll notice.

Well…

He noticed right back.

And now?

He wasn’t going to stop.

Friday – 1:12 P.M. – South L.A., Welfare Check

The call was straightforward.

An elderly woman’s adult son called in from out of state. Said he hadn’t heard from her in three days. She lived alone. COPD. Didn’t always answer her phone. Not an emergency—just a check.

They knocked twice.

Rachel stood to the left of the door, hands relaxed but ready.

“Ms. Rivas?” Tim called, voice clear. “LAPD. We’re here to make sure you’re alright.”

No response.

He exchanged a glance with Rachel, who nodded once.

They circled to the back, found the door unlocked. No signs of forced entry. The air inside was warm, stale.

Tim called again. “Ms. Rivas? Coming in.”

They moved in carefully.

And there she was—in the recliner by the window, wrapped in a faded quilt, asleep.

Alive.

Breathing.

Tim’s shoulders dropped the second he saw her chest rise and fall.

She stirred a few seconds later, disoriented, reaching for her glasses on the end table.

Rachel stepped forward, softening her tone. “You’re okay. You’ve just got people who care about you.”

Ms. Rivas squinted at them both. “My son’s always fussing.”

“He called because he loves you,” Tim said, quieter than usual.

She nodded, muttered something about “overreacting,” and Rachel gently took over—checking vitals, talking her through a phone call to her son. The whole thing wrapped up clean.

But Tim stayed a little quieter than usual on the walk back to the cruiser.

Rachel didn’t press.

Not at first.

Only once they were seated, doors shut, engine idling, did she speak.

“You knew someone like her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Tim stared ahead through the windshield.

“My mom,” he said. “Used to disappear like that. Would shut down for days. Not answer the phone. Neighbors would call me when I was stationed out. I’d get voicemails. I’d call the local PD, ask for checks. Never told anyone on base.”

Rachel didn’t respond right away.

Then: “She alright now?”

“She’s… where she is,” he said, voice even. “We’re not close.”

That silence stretched.

Rachel didn’t offer sympathy.

Didn’t change the subject.

She just reached over—quietly—and turned his coffee cup around so the handle was facing him again.

Like she’d done before.

Like she was saying I see you.

Tim looked down at the cup.

And then, slowly, looked at her.

No smile.

But something settled between them anyway.

Quiet.

Solid.

Personal.

And this time?

Neither of them looked away.

Friday – 3:46 P.M. – Eastside Strip Mall, 911 Hang-Up

The call came in quiet. A 911 hang-up from a cell tower near a rundown strip mall. No call-back. No immediate signs of distress. Tim glanced at the screen and shrugged.

“Could be nothing.”

Rachel was already checking her vest as she replied, “Or not.”

They pulled into the lot. Half the storefronts were vacant. A laundromat. A check-cashing place. A storefront church with a flickering sign. A dollar store with the blinds half-drawn.

Rachel scanned it once, then twice. “That one.”

Tim saw it, too. Something about the energy.

The dollar store looked closed.

But the door was propped open.

No movement inside.

No sound.

Rachel’s voice was quiet. “Doesn’t feel right.”

Tim unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s check it.”

They moved in together, tight formation, eyes on windows, hands low on their sidearms.

As they stepped through the door, everything went still.

And then—

A shout.

A man burst from behind the shelves, grabbing a teenager by the wrist, dragging her backward. She was wide-eyed, terrified, already bleeding from a cut on her cheek.

“Get out!” the man shouted, voice hoarse, desperate. “I swear I’ll do it!”

Knife in hand. Not steady.

Desperate.

Tim’s weapon came up instantly. “Drop the knife!”

The suspect dragged the girl toward the back—toward the stockroom, shelves crashing in his wake.

Rachel moved before he finished speaking.

Cutting left, flanking low.

Tim didn’t stop her.

Didn’t need to.

They’d done this before.

Only this time—they didn’t wait.

“Back exit’s blocked,” Rachel said, already moving through the far aisle.

Tim nodded. “He’s not going anywhere.”

They boxed him in—her at the rear, Tim at the front.

The suspect panicked.

Swung the knife once, wild.

Tim moved to intercept.

Rachel closed in.

“Let her go,” she said, calm, clear.

“I’ll do it!”

“You won’t,” she replied, not cold—conviction.

Not just training.

Knowing.

The man faltered.

And that’s when Tim stepped forward—fast, clean.

Disarmed.

Pinned.

Cuffs on.

The girl ran straight into Rachel’s arms, shaking.

Rachel held her—just a second longer than protocol.

Just enough to steady her.

Enough to mean it.

Minutes later, medics took the girl. Units cleared the scene. The man was cuffed and loaded.

Tim leaned against the hood of the cruiser, exhaling.

Rachel approached, brushing dust from her sleeve.

“You moved fast,” he said.

“You trusted me to,” she replied.

They locked eyes—longer than usual.

And something in Tim’s chest eased.

Not because it wasn’t close.

But because this time, they weren’t rattled.

They were stronger.

“What changed?” Rachel asked quietly, almost like she wasn’t sure she meant to say it out loud.

Tim met her gaze.

“You.”

And she didn’t look away.

Friday – 7:21 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Report Room

The shift was over, technically. Most of the other officers were gone. The vending machine buzzed in the corner. A half-finished pot of burnt coffee sat forgotten by the window.

Tim sat at one end of the report table, typing. Rachel at the other, scribbling notes with her pen pressed tight to the page. Their forms lay between them. Clean. Detailed.

Complete.

Except… neither of them had moved in ten minutes.

The quiet between them wasn’t strained.

Just full.

Tim clicked save and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “You good?”

Rachel didn’t look up. “Yeah.”

He watched her a second longer.

“You were steady today,” he said. “More than usual.”

“I had to be.”

“No,” Tim replied. “You chose to be.”

Rachel set the pen down. Finally looked at him.

There was something tired in her eyes. But not the kind of tired that asked to be left alone. The kind that came after you spent everything you had protecting someone else.

“I didn’t think,” she said, quieter now. “I just… moved.”

“You trusted yourself,” he said.

A beat.

Then, with more weight: “I trust you.”

Rachel looked at him like she wasn’t sure how to hold that.

And Tim—should’ve stopped there.

But the room was too quiet. And the shift had been too much. And the space between them had closed in just enough.

So the words slipped out before he could catch them: “If something had happened to you in there—”

He stopped.

Rachel’s head tilted.

Waited.

But Tim didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t need to.

Because she knew.

She heard it anyway.

And she didn’t say it back.

Didn’t offer comfort or deflection.

She just said, low: “You moved like you weren’t going to let that happen.”

And that was enough.

The silence stretched again.

But now?

It wasn’t filled with things unsaid.

It was filled with things almost said.

And they both sat there in it.

Not quite ready to say more.

But no longer pretending there wasn’t more to say.

Monday – 8:43 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Captain’s Office

Rachel stood at attention in front of the desk, hands clasped behind her back, uniform crisp, expression composed. She was already two calls into her shift, still coming down from the pace of the morning.

Captain Herrera, Mid-Wilshire’s division head, flipped through a slim folder, nodding slightly as she scanned the pages. She was calm, efficient, and not known for wasting time on pleasantries.

“These last few months,” she said, “I’ve been reading your performance reviews. Especially the debriefs from Sergeant Grey. Solid tactical instinct. Measured adjustments in the field. Improved restraint. Effective partnerships.”

Rachel stayed still. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The captain gave a small nod, not quite smiling, but acknowledging the progress.

“I won’t pretend you weren’t a wild card when you got here,” she said, flipping the folder closed. “When we received the transfer request, there were questions. From your old precinct, from command. But Grey was adamant.”

Rachel’s posture tightened—not visibly, not enough for most to notice. But she noticed.

“Grey?” she asked, voice even.

Captain Herrera nodded. “Said he’d take you. Said he knew what he was getting. Said it mattered that he did.”

That landed like a stone to the gut.

But Rachel didn’t flinch.

The captain kept going, unaware—or indifferent—to the shift beneath the surface. “I’d say his gamble’s paying off. But I don’t think it was a gamble. I think it was a favor. For Jake O’Hare.”

She said it casually. Like it was history.

Like it wasn’t still alive in Rachel’s chest.

Rachel didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Didn’t let the breath she held show on her face.

“I appreciate the opportunity,” she said.

The captain nodded again, brisk. “Keep doing the work. That’s what we care about here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She was dismissed with a gesture.

Rachel turned, calm, precise.

She walked out of the office the way she always did—shoulders squared, jaw steady, stride even.

But inside?

It burned.

Because she’d known.

Of course she’d known.

Jake’s shadow was long. Grey had known him. Had trained him. Had cared.

And Rachel?

Rachel had been the unfinished story Jake left behind.

That was why she was here.

Not because she deserved it.

Because she’d belonged to someone who had.

She didn’t break stride.

Didn’t let the emotion bleed through.

But she walked straight past the report room, past the chatter near the front desk, past everything.

She just needed a moment.

One second.

Anywhere quiet.

Because she didn’t want to be angry.

But she was.

And she didn’t want it to matter.

But it did.

And most of all?

She didn’t want to wonder if Tim knew.

Monday – 9:07 A.M. – Hallway Outside the Report Room

Tim stood near the corner of the hallway, sipping coffee, reviewing call logs on his phone. Just another Monday. Officers passed in and out of doors, the low murmur of the precinct in motion filling the space.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps—hers.

Rachel rounded the corner from the administrative hallway, posture straight, stride exact.

But something was off.

Subtle.

Not in her pace. Not in her face.

In the silence.

Too still.

No usual glance toward the bullpen. No small shift of weight at the turn. She wasn’t focused—she was locked down.

Tim stepped away from the wall and fell into stride beside her without saying anything.

They walked a good ten paces before he finally spoke, casual but careful.

“You good?”

Rachel didn’t pause. “Fine.”

That was all.

Too flat.

Too fast.

Tim didn’t push. Just gave her a look from the side. Not challenging.

Just aware.

They reached the edge of the cruiser bay, where light spilled in through the high windows. She stopped—not abruptly, but like the momentum had just given out.

Tim waited.

Rachel didn’t look at him when she said, “You ever get reminded of something you’d rather not remember?”

Tim took a slow breath. “Yeah.”

That was it.

She nodded, once.

Didn’t explain.

Didn’t name it.

And he didn’t ask.

But as she turned to keep walking, Tim reached out—not to stop her, just to nudge her coffee back into her hand. She hadn’t touched it since they left the building.

“You’ll want this,” he said.

Rachel glanced down, then back up at him. A half-second flicker of surprise passed over her face—quickly replaced with something quieter. Something like understanding.

She took the cup without comment.

They kept walking.

No more words.

But something settled in the space between them again—not heavy, not sharp.

Just real.

Monday – 10:12 A.M. – Koreatown, Civil Dispute

The call came in as a 415: noise complaint escalating to a possible assault between neighbors. Not unusual. Not even uncommon. But when they pulled up to the tight, overcrowded apartment complex, it was clear the air was charged.

People were shouting in Spanish and English across the courtyard. A woman gestured aggressively toward a man at the top of the stairwell, who in turn shouted back down at her with a broom in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Rachel stepped out of the cruiser without hesitation, hand resting near her belt, jaw tight. Tim followed, scanning the layout automatically—three floors, narrow walkways, no clean angles.

“You want upstairs or down?” he asked as they crossed into the courtyard.

“Up,” Rachel said, already moving.

Her voice was even. Her posture was clean. But Tim saw it—the slight edge in her pace, the way her hand hovered longer than necessary near her holster. Controlled, but running hot underneath.

He didn’t question it.

Just nodded. “I’ll take the woman.”

They split.

Rachel approached the man on the stairs, words clipped but calm.

Tim handled the woman below, whose voice was shaking more than it was angry. She claimed the man had tried to hit her with the broom. The man, in turn, claimed she’d been pounding on his door every morning for a week.

Nothing illegal—yet. But everything screamed almost.

As Tim tried to de-escalate, he kept glancing upward—watching her.

Rachel stood tight with the man, arms folded, voice low and controlled.

But her body didn’t soften.

Not like it usually did.

She was holding too much tension in her shoulders. Responding just a second faster than she needed to. Not unprofessional—never that.

But off.

Tim finished with the woman, walked up the steps slowly.

The man glanced over as Tim arrived, muttering, “She’s got an edge, huh?”

Tim gave him a look. “So do you.”

That shut him up.

Rachel didn’t say anything. Just turned to go.

Back in the cruiser, windows up and the air conditioning humming low, Tim pulled into traffic slowly before speaking.

“You were tight with that guy,” he said, not accusing. Just… stating.

Rachel stared out the window. “He was close to getting physical.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. I saw.”

She didn’t say anything.

Tim added, voice steady: “We’ve been doing this long enough I know when you’re in control. And when you’re holding it.”

Silence.

Then Rachel said, quiet: “It won’t happen again.”

He glanced at her, brow furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

She didn’t answer.

So he kept his eyes on the road and added, softer: “You’re allowed to have an off day.”

Rachel looked at him now. Really looked.

And Tim—didn’t look away.

So she nodded.

Just once.

And for the rest of the ride, she was quiet again.

But the tension in her shoulders eased.

Because she knew he’d caught her.

And she knew he hadn’t held it against her.

Monday – 9:42 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment

The living room was dim, lit only by the dull glow of a lamp she hadn’t bothered to replace the bulb in properly. Her boots were lined neatly by the door. Her sidearm locked in the drawer. The uniform hung on the back of a chair, collar still crisp.

Rachel sat on the edge of the couch, a cup of tea cooling in her hands, untouched.

The TV played quietly in the background—something she couldn’t remember turning on. Just noise. Filling space.

She stared straight ahead, not at the screen.

The captain’s words still echoed in her head.

Grey was willing to take you. Said it mattered that he did.

She’d known it.

Had told herself it didn’t change anything.

But hearing it out loud?

Different.

And she’d carried it all day.

Almost let it show on that call.

Would’ve, if Tim hadn’t—

Rachel exhaled, slowly.

He’d seen it.

Not the kind of seeing that demanded answers. Not the kind that pried or pressed.

Just… presence.

He hadn’t asked her to be okay.

He hadn’t treated her like a liability.

He just looked at her and said: You’re allowed to have an off day.

And somehow that hit harder than anything else.

Because she hadn’t had that in a long time.

Not since—

She stood abruptly, walked into the kitchen, then stopped halfway there.

She didn’t need anything.

She was just restless.

Still holding something she hadn’t named.

And maybe?

Maybe she didn’t hate that someone else had noticed.

That he hadn’t walked away when she didn’t explain.

She walked back to the couch, picked up the tea, and this time—drank it.

Still warm.

And for the first time in a long while, the silence didn’t feel like a weight.

It felt like something shared.

Even if he wasn’t here.

Tag List: @immastealurkneecaps, @maybefanficting, @kmc1989

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[captduggs]

Tim Bradford - East Side of Sorrow - Chapter 2 - Was it his blood, or his conscience, or the alcohol?

inspired by a song of the same title, by zach bryan :)

tags: Abandonment, Angst, Army, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Military Backstory, My First Fic, Song Lyrics, Tim Bradford is a Bad Communicator, Zach Bryan - Freeform

read on ao3

So I walked miles on the Tulsa streets

Light started beamin' in from the east

6 AM and fucked up again

Askin' God where the hell He'd been

Bradford was never the same soldier. Yes, he still executed every order the Army asked him to but he was never the same up there.

Tim’s first panic attack came a week after the incident. It had been a week with total hours of sleep in the single-digits. He’d leave the barracks to go on walks in the wee hours of the night, anything to bring his brain a smidge of peace. He was less than 10 minutes into tonight’s walk when he saw bright flashes of light in his eyes before he collapsed on that dirt road. Another moment where his breaths were shallow and his vision was blurry, but this time add in his lungs feeling like they were on the verge of collapsing and he couldn’t feel any part of his body except the clenching of his lungs. His mind went blank, and for the second time he thought he was going to die, but somehow this time was worse.

As the panic attack subsided and his mind came back to him, he cursed himself. How dare he feel like this, he’s alive, he made it out alive, he’s not weak, he’s a pure, highly-ranked American soldier, honored with the duty of fighting for what’s right. Why, why , how dare he feel like this. Tim needed every thought, every episodic memory to just stop.

Tim walked his jellied legs back to the barracks and turned to the one thing his teenage self said he’d never turn to. He snagged a bottle out of the plastic mini fridge and slumped against the side of it, busting the top off the beer using the corner of the table. His muscles tired, uniform soaked in a cold sweat, head and throat aching like no other. He dragged the rim of the bottle to his lips and forced the liquid down the hatch, the whole bottle gone in one swig. Immediately, his mind raced to the countless times that very liquid caused Tim’s father to punch and kick him, slamming him into walls, leaving drywall and sawdust littered in his dirty blonde hair, blood dripping from his mouth, all while his mother, who was supposed to help and protect him, stood motionless, and his helpless little sister Gen, accompanied her with tears threatening to drop from her eyes. And then, Tim’s mind went quiet, blank. 

All the memories and thoughts just stopped. He stared at his dirt-covered legs and boots and the shitty tiled floor and nothing came to mind. It was the most bliss he’d felt since 9/11, almost five years prior. Tim twisted back toward the fridge, grabbing and busting open another bottle, chugging it, and then repeating the process with another. He fell asleep on that floor right at 6AM, and finally got an uninterrupted eight hours.

He said the sun's gonna rise tomorrow

Somewhere on the east side of sorrow

You better pack your bags west

Stick out your chest

And then hit the road

The next morning, Tim’s first sense of consciousness was before he opened his eyes, bright light seeping through. When he opened them, he was ready to see the industrial lights of the group’s shared kitchen, or maybe sunlight peeking through the windows–not his major’s blinding flashlight beaming into his pupil.

“BRADFORD! GET YOUR ASS UP!” Tim stumbled to his feet, moving quicker than he ever has in his life. “IT IS 14:00 AND YOUR SORRY ASS HASN’T MOVED FROM THIS CORNER ALL DAY. YOU’RE LUCKY YOU HAD NO ASSIGNMENTS TODAY.” 

Tim stood there like a robot, eyes looking at his major, but by no means focusing on him. Tim couldn’t bear to actually look at a man he had so much respect for. 

That moment changed everything, bringing about a life-changing revelation–he needed to get out. The war was winding down, he’d done his time, it should be easy. Despite the headache from those eight-plus hours slumped against the fridge, he knew that if he stayed in the army any longer, constantly following other men’s orders, no matter what rank he was; chasing the glory story, no matter who was lost; yet still being devastated every time he heard of another great man being blown to shreds–he was going to end up just like his father. A drunk. God-forbid having kids of his own one day and giving them enough emotional, and physical trauma to last generations. 

Tim spoke to the post’s general the next day, given clearance for an honorable discharge, to his luck, technically before his tour was over. He was able to jump on the first flight back to the states, finally ending his journey at Edwards Air Force Base. As corny as it sounds, it felt good to be back on American soil after almost a decade spent in middle eastern deserts. The year was now 2006. Tim Bradford was twenty-six years old, and he felt the same way he did all those years ago in his guidance counselor’s office, with no idea about what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

“Heard your brother lost his mind in the city last fall

Was it his blood, or his conscience, or the alcohol?”

“Did the Navy do him well or did he wind up sick

Like every other brave boy from these run down sticks?”

Upon reaching Edwards, Tim called the only people he thought would pick up. First, he tested his luck and tried their house number, praying to god his father wouldn't be the one to pick up the phone. No answer. He then decided to try his sister, Genny, and shockingly, “Hello? Who is this?”

Tim stood on the other side of the phone in shock, silent. It was clearly the right number, definitely his sister, but she sounded so…different. Not just older but more confident, sure of herself. It hits him how much he’d missed while he was away. 

“Hello?”

“Genny, it’s me, Tim?”

It’s Genny’s turn for silence. She hadn’t heard of her brother since he left their family years ago, and while she first resented his leaving, she knew he always had it far worse than she did, and him getting out was for the best. 

“Yeah, yeah,  hi, is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Um, I’m out. I’m at Edwards right now, if you…or mom, pick me up?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Tim breathes a sigh of relief, “Okay. Thank you, see you soon,” before he hangs up the phone and sits back down in the lounge. About two hours later he meets Genny at the entrance. She gets out of the family SUV. They both stare at each other, stunned at what one another has become. Genny, no longer the spunky 11-year-old Tim left, but now nearly twenty, but with the same stark red hair and blue eyes. Tim, much tougher-appearing now, but with his matching sapphires, still as vulnerable as ever. After taking each other in, the tension finally breaks, crashing into one another for their first hug in God knows how long. Both sets of blues now filled with tears that refuse to drop, the two hop into the SUV, ready for the long drive back into the City of Angels. Again, it’s silent, for nearly fifteen minutes until they hit the freeway, and Tim breaks. 

“So, how are things?”

“Don’t do that.” Genny replies, taking her eyes off the road.

“What?”

“Pretend like nothing happened. Like you didn’t leave us, with no communication for almost ten years. If it wasn’t for the military showing up to the door we wouldn’t know if you were dead or alive.” 

Looking away from sister, Tim begins twiddling his fingers, “You know I had to get out.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve called. Update us. Send a letter, birthday wish. I know you hate dad but you didn’t have to leave the rest of us hanging either.”

Tim remains silent, and then Genny continues: “So many people asked about you, or if they didn’t ask, made up stories of their own, ‘he went crazy,’ ‘didn’t make it through basic,’ ‘went MIA,’ and we didn’t know who or what to believe.”

“I’m sorry Gen,”

Genny gives a slight acknowledgement to his apology, but definitely not a sense of forgiveness. “Mom will be happy to see you.”

Tim smiles at that. As much as he wishes his mom stood up for him more growing up, he still loved her, and knows how much she felt the same. Naturally though, his mind wandered to his dad. Was he even around? He knew his parents’ marriage was just a legal binding at this point, but they evidently weren’t the type to finally get a divorce either. As if reading his mind, Genny mumbled, “Dad uh, hasn’t been home in a while. Like, three years, while.”

“All for the better,” Tim asserted.

Tim knew he and his sister’s differing opinions on their father, and decided not to push the issue any further, and the car remained silent as they made their way back into LA. Arriving at their childhood home, Tim and Genny hopped out the vehicle, with Tim grabbing his duffle from the back. Genny steps inside first, Tim takes a second, a deep breath, into the home he never wanted to step foot in again.

Walking through the entryway, Tim feels an immediate chill down his spine seeing the same areas of the house where he’d been turned into a victim over, and over, even catching the spots where he and his father had to fill in chipping paint, caulk gaps, and fill larger holes in the wall made the night before.

As he walks further into the house, Tim hears the sink running in the kitchen, splashing across the surface and dishes being set into the drying rack. The two siblings walked into the kitchen silently, and feeling the presence of her children, Cynthia Bradford turned around and stilled, unable to believe that her baby boy had finally come home. A short, but lanky woman, Mrs. Bradford looked just like her children, with Genny’s striking features, like their shared red hair, but Tim’s overall look, and those signature Bradford blues.

Her voice soft as ever, “Tim,” she turns to set the bowl and plate she was holding back in the sink, and moves to crush her son in a hug, something they hadn’t shared since Tim left for basic. Tim returns the hug, slightly, wrapping  just one arm around his mother’s waist.

“I thought you’d never come back,” Cynthia continued.

“I served my time, now I’m back home. All part of the process” Tim retorted.

“Okay then,” Cynthia nodded, shocked by this new Tim she was facing. He, for the most part, looked the same as when he left, possibly a little more built, but his demeanor is completely different, and she can’t determine if it’s for better or for worse. He was always the sweetest boy growing up, even after all he went through, but now he seems like that’s all gone, or at least was hidden away for war.

“Well, let me at least make you something, you’re probably hungry after eating all that army food for so long.” 

“No, I’m okay, it wasn’t too bad, just need to crash for a bit and figure out what’s next, then I’ll be on my way.”

To that response, Tim felt Genny tense up, like she didn’t expect him to be leaving again so soon. Tim nodded back at his mom, before turning away to head toward the back of the house into his childhood bedroom, which was exactly as he left it. Royal blue walls, but immensely dark. Bed unmade (if only his major would see this), clothes strewn across the floor, except there was a distinct stench that Tim didn’t remember there being all those years ago. 

He tosses his duffle on the bed, and for a minute just stands in what feels like a time capsule. All the things that he made an effort to run away from were right in front of him in an instant. His dad wasn’t even in the house anymore, and it’s like Tim could feel him breathing down his neck again. All of a sudden Tim felt his throat get thick and his head began to spin, vision growing fuzzy. Then his chest got tight, and he felt like his legs could no longer hold his weight. He collapsed onto his bed and grasped at his sheets, begging his hands to quit shaking. His inclination was right, he had to get out of here. ASAP.

[simpletechs]

Forgot Windows 8.1 Local Admin Password No Reset Disk How to Resolve

How to get back into your Windows 8.1 computer if you have forgotten local administrator password no reset disk, how can you reset administrator password in Windows 8.1 without reset disk?

To resolve this problem, you can firstly try Offline NT Password Editor to help reset the forgotten Windows 8.1 administrator password without reset disk. Offline NT password Editor can help clear or reset Windows local account password via CD/DVD. The following procedure will show you the detailed walkthrough.

Trick 1: Use Offline NT Password Editor to Reset Windows 8.1 Local Admin Password (Work with CD/DVD).

When you forgot Windows 8.1 administrator password and a password reset disk was not created, “Offline NT Password Editor”, a free Windows password reset disk, can help you reset forgotten Windows 8.1 local account’s password without knowing it. Free download the ISO file from the official site. Extract the downloaded file and then burn the ISO file on to a writable CD/DVD. Once burning completed, you can use the CD/DVD which is bootable to crack Windows 8.1 Local Admin password.

Step 1: Power on your locked computer and then insert the bootable CD to the CD-ROM.

Step 2: Restart the computer to boot from CD/DVD. If it still boot into Windows, you may need to change device boot order in BIOS. Learn how to boot computer from CD/DVD.

Step 3: When the computer boots from CD and loads Offline NT screen, press Enter until the “step one” appears. Type “1” and hit Enter.

Step 4: Select “Password reset”, type “1” and hit Enter.

Step 5: Select “Edit user data and passwords, type “1” and hit Enter.

Step 6: Select a user account, type “administrator” and hit Enter.

Step 7: Select “Clear user password”, type “1” and hit Enter.

Step 8: Administrator’s password is cleared. Select “Quit editing user and back to user select”, type “!” and hit Enter.

Step 9: Select “Quit”, type “q” and hit Enter.

Step 10: Write back changes, type “y” and hit Enter.

Step 11: When it asks you if try again, type “n” and hit Enter.

Step 12: Now eject your CD and then press CTRL-ALT-DEL to restart the computer.

Step 13: When Windows 8.1 welcome screen appears, click the screen to automatically sign in administrator without password.

Another simple method to reset forgotten Windows 8/8.1 local admin password is using a password recovery program, Windows Password Rescuer, which is working fine for all Windows systems including Windows 11. Here is how to use the utility to reset a local admin password on Windows 8.1/8 PC without logging in.

Trick 2: Reset Windows 8.1 Administrator Password with Windows Password Rescuer Run from USB.

If you have forgotten Windows 8.1 administrator password and need to get back into the account, you can use Windows Password Rescuer to create a bootable USB disk and then use the disk to reset Windows 8.1 local administrator password easily without losing data. It also works perfectly for Windows 11, 10, 8.1, 8, 7, Vista, XP and Windows server 2022, 2019, 2016, 2012, 2008, 2003 etc.

Equipment required: Another Windows computer, USB flash drive.

Read more detailed steps: How to reset Windows 8.1 Admin Password with USB.

Step 1: Use another computer to download Windows Password Rescuer and then install the software.

Step 2: Plug in a blank USB flash drive to the computer and launch the software. Select “USB device” on the software screen.

Step 3: Pull down the drive list and select your plugged USB flash drive. Then click “Begin Burning” to create a bootable USB under a minute.

Step 4: Once the burning process is completed, unplug the USB flash drive and then connect it to your locked computer that you want to reset Windows 8.1 password.

Step 5: Power on the locked computer and press F12 as soon as possible to open “Boot Menu”. Press arrow key to highlight USB option and press Enter to boot from USB.

Step 6: Once the locked computer boots from USB and locates Windows Password Rescuer, you can reset administrator or other local user account passwords with several clicks. Now click “Administrator” from user list.

Step 7: Click “Reset Password”, when it asks you if reset administrator password to blank, click “Yes” to confirm it.

Step 8: Administrator password will be removed and shown blank in password list. It means that you will be able to sign in the account without password.

Step 9: Click “Reboot”. When it asks you to remove your USB, remove the USB from your computer and then click “Yes” to restart the computer.

Step 10: After restarting, you can log on administrator without password.

Methods in this article apply to any laptop and desktop computers such as Dell, HP, Toshiba, Acer, Lenovo, Asus etc.

[heroofshield]

2, 6, 8, 9, 10

Ros Shepard

2. Favorite homie to call for a ride around the city? Why?

Tie between Shaundi and Johnny. Because DDK has the best voice and Shaundi and Ros have been through it, both being high ranking women in the Saint's they've learned how to not take crap from everyone else and when to use everyone's assumptions of what they are to their advantage.

6. How does your Boss react to the revelation that Troy is chief of police?

Ros made an ACAB crack and didn't stop Johnny when he beat the shit out of Troy. Also pulled out the baseball bat to possibly put a few dents in his car as well as smash the headlights, mirrors, and windows. "I have no idea how that happened, maybe if you stopped harassing everyone on the block then your car wouldn't look like that."

8. What's ONE aspect of the story you would change, if you could?

Change Aisha's murder. Have the Ronin still go after her but at the same time not kill her, wound her enough that Johnny still wants to go after them- or even fake kill her again and have her leave town with cash and orders to set up shop somewhere to start branching out the Saints. Somewhere that's sunny and has a beach; call it an escape plan in-case they get run out of town again.

9. Save Carlos, or save Aisha?

Aisha. She and Ros have a shared custody agreement for Johnny and besides, they got her out of town five years ago when the first 'killed' her and is currently running a side hustle for the Saints on a beach.

10. How do you feel about the Boss' darker acts in SR2 (burying people alive, burning down section 8 housing, trapping a woman in the boot of a monster truck rally prop car)? Does it reflect how you see your Boss?

I think it was a good way to explore a lot of what Voliton wanted to say with the game and I respect them for it rip

Ros was going through it during SR2. Trying to deal with the fact that she'd been in a coma for 5 years and in that time everything she'd built had been wiped out. Also that Johnny had been close to meeting an even worse fate and she almost hadn't been able to rescue him made her take it out on the city. the whole 'i will burn down the entire town' trope but gangland. And to show that she wasn't running the Saints for shits & giggles anymore, it was her life and she was going to build it back piece by piece no matter who got in her way.

Also that's when her, Johnny, and Aisha were like 'okay yeah we're both into Johnny lets share' came up with said custody agreement :D

[dondon-patapon]

Observation Log 5: 1/15 10:52 PM

Temp: 26 deg.

Weather: Brisk, light wind.

Obs: Thin layer of frost forming on the windows, meteor shower setting in.

This cold front refuses to break, to my frustration. Another day, another struggle to get the lamp lit. Again, my hands numb to the point where strength fails me. So I sit and seethe by the light to warm my bones and think.

There’s change in the air, of this I’m sure. The longest cold snap I can remember, far later than is normal to boot. Don’t know what this means, but combined with all the other oddities 

I’d best keep my eyes sharp, I can hear the rushing of meteors starting to

Observation Log 6: 1/16 8:17 PM

Temp: 23 deg.

Weather: Unbearably cold

Obs: Unnatural lights off in the distance interfering with ops.

I never did get to finish my entry last night. A meteor shower is stressful at the best of times, certainly. But to have it come so close? Another concerning entry to make note of here. Something odd is brewing, and I’m growing more concerned by the day.

Two ships out in the storm. Two. It’s rare enough to see one having taken such a wrong turn. All my focus and prayers towards keeping them intact and seeing them through the mess. The rest of the night I’ll admit was taken up by a haze of tension and uncertainty. Panic, I must admit. It’s been so long since I’ve felt so close to true panic.

Now, after having surveyed the damage from the prior night, I can sit and reflect on everything. My bones ache. Rest has been difficult to come by of late, and it is catching up with me. Weighing heavier and heavier by the day. How much longer can I handle this?

Has this place really ground me so thin to the point where my composure begins to fail me? How truly far I’ve fallen.

A bright rush of daylight singes my eyes; I recoil, blinking rapidly. My eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden change, and back to the darkness. Lights, round-ish, float in the space outside. Emanating various colors, they seem to be full of gases and other indistinct shapes. Like mini worlds of their own, these massive fireflies flit about in odd but intentional patterns. Giving off light so bright it casts shadows of daylight across my little island. A mesmerizing sight-

And then, beyond it all, I see it. It’s looking directly at me.

Observation Log 7: 1/17 8:17 PM

Temp: 23 deg.

Weather: Unbearably cold

Obs: Another meteor shower has begun.

The remainder of last night I will admit I can scarcely remember. As I set about to start my day, I found everything in order from the night before. And yet my memory of the latter part of last night is an indistinct blur, normally reserved for ancient memories. Unusual, really. I can remember these odd firefly-like lights nearby last night, and yet beyond that… nothing.

Whatever the case, I slept better than I have in some time. Even started the lamp on my first try, to boot. My strength has, to some degree, returned. Were it not for the entries I had started from the last two nights, I would have chalked them up to some kind of fatigue fever dream.

But alas, my word is proof enough.

That, and the mess left behind from two nights ago. With that out of the way, I could actually focus on the night before me. Funny thing about a bit of rest, it has such a knack for jogging corners of the brain you’ve thought long buried. In my case, I found myself wondering when the last time I gave this lamp and its associated mechanisms the proper maintenance it so needed.

Between my notes and my memories, I concluded it had been entirely too long. Old gears needing oiled, lantern oil and wick needing topped up and trimmed properly - clockwork tasks my hands automatically walked me through, like old times. Comforting, familiar, most welcome. But most importantly, in control. The most productive day I’ve had in some time. It’s no wonder I’ve had so much trouble of late getting this old thing lit, I’ve let it go for entirely too long.

Heh. Not necessarily the most noble of epiphanies to have had, but it makes me feel a bit better. I’m not falling apart at the seams, not quite yet. There’s always a simple explanation to be found.

Tomorrow I may try and organize those notes and documents I salvaged from the beach. For now, though, a little more rest couldn’t hurt. This has been the most productive day I’ve had in some time.

[promptresolvesblog]

How to Change Windows 10 Boot Order?

The boot menu shows up every time while turning on the PC where users can install two or more Windows operating systems.

For example: if users have installed Windows 7 and 10 as a dual boot system then you will get the boot menu where you can choose the non-default operating system or let the boot menu automatically boot into the default operating system.

By default settings, the most installed or upgraded operating system is the default operating system in the boot menu. However, there are times when installing or upgrading an operating system, users can change the boot order to change the operating system.

Read more: https://worlegram.com/read-blog/67292_how-to-change-windows-10-boot-order.html

[autolenaphilia]

It's remarkable how easy Linux Mint is to use, compared to Linux's general forbidding reputation. It was really easy to set up for me who has no coding knowledge. I had to fiddle with the boot order in my BIOS a bit but no biggie. Follow the installation guide on the website, and you will be fine. You can boot from an USB too, and test out the OS before installing it and wiping your drive. Transfer data to an external drive before you do.

And you probably won't have much trouble once it is installed either. The default settings are reasonable, and can be changed. It's a very easy to use OS. I have had no problems doing most of the ordinary things I use an OS for. My most used programs on Windows was already things like Firefox, VLC media player and Libreoffice on windows, and they function just as fine on Linux Mint (and are indeed installed by default).

Gaming has given me some trouble, but honestly Lutris has solved most of them. Granted I run mostly so old games on this laptop that Scummvm and dosbox is a solution for many of them. And installing 32 bit libraries has solved others (running the command in this link in the terminal solved so many issues alone). I play very old games, if you can't tell.

Sure, part of how Mint is so user-friendly is that it imitates Windows graphical user interface. But to be honest, it does mean users coming from Windows are already used to the interface. And Mint imitates only the parts of it that work, like the taskbar. And Microsoft has had a bad habit of making the gui look like a phone or a tablet for years now, so Mint does a Windows-like gui better than Windows at this point.

Mint is better than Windows in being a user-friendly operating system in general. Windows being spyware and full of bloatware is well-known and LInux gets away from that bullshit. And just how polite MInt is about updates is a massive improvement. No forced reboots here while an update takes ages to install.

Mint is a long-term support distro, which means it focuses on stability over the latest updates to packages and programs, introducing updates not when they are first released, but after a while when any bugs have been ironed out. And that improves the OS's stability a lot, which I value over getting bleeding edge updates. If you want updates as soon as they happen, and are willing to tinker a bit to fix things, there are other distros which use a rolling-release model.

It is less demanding on the hardware without compromising functionality. Like the majority of Linux distros takes up way less space on the drive and less memory compared to Windows, you can get more life out of an old computer this way.

There are so many older computers that still function fine hardware-wise, but since the specs on that hardware are too weak to switch to a newer more-resource hungry version of Windows, the machines are abandoned because the OS ends up unsupported and unsafe to use. Windows 10 support is going to end in 2025, it might be extended, but the end of w10 support is going to be a blood bath for this very reason. So many computers can't meet the specs for Windows 11 that the switch will be painful. And I would urge you if you are affected by this to upgrade to a LInux distro instead of getting a new computer just for windows 11.

[kaikishoku]

(short story) first contact.

4312 words.

   Every day is the same as the last.

   5:30 AM: Wake up. Lay in bed for roughly half an hour staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the metal ceiling above, wondering how they're even still sticking after all this time.

   6:00 AM, give or take ten minutes: Get up and go to the bathroom. "Freshen up," as Sara might have said back on The Surface, with peachy toothpaste carefully pushed out of an almost-empty tube with the back of a transparent blue toothbrush that has definitely seen better days, taking the smallest amount possible on the tip of the brush and using it. Afterwards, splash cold water (which can't be made any warmer than the northern Atlantic ocean was rumored to have been back in the day) to both wash off any bubbly toothpaste residue, and to immediately get rid of any last final traces of sleepiness. Drag a brush through unkempt sleepy hair, struggle to get it into a ponytail, and then decide the loose bun is good enough for government work.

   6:15 AM: Say hello to the Founders on the way from the dormitories (occupancy: 1) and stand in front of the breakfast vending machine in the cafeteria attempting to decide what exactly to eat that day. Pancakes, waffles, overcooked scrambled eggs, toast, yogurt... The possibilities appear endless, but appearances are deceiving.

   6:30 AM: Sit down at the best seat in the house (the one by the wide windows depicting some city in the world; today is New York City, maybe, or Toronto; it's always been hard to tell those two apart in the movies, and there's no way to reference them in real life now) with the same breakfast chosen from the machine: two pieces of toast and banana cream yogurt.

   7:00 AM: Wash tray, then head to the second floor. First up: The Arboretum. Check the Temperate Zone 6 and see how the redwoods are doing, along with their associated flora, and then go around to the other zones in order from favorite to least favorite. Do the same for the botanical gardens, starting in the desert to see how the cacti are faring because they, like the redwoods, are a favorite.

   3:00 PM: Buy a pack of cinnamon gum and a bag of dill chips from the lunch vending machine. Continue plant research while eating.

   6:50 PM: Check message center. Empty, as usual.

   7:00 PM: Sit down at the master computer and record the log for the day, though the words are exactly the same as the day before. "Elia Myste, researcher and observer on the Regalia. Environmental studies continue to flourish, and while The Surface still looks rank as ever from the bridge, I have hope that reintroduction will succeed once I'm given the clear. Elia Myste, signing off."

   8:10 PM: Get ready for bed with the same routine and gusto as in the morning.

   8:30 PM: Lay in bed staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the metal ceiling above, wondering why anyone would stick them up on a ship destined to be hanging above The Surface in space anyway.

   10:00 PM: Fall asleep.

   Rinse and repeat. Even changing it up every so often, like getting a coffee to go with breakfast—something Elia decides to do today, crouching to take the canned drink from the vending machine aptly labeled BEVERAGES—doesn't make the day actually feel any different. The plants they take care of will still be alive and healthy, kept at perfect temperature for their needs and free of disease or pests; no messages will show up on the master computer when they boot it up; and the glow-in-the-dark stars that keep them company at night will continue to stick to the metal ceiling as if hot glued there.

   Despite that, Elia finds one of the stars fallen onto their bed when they stop back by their room to pick up a blanket. They stare at it, iced instant coffee numbing their fingers, and look up to see if they can figure out which constellation—none of them familiar, or even recorded in any of the station's books—it came from. The effort is a waste of time and completely fruitless; they don't find where it fell from, and the ceiling is too high for them to put the star back up without having to locate a ladder.

   "Well," Elia says to themself, turning the yellowish-white plastic decoration around and squinting at the smooth backside (how did it stay up there in the first place?), "I guess you're my new partner. Let's go, uh..."

   They pause, holding the star up to the cold, bright lights of the space station.

   "...Estella?" They try, then shake their head. "No, we can't have two E's on this station."

   'I must really be lonely,' they think after a moment, pocketing the piece of cheap plastic and picking up a red and orange blanket that's seen much better days. 'I'm talking to some old, crappy decoration that's been here longer than I have.'

   Elia still finds themself taking it out every so often throughout the day, adding something new to their usual routine; while it does not get any less ordinary or boring to look at, it does offer them something else to play with aside from their pen or the keyboard on their miniature laptop the institute had provided for record-keeping of the plant variety. They begin to notice little other differences in their day as well post-starfall, like a few new bright pink blossoms on a desert cactus that had seemed completely against the idea of flowers, a different color and swirl in the clouds on the planet below, and a new and picturesque view on the cafeteria's windows—the Pitons, located in St. Lucia. Elia vaguely remembers visiting them on a class trip before things had become completely unlivable on The Surface. It's enough to have them looking forward to the end of their day to see if the message center has any news waiting for them—something to tell them that it's alright to start the journey back down, or maybe a simple happy birthday for all the years they've been without congratulations...

   Disappointingly, though unsurprisingly, the message center is as barren as ever. Elia waits ten minutes, willing something to show up before they sigh and shove off to go record the day's log instead. Two clicks puts them in the application, a red recording light flickering on, and they withhold a second, longer sigh in favor of getting this part of the night over with so they can go to bed and resume their boring, everyday routine.

   "Elia Myste, researcher and observer on the Regalia," they begin, leaning back in the black office chair that used to be quite comfortably plush but has since been pressed flat with how often it's found itself occupied (and sometimes slept in, though it was more common back when they thought there might have been a chance at anyone contacting them). "Environmental studies continue to flourish. Three new blooms occurred today, and a new sapling was found growing in a spare space. While it's not going to live very long considering the root structure around it, the fact the trees can breed without the assistance of other animals or human intervention is a welcome sign of self-sufficiency. The Surface had a small change of color, at least in the part the Regalia is currently over, but we're still message-less over here—so I assume we're not ready for reintroduction yet."

   Elia taps the desk in front of them, then continues: "I have hope that it will succeed once I'm given the clear, however. Elia Myste, signing off."

   The recording light turns off with another click, and Elia starts to get up; a flashing icon in the corner of their eye makes them pause, and they slowly sit back down as they register just what app it is: an old messenger application installed on all systems located in the research facility. It had had its uses back in the day, or so they presume, but not once since working here had it ever shown any sign of life.

   Until today. They tap it quickly, heart so far up their throat they feel like either they might pass out from a difficulty breathing, or they might just get sick all over the expensive and irreplaceable computer in front of them. The first feels more likely as a cutesy bunny mascot pops up on the screen, juggling letters before they scatter across the application's screen, and the rabbit freezes picking them up—the logo of QuickMess, they guess, and they drum their fingers on the mouse impatiently as they wait for the UI to load.

   Four updates later, they can finally access the message, and Elia can barely hear the click of their mouse over the blood rushing in their ears.

      H.CASTI: Hi there! I don't know if anyone's out there, but I found this app on one of the old computers down here?

      H.CASTI: I'm Hiros B T W! Looking forward to a reply!

   It isn't a name Elia recognizes, but the message is fresh—extremely fresh, like this-was-sent-within-the-last-ten-minutes fresh—and they waste no time with a reply, grimacing at their typos only in the aftermath of it.

      E.MYSTE: holy siht are you fro real

   God, whoever this 'Hiros' person is was going to think them an uneducated idiot. That immediately doesn't matter as Hiros' next reply comes in seconds later.

      H.CASTI: O M G! Sure am! What's your name? What's it like above the waves? Have you heard from anyone else?

      H.CASTI: Oh, and what's your favourite colour?

   Elia doesn't even think they have a favorite color anymore, or if they did, it'd been quickly taken over by the fresh green that comes with the lushness of healthy, happy plants. They wipe their palms on their blue jeans, wetting their lips—they have no idea why they're so nervous when it isn't even like this person is here, and hell, maybe this wasn't even a real person but some kind of chatbot triggered after a certain amount of time to keep researchers from going absolutely stir-crazy with no social interactions. It seems stupid for it to only show up after all this time, but seven years might be its time limit.

   Whatever. Elia types their replies as quickly as possible, backspacing a few times with a swear when their mind goes faster than their fingers and fumbles another set of awkward, embarrassing typos. They aren't going to keep making mistakes like that—on the off chance it isn't some kind of bot, they really don't want to come off as a total idiot.

   Hopefully, they haven't already done so.

      E.MYSTE: elia

      E.MYSTE: cold and dark and kind of lonely

      E.MYSTE: you're the first hence the insane typing

      E.MYSTE: and green i guess

      H.CASTI: Oh L O L I see! Nice to meet you Elia! The Surface doesn't look dark though? On my screens it's proper bright, but I guess you might be somewhere with perpetual nighttime? I lived somewhere like that for a right bit. Guess that's why I'm so cool with it! Or cold L O L.

      H.CASTI: My favourite colour is vermilion B T W.

   The idea that it might be a chatbot takes root a little more firmly in their mind considering the way Hiros types—it's outdated and reminds them more than a little bit of their grandmother back when they used to keep in touch on "the social medias," as she had liked to put it. Elia is ninety percent sure that she had only called it that to irritate them, though. Frustratingly, it did every time.

   Their attention returns to the screen as they see H.CASTI is typing... again, and they're glad their coffee is long-since finished, or else they might have choked on it when Hiros stops typing, and the message flashes onto the screen.

      H.CASTI: Do you want to video?

      E.MYSTE: i

      E.MYSTE: yeah i do letme jsut grab soemthign to eahr with

   So much for making less mistakes and not looking like an idiot. Elia drops to the ground and yanks open the bottom drawer of the desk, rifling through it; as they do so, they hear a gentle beeping from the computer, and they bang their head coming back up with a pair of unopened earbuds. They cut the pad of their thumb opening it, but manage to shove at least one in before they hit to accept the video call. The screen goes black, three blue dots blinking one after the other in the middle of it as the signal struggles to connect, and they tap the desk, leaning in.

   "Come on, come on, come on—"

   The three dots all light up at once, and for the first time in seven years, Elia sees another living, breathing human being. Hiros is the palest person they've ever seen, even before boarding the Regalia; if they weren't in such a well-lit room, Hiros would look more like a rescue beacon than another human being, and Elia tries to match the bright, puppy-like energy Hiros directs to them with their own smile.

   It feels awkward instead, and Elia drops it; their reflection in Hiros' round glasses, frames almost too big for the other's face, mimics them. The next thing Elia notices is how red Hiros' hair is and, paired with their wide, hazel eyes, marks them as being of Irish descent—not to mention the peppy, jovial accent that rounds out their speech as they break the silence.

   “How're ya? Ya seemed frazzled o'er the chat-thingy here, so I thought ya might be a wee bit better speakin'.” Hiros leans into the screen, obscuring Elia's view of them entirely; their voice is soft but masculine, so tentatively, Elia assigns them as 'boy' for the moment. “Right pretty ya are though, aren't ya! Love your earrings—can't stand those long hangin' ones myself, get all caught up in my hair—right pain it is.”

   Elia finds their voice with a short laugh, covering their mouth with a hand. “Thank you. It's— it's nice to meet you, Hiros. I just can't believe it,” they continue, leaning back in their chair. “Someone else. How long's it been since you spoke to someone? Seven years for me.”

   “Oh, well, probably just about the same.” Hiros moves back again, pushing his shaggy red hair behind his ears; four piercings shine briefly in the light, three studs and one short crescent moon dangler. Warmth surges through them at the sight—it's nice to see the two of them match in some small way, as coincidental as it's bound to be. Hiros adjusts his black jacket over his cream white shirt, and Elia discovers it's easier to relax than they thought it'd be as they realize that he's just as nervous as they are. They put the other earbud in, resting their head against their hand as Hiros clears his throat and continues. “So? Surface? What's it like?”

   Elia blanks, then realizes it's a continuation from their conversation on the app. “I'm not on the surface—I'm on a space station. The Regalia. Heard of it?”

   “Oh!” If Hiros could grin any wider, they're sure he would be, but he's thankfully stopped by the constraints of the human face. “Regalia, yeah. Went up some time before I got shuttled down here. I'm in the, uh... What's the yoke's name... Sguaba Tuinne. Named after Manannán mac Lir's boat.”

   The grin wanes a little, and Hiros mimics Elia's position, slouched back in his chair. “Guessin' yer guess is as good as mine when it comes to what's goin' on up there—down there for ya, I guess—then.”

   Elia smiles in a way they hope is as apologetic as they feel and wishes Hiros would sit back up again so they could judge it in his glasses. Maybe it's time to add practice expressions in the mirror so you don't come off as a total weirdo next time to their schedule. Sometime before laying down to sleep, or more accurately 'trying to sleep', they guess.

   "If it's any consolation, I've got good news from up here. I don't know what they've got you watching over, but I'm in charge of—flowers, plants, trees, all of that. Every biome that existed on Earth before the whole..." Elia makes a circle in the air with their fingers. "Thing, yeah. Anyway, it's—it's going well. New blooms. Healthy specimens. Ready to replant whenever I'm given the go-ahead to land back down."

   "Ooooh," Hiros replies, leaning in; the screen casts a glare on their glasses, illuminating them like the moon and obscuring their eyes. "Meteorologist. Keepin' an eye on the weather up there from down here—lots o'storms, lots o'sun, lots o'changes. Would've had a station on the Surface if not for the whole—"

   Hiros grins as he mimics their air circle, his long fingers gracefully ducking in and out of the computer's bright light.

   "Thing, yeah."

   Elia's grateful for the dark color of their cheeks; not too many people notice when they blush because of it, and Hiros seems to be no exception as he settles back in his oversized office chair. A meteorologist and a phytologist—certainly two important types of people to have keeping an eye on things and working towards reviving the world. Hiros rests his cheek against his knuckles as he continues on, the screen shining off a ring on his right middle finger.

   "I watch air quality an' all that too—doesn't matter if the extreme weather up top settles down if we can't breathe it, yeah? Though yer plants oughta help a wee bit with that once they're rooted." Hiros smiles, but it's hard to tell how genuine it is with his eyes half-hidden by the glare of his glasses. "Ya keepin' tabs on soil quality too, Elia?"

   They nod shortly, instinctively moving their cursor to their second screen to bring it up; with some wrangling, they manage to pull it in view of the camera, the monitor arm behind it squealing in defiance at being used for its intended purpose at long last. It only occurs to them after a long moment of silence that Hiros probably can't read a thing on the screen, and they clear their throat, embarrassment making the blood rush to their ears again.

   "So, uh—if you look here... This one on the left monitors everything in the space station's nursery. This one's for the desert room, specifically for a shadscale zone—that's a zone with a high salinity, er, salt content, in its soil. Places like southwestern Nevada have this." They click through a few folders, different sections of the Great Basin Desert flipping before their eyes until they murmur a little ah-ha and select the one they're looking for. "And here's an area with a shadscale zone on the Surface itself."

   The colors couldn't be more different: while the one in the space station is a bright orange with yellow running through it, the one on the Surface is a pale, sickly white, its ridges mapped out in bright blue. Elia stares at it, half smiling, and traces the map.

   "So—there's a regular amount of salinity in the one on the ship—right temperature, right precipitation, right everything. Absolutely perfect, ideal, like I've got my own little piece of this particular desert... and I guess you can say I do. But over here," they tap the Surface's, not even sure if Hiros is following along but not willing to look over and see just how much they're embarrassing themselves, "here, it's all salt. Every single bit of it. Nothing's growing there—there's spots of that in this zone too, but it's not the whole thing, and the ones here flood every so often just like they're supposed to. Playas," they continue, pushing the monitor away a little bit. "They're called playas. Fascinating places."

   "Why's it called a shadscale zone?" Hiros asks, his voice peaking at the end in blatant curiosity, and Elia chuckles—it feels so much like when they'd assist their professor in university.

   "Shadscale is the name of a plant—also known as the spiny saltbush; it's commonly found around areas like this, especially salt flats. They're evergreen bushes native to the western U.S. and northern Mexico. Fun fact: they're in the same family as the amaranth flower."

   "Ya grow those too?" he asks, and Elia grins wider.

   "I said I've got everything up here, don't I?"

   They go through a few more zones and plants like that, Hiros asking questions and Elia's worry that his interest is purely out of politeness slipping away as quick as the time does from them. They only notice how late it's gotten when Hiros catches a yawn in his hand, eyebrows knitting together apologetically.

   "Not usually up this late," he says, his gaze darting to the corner of his screen; Elia does the same to theirs and bites back a wince as 10:51 blinks at them. "What's the time on yer end?"

   "Ten-fifty-one... at night. You?"

   "We're not too far off, are we? Not continents at least." Hiros stretches, the microphone catching the creak of his chair. "Closin' in on two in the morning here."

   "I sat down at seven..." Elia rubs their face, mentally counting the hours—their first contact with another person in years, and they'd spent almost four hours talking to them? It doesn't seem real—doesn't feel real—but the soreness in their throat surfaces to confirm their numbers. They cough, wishing they'd brought a water or can of tea over. "Sorry to keep you, especially with boring plant talk—"

   "Weren't borin' to me," Hiros interrupts; he's grinning when Elia's gaze snaps over, and they get the feeling he's been directing that expression at them for a while now. "I like watchin' people talk when they're passionate 'bout somethin'. They get a li'l twinkle in their eyes."

   He taps the left side of his head, then gives them a wink. Elia coughs and looks away, busying themselves with turning off their extra monitors. They stop when they get to the last one, the one with Hiros on it, and hesitates. Their hand settles back on the desk, just shy of the mouse, and they sigh.

   "Guess this is good-bye for now," they say, but they make no move to turn the communication off.

   "I'm guessin' so," Hiros replies, but he doesn't move either, and the two of them sit in a silence that feels like it's trembling. What if this is the last time they speak? What if something happens to one of them, or to the communications center, or the program itself? Elia curls their fingers against the desk, questions rising like the waves their newfound companion lives far beneath. They're almost certain that Hiros is asking himself the same questions with the way his smile turns a little sad, thick eyebrows pressing together.

   Elia sighs, counts to three, and banishes the thoughts from their heart. They smile brightly, knowing it's forced by just how awkward it feels on their face, and give a little wave.

   "Let's talk in the morning, okay? Or afternoon, whichever. You're a few hours ahead of me, so I'll let you pick."

   Hiros blinks, but returns their smile, drumming his fingers on his desk audibly. "Ten your time, one mine. I tend to sleep-in anyway—bad habit of mine. Never died after college. Ta-ta for now, Elia."

   "Ta-ta," Elia repeats, and their heart aches with the silence and loneliness that folds over them when the video call ends. The ship comes back into focus as their attention draws away from the computer screen: the hum of its engines as they stay in orbit of the Earth, the buzz of the lights above them, and the electric harmony of the systems that keep them alive so far from a home that would kill them to step back onto—

   And, most of all, the quiet that signals to them that they truly are the one and only person on this ship. Elia draws their knees to their chest and presses their face into them, taking in a deep breath and holding it until their lungs feel fit to burst. Did Hiros feel that way now, realizing just how lonely it was to be alone in the cataclysmic aftermath of human contact? Had he ever gotten used to the quiet, or did being underwater afford him company they could only dream of? Elia can't imagine that fish are very good conversation partners, but then again, neither are trees or the stars that send their light careening through millions upon millions of miles of pitch-dark space. At least fish move and react and feel alive. Flowers and trees move too, but it feels fundamentally different—active versus passive, maybe—and Elia sighs as they finally pull themselves from their chair and make their way to the washroom to freshen up for bed.

   Their loneliness slowly transforms into excitement as they crawl beneath their covers and stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on their ceiling, finally locating the spot Estella had fallen from—they'll have to put it back up in the morning, they decide. Tomorrow—tomorrow they could resume their conversation with Hiros. Tomorrow they'd see him again, first thing in the morning. It's difficult to get to sleep with that thought hanging around their head and making their heartbeat quicken—they think about what to talk about, if they should dress differently or do their hair differently to put out a better second impression, if they should bring a flower or two to show off their progress, if...

   They drift off to sleep as their thoughts turn to meeting up one day, somehow, some way, the blanket tucked tightly around them like a cocoon.

[spinster-sisters]

Criminal. khj

TW: Violence kinda, weapons kinda, illegal stuff obviously, exhibitionism, marking, posesiveness, gang? au? possibly, I honestly dont know what this is.

WC: 6k

I normally dont do summaries but I got a funny one:

You and your boyfriend escape a bank robbery.

-

The toe of your shoe clicks against the marble floor as you tap your foot. Across the room, high up on the wall there is an analog clock ticking down the seconds. It’s getting late, and the bank teller couldn’t be going any slower. Only two people ahead of you now.

You check your phone for the fifth time in the past 10 minutes, no update. Must not be running as late as you thought. You shift your weight to your other foot only to start taping once again. Ok sure, you weren’t late, it doesn’t mean you like how long this damn lady is taking.

The line moves up as the teller begins helping the next person. You attempt to swallow your impatience as best you can, pulling out your phone again to quickly slide between apps, but the longer you stand there the louder the ticking of the clock seems to echo around the room.

Looking away from your device, you take another look around the room. Nothing has changed since you came in. In between the doors and the lines, there was a seating area filled with two uncomfortable-looking couches facing each other and a coffee table between them. There were still 3 tellers sitting at their desks, 10 customers in line counting you. Two in the first line, three in the second, yourself, and two others in the last. About as busy as you would expect at this time of day. But the waiting still sucked.

Finally, you hear the teller ask “is there anything else I can help you with?” And you know that soon it will be your turn at the window. Pulling out your phone again you shoot a quick text.

[ it’s my turn next, hopefully, I’ll be out of here soon ]

1:24pm

Just as the woman in front of you steps away a notification dings on your phone.

[ See you soon ;) ]

1:25pm

You sighed at your boyfriend's message, thinking the winky face was a bit on the nose for your taste. But Hongjoong liked to tease.

Dropping your phone back into your pocket, you look up just as the teller motions you forward. The click of your shoe against the tile seems almost deafening in the quiet room as you step forward, trying to mask the small smile Hongjoong’s message had given you.

“what can I help you with today?” The lady at the counter-question with subdued chirpiness. Clearly, she has had a long day, already ready for it to be over. The thought made you wince.

“Hi, there seems to be a problem with the direct deposit on my account. My last paycheck didn’t go in.” You start, placing both hands on the counter.

The teller nods, with mock understanding, clearly just an impulse for years of customer service. Somewhere outside several car doors slam, but no one inside seems to notice the sound.

“Could I have the number of the account?” The teller asks, placing both hands on the keyboard and frowning at the screen, prepared to type whatever comes out of your mouth. You don’t have time to say it.

All the lights on the monitor suddenly shut off. The woman helping you looks taken aback for a second, looking over to her coworkers only to see them doing the same. The hairs on the back of your neck shoot up as nerves build in your stomach.

The next thing happens so quickly you barely register it. The glass door slides open and a metal canister flies into the room. Acting on instinct your hands fly to your ears, your eyes screwed shut, and you drop to your knees. Even with your ears covered it does little to silence the ear-splitting bang that rips through the room. It sends the rest of the room's inhabitants to the floor seconds after you, either from shock or from the disorienting mix of light and sound that came from the small device.

Flashbang.

Your heart jumps up to your throat. You open your eyes but did not let your hands drop just yet. The ring was still sounding in the room, but the blinding light had gone. Just as the last of the ringing fizzled out the doors slid open again.

A group of masked figures took confident strides into the room. Your eyes searched the street behind them, looking for anyone who might notice what’s going on. There was no one. Your stomach dropped again. The others in the room finally seemed to be regaining their hearing and sight, only to shriek when the men came into view. Swallowing your nerves you do a headcount of the patrons. Three tellers, ten customers including yourself. All adults, no children. That was good, children would cause problems.

After assessing the situation and taking a few deep breaths, you look over to the group of men who were starting to spread out around the room. The more you looked at them the more frightening they appeared. Each of the men were were dressed head to toe in black with a mask covering the bottom half of their faces, but even as you sized them up you avoided looking at their eyes, drawing attention to yourself now would be stupid.

Every one of them carried a gun. But as they fanned out across the room only one had it pointed. The same one that spoke.

“Anyone not on the ground better get that way. We don’t have all day.” The voice that spoke was calm but had a clear edge. The tones meaning ran clear in your ears as much as everyone else’s, calm does not mean forgiving. You kept your head down, trying your best to sink into the shadows trying to avoid drawing attention to yourself, that’s what people always said to do right?

You heard a few thuds as the few people in the room who remained standing dropped to the floor. None of the other patrons or staff said a word. Thank god, fighting would make this much more difficult.

“Great, now I want everyone’s hands on the ground in front of them. Try to call anyone and one of us will put a new hole in your head, so why don’t we make this easy and nobody make a sound.” The voice continued in that same tone. Your eyes shot up to make sure everyone was following orders as you placed your own hands on the cold tile next to your bare knees, they were already getting stiff and you hoped this would be over quickly.

A few of the men began walking through the people on the floor, hands on their guns but not drawn, checking just as you did that everyone was behaving. As one of the taller ones drifted toward your spot you stared at the same tile a few feet ahead of you, matching the other patrons around you.

You heard the heavy thuds of footsteps as they paused in front of you, just for a moment. You felt the gaze burn into the top of your skull as you stared forward, holding your breath.

“You don’t look nearly scared enough.” The new voice spoke, completely nonchalant. The next moment, a heavy leather boot pressed down onto your hand, crushing it against the tile. You winced and let out a small cry as pain shot up your arm. It stung as he dug his foot harder onto your hand. Both hands started to shake as the pain built, the knot that had formed in your chest from the moment the flash-bang fell through the air tightened till your breath became choked and shaky. Suddenly the pressure was gone.

“Much better,” the voice all but giggled before moving on.

You took a heaving breath as soon as the boots left your field of vision. You felt sweat start to form on your brow bone. You looked up again. A few terrified faces of other patrons looked at you with fear, clearly expecting that the man was going to blow your head off.

The man who spoke first stepped forward and motioned to the middle teller who was watching petrified from behind his desk, head barely peeking over the edge.

“You,” he started again, taking long strides across the room, walking within a few feet from you on your right side to the opening that led behind the counter, “Why don’t you show me to the safe?” He asked, voice still disconcertingly cordial. The teller gapped for a moment, and the man tilted his head expectantly. The teller stumbled to his feet, eyes not moving from the shiny gun trained on him. He did little more than gesture vaguely for the man to follow him before they both disappeared behind the doors that lead to the back of the bank, 2 of the other men followed behind him.

The room was stiff with tension. For the patrons at least. All of you seemed to be holding your breath, but the men could not seem calmer. Their postures were relaxed, many of them had their arms crossed over their chest or were leaning against furniture. None of them even had their weapons drawn, but they were still visible. Enough to keep everyone shaking with fear with their heads down. It was bizarre but effective for the time being.

Your head was absolutely swimming. Trying to keep notice of the positions of everyone in the room, taking shooting glances around for a few seconds at a time, checking the faces of your fellow hostages. Everyone knows in situations like this it’s best to just comply, you sure fucking hoped the others knew that as well. You tried to lead by example anyway. And then there were the men. You didn’t dare look any one of them in the eye, knowing what kind of consequences that would bring. But you tried to keep tabs on them. They weren’t moving much in the few minutes since the three men disappeared with the teller, but any slight movement they gave was noteworthy into your mind. You had to keep things under control.

The minutes ticked on in almost complete silence, save for the one man who was humming of all things. How could they possibly be relaxed right now you did not know. The sound was harsh against your ears for how gentle it was, it kept distracting you from your thoughts.

The thought in question was a dangerous one. Your back was beginning to ache from being hunched over and your palms were sweating uncomfortably against the marble. From where you sat against the furthest teller window you were blocked from the direct view of every robber by either furniture or walls. What you wanted to do was risky, any slight movement on their behaves would land you in their line of sight. That was an opportunity for anyone who could take it.

You need to text Hongjoong. He needed to know what was going on. You watched the men carefully for the next few minutes, looking for any sign that they might start looking around, but they all seemed perfectly content in their places. With a shaking hand, you slowly began reaching into your pocket. You managed to pull the device out without anyone noticing, but as you slid it into your lap and under your shirt one of the other patrons saw, and their eyes shot wide open. Shit.

They looked at you with frantic, pleading eyes that screamed call for help. They were looking too obvious. You swallowed and shook your head, trying to get them to look away, but they didn’t.

“Heads down,” a deep voice called. Both you and the other patron snapped your eyes to the floor, but after listening for a few seconds it didn’t sound like anyone was moving toward you. You were still blocked from view. With a shaky breath, you slowly pulled the phone out. Unlocking it silently, you pressed on the messages app.

“Well, what’s this?”

Dread shot through you. The man had reappeared from the back, slinking quietly to your side somehow without you noticing. Your head shot up to look at him as he stood, barely 5 feet away from you staring down at your phone. The entire room's attention was now on you. You felt your blood freeze in your veins as the eyes above the mask narrowed into a glare. You didn’t even move to hide the phone, you didn’t move to do anything. You just sat there, staring dumbly back into his eyes. You heard the distant sounds of fear from the hostages and soft chuckles from the men.

The bag he had slung over his shoulder was tossed to the nearest member of his crew, the two that had followed him into the back of the back reappeared, took one look at the scene, one shaking his head before they both carried on out the door with the three bags.

A hand shot into your hair, grabbing it by the roots and pulling you to your feet. Your scalp burned, the pain was so sharp and sudden your eyes screwed shut and you lost Yoruba balance. Disoriented, you let out a shriek at the pain and if it weren’t for the grip on your head you would have fallen right back down. The phone was ripped from your hand. The man slid his hand from your hair to grasp the back of your neck firmly as he looked over the screen. When your eyes opened he was scrolling through the messages from half a moment before laughing a full and wicked laugh.

“Texting your boyfriend? How cute.” He all but cackled. He observed your face, your eyes hard and pricked with tears, and he giggled again. Shoving your phone into his pocket, he motioned to the others before pulling you towards the door. You stumbled over your legs multiple times, letting out cries and hisses as you went but doing little to resist.

The other hostages, let out distraught sobs but you blocked them out, their sympathy would do nothing for you now.

You were pulled out of the building at the same moment the sound of engines roared to life. In one quick glacé you saw that the street was still deserted.

Your back was slammed against the wall of the bank, just out of view of those inside and the barrel of the man's gun was trained on you. You shut your eyes tight.

You heard a bang. And the wailing cries of the hostages inside.

Then familiar lips crashed onto yours. It wasn’t really a kiss, more of a peck. The man's lips moved against yours for only a few seconds, so little you had no time to react before they were gone.

You opened your eyes. His mask was pulled back up, and he had taken a step back. His gun was already holstered at his side.

You didn’t have to see the bottom half of the man's face to know he was smirking. You pushed yourself off the wall and glared at him. At that moment two cars pulled out of the parking lot, one stopping directly in front of you. With a huff you pushed past the man who you could almost guarantee was still grinning.

Opening the door you slid into the backseat against the far window and crossed your arms over your chest. Seconds later the man got in and closed the door. And you were off.

“Come on your not actually mad are you,” he giggled, pulling down his mask.

“You damn near pulled my hair out Hongjoong! Of course, I’m mad!” You spat. You heard the two in the front seat chuckle.

“Oh don’t think you're off the hook Yunho. What the fuck was that? Since when was breaking my hand apart of the plan?” You hollered, kicking your foot against his seat. This only lead to more giggling. You resiliently stared forward, not looking at to boyfriend. He didn’t seem bothered by this in the slightest. Hongjoong slid across the back seat to wrap an arm over your shoulder that even in your rage you didn’t have the heart to shake off.

“But it’s not like I was lying! You looked way too calm. If any of them had looked at you it would have been obvious something was up.” Yunho defended, gesturing with the hand, not on the steering wheel.

“Come on, darling. You know we have to make it believable. I can’t have my best spy get their cover blown because I’m too gentle with you.” The arm around your shoulder tightened, urging you to look at him. Finally, you turned to him, smiling at you so brightly you’d think you were on a friendly road trip.

“Besides, I thought you liked it when I pulled your hair?” Hongjoong said with a cheeky wink. At that Wooyoung howled with laughter from the front seat. You blushed crimson and promptly reached your foot over to kick his seat as well.

“Oh shut up. You were going overboard and you know it.” You grumbled with much less enthusiasm. Hongjoong smiles softly at your pout before leaning back in his seat, giving you a bit more space. Comfortable silence lasted only a few minutes as you drove on before Hongjoong spoke up again.

“Why did you pull your phone out anyway? That was dumb, even if you are on our side.” He asked, fingers rubbing circles comfortingly against your shoulder. You sighed.

“Because the rest of the boys fucked up.” You replied plainly, but still easing into your boyfriend's touch. Both Yunho and Wooyoung made offended noises from the front seat, but you carried on.

“The way they were positioned was wrong. There were blind spots, several actually. You’re just lucky I was the only person in one. I figured I should let you know in case it became a problem.” You continued.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong muttered. While he heard the sound of your voice, you doubted he was listening, as his hand instead taken to playing with your fingers in your lap.

“Isn’t the whole idea of having someone undercover on the inside, so they can tell us where the blind spots are?” Wooyoung asked from the front seat, still clearly offended at your statement.

“I told Yeosang, it’s not my fault you guys planned to take him in the safe this time instead of keeping him in the lobby like always.”You shot back. But even that was half-hearted. Your body really did ache after being hunched on the hard ground for 10 minutes without moving, and the comforting touch of your boyfriend's hands made you melt into the seat, all the tension and worrying about ways it could go wrong eased off your body in waves.

You all could talk about how it went and what needed to be tweaked next time later, right now you just wanted to rest. Hongjoong pulled you against his chest by your shoulder sensing your quick drop in energy.

Just as you were about to doze off a thought popped into your head.

“Hongjoong?”

You could feel the hum he gave in response against your cheek, telling you to continue.

“Are you sure you should have pretended to shoot me? I mean, best case scenario local police add murder onto our rap list. Worst, they find out you have a man on the inside. Either one is bad.” You murmur into his chest. Your group had never killed before as there had never been any need to, and it wasn’t something that any of you really wanted to do.

“That’s only a problem if they catch us.” He replied. Sounding, as always, perfectly certain of himself.

-

Living like this had its pros and cons, much like anything else. The main con being having to drive long ways away for jobs, just as a way to keep yourself safe. Which sometimes meant pulling over on the side of the road at any ditch or shitty motel for the night before getting back to your homes.

As your vehicles pulled into a run-down motel about a mile off the main highway, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had gone into the lobby parading as drunk college students on a road trip to rent the rooms for the night. Needless to say, it had been a long day, the other boys meandered to their rooms and probably fell asleep the moment their heads hit the pillows. But not you.

You had been patiently waiting on the hood of the car you arrived in, for the moment Hongjoong got back. And when he did reappear and the others disappeared, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to go lay down as quickly as they did.

As the crunch of their footsteps on gravel faded till they were indoors, you turned your head upwards to the sky. It was late at night and in the middle of nowhere like this, you could see millions more stars than in your home. Hongjoong kept his place, leaning on the car hood next to where you sat, looking up as well but not at the infinite sky like you. No, he was watching your face.

You don’t know exactly how long you sat there, looking up at the sky but you know your neck had begun to ache when Hongjoong finally pulled himself onto the hood of the car next to you. You naturally came to rest your head on his shoulder, still looking up at the stars, but now in your peripheral vision, you could still see Hongjoong studying your expression carefully.

“Something on your mind?” You ask in a quiet voice, still looking up. Hongjoong stirred, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You tear your gaze from the stars to look at him. The moon cast a pearly light on his face that in your eyes made him glow.

“Sometimes I think I ruined you,” though his words were serious the giggle he gave at the end showed he had no real remorse. You still scoffed.

“I was a criminal long before I meet you Kim Hongjoong, don’t go thinking you

drastically changed the course of my life.” You reply in a dry tone, even if he was joking, it was still a point you wanted to drive home. He had no reason to be guilty with how you turned out, you were probably safer with him and the others than where you were before. He laughed at you again.

Hongjoong laughed at everything. And his laugh was one of the best things about him. Looking at him now, it gets harder and harder to imagine what your life would have been like without him.

“Babe, you were a petty thief, I turned you into a serial bank robber. I consider that pretty drastic.” He shot back, reaching up to pretend to fix your hair.

“If it wasn’t you, it would have been somebody else, and between us? I’m glad it was you.” Your words came out slightly more sentimental than you had anticipated and when Hongjoong fell silent next to you, you promptly blushed and turned back to the stars.

You and Hongjoong very rarely spoke about stuff like this. Even if neither of you would ever admit it, the truth of living life like this is that all it takes is one day, one mistake, for the family you created and the life you live to come crashing down around you. The span of a few minutes could be the difference between running off into the sunset and quite literally never seeing each other again. And after the slight hiccup, you had today that only you had noticed at first, that thought was at the forefront of your mind.

So basically you liked to live in the moment.

It was quiet for a few minutes, him watching you and you watching the sky. There was a very slight breeze in the air, but the summer air was made it more of a gentle cool wind than an uncomfortable chill.

“It’s getting late, you should go to sleep,” Hongjoong muttered. Quieter than his usual quip.

“I slept in the car.” You replied easily. Which was true, and while that nap had been anything but restful with the constant bumps in the road, he didn’t need to know that.

“Oh well, here I was trying to get you in bed but I guess you don’t want to.” He sighed, regaining some of the playfulness from earlier while running a teasing hand up your spine. It gave you shivers, but you had no desire to give in to him so easily.

“Who says we need a bed?” You ask matter of factly. Turning to give him the same wink he had laid on you earlier in the day. Jobs like the one you did today always put you on edge, no matter how many times you did it. Unlike the rest of them, it took you hours to fully relax and admit safety enough to let your guard down. You would never call Hongjoong carefree, but he did have a habit of trying to jump you the moment you were a safe distance away. Hongjoong leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Are you asking me to take you on the hood of this car? Because trust me, darling, I would.” Shivers his your spine once again, but you weren’t quite down bantering yet. You turned your head away from him to look at the beat-up old motel and the deserted parking lot you sat in. Motioning to it all you replied.

“Is this the most romantic place you could find?” You ask, each word oozing with how unimpressed you were by the scenery. At that Hongjoong placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at the millions of shining stars once again. You could feel his next words before they came.

“I don’t know, I think I did a pretty good job.”

It’s true, looking straight up and nowhere else gave the impression that you were sitting on the top of a mountain, the entire world below you and nothing but heaven above. Cheesy, but effective.

Hongjoong accurately assumed your silence meant he had won. Pushing you by your shoulder till your back hit the cool metal, your eyes stayed trained on the sky above. Your legs hung over the front of the car, pushed up only slightly till you lay with most of your body on the hood. Hongjoong’s moonlight face still hung in your peripheral, hanging over you slightly.

You stared straight into the sky as Hongjoong slung his body over yours, trapping your hips to the metal with his own.

“Please tell me you're not going to be super dramatic about this?” You as with your last dreg of defiance. He smirked at you.

“Babe, this is going to be the most dramatic moment of your life.”

And with that, Hongjoong leaned down over you, connecting your lips with a heated kiss. Your arms automatically slung around his neck, pulling him closer. Your breath hitched almost immediately, feeling all strength leave your body as you melted into the kiss. Hongjoong took time to switch between a long slow-paced drag of his lips across yours, to nipping and sucking gently at your bottom lip as he pleased. The air no longer seemed like a necessity, when staying like this forever got more and more appealing.

Running his lips down to your jaw you almost rolled your eyes when you felt Hongjoong suck a rather impressively sized hickey right onto the underside of your jaw. It would perfectly match the fading ones that dotted your collar bones and the base of your neck, though the placement of this one would be much more visible.

Hongjoong’s hand took hold of your waist, slipping his fingers under the hem of your shirt and pushing it to bunch up over your chest, exposing you to the cool night air. He hadn’t removed it completely, but nonetheless he leaned back to admire. The ghost of a smirk wormed its way onto his lips as he ran his soft fingertips along the marks he gave you.

Staring at the ones lower on your stomach, trailing up your body with feather light touches. Your eyes screwed shut when he brushed over the ones on your breast. The bra you had been wearing today was nothing special, if not a little plain, but you could barely stand the heat of his gaze as it traveled up your body along with his hand.

Eventually, he reached the newest addition to the collection of purple splotches on your body. Cupping your cheek with his hand he urged your eyes open.

“I go through all this work to get you out under the stars and here you are with your eyes closed. That’s rude of you.” He stated with an exaggerated frown.

“It’s rude to tease,” you tried to sound as playful as him, but it came out as more of a whine. He giggled at you and carried on.

“I’m not teasing, I’m admiring. Now let me continue or you’ll get nothing.” He replies sternly. The mood suddenly shifting as the sparkle in his eye shifted to a darker hungrier look. You gulped slightly before letting your head fall back against the metal to stare up at the sky again. You felt Hongjoong’s mouth on your body again. His warm lips giving new life to some of the more faded marks on your chest. The cool air suddenly felt incredibly hot as your boyfriend's hands ran up and down your sides, occasionally stopping to squeeze whatever flesh he could grasp. Each time pulled another sound past your lips, although you did your best to muffle them.

“You look so pretty like this baby,” he remarked, barely pulling away, “I want to hear how pretty you sound too.”

It wasn’t spoken like a command, but you took it as one. Letting your mouth hang open in a moan when Hongjoong took one of your breasts in his palm, kneeling it slightly before pulling your bra down just enough to free it. He wasted no time in dragging his tongue over your nipple, then sweeping back down to suck a mark directly on the underside of your boob.

Your legs clenched together as he worked, the small amount of friction it gave in your shorts only served to drive you to more extremes when you rolled your hips against his. You groaned startlingly loud at that, the sensation of his hard dick pressing against your core even through the denim of both your pants pulled wetness from your core quicker than you would ever care to admit.

Hongjoong pulled away with a laugh, sitting up straight to look down at your already keening expression.

“Calm down baby, we have all night. No need to rush.” He chuckled at you. Despite his words, he took almost immediate action, running his hands up your bare thighs till his fingers hook on the waistband of your shorts. He pulled them down, but only just enough. Slipping his hand between your legs to cup your heat, while palming himself over his jeans. You whined again and clamped your legs around his hand, holding it in place. Despite your body’s subconscious efforts, he slid his finger over your cunt through your damp underwear.

Under any other circumstances, it would have been incredibly embarrassing how wet he made you from just touches to your body, but at the moment all you could think about was how desperately you wanted him to continue.

“Your soaking wet already, it feels like cheating with how quickly your body reacts to me.” He mutters, pressing two fingers against your hole, with nothing but a thin scrap of fabric keeping them from pushing inside you.

“Hongjoong, please fuck me. I’m begging you.” You groan, rolling your hips against his hand repeatedly. He broke out in a wide smile.

“I like the sound of you begging. Do it again for me.” He commands, voice laced with honey. You took a shuddering breath, turning your eyes to meet his with a pleading look.

“Please, I need you to fuck me.” You beg with all the desperation you have.

“Oh course baby, all you had to do was ask.” He lilts, tilting his head to the side with a sickly sweet smile.

Hongjoong pulled his hand from your core, which left an unhappy feeling in your stomach. But he used said hand to assist in pulling his dick free of his pants which spurred your legs even further apart. Your hands had been hanging uselessly at your side since this all began but as he leaned over your body once again, staring straight down into your wanton face, your hands flung themselves behind his shoulder to hang off of him.

Hongjoong pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, running it through your folds twice, watching as your face shifted from bliss to desperation each time he almost slipped in. And of course, he laughed. But that was the last bit of torture he gave you before sinking into your cunt.

Your synchronized groans sounded throughout the empty parking lot when he finally filled you to the hilt. And with his own patients starting to run as thin as yours he wasted no time in pulling out and thrusting again.

Your back arched more each time he pushed into you, feeling him stretching your walls and brush against the most sensitive spots inside you made your toes curl. And as he began to build pace his deep pants and groans rang in your ears.

He was doing anything but going fast. Long hard and deep thrusts shook your body in a steady rhythm. Your nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt and your mouth hung open as he fucked into you.

“Come on baby, you're not that far gone already are you?” His voice carried a teasing tone, but his own breath had gone shaky. You both stared into each other’s faces, watching each other’s expressions shift with bliss at every thrust. You were moaning and whining freely now. Words have failed you.

You felt the muscles on Hongjoong’s shoulder strain beneath your fingers, and with your orgasm fast approaching your nails practically clawed down his back. Hongjoong hissed above you, but the action did nothing but spur him on.

“Your gonna cum baby? Gonna cum already on my cock? How desperate you must be, to let a criminal have his way with you like this.” He growled the words down at you. His words shot to your core, making you clench around him, with a whine you forced words past your lips.

“I don’t care, just want you.” The words were barely a whisper. But the effect was the same. With a ringing cry, you came undone underneath him. You shook and threw your head back, staring directly into the stars above you. Your body moved of its own accord, but that was all beyond you. The only thing you could think about was the look on Hongjoong’s stunning face as he came hovering above you.

You both basked in the feeling of waves of pleasure rolling over your bodies. Continuing to grind against each other subconsciously as you rode it out.

The cool air returned with a nip. Hongjoong had all but collapsed above you. As you came back to reality the cold metal of the car suddenly felt so comfortable you could fall asleep right there. You felt your eyes being to drift shut.

“Oh no baby, I’m taking you to bed for real this time.” Hongjoong chuckled, pulling himself up to look down at you again. He gave a small smile at your pout.

“Your pretty cute for a dangerous criminal.”

You gathered up the last of your strength to hit him on the shoulder.

-

and this my friends is why I dont make a habit of writing longer things, they just get away from me.

I meant for this to be a short hot sexy lil thing and it turned into this long ass sappy thing

[pbandjesse]

Today was a day for preparations! But it was also just a really fun day with James. Things felt good. They didn't feel like we were about to have to run to separate jobs or have to be on a call or someone was waiting for us. It was just us. And it was great.

I slept better. It's wild how cold it's gotten at night. But it was fine. I had put more blankets on our bed so we've been pretty cozy. I slept until around 9. And just scrolled on my phone for a little just to slowly wake up. James would come and join me soon. I didn't really want to get up yet. But I knew I should. There were things to do.

And so I went to get washed up. I got dressed and felt very cute. This was a good outfit but I would be pretty chilly for a lot of it. That's alright.

I told James I had energy so we should clean the apartment first. And we did. I put things away. We did some vacuuming and wiping down of counters. I moved the carpet back to its original place (it has shifted way to the right in the living room). And changed the kitty litter. Made the apartment very nice and comfortable. Especially since Callie will probably come and stay here while we are gone, but even if she doesn't stay she'll be here and I don't want to feel embarrassed! So we made things nice. And it was good.

I set an alarm for when we would need to check in for our airline. And we decided we would go out after we completed that.

We both hung out in our own spaces for a little. And very soon we were checked in. I get a window seat. We are really far back in the plane which I don't love but it's alright. I have my new headphones so it shouldn't be to terrible.

We would head out soon after that. The main goal for the day was to get James new boots. Something more waterproof. Something a little fashionable. And I think we did an excellent job with the Sperry's I found. And they were on sale.

When we were going into the store though we noticed that a car has a slash it it's tire?? Like it wasn't flat but if they drove on it it could pop. So we wrote them a note. James tried to write the note but they did a terrible job. They wrote "careful with the tire buddy!" That is not a helpful note??? "Your front passenger side tire had a slash in it, please get it checked!!" Much more helpful.

We went to five below next. And the nice person at the door complimented my new bear bag. Which made me all proud. I really like this bear. It's not going to be larger enough for me to use as an every day bag but it's really great!! I also love how I customized her. She now has a necklace and bows. She deserves it.

After our successful store stops we went to lunch at a double t diner. Where we spent our time looking through our itinerary and chosing things to do. We are only in Juneau and Ketchikan for a few hours so we found one thing for each. And for Skagway and Victoria we have multiple things. I even found a bizarre for us to check out that looks super promising. We are mostly excited for the different museums and to see nature. Even if we don't get super far into it. I'm just really excited to see what we can. It's a grand adventure!

We were planning on going to a new donut place but it turned out it closed at 1130. Ah well. Another time. Instead we decided, well we really don't have to be anywhere. We will go completely out of our way and go to Columbia. To go to a patisserie run by a lovely Greek family. And James got baklava cheese cake which was incredible. And honestly the whole interaction was hilarious. The way the man would yell orders to the other man that worked there but he was literally 10 feet away, but he is yelling like he's across the world. Then an old man comes in and he greats him like a celebrity and then tells us he would wear a suit but he's working on his career as a male stripper. The whole thing was hilarious.

We would go home after that. It was raining and I was tired all of a sudden. I was glad we cleaned first.

Once we got home James let their phone charge for a bit before they went to take our car to the museum to be safe in the parking lot there. I'm very appreciative to the musuem for letting us do that. And they would bike home.

While I was alone I went in our bags again and moved a few things. To account for James's new boots and wanting to wear slip ONS and so now my backpack is basically empty so I'll be able to take some stuff. And we have plenty of room in the totebag. I'm very pleased. But there was literally nothing else I could do. I had a few patches to fix on my bag. And I had to fix a keychain for James. And then I just got on the couch. There was nothing else to do.

When James got home we both had some of our pieces of cake. Which were great.

It was a lazy afternoon after that. I would take a bath and wash my hair. I didn't need to but I probably won't get a chance again until Saturday. I also shaved my legs and scrubbed and did all the things. Felt like a good reset.

We have been in bed for a while now. I dried my hair. And painted my toes. And downloaded some books on my tablet.

I'm nervous about tomorrow!! Lane is coming to get us at 9. So we should be at the airport by 930. And our flight is at 1120. I've never flown with another person and it's going to be different Im sure. But I hope it's fun. I hope it's great. I hope you all have a great night and wish us luck. We should be in Chicago tomorrow with friends. And then on Thursday we get on our train!! Ahh!! I'm so excited.

[justalost4girl]

" If anything can go wrong, it will."

Good night!! (Here it's still night :p )

A few weeks ago I said I would do a oneshot Lorraine Broughton x F! Reader, but it got too big so I decided to follow the initial idea and turn it into a mini series. I have two chapters written and I'm going to post them here and in Ao3, I think there will be 3 or 4 chapters in total, but I'm not sure yet.

English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine.

Enjoy!!

warnings: mention of violence, R cursing, forgery of documents (?)

Words: 4573

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1989

Berlin, East Side

You feel in your bones, when you wake up, the consequences of last night and think that the famous Murphy's Law decided to test you. On this side of the wall few things go right, but having an order in your head two days after joining STASI's wanted list proves that nothing is so bad it can't get any worse. Courtesy of a dumb customer who messed with the wrong people and thought revealing where you find your customers would be enough information to escape death. The Local Gang (or Angels, as they call themselves) loves to eliminate competition from the market.

Now he's dead and you have to deal with the STASI AND the Local Gang (you refuse to call them Angels).

The local fucking gang that sent a team of idiots to break into your favorite bar and made you run out the back door before meeting a customer who was going to pay well. The local fucking gang who must be pissed that you shot the six dumbest members you've ever had to face in your life. No really fatal shots, but of course that won't matter as they do business with the KGB.

Sometimes you want to ignore the rules you've made for yourself, especially "never kill someone unless it's in defense of yourself or someone you love", but you think killing six agents who don't have the ability to set up an ambush of success would be a great waste of bullets. Now you know you're going to have to leave town soon and you have no idea how to break the news to your brother/partner, how do you honorably abandon a war before it's over?

Damn Murphy's Law

You know you need to sort this out, but you refuse to stay in bed crying over what's already written and decide to leave the wonderful Egyptian linen sheets you got from your favorite client last month to face the world and it's impossible to face the world without a good amount of coffee. After a quick shower with a cup of Blue Mountain in hand, your newest addiction, you sit in a robe in a nice armchair, look out the window at dying Berlin and thank heaven for the comfortable life you've earned by working with one of the greatest smugglers on this side of the wall, perhaps from all over Germany. Some desperate customers offer you valuable items from them in exchange for passports and unlike your idiot “brother”, you don't have a rule about only receiving cash. Almost everything here comes from gifts, from the sofa, pictures, bags, clothes and even some books on your shelf. You don't even remember buying that cup, or the coffee set, for gods' sake.

If he saw you now he'd complain about being soft with customers and say something about how items aren't a bargaining chip in the real world, you'd get into a tiresome discussion about enjoying the finer things in life and how bills don't compare in the importance of yours. silver chain with moon pendant that was once an amulet for more than three generations for a French family.

At the end of the day, Merkel has a large information network and an office that takes up half the block, where she keeps as much money as she has secrets, and you have a house decorated by other people where each object symbolizes someone you've helped.

Four walls don't make a house

The thought takes away some of the almost peace you feel and you decide to finish your coffee before it gets cold.

After a quick glance at the calendar you remember about the march that will take place in Alexanderplatz square and decide to go scream for Germany one last time, hopefully you'll be able to hide long enough to see the fall of the damn wall that divides this country. It's not your country, not really, you don't even like to remember how you got here, but the experiences you gained wouldn't be exchanged for anything, not even for an original Van Gogh. Also, Merkel asked you to go and bring a black umbrella, the reason was not explained and you didn't feel like asking, sometimes you think Gordon Merkel is not his name, but how to judge the man who is your only family in this end of the world? You smile when you remember that he shouldn't have an umbrella with a story as cool as his and decide to piss him off for it.

Your phone rings, and you notice you've lost track of time. Merkel was helping a blonde woman named L, he didn't give you more details other than a few stories about how she was a perfect and dangerous assassin that you should keep your distance, as few people know how to deal with her. You thought he overreacted, but you had to take over some business from him while she was in town. She seemed important considering the way he told you about her and you knew better than to deny help to the person who always supported you and declared himself a brother, you trusted him because not even the best agent in the world could fake so much sincerity and affection in claiming this title for himself.

You reach out, pick up the phone, and decide to answer it. “Hey little sister, how are you out there? I called to say that everything is fine for dinner today, but there was a mishap and the wine ran out, bring the best Bordeaux you have, I'll return the courtesy as soon as possible." A code, of course.

He needs your services ASAP. Wine is a passport, Bordeaux means two elements, courtesy involves a child.

You can combine business with pleasure "Hi brother. I'm looking forward to today, I'll take the best wine I have, don't worry. I already know how you can thank me. I need to clean the house and go to the office first, but I'll be there on time. wait for me." you say in a voice that oozes normalcy, you never know when someone's listening on the phone especially now that you're a fugitive, disgraced customer. Your body sinks into the armchair noticing the oncoming cloud of worry

Merkel now knows you need his help, as cleaning the house means getting away and going to the office shows you're in a hurry.

"Alright, do you want me to send the driver?" He asks like he's not freaking out and offering the bloody job of one of his mercenaries

“No, bro, thanks, I know the way.” You say as if you really have an escape plan besides getting a fake passport, emergency backpack and all the money you can find.

“See you later, don't forget the wine. Are you sure you don't want the driver?" You wonder if he has forgotten that knowing the way literally means everything is fine

“Relax, see you later” It takes a few seconds for him to hang up and you can hear his sigh.

He will be SO pissed.

You put the phone down as you get up to gather the passport forgery materials and put them in a briefcase. Your cookbook is already there along with some banknotes from different countries. As you pick up the black backpack of standard clothes and accessories that always waited for you in the corner of the door, you decide to wear the first jacket you bought, the dark blue jeans, the combat boots you got from a skinhead, the wristwatch you bought. you got for your brother's birthday, thick leather gloves and a thin white shirt that matches the rest of your outfit. After all, if you can die when you open the door, then die well dressed. Be sure to keep the Colt 1911 around your waist and the Russian dagger around your ankle, after yesterday you never know, Your pocket watch with the coat of arms of the Brazilian imperial family indicates that 15 minutes have passed since Merkel's phone call

You take one last look at the house you've been so proud of in recent years, snap a photo with the Polaroid you've won, and, with a bittersweet smile, close the door. One day when the wall comes down, the government changes and your face is forgotten, you can come back here, until then you will have to make do with the photo album you keep in your backpack and this photo.

Putting on your sunglasses, you arrive on the street and decide to take a taxi on the other corner, make sure you look around before leaving your home, no one knows your address, but you can't be sure the local gang is so stupid to the point of not following you after last night.

Getting a taxi was relatively easy. Neil, the driver, thanks to the boots, mistook you for a revolutionary and talked for 10 minutes about how he hoped he could take down the wall with his bare hands, you thought it was cool, but as you passed the big river that was just a few blocks away from the your brother's office, you couldn't hear a word from him.

A sign signaling that the river was closed to visitors made your eyes fill with tears. You used to go there when the day was bad, spread a blanket in a corner and watch the stars, or just laugh at the distinct reflection the water made of the moon and stars. Merkel accompanied you on anniversaries, justifying them as bonding experiences. After some freaks started swimming in the river and executions increased, STASI took over and you replaced the dark water for the restaurant's bright lights. But seeing it tightly closed gave him a feeling of anguish and rancor. You would silently curse the wall builders for the rest of the trip.

Neil seemed to notice but didn't comment on it, you thanked him, wiped your tears and left a good tip as you descended a block away from your final destination. This time you didn't need to look around because even though Merkel was super busy, he made sure to leave some security close to where your landing place was.

A tall man dressed in a red T-shirt approached you and hugged you as if he hadn't seen you in a long time. You've known him since the beginning of last year, when he arrived at Merkel's office begging for a job, and from the first moment the way he turned grief over his brother's death into a thirst for revolution made you admire the young man. The two of you walked through the great gate hand in hand as you asked about his life with genuine interest, and Klaus increasingly believed in Merkel's theory about you having such a pure heart that you didn't care about motivation or the number of lives they took, your explanation of the judgment not being your responsibility, crossed the man's head before he escorted you to the main office.

You thanked him with a smile, opened the door and stood in front of the table in the windowless room, where your brother was already waiting for you.

"What the hell happened? Are you okay? I was about to send J to get you, please tell me what happened"—he said hurriedly as he got up and pointed at the couch for you to sit on. J was one of the most dangerous women in the building and you were grateful for not wasting her time.

Putting your backpack and umbrella aside, you answered:

"I'll explain later, little brother, now let me help you. You need passports urgently, don't you?" Yes, you were stalling and postponing the conversation. He'd call you an idiot for going out on the street right after you got on the wanted list, and he'd feel guilty when he found out why you didn't tell him. Merkel wasn't going to understand that her fear of failing him was no one's fault but yourself.

Your sentence seemed to give him some responsibility back, but still, as he held out a glass of water for you, his eyes met yours with a glint that warned that this conversation was far from over.

"Yeah, I really do, but don't think I'm going to forget about it. Let's talk when this is all over. Even if it's the last thing I do today."

You accepted the glass with a bit of trepidation and stood up towards the large center table while opening the briefcase with the supplies you were going to need, if Merkel noticed the bills he didn't say anything. Once at the table, you made two passports for mother and daughter in record time. According to the clock, 10 minutes passed, faster than a car, this deserves a celebration. It would have been six if Merkel hadn't been so curious to make you waste time pulling your watch out of your pocket just for him to analyze.

Everything was going well and there was only one last detail for mother and daughter to be taken by one Percival to the other side of the wall. Percival, according to Merkel, was strange and fickle. Unreliable and extremely dangerous, you should also keep your distance from him, as this man had crucial contacts on both sides of the wall.

"He must have fewer contacts than you", you would answer

If a loud noise didn't break the silence

The annoying noise of the door creaking made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you almost missed the last signature, it made your body vibrate with irritation and your eyes follow to the offensive source of the sound. A tall man with short hair and blue eyes was holding the doorknob with a military posture and before you could release your anger and explain something about how people shouldn't be violent inside Merkel's office you noticed he was accompanied by a woman.

AND WHAT A WOMAN!

Your eyes connected to a pair of fierce, intent green eyes, surrounded by a pale skin tone and hair so blond it looked like snow. The barely perceptible frown showed she was surprised to find someone other than Merkel there, yet she looked ready for a battle. You looked into her eyes again and nodded in acknowledgment, this must be L, the woman he was talking about.

She looked at you suspiciously, but also as if she could see into your soul, and what must have been frightening, you found endearing. A few stories of murders orchestrated by her crossed your mind, but all you could imagine is how beautiful she must be when she's mad.

They say green eyes darken when we're high on adrenaline, does that happen to her?

Her analysis of the intriguing blonde ends when she notices that the man accompanying her has raised his voice and from his furious expression, it's not the first time he's repeated the question. You interrupt him before you hear him and make sure to direct the ghost of anger before him:

"Have you lost your mind? Who walks into the office without knocking? Surely you should be here asking about passports, but if it weren't for my experience and steady hands, they would be in the trash by now. Learn to be civilized. You're under two paws not four, so act human and not animal" you say in an explosive but articulate tone to make sure he understands what you say. Sometimes when you speak fast, you are betrayed by faulty diction. Not today. Today you want this man to feel every fiber of irritation that went through his body.

Hearing Merkel holding a nervous laugh, you try to relax, but judging by the cold, almost murderous look of the man in the doorway, you've definitely gotten yourself in trouble. Looking at the organized clothes, you notice it's an old police uniform, probably taken by your brother, and unless Merkel has hired new employees, you've never seen it around here. His eyes snap back to his and something inside you warns that this must be Percival. He probably wants to kill you.

Damn Murphy's Law

A brief silence settles in the room and you shake off the fear and turn away, refusing to play the glaring game with a man who almost spoils your art. On other days you might look at him at a party, but today you want to make him swallow the ink on the stamp in his hands and invite the blonde to dinner

And it's her voice that breaks the silence.

You're flipping through the two passports for failures when she says

"Sorry, miss. My friend is an unprecedented idiot. Shall I close the door and knock again? Perhaps your highness too--"

You turn her body towards her when you hear the slightest hint of irony in her tone and interrupt her with a fake smile as you look into her eyes.

"It's not necessary, I accept your apology, Miss. I always said that Merkel should have someone armed at the door to remind everyone of the need to knock on the door. Anyone who didn't knock would lose his mind as the law of my reign says. Perhaps I should start. for him, since the top head is the last thing he wears lately" you joke look at Merkel who doesn't seem offended by the statement, shrugging you look at those blue eyes again and say "the passports are ready. Let's get out of here."

You close the passports, reach for your backpack and umbrella and start moving towards the door, both agents let you lead the way and judging by the blonde's expression, she's not used to being interrupted, nor is she used to seeing someone talking like that with Merkel, but today it was acceptable. You really think she's adorable, but you know better than to let someone make fun of you, especially in front of your brother who wouldn't let you forget about it. Either she doesn't care, or she's a great actress. Anyway, that idiot is still by her side and you refuse to be the reason for his possible laugh.

Her friend probably didn't have the same acting classes and his resemblance to the local gang members, like he's going to kill you in the blink of an eye in a cowardly way, is almost frightening. If Merkel hadn't said L is a woman, you'd be scared. It makes you shiver a little and look for Merkel, but he's not following you. Looking over his shoulder you see him putting a few more piles of dollars and euros into your briefcase. With a snap of your fingers you get his attention and before you walk out the door, you hear the briefcase click closing.

Once out of the room, you look around and realize that nothing has really changed, all faces are familiar, except for three people: a couple talking to a child. After a brief analysis you find yourself facing the passport clients, mother and daughter. The man doesn't look older than 60 and has kind eyes, almost as if he doesn't live on this side of the wall.

They don't seem to notice you

Your observation is interrupted by Merkel's loud, proud voice, right behind you. Here it comes

"This is Elizabeth Loyd and Percival, two trusted clients. Elizabeth and Percival, this is my little sister, she will be on the march today, if you need anything in the future you can talk to her."

Hearing her name, you notice that Merkel really wasn't creative at all. Who would use the initial letter of a surname as a symbol? Anyone who heard the stories about L and met a loyde who knows a Merkel would make the connection. As you turn around, you swallow your nervousness and try to put on your best smile as you say your name to them. The blonde woman who finally has a name, Elizabeth, leans closer, her eyes never leaving yours, and you wonder if she can feel the jumble of emotions that is unraveling inside you.

She smiles a smile that makes you sure she does and reaches out and greets you with a firm grip, if she noticed the sweat on your hands, she didn't let on. She also looks a little more comfortable.

Maybe because she noticed you said her real name, idiot.

You hate yourself for one second and the next you want to be without gloves because it feels soft and warm.

The man, Percival, comes next and looks at you suspiciously and the smile fades from your face, you wonder if no one else can smell the strong smell he gives off, a smell of cheap whiskey and arrogance. Still, he holds out his hand and this time you thank the gods for the gloves. Make sure you don't bow your head or fail in your posture. He still looks at you like you killed his son. Useless even to pretend, for God's sake.

Merkel watches the exchange from afar and nods to Elizabeth, she responds and Percival walks away looking uneasy. You look around uncomprehendingly, feel a little left out, and wonder which computer must have Tetris installed.

You would kill for a distraction right now.

Going out on the street in a crowded march while being chased by two groups still makes you sick.

Your brother approaches and extends his hands around you. You've missed him for the past few weeks. He still wears the perfume you gave him for his birthday and it makes you sink deeper into the hug. You know he's going to be mad when he finds out what happened so you enjoy as much affection as you can

"Little sister, in addition to our conversation I need to tell you something" his voice is low in tone and you doubt you would understand the words if you weren't so close to him "but I can't do that until the march is over. Meet me at usual table at the restaurant where we celebrate our achievements, It's very important"

His even low voice is charged with strong emotion and you are genuinely worried, Merkel has never been like this before.

"I'll do it, brother, I promise. Whatever it is, we can work it out together" you say with all the certainty you can muster in your voice, because you need him to understand that this is true.

You feel eyes on you and as you look up you notice that Elizabeth keeps an eye on your exchange with Merkel while talking to the little girl's father, from the distance she probably can't understand anything and you don't know if she celebrates or cares with so much attention received. A little further away is a Percival who pretends to be busy with the coat he's wearing. He also pays attention to your exchange, but his talent for discretion is as effective as his ability to open doors.

Your eyes return to the concentrated blue eyes that are in front of you and Merkel speaks in an almost inaudible way:

"When I whistle, I need you to raise your open umbrella and stay alert. The three people we're going to cross are very important, nothing can go wrong. But if it does, I'll be at the restaurant, whatever happens find me there."

Noticing the proximity of Percival and Elizabeth, you place your hand on your brother's shoulder and smile as you speak a little louder:

"Don't worry man, it's always a pleasure to help you. I'll leave my briefcase here, then meet you to get it. Good march."

Merkel shows that she understands his strange move and smiles, you greet some friends of his that you haven't seen in a while and as you head towards the exit, you meet a pair of deep green eyes. Elizabeth is gleaming in the cold lights that are refracted by the mosaic of the gate, she looks into your eyes, ever alert, looks at the object in your hands and nods her head with a half smile, do you think the guard's idea black rain was hers.

As you wave back, you can feel that a pair of eyes haven't left your back since the moment of your brother's embrace, as the old man is saying goodbye to the family, you know who they belong to and decide not to look for them. If the STASI, KGB or local gang find you, he doesn't own the pair of eyes you want to remember before you die.

Taking a deep breath, you walk through the gate and blend into the crowd.

..........................................................................................................................

After leaving Merkel's office block, you take a hat out of your backpack and wear your sunglasses as you look around, not that a local gang member is here but because if he sees you in disguise he will ask a series of questions and he has enough problems already, plus STASI must be monitoring this area and the last thing you want is to be arrested. You decide to tuck your coat into your backpack to change your look, and while internally debating your ability to ignore the cold, your eyes catch the almost snowy blond hair in the crowd.

This signals that they are already on the march and you decide to get a little closer to them, but make sure you do this without drawing attention to yourself since the nasty man is still there. Elizabeth is on your diagonal absorbing all the extraneous details that might be a possible threat, she seems so focused on the job of passing the owner's gentle eyes in a safe way that it makes you wonder how important he is and if she's noticed you.

A few meters later a familiar noise floats through the march and you open the umbrella almost instantly, as do other protesters.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Percival taking the man's family across and sometime later Elizabeth does the same. You notice that her posture has changed and when she decides to stop for a better look, the crowd drags her and you can no longer locate her.

Her feet continue forward and as some signs are raised by the protesters, you try to find your brother. Unsuccessfully. You decide to trust their ability and hope that you can meet him again at the restaurant.

You also want Elizabeth to be okay.

Continuing on the march, after two or three long blocks you notice the familiar silhouette of one of the STASI bosses, he is watching the crowd as if looking for someone, but he doesn't seem to notice you. You notice observers on top of buildings and decide to leave the streets. Whether it's the Local Gang, KGB or STASI itself you don't know and decide you don't want to know.

Your brain tries to design routes to escape and your body mimics the movements of the closest protesters so as not to draw attention to you, but when some agents in black point in your direction and make space in the crowd, you run between people to seek shelter in somewhere you know and at every step you are sure that the day will be worse than you thought.

Damn Murphy's Law

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 13: Thinking of You

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Putting your phone down on the wooden table, you groan in frustration. The piling paperwork and dating life are two different things but are both giving you too much stress. A lot of friends and colleagues had adviced you to stay single and focus on work, but Yaku is right.

You’re meeting all these people just to forget that you met him.

Kita was far from your ideal type. He wasn’t tall. He wasn’t rich. He didn’t give you expesive gifts every day. But he still managed to make you think that he’s the perfect man.

No matter how hard you try not you, you still compare every guy you’ve dated to Kita. He set the bars so high, that even you can’t see the top of it.

You are so desperate to forget Kita that you started dating all these boys and thought that maybe one of them can make you forget him. Relationships only lasted for a day or the most is a week. You’re getting a bad name in industry, but you don’t care.

“Hi, I’m (L/N) (F/N). Nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself to the pilot as you sit on the dinner table he reserved. You take in his appearance and he’s a 10/10. He has blonde hair and golden eyes, and very long lashes. He has wide shoulders and even under his suit, you can tell that he’s well-built.

“Kise,” he answers, flashing a smile your way. 

‘One of those charmers...’ You think as you check him out once again. You’re looking through the menu when the man in front of you clears his throat uncomfortably, catching your attention. “If you don’t want to continue this day, just say so.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t feel comfortable acting fancy and all that,” Kise remarks, loosening the tie around his collar.

“Then let’s go somewhere else,” you tell him reassuringly. The waitress waiting for your orders stand their awkwardly, witnessing how the restaurant will lose a customer just like that. “Miss, order anything you want in this menu. I’ll pay for it.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” the waitress stutters, taking the menu from you and Kise.

“I insist,” you tell her before standing up from your seat. After paying for the waitress’s meal, you and Kise head to his car. He attempts to help you put it on but you do it before he can. “So where do you wanna go?”

Kise looks out of his window shyly before giving you an answer. “I wanted to cook for you...”

“Okay, then bring me to your house?” You chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. The tense that was all over your date’s finally disappears as he brightly smiles at you.

“You’re kinder than from I’ve heard,” he confesses and starts the engine of his car. “I have this recipe I learned from a great friend...”

Kise rambles on about the most random things until you two reach the parking lot of his apartment. Just like he said, he cooked for you. You sit at the dining table as you wait for him to finish cooking. Staring at him from the angle, you remember Kita teaching you how to cook rice.

“How many cups of rice do I need?” You asked him, staring at the sack of rice once again. Kita scooped two cups of rice then put it at the pot.

“After that, you clean the rice by soaking it in water at least twice,” Kita instructed, putting two fingers up. You nodded, following through. “Then you strain the dirty water out. After that use your finger to measure the water. It has to reach the second line on your finger.”

Kita took your hand and dipped your finger in the water. You blushed furiously, containing your squeals from the sudden contact with your crush. After going through the whole process, he made you repeat his steps in making rice.

“And that’s how you cook rice.”

“Hey, (Y/N), it’s time to eat.” Kise shakes his hand in front of your face so you go back to your senses. You nod at him with an sorry smile then start eating. “Does it taste good?”

“It’s spicy,” you tell Kise softly. He stops eating and grabs milk from his refrigerator.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But do you like the taste?” Kise asks you, and you just nod. 

“Tell me if you want to adjust any taste or something,” Kita said after you took a bite of the meal. It was your first breakfast together and the first time he cooked for you since Osamu prepared food the night before.

“It tastes good but I don’t really like spicy food,” you answered, taking a sip of water from your glass due to the spiciness of the dish. Kita noticed the discomfort in your face so he stood up and went back to the kitchen to make a new dish for you. “It’s okay. I can take the spice.”

“No. I want you to eat to your heart’s content,” Kita stated, causing you to smile. “If you’re craving for anything, tell me okay?”

“So how’s work?” Kise changes the topic.

You sigh from the spiciness, but continue to eat anyways, not wanting to waste the blonde’s efforts. “It’s tiring, but it’s bearable.”

“Work is hard nowadays,” Kise complains back. “I wish to take a break sometimes, but then I can’t.”

“Why not?” You continue to ask, seeking for an answer that will determine if you like him or not.

“Because I need money to take you out in our future dates,” he answers mischievously, causing you to raise an eyebrow at him. “Though I’m not really enjoying my job-”

You cut him off midsentence. “Then why did you become a pilot?”

“Because it earns a lot of money is looked up to by anymore.”

“Babe...” You called the grey haired man as you laid on the back of his truck. You went with him and Rice to the farm since you didn’t have anything to do. “Atsumu told me you the top university offered you scholarship to college, why didn’t you take it?”

“Because I want to be a farmer,” Kita simply answered. He took the towel hanging around Rice’s neck and wiped the back of his neck using it. Sitting up from your position, you continued to ask him questions.

“Why?”

“No particular reason. I just enjoy it and it helps other people,” Kita replied to you. You put on the spare boots that lying on the corner of the trunk and went over to him. “Do you want to help?”

“Yes, since I want to learn about the things that make you happy,” you told him confidently and he just let out a soft chuckle.

“Then maybe I should learn how to vlog, too.”

Your date with Kise goes on. The two of you finished dinner so he takes out a bottle of white wine.  After several of glasses, Kise scoots close to you.

“(Y/N), I know it’s just our first date, but I really like you,” Kise confesses, scooting close to you. Scoffing, you face him. “I’m serious.”

Kise leans in you and allow him to close the gap between the two of you, his lips colliding with yours.

It was your first breakfast as a couple and being the romantic person that you are, you woke up before him to make him lunch. Rice lied down the kitchen floor, confused on why it’s you cooking and not his father. You gave him his food before going back to making your boyfriend’s lunch.

“You’re just grilling a sausage, don’t fail this,” you muttered to yourself as you roll the said sausage on the pan with so much concentration. You felt arms wrap around you so you flinched in shock, almost dropping the ladle you were holding.

“Good morning,” Kita chuckled, placing his chin on your shoulder. “I should have asked you out the moment you got here if I knew that I would not make breakfast every morning.”

“Good morning, baby,” you giggled, turning off the stove to face him. “How was your sleep?”

“It was not that great since I didn’t see you when I woke up,” Kita answered, causing you to snort. “What?”

“You’ve become cheesy,” you stuck your tongue out, teasingly. Kita quickly moved his body forward, taking your tongue in his mouth. You pushed him away, gasping then laughing. “Babe, what!”

Kita let out a laugh, pulling your body closer again. He leaned his forehead on yours, his grip on your hips tightening. He’s staring at your eyes intensely but lovingly. “If you keep staring at me like that I might think you’re in love with me,” you joke.

Kita just smiled at you then pulled you in for a kiss. You placed your arms on shoulders, letting him kiss you deeper. His lips were soft but moved roughly. His hold was secure but dangerous. He was gentle with you but he was had a strong aura. He made you smile with his pure intentions, and made you moan with his sensual touches. He made you squeal like it was your first time to be in love, but he could also make you cry as if it’s your last time to experience love.

Kita was the best of both worlds. He was the calming moon, and the blazing sun. He was the cold night, and the warming morning. He was the sunrise that said hello, and the sunset that told you good bye.

You were in an axis. You have witnessed all the different planets and met all these people, to try to run away from him. But wherever you travel, you still see him. Maybe because he was not only both worlds, but rather the whole universe.

You are stuck in his axis. You’re sure of it, because even if someone else is holding you, your body craves for his touch. Though someone else is kissing you, your lips want to feel Kita’s. Someone else is making you smile, but only because you remember your happy moments with Kita. No matter who you’re with, you’re only thinking of him.

You push Kise away, thoughts about Kita flooding in your mind. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“Was I moving too fast?” Kise awkwardly asks, moving away from you.

“It’s not that,” you tell him, thinking of a reason to get out of the situation. Kise then giggles, scratching the back of his neck, so your attention goes to him.

“Is it someone then?” Kise questions, tilting his head to the side. You lower head, nodding shyly and gripping on the hem of your skirt. “That’s hard. Care to share? It looks like a serious case of not being able to move on.”

You chuckle at his statement. “I guess it is since we didn’t have proper closure.”

“Now, that’s complicated,” Kise hums as if he had not kissed you just minutes ago. “But it seems like you don’t seek closure.”

“Do I look like someone who’ll not be able to move on for years?” You sigh and Kise shakes his head.

“You look like you want to get back with him.”

An hour or two of just talking about your exes, you finally say goodbye to Kise. You feel in ease after talking to someone about your situation. Admitting that you are still into Kita is painful but you needed to let it out.

You head to Alisa’s house, where you dropped Rice off. You talk about your date for a while before you head back home. Your driver picks you up just outside Alisa’s apartment. Rice settles on your lap, comfortably sleeping. And then your heart sinks thinking about your dog.

Rice has changed his job from running in the fields to carry Kita’s towel to walking around the office to get paperwork for you. He’s a hardworking dog whose happiness comes from your smile.

Rice works hard. He has a schedule he follows like its a ritual. He’s caring. He’s smaller from other dogs but his dominance shows. He’s loyal to you. He loves you more than anyone in this word.

Rice is your little Kita.

Aside from you and Kita, Rice had a hard time coping up with your separation. The first month, Rice wasn’t able to eat properly since he missed Kita. You thought that a year would make him forget about Kita, but no.

Rice grabs a random towel every morning then head to the front door, a habit he picked up from going with Kita to the farm almost every day. He waits for Kita at the door every night. Every time you go for a drive and pass by a field, he barks and wags his tail excitedly.

It was painful to watch Rice long for Kita. Because unlike you who can speak and let your emotions out, Rice can’t. All he can do is do the same thing over and over again every day and night, until Kita finally shows up at the door. You both are.

“Do you miss your dad?” You ask Rice and he sits up excitedly. He stands on his back legs and his front paws are on your chest, giving you kisses all over your face. “I miss him, too.” As Rice whimpers from the word dad, an idea comes into your mind.

You know you’ll regret the idea, maybe you’ll even hate yourself for it, but you’ve already risked enough for Kita. So just go all the way. Take that fall. How much damage can be done?

“Head to the airport,” you say to your driver. He looks at you questionably but follows your order anyways. You call your secretary and tell her to book a flight going to Kobe and send a copy of Rice’s papers to travel.

As you arrive at the airport, the staff of the airline company you booked in assisted you and Rice to the plane. You turn your phone off, not wanting to receive any messages or calls from anyone. Checking the time, you realize it’s already 10PM, so you’ll be arriving at Kita’s house around 1AM.

You don’t care. You’ll wake him up. Kita needs to hear what you’ve been wanting to tell him for a year.

The flight to Kobe is fast, considering that you fell asleep in the plane due to the alcohol you drank prior to this sudden flight. Rice is dead asleep in his carrier. You take a cab going to Kita’s far. Your heart is pounding way too hard that you can feel your brain vibrating. You want to back out but you’re already too late. The driver has dropped you off the familiar house.

Rice barks at the door, thrilled to be home. You stand there for 10 minutes with still no response. Finally, you hear footsteps coming to the front door. The door finally slides open, revealing the man you’ve been longing for the most.

“(Y/N)?” Kita asks in confusion. Rice jumps to him, and Kita picks him up excitedly but unsurely. “I thought I was hearing things. Why are you here? At 1AM?”

“I was thinking of you.”

“(Y/N) I-”

“No. Let me finish. I’m not sure if you still like me or not, or if you’re dating someone. But I want you to know that I have forgiven you from the whole Ayako incident. I don’t care anymore about what happened to two of you that day. I also don’t mind if you didn’t have feelings for me that time. But I just want to say that I loved you from the moment I saw you in that video. Maybe I still love you until now. And I’ve been thinking of you every day, every moment ever since I met you. I love you so bad that if you ask me to marry you right now, I would. But I know you wouldn’t so it’s okay. I’m willing to give you my whole life. But I’m not asking you to like me back again or-” you ramble, your mind not even thinking of the words that’s coming out of your mouth.

“(Y/N).” Kita stops you, his voice sounding serious.

“Yes?” You’re preparing yourself to be rejected. You have been expecting it since you decided to book a flight going to him. But at least you’ve told him everything you wanted. You can live in peace, knowing that you have nothing left to regret.

“Can we sleep first?” Kita deadpans and your heart flutters, instead of hurting. He’s still the same person you fell in love with, the same man who broke your heart and changed your whole life.

“Yeah. Sorry,” you apologize, unsure of what to do next. “I’ll call a cab. Sorry for disturbing you. I won’t bother you ever again. I’ll take my leave.”

“No. No. You sleep here.” His words came out as an order, not a suggestion, so you just agree.

“Really? I feel guilty for showing up at 1AM. I really don’t mind leaving,” you try to argue, but Kita takes your hand and brings you inside. You then notice that Rice is already inside of the house, his eyes begging you to go sleep.

“Yeah, you should stay here. We have a wedding to plan tomorrow after all.”

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note: was in a good mood so :>

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[pretendingboyfriends]

A/N: it’s finally finished!! after over a month!!! i’m so sorry this has taken so long but y’all know me, i’m terrible at time management and i’m mentally ill so nothing is ever consistent <3 BUT it’s here now and it’s finished and i hope u love it. thank you to @sunflowers-styles​ and @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ for beta reading and giving me ideas for when i was stuck. i’m nothing without my betas <3

Warnings: explicit language & sexual tension

Word count: 6.5k+

previous part . fic masterlist . fic playlist . taglist

Your heart is racing in your chest with every lingering moment that passes as you watch Deidre finish getting ready for the day. Her plan is to spend the afternoon with Jeffrey and then the two of you would meet back up and have a movie night (plus Harry, if he’s up for it). And you, well, you have your own plans.

“Do you think this looks good?” She asks, spinning herself around in front of the vanity mirror in the corner of the bedroom. 

You glance up from the book in your lap to see that she’s wearing a loose, white spaghetti strap dress that reaches just below her knee, pastel pink bikini peeking from beneath the fabric. You smile, “I think it looks great! What shoes are you wearing?”

She bends down to the floor, quickly grasping a pair of tan, strappy sandals. “These?” 

“Yeah,” You nod. “Those are perfect.”

“Okay,” She smiles, leaning down to slide her feet into the sandals and strap them securely onto her feet before she grabs her tote bag from the bed with a sigh.  “Okay, I’ll see you later! Meet back here at 5:00?”

You nod in confirmation, giving her a small smile and wave as she nearly skips through the bedroom door and down the hallway. As soon as she’s out of your sight you freeze, waiting for the familiar rumble of Jeffrey’s car to take off down the road with Deidre inside. Once the glorious sound kisses your ears, you’re leaping from the bed, frantically tearing the sweatshirt and sweatpants you’ve been wearing from your body to change into a tank top, loose-fitting jean shorts, and a pair of Doc Martens (bathing suit underneath, of course). 

You’re brushing a few coats of mascara onto your eyelashes after taking a record breaking 2 minutes to change into your clothes and shoes when you sense his presence in the doorway. 

“You look nice.”

You slide the applicator into the mascara container and screw the lid shut, turning your head to look at Harry as he leans against the doorframe with his hands behind his back. His hair is still slightly damp from his shower, framing his face and shoulders in thick, shiny curls. Your eyes travel south, dropping to his floral, short sleeve button up, unbuttoned partially to expose his inked chest and then flickering down to his skin tight, black jeans and tan chelsea boots. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

He smiles in response, dimples sinking into his blushing cheeks. “You ready to go?”

“Yep,” You sigh, grabbing your bag from the floor and walking towards the bedroom door. He allows you to pass him, following closely behind you through the house before tugging the front door open for you and beckoning you outside. The air is warm and humid as you make your way towards Harry’s car, the wind whipping against you gently. 

Once you reach the car, Harry quickly beats you to the passenger side to open the door for you, flashing you a gorgeous smile as you slide into the seat. The expensive leather of the seat immediately sticks to your bare legs from the heat and humidity and you huff, lifting your legs to peel them from the material. 

Harry slides himself into the driver’s seat, immediately cranking the car and fiddling with the air conditioner knobs to blast cool air into the stuffy, hot vehicle.

“So, where are we going?” You ask once he pulls onto the empty road lined with palm trees. 

He keeps his eyes trained to the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on his jean-clad thigh. “I was thinking we could get coffee first and then I could take you to a bookstore I saw on my way in. But only if you’re okay with that,”

You smile to yourself, “I’m more than okay with that.”

A soft blanket of silence falls over both of you as Harry drives and you allow your gaze to wander his figure, from the god-like curve of his jaw to his perfectly chiseled hands. The sparkling glint of his rings in the noon sunlight catches your eye and you tilt your head slightly to get a better look at them. On his left index and middle finger are two silver rings, one with a rectangular, teal gem embedded into it, the other with a line of tiny dancing bears carved into the metal. Then, on the middle finger of his right hand, a lone silver ring with the word “peace” etched directly in the middle. They are simple pieces of jewelry, but enticing nonetheless.

Your mind wanders as your gaze does the same, falling to the curve of his plush, pink lips. It’s been a few days since you’d kissed him on the beach, tumbling into the sand like children, and you’re slightly embarrassed to admit that you haven’t stopped craving his lips since you parted ways that evening. The agreement you had made was to wait until after at least a few dates to kiss again (mainly to keep yourselves as contained as possible) but both of you are finding it increasingly hard as the time goes by. You just can’t seem to stay away from each other.

After a bit of light conversation and a 10 minute drive, you’re finally pulling into the parking lot of a little coffee shop named “Bikini Beans”.  

You chuckle as Harry parks the car directly in front of the small building. “Quite the name, huh?”

He breathes a chuckle to himself. “It was the only coffee shop I could find within 30 miles of the beach house.”

You sigh sarcastically, “I guess it will suffice,” Harry shuts off the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition before jogging around to your side of the car to, of course, open the door for you. You smile at him as you step onto the pavement, tugging your bag from the floor of the car and slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks.”

The two of you step into the quaint coffee shop, your senses immediately overwhelmed by the pungent odor of freshly brewed coffee mixed with a hint of sugary baked goods. Taking a moment to observe your surroundings, you find that the shop is nearly empty, save for the girl sitting in the back corner typing frantically at her laptop keys, brow furrowed, hair up, coffee cup empty. You follow Harry to the register where a young boy stands, waiting for the next customer to approach the counter, which just so happens to be you and Harry. 

“Hi, welcome to Bikini Beans, how can I help you!” He smiles, placing his hands on the edge of the register as he looks up at you. 

You smile back at him, shaking your head and motioning to Harry. “He can go first. I still need a moment to decide.”

He nods and looks at Harry. He clears his throat, “I’ll just have a small, iced black coffee,” The words roll off his accented tongue like a sugary glaze. “And a blueberry muffin.”

The boy takes a moment to type his order into the register and then looks up again, “Will that be all for you today?”

“That’s all for me, but make sure you include her order with mine.” He specifies, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. 

You smile to yourself as you peruse the menu, quietly mouthing the names of the different kinds of coffees and treats before deciding on what to get. “I’ll have a small cold brew with almond milk, sweetened with vanilla, please.”

“Is that all?” He quickly types your order into the register before glancing back up at you. You nod and he presses a few more buttons. “Alright, so I’ve got a small, iced black coffee; a blueberry muffin; and a small cold brew with almond milk and vanilla sweetener?” He looks back up at the two of you and both of you nod to confirm. “That’ll be $9.23.” 

Harry – having already taken a few bills from his wallet – hands the boy a crisp $10 bill and then promptly shoves another $10 into the tip jar beside the register. The boy smiles and thanks him for his generosity as he gives Harry his change. Without hesitation, Harry drops the remaining coins into the tip jar, thanks the boy, and stands to the side to allow the people behind you to step up to the register and order. 

“Trying to impress me?” You smirk, nudging your shoulder against his. 

He smiles, “Not if you don’t want me to.”

You chuckle and shake your head as you follow him to the end of the counter where another barista quickly prepares your drinks, sliding Harry’s muffin towards him. 

You turn to him,“I’ll go save us a table, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles, watching you walk off towards the small table by the window, dropping your bag into the seat across from you to save it for him. 

Within five minutes, Harry is walking towards you with both your drinks in one hand and the giant mountain of a muffin in the other. 

“Was not expecting this muffin to be so big,” He chuckles as he hands you your bag and slides into the seat across from you. “You wanna split it?”

You take a sip of your coffee through the straw, the sudden grumbling of your stomach interrupting your train of thought. You hadn’t realized how hungry you are. “Oh, sure.”

He nods, slowly peeling the paper cupcake holder from the edges of the pastry before attempting to break it in half with his hands. “I guess that’ll do.” He chuckles at himself, dusting the crumbs from his fingers.

The silence that falls between the two of you is filled with nervous glances and flustered smiles as you sip your coffee between every few bites of the muffin. Your hands graze against each other occasionally when both of you reach for the muffin at the same time, causing breathless giggles to emit from the backs of your throats.  

After a brief moment of silence, you drop your hand on the table in front of you with your palm facing  up. “Give me your hand,”

“Quite demanding there, babe.” He chuckles, taking another sip of his coffee.

You roll your eyes at him, ignoring the flutter in your tummy that’s caused by the casual use of ‘babe’ in regards to you. “Just- I wanna look at your rings, so can you please give me your hand?”

He smiles, placing his large hand into your palm which allows you to lean forward and take a closer look at the rings adorning his long fingers. “Where’d you get them?” You ask as you gently brush your fingers against the cool metal. 

“Mm,” He grunts, squinting his eyes in thought for a moment. “A few friends have gifted some to me, but I also bought some myself.”

You nod, humming in acknowledgement. “I would’ve never guessed when we were younger that you’d grow up to be a jewelry guy,”

He chuckles, “And why’s that?”

You drop your hand away from his, leaning back in your chair, “I don’t know. I mean, I thought you were cool, but I didn’t think you were really capable of being this type of cool, you know? I’d always known you as just ‘Harry’, my best friend’s kinda dorky older brother who’s also good at singing.”

“You thought I was cool?”

“Yeah, sorta. You were cool in the sense that you were always so kind and loving towards Deidre, even when you were trying to be annoying. But then you became famous and this whole new level of cool happened that made me kinda sad, if I’m being honest.” He frowns at that, sipping his coffee once more. “I mean, it wasn’t necessarily a bad type of cool, but it just made me realize that you weren’t just my best friend’s older brother anymore. You were Harry Styles, heartthrob of the century, everyone loved you and nearly everyone knew who you were all of the sudden.”

“Do you think I’ve changed a lot?” He asks after a brief pause. 

“I thought you did for a while. I’d see tabloids about you every week talking about how much of a ‘lady’s man’ you were and who your newest ‘fling’ was and I didn’t know whether to believe them or not because from my perspective of you, you weren’t like that, but I also hadn’t seen you in quite a long time so I thought that maybe it was possible that you really did change that much.”

He shakes his head. “I hate how they’ve portrayed me. I hate that they’ve made me out to be some bloke who’s only in it for the money and the girls because it’s really not true. I especially hate that you’ve had to see me like that because I don’t ever want you to see me that way.”

You smile to yourself slightly, “Don’t worry, I don’t see you that way. Not anymore, at least.”

“Good,” He sighs, smiling shyly as he takes the last piece of muffin from the plate in between the two of you and pops it into his mouth. 

“I do think you’ve got a bit of an attitude problem, though.” You hum sarcastically, watching his expression twist into feigned shock.

“An attitude problem??”

“Mhm,”

“I resent that.” He huffs, pressing back against his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“There it is!” You giggle, tilting your head to the side in a mocking manner.

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, holding back a smile as he stands, snatching his coffee cup from the table along with the plate where the remains of the muffin you’d just shared lie. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got more planned for us.”

The soft jingle of a bell sounds as the two of you step into the small book store wedged between a consignment shop and a beach souvenir shop. The song “Yesterday and Today” by Yes plays quietly in the overhead speakers as the lone employee places new books on the shelves, humming along. She looks up from her place at the shelf and smiles at both of you shyly but doesn’t say a word when you smile back, opting to continue her restocking. 

Your eyes flit around the small space that’s cramped with shelves, overflowing with books and you begin to wander aimlessly. Harry follows behind you quietly, watching as your fingers trace the spines of each book you pass. 

“Do you read a lot?” He asks as you slide a paperback book from its home on the shelf just slightly above your height. 

“I try to,” You hum in response, gazing down at the open book in your hands. “But it’s difficult most of the time.”

He nods, “I understand,” He watches your fingers sift through the delicate pages of the book, the bold, typewriter text of each page, melting into each other to form a jumbled cloud of letters. “What book is that?” He asks, stepping closer to you to get a better look at it. 

“The Philosophy of Andy Warhol,” You smile, glancing up at him as you flip the book over to its cover, displaying the iconic red and white soup can design. 

His eyebrows raise in surprise, “Andy Warhol? Really? Wasn’t he a terrible person?”

You chuckle, “Yeah, he was the worst, but he’s dead now and I like to think we can separate the art from the artist, don’t you?” 

“I guess so...” He nods in response, shrugging slightly. “I’m assuming you’ve read this, then?”

You shake your head, “Not fully, just bits and pieces. I can’t really afford to buy books for pleasure at the moment.”

He frowns to himself at that but doesn’t say anything else, just watches as you place the book back onto its home on the shelf and begin to step further into the depths of bookshelves. Harry doesn’t move from where he’s standing, though, he watches you step further away before he takes the book you had just showed him from the shelf and casually holds it behind his back as he steps closer to where you are. 

He follows you around the shop as you slowly and silently observe various different books, occasionally expressing your desire to read them after flipping through each crisp page. And, again, with each book you touch, he takes them from the shelves and collects them in his arms without a single word, hoping and praying that you stay distracted enough to not notice the growing pile of books in his arms. 

Finally, the two of you have made your way through the entire store and are now standing near the register as you bury your nose into another book. Harry mumbles something to you about buying a book that he wants and you barely even acknowledge him, too engrossed in the words that flow across the pages. It isn’t until he’s back by your side that you finally lift your head to look at him, finding his dimpled, mischievous smile reflecting back at you. 

“Ready to go?” He asks, eyebrows lifting in question.

You look up at him with a smile and a nod, closing the book in your hands and placing it back in its home, completely unaware of the paper bag he’s holding behind him. He leads you out to his car, subtly tossing the bag into the back of his car without you noticing before sliding into the driver’s seat and taking both of you to your next destination. 

Eventually, you find yourselves on the beach, sitting comfortably on a blanket Harry provided along with a few containers of food from a local restaurant. There’s a decent amount of people walking around you, yet no one seems to notice Harry. Too caught up in their own vacations to notice the literal celebrity in their midst. You aren’t complaining, though, because after a few girls approached him with a request for a photo and a hug, you’ve started to grow a little jealous. But Harry doesn’t need to know that.  

“How far d’you think I’d have to swim until my feet can’t reach the bottom?” 

You turn your head to him as you stab your plastic fork into a particularly juicy piece of orange chicken. “Mmm, I’d say about-” You glare out at the people in the water, holding your hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun, “five feet past that guy in the lime green shirt.”

He turns his head to look at where you’re referring to and tilts his head to the side. “I think it’d be a little further than that, I’m pretty tall.”

You shove the piece of chicken into your mouth as you continue to stare out into the water and shrug. “The only way to really find out is if we go out there,”

He turns his face back to yours, “Let’s go, then.” 

Immediately you drop your fork onto the blanket, frantically tearing your tank top from your body as you stand and begin to unbutton your shorts. “Race ya.” You breathe through a grunt, kicking your shorts off of your bare feet and legs to reveal your black bikini. He scrambles to his feet at that, nearly ripping his shirt from his body, but you’re already taking off in a sprint towards the water. 

Harry is quick to catch up with you after a brief moment of struggling with his jeans to reveal his tiny, yellow swim shorts. He tackles you into the water, quickly wrapping his arms around your waist and taking the both of you under in one giant splash. 

“Asshole!” You screech through a giggle once you resurface, swatting at his bare chest as he cackles. You turn around with a huff, trudging forward through the water with Harry hot on your tail. 

“Hey!” He calls after you, nearly hopping through the water to catch up with you. “Hop on my back, it’ll be easier.”

You smirk, turning to face him as he stands almost waist deep in the water. He crouches down to allow you easier access to wrap your arms around his shoulders and you roll your eyes at him, giving in to his persuasions nonetheless. 

Once your legs and arms are wrapped around his waist and shoulders, he stands fully and starts walking forward again. The feeling of your warm breath against his neck causes goosebumps to litter his bare, wet skin and he tries in vain to ignore the feeling of your breasts pressed directly against his back. 

“Feet still touching the bottom?” You ask, leaning your chin against his shoulder. It comes out much shakier than you’d intended, breathed directly into his ear and you can feel Harry shutter beneath you. 

“Uh- yeah, yeah, but it’s starting to get a bit deeper.” 

At this point, you couldn’t care less about the bet you’d made with him, too distracted by the warmth of his muscular back against your embarrassingly sensitive nipples. You can tell he’s partially lost interest as well, judging by the way he grips your thighs tightly as he wades further into the water.

You’ve passed the man in the lime green shirt by now, the water slowly inching up to his shoulders which indicates your possible victory. But suddenly, he takes one more step and the water is at your own shoulders and nearly over Harry’s head completely. He’s sputtering dramatically as he stumbles backwards, finding his footing once again.

“There’s a fuckin’ drop off!” He growls, bringing his hand up to wipe the salty water from his eyes. 

You’re giggling uncontrollably as he coughs and grunts, hands leaving your thighs so that he can push his hair out of his face. You slide off of his shoulders and onto the sand beneath the water, cackling to yourself at his grumpy frown. 

You smile up at him. “I win.” 

He frowns, “Well, that’s not fair! How was I supposed to know there’s a drop off?”

“Doesn’t matter,” You tease, drawing out your words as you turn back to the shore. “I still won!”

He grumbles to himself, turning to follow you. You glance back at him, chuckling at his creased brow and arms crossed over his bare chest with his bottom lip protruding into a pout. “Still don’t think it’s fair,” He huffs in frustration. 

“Okay, well, if you really want a way to redeem yourself,” You start, turning back to him and waiting for him to catch up to where you are. “Race me back to shore.” 

His frown melts into a devious smile. “Oh, you’re on.” 

Immediately, both of you are diving into the water head first, swimming as fast as you can until the water is shallow enough for the two of you to stand and bound through the water that splashes around you. Luckily, Harry’s not much of a swimmer so you’re automatically a few feet ahead of him once you start running and before you know it, you’re crashing into the towel the two of you had laid out earlier, sand kicking up in clouds all around you. 

“And she wins once again!!” You cheer, sprawling out on the towel as he trudges towards you in defeat. 

It’s nearing 4:00 pm once the two of you return back home, stumbling through the doorway giggling and playfully nudging each other with your elbows. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower before Deidre gets home,” You sigh, tossing your bag on the couch and turning to saunter towards the bathroom. Harry catches you by your hand before you can walk away, though, tugging you back to him gently. The suddenness of it nearly knocks the breath out of you as he pulls you into him, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face. 

“I had a really good time today,” He hums, eyes flickering between yours and your lips. 

You take a deep breath, taking a moment to glance down at his lips before speaking. “Me too.”

“S’it alright if I kiss you?” 

“Yeah,” You breathe, taking another small step forward so that your chests are pressed together. 

He smiles at that, leaning in and slowly capturing your lips between his own. His other hand finds its place at the base of your spine, holding you against him as your arms wrap around his shoulders. 

The kiss is slow and gentle, his lips suckling yours ever so softly with each tilt of his head. Small, labored puffs of air leave your nose as you stand pressed against each other, each kiss building the fire within you. 

Finally, Harry pulls away, breathlessly grinning down at you and gently brushing his thumb along the skin of your cheek. You smile back, taking a long, shaky breath in an attempt to regain your thoughts before leaning in once more. 

He meets you halfway, tugging you into him again with a surging passion as he presses his lips to yours. He starts walking forward towards the wall, causing you to trip on your own feet a few times before he has you pressed firmly against it, knee wedged between your bare thighs.

“Wanted to kiss you all afternoon,” He breathes between kisses, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips.

You whimper quietly. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Didn’t know if you wanted me to,”

“I always want you to kiss me,”

He pauses at that, pulling away to look at you with a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nod, biting back a smile. “Haven’t stopped thinking about the other day on the beach.”

“Me neither.” He huffs, lunging forward to capture your lips again. 

He kisses you for just a moment longer, both hands cupping your cheeks gently as your own hands grasp his wrists. Then, he stops, slowly allowing his lips to part from yours and stepping away from you with a smirk. 

“Don’t take too long in the shower, I wanna take one too.” He winks. 

You watch him walk away after that, acting as if nothing had just happened as he disappears down the hallway. You’re breathlessly leaning against the wall, mustering every bit of strength inside of you to push yourself off of it and walk on wobbly legs to the bathroom. 

What the fuck?

It takes nearly everything inside of you not to scratch the proverbial itch of desire whilst your hands wander your naked form, but you only intended on taking a quick shower and you don’t want to raise any suspicions. So, reluctantly, you rinse yourself off beneath the steady stream of hot water before turning off the faucet and stepping out of the shower to perform your skincare routine. 

Soon, you’re scurrying into your bedroom with a towel wrapped tightly around your body, calling: “Shower’s open!” to Harry before slamming the door shut. 

As you’re pulling an old t-shirt on, you notice a brown paper bag sitting on your bed and you frown, reaching into it. It’s filled with books. A smile brims at the corners of your lips as you take each book from the bag. Every single one of them is a book you’d talked about wanting when the two of you had walked through the bookstore earlier and you can’t help but feel a small tug at your heart at the prospect of Harry actually listening to your ramblings and taking note of all the books you’d talked about wanting. 

You tuck the bag away with your things before tugging a pair of sweatpants on and stepping out into the hallway. You find yourself wandering into the kitchen, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a soda from the shelf before swinging it back closed. Just as you crack open the can of soda, the door opens and in waltzes Deidre, tossing her bag to the side. 

“Shit- Is the shower open? Really need one,” She says to you, running her fingers through her damp hair with a huff. Her dress is thrown over her figure haphazardly, damp from the wet bathing suit beneath it, indicating that she must’ve just returned from the pool or beach. 

“Harry’s in there right now, but I’m sure he’ll be done soon,” You shrug, taking a sip from the can of soda. “Did you have a good time?”

 “I had an amazing time,” She smirks as she tugs her sandals off and lets them tumble onto the floor. “I’ll explain everything later, though.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh?”

She wiggles her own eyebrows suggestively, snickering with a devilish smile before disappearing into the hallway. You saunter over to the couch, taking a moment to grab the TV remote before collapsing into the cushions with your legs tucked beneath you. 

The steady stream of the shower comes to a nearly screeching halt and 5 minutes pass before the door to the bathroom swings open and out comes Harry, soaking wet with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. 

“Y’lookin’ for a movie to watch?” He asks, fingers gliding through his sopping curls as he stands in the doorway. 

“Uh-” You swallow the lump in your throat, trying in vain not to let your eyes wander to the loose edge of his towel. “Yeah. Got any requests?”

He shrugs, “I love a good Rom-Com, but I really don’t mind anything.”

You nod, “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

You watch as he steps into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him quietly and leaving you alone in the living room. Moments later, Deidre bounds out of your shared bedroom and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with a snorted giggle. 

Scrolling through Netflix on the TV, you land on the Rom-Com section, taking a moment to look through it. Harry’s door swings open and he walks through, towelling off his long, wet hair as he saunters into the living room. He’s wearing a tight, black t-shirt and a loose pair of shorts that allow his tiger tattoo to peek through ever so slightly.  

“Find anything yet?” He asks, wrapping the towel around his neck before plopping himself down on the couch beside you.

You shake your head, glancing in his direction briefly before continuing to click through the limited options. The smell of his shampoo wafts into your direction and immediately you’re overwhelmed with the urge to tackle him on the spot, smothering him with your own mouth against his. His presence brings an animalistic side out of you and it takes everything in you not to give in, especially with the way he’d kissed you only just an hour before.

“You alright?” He interrupts your lustful train of thought, nudging his shoulder against yours. 

You clear your throat quietly, shaking your head a little. “Uh- yeah, sorry. Got distracted,” 

He smirks to himself, staring straight ahead to hide his tickled expression. “You gonna choose a movie or am I gonna have to take that remote from you and do it myself?” 

You whip your head in his direction, gaping at him as a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’d like to see you try.”

He giggles and lunges forward, grasping for the remote in your hand but you move quickly, yanking your hand back behind you as you scramble to the edge of the couch. You giggle obnoxiously, kicking your feet at him to keep him as far away from you as you can, but his reflexes are just as quick as yours and soon he’s grasping one of your ankles to allow him just enough leverage to tackle you. 

“Harry!” You squeal as he shoves his arms beneath you in search of the remote in your hand. He chortles down at you with a devilish smile when his nimble fingers find your wrist. Immediately, you tear your arm away from his fingers, throwing it above your head with the remote grasped tightly between your fingers. 

“Fuck- you’re fast,” He grunts, taking a moment to shake his head in defeat. His tone and words prick a familiar nerve within you and you restrain yourself from squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip slipped firmly between your teeth. 

“That’s what she said,” You retort, snorting loudly at your own joke. He rolls his eyes, pushing himself up more so that he can reach your hand, but you outsmart him once again, kneeing him in the hip and causing him to topple off of the couch and onto the carpeted floor. 

“Fuck’s sake, babe. M’gonna be black and blue by the end of this,” He groans, sitting up as he rubs his elbow with a pout on his lips.

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh, please, I was barely even trying,” You allow yourself to relax back against the couch, scrolling through the movie options once again as Harry lifts himself from the floor but before you can even process what’s happening he’s swiftly yanking the remote from your hand and plopping himself beside you. “Asshole!” You gasp, reaching back for it frantically. 

He’s chuckling devilishly under his breath, holding his long arm away from you and moving it every way you reach. “Gonna have to try harder then, I guess,” 

You clamber over him, both knees landing on either side of his legs as your fingers grasp the remote over his hand. The compromising position the two of you are in is admittedly the last thing on your mind as you scramble for the remote, but when his free hand falls to your waist, gripping you gently, a breath catches in your throat and you pause. You make eye contact with him, your faces merely inches apart and suddenly the remote doesn’t really matter anymore. 

He smiles a little, licking his lips when his eyes flicker to yours. The hand holding the remote falls onto the armrest of the couch, causing yours to fall with it. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or just keep staring at my lips?” You mutter, bringing your hand up to the side of his neck. 

“Gonna let me have the remote if I do?” 

“Fuck the remote.” You grunt before charging forward, lips colliding with his in a searing kiss. 

His arms are quick to circle your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as you hold his face between your hands, lips moving together in a symphony of uncoordinated movements. One of your hands slides down to grip his t-shirt, desperate to have him as close as possible and then suddenly, the bathroom door swings open and you’re sent leaping off of Harry, scrambling to the other end of the couch. 

Both of you are breathless and flustered as Deidre walks in, whistling to herself and completely oblivious to the way you and Harry are practically shivering at each corner of the couch. 

“Did you guys pick a movie yet?”

You clear your throat before sighing shakily. “Uh- no, not yet,” 

“Jeez,” she scoffs, “been in the shower for at least 10 minutes what the fuck have you lot been up to?” 

Heat crawls along the apples of your cheeks and you glance in Harry’s direction with a panicked look on your face. He’s flushed bright red, giving you a sheepish smile before you turn away again. Luckily, Deidre has wandered into the kitchen making herself a snack of some sort, oblivious to the way you two are looking at each other, flustered and slightly shaken by what she’d interrupted. 

“I’m really in the mood to watch The Notebook,” Deidre calls from the kitchen, popping her head through the opening and raising her eyebrows at the two of you in question. 

Harry shrugs, “I’m down,” 

“Yeah, same,” You agree, clearing your throat awkwardly as you tuck your legs beneath you. Both you and Harry are suppressing sheepish grins, barely glancing at each other out of the corners of your eyes. 

“The Notebook it is, then.” He concludes, clicking through the Netflix menu to find it. 

When Deidre returns to the living room, she comes bearing a bag of microwave popcorn, a bag of cheetos, and three cans of soda (per Harry’s request). Of course, with your luck, she decides to plop herself between the two of you, leaving you and Harry to give each other subtle looks of distaste from across the couch. And, once the movie starts, you’re forced to act as if you hadn’t just been making out with your best friend’s older brother right on this very couch. 

The movie goes by fast since it’s nearly your 4th time watching it, and for the entire 2 hour film you’re forced to sit across the length of the couch from Harry when all you want to do is cuddle into his side. A few spare glances are shared throughout the time and judging by the way his eyebrows lift, his feelings are similar to yours. Nevertheless, you persevere through the movie until the credits are rolling and tears are streaming down your face.

“You guys are seriously crying? I know you’ve both seen this movie more than once,” Deidre scoffs at both you and Harry as she turns the TV off.

“How are you not crying?” You sniffle, wiping the moisture from underneath your eyes with your hands. You glance in Harry’s direction to see the tears welling up in his eyes as he stares at her in disgust. 

She looks at him and rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off, you’re both just big babies,” She stands from the couch, yanking the empty popcorn bag from the coffee table in front of the couch, huffing, “I’m going to bed. You two are ridiculous.”

You watch as she walks to the kitchen, chuckling to herself before you turn back to Harry who’s laughing through his own tears. 

“We are pretty pathetic,” He snickers, pushing his hair out of his face and shaking his head. 

“No,” You huff. “We just aren’t heartless like she is.” You stand from the couch, crossing your arms over your chest and sauntering down the hallway to your bedroom. 

You find yourself getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth and performing your nightly routines just as you would every night. This time, however, the only thing on your mind is Harry. The way his hands held you so gently, lips drawing kiss after kiss from your own effortlessly as if he’d memorized every little thing that makes you shiver. The way he says your name when he speaks to you and maintains eye contact throughout every conversation, making it apparent to you that he’s listening to every word that leaves your lips. He actually cares about what you’re telling him and he speaks to you in such an attentive, selfless way. He makes you feel like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted to talk to. And, as much as you haven’t wanted to admit it to yourself, you’re beginning to think that this is more than just a crush. 

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[butwhyduh]

The drunk au with Jason pretty please I want to bother the shit out of him while drunk

“One more drink, Jaybird,” you purred. He shook his head. You pulled the whiskey he had been nursing for a while from his hand and gulped it down.

“Oh Princess, you’re going to regret that,” he said.

“Dance with me,” you asked and he blinked. Jason wasn’t a dancer. You knew that. “Just one. I want to hold you,” you said. Your eyes were wide and lashes wet.

“Ugh, fine,” he said shaking his head. You wrapped your arms around his waist and wouldn’t let go when he tried to fix your hands to a more traditional stance. You pressed your head to his chest and hummed to the music on the dance floor. You had talked him into going out.

“Let’s get some fucking tacos,” you whispered lovingly holding his cheek. Jason stifled a laugh at that one before nodding.

That’s how you ended up at a tiny taco truck in a part of town that was frankly terrifying. If Jason wasn’t Red Hood he probably would have refused to go there with you. But there was no other place that had a spit roasted turner thing. You could smell the roast meat from a block away and they blasted Mexican music. It didn’t matter. You just stuck your fingers up on how many tacos you needed. It was the only thing to order on the menu.

You threw up 10 fingers and the man behind the glass gave you a surprised look. Jason shook his head and raised a 5 and the man nodded in understanding. It was common to get post partying tacos. He cut the meat off the rotating stick and into fresh tortillas.

“These bitches are amazing,” you said also snagging 3 little cups of green sauce and a Mexican Coca Cola. Jason herded you to the car. No need to wait around to see what happens next.

You tried to eat in the car but almost lost everything on a turn and Jason declared no food in the car. So not to be outdone with messiness, you moved your hand to his thigh. Jason almost jumped out of his skin.

“Not tonight, Princess,” he said moving your hand back to your own lap. You whined and stuck out your bottom lip. “Nu uh,” he answered. “Not after all those drinks.”

“Okay, baby,” you said all breathy and he ignored it. You drew on the foggy up passenger window as he drove back to your apartment. Jason helped you upstairs while carrying all the food. You were a stumbling mess in high heel boots. You giggled in the elevator.

“Shh, baby, it’s really late. You don’t want to wake the neighbors,” Jason said as you walked down the hall. You nodded and giggled and he resisted the urge to throw his hands up. Lost cause on that one as you tried to open the neighbor’s door. “Nope! We’re over here,” he said guiding you in the apartment.

You walked in, more like sauntered in, and lounged across the couch. You looked at Jason like he was a snack. He busied himself with getting the food out. He pushed your legs out of the way to sit down and you proceeded to put your feet in his lap. Your dress was pushed high on your thigh and you bit your lip while staring at Jason. He was almost sweating with effort to not look at you.

“Eat,” he said giving you a taco. You sat up more, your heeled feet flying to the floor, almost knocking Jason’s food from his hands. His reflexes barely saved his food. You quickly down the taco before going back to staring at Jason.

“That’s not happening tonight,” he said without looking at you. You pushed your bottom lip out and widened your eyes. “Not a chance. You’re drunk.”

You waited patiently, pretending to watch the show on tv. But as soon as he finished eating, you pounced. You threw your thighs over his legs and bent to kiss him roughly. Jason froze for a second and his head spun before he pulled away.

“Not tonight. Let’s get you in bed,” he said and you frowned before standing up. You pulled the dress over your head and tossed it on the floor, almost childlike. Jason’s mind glitched as he looked at you. You were wearing red lingerie complete with a garter belt that held up thigh high stockings and was still wearing knee high black leather boots. He gulped.

“Good night. You won’t get any of this,” you pouted and ran your hands over your breasts and down your side to your hips. You turned and grabbed your own ass before walking to the bedroom.

“I’ll clean up the... uh food stuff or whatever,” he said to distract himself. He took his time cleaning and stretched it out to a full 10 minutes, including wiping down the counter neither of you touched that evening. Jason just wanted to cool down. Finding his kitchen sparkling and living room neat, he finally walked to the bedroom because he was pretty tired.

Jason almost laughed. You were still dressed as you were when you left the room but you were asleep on top of the blanket, face down, hugging your pillow. Jason walked over and gently took your boots off. He thought about helping you out of the other stuff and into something literally more comfortable because he could see the stocking top bite into your thigh slightly, but he had no clue how to take it off and he didn’t want you to wake up and get any ideas.

So instead he rolled the blanket around you. You curled up in your sleep around the blanket. Jason grabbed a second blanket out of the closet and slept on his side with the other blanket.

You woke to the taste of cotton. Your head pounded. You rolled to your back and groaned. Jason appeared in the doorway with a smug smile and a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Princess. How you feeling?” He smiled.

“Dead. I feel like death,” you groaned before sitting up to take the cup. You took a long sip.

“Been there,” he did slyly. “Yeah, I figured you would be. You were feeling no pain last night.”

“Yeah, I vaguely remember that,” you climbed out of bed. “What am I wearing,” you said looking down. You unclamped the garter belt and rolled a stocking down your leg. An indent was visible on your skin.

“Yeah. You, um, showed that off last night,” Jason said. You winced as you rolled the other stocking off. “I thought about changing your clothes after you fell asleep but I figured I’d break it or something.”

“That’s sweet of you. I need a shower,” you said walking towards the bathroom.

“Yeah I’m making breakfast so don’t take too long,” Jason said. You tried to give him a kiss and he pulled back. “And maybe brush your teeth too. Just saying.”

“Ouch. Okay. Thanks for taking care of me last night,” you said settling for a hug.

“That’s my job. You’re my girlfriend, silly,” he played it off. You rolled your eyes and kissed his cheek before walking to the bathroom.

“Learn to accept a thank you, Jay. You saved my ass last night.”

[kentokunn]

false accusations; (erwin smith x reader)

chapter one; gambler (3k words)

SUMMARY: Erwin Smith has always been a gambler. His decisions have always had promising outcomes. However, when one of his gambles ends with you in the custody of the Military Police accused of perjury, he is forced to come up with a scheme that will have only one solid outcome, the one which he needs to happen for thee wiring your safety.

His plan- to any other bystander -looks to be another one of his unpredictable gambles, but his long time friend Nile Dok knows Erwin's smile all too well to know that he had predicted every single consequence and what the outcome would be to the bitter end. The military Commander had proved to be far too clever for his own good on multiple fronts.

[canon divergence; season 2]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Erwin that isn’t a headcanon. It’s also my first time writing a chapter story in months. I’ve had crazy writers fatigue so I had to take some breaks, but the idea for this story made me excited to write again! This chapter may seem like it drags on and is kind of dialogue heavy (at least I think it is), but it’s mainly just an introduction chapter to prepare for the actual story. So far, what I have planned out is 10 chapters and a prologue but it might change in the future. I hope you all enjoy, and feel free to leave feedback or constructive criticism!

It was the afternoon before the Scout Regiment was to make their way to the capital within Wall Sina. The Commander stood at the head of the oak wood table in front of a map of Stohess that covered the length of the table. The map was covered in short nails and strings with red, green, and black dots, made with ink, marked along certain points. Erwin was hunched forward a little, pointing to one exact spot on the map and revising over the plan that he and the young recruit, Armin Arlelt, had come up with to capture the Female Titan.

Tapping his finger on the map, Erwin looked up at the four sitting along the sides of the table. "Here. This is where Armin, Eren, and Mikasa will be leading Annie Leonhart for the capture squad to trap her." After a brief moment of silence, an invite for somebody to speak up, he continued. "While I am likely being detained by the Military Police, Levi and Hanji will be planted in Stohess already to engage should anything get out of hand," directed Erwin, who looked at the two in question for confirmation. He was satisfied once both nodded.

"Good. Now, Miche will be supervising a group of recruits in an isolated base located in Wall Rose. We can assume that there are more titans similar to Annie and that they could be conspiring together, Armin suggested this would be a good way to avoid interference from others," Erwin explained, lowering himself into his seat. "This plan has already been told to Mikasa and Eren but I'd like you four to talk with them at dinner to confirm that they're prepared. Everyone is dismissed."

Miche and Levi, who both sat across from you and Hanji- who was on your right -stood and saluted the Commander, Levi sharing a few words with Erwin, before they left the office. Hanji took a moment to gather the map they had brought for the demonstration and said a quick goodbye to both you and the Commander before exiting as well.

You remained seated, brows furrowed slightly in confusion. "Sir?" you asked, as he stood and made his way towards his work desk a few feet away. It was sitting by a window that stretched a large part of the back wall, overlooking the training grounds. The desk was filled with papers and had a few ink stains that must have been only a day old since the desk looks to have been cleaned fairly recently.

"Yes, Squad Leader?" Erwin questioned mentioning your name after your assigned title, raising a brow as he looked up to you from the letter he had grabbed before taking a seat.

You sat, silent for a moment in confusion. "Commander, what would you like me to do tomorrow?" you asked, standing and pushing in your chair, walking closer to his desk so that you stood in front of it.

Erwin placed the letter down at his desk, giving you his full attention as he folded his hands on the desk. "You'll join me to the capital. I'm expecting to be arrested by the Military Police once they find out about this plan so I'll need you by my side. Once the situation is explained I'm sure we'll be let go and allowed to join the others, but until then I'll need you to be with me in case a tricky situation arises," Erwin explained. "I was going to mention this later in the night since I'm still questioning whether it would be better for you to be with Miche, but for now the plan is for you to accompany me tomorrow. Understood?"

You fixed your posture into a salute and nodded. "Yes sir!" you exclaimed. Erwin offered a tight smile in response and dismissed you, returning to his paperwork.

Walking out of the office and shutting the door behind you, you made your way to your room. It was at the opposite end of the hall along with Captain Levi's- who had a slightly larger room than you -Hanji's, and Miche's. This floor was reserved for Squad Leaders, the Captain, and the Commander.

Your room was a decent size, comfortable for one person. It had a bed, bookshelf, desk, and lounge chair that fit comfortably within the room without feeling like it was cluttered. The bathroom and closet doors were beside each other on the left wall, both providing enough space for what they were required for. Your room had two windows on either side of the bed and two gaslights hung just barely above them.

All in all, the room was perfect for somebody who didn't spend much time in it. With most days either on the training grounds with your squad, in town gathering supplies, or on expeditions not much time was spent here. However, now was the perfect opportunity for you to take an hour or so to relax in bed before dinner time.

Grabbing your matches, notebook, and calligraphy pen off the desk you made your way to the right side of your bed, striking the match and igniting the gaslight. You walked over to the left side to do the same before blowing out the match and tossing it into the empty glass on your bedside table that was once filled with water.

Sitting up in your bed you grabbed the notebook and pen you had placed beside you. Using the ink container on the bedside table to dip your pen in you began to rewrite the plans explained earlier by the Commander. This was something you did often to keep everything you needed to know fresh in your mind so that should any mistake happen you could readjust a situation to fall along the original path intended.

This habit had come in handy many times throughout your years as a Squad Leader and has saved many misfortunes from happening. Your quick thinking and leadership in tough situations were often praised by young recruits and even your fellow veterans alike.

While writing your last few sentences the bell atop the headquarters had rung, signaling that the clock had struck six o'clock and that it was now dinner time. Lying the notebook open on your bed to dry and closing the ink container, you stood up and made your way to the mess hall once you put on your boots.

Hanji had left their room at the same time you had, calling out your name and walking up to you to join you on your walk downstairs. "Are you ready for tomorrow?" Hanji asked, pushing the door that leads to the steps downstairs open for you both.

"I am. In fact, I'm currently writing everything down in my notebook," you informed, quietly thanking them for the door.

Hanji clapped their hands together once, the sound echoing in the stairwell. "Great! That may very well come in handy tomorrow, especially since the plan is set to take place inside Wall Sina," Hanji said, opening the door to the mess hall once more.

You hummed, bowing your head down slightly as another thanks. "Yes, that's a little worrisome, but I trust Erwin and his plan so really, I'm more anxious for tomorrow to come than I am worried about it going wrong," you replied.

"I feel the same!" they exclaimed, taking a seat once you both reached your usual table. Levi was already sitting with his tray of food while Miche was grabbing both yours and his. Levi had already grabbed Hanji's tray for them.

You smiled at Miche when he returned, setting the tray he got for you down. You gave a small thank you and properly sat down so that you were across from Levi. The meal was relatively silent between you four while the others in the mess hall were rather rowdy as always. Miche was the one to break the silence.

"We should ask Eren, Mikasa, and Armin to join us quickly to confirm the plan with them like Erwin asked," he suggested, setting his fork down on his empty plate.

You nodded in agreement, "yes, we should. I'll go gather the three of them quickly." With that, you stood from your seat and walked over to the table where Eren, Mikasa, and Armin sat. "You three," you pointed to them, "follow me." You gesture with your finger to follow the order, leading them to the table. Usually, you'd have been more polite in requesting them to follow your orders, however with how few people knew of the plan and you didn't want to arouse suspicions and questions you were required to be more firm.

Once you led them to the table Levi instructed them to each take a seat, to which they took across from you- where you now sat beside Levi. "Commander Erwin requested that the four of us went over the plan with you three to ensure you guys know what needs to be done tomorrow. Are there any questions?"

Eren looked to be holding something in while Armin and Mikasa remained silent and shook their heads. You frowned at noticing Eren's inner conflict. "Jaeger, what is it?" you asked.

The brown-haired boy looked up at you, eyes wide for a moment before he sighed. "Are we really sure that Annie is the Female Titan?" he questioned. "Look, I know how smart Armin is and I'm not saying that his suspicions are wrong, but well... what if they are?"

Mikasa was quick to elbow him, her face as blank as ever, but a sound of disappointment left her lips. "Come on Eren, you know that all the signs point to Annie. You will see the truth tomorrow, accept it." That was the harsh truth. A young girl that the cadets had grown up with was a traitor.

Eren shook his head quickly, clearing his thoughts. "Yeah yeah, you're right, I'm sorry. I'll be prepared tomorrow, no matter what. We'll catch her, I promise!" Eren vowed, growing more enthusiastic with each word.

"You better be," was Levi's reply. "We need you three in order to get Annie to where we need her to be, so please, don't fuck this up."

You frowned, flicking Levi's shoulder. "They're children! Stop putting so much pressure on them!" you scolded, turning your head towards the cadets. "Just do your best, Hanji, Levi, and the others will be there as a backup just in case," you assured, alleviating some of the worries you saw in Eren's and Armin's eyes.

Once the three of them nodded you allowed them to stay with you for the remainder of dinner until the bell rang, signaling it was time to make their way to their rooms. You and the others remained still in the mess hall, however. Nanaba, Moblit, and a few other Survey Corps veterans joined you at the table.

It was common for you all to share a bottle of beer each before a serious plan. Not enough to get even close to drunk, but enough to mask some of the stress if even for a few hours. So, as Miche and Moblit returned back to the table with the bottles of beer, everyone cheered and took a swig from their bottles, settling into a small conversation.

The conversations went from one topic to the other, even a few stories shared amongst one another until the doors were heard creaking open. Everyone's head turned, assuming it was a cadet that'd have to be ordered to return to their room immediately, but everyone was surprised when they saw the Commander.

It wasn't often Erwin came down to the mess hall for dinner, typically getting his meals sent to his office so that he would be able to continue his work, but occasionally he'd make his way down to get his meal himself. He hadn't yet noticed everyone, since he was at the complete opposite end of the large room, but a quick glance around and his eyes had landed on your table.

He made careful steps towards you all, his eyes roaming each and every one of you, and then the bottles you all possessed- some empty, some nearly there, some barely dipped at. "Everyone," he greeted, dipping his head just a centimeter as a sign of respect.

"Commander," was everyone's reply, followed by the same action. You and Levi moved closer to the end of the bench you both were sitting at as an invitation for Erwin to sit, which he gladly accepted.

"A beer sir?" Nanaba asked, offering to grab him one from the kitchen.

"Please," was Erwin's answer. As Nanaba made their way to grab a beer for the Commander, he took the opportunity to ask a question. "Stressful night?" His lips formed a slight smile, almost like a knowing grin.

Levi scoffed, drinking what little was left in his bottle before placing it down on the table with a little less force than a slam. "You know damn well it is Eyebrows," he said.

You rolled your eyes, "Oh please, not this again!" you groaned. "Does it ever get tiring of using the same old stupid nickname? Honestly, be more creative!" you told Levi, causing Hanji to let out a surprised laugh beside you, nearly spilling the beer from their mouth and covering it with a napkin.

Levi was about to retort, pointing his finger at you when Erwin interfered, reaching his hand across the table to gran the beer Nanaba offered him. "Thanks," he said before looking at you both. "Now you two, is there ever a day you both get along?"

"Hey! We get along just fine," you defended, looking surprised when everyone laughed. "Oh come on! We just have a sort of sibling relationship, fuck off," you said, feigning anger when you grabbed your drink and took a sip. 

Conversations once again picked up, this time with Erwin participating this time round. It was a nice relaxer before a day like tomorrow, and it was nice for you to see the Commander so at ease. Everyone knew how much he overworked himself, but all attempts to remove himself from his desk were rendered fruitless when he was so focused on his work. It was only at times like these did he allow himself to take time for himself, and times like these also helped everyone else.

Seeing their Commander with a slight smile and loose shoulders, enjoying himself, was a relieving sight for all soldiers. It could even be a sign of hope for some of them, much like yourself. With little driving you forward, other than the freedom of humanity, it was difficult to find reason in why you fight. It was not uncommon for you to question your goal when it seemed unattainable at times, but when the leader of it all seems to have the hope and the drive for it, it gave you the motivation to do the same.

But unfortunately, like most things, all good things come to an end and it was time for everyone to rest up for what tomorrow would bring. Clean-up and 'good nights' were done quickly, everyone departing towards their rooms, all but Erwin who stayed seated. He allowed you to take a few steps forward before calling out your name.

"I've decided on a definitive plan for you tomorrow," he started, standing up and making his way towards you. He tossed out his beer in the trash near you. "I'll need you with me. Miche can handle the cadets by himself, and should he need help Nanaba is going with him. I don't yet know what tomorrow is going to bring, and you're one of our best when it comes to easing a tricky situation. We need you on the front lines, so you'll come with me."

His tone gave no room for questions, Erwin's plan was settled and nothing would change. Still, you replied with an, "understood sir," before making your way to your room again. You paused when you reached the door, and without turning around, said, "good night Erwin."

"Good night," he responded, a hint of a smile in his voice. Allowing the doors to shut behind you, you walked up the stairs and into your room, deciding to take a quick, cool shower. The cool, almost warm, water helped to clear your thoughts so you only focused on the temperature of the water. It wasn't your usual or go to temperature, but on nights like this, it was a good way to get your mind off things without writing yourself to death.

Once out of the shower, you dried yourself, brushed your death, and did your usual nightly arrangements before walking towards the bed. You took a few minutes to think to yourself, like you did most nights, and allowed for yourself to soak in the silence. Zoning in on one particular spot in the ceiling, you thought about tomorrow.

Everything about this plan Erwin had come up with was a gamble. It relied on the soldiers there to capture Annie without trouble, but there would be no idea what would happen. Stohess was in the center of civilization, in Wall Sina, and the fear of Annie transforming into a titan within that wall was frightening to you.

You had good reason to be frightened too, with what the results of this plan, this gamble, could mean for you and for many. However, while many feared for the lives of their family and themselves, you feared the truth that may arise, because although discovery could be a great thing, change was often terrifying in a world ruled by titans.

But, Erwin had trust in himself and his soldiers. He believed that sacrificing lives for change was necessary in war, much like many leaders before him would agree. Death was a result of war, and Erwin risked people's lives. However, he was a gambler after all.

And he would regret that by the time the sun set tomorrow night.

[rigelmejo]

9/27/2022 reading notes

Oddly. I'm finding the faster I try to read the easier it is to guess these words from context. My guesses when I read fast:

子身边黏 "stick around (the person)"

发闷 "quiet/stuffy" (literally send/give out-stuffy) actual definition bored, which i got the feeling of

温馨 "warm" I've never seen the second hanzi before but the sentence meant it had to mean warm/pleasant. 明明是一起打的盒饭，但是菜色却完全不一样。尽管都是简单的小炒素菜，香气却依旧填满了整间空落落的屋子，让它有了些许温馨的气息。

填满 "permeate/fill" ( bury, man-full) actual definition is fill up

白色食品袋 literally "white food bag" aka white takeout bag of food, obvious word by reading but just a word I don't often see

扒拉 My brain wanted to stop to contemplate these as individual verbs, but given the context of the sentence I figured "pushed around/moved around" His food. It's definition is apparently "lightly pushed" so I was close. 吴邪一边低头扒拉着饭菜，一边看着张起灵慢慢的吃着

瓷制 guessed manufactured/artifical something to do with single use takeout food chopsticks since that's what I guessed they're eating with given the scene. I was wrong, the ping indicates Porcelain apparently. Followed by 碗筷 which I took as bowl/chopsticks (which is technically right) but the translator gave me "tableware" so I guess Zhang qiling is using porcelain tableware. I was in the ballpark of descriptive-of-noun which was bowl/chopsticks at least. 吴邪敢打赌，就算张起灵此时用的是瓷制的碗筷，他依旧不会发出任何声响。

十元的纸币 my instincts Said this is money, something like 10 yuan paper bills. Instinct was right, I did not need to waste time looking it up and it being money would've been obvious if I'd kept reading.

器上映着 "machine on reflect" so I guessed monitor, given the sentence is about wu xie dreaming he saw his face and involving the computer. Spot on. 邪看着显示器上映着自己的脸，没来由的心里一阵发虚

Basically, I'm noticing for whatever reason (maybe how minds work idk) the word guessing is actually easier the more I just read and take whole paragraphs as a whole. Also as u can kind of see, yes I'm noticing details WAY better this time around. (It's funny because there's some things in chinese I know super well but don't know how I'd word if translating to English like 按理说， 更是况，and so they frustrate me when translating but when just reading its stuff like 愈发耀眼 that I'm figuring out, and today even that's pretty easy - it got sunnier/brighter ('more and more dazzling' is the translation i got when i looked it up) sunshine in the context of sentence. 午后的阳光虽然愈发耀眼）

It's actually... so funny... today I haven't read anything I found too hard to figure out from context at all. Damn. Wooh!

Also, a smaller thing, but I'm also grateful often the descriptive turns of phrase I do run into have sort of a similar logic to English. Like above yuefa even-more guangyan-dazzling, or earlier in this chapter I read basically wu xie wondering if he was going to bring food up to the room just to accidentally wake up Zhang Qiling up and basically a storm of worried thoughts in his brain and him thinking screw it I already bought it so it's already done I'm already staring at the door I might as well knock. Or stuff like 蓝天白云 blue sky white clouds right as a computer boots up? Oh that's the windows standard screen for sure ToT. Or a common thing I can't remember the exact hanzi for right this moment, but is basically "thoughts are a mess" which is such a similar way to how it's said in English. Maybe its the way it's described generally, or just some particular writers, but this writer and priest tend to write descriptions and use imagery idioms that are very literally logical if thought out like in English. Like 开始不停 "Start without stop" as in 开始不停的颤唞，started trembling without end/stopping.

Then there's sentences like this. 平日里总是喧闹的女生寝室，此刻却只剩下哗哗的水声，在这狭小的浴室里激起空荡的回音。 Normally the girls dorm rooms are noisy, but at this moment the only thing was the hua hua sound of the water in this small bathroom, breaking the silence and echoing. (Just translated based on how I understood it when reading, some word order changes for clarity in English, and my translation words aren't perfect but you get the idea. Also yeah if I translate anything right now if a novel ever gets requested This is About My Level of skill with that rn - correct mood is okay but word choice I don't feel I do well with nuance). My point with this example sentence is, the descriptions and ominous set up of the sentence are fairly clear from a literal interpretation. The same kind of thinking you'd do in English reading of descriptions for mood, so to some degree I can lean on the same observations to follow descriptions I run into. Another longer descriptor that's pretty straight forward 我一定要把它弄下来 "I've gotta get it off" (Yun Cai has what she thinks is flour stuck on her face when she thought it had been cream she'd washed off, and keeps scrubbing desperately at her face). 我不能带着这样的脸出去见人，"I can't go out with my face looking like this and see people" 我不能让他看到这样恐怖的自己！！"I can't let him see me looking this frightful/awful way!"

Quotes from the pingxie fic 夜半衣寒 作者:夏灬安兰 which I highly recommend (I love this writer, and I love this fic and 寒舍）