#i doubt he was privy to any evidence of this and i don’t think he was particularly serious but it was such a wild thing to say to a class

[gaylittlebillionaires]

whenever i feel like maybe i’m being slightly too unhinged about new labour, i remember that my a level politics teacher (who worked in westminster in the 90s) told us that he thought tony and cherie blair were in a lavender marriage

[ptn-imagines]

I don’t know why but I have been thinking about Shalom and Rahu x fem!paradesis (or however you spell it) reader. Like they’re paired up for missions and stuff 😭😭😭

Here you go, anon! I figure that any Paradeisian that dates Rahu and Shalom is either already doubting Paradeisos or can be radicalized quickly. Also, these headcanons are mostly canon-compliant, but assume two divergences: 1) Rahu has been Shalom's bodyguard for longer than in canon, and 2) Paradeisos suspects something is fucky with Shalom. I spent a lot of time focusing on the pre-relationship, so if you want more, feel free to ask for a continuation!

This is 2.2k words, by the way. So I'm putting it under a cut to respect people's dashes.

Shalom and Rahu x Fem Paradeisos!Reader

When you first get paired with them for missions, they’re both… distant. On their guard.

Shalom is so polite and pleasant with you, it’s eerie. Rahu simply deigns not to talk to you unless you do so first, and when she does speak with you, her responses are short and sharp.

You’re used to the politics of Paradeisos leaving little room for niceties and frivolity, but these two feel like it’s something else. You can’t help but feel that you’re missing something you should really be aware of, but when you look around you, no one else seems to be bothered by it. Not even Shalom’s Schorl. Maybe it’s all in your head?

(You know that it isn’t, but what can you do about it?)

Honestly, you have no idea why your superiors keep assigning you with these two. Doesn’t Shalom have the entire HUSH system at her disposal, not just Rahu? And that’s without even mentioning the incredible power of her Schorl. All of it reeks of Paradeisian politics and you can’t help but feel like you’re just a pawn in a very intense game of chess with countless dimensions. Well, everyone is, but usually you can ignore the fact and get on with your duties. Not this time.

When your superiors have you report in secret at the end of the first month, you’re sure of it. They ask you all sorts of questions, but all of them relate to one topic – Shalom’s loyalty. It was in question? You’re baffled. You’re not privy to the details of her situation, it’s far above your station, but Shalom still never seemed like the type of person who’d betray Paradeisos. Rahu, maybe… but your superiors seemed to care as little for the Hush’s bodyguard as one would care for a slug beneath their boot.

Still, what can you do but answer honestly? You’ve not seen anything strange from either of them that would call their loyalty into question. You have no idea if this is the answer Paradeisos wanted to hear; the official you are speaking to has a completely unreadable expression, as always. He simply takes a few more notes and dismisses you, thanking you for your cooperation.

This continues, and you have to report on Shalom and Rahu’s activities every month. You get the feeling that the pair know why you’re truly here, and that’s why they’re so cautious of you. You don’t really blame them, as while you don’t have any evidence, you’re pretty sure that they must have something to hide. Paradeisos won’t care about mere speculation, though; it’s a blessing in some ways, since the unease you’ve been feeling about this whole situation has only grown stronger.

Paradeisos has really fucked up somehow; it’s the only impression you get of the whole thing. Much as it makes you feel like you’re walking directly into the lion’s den, you quickly come to the conclusion that you’ll never know peace unless you figure out just what is going on behind the scenes.

It’s impossible to catch Shalom without her Schorl, and you don’t want it reporting on your actions to Paradeisos. You’re not as valuable to them as the Hush, you’re expendable; if they so much as suspected your betrayal as they did with her, you’d be executed immediately. That left you with only one choice; speaking to Rahu. It was not a thrilling prospect.

Rahu didn’t like being in your company at the best of times, so interrupting her during a moment of repose did no favors for her mood. Her dark eyes glowered at you, lips twisted into a frown, almost a snarl. Still, it wouldn’t help her temper any more if you just left without saying anything, so you steeled your resolve and forged ahead.

“Rahu, sorry to interrupt you like this. I just want to ask you a few questions,” you began, and it wasn’t exactly Paradeisian to want to wither under somebody’s gaze, but the bodyguard looked for all the world like she was imagining one hundred different ways to kill you here and now. “It’s about you and Shalom… At the end of each of these past few months, Paradeisos has been asking me strange questions, ones that seem to call Shalom’s loyalty into question, and I wanted to know–”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence before Rahu lunged for you; you could hold your own in combat, but you were no match for a powerful Sinner like Rahu. The struggle could barely be called that, and within moments you were pinned helplessly on the ground, Rahu’s blade a hair’s breadth from your neck, bloody fury making her silver eyes seem to glow. Even as it marked your imminent demise, they were as breathtaking as they were terrifying.

“I knew you were a Paradeisian mole,” she growled, her hot breath tickling your face. “Shalom said the best thing to do was keep acting normal, but if you’re getting this nosy, no need to keep you around any longer.”

Her blade pressed into your skin, droplets of blood welling to the surface. You weren’t going to survive this – she wouldn’t listen to anything you had to say – but you resolved to keep your eyes open and at least face your demise with some degree of dignity.

However, that final blow never came. Instead, you heard the door swinging open, and Shalom’s voice sighed. “Did you two get into a fight? Rahu, let her up. I’m sure whatever you were arguing about isn’t worth killing her over.”

Rahu gave you a venomous look, but obeyed her lady’s orders, standing up and withdrawing. You were left on the floor, reeling in shock, unable to process what had just happened and instinctively taking Shalom’s offered hand. It was softer than you thought.

“Please forgive Rahu for her outburst,” Shalom said to you with a smile that almost felt sincere. “She’s been restless lately. I should have paid better attention to her. I’ll talk with her to make sure this doesn’t happen again. May I treat your wound?”

You’re honestly too shocked to do anything but accept her offer, and she guides you to sit down. Her hands are surgeon-steady as she dabs disinfectant into your wound – a shallow cut, really, it didn’t call for this almost-clinical care – and she’s surprisingly tender about it. Your heart flutters even as you press your lips together to silence a hiss of pain.

That month, the stern-faced official who receives your reports asks you a new question. “Schorl reported that you were attacked by the Hush’s bodyguard. Could you report the incident in more detail? We will eliminate the rogue element if it will prove a threat to your work.”

Your work, more like a threat to Paradeisos. You paused, careful to make it look like you were taking a moment to recall the incident. Without a doubt, this was a test from Shalom. Apparently, she had seen something that she was willing to trust in you, despite everything; she had to have known that what provoked Rahu to almost kill you wasn’t just a simple disagreement. Yet, the fact that she dared to issue this test in the first place… Surely she knew that you had the power to have her most trustworthy ally killed, right here, right now. Knowing her reputation, that meant only one thing: she was sure you’d cover for her and Rahu.

She was right. You spun a story about how you’d accidentally provoked a spike in Rahu’s Mania, which, in a Sinner as volatile and powerful as her, had quickly led to violence. You were pretty sure this would get Shalom scolded for not disciplining her dog better (you were certain that’s how Paradeisos viewed Rahu), but that was a mere slap on the wrist compared to the alternative.

When you next returned to Erica Villa, Rahu was waiting for you. You half-expected her to finish the job from last time, seeing as her gaze upon you was still distrustful. At least it wasn’t downright venomous anymore. Instead, she just grabbed you by the arm – firmly, but not roughly – and muttered “we need to talk” before dragging you into a room and locking it behind her.

Inside this locked room, Rahu admits that Shalom’s loyalty is to nobody but herself, and Rahu will faithfully serve her lady alone until her dying breath. She doesn’t know the details, but Shalom’s plan would ultimately undermine both the Underground and Paradeisos. The first thing was undoubtedly a good thing, and you were starting to suspect the second might not be so bad. Apparently, since you hadn’t reported the true nature of Rahu’s attack to your superiors, you were seen as a possible ally, trustworthy enough to be privy to Shalom’s designs – “but if you become a liability, I’ll kill you where you stand,” Rahu added.

You had no intentions of betraying these two, of course, so you accepted the offer so graciously posed to you. Rahu still didn’t look like she was entirely happy with the arrangement, but she was willing to yield to Shalom’s judgment. So it was that you began aiding the two properly; Shalom would give orders to Rahu through their special connection, who would then pass them on to you. Paradeisos didn’t cease their monitoring of the pair, but didn’t seem to be aware that you were no longer serving their interests, which worked out well.

This new arrangement gave you a chance to be closer to Rahu and Shalom, too, and it caused you to notice things you’d never paid attention to before. Rahu was a gruff, scarred soldier, but there was a certain melancholy in her eyes that caused tides of sorrow to swell within your own heart. She protected Shalom, and to an extent, you, so faithfully, but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel as if she was the one who needed a guardian… and every now and again, it seemed as though Shalom filled that role for her, bringing her a much-needed comfort.

Shalom, on the other hand… You started to notice she was not as machine-like as she first appeared. How much of her typical pleasantry was a farce, you didn’t know; that was par for the course with Paradeisians. But what she couldn’t fake was the warm glow in her eyes when her gaze lingered on Rahu, or the way her touches lasted a moment longer than they needed to when she tended to the bodyguard’s cuts and scrapes (and occasionally more serious wounds). Schorl didn’t notice it, perhaps couldn’t notice it, but you did. It almost looked like… love? But that was impossible, wasn’t it? If Rahu and Shalom were in a secret relationship, surely you’d know by now. Surely that was something you could be trusted with? You had to admit, it sounded kind of cute, even if it made your heart twist in an uncomfortable way.

Well, you guessed it wasn’t really any of your business. You tried to put it out of mind…

“Huh?” You were sure you’d misheard Rahu. “You… want me to join your relationship?”

Rahu rolled her eyes, but the effect was largely lost due to the pink flush that ran from her cheeks to her ears. “If you don’t want to, just say so, and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened.”

Of course, you very much did want to join their relationship, and you accepted with a giddy glee that Paradeisos would surely disapprove of. Good thing they’d never know.

Dating Shalom and Rahu was… interesting. Dating Rahu was definitely the easier part, as far as the traditional image of a relationship went – without Schorl’s 24/7 monitoring, you two were able to steal plenty of private moments in locked rooms. Rahu wasn’t much of a talker, so your relationship with her is full of passionate physicality. She kisses you like she’s drowning and you’re her only source of oxygen, and you often have to remind her not to leave marks in places that are hard to hide. You suspect she’s compensating for not being able to touch her other girlfriend, and the marks you do permit her to leave tend to last for days, both silent declarations of devotion and territorial claims to spite Paradeisos, even if they would never know.

Schorl made dating Shalom a whole lot harder than you would’ve liked. You can’t say pretty words of adoration or cuddle and kiss each other without landing you both in scalding water that may very well end with you all three of you killed. So, you have to compensate with more subtle acts of love, such as waking up early to make breakfast in bed for the other instead of one of the maids, or finding excuses to pretty much stay glued to one another for “protection” during missions. It’s not easy, but now that you know how Shalom expresses her love, you are never left in doubt of her feelings.

Despite how difficult the relationship can be at times, you’d never consider breaking up with Shalom and Rahu. You’re overwhelmingly happy, and you hope every day that Shalom’s labor will soon bear its fruits, and you’ll all be free from your yokes – or at the very least, that Paradeisos won’t bring you all crashing back down to earth.

[quicksilverlightning]

You stare down the chessboard, confused.

You are not good at chess - in fact you would call yourself rather terrible at the game - and, despite the little amount of time you’ve known him, someone like Kokichi should be above such basic mistakes. The open path available to your rook ends in a check beside his king and you cannot see any way in which this is a trap.

The easy victory makes you hesitate.

It’s too obvious, surely? Is there something you’re not seeing? Is there some metagame overlay you aren’t privy to, some master plan waiting for you to take the bait? You scowl at the board.

“I am being led, aren’t I?”

Kokichi grins guilelessly, folding his arms behind his head.

"Oh, who really knows? It's not like I'm known for my honesty."

The sarcasm in his voice is evident, spurring more doubt. He watches you from under heavy lashes, his dark eyes gleaming with delight. It's as if he's enjoying your struggle, eager to see what you'll do next. It makes the gears in your brain tick; you refuse to be another Kaito.

“You are leading me,” you flick your own king over and let it topple to the floor. Kokichi has a way of winning even when he’s losing. He kicks his chair out with a laugh, leaning down to pick up the abandoned piece and examines it with faux curiosity.

“Hmm? Did you forfeit? And so close to a win?”

“I wouldn’t have earned it,” you retort, arms crossing over your chest. “It’s not a win if you’re just handing it over.”

Kokichi lifts an eyebrow, placing your forsaken king back in its rightful spot.

“Well, aren't you insightful?” He praises mockingly. But despite his light tone, there's a glint of interest he can’t quite hide. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Are you playing chess at all?”

“Eh?” He adopts a pout that feels like an insult. “You don’t think someone like me would ever lose on purpose, do you?”

“You would if it won you something else,” you snap back the first thing that comes to mind, but the words feel like the right ones - Kokichi is exactly the sort of person that would lose a smaller battle to win the bigger war. You think again of Kaito and wonder what it is that Kokichi gains from losing.

You aren’t surprised when Kokichi challenges you to a game of chess. The boy has been steadily making his way through every student in the academy - well, everyone remaining in the academy anyway. You had already overheard him asking both Hoshi and Gonta for a round, and passed by the abandoned classroom when he played Shuichi. He asked Kirumi just now, and Kaito immediately jumped in with a request to play the winner. 

Kirumi regretfully turned down the request to make dinner, so it was just yourself and Kiyo in the dining room to observe as Kokichi spent the next six games thoroughly mopping the floor with Kaito. To his credit, the astronaut kept a positive attitude, but it was beginning to feel more like a desperate denial of reality by the fourth loss in a row.

“C’mon, man,” Kaito grumbles, pushing his bangs from his forehead. “How the fuck?...”

“Don’t worry Momota-chan!” Kokichi is disgustingly cheerful. “I know you’ll win the next one! You can do it!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Kaito resets the pieces. “Just gotta keep trying!”

The game starts again in an exchange of pawns and shuffle of pieces that feels almost routine now. When Kokichi leaves a gap not even Kaito can miss in the middle of the chessboard, you exchange a glance with Kiyo - you aren’t particularly good at chess, but you know enough to realize the wrong person has the advantage this round. Kiyo only raises a brow and returns his attention to the board where Kaito gleefully accepts the sacrifice that you’re sure is some kind of trap.

But the trap never springs - Kaito's eyes gleamed with renewed hope. A checkmate in sight, he declared his victory, and the astronaut's cry of triumph echoed in the dining hall.

"Checkmate, Kokichi!" He shouted, excitedly jabbing a finger at the opposition's king, knocking it over. Kokichi’s hand darts out to catch the piece before it falls to the floor and places it back on the table.

“Good job, Momota-chan! You got me this time!" Kokichi clapped his hands together with a delighted grin on his face. He seemed genuinely pleased, even though he had just lost.

Kaito sat back, a grin plastered across his face as if he had just won a grand prize instead of a game of chess. 

"Hell yeah, I did! That's what you get for underestimating the Luminary of the Stars!"

Kokichi giggled in response, quickly setting up the board for another round. 

"I'll keep that in mind, Momota-chan!"

You watched them argue amicably with some astonishment. Kaito was obviously thrilled by his victory and seemed to be back to his brash and optimistic self, but you were more amazed at Kokichi's cheerful response rather than Kaito's win.

The boy who prided himself on being a master manipulator and ultimate liar had gone down without a fuss...or had he? You couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that there was something behind Kokichi's smile - some ulterior motive or hidden plan. 

Kiyo chuckled idly from beside you. "The ever-changing dynamics of friendship...how fascinating."

You turned to him - Kiyo was difficult to read behind his mask, but you could see the same doubt reflected in his gaze; Kokichi had lost far too easily.

Before either of you can pursue the subject further, Kirumi emerges from the kitchen to announce that dinner is ready. The chessboard is put away as more students trickle in - you can hear Kaito boasting his win from the other end of the table. You glance at Kokichi from the corner of your eye and nearly jump to find him staring back. He waves cheekily and tucks into his meal.

[richmond-rex]

I’m currently listening to Anne Boleyn: 500 Years of Lies by Hayley Nolan on Audible, and I’m trying hard to like it because it has really good information discrediting some of the beliefs surrounding Anne; but I have to admit that it’s grating me to hear the author stating that the Tudors were “usurpers” and that they were preventing a “more rightful heir” from gaining the throne. I almost screamed in frustration when she blamed H8’s sociopathy on Margaret Beaufort and especially Henry VII, using that one source claiming that H7 once tried to kill H8 in a fit of rage as firm evidence of a miserable childhood (ignoring all evidence stating otherwise); because of course having an overprotective parent (which is all H7 was) is going to cause you to grow up with no conscience. Also is it true that H8 was given absolutely no training in monarchy and came to the throne completely uneducated in that regard, I find that incredibly hard to believe regarding H7.

Hello! First of all, there's so much to unpack here. I think we have to go step by step. A big disclaimer is that I have not read Nolan’s book, so I’m only considering what you told me here. Secondly, I will not be addressing any claims against Margaret Beaufort because, frankly, what did that woman ever do be accused of that — the same Margaret Beaufort who 'of marvayllous gentyleness she was unto all folks' , and who 'unkind she would be unto no creature'? Are we talking about the same Margaret? We know one of her old servants, Henry Parker, was talking about his 'godly mistress the Lady Margaret’ to her great-granddaughter Mary well into the mid-1500s, and we know the time Margaret reprimanded a dean in Christ's College for beating one of his pupils (crying ‘gently, gently!’). I don’t see how she could be considered the origin of anyone’s sociopathy, but I also dislike the term — antisocial personality disorder is a medical condition and I doubt we could ever diagnose Henry VIII with that or anyone else who died five hundred years ago for that matter. The rest of my answer is under the cut! 

Well, now for the rest: I wouldn't say all of the Tudors were usurpers. Henry VII very much was one, as he did unseat England's king at the time of his invasion though that hardly makes him worse than other 15th-century English kings (as I've talked here, Henry IV was a usurper, Edward IV was a usurper, Richard III was a usurper — hell, William the Conqueror had been a usurper four centuries earlier). None of Henry VII's successors would have been usurpers, though (unless we should say every English king after William the Conqueror was a usurper, I guess?). Especially if you consider that they were also the natural successors of the Yorkist line via their descent from Edward IV's eldest daughter and heir, Elizabeth of York. I have no idea who Nolan could be referring to as the 'more rightful heir': the de la Poles, the descendants of Edward IV's sister? The Poles, the descendants of Edward IV's brother? Even if you go by Yorkist descent alone (which not everyone in England regarded as the most legitimate), who would have had a better claim in England than Henry VIII, the son of Edward IV's surviving heir and the son of England's most recent conqueror, Henry VII?

As for Henry VIII's miserable childhood, I don’t think there is evidence of that. We know Henry was well-educated; his father made sure to appoint tutors who taught him in the arts, classics, music, dancing, discourse, courtiership and theological disputation. We also know that Henry VII was personally involved with his sons' education, whilst his wife Elizabeth was involved with their daughters'. It is true that Henry VIII was not initially prepared for kingship but once his brother Arthur had died his father began preparing him for his future office. In July 1504 Prince Henry officially moved into his father's household where it seems Henry VII tutored him personally in some subjects. In August of that same year, the Duke of Estrada, a Spanish ambassador, wrote that 'Formerly the King did not like to take the Prince of Wales with him, in order not to interrupt his studies [...] But it is not only from love that the King takes the Prince with him; he wishes to improve him. Certainly there could be no better school in the world than the society of such a father as Henry VII. He is so wise and so attentive to everything; nothing escapes his attention'. So you can see that Henry VIII was assisted and had at least five years to prepare for the office of kingship, which is more than Henry VII himself ever had.

Lastly, it's clear that Henry VII loved his son. The same ambassador, Duke Estrada, also said in his dispatch: 'It is quite wonderful how much the King likes the Prince of Wales'. There are several entries in Henry VII's privy purse accounts describing items and stuff he bought to his younger son, always referring to him as 'My Lord Harry'. For all we know, Henry VII saw much more of his second son than he ever saw of Prince Arthur who lived in Ludlow, away from court. There is that anecdote about the time Henry VII knighted Prince Henry when he was only three years old: during the ceremony the king picked up his young son and placed him on a table for all to see — a gesture possibly made out of love, fondness, and/or delight in his youngest, though we can only speculate. Henry VII seems to have been determined not to expose his remaining son to danger in the same way that Arthur had been, and some of his more overprotective measures (like the setting of the Prince's apartments, accessible only by way of his own) can be understood as born out of paternal concern, all things considered. The rumours that the Calais garrison was not willing to crown Prince Henry in the event of his death were certainly of great concern to Henry VII.

To sum up, there is evidence that Henry VII did love and care for his son Henry. No doubt their relationship may have been strained at times thanks to Henry VII’s overprotective measures, but it’s also true the king let his son shine on many occasions in his place, denoting both affection and trust. Henry Pole's claim, made in 1538, that the king ‘had no affection nor fancy unto’ his heir should be seen in its proper context: one in which his brother, Reginal Pole, was involved in an ideological campaign against Henry VIII — the message was that not even Henry VIII's own father had loved him. I cannot say if Henry Pole actually said those words (anyone with more expertise please feel free to correct me) or if those were brought up as charges against him, but they do belong in the realm of (real or invented) seditious language. I tried to find the claim that Henry VII once tried to kill his son over a fit of rage in the dispatches sent by Fuensalida (allegedly the one who made that claim according to Hutchinson’s Young Henry), but the only thing I could find was something akin to court gossip, saying Henry VII treated everyone badly for a time (including his son) and spent three hours every night with his eyes closed but not sleeping...... which is?? 

(Here I should comment that Fuensalida not only disliked Henry VII but he was also several times denied access to the king and the Prince of Wales on account of what the English most likely considered to be his rude behaviour. He is also the one who said the Prince was kept closeted away like a girl, not realising that he was specifically denied access to the Prince — perhaps not without reason, seeing how Ferdinand had instructed him in winning the Prince over to their cause. Fuensalida was, of course, only serving the interests of his king, but his skills in diplomacy are somewhat unusual. Even Catherine of Aragon would later complain about Fuensalida’s behaviour). 

In any case, I cannot speak about Nolan’s book as I have not read it but I wouldn’t be surprised if the author makes some unsubstantiated claims, considering the book was not peer-reviewed. That’s exactly how many pop history books work and why it’s hard to hold them to high standards. I hope this answer is not a big rambling mess, but really there were so many things to address, I didn’t even know where to begin. Thanks for the ask, anon! 🌹x

[genshin-impacted]

liquid courage // Kaeya x Reader

Word Count: ~3k

Notes: gender-neutral reader, Kaeya/Reader; cw alcohol, established friendship; friends to lovers (real quick); tons of flirting/bantering (and kissing), PDA, third-person POV of relationship

Summary: And there it is again-- another chance to back away. You wonder how many times there have been close calls like this when the flirting feels all too real and your feelings almost bubble to the surface. Tonight, the two of you are a little tipsy, a little braver, and more reckless-- and you do not back down from Kaeya when he looks like he wants to kiss you.

.

.

Kaeya is an intelligent, well-to-do charming individual and the whole of Mondstadt knows it. As far as the citizens know, he’s the captain of utmost chivalry (especially to the elderly population), and to the Knights, he’s a thinker who, despite his status and position, keeps people at arm’s length.

Except for you.

For most of the people in Mondstadt, they take a look at you and Kaeya and there is no doubt you are the closest of friends. When you buy dinner at The Good Hunters, you always order skewers for Kaeya, and when you are late for your nightly drinking, Kaeya subtly slides his drink to the side to save a seat for you. In both daylight and nighttime, the two of you exchange words in a fast-paced banter that makes it easy for either of you to get along. Or so the common folk assume; they certainly do not converse with Kaeya the way you do, which has always, in some way or another, included some back-and-forth-- some more flirty than others.

"The bed was lonely without you," Kaeya croons when you finally get back from a week-long journey. You choke on your spit when he gives you his best sultry stare. Before, this statement would have turned heads, but the Knights and citizens of Mondstadt are far too used to hearing these snippets of your conversation-- not that it makes it any less interesting to listen to. (And if people take notes on the flirty comments for future use, that is neither here nor there.)

"The feeling is mutual," you coo, recovering quickly as you grasp your hands in prayer. "I spent every night looking at the stars and thinking how much they reminded me of your eyes."

"Oho, thinking of me before you sleep, huh?"

"Every night--"

God forbid a child hears the two of you, but for the most part, you keep it friendly. A jab here-- “I didn’t know you were such a… slacker”-- a flirty remark here-- “Kaeya, just who are you trying to show off to with that outfit”-- whatever makes the other's lips upturn and whatever comes to mind first almost like a battle of wits. However facetious your comments are to each other, the people do not question your friendship for the times you bump shoulders after coming home from an expedition in varying levels of wear and tear with a grin on your faces.

(“I’m just glad Kaeya has someone to look after him,” Jean answers when someone asks about the two of you. She pauses and sighs. “...And the other way around.”)

For whatever reason, no one has ever taken your flirty remarks to each other seriously despite how long they’ve been going for. Nothing has made them question your friendship for how long it has stood or how real the flirty remarks are (if they ever have been in the first place).

The problem with joking about something or doing something ironically is that oftentimes it ends up being quite real.

"Sir Kaeya," you say dramatically one day when Kaeya comes back from an expedition that takes twice as long. You place your hand over your heart, ignoring the way it beats rapidly at the sight of him safe and sound. "Oh, how I have missed you."

"And I, too, my dear heart," Kaeya replies back without a beat in between. And it seems you cannot hide the relief on your face because he drops his flirty grin to settle into a soft smile. "Worried about me?"

Without a flirty remark to hide behind, you can only nod.

(If not for the fact that sometimes you actually feel your face warm from Kaeya’s comments or praises-- and more so when they are actually genuine-- you would have been otherwise ignorant to your own growing feelings for a certain cavalry captain.)

Kaeya always ruffles your hair then, even if you squawk at him and jab at his non-injured side, and those feelings are placed in the back burner to brew later.

The tender moments come and go, and neither of you is the type to sit in it, for how easy it is to clear the air and go back to bantering. You don't mind either way if you were honest. You're the only one who Kaeya shamelessly flirts with and you're the only one privy to the thoughts he holds (especially when drunk). You hold a special position as his friend and he has a special place in your heart as well.

You would be lying to say that everything between the two of you was platonic, not when sometimes you catch yourself staring at Kaeya when he's not looking or wondering briefly what his hair would feel like through your fingers. (You attempt to run your hands through it once but he's much too quick and tall for you to catch him unawares, and now it has become a game that usually ends up with your hair looking like a nest gone wrong.) The thoughts come and go, and you are content with being Kaeya’s friend, for now.

"Another, please!" You wave your hand in the air as you grin, Diona huffing even as she provides two new drinks for you to bring back to your table. "Thank you," you sing, walking with a sort of sway that makes you spill some of the drink on your hands. You're buzzed, that much is certain; you lick at your hand to save what you can before you slam the drinks down in front of Kaeya.

"Bottoms up," you cheer, clinking glasses with Kaeya who laughs a little more freely now that he has a few drinks in him.

"Are you sure you can handle any more?" Kaeya asks, swirling his drink with an amused smile. "No use in pushing yourself. If you're trying to drink as much as Rosaria, you might as well stop now."

"Friends that drink together stay together-- or however that phrase is supposed to go," you say, waving your hand flippantly as Kaeya snorts in his drink. "Something, something, I can drink more. Trust."

"Stop," Kaeya laughs, putting down his drink and throwing his head back. You grin up at him when he throws his arm over your shoulder. "You didn't even give me a real reason."

"You didn't give me a reason when I caught you day drinking the other day," you retort playfully, and Kaeya snickers again, putting his hands in the air.

"What, can't a guy enjoy a Death After Noon... after noon?"

"You're terrible."

"I'm terrific."

You're warm from the drink pouring down your throat and the arm comfortably hooked around your shoulder. If Kaeya notices you lean into him more, he does not say a word, but you joke again, not straying an inch from his side as though you're addicted to his warmth. And aren't you, in a way? With how you keep coming back to the thought that your best friend is one of the most attractive men in Mondstadt, that his eyelashes are unfairly long, and that sometimes you wish you could kiss his eyepatch-- just to see if you can fluster him like he always does to you with you.

Ah, you think, feeling the heady pull of intoxication, there are those thoughts again.

You laugh lightly at something he says under his breath about one of the other customers in Cat's Tail and take the moment to push the thoughts away when Kaeya suddenly cups your face. You would complain about the way he maneuvers your face to his pleasure, turning your head this way and that, but you laugh instead, inwardly pleased by the attention.

"What is it?"

"Lipgloss," he says, and you blame the alcohol for dulling your senses when you only stare blankly at him, wondering if you accidentally missed a piece of the conversation. He snorts when he sees the evident confusion and explains, "Lipgloss-- are you wearing them right now?"

"No?" You ask back, laughing as you shyly swat his hands away to no avail, "I don't think so?" When Kaeya only hums, you reply back almost instinctively, spurred on by your thoughts and-- well, your remarks have always been on the cusp of being real. You press your lips together as your heart races. "Why, they look kissable?"

"Very," he says teasingly, and you smile widely at him as though the two of you were not in an intimate position.

There's always a way out, you realize, at every step of the way-- to deescalate, to redirect the conversation, and treat it as a joke. You could have changed the subject and talked about how dry the weather has been; Kaeya could have replied back as sultry as ever and dropped his hands from your face.

But he doesn't.

Instead, his thumb surreptitiously brushes over your bottom lip, and you look up at him and wonder what your eyes look like to him at the moment.

It would be easy to playfully push him away and call him a flirt. But you don't.

You meet his eyes and say, "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

There is a pause, then-- "Alright." And you can feel Kaeya close the distance between the two of you, his free hand wrapped around the arm you placed onto the table. Your breath hitches when Kaeya stops with his lips an inch from yours and looks at you searchingly.

And there it is again-- another chance to back away. You wonder how many times there have been close calls like this when the flirting feels all too real and your feelings almost bubble to the surface. Tonight, the two of you are a little tipsy, a little braver, and more reckless-- and you do not back down from Kaeya when he looks like he wants to kiss you.

Your eyes flutter closed, and that is the last thing Kaeya needs to close the distance completely.

It is a kiss that is all too chaste-- something that, when people think of Kaeya, is not what they would associate him with. But this is a Kaeya you're familiar with, have seen a glimpse of-- and you are warm everywhere when Kaeya gently slides his lips over yours and tilts his head to fit with you better. Everything is hazy, and you think it's the alcohol, but you're hyper-aware of the softness of his lips on yours, the way your hand reaches out to hold onto the front of his shirt, and the way he holds you so tenderly.

You think you can kiss him forever.

(Neither of you takes note, but the bar has quieted down considerably as the table next to you stares, gaping as the two of you kiss. And with their heads turned, others turn with them as the two of you inadvertently pull the rug from under all of them. The two of you are dating? Since when? Was the flirting never just a joke? What was happening?!

I need a drink, someone says, and the rest of them nod in agreement, much to Diona’s dismay.)

Kaeya is the one that pulls away first, laughing under his breath. “Are you even breathing?” He asks you teasingly, his hand still cupping your face. “I know I take your breath away, but you can’t faint on me.”

You snort, your hand raising up to cover your smile. “Sorry,” you drawl, watching as his hand falls to your thigh. “You were just so breathtaking I forgot how to do anything.”

“Well,” Kaeya says, his voice low enough to be a purr. “You sure knew how to kiss, though.”

You laugh, waving your hand flippantly. “Why, thank you,” you simper, doing a mock-bow. “Same to you. Excellent skills, Sir Kaeya; my heart skipped a few beats there.”

Kaeya lets out another laugh as you pick up your drink and smile into it. And like that, you two are where you first started-- almost.

The two of you talk about whatever comes to mind, bantering ever so often. But for the rest of the night, Kaeya’s hand stays on your wrist, his thumb rubbing over your hand absently, and you catch yourself staring down at his lips as he talks. If you end up in his space again, you stay a little longer, even as you start to sober up and feel your eyes grow heavy.

“Aw, is it your bedtime?” You hear Kaeya say from the temporary darkness you placed yourself in as you bury your face into your arms on the table.

“Shut up, Kaeya.” You snicker, swatting away his hands when they poke at your cheek. “It’s been a long day.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to walk you home now, don’t I?”

This time you are the one looking up at him searchingly, watching for signs of whether he’s joking or not. Your eyes stop at his lips and you turn your head into your arms again. “...Sure,” you say. “Thanks.”

You aren’t sure if you can ever flirt with Kaeya in the same way again, with how your heart skips at the thought of him, but you will manage if that’s what you have to do. You push your stool under the table and throw Kaeya a smile when he opens the door for you to exit first. (You don’t know why Diona glares at the two of you when you wave goodbye, but judging by the cat-nipped smile on Kaeya’s face, you can probably ask him later.)

You’re surprised from your thoughts when you feel a weight on your shoulders, and when your hands reach up to touch it, you feel fur wrapped around your neck. It smells like Kaeya.

“You looked cold,” Kaeya says when you look at his cardigan wrapped around you before glancing back at him. He does not let you provide a response when he starts walking ahead of you. When you make a noise of displeasure, running to catch up to him, he laughs, quietly slowing down his pace until the two of you are walking synchronously.

For once, the two of you are silent.

Every so often your hands brush over his, and your thoughts are loud when they tell you how much you want to hold his hand. You think you will dream of that kiss you shared with him tonight, and then tomorrow the day will begin as normal, teetering on the edge of platonic and romantic. The more you think about the less fine you feel about leaving everything as it is. You don’t want to overcomplicate things but there are so many questions that you want to be answered. Did that kiss mean anything? Does Kaeya have feelings for you? Does he know you like him?

The walk to your home is much too quick this time around, and you are already shedding the cardigan Kaeya has given you as the two of you reach your doorstep. Wordlessly, Kaeya takes back his jacket and you open your mouth without anything to say.

Of all the time for you to be speechless in front of your best friend, it had to be now.

“Kaeya--”

“Good night then,” he says, a second faster than you. With the moon behind him, it’s hard to see his face, but you can imagine how his lips quirk up into a soft smile with how he speaks to you-- and your heart tightens. “Be sure to drink some more water. Can’t have you waking up with a hangover now, can we?”    

You nod, lowering your head. “Yeah,” you say. “Same to you.”

The silence is deafening.

Without another word, you hear Kaeya’s boots shift the gravel underneath his feet, and though there is no more liquid courage coursing through your veins, you tell yourself to be reckless anyways. Your relationship will survive, you tell yourself. Whatever happens, Kaeya will be important to you.

You call out his name.

When he turns around, you ask him to kiss you again.

It’s hard to imagine what sort of expression he has on his face when you’re in uncharted territory, and the slow response has you sweating bullets. But then you hear a quiet “Alright,” and Kaeya is in front of you, putting his hands onto the wall behind you.

You are ready when he dips his head down to kiss you again.

It is just as good as it was the first time.

You wrap your arms around him, a hand buried into his head (finally!) and another clasped behind his neck as he pulls you closer to him with a hand on your waist. Those with Cryo Visions run cold but Kaeya’s lips are nothing but warm as they nip at you and press onto yours over and over again. You bite back a pleasant gasp when you allow him entry, his tongue sliding across yours that has you hazy.

You break away first, and you note vaguely that you are not the only one breathing heavily.

“On a scale from one to ten,” Kaeya says, holding you close to him with a grin, “would you say that was better than what we did in the tavern?”

You roll your eyes even though your face warms at the comment. “Bold of you to assume I would kiss and tell.”

“I do well with constructive feedback, you know,” he quips, making you laugh. “What? Are you saying I don’t?”

“No,” you say, breathless from the kiss and from the elation that everything was okay. “No, I’m just thinking how I would write an evaluation for you with strengths, weaknesses, and improvements--”

Kaeya kisses you again and you forget what you wanted to say.

“...Is this all I have to do to win an argument against you?” He says teasingly, and you headbutt into his chest, much to his amusement.

“It’ll stop working eventually,” you say, settling your hands behind his back as you rest your face onto him. He hums as he holds you close, and you look up at him again and grin. “Guess you’ll have to see how many times it’ll work though.”

And Kaeya laughs into the kiss as you pull him down for another one.

[bigbangclappin]

Counterblow

Pairing: YoongiXReader, with mentions of Yoonmin

Word count: 2.3K

Genre: Angst

Warnings: implied smut, mentions of infidelity, mentions of revenge. This does mention Yoongi's Bisexuality and if that offends anyone then...I have no idea aside from we can't be friends.

Summary: Born and bred to be the wife of a king. You anticipated obstacles in your marriage as you were forewarned. But never had you thought Yoongi would leave your heart mangled on the floor.

To be jealous of a man is distasteful; to be jealous of two is loathsome. 

You stared at your husband and his consort with baleful eyes. How you wished your gaze would set that useless scholar on fire. 

With clenched fists you stood with all the refined grace instilled in you since birth. Men were all the same no matter who they lusted after. 

A terrible misfortune it was for you that your husband, the king, had one eye for women and the other for men. 

Of course only you and few of the higher court officials knew this about the king. Although a small detail to you, others would feel quite unsettled. 

His peculiar taste had no effect on you when it was reassured that you were the apple of your husband’s eye. 

His Words seemed to buzz around in your skull like an angry nest of hornets. In your gut you felt like he told you a lie in order to keep you and his consort because how foolish could he be to flaunt this relationship in your face. Why make a fool out of you in front of the court? He wasn’t being discreet like you discussed.

The blood in your veins boiled as you recall the memory of him with his consort Jimin. 

Doubtful any relations in the physical form would take place in such a public place as his palace You made the mistake of entering although it was your husband's chamber in which you were allowed to enter freely being the queen mother. The memory of what you saw inflamed your heart; the man that you loved and given your whole heart to was Taking on an intimate relationship. 

The cold stab of jealousy you had felt that day slowly turned the feelings you had, the pure love that you had once felt for your husband into bitter resentment.

You were never under the naïve impression that your husband was bound to only you as he did have the right to a harem. 

The upbringing in which you were raised attempted to prepare you for such an issue. Nothing your mother or sister said prepared you for the pain of a broken heart. Whether it was man or woman it didn’t matter the betrayal still stung. Your husband told you many times that you owned his heart. What a bold faced lie.

The heat that had risen to your cheeks at the sheer embarrassment you felt, the jealousy, the betrayal, made tears rush down your face and the only thing your husband could say to you on the matter is that he was a “free spirit“ you scoffed at the poor excuse he gave you.

Your heart has never been the same; it's like it turned to ice and the barriers you surround yourself with were your own kingdom. Never would you ever allow that man to make a fool of you again. How daft you had been to believe that men could ever truly love one person.

You had vowed to yourself from that day on you would only give what you had to and nothing more.

Yoongi had believed that everything was the same and you had forgiven him. Playing the role Of the dutiful queen not once bringing up the past because you knew that conversation would’ve led to a dead end.

Oh no your plan for revenge wasn’t as obvious as your husband like to think it would be. He had kept an eye on you for the first couple of weeks since you found out that he was laying with Jimin.

You were smarter than that and he should’ve known that. A woman scorned is a powerful, painful, terrible thing to behold. A woman could bide her time like no other in order to get back at the one who broke her heart.

That’s exactly what you did. The court expected you to produce an heir quickly to continue on your husband's line of succession. One month after that haunting scene you had fallen victim to your weak heart and allowed your husband into your private quarters. Shortly thereafter you had fallen ill. Upon the king’s command the royal physician tended to you. He gave you news that wasn’t a large surprise but you were happy much the same. Your husband was delighted; his supporters were thrilled.

The smile on Yoongi’s face when it was announced that you had given birth to a healthy boy is what spurned your idea for revenge. The son you bore for him would never have the bond that you did with him. He would know only of your nurturing and love. 

Afterall how could revenge be any more sweet than never knowing the love of your own child?

Your young prince’s loyalty would never be to his father but to you.

________________________________________________________________

At the tender age of two your son might as well Have just been your son. When his father attempted to do anything with him he would just cry and cry for you. As if his father was a stranger that wanted nothing more than to hurt him. 

True enough, you thought to yourself, hurt a child’s mother, hurt the child right? 

Whenever the man asked you what he had done to upset your child you would just shrug your shoulders and say he was perfectly fine a few minutes ago. You would state it’s probably just a phase.

It wasn’t just a phase. Your baby took after you and was a good judge of character. His father was fickle and unsure. Where your baby was consistent and wise even if he was just a toddler.

Which brought you to the situation you were currently in. You had taken breakfast with your son and you had made it a habit to eat without the king. Especially when multiple reports accounted for him being in the library with his consort.  If he wanted to play happy families then he would have to join you when you had time. Your son would not wait to eat because his father’s priorities were askew.

Sungho was happily munching on his porridge and you smiled as you wiped his face with a napkin nearby when your trusted lady in waiting came into your chamber.

“My lady the king approaches and he does not look pleased.“ Jaeun stated seemingly panicked as her eyes shifted between you, your son, and the door that she knew your husband was going to come barreling through at any moment.

“Do not fret my dear he does not frighten me.“

“But your highness—”

The doors to your chamber suddenly crashed against the wood behind it creating a large racontorous sound that spooked your child and your lady in waiting.

There stood your husband, the king in his black and gold dress robes, his long hair that was tied up into a neat ponytail nearly fell in his eyes. He had an angry, fierce look in those tiger shaped orbs as he took in the breakfast your son and you began without him.

“Were we not supposed to have breakfast together?“ Your husband asked you with a certain grit of agitation to his tone.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be able to make it. Namjoon had said this morning that you were preoccupied in the library and our son was hungry.”

  The smile on your face would fool even your worst enemy that everything you were saying was truth and not something planned out of spite. 

You giggled at your little Sungho when he looked at you with more rice on his chubby cheeks. 

Hiding the raging wave of envy behind your child was a habit now. Somehow you thought Yoongi was beginning to catch on.

His nostrils flared in aggravation, “Jaeun please tend to your other tasks…”

Eyes narrowing you weren’t daft; he was trying to clear the room and you weren’t having it.

You raised your hand when your maid began shuffling at the king’s order, she stilled at your wordless gesture.

“Jaeun is fine your highness,” you replied and then pointed to the unoccupied chair across from you. 

Your maid was privy to every little detail between you and the king. Unbeknownst to Yoongi of course, her loyalty also resided with you. She had been your greatest companion and friend throughout your tumultuous relationship.

Your husband glared harshly before forcefully pulling the chair out. It then became a battle of sheer will not to engage in conversation. Preoccupied by Sungho made things a lot easier.

“You declined the invitation to my chamber last night…”

Your husband broke first. Of course he did. He had begun after all this time to feel the iciness you displayed toward him.

You barely spared him a glance as you wiped your son’s mouth, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

He scoffed, his jaw set in anger, “This illness only comes about when I request time with you. You seem well enough now.”

“Very strange isn't it?” You retorted coolly, doing your best to hide your smirk.

“Increasingly.” He spat in annoyance, “Perhaps you should see the physician.”

“I doubt that the physician needs to be bothered your Highness. I'm sure it will subside.”

The king’s agitation became evident after your last statement, “Since when have we become so formal with one another that I am no longer addressed with warmth?”

An eyebrow lifted involuntarily at his question, “I don’t understand what you mean your highness…”

“That is what I mean!” He barked at you, “your highness? When have you ever addressed me as such? It was always Yeobo, my king, my love or at the very least Yoongi!”

You sat quiet in thought after his outburst wondering if now was the time to play your cards but quickly decided against it.It was too soon.

“I had no idea you didn't like being addressed as such my king. I'll make a conscious effort to forgo that title if it makes you unhappy.”

Your eyes followed your husband’s Adam’s apple bob in a frustrated swallow, “why do I feel as if you’re falling away from me?”

Because you had you wanted to scream but you remained poised. Regarding him with fake sadness and empathy.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been making you feel that way, Sungho is at the age where he needs me with him or he does not feel safe. I didn’t mean to make you feel neglected. I thought Jimin had been keeping you occupied while I need to be with Sungho.”

Something in Yoongi’s jaw ticked at the little jab you had thrown in. 

Good you had thought to yourself. Maybe he would realize how asinine he sounded. Complaining about how you spent too much time with your son while he had a companion to warm his bed at night. 

“It isn’t the same…” he said quietly with pain behind his guarded eyes. 

Too little too late.

“I apologize your highness” you said, reaching for his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “I’ll meet you in your palace tonight if you wish after Sungho falls asleep.”

Placing a kiss on top of your hand he was easily appeased with your answer.

Pretending not to enjoy the intimacy your husband showered you with that night proved to be easier than you originally anticipated. 

He placed steamy kisses along your neck and shoulders. Right where he knew it would drive you crazy but he received no response. No indication that you were enjoying yourself the least bit. 

“What’s wrong Jagi?” He asked with genuine concern.

“Hmm?” You responded with deliberate disinterest hoping to wound his pride. “Oh I was just wondering if the kitchen received my request for fresh berries.”

Point blank you shot his ego down. He’s trying to reconnect with you and you’re ignoring him for frivolous cravings. Has he lost his touch with you? Has it been so long since you let him have you that he didn’t know your body anymore? 

He let a humorless chuckle pass his lips incredibly shocked at the hurt he was feeling. It worsened when you lifted the shoulder of your night dress back up over your exposed skin. Had you just rejected him?

“Now that I think of it I should probably check on the preparations for Sungho’s birthday. I’m sure Seokjin is still in the kitchen—” you rose from your husband’s bed but you were halted by the strong grip on your wrist.

“Seokjin can wait!” Yoongi snapped, pulling you down onto his lap. His long blonde hair sheltering you from anything that could take your attention away.

“I haven’t had a single moment with you to myself since you gave birth to our son…” he mumbled into your neck with what you thought was a sniffle.

A small string of guilt tugged at your heart at the pitiful sound. You needed to remind yourself that he did this to your relationship not you. Had he given any thought to your feelings he would’ve realized his mistake.

“Yoongi-ah I’m sorry I thought because you had Jimin you wouldn’t be lonely while I took on the gift of motherhood…” 

“He isn’t you!” He snapped harshly, “You’re the love of my life and I feel like you’re slipping through my fingers…”

He had whispered the last portion of his confession. You sat back enough to take in his harsh features. His pale cheeks blushed pink from his flood of emotions. You touched his cheek and brushed his long hair behind his ear. 

There was nothing you could say to make him feel better. Truly you didn’t want to. The taste of his own medicine tasted bitter just like your heart. He deserved to feel the loss of you by his side. 

“You have no reason to worry my love,” you whispered to him, your stomach doing somersaults at the lie. 

Placing a kiss on his forehead you let him revel in the somewhat fake comfort you gave him. 

He needed to learn that either he continued his affair or he loses you and Sungho for good.

[bartramcat]

CSI/GSR: Long vs. Short Term Arcs

Okay, this is very off the cuff and inspired to some degree by @addictedtostorytelling and the discussion of Morgan and Greg and Hodges. Some stray things:

We know that the only thing decided about Sara Sidle pre-show was that she was meant to be Grissom's love interest.

At some point, before CSI continued to be a ratings juggernaut that Zuiker figured Grissom would go deaf, and that would be how the show would end.

When Grissom turned Sara down in Play With Fire, TPTB had decided that was going to be the end of that.

Things no one could have predicted:

The overwhelming worldwide success of the show, necessitating a workable resolution to Grissom's deaf storyline.

That no matter what, whenever Grissom and Sara are onscreen together, there is "something" there.

Billy and Jorja both were invested in GSR.

It seems to me the combination of the above is what gave us Season 4. In terms of GSR, a case could be made that they were starting all over again in a serialized novel sort of way.

Now I confess to knowing absolutely nothing about the Harry Potter novels, but, in my youth, thanks to Masterpiece Theatre, I did read all of The Forsyte Saga and Trollope's Palliser novels. What serialized novels have in common is that, for the most part, each novel stands on its own, but the author feels the need to continue to explore aspects of his characters beyond the original scope of the original novel.

In that regard, I suppose we could see 1-3 as a kind of GSR entity on its own. Grissom gets promoted and brings the girl he loves to Vegas, only to discover he can't have both the job and the girl. Beginning in 2, Grissom has two simultaneous arcs: the fear of going deaf and his unresolved feelings for Sara, with the first further compounding the complications associated with the second. What he doesn't discover until season 3 is that his "push me/pull me" relationship with Sara drives her to another man, a fact which utterly devastates him to an extent he could never have imagined.

Still, it is the deaf arc that is of more overriding concern: if he can't hear, he not only loses his job but also his entire sense of self at that point in time. Resolving his feelings for Sara will have to be backburnered, so he decides not to punish her for getting a life, as, at that point, he has no life to offer her, since he's not even sure what his life will be.

Meanwhile, back in Saraland, she discovers Hank is a dog and ends the relationship. If GSR were bad soap opera, the fact that Sara was seeing Hank would have been seen as a primary impediment. The thing is it never was. To me it's just one more nail in the Sara low self-esteem coffin. Also, if it were soap, the lab explosion and Grissom's unconscious revelation of his feelings for her would have led to some kind of positive resolution. The problem is that Grissom's deaf arc is still in play, not to mention all of his other relationship with Sara fears.

Sara misreads the situation; she thinks, finally, he might be ready to take the plunge, but she's completely wrong. By bringing their relationship to an either/or position, she basically pushes him into outright rejecting her, thus ending this phase of their arc. Ironically, Grissom's deaf arc gets resolved in the very next episode, but, by then, he really thinks it is "too late."

The thing about 4, besides it being incredibly hard to watch Sara descend into the abyss, is that, for the first time, the show makes it unequivocally clear that Grissom is both sexually attracted to Sara and in love with her. (The first doesn't always imply the second, although we learn later, for Grissom, it does.)

While Homebodies explores Grissom's fears that he won't ever be able to keep his loved one (Sara) safe--perhaps foreshadowing--Invisible Evidence certainly spells it out that his attraction to her is as physical as it is intellectual and emotional. I doubt anyone could watch those "pin me down" seconds out of context and not think that was a man who was about to fuck the shit out of her. (Of course in context it can't happen, but the desire is certainly there.)

Overall, however, outside of that, Grissom goes out of his way to distance himself from Sara: that "too late" thing again. Then the show throws Butterflied at us (and him), wherein it is made abundantly clear he is in love with her and regrets turning her down. What he doesn't know is that she hears everything he says, which twists the knife. She wasn't wrong: he does have feelings for her, only those feelings aren't strong enough for him to risk it, to take a chance on love.

So what we have for the rest of 4 is Grissom continuing to distance himself from Sara under the misguided belief that he has killed any feelings she had for him, while she continues to sink into depression and alcohol dependence. Given his distancing, he seems unaware that something isn't right with her until late in the season, and then it hits him between the eyes and in the gut in Bloodlines.

In a weird way, 4-6 is the inverse of 1-3. If Season 1 begins with a lot of light-hearted flirtation (and off the charts sexual chemistry) and ends with a seemingly insurmountable rift between them, 4-6 begins with the rift and works its way to their becoming an actual committed couple in a seemingly stable relationship. Of course the frustrating part is that the show neglected to tell us when, where, and how, although it's pretty evident that, for Grissom, Bloodlines is the catalyst for him to try to rebuild their relationship. I do not think he did so thinking the end result would be a "beautiful life" with Sara. More than likely, the best he hoped for was for them to be friends again.

As an aside, in the middle of 1-3, we have Cassie James, Grissom's personal Cassandra, telling him "You don't know what you need until you find it." While Grissom's "need" for Sara is couched purely in work terms throughout 3, season 4 into 5 shows a man who has seemingly come to terms with the fact that he both loves and needs her. The first half of 5 shows him far more in tune with her, and they begin to be comfortable together again. While I think he is perhaps at a place where he might occasionally daydream about the possibility that someday they might be together, I also suspect he thinks that ship has sailed.

And that is why he is completely floored in Snakes. Seemingly out of nowhere, she more or less tells him she's still in love with him, although, unlike in Play With Fire, she has no expectations that he can ever reciprocate her feelings. She, too, thinks that ship has sailed, but, now, she is reconciled to that fact.

I suppose the question for me has always been whether or not he goes to her in Nesting Dolls and tells her that it matters to him, not as her boss but as a man, why she's so angry, if Snakes doesn't happen. A large part of a believable narrative is that one thing must naturally lead to another. As a narrative arc, from 4 to mid-5, we get the following:

Invisible Evidence makes it clear that these two people are still sexually attracted to one another, even though neither one would consider acting on it at this point.

Butterflied confirms Grissom is in love with Sara and regrets turning her down.

Early Rollout tells us Sara may have a serious drinking problem.

Bloodlines is Sara at her lowest point, having been pulled over for a DUI, which signals to Grissom just how miserable she is.

In early 5, they begin to rebuild their camaraderie, with Grissom occasionally kind of sort of flirting with her, in his fashion.

Snakes confirms that, despite everything, she's still in love with him.

After her meltdown in Nesting Dolls, Grissom goes to her and coaxes her to tell him her deepest secrets, after which he comforts her, although what transpires between them after he takes her hand, like so many things GSR, is left vague.

It's always been curious to me that after their conversation in Unbearable that the curtain is drawn on exactly what the nature of their relationship is. I have always read, from Big Middle on, that they act like a couple, albeit a couple in the workplace. We get very little entree into their private interactions, so when and how they became lovers is open to individual interpretation. It isn't until the final scene of 6 that the show bothers to tell us they are lovers, and, judging by their interactions in Way to Go, have been a couple for some time.

I don't know about anyone else, but I think they seem married in that scene: completely comfortable with each other in a way that more or less screams that scenes like the one we are finally privy to have been occurring for a while.

In any event, 4-6 is a pretty remarkable journey in GSR land, as the two characters move from barely being able to speak to one another into a full-fledged love affair.

The amazing thing to me is that both the 1-3 and the 4-6 segments follow a logical progression, with each small insight or revelation explaining both choice and behavior--and leading into the next arc in their relationship.

It really is good stuff.

[lovethestars1966]

STEREK, falsely accused FBI CH17, complete

IT IS COMPLETE! Yo it is FINALLY finished. And I dead ass forgot to post it on here. It has actually been done for about a week so I am really sorry for my tardiness posting it here. Below is a small snippet of the epilogue, 

WARNING does contain spoilers. 

Also I apologise for the spelling and grammar errors, I always seem to miss a few.

I’ve put a keep reading because it’s a lot of words, hit that to read the full snippet and his the link to see Stiles crush it as a lawyer. 

FINALLY, thank you all so much for the most amazing reviews and compliments, all of them undeserved. You are so fucking amazing and I can’t tell you how much this all meant to me!!! I love you all.

LINK

CH one:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/78866347

Epilogue: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/85028854#workskin 

————— 

“This is not going well,” Stiles hissed into Derek’s ear five days later, the last day of Gerard’s trial. 

“Shh,” Derek hissed back, Stiles ignored him.

“Like on a scale of one to ten, one being the best outcome possible, and ten being them overthrowing the case and handing Gerard the presidency, this is a fucking one hundred,” he continued, and Derek turned to him with a quirked eyebrow.

“What could be worse making a sociopathic megalomaniac President?” Derek pondered quietly and Stiles looked to contemplate the question for a moment.

“Making him an omniscient ruler of the universe,” he suggested, and Derek nodded judgmentally.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for Stiles to hear, “it was my own fault for engaging.” Stiles frowned and pinched his side.

Suddenly there was a banging from the front of the room, “I will have silence in this courtroom,” Judge Ryder sneered towards them, “if you two are bored of these proceedings, please feel free to excuse yourselves.”

Stiles bit down on his snide response and slouched back into his seat defeatedly. From the corner of his eye he could see Gerard ginning manically, victory well within reach, but Stiles refused to give him the satisfaction of looking over. 

Derek turned a bright shade of pink at being called out and choked out an apology that Stiles didn’t plan to echo. This whole trial had been a show.

“He’s just drunk on power,” Stiles huffed quietly once the rooms attention slipped back onto the defences expert they had on the stand, he was currently ripping their own expert testimony apart. Derek didn’t respond this time, just gave him a swift kick to the ankle in warning. “Ow,” he griped and glowered at his husband. 

“The defence rests your honour,” one of Gerard’s many lawyers announced smugly and sent Derek and Stiles a mightily superior look as he sat down. Stiles doesn’t regret poking his tongue out at the man for a single second, not even if it earns him another ankle kick.

“And the prosecution?” Judge Ryder asks reluctantly, and turns to face their own team of lawyers the DA of Sacramento lent them. Babies, the lot of them. Stiles was sitting just behind the babies as it so happened, and so he was privy to their hushed conversation.

“Do you have anything?” The man asked leaning over to first chair, a woman in a clean cut pants suit who Stiles could tell really wanted to win, she just didn’t know how. 

“After that?” She muttered in shock, “no way, we’ll just leave it for closing statements and finish it then,” he heard her whisper back, and Stiles was growling and then springing forward out of his seat faster than anyone could catch him.

He leaned over the railing, into their little brain trust and pulled both of their seats back until his head was neatly in the middle of them both, just as she was about to tell the judge their decision and hissing a little harsher than necessary.

“Don’t you fucking dare say that!” He whisper shouted, and the whole room erupted in hushed mumblings. 

“Excuse me?” The woman balked back, shocked at his intrusion.

“Order!” Ryder yelled, banging his gavel incessantly, “order!”

“If you don’t discredit that testimony right now, you may as well make your closing statement a resignation letter, because no one will hire you after that.” He warns, and he sees a flare of anger shine in her eyes, for a second he thinks she’s going to do it just to spite him, but looking sideways at the jury, she turns back and leans in closer.

“What do you mean?” She asks genuinely interested, although clearly still pissed off.

“You cannot let that be the last thing the jury hears,” he tells her, a bit more calmly now that he knows he has her attention, “they will come into closing already on the defences side, do you know how hard it is to win a jury back with closing, harder than you can achieve I’ll promise you that.”

She growls at the challenge, “Well what would you suggest?” She demands.

“Anything is better than nothing,” he growls.

“Order!” Ryder orders again, and finally settles the court room down,

“Don’t let the the doctor go, cross-examine,” he pushes her, voice urgent. She rolls her eyes.

“And just what could I say up there that wouldn’t make him sound more convincing?” She questions clearly losing faith in him.

“Agent Stilinski!” Ryder calls commandingly, Stiles ignores him.

“Stiles,” Derek hisses more worriedly from behind him, “sit down,” he tries to tug Stiles back into his seat.

Stiles shrugs him off, “Look at his watch, his clothes, for fucks sake his tie pin has a diamond on it,”  he growls, and both lawyers flick their eyes to the so called Doctor.

“Agent Stilinski, you have five seconds before I hold you in contempt!”

“Stiles is so badass,” Erica whispers to Lydia beside her.

“I still don’t understand,” the lawyer whispers back, eyes panicked now.

Stiles growls and hangs his head, “I don’t know his name,” he urges her and then lets Derek pull him back finally, and glares heatedly at Ryder.

“Are you finished?” The judge asks, rather condescendingly. 

Stiles just holds his hands up as indication, refusing to speak. 

Ryder looks disappointed that he couldn’t kick Stiles out, but looks back towards the prosecution lawyers who stare back wide eyed. “Well?” He prompts, “do you wish to release the witness or not?” 

The woman freezes momentarily, and then looks back towards Stiles. Stiles bulges his eyes as an indication that she should do what he said already, and she gulps before placing her hands face down on the desk, and using them to heave herself up slowly. 

Stiles reflected back on the expert witness and his testimony. He was clearly only here to throw doubt on all of their accounts, unfortunately he had done a very good job of it, and the look on the juries faces, prior to Stiles outburst, was very compelled. 

His main schtick had gone along with the theme of Gerard’s entire defence, and that was, ‘the prosecution is mistaken’. He had given evidence that a person like Joseph could be mislead to believe he was following Gerard’s orders, that he was crazy, which was true, but not in that way. He had taken all of their testimonies into question by implying a lack of objectivity, and since this was just a trial on his involvement with Joseph they couldn’t use any of the evidence they had found connecting him to senators and joint chiefs to compound their argument, since that was a much more confidential trial.

Stiles closed his eyes and the woman, Cassidy Taylor, turned away from him and looked up at the judge. This was not going to go well. 

“Your honour we do wish to cross,” She spoke shakily and Stiles cringed, he willed her to speak more confidently, not show any fear, and then suddenly, his wish was granted. “Yes,” she said with dawning realisation, “we do,” 

Stiles flicked his head up, curious as to what caused this abrupt change, and saw her grinning over at him. 

It would seem she had a plan. Stiles felt a tremor of nervousness run up his spine, because she seemed dangerously certain. 

“We do,” she repeated, and then stepped out from behind the desk and made firm eye contact with the judge, it was enough to have even Ryder shifting in his seat, “but to do the cross, we wish to invoke emergency council.”

Stiles eyebrows flew to his forehead, and the courtroom, again, erupted into murmurs. That hadn’t been what he was expecting. 

Derek looked to him with the same question in his eyes that was floating around Stiles mind, “does she mean you?”

[lady-of-the-lotus]

The Undershirt

The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty - Suitang - 2k - G - first kiss fluff - AO3!

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

“Hand it over,” orders Sui Zhou.

Tang Fan pouts, a pout somewhere in between his “I’m hungry, feed me” face and “Dinner was an hour late, I almost died” face.

“I ran out of clean ones,” he says when Sui Zhou holds out his hand, “and I had to pack in a hurry—”

“I had only three rules. Rule one: Don’t mess up my house again—”

“Alright, alright,” Tang Fan says before Sui Zhou can lecture him. Leave it to Sui Zhou to take an inventory of his clothes as soon as he got home, all because Tang Fan had left his things just the tiniest bit mussed! “Take your stupid undershirt back; it’s too big on me anyway.”

Sui Zhou turns back to his cooking as Tang Fan slips halfway out of his robe, making a face as he removes the undershirt. Missing Sui Zhou, Tang Fan had pilfered the distinctive draped-neck garment from his things after he’d left on his ill-fated “business trip.” “Happy now, Sui-baihu?”

Sui Zhou glances up briefly from the soup, eyes flickering over Tang Fan. Sui Zhou’s handsome features are soft in the warm yellow candlelight and the orange glow of the stove. “Better.”

Tang Fan stands there with his robes draped around his waist, chest exposed, shyly holding the undershirt in front of him, watching Sui Zhou’s strong, sure hands as they slice vegetables and meat and then, once dinner is cooking, assemble the dessert, grinding the sesame seeds and working the delicate mixture.

A swell of fondness fills Tang Fan’s chest as Sui Zhou puts the finishing touches on the little sesame cakes, decorating each with a pink circle of honeyed flower petals.

"Aren't you going to put the undershirt back on?” Tang Fan asks as Sui Zhou puts the last petal in place. Most of the shyness has worn off as Sui Zhou tells him about how he developed the recipe, his deep voice low and soothing as it fills the cozy little kitchen.

"Later." Sui Zhou glances up, eyes flickering once again over Tang Fan's bare chest before returning to his work. Perhaps it's the warm glow of the candle, but Tang Fan imagines there's a hint of color in Sui Zhou's cheeks.

Too late it occurs to him that he should have at least put his robes back up over his arms and chest. Jiejie had driven it through his head that to wear robes without an undershirt was uncouth and a sure way to get the robes dirty, but…

"Do you still have your prison clothes? That was a good look." The question escapes Tang Fan before he can censor himself. "I mean—your uniform is good too—I mean, your normal undershirt is better than that prison one.” He dangles the undershirt from his fingertips, as if this question was just an extension of him returning Sui Zhou's undershirt. “I mean...”

Sui Zhou cranes his neck away slightly, as if trying to avoid looking at Tang Fan but probably only checking to make sure Dong'er isn't nearby to see Tang Fan in this state of undress. "Be careful with that. You're going to set the kitchen on fire again."

Grinning, and more at ease now that the conversation is back in familiar teasing territory, Tang Fan sidles closer to Sui Zhou, waving his shirt near where the mutton soup is bubbling on the fire. "Oh, that was on purpose. You know, to get you to free Dong'er—"

Sui Zhou gives him that look of his, the one that appears completely expressionless but in fact contains a half dozen emotions from all corners of the spectrum. "You set fire to my house on purpose?"

"Well—"

"What about the time you fell asleep with the candle beside your bed, and the time you tripped and fell holding the lamp—"

"Fine, it wasn't on purpose. But the bad food was! I can cook, if I wanted to—”

"You can't cook."

Tang Fan inches closer. He's not quite sure why. "You could teach me."

Sui Zhou frowns slightly. "You step foot in my kitchen without me here, and you sleep outside with the sheep."

Tang Fan wrinkles his nose. "The sheep has a name ."

"Li Qing?"

Tang Fan almost drops the undershirt on the stove. "How did you—”

Sui Zhou turns away again as if to hide a grin. Li Qing is the main character of Tang Fan's magnum opus, My Sexy Lady .

"You didn't read it!" Tang Fan leans forward in consternation. He's not sure why he's so thrown. It's a brilliantly-written work, like all of his books, but somehow to have Sui Zhou privy to—to all that — "Wang Zhi told you or something—wait till I get my hands on him!"

Sui Zhou is definitely holding back a grin. "I liked the part where the ‘sexy lady’ sets fire to Shi Yang's house after she thinks he stole her necklace."

"That never happened! She never did anything half so crazy!”

Sui Zhou is no longer holding back his smile. "Maybe in the sequel, My Sexy Wife."

Tang Fan laughs out loud. People who don't know Sui Zhou think he's stiff and cold and completely humorless, but Tang Fan knows better. It's subtle, but Sui Zhou's sense of humor and appreciation of the outlandish is definitely there. If it weren't, Tang Fan doesn't think he would get along with him as well as he does.

Which, when he stops to think of it, is rather odd. His getting along with him so well, not the sense of humor. Despite having lived in the capital for years, and having many acquaintances, Tang Fan has few close friends. As he knows he’s a delight to be around, never complaining and generously standing people meals, he can only assume it’s a failing in other people.

A failing that Sui Zhou evidently doesn’t have, to appreciate Tang Fan’s virtues, both hidden and overt.

It’s not that Tang Fan annoys people. That can’t possibly be it, no matter what Jiejie says. But he can’t deny that not everyone appreciates him, and that hurts, sometimes.

A sudden thought, and Tang Fan abruptly stops laughing. Why did Sui Zhou pick that example? Surely it was just a joke after what they'd been talking about—he knows it is—but of all characters to pick—

Tang Fan had based a lot of Li Qing on himself. Like him, she's a beautiful genius often put-upon by those who fail to appreciate her properly, driven to do the right thing at whatever costs, someone who appreciates fine food and faces the world with a smile no matter how she's feeling.

No. Sui Zhou is just teasing him, as usual. That's it. He probably hadn't even finished the book...

He wants to ask Sui Zhou if he liked the book, but despite it being his best-selling work, he’s hesitant to ask. Sui Zhou is nothing if not honest, and what if he didn’t truly like it?

Tang Fan resolves to start work on a sequel that night. Perhaps Shi Yang could enter the imperial guards and, together with Li Qing, solve a series of increasingly exciting mysteries that pit them against the world. Back to back, they’ll chase justice and stand strong against the winds of—

“Here.” Sui Zhou slides the plate of sesame cakes towards him. “For coming to get me.”

Tang Fan grins. “You mean rescuing you.”

Sui Zhou turns back to the soup. "Just eat them."

Tang Fan inches even closer, more to annoy Sui Zhou than anything else, he thinks. "Go on, say it. I rescued you."

"Keep this up, and you're getting kicked out of my kitchen."

" Your kitchen? Why is it—oh, right. It's your house." Tang Fan looks down at the sesame cakes. It's almost a shame to eat them, they’re so beautifully decorated. "Am I allowed to eat them before dinner, or are you going to get all sulky?"

Sui Zhou gives Tang Fan a look as if to say, I'm not the childish one here, and reaches for a sesame cake just as Tang Fan does. Their fingers brush, and tingling current runs up Tang Fan's arm. Startled, he jerks away, dropping Sui Zhou's undershirt on the stove.

Spattered in mutton grease, it erupts in a column of flame.

"Augh!" Panicking, Tang Fan drops the shirt in the soup. “Put it out! Put it out!”

Sui Zhou snatches the shirt out of the soup and drops it in a pot of water. "What did I just tell you about setting my house on fire?"

Smiling weakly, Tang Fan begins sidling in the opposite direction as Sui Zhou comes closer. "You startled me! You grabbed at me just as I was trying to eat, I haven't eaten all day, I was hungry, you forced me to take a cake—"

He bumps up against the wall. Sui Zou leans over him, one arm framing him, his face a mix of exasperation and—and fondness, Tang Fan wants to believe, though it’s hard to when there's a charred, soup-soaked undershirt not five feet away.

"It wasn't my fault I burned your shirt!" Tang Fan continues bravely. Whining has always worked on Old Pei and Jiejie, though he still hasn’t quite learned the exact point Jiejie’s indulgence tips over into slapping-him-across-the-face territory, hence all the slapping. "Tired after weeks of traveling, traveling across half the empire to rescue you, if you recall, weeks of seasickness and danger and unpadded saddles and not being able to finish my rice noodles in the one good restaurant between here and I thought you were dead at one point, and that was almost as bad as the noo—"

Sui Zhou bends forward and kisses him.

Tang Fan goes rigid.

Did—did Sui Zhou just—

Sui Zhou kisses him again, as if to clear up any doubts.

"Well, that's one way to stop you from talking," he says.

Tang Fan's heart is beating like a war drum, but strangely enough it's not from nerves. There's a smile on Sui Zhou's lips (rather full lips, he notices. Until now he's been too distracted by his arms and shoulders and—well—all the rest of him, most likely), and there's definite fondness in his eyes.

"I once talked through an acupuncture session for a sore tooth," Tang Fan says boastingly, more to calm his nerves than anything else.

He’s never been kissed before. Or rather, being a man, perhaps it was more appropriate to say he’d never kissed anyone before.

He’d always changed the subject when Old Pei brought it up. The local girls had never interested him, and he’d never though there were other— options—

"You can ask him at dinner,” he blusters on, pulse fluttering. “I was probably able to give him some good tips and pointers, I once read a book on acupuncture that—"

Sui Zhou shuts him up again, cupping his face in his hand. It smells of honey and spice, the callused palm somehow soft against Tang Fan's cheek, his long fingers curling around the back of his neck as he kisses him.

Tang Fan is suddenly very aware that he's half-naked, but it's somehow nice being around Sui Zhou like that, not uncomfortable as he's sometimes felt in the past around others. Natural, despite his first-time nerves.

He suddenly realizes that Sui Zhou is looking down at him as if waiting for him to say or do something.

"Am I allowed to speak again?" Tang Fan asks.

Sui Zhou half-smiles. "Nothing could stop you from talking for very long."

"I want another one of your undershirts, but a black one this time. I saw one tucked away in the chest, but Dong'er said it wouldn’t match my robes, though what does she know? I want the black undershirt, and—"

"Black to hide any future char?"

"This was an accident! You startled me!"

"The one you were wearing today is mostly black now, after you set it on fi—"

Tang Fan kisses him.

"You're right," he says, grinning at Sui Zhou, who seems to have forgotten how to speak. "That does work."

*

AO3

[hyogonokitsune]

longing: epilogue -- suna rintarou x reader

I couldn’t help myself so I wrote a lil follow up to this. it’s just pure fluff, like so sickeningly sweet that I gotta go rinse the overpowering taste of honey out my mouth after posting this. okay <3

1500 words

Comfortable; that’s the word you would use to describe your relationship with Suna. After several months together, you had settled into a steady routine. Each day was more or less the same, but it was anything but tedious. Waking up to his peaceful face each morning, bumping playfully into his hip as you cooked breakfast together, sharing a private grin as you caught each other’s eye in class, walking hand-in-hand through campus, your laughter falling easily past your lips; these mundane moments you spent in his company never failed to make your heart race excitedly, your stomach to flip over at the knowledge that you and him belonged to each other.

You loved hanging out with your friends together, gaming or watching tv or tossing around a volleyball; you loved going to parties with him, feeling his warm hand on your hip, your head buzzing from both the alcohol and his intoxicating scent. But most of all, you loved the quiet moments shared by just the two of you, those moments where no words needed to be spoken.

This was one of those moments. You and Suna sat on the floor of his room facing each other, eyes trained on your laptop screens as each of you focused on finishing up a paper that was due the next morning. You both had headphones on, wrapped up in your own little worlds as you typed away; no conversation was occurring, but just being able to be in each other’s presence was enough. Occasionally you glanced up, a warm smile appearing on your face each time you saw how intently your boyfriend was working, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows whenever he searched for the right word to use.

Suna could feel your eyes on him, struggling to keep his expression blank whenever he saw you peering up at him out of the corner of his eye. He would never admit it to anyone (except maybe to you), but his heart thrilled at the sight of you, his pulse pounding in his ears, every time without fail, when he thought about how sweet you were. He found himself counting his lucky stars at least half a dozen times a day that you had chosen him; every now and then a small feeling of doubt set in, disbelieving that someone so perfect for him had ever wandered into his life.

While continuing to type, your eyes locked on your screen, you stretched out a leg towards him. Unconsciously, your foot skimmed over the side of his calf. He finally glanced up, and a tender smile came over his face when he saw you. A few locks of hair were falling into your eyes with your head slightly tilted, bottom lip rolling between your teeth as you scanned over your work. A breathy chuckle escaped him, the soft sound of it making you look up. His heart started racing when you smiled back at him, a smile that fit as naturally on your face as anything ever could.

“Your feet are so cold,” he said, the grin still on his face.

“I know, they always are.”

“Wear thicker socks, babe.”

“Why don’t you buy me thicker socks, babe?”

The pair you had on now had been a gift from Suna, and they were one of your favorite articles of clothing. They were knee-high, covered with little cartons of french fries on a gray background; it was a rather kitschy pattern, but the reason why he had bought you that specific pair when he had come across them is what made you love them so much. As soon as you had torn off the wrapping paper (which had been applied haphazardly, and with way too much tape), a laugh had bubbled up from your chest as you remembered that first day when you and Suna had hung out, just the two of you. You thought about how you had buried your face in his shoulder as a character in the movie you were watching fell face-first into a deep fryer, your groan changing into a laugh at Suna’s reaction. Realizing that he had remembered such a small detail so early on in your friendship had made your face crack into a wide grin, your chest feeling so full at knowing that he had cherished the same memory as you.  

It was the little gestures like that that revealed your boyfriend’s underlying nature. He had a caring side that he kept hidden from the world, only letting it show in front of you. Being privy to his true character, being trusted enough to be allowed access to the innermost secrets of his heart, made you feel like the most special person in the world. Sometimes you felt as if you were in a dream, thinking that this happy existence was almost too good to be true.

It was well into the wee hours of the morning by the time Suna heaved a sigh, finger loudly pressing into his keyboard. “Done, submitted, thoroughly disinterested in spending one more goddam second on this laptop.” He snapped it shut and stretched his arms over his head, eyes squinching shut. “You almost finished, baby?”

“I submitted it forty minutes ago,” you said, still looking at your laptop. You could feel your retinas burning after several hours of staring at the blue light of your screen, brain utterly fried from overwork.

“What? What have you been doing this whole time?”

“Playing bubbleshooter.”

Suna stared at you, his mouth unintentionally hanging open. “Why didn’t you go to sleep? It’s four in the morning.”

“I didn’t want to go to bed without you,” you told him simply.

He leaned forward and grabbed your laptop from your hands, shutting it as you whined at him.

“Hey! I was in the middle of a game!”

“Get in bed, baby,” he said quietly, before pressing a kiss against your lips. He could hardly believe how cute you were.

You only grumbled a bit as you changed into one of his t-shirts, climbing into the bed and sighing contentedly when your head hit the pillow. Suna turned off the lights and laid down behind you, his hand coming to rest on your upper arm, fingers trailing up and down your skin.

It was moments like this that you liked the best, relaxed and sleepy with his body curling around yours, his warmth seeping into your skin, his breath tickling the nape of your neck. Suna’s scent surrounded you, making you feel at home. It was moments like this that made you feel the most like you, as if his arms were where you had always belonged, and it had only taken you all these years to find your way to them.

You were about to drift away when the sound of Suna quietly clearing his throat brought you back. Your eyes were still closed, but your ears were ready to catch whatever he was about to say. You waited, but he had fallen silent. Figuring that there hadn’t been any intention behind it, you allowed yourself to doze off again.

Suna’s hips shifted behind you, the sudden movement tugging at your fading consciousness. Once again, you waited to see what he would do.

“Hey, Y/n?” His voice was so soft you almost missed it. His fingertips were still tracing over your arm, the comfort of his touch making you feel as calm as you ever had.

“Hmm?” Your response was a low hum in your throat.

There was a brief pause. Suna licked his lips and drew in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs until they started to ache.

“I love you.” His fingers finally stilled, resting delicately on your skin as if he wasn’t sure if they should be there at all. Your lack of an instant reaction made his heart pound furiously against his ribs.

There was only one clear thought in your head: I know. You had known for a while, without even being aware that you knew. How could you have not known? It was so evident in all of his actions, in every word he spoke, even the ones that teased you and made your face burn hot. Every gentle touch, every tender glance, every affectionate smile was overflowing with the proof of his love for you. It took him saying the words aloud for you to finally comprehend it, but deep within your heart you had already known the truth; you had already known for quite some time.

Burrowing down deeper under the covers, you reached out in the darkness to clasp his hand, pulling it down around you, pressing his palm against the place where your heart beat steadily. He snuggled closer, head leaning in until the tip of his nose brushed along your neck.

“I love you, too, Rintarou.”

At your words, he sighed into your skin, all the tension he had been holding dissipating instantaneously.

This was the moment you loved most of all, the moment that made everything else seem so insignificant.

--

➣ masterlist

[hardcasey]

Soft Hands, Soft Hearts

Won't Fade into the Background - Part 1

Pairing: Wooley x GN!Reader

Summary: You and Wooley have been pining for each other for a while, but after a few drinks at 79′s, you gain the courage to make the first move. 

Word Count: 3.3k 

Rating/Warnings: G, this is just pure fluff 🥺

A/N: Okay, so I had the idea to make a series devoted to giving the background clones the love they deserve. I have ideas for a bunch of different clones, but if their are any specific boys you are interested in, please let me know! I started with Wooley because I was feeling soft and he is baby (sorry, I don’t make the rules)  😤 This installment is fluffy af, but I have some ideas for a smutty follow-up if there is any interest. 

Also, a HUGE thank you to @delusionsxfgrandeur for both proofreading this and giving me the confidence to post it in the first place 💕

It had been months, but the 212th had finally returned to Coruscant after a particularly grueling campaign. The men, having received a week of well-earned shore leave, had barely gotten their feet on the ground before making a beeline to 79’s. Which is where you now sat, drunk off your ass amidst a sea of white and orange. 

You were an information officer attached to the 212th and had quickly befriended many of its members, a feat you accomplished just by treating them with the most basic level of respect and consideration. All it took was you remembering their names and sneaking them in a few treats before they were all following you around like a pack of lost puppies. It made you very protective over them, they all were such good, soft boys who deserved the world. Especially Wooley, the clone currently sitting next to you in the booth you had all squeezed into. 

He was younger then some of the other troopers like Waxer and Boil, still too shiny to have earned his colors yet. He was soft-spoken and somewhat shy, which only endeared him to you more. And he also had the softest, fluffiest looking hair you had ever seen, which he wore in an undercut that just accentuated the look for maximum poof. 

The only thought in your head right now was how much you wanted to run your hair through it. I bet it feels like a cloud, you thought drunkenly as you stared at him unabashedly, no doubt grinning like an idiot. You had your chin resting in your hand and started to loll your head back and forth, basking in the pleasant buzz of the alcohol coursing through your system. Evidently, it had started to affect your fine motor skills since your chin slipped from your palm and you bumped your nose hard against the rim of your glass. 

“Ow,” you winced as you rubbed your face, shooting a dirty look at Waxer as he snickered at you from across the table, drawing the attention of others. 

“Had enough?” Cody asked, cocking up his eyebrow at you with a smile, an expression he had no doubt picked up from General Kenobi. 

“Mmmh, I think this’ll be my last drink,” you replied, motioning to the half finished drink in front of you. You had reached the perfect level of drunkenness, just enough to leave you feeling carefree and happy without becoming too messy. The last thing you wanted was for one of the boys to have to drag your drunk ass back to your room, especially on their first night of leave. 

Wooley caught your eyes as you settled back down, and you shot him a broad smile that made his heart beat faster. He could feel his cheeks heat up slightly and he smiled timidly back at you before you turned back to Cody, the two of you falling into a playful back and forth. 

Wooley’s eyes fell to his hands, looking sheepish, and Boil chose that moment to kick him under the table. Wooley made an indignant noise at his vod’s antics, and was about to protest when Boil started darting his eyes at you repeatedly and mouthed ‘Talk to her’. 

His brothers could read the hesitation on his face because Waxer swooped in and said lowly, “She’s been staring at you all night, vod. She likes you!”

Both Waxer and Boil knew of his giant crush on you, and had launched a campaign to get the two of you together, much to Wooley’s embarrassment. The two of them were not subtle and the last thing he wanted was the two of them making a scene in front of you. He took a long drink of whatever alcohol was in front of him, hoping to quell his nervousness. 

With Wooley’s attention momentarily elsewhere, he missed the moment when Boil caught Cody’s eye and gave him a small nod. The Commander was also privy to their plans and masterfully steered the two of you’s conversation to Wooley’s recent accomplishments on the battlefield. 

“You should have seen it, he jumped right on top of the spider spider droid and took it out faster than I could blink, isn’t that right Wooley?” 

Wooley froze as you turned to look at him expectantly, barely managing not to choke on his drink. “Uhh, yeah,” was all he managed to come up with in response and he wanted to smack himself. Kriff, why was he so bad at this? 

You rattled off a couple more questions at him, which he answered in similar fashion, though if you were bothered by it you didn’t show it. He nervously ran a hand through his hair as he desperately wracked his brain for something, anything to say. 

Luckily, he was saved when you blurted out, “Can I touch your hair?” Apparently being drunk made you just say anything, huh, you chided yourself, hoping the booth would swallow you up whole. 

You were completely surprised when he stuttered out, “S-sure,” and scooted closer to give you better access. Reaching up and running your fingers through his thick curls, you found that it was in fact softer than a cloud, a thought which made you start to giggle uncontrollably. Your laughter was infectious because soon enough, Wooley was laughing too. 

You kept slowly playing with his hair, your hand sometimes wandering to the sides to feel the short hairs there. A shiver ran through his body at the sensation “That tickles,” he told you, eyes half lidded and words slightly slurred, though you couldn’t be sure if it was from the alcohol or something else.  

Your fingers paused. “Oh, sorry. I can stop if you want.”

You started to pull your hand away but he caught you around the wrist gently. “No!” he said, maybe a little too loudly. He winced slightly and then much more softly he said “I like it,” before placing your hand back on his head. 

You smiled and told him, “C’mere,” pulling him closer so that he could rest his head on your shoulder. “My arm was getting tired. This is much more comfy.” 

“Mmm,” he agreed as he shifted to settle against you. His  cheeks were still pink but he seemed much more relaxed now.

“So it sounds like you’ll be getting to paint your armor orange soon, huh?” 

His eyes brightened at that and your heart clenched at the proud look that washed over his face. “Yeah! I have a few ideas of how I’m gonna paint it, but I haven’t decided on a final design yet.” 

“What are some of them? I’ll help you make up your mind.” 

~~~

By the time you all left the bar it was early in the morning, but the streets of Coruscant were still packed with people, all hoping to enjoy the first day of the weekend. You and the rest of your group weaved through the throngs of people as you made your way back to the barracks. Being short, you had a harder time pushing your way through the people and almost got separated from the group before someone grabbed your wrist and tugged you back into the group. 

You stumbled towards whoever had rescued you, looking up to see it was Wooley. “Don’t wanna lose you,” he said gently and you felt your heart do a backflip. He had no business being this cute! None at all!

He hadn’t released your wrist yet, and maybe it was the alcohol making you braver than normal, but you decided to slip your hand into his. When he realized what you had done, he looked down at your joined hands and smiled up at you before the two of you raced to catch up with the rest of your group. 

When you finally arrived at the barracks, you were about to reluctantly pull your hand away when Cody said, “Wooley, why don’t you walk her back to her room, just to make sure she gets back safely. We don’t want to lose our favorite information officer.” 

“Uh, yes sir!” Wooley said with a salute, though he misjudged the force of his hand somewhat and thwacked himself in the eye instead. He was just thankful he had the alcohol as an excuse for his mistake, instead of the real reason, which was the look in Cody’s eyes that said ‘If you don’t ask her out tonight, you’ll be on latrine duty for a week.’ 

Without further ado, you bid the rest of the boys goodnight and started off towards your room, still hand in hand. Even though it was calloused, his hand was still so warm and nice against yours, and you never ever wanted this to end. You squeezed his hand lightly and your heart soared when you felt him squeeze back. 

The walk to your room was about a thousand hours too short and you quickly found yourself standing in front of the door. 

There was a beat of silence where the two of you just started at each other, both unsure of what to say. Wooley was racking his mind for a way to ask you out on a date, desperately hoping you couldn’t feel how sweaty his palm was. 

You beat him to it, though, and asked, “Do you have any plans for this week?” If you don’t I was thinking we could, um, do something together tomorrow.” Your bravery faltered somewhat halfway through, but it didn’t matter because his eyes lit up and he nodded back vigorously. 

“That sounds great!” 

“Okay! I’ll think of some places we can go and text you in the morning so we can decide.” 

“Great!” 

There was another beat while you had an internal debate with yourself. Did you kiss him? Should you ask or just do it? Should you wait to see if he kissed you?! Little did you know that Wooley was having the exact same debate in his head, only about 100 times more panicked. 

You decided that you had no more bravery left tonight and settled on running your hand up his arm and giving his bicep a little squeeze. “Goodnight! I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See you,” was all he could come up with as his brain short circuited. He watched with an awestruck expression as you went into your room, staring at the metal door in a daze for much longer than he’d like to admit. He realized he would look like a creep if he just hovered outside your room all night and quickly made his way back to the barracks with the biggest smile on his face. 

The door to the barracks slid open and he paused as he came face to face with all of his vode, who all turned to look at him as he walked through the door. Even Cody had yet to retire to his personal quarters. 

“Well, how’d it go?” Boil was the first one to break the silence and ask what everyone wanted to know. 

“She asked me out!” Wooley told them, still smiling broadly. 

The room was filled with cheers as all his brothers crowded around to congratulate him, patting him on the back and ruffling his hair affectionately. Despite all the attention, Wooley couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed. 

~~~

“Try the other jacket,” Boil said from his perch on the top bunk. 

Wooley shucked off the jacket he was wearing and quickly slipped his arms through the jacket Cody held out to him. “How do I look?” 

“Hmm, let me see the first one again.” Boil’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he contemplated Wooley’s current outfit. They had been at this for the last twenty minutes, trying to figure out the best outfit for his date, which was happening in less than an hour. 

“There are only two jacket options! And you’ve worn both of them multiple times, Boil!” Wooley moaned. The clones didn’t have much access to civilian clothes and the few they had managed to commandeer - mostly from the Lost and Found in the Coruscant Guards’ office - were shared between the lot of them. There was even a clothes economy of sorts that had developed between the various squads. In fact, the jacket he was currently wearing had been Cody’s prize for beating Rex at a game of Sabacc a few cycles past. 

Wooley sighed before shooting Boil an apologetic look. He didn’t mean to sound unappreciative, after all his brothers had awoken early just to help him prepare, despite the hangovers they were undoubtedly nursing. He was just starting to feel nervousTM again. 

Cody put his hand on Wooley’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re overthinking it, vod. Remember, she asked you out. She wants to spend time with you.” 

“Who asked who out, now?” came a voice from behind them. They spun around to find General Kenobi leaning against the doorway, a steaming cup of caf in one hand.

“Wooley has a date today!” Waxer blurted out, smiling smugly as his younger brother shot him a look before turning back to address the general. 

“They are, uh,  trying to help me pick out an outfit to wear.” 

“We can’t decide on a jacket, though,” Cody chimed in, holding the other option up for Obi-Wan to see. “What do you think, sir?” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered back and forth, rubbing at his beard absentmindedly as he considered. “Actually, I have something in my quarters that’ll go well with the whole look. You can borrow it if you want, Wooley.” 

“Oh no, sir, I couldn’t poss-” Wooley started, but the general ignored his protests, already starting to drag him towards his room. 

Wooley stood ramrod straight in the middle of General Kenobi’s bedroom as the jedi rummaged around in his closet to search for the jacket in question. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act in this scenario, they had never covered it in training. Though he had learned that there were many things involving General Kenobi that he had been totally unprepared for. 

“I know it’s in here somewhere.” Obi-Wan’s voice was muffled from behind the wall of clothing. “Ah, here it is!” He exclaimed before making his way back to Wooley. He blinked owlishly at the poor trooper in front of him, who looked so stressed out he was beginning to wonder if he’d need to call a medic. 

“Is this your first time going on a date?” He asked gently as he helped Wooley into the jacket, spinning him around to fuss with the collar a bit. 

“Is it that obvious?” Wooley asked with a shy smile. 

“Everyone is nervous on their first date, don’t worry. I remember the first time I went out with someone. My hands were shaking so much I ended up accidentally spilling water all over them. Trust me, it gets easier,” he finished with a warm laugh. 

Wooley was included to believe him. General Kenobi seemed to have a lot of experience in the romance department. Or at least it seemed that way, what with all the people who fawned over him. Maybe he would have some good advice for the question that had been plaguing his every thought since last night. 

“Um, general, if I could ask… how do you go about, uh, kissing someone for the first time. I asked some of the others for tips and they all had different ideas, which just made everything more confusing.” 

“Honestly, my best advice is to just ask them if you can kiss them. Many people find that really romantic. Wait for a moment that feels right, like a lull in the conversation when you two are close together. But most importantly, don’t stress yourself out about it. If it happens it happens, and if not just wait for another chance,” Obi-Wan patted Wooley on the head affectionately. “Now you should probably get going, you’re meeting them in twenty minutes.” 

“How do you know-” He didn’t even get the question out.

“Cody.” Obi-Wan’s commander had come to him this morning seeking advice to give his little brother. 

“Cody,” Wooley smiled fondly. He’d have to thank his commander later. 

~~~

You were waiting on the sidewalk in front of the barracks, shuffling your feet awkwardly as your planned meetup time drew nearer. The two of you had decided earlier to spend time walking around one of the huge seasonal markets that was in town for a few days. You hadn’t gone on many dates before now and this morning had been a whole debacle, your roommate helping you pick out the perfect outfit for the occasion. You had eventually settled on something casual but still cute, and sighed with relief when you saw that Wooley had a similar idea. You were starting to worry that maybe you had gone too casual. 

All of your nerves melted away once you saw him, looking like an absolute snack in that leather jacket. You decided to tell him as much as you offered him your hand. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen you out of your armor. You look handsome. Love the jacket.” 

Thank the Maker for Obi-Wan, Wooley thought as he took your hand and squeezed it fondly. “You look really great too!” He told you as the two of you made your way to the taxi stand, both pointedly ignoring the eyes of Wooley’s brothers trying and failing to be discrete as they started at you through one of the windows. 

You two made your way downtown to the market, which was a place where people from every corner of the galaxy would come to sell their wares. It seemed to span multiple city blocks and was absolutely packed with people. The two of you flitted from one booth to the next, marvelling at the exotic wares in each one. As you shopped, you both ended up finding little trinkets and buying them for each other as a way to remember the day. 

Before you knew it it was lunchtime and stopped to grab some food from one of the many vendors. The two of you found a place to eat nearby a troupe of street performers, snuggling up to each other as you ate and watched the show. When you got up, Wooley kept his arm around your waist and you were so happy that you were pretty sure you could leap twenty feet in the air like you had seen some of the Jedi do. 

You passed by a stand selling cotton candy and could’t pass up the opportunity to see Wooley’s face when he tried it for the first time. You ripped off a big piece and held it out for him to try. 

“It dissolved!” He said excitedly and you were pretty sure there were actual stars in his eyes. 

As you and Wooley split the cotton candy, he thought back to what Obi-Wan told him and wondered if this was one of the moments he was talking about. You two were so close to each other and your lips were glistening pink with sugar and, Maker, he wanted to kiss you so badly right now. 

He had just opened his mouth to ask you when a nearby animal bleated loudly. Your head whipped in the direction of the noise and from between people’s legs you spotted a small white animal that looked so incredibly fluffy. 

“Oh stars,” you whispered, “It’s so cute. C’mon Wooley let’s get a better look!” 

Without waiting for an answer, you started to tug him in the direction of the ball of fluff masquerading as an animal. He was briefly disappointed at the missed opportunity but was quickly distracted by the adorable animal in front of him. It was some sort of sheep-looking thing, only neither of you had seen one so fluffy. It’s fur was so thick that you could barely make out its face, making it look like a cotton ball with four nubby legs sticking out of the bottom. 

Your head darted around looking for the owner because you had to pet it NOW. Your eyes landed on an elderly Ugnaught woman settled in a rocking chair. She was working on a knitting project, her knitting needles moving a mile a minute, and the displays around her were filled with bundles of plush looking yarn. 

You waved your hand to get her attention. “Hi! Is this your sheep? Can we pet it?” 

The old woman pushed the pair of thick, round glasses she wore higher up her nose as she spoke. “Of course, dearie. I have some food here if you’d like to feed her. Just cup your hands out like this and she’ll come right over.”

The woman poured some pellets into your outstretched hands and you quickly knelt down to offer it to the sheep. It let out another little bleat as it approached before promptly gobbling up everything with fervor. You giggled at her antics, her soft little tongue tickling your palms. 

“Baaaaaa,” she whined up at you once she had finished, and the old lady scolded the little animal for acting like she was starving when she had just eaten an hour ago. 

You turned to Wooley, who had been watching your interaction from off to the side. “Do you want to try feeding her too?” 

“I-I’ve never fed an animal before…” He said hesitantly. 

“Don’t worry, it’s easy. I can help you if you want.” When he nodded you told him to cup his hands and the woman poured some more food for him to give the sheep. You had him kneel down next to you and helped him hold his palm out, cupping your hand under his. When you felt him trembling slightly, you ran your thumb soothingly across his wrist. He turned to look at you and, oh maker he was so close, you could just lean in an inch and kiss him. But no, you couldn’t get distracted right now, you had a hungry little sheep to feed. 

You both turned back to the matter at hand and Wooley made a little noise in the back of his throat when the sheep came up to him, but he kept his hand out and the little animal started inhaling the food. “Ahh, it tickles!” Wooley gasped, a huge smile on his face. 

Once you were done giving her treats, the three of you settled down on the floor of the little tent, the sheep moving between your laps as you took turns cuddling it. You both ended up taking pictures of each other with the sheep and the old woman even offered to take a picture of both of you with the sheep. You sat there for a while, chatting with the old lady, who had lived quite the life and had many interesting stories as a result. The conversation trailed off and you sat with your head on Wooley’s shoulder, the only sounds around you were the din of the market and the clacking of the woman’s knitting needles. 

You peaked up at Wooley only to find him staring down at you. There was a beat before he suddenly asked, “Can I kiss you?” 

He was about to start berating himself internally for asking so awkwardly, but all his thoughts stopped when you breathed out a soft, “Please.” And then you were cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against his, and nothing mattered anymore. You let out a contented sigh against his mouth and he moved his hand to rest on your hip. 

You were both reluctant to separate, but a tug at your hair made you gasp and pull away, only to find the sheep chewing on a lock of your hair. Behind you, you heard a chuckle and you both turned to see the old woman looking at you both with a knowing twinkle in her eye. Both of your faces heated up as you realized you had just started kissing right in the middle of her store. The two of you started to apologize but she brushed it off with another laugh. 

“You know, there is a tree in a park a few blocks from here. They call it the Lover’s Tree. My husband and I used to sneak off there for a bit of privacy,” she told you with a wink. 

You thanked the woman profusely and even ended up buying some yarn as a thank you. Before you left, you both gave the sheep one more pat on the head before taking off and running towards the tree hand in hand.

[angelanimedesaray]

Different Breeds Chapter 2:  Roadblocks and Detours

AN:  Yeah I got nothing for the notes.  Enjoy the chapter!

Characters:  Jockey!Levi, Horse Owner/Breeder!Reader, Isabel (Briefly/Mentioned), Mr. Forster, Sarah Annaheim, Armin, Trainer!Hange, Jockey!Mikasa, Eren, Jean, MANY HORSES.

Pairing:  Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Language, Financial Problems, Job Instability/Loss

Word Count:  5592

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    

*Levi’s POV*

The door slammed shut behind him with enough force to make a vibration go through the car as Levi returned to his vehicle, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a tight grip as his teeth ground together.

Son of a bitch.  At least this fucker had enough decency to give him the news face to face while the last three or four had done it over the phone.

The past few days, instead of gaining jockey jobs like he normally did, Levi was losing them.  He hadn’t thought much of it with the two calls from potential jobs telling him he didn’t get the job, it happened, and considering his busy schedule, he usually didn’t mind when the occasional job went to someone else.  But then came the call from two jobs he already had and was a few months into telling him they had to let him go, without providing him any real kind of answer as to why.  Some bullshit about budget cuts--though at least one of them he knew was doing renovations to their stables, making them fancier, and they wouldn’t do that without making sure they could afford it first.

Again, bullshit.

Two potential jobs slipping by he could accept, but losing two already secured jobs at the same time without good reason meant something was going on, something he wasn’t privy to.

He opened his phone, scowling when he saw a voicemail from yet another employer.  He started the car while he played the voicemail, slowly operating the car one handed to maneuver out of the driveway and back to the road as he listened to what turned out to be more bad news.

These assholes had let him go in a damn voicemail.

He cursed, throwing the phone into the passenger’s seat with a few more muttered curses, a fist pressed against his lips as his eyes darted around his surroundings, keeping an eye on the road even though his mind was racing with what he should do.

He didn’t have a reason why this was happening yet, not solid evidence for it, anyway, but he had his suspicions, and it made him furious.  He was out three jobs and two potential jobs now.  If this continued, he was in trouble.

And instead of waiting for the bad news to come to him, he needed to start making some calls and visits of his own.  Those that were too busy or too far away to meet in person, he would call.  The rest, this called for personal visits, if he wanted to do this properly.  And if they were going to fire him, they were going to look him in the eyes and give him a damn good reason why, not pitiful excuses over the phone.

Muttering under his breath again, Levi retrieved his phone, scrolling through the contacts without really looking at them to get to his employers group in his phone, and starting at the top of the list and starting to make calls to people who were too far away to visit in person, while he mapped out the route to the next closest employer from the ranch he just left.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you, Levi.  But I promise, we turned Forster down, even after he tried throwing money at as.  We’ve known you long enough we knew the story he was spinning was a lie.  And he tried to buy us off when we didn’t believe it, which just made the truth more obvious.”

As grateful as he was for the honesty and the loyalty, Levi’s teeth were grinding together in anger to hear the confirmation of his suspicion.  He stared out over the training track, watching Loyal Larry--stupid name for a horse, in his opinion--as he was being put through his paces by Isabel, another jockey that the Annaheims worked with and a personal friend of Levi’s.

Apparently Forster’s pride had been stung when Levi quit the other day, and the man’s idea of getting even included going after Levi’s living and trying to freeze him out of any and all jockey positions so he couldn’t continue his way of living.  He was spreading the word to potential hires that he had a bad temper, that he’d gone off the rails, picked fights, and quit when Bird’s Wing went down on the track, couldn’t stand the blemish on his record, and he was more trouble than he was worth.  Those that he couldn’t convince with just words, he was apparently making more monetary arrangements in exchange for not working with Levi.  Maybe not straight up bribes of cash, but arrangements to get bumped up the priority list for a chance to breed with some of their star horses, or time with some of the top staff, or buying and selling of horses--there were more ways to bribe people than just with money.  Besmirching his name to people he didn’t work with yet, trying to convince people he did work with that he was trouble in the long run, citing a bit of the violence in his history as evidence to back his claims, bribing people...it was sickening.

“I appreciate it.  I just wish more people had the same sense you do,” Levi said in a low voice.  He’d already lost more jobs than he wanted to think about because of this.  He had more people firing him than keeping him.  He knew Forster had reach, but this was ridiculous--he hadn’t expected the impact to be this wide.  At least some people he worked for had the sense to say no, but how long before societal pressures made someone else fire him?  Upper class could be ruthless, from what he saw as an outside observer that brushed shoulders with them.

“Well, if you need more work to make up for any losses, I’m sure we can work something out,” Sarah Annaheim said, a hand outstretched to shake on it with Levi.  He accepted the handshake, but his gaze was following Isabel as she led one of the horses back to the trainer who’d been timing the horse’s speed, the two of them discussing the ride out of earshot.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to cut into Isabel’s hours.  And so you have a heads up, I’m liable to knock Forster on his ass the next time I see him.”

Sarah chuckled, releasing his hand.  “I doubt it would help, but that would be good to see.  Are you making more of these kinds of visits today?”

“I am.  I need to figure out who Forster’s talked to, and give a warning to those he hasn’t.  And see what jobs I can keep.”

“We’ll be here.  The usual days, usual horses.  If you need more work we can work something out.”

Levi nodded, starting to turn away and giving Isabel a small nod of acknowledgement when they locked eyes before he made his way down the fine gravel path to where he parked the car.

It was going to be a rough few days before he could figure out where exactly this bullshit with Forster was going to end up.  Before he put into action any plan to make up for the jobs he’d lost, he was going to have to figure out where he stood financially.  If the damage was bad enough…

He’d worry about that when he got home.

It was dark outside by the time he got home, the house quiet as he sat alone at the kitchen table.  Spread in front of him was a couple sheets of paper, some with information like bills or income on it, one holding his notes on the math, a calculator glaring a number he did not like at him as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Forster had done far too much damage.  With all the jobs he'd lost, if he tried to make due with what he still had, he wasn't going to be able to maintain his current standard of living.  Things would get tight, and he'd have to start making some cuts.  The payments on the house and the utilities was enough to make him nervous when comparing it to the income he was left with.  He needed to try and get back some of his jobs, or get his foot in the door with people he hadn't contacted yet that Forster might not have sway over.  Of course, some of those options might be out of his league, the cream of the crop that probably wasn't looking for a jockey, but it was worth trying.  It was a long term goal he would have to work towards.  He could at least put out feelers, get his ear to the ground for possible jobs that might be opening up.  And there were a few places that came to mind he might be able to get some kind of work.

He had to make money somehow.

Normally, he raced in the bigger races, the higher stakes, bigger cash prize stuff, not the small leagues, the races where owners tested out horses or tried to make a quick buck.  But looking at where he was at financially thanks to Forster, he wasn't exactly in a position to be picky.  He had to take what he could get and be grateful.  If things eventually blew over, which he hoped they would, he could get some of his big league jobs back and probably drop some of the temporary small time work he was going to have to pick up to make ends meet in the meantime.

Well, unless he grew particularly attached to a job or two, he might keep some of the smaller gigs, then.  Maybe.  First he had to get the jobs before he considered repercussions like that.

And he knew just where to start.

"Hey there...seems like you’re doing okay.  Least your shits easier to deal with this way.”

Levi was currently talking in a quiet voice to Bird’s Wing in the same stables he’d been in the other day, hand gently brushing up the stallion’s neck and across his forehead.  True to her word, Y/N’s people had let him in to see Bird’s Wing when he’d arrived, the blond stable boy from before--Armin, if he remembered correctly--ran off to find and inform Y/N that Levi was here and wanted to talk to her.  While he waited, he was catching up with Bird’s Wing, seeing how he was doing.  So far it looked like more of the same--still suspended in that harness, though the stallion was staying still, looking around rather calmly while Levi spoke softly and petted the horse.  The stallion must be getting used to being suspended in the air by the harness by now, considering how calm he’d been from what Levi observed starting the moment Levi walked inside.

The horse snorted, turning his head slightly to nudge at Levi’s shoulder, coaxing a slight smile out of Levi as he leaned against the horse in turn.  He was glad the stallion got a second chance through Y/N--all of the racehorses deserved better than to be put down because of an owner’s stupidity.

“The surgery went well.  He’s on a good track to recovery, so far.  And it looks like he’s happy to see his riding partner,” came Y/N’s voice from the door to the stall.  Levi leaned back, looking over at her as he started to back away from the horse and move towards the stall door.  “I’m glad you decided to come back and visit, though...Armin said that you wanted to talk about something?”

“Are you still looking for another jockey?” Levi asked, cutting straight to the point.

Y/N blinked, giving him a curious look.  “Not...actively.  We really just need another jockey when the foals are born and grow enough to start getting ready for racing.  Well,” she added after catching the flash of disappointment in Levi’s eyes.  “We could always use some help, though.  We’ve got a horse or two that is going to make a tentative return to racing soon and I’m sure our current jockey would appreciate not having to take on more racing projects, and we could always use some help exercising the rehabilitated horses, or helping with the therapy horse sessions.  There’s work, even if it’s not always in races themselves.  Why, are you trying to apply right now?”

“I found myself with free time in my schedule.  If you don’t have any positions open--”

She held up a hand to stop him before he backed out after hearing she technically didn't, her hand gesturing for him to follow.  He hesitated, but did as she wordlessly asked, following beside her as she started to talk.

"You usually race in the big important stuff, right?  Breeder's Cup, Triple Crown races, important, renowned stuff like that?  Or you at least race for people with a lot of money that are aiming for those races, right?"  Levi nodded, but didn't give her anything else to work with, letting her sell the position she had in mind to him...even though he was going to take it either way cause he needed the money.

"Right now, we don't have any horses in those races or that I plan to put in those races.  Our main goal here is rehabilitation, but…"  she sighed.  "I won't lie, it’s difficult to keep this place afloat.  All the medical expenses, and it's far more common for the horses to be retired from racing after they recover or to return to their owners, than it is for them to be in good enough shape to race again, let alone in races as trying as those--and some of them get too old before they recover to try for, say, the Triple Crown."

"You're not doing a good job of selling me on the job," Levi said bluntly, and she came to a stop in front of the same two pregnant mare stalls she had brought him to before.

"What I'm saying is, in order to make sure this place doesn't slide into irreversible debt and go belly up, I'm aiming to change that.  I'm going to start investing more in races.  And not just your standard round the track Triple Crown races.  Endurance races.  Cross country.  Short distance, long.  Maybe even go international.  There's more than just Thoroughbreds on this farm.  I adopt mustangs when they put the wild horses up for sale when they're trying to control overpopulation--and I've gotten a few young horses that show promise for endurance racing.  I've already told you one of the foals from these two mares is going to be a good racer, it's what brought you in.  Heaven knows I want to get a few Arabian breed horses and get into Arabian horse races.  Some of it is a little ways off, some we just need to train the horses, others we need to get our hands on the horses in the first place.  The work may be small and little league at first, nothing like you've been racing, and you may have to help with training, rehabilitation,  and the therapy horses and the like for a while,, but...there is a future if you come in now.  A lucrative one, maybe, if some of these foals turn out as promising as I think they will.  Maybe we'll even reach the point where you're too busy racing to be helping with the training of new foals or rehabilitation of old ones.  You'll definitely wear multiple rider hats to start, maybe it could broaden your horizons, keep your life interesting and new.  And considering the main heart of the farm, you're not going to have to worry about us doing something like Forster.  We take care of our horses.  And if one's injured, you can bet they'll be taken care of."

Levi appraised her for a moment.  He wasn't much of an endurance or cross country jockey, but he could learn, if that's what it took to make ends meet.  And it would certainly keep things interesting.  Though personally he would prefer to stick with his usual round the field in the dirt ring horse racing if he could.

But again, ends needed to be met.

"What about winnings for races? What percentage would I get?" Levi asked, staring her down.  This could honestly sway his resolve to take the job--if he was going to make shit money, then he couldn't take something that would take so much time.  He had a living to earn.

"Let's see, for races...on average, the jockey gets about ten percent.  We are trying to make enough to pay for a lot of upkeep and expenses...what's the share I'm giving Historia and Mikasa right now…"  she pursed her lips, walking slowly out of the stables and craning her head up towards the sky.  "Twelve for the little leagues.  Big leagues, we'll talk more fifteen...maybe twenty."

Levi's eyebrows rose.  That was actually generous of her.  Sometimes jockeys only made say $50 a race they didn't win--hence why he nearly panicked with all the jobs he was losing thanks to Forster.  With the usual ten percent average, he'd only get a thousand from a ten thousand winning pot.  It would make a difference to make a little more, even by two percent, and big league races, races with bigger pots mean bigger earnings even at a regular ten percent, and she was offering him a bigger cut to go with it?

Thankfully he didn't have to worry about agent or valet fees coming out of his earnings.  Clearly he found jobs himself and didn't use an agent to do that part for him--he liked to feel people out himself, and either he didn't trust anyone else to clean the tack and such besides him, or the owners of the horses he rode already had valet’s assigned to the horse so he didn't have to worry about it.

"What about how often?  This won't be my only job," Levi said smoothly, refusing to give her a revealing reaction about that share of winnings she'd dangled in front of him.  She certainly knew how to give incentive to win in the races.

"Naturally.  Well, I assume you do a lot of racing for other owners, so maybe two days a week?  I'm sure you'll fit us into your race schedule like anyone else on race days, but besides that, weekly, two days would be fine.  Come in the morning, help the horses train and rehabilitate, get their morning exercise in.  We’ll try you with some of the horses that will be racing that need a constant jockey, instead of switching between the two we have.  One of those two days, if you’re alright with it, will be when we have our therapy sessions with the horses.  It’s always helpful to have an extra hand to help out.  It’s about 115 to 300 a session for each person, which you’d get a part of, of course.  Whenever we sell a foal, if you’ve helped in raising it and getting it ready for sale, you’ll get a part of the money we make from selling it.  Basically, if you put in work somewhere, you’ll get money back for it.  If you want to put in more than two days, that’s your choice--it’s your schedule you’ll have to work around, but I’m sure if you show up outside the usual two days, we can find something for you to do.”

It sounded like a good deal--especially with how much he was hurting for work right now.  She had plenty of different ways for him to earn money here, and two days of the week was manageable--not to mention she was willing to work with his schedule to give him more opportunities to earn.  He was probably going to be doing work in the mornings and midday here, from the sounds of it, which meant he could probably do more work elsewhere in the evenings on the same days.

Long story short, he could make this work easily.  It was a good opportunity that could help him make ends meet until doors started opening again and Forster forgot his pettiness over Levi in favor of his spite for someone else. Even then, he could slowly transition from the odd jobs he picked up here to make ends meet, back to his old work as opportunities started coming back in.

“Before you make any decisions, do you want to meet some of the staff and horses you’d be working with?” Y/N asked after a few moments of silence between the two of them.

He supposed that would factor into how much he would want to be here--if he could stomach the others enough to take those extra hours.  With a small nod from Levi, Y/N gave him a slight smile and started leading the way again.

“You don’t talk much, do you?  Doesn’t matter, we’ve got quiet types and...very talkative types here.  You’re either going to be around like minded company who are just as quiet, or around people who are all too happy to do the talking themselves if they have to.”

“Like you?”

Y/N chuckled, guiding him further along to another stable, where he could see more people were moving around inside, a few horses being led out the doors towards one of the open fields by people in riding gear and work clothes.  He saw the boy from earlier, Armin, leading a cream coated horse with one white sock and light brown legs to the pasture as he talked to a young woman in full riding gear with long black hair and grey eyes, both of them giving him curious looks as he and Y/N passed them, heading into the stables.

“That was Mikasa with Armin--she’s one of our jockeys.  I’d introduce you, but it looks like they’re taking Treasure’s Truth out for a bit of exercise--she’s wrapping up her recovery and should be involved in some therapy work soon, so you might work with her a little bit.  The mare, I mean.  Mikasa’s a bit of a keep to herself type, too, so interactions with her would be up to you.”

“Do I see fresh meat, Y/N?!” came a new voice that was far too excited for his taste, a brunette with glasses in clothes that were covered in dirt and hay from the stables bounding up to them with a gleam in her eyes.  “He looks like a jockey--you were talking about hiring another jockey.  Wait, this is the one who you said might come by to visit Bird’s Wing, am I right?”

Levi leaned back from the woman, a little overwhelmed by the raw...energy she was exuding, but Y/N seemed unfazed.  This was probably normal for the woman.  Great.

“Don’t scare him off, Hange, he hasn’t agreed to anything yet,” she said calmly with a hand held out in an obvious ‘calm down’ gesture before she gestured between the two.  “Levi, meet Hange, she’s our current trainer, which means you’ll be seeing a lot of her.  And yes, Hange, we’re currently talking about Levi potentially becoming one of our jockeys and helping around the ranch.”

“I’m sure the kids would love having some extra help.  Speaking of, Eren got kicked by Jean again a few minutes ago, by the way, so he’s in a foul mood.”

“Jean as in the hired hand, or Jean as in Jean’s Jacket, the horse?  Both are likely to have kicked him.”

“The horse.”

“Well, he probably deserved it.  Tell him to take a fifteen and then let the horses out into the grazing pasture.”

“Will do.  Hey, if you end up hiring another jockey...any chance you might hire another trainer, too?” Hange asked in a conspiratorial yet also pleading tone.  “Or at least an assistant.”

“I’m looking, Hange, I promise, you’ll have some help, soon.”

“I’m holding you to that.  Anyway, I need to go watch Mikasa do a few laps with Treasure, I’ll see you later.  Nice meeting you, Levi, I hope we’ll see more of you in the future,” Hange told him with a big grin before she left the stable to go look for the Eren that had been mentioned.

“Seems like a lively place,” Levi commented, following Y/N deeper into the stables.

“Well, there’s a lot going on.  We have more horses in an almost recovered stage than we do recovering like Bird’s Wing, right now, so there’s a lot of work to be done with them.  And we have a couple horses that Hange is hard at work getting race ready.  Like…”  She came to a stop in front of a stall and let out a low whistle, which brought the stallion inside to the front door, head poking out with a soft snort.  Y/N went to the door, pulling a bridle off the wall and starting to fit it over the horse’s head.  Right now, all Levi could see was the white stripe snip on a pale grey face with dark brown eyes, though the neck seemed to turn pure white with grey spots spattered across the coat, a grey and white mane a little long and perhaps in need of a cut.

“This here...is Ember Rain.  You might have heard about him.”

Recognition sparked in Levi’s eyes.  “He got a career ending injury just before a race, during morning exercises, right?”

“Well, that’s what they thought.  But Ember here has made a full recovery.  As long as he’s taken care of, he can still race.  And I’m sure we both know he’s not a little league racer,” Y/N said conspiratorially, attaching the lead and opening the stall to bring Ember Rain out for Levi to get a good look at him.

Now that he saw the whole coat, he could see the horse looked like a pure white horse that had a can of watered down black paint thrown on him, spatters of black and grey in random places, except for the one almost all black leg save for a small white sock and a few white spots before halfway up the shoulder the black faded to black and then gave way to white again.  A twin leopard coat--and a beautiful one at that, especially when kept clean so it shone like this.  A light grey mane flicked proudly through the air as he was brought out in front of him, Levi’s eyes evaluating the muscles and the strong legs, the way the horse carried himself.  He wasn’t a vet or a trainer, but he’d been around enough horses to have a decent sense for a good racer when he saw one.

“He’s a bit proud and stubborn--he’s picky about who he lets near him.  He won’t let Historia or Mikasa ride him, unfortunately, no matter how much we try, so maybe…”

“You’re hoping he lets me ride him?” Levi asked, starting a slow walk around the horse.  The stallion's dark brown eyes followed him, head turning, not letting Levi out of his sight as he circled and appraised the stallion.  Y/N stayed at his head, holding firmly onto the lead and looking rather content as she let Levi do his thing.

“I don’t expect he will right away, but it’s worth a shot.  And he’d be in the races your used to, eventually, which I figured you might appreciate.  Eventually, of course.  Hange is still trying to train him back up to where he was, which is difficult without a jockey, so he’s going to need a bit more time to adjust, but there’s other, smaller league horses that you could ride in the meantime.  Race-wise, I mean.”

“But he’s the one you’d like me to focus on,” Levi asked, keeping a distance for now and not yet trying to pet the stallion or anything.

“For now.  We’ll have at least one more big leagues racer from those mares in the other barn, and you never know what will happen in the future.  I have some nice breeding IOU’s I’ve been itching to use that I might be able to start cashing in on with Ember Rain here...and whichever foal we keep when the mares give birth.”  She paused in her discussion for a moment, gently rubbing Ember’s muzzle with a faint smile.  “How do you feel about endurance racing, Levi?”

“Haven’t done it before,” Levi said bluntly, gaze still appraising the horse in front of him, trying to get a good sense of what the horse might be thinking about him.

“Are you willing to give it a try if I show you the most promising endurance horse I’ve got?” she asked him.  It sounded like she was eager to share a secret, like she was bursting at the seams wanting to share this great horse with someone.

Well, he was desperate for money.  And endurance racing was another way to do that, even if it wasn’t what he was used to.

“Maybe,” he said non committedly, and Y/N held out the lead on Ember Rain for him to take.  Surprised, and even a little reluctant in case the horse decided he didn’t like Levi, he took the lead, keeping a firm grip despite his hesitance.  Ember snorted and pawed at the ground tossing his head as if in disapproval, but when Y/N and Levi started to walk, the stallion followed, even if it was with a loud snort and after a pull or two from Levi.

“How many stables do you have in this place?” Levi asked as she started to lead him deeper into the property towards yet another barn.

“Well, we have the stables for the recovering, injured, and pregnant horses, we have our good health stables for our racers and breeding horses--that was the one we were just in, and it’s actually the biggest.  Our second biggest stable is the one we’re going to now.  It’s where we keep the mustangs.”

Levi glanced at her.  “Your promising endurance horse is a mustang?”

“Nothing wrong with that.  Just wait until you see her.”

When she’d mentioned she adopted mustangs when they went up for sale during the population cull, he hadn’t been expecting her to have a stable full of them.  Maybe a couple stalls, but here she was telling him she had stables for specifically the mustangs.

Instead of walking into the stables themselves, she directed them towards the fence.  Once there, Levi realized there actually weren’t a terribly large amount of wild horses running around in the large enclosure they were now overlooking.  Quite a few, but not a stable full, for sure.  He’d jumped to conclusions there for a second.

A couple looked like they were foals, which he quickly ruled out as the one she wanted to show him, his gaze roaming over the small pack that for the most part seemed to be running together.  Behind him, Ember pawed impatiently at the ground.

Y/N pointed out into the enclosure after a few moments.  “See the black appaloosa with the grey and white blanket?”

Levi followed her pointing finger, and there at the front of the pack, a few leagues in front of it, was the horse she’d just described, one that was notably faster than the others and seemed to be maintaining that pace and high energy as she raced around the enclosure, making turns around trees and jumping over a creek that cut through the open field with ease.  They watched her for several minutes before she slowed down, and even then, she didn’t seem to lose that energy, which could be observed even at this distance.

Seemed promising.  He was in no way an expert, but Y/N seemed to think she was sitting on a prize horse.  Well, more than one.  He would have asked why she hadn’t entered bigger stakes races yet, but she’d sort of already answered that for him.  She was waiting for the right team.  She needed a jockey used to bigger races, it sounded like her trainer needed some help, and the horses themselves needed trained and prepared for those races.

Again, it sounded like there was plenty of work for him to find here.  He was still going to make a few calls and try to get some other jobs as well, since this couldn’t entirely make up what he’d lost in the Forster fallout, but...it seemed like a damn good start.  And there was promise here, if he decided to stick around or if the Forster problem continued longer than expected.

And it was a guaranteed job, because even if he didn’t know much about Y/N, he knew enough to know she wasn’t going to cave into pressure he might try to put on her to drop Levi.  Especially since she’d been there that day and knew what happened.

Levi looked away from the mustang she’d pointed out to him and back to Ember Rain, who seemed to be staring at him intently from behind.  Levi turned all the way around, facing the stallion fully and very carefully reaching out with a hand to lightly touch the horse’s muzzle, sliding his hand gently up the horse’s forehead when he was successful touching the stallion’s muzzle.

Yeah...there was some promise around here.

“When do you want me to start?”

Everything Tags:  @antisteller​​

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn​​ @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus​​ @sunny-flo​​ @thirstyforsometea​​ @hauntedhousecat​​ @peaches-and-clouds​​ @queenofcurse​​ @wubbawubwub04​​ @lollobos @pasteldays​​ @xcocolinox​​ @itsmeaudrieee​​ @macaronnv​​ @tokyo-banana​​ @apuci-kis-szornye​​

Different Breeds Tags:  @french-girl-online​  @mysteriousmagicx​ @classyunknownlover​​ 

[myhumanweakness]

Destiel/Cockles analysis s/p 15x18

Okay, so... This is gonna be a mishmash of thoughts, but if you stick with me maybe you’ll get what I’m saying. 

I’ve been seeing a lot of shit condemning Jensen as a homophobe because of his previous actions/statements about Destiel and also (for some ungodly reason) because of his performance during the confession in 15x18. And I have this theory that I needed to get out because it’s been there for a while, and now is the perfect time to explain it. 

This show started out in 2005 as a show about two manly, Midwestern men that  got pulled into a life of hunting the Earth’s worst creatures, tapping ass, and drinking beers (while also giving you a play-by-play on how to repress emotions), and there was also A LOT of love buried in the plot. A lot. 

The world was a completely different place in 2005. The own creator of the show didn’t expect the show to go past 5 seasons, so when the longevity came they were forced to grow. We watched this show go through a very human process/experience of growth and acceptance and evolution, and we got to grow along side it. Was it always a neat, beautiful process? Hell no. There were a lot of potholes along the way. But, growth isn’t linear. The point is that they (the writers, producers, actors, etc.) kept pushing themselves to grow year after year. 

So now, back to Jensen. Jensen has shown this fandom time and time again not only how grateful he is that we adore him and helped him to cultivate a life beyond what he has dreamed of but also that he is attentive and considerate to our feelings/thoughts. Has he disagreed with us at times? Hell yes he has. Has be bluntly stated that “Destiel doesn’t exist.” Hell yes he has. And it’s been hurtful and frustrating and invalidating. But, take a step back for a moment. 

Jensen is so connected to Dean. His friends and even his own wife has stated that he sometimes forgets that “he’s not Dean.” Dean has informed so much of who Jensen is for the last 15 years. And Jensen has admittedly seen a lot of himself in Dean. So who was Dean at the beginning of this show? Dean was the guy who made gay jokes, slept with plethoras of woman to fill a void (and also for pleasure), was so out of touch with his feelings because he was too busy being the person his father wanted/needed him to be, and had a very clear idea of what it meant to be a man. That’s the brain Jensen lived in for years while playing Dean. And honestly, it’s been speculated and discussed here, that Jensen’s brain might not have been too far off from that mindset outside of Dean. 

But just as we watched the show grow, I truly believe we watched Jensen grow. And we all know Danneel is a big part of that because she is wildly herself and big and fierce, especially about the things she believes in and loves, and she is open-minded and just pushes people to grow. And he has said those things about her. But I also think that a lot of Jensen’s growth came from Misha because as much as Danneel has influenced him over the years, I firmly believe Jensen needed to see/meet/form a relationship with someone like Misha in order to truly/permanently break down those walls about what a man should/could be. 

Cockles fans have long dissected and held up microscopes to Jensen and Misha’s relationship, so much so that there are pages and pages of theories about how their love bloomed, their break ups, their tender moments, and the growth of their relationship in general. But one thing that I think Jensen frequently struggled with is this idea that he needed to keep Dean true to who he is as a person, and that any growth and evolution in Jensen’s life (ie his relationship with Misha) couldn’t influence that. All of those moments he was denouncing Destiel seemed to be out of a struggle to keep those two people separate- Jensen vs Dean. Because in Jensen’s head, Dean was still this super straight, rough and tough, Midwestern monster hunter. 

But over the years, the Destiel fandom was comforted by Misha’s outspoken love, admiration, and agreement. Misha truly championed this fandom with reckless abandon. But while Misha was comfortable (to a degree) with himself and his relationship with Jensen, we really watched Jensen struggle. We watched Jensen grow. 

So, fast forward to the last couple of years. Destiel is subtextually canon- the writers have confirmed this at this point. Jensen is less negative about Destiel at panels insofar as to talk about their “break ups” and “domestic disputes” and “relationship” with a validating tone. Is he fervently talking about Destiel safe words and bondage and having sex/making out? No. But that’s not who Jensen is. He’s much more conservative with his emotions than Misha... at least publicly. 

This fandom has watched Jensen grow, not only in his dealings with/approach to Cockles but also with Destiel. So, while Jensen has long been adamant that Dean is not bisexual and couldn’t end up with Cas, I think there was potentially a moment where Misha (and potentially Danneel) were like, “Well, why can’t Dean be bi? Why can’t he finally realize that about himself after years of breaking down barriers and fears and conditioned notions? You did.” 

What came first, Cockles or Destiel? That’s been the debate right? The chicken or the egg? I truly think without Cockles coming first, we would have never been able to have Destiel. In fact, in my head, I can make the argument that without Jensen growing and going through the process of falling in love with Misha, Destiel would have never become canon. Jensen needed to first separate himself from Dean (which we are all privy to), grow and fall in love [again] as Jensen, and then give Dean the permission to grow and fall in love too. 

As we have seen from this week’s episode, Destiel has been there for years. YEARS. But Dean has always had to deal with two struggles: accepting himself and Jensen accepting him. We heard Jensen say at a panel that when he read the script for the final episode, he had a hard time coming to terms with what happened. People have long speculated that was referring to Destiel. Now, maybe it is and maybe it isn’t (I guess we’ll find out in two weeks), but it would make a lot of sense if it was. 

As everyone (the writers, actors, fans, etc.) has validated and acknowledged Destiel and particularly Dean’s love for Cas, Jensen has continued to struggle with it. But I don’t think it’s because Jensen is homophobic or anything like some people are saying. I think it’s because Jensen has worked tirelessly to separate the romantic lives of himself and Dean. Jensen convinced himself that Dean loving Cas and them having a relationship would be out of character, when in reality it followed this pattern of growth that both the show and bi (& LGTQ+) men/individuals around the world followed. Because Jensen is so connected to Dean, he can’t have 2020 vision until it’s hindsight because as Dean was coming out to himself and accepting himself, Jensen was accepting Dean simultaneously. It’s actually a beautiful thing. And it doesn’t make Jensen homophobic... it makes Jensen human. 

As many LGBTQ+ people will tell you, the path to realization and acceptance is fraught with struggle (internal and external) and doubt and denial and even self-hatred. There are no two characters that embody that more than Cas and Dean. So, I think that once Jensen realized that he went through a similar process as Dean it wasn’t that crazy anymore that Dean was in love with Cas. And Jensen loving Misha didn’t force Dean to love Cas- Jensen didn’t make Dean bi- Jensen loving Misha gave Dean the permission to love Cas and become one of the most human characters (especially male characters) to ever exist because we got to watch Dean find love and accept love through repression, struggle, self realization, and self acceptance. 

And for that, Jensen Ackles will go down in history as one of the best actors of this generation. Because he truly brought life to Dean Winchester.

Thank you for attending my TedTalk. I wanted to be much more thorough with this and include gifs and video evidence, but this is already lengthy and I doubt anyone even made it to the end. 

[glass-rose-paperweight]

The Mysterious Case of Queerbaiting

BBC Sherlock

There’s one thing about BBC Sherlock that has never made sense to me. As I’m sure many of you are aware (and something I’ve talked about before), BBC Sherlock has been accused of Queerbaiting, of intentionally setting up John and Sherlock as being attracted to each other but never following through with that or even intending to do it. And it’s one of those things that has just always baffled me; I can’t make it make sense. A lot has already been said about the way things are portrayed in the show and what the subtext behind a million different things could mean (seriously, I love that I am part of a fandom with so many perceptive and intelligent people; watching the show is only half the fun) and how none of it makes sense. Today, I would like to use my powers of deduction get to the bottom of this mystery.

The way I see it, there are 3 possible explanations.

1. The Producers of the Show Queerbaited

I have to admit, this seems unlikely given that one of them is literally a gay man. Why would a gay man knowingly and intentionally engage in something like this? Why would a gay man write a script that constantly pokes at Watson’s sexuality if the only point was to make it into a joke? To say ‘oh, no, the poor straight guy is constantly mistaken as gay. Look at how defensive he is getting, hahaha, what a funny joke’. That just makes no sense. It makes no sense for Mark Gatiss to have gone to the lengths he has gone to within the show, from whatever direction he gave the actors so that they portray an obvious chemistry between Sherlock and John to having a jealousy trope at John and Mary’s wedding except it’s Sherlock getting Jealous over John’s ex commander to this interesting thing about the best man speech to Mary saying ‘neither one of us were his first’ or ‘the man we both love’ or ‘I know what the two of you could become’ to Sherlock putting John Watson face on The Ideal Man to all the gay artwork in TBB (I could not for the life of me find this meta even though I know I saved it, and I am so distressed) to a thousand other things that the fandom has discussed over and over and over again. Who puts that much effort into queerbaiting? Especially when you would have a vested interest representation? So, it just doesn’t make sense for those directly involved with the show the be the reason.

2. Higher Ups at BBC Told Them No

This seems much more plausible to me, however I still doubt it. I can’t say I know just a whole lot about BBC, but I do know they have tended to be on the more progressive side of things, and I just really can’t see any of the higher ups just flat out refusing to allow the writers to make Johnlock canon. The first season gets a pass because I’m pretty sure that openly same sex couples weren’t allowed in media at the time (I think it was allowed in 2011, but I’m honestly not sure. I’m in the US, not the UK, so if I’ve gotten this detail wrong, please correct me). But they had 3 other seasons and another 7 years to make it happen, and I just don’t think that the higher ups at BBC would have just flatly said ‘no’. So, that leaves the last explanation.

3. Someone Other Than Those Involved With The Show Stopped Them

The majority of the Sherlock Holmes stories are in public domain. Copyright expired in 1980 in Canada and in 2000 for the UK (X). This would seem to make it a pretty cut and dry case: in the UK, you can do pretty much whatever you want with the Sherlock Holmes stories. But it’s no quite so simple. The US works a little different because copywrite law isn’t the same (isn’t he US just great?). As it stands, there are still 6 stories today that the Conan Doyle Estate still has the exclusive rights to in the US. If I understand how the copywrite law works correctly, that would have been 14 stories back in 2010. But, that shouldn’t have affected anything going on in the UK, right? Theoretically, no. The Conan Doyle Estate wouldn’t have had any legal rights to coveting the characters and the stories in the UK. However, that doesn’t mean that those involved with the show wouldn’t have been extremely apprehensive of the power that the Estate wielded, especially considering the previous decade of legal battles. Only 3 cases are listed here, but the Conan Doyle Estate is very protective of its copyright of the work (as evident by the fact that they are literally trying to sue Netflix, among others, for portraying characters in a way they supposedly weren’t portrayed until later books). There were other court cases after 2010, however. A decisive court case in 2013 declared once and for all that the stories written prior to 1923 were completely in public domain and that a license wasn’t needed to create things based on any of the stories prior to those dates (something the Estate had convinced BBC of when they first created BBC Sherlock). However, an appeal by the Estate was later made, stating “Sherlock Holmes is a ‘complex’ character, that his background and attributes had been created over time, and that to deny copyright on the whole Sherlock Holmes character would be tantamount to giving the famous detective ‘multiple personalities.’” The appeal was, thankfully, thrown out. But it’s the attempt that matters. 

Oh, and here’s a fun little tidbit, the 2 stories that have, perhaps, the strongest evidence of there being more than just friendship (this quote, this quote, and this quote (which was said after Holmes stated that, if he had hypothetically loved someone, he would kill the person that killed the person he loved)) come from the stories The Problem of Thor Bridge (the first quote) and The Adventure of the Three Garridebs (the last 2), which both belonged to the Estate in the US until after the final season of the show.

So, let’s get into the minds of BBC, for a moment. Someone has decided they want to reimage Sherlock in a new and unique way: modern day. The Holmes Estate has been fighting legal battles in America for the past decade and has won all of them, and has also issued the verdict that to make stories, you need a license. You say ‘okay’ and go along with it because you’re a big corporation that can afford to do such a thing. When the first season of the show airs, it isn’t legal to have openly gay characters, so everything has to be regulated to subtext. You outright state that being gay is okay because you want to let people know you are in full support of homosexuality, even if it isn’t legal yet. The writers and producers of the show are huge ACD fanboys and BIG fans of The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, so, yeah, there’s some gay subtext. By the second season, hey! Homosexuality is legal! Except the 2 stories with the biggest indication of Sherlock and John’s attraction towards each other are still very much in the hands of the Estate, who has spent the past decade fighting legal battles. You may be able to pay for a license, but a lawsuit really isn’t something you’d like to go through. Whether the Estate has any legal standing to do such a thing or not, a lawsuit would be a long, messy battle. By the third season, a court case in America has decided that anything written prior to 1923 doesn’t need a license (damn, that’s 2 seasons of being successfully intimidated into a license). However, the two stories with greatest evidence still belong to the Estate, and the Estate tried to weasel their way into owning more of Sherlock than they should by arguing about his character. They probably wouldn’t take well to an openly gay Sherlock, would they? By season 4, the same problem still exists. Cut to 2020. Both of the stories with those quotes have entered public domain. But, uh oh, a month, a month before the 10th anniversary of your show, the news breaks that the Estate is filing yet another lawsuit, this time against multiple different parties, one of them being the mega corporation of Netflix (god, that’s some balls right there) that what they did broke copyright law because it portrayed characters in a way they supposedly weren’t portrayed until later stories, stories the Estate still owns (that is some balls right there). So you might feel the need to cover your ass a bit. Despite the past decade of saying that they characters you have portrayed are nothing but platonic, the fans don’t seem to buy it, and, in hindsight, there’s a lot of reasons not to. Maybe something needs to be created that subtly tells fans that they really are just looking too far into it. And, what great luck, a YouTube channel is asking you to make something for the 10th anniversary. 

Is this what happened? I don’t really know. I have nothing more than circumstantial evidence and guesswork here to go off of. I’m not privy to the private thoughts of Mark Gatiss or Steven Moffat or any of the head honchos at BBC. I don’t know what kind of executive decisions are made in the best interest of the company. All I know is that the Conan Doyle Estate is hanging on to whatever copyrights they can possibly manage, that they are willing to level lawsuits on, quite frankly, ridiculous terms, and that having a lawsuit put against you is no laughing matter and that those whose work revolves around Sherlock Holmes and creating stories about him would want to tread carefully. This explanation is, admittedly, far fetched. But it’s the only one that really makes sense. It’s the only one that would explain why a gay man and a generally progressive company would have a show that has layer upon layer upon layer saying that there is more between John and Sherlock than just friendship, as well as a rabid fanbase that they know ship it, and still not deliver, even attempt to squash such mindsets. 

There is, however, one final note I would like to end this on. I have talked before about how I think there will be another season, if the stars align and schedules allow such a thing. The best estimates of when another season might come out is 2022 or 2023, and I’m inclined to think the later year (god, that seems so far away). The year that the last story will become completely open to the public and the entirety of Sherlock Holmes will be public domain is 2023. So, maybe there is hope. 

[kinda-iconic]

Second Chances

Author's note: It's been a long time since I last wrote anything on here. This was partly caused by an issue on motivation, as I just wasn't feeling as though my writing was good enough anymore. However, I have tried to keep to it, and this is ultimately the result of my perseverance. This fanfic takes place between the events of 'Morning Sickness' and 'Truth doesn't always set you free'.

Summary: Adrian accompanies Amy to her first ultrasound scan.

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife @shelley-parah @nala-raines @lauren-raines-x @adrianadmirer @choicesfannatalie @purvishraick @flowerpowell @adriansbiss @tays-role-plays @caroldxnvxrs @crystalwillow @a-raines

Word Count: 2'703 words

Please do let me know if you would like to be tagged in future works.

‘If you could just lift your blouse up for me.’

Adrian glances around the room, the bitter scent of hand sanitizer burning his nostrils; the room is mostly bare, though as he focuses on his surroundings, he becomes more aware of its contents. The walls are plain, decorated only with the occasional information poster and a glove dispenser. The vibrancy of the lights compares to that of the sun, its fluorescent beams illuminating every corner of the room. As he continues to study his environment, the midwife approaches Amy's feet, adjusting the plastic on the end of the bed before pulling the curtain across.

Adrian focuses his attention on her, his brows knitting together as he observes her movements. A soft squeeze of the hand causes him to look away, luring his concentration back to the source of the distraction; Amy is lying before him, her petite form positioned comfortably on the hospital bed, her free hand resting atop her bare abdomen. She looks up at him, her brown doe-like eyes gazing worriedly into at his own, her voice no louder than a gentle whisper as she tries to provide him with words of comfort.

‘It’s okay, Adrian,’ she greets him with a tired smile, the pad of her thumb drawing soothing circles on the skin of his palm, ‘this is just standard procedure.’

He glances back at the woman, his expression indecipherable as he ensures that she is not privy to their conversation. Satisfied that the midwife remains indisposed, he raises Amy’s hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

‘That doesn’t mean that I cannot worry.’

Before either one can say more, the midwife turns back to face them, her fingers clasped tightly around the transducer. She shifts forward in her seat, regarding the pair with a welcoming smile as she lays sight on Amy’s stomach.

‘That’s perfect,’ she reaches forward, carefully adjusting the fabric of Amy’s shirt before gesturing to the band of her leggings, ‘I just need access to your lower abdomen if that is alright.’

‘O-okay!’

Amy does as she is asked, moving her clothing downward before looking to her for approval. She is met with a satisfied nod in return, the woman’s smile growing more evident as she retrieves a collection of paper towels from the dispenser; however, as she moves to assist Amy with tucking them in place, Adrian interjects her, strategically placing his hand over the remaining material. She lifts her gaze to meet his own, looking at him in befuddlement as she tries to ponder on the reason for his interruption.

‘Mr Raines, if I could just-’

‘I would rather be the one to do it if that is okay with you.’

The midwife does not respond, instead choosing to remove herself from the conversation, putting herself at a distance so that Adrian is able to continue her work. She watches him closely, her emerald eyes widening in surprise as she takes note of the gentleness of his touch, his fingers moving bashfully as he tries to imitate her actions. As he moves to work on the area adjacent to her hip, Amy places her hand atop of his, interlacing her fingers with his own; he hesitantly meets her gaze, as if aware that his recent actions have caused her discomfort.

‘I just want to keep you safe.’

‘I know,’ she whispers, her words soft and comforting as she carefully reaches for her stomach, her fingertips softly tapping against her skin as she continues to cradle her small bump, ‘but Sarah isn’t going to hurt me, Adrian – all she wants to do is to make sure that the baby and I are alright.'

He sighs, the corner of his mouth tugging into a sorrowful smile as he reaches up to caress her cheek, his fingers entangling in her hair as the pad of his thumb presses against her bottom lip. He inclines his head towards her, as if suddenly remembering their present company.

‘I worry about you, Amy,’ he looks down at her abdomen, his free hand coming to rest atop her own as his thoughts continue to play havoc with his mind; though his gaze begins to soften, there is a hint of worry on his brow, as though his concerns for the future of his family are weighing on his mind more than he chooses to admit. ‘It is not the first time that someone has tried to harm you and our child,’ he shifts his gaze to the side, watching Sarah as she continues to busy herself, remaining blissfully unaware of the wariness in his tone, ‘and now that Gaius knows about the baby…’

He utters his maker’s name with bitterness, every syllable spoken like venom on the tongue; as if by instinct, his muscles begin to tense, his expression glassy and vacant as he decides to press on, the hand that was once resting on her stomach now travelling up to take hold of her hand.

‘I don’t like doubting the intentions of every passer-by that graces our door,’ he leans closer, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, ‘but it is something I must do if I am to keep you both safe.’

‘I understand,’ her voice is quiet, barely audible to the ear, ‘but not everybody is out to get us, Adrian. The staff here are only trying to do their job.’ She gives his hand a comforting squeeze, the tension slowly easing from his body at her touch, ‘Don’t you think that they would have hurt me by now if they were working for Gaius?’

‘I just-’

‘I know,’ she greets him with a loving smile, her nose slightly crinkling at the gesture, ‘and that’s okay! I get that you want to protect us, but…you cannot spend the next six months fretting day and night over something that may never happen.’

‘This is Gaius, Amy; if he wants something, there is no telling how far he will go to get it.’

‘Then that is a problem for future Adrian.’

‘Amy…’

She reaches upwards, blessing his skin with a gentle caress as she cups his face in his hands, ‘I know that all this uncertainty hasn’t been easy to handle, and I understand why you are afraid,’ she releases a joyful sigh, her voice slowly trailing into a whisper, ‘but this should be a happy time. We’re about to see our baby; we’re going to see our little one for the very first time.’

He matches her enthusiasm, his words spoken with reminiscence.

‘I…I know.’

He looks over at the midwife, his stoic facade slowly fading as he observes her for a moment, taking a mental note of the care she is putting into each individual task; he turns his attention back to Amy, his fingertips grazing her knuckles as he reaches for her palm.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for…at least not to me.’

He follows her gaze to Sarah; understanding that he has overstepped, Adrian takes a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before gathering the courage to correct his mistake.

‘You have my sincerest apologies, Sarah,’ he shakes his head in self-frustration, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as his eyes drift back to Amy, his voice laden with regret and embarrassment. ‘The last thing I wanted to do was to cause any offence.’

She waves her hand dismissively, causing him to cease in his apology.

‘It’s okay,’ her attention does not stray from the monitor as she proceeds to press several buttons, ‘you’re not the first father-to-be that has questioned our practices.’

‘That still does not excuse my behaviour.’

‘There is nothing to excuse, Sir,’ Sarah sits back on her chair, drawing the machine closer to the bedside; she removes a bottle of gel from its holder before tilting the nozzle towards Amy’s abdomen, her gloved hand shifting a stray piece of tissue from the substance’s future path. ‘Amy is an exceedingly kind and compassionate young woman.’ She adjusts herself slightly, as if trying to access a better angle, ‘it is understandable that you feel protective of her.’

‘I fear sometimes that I am being too protective, but whenever I stop, I cannot help but feel as though something might happen to her if I allow myself to let my guard down.’

‘I wouldn’t say that you were being over-protective,’ she smiles up at him, ‘I have been an acting midwife for two decades; the things that have been said to me…’ she sighs, her focus never straying from the task at hand, ‘let’s just say I have had a lot worse thrown in my direction.’

‘But you are only doing your job.’

‘And I am grateful that you see it that way,’ she pauses, as if thinking over her next few words with caution, ‘the difference in this situation is that your concern was over the safety of Amy and your child, whereas theirs were more to do with the duration of the examination or advice that I had given their partners about a change of lifestyle as the pregnancy progressed. Again, these were suggestions; I was not going to force them to make these changes.’

‘But you’re a midwife,’ Amy states in befuddlement, her brows furrowing in her confusion, ‘you have a duty of care to both mother and baby. All you were doing was telling your patients how they could improve their lifestyle to make pregnancy easier…’

‘Unfortunately, not everybody sees it like that,’ her smile remains, ‘but it is nice to hear that someone agrees with me.’

She moves over to the desk, collecting Amy's patient file from the end of the bed before settling at the computer; she studies Amy's notes for a moment, her eyes skimming through her information without so much as a second thought, ‘this is your first child, correct?’

A tightness consumes Adrian’s chest, his breath slightly hitching in his throat as her words begin to replay in his mind.

The baby would indeed be Amy’s first child, that much was true.

But it wasn’t his.

He lowers his gaze to the floor, closing his eyes as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. It is only when Amy speaks that he looks back up at her, desperate to hear the softness of her comfort.

‘It-it’s my first,’ she lifts her gaze to meet Adrian’s, her brown doe-like eyes awash with reassurance and understanding; she greets him with an adoring smile, her fingers beginning to re-entwine with his, the tenderness in her touch acting as a silent understanding between them. ‘I-I have never done this before.’

'Well, I would be lying if I said it was easy,' the midwife quips, 'but to hold your baby in your arms for the very first time? Totally worth it.'

The woman places the transducer onto Amy’s skin, the coldness of the gel causing her to gasp in surprise. She pauses her examination, her gaze lifting to study Amy’s expression as she removes the device from her abdomen.

‘Are you alright?’ She reaches for a tissue, dabbing at a splotch of gel that has started to drift from Amy’s midsection. ‘Did I apply too much pressure?’

‘No, I…’ she shifts slightly, her fingers grasping onto the paper towel-like sheet that is poking out from underneath her, ‘it’s just colder than I thought it would be.’

‘My apologies,’ Sarah responds with a sympathetic smile, pressing the apparatus back on the spot just below her navel, ‘I probably should have warned you before I applied it.’

‘It…might have prepared me a little bit.’

Adrian chuckles softly, instinctively lifting Amy’s hand to his lips; he places a delicate kiss on her palm, his warm hand gently encasing her wrist.

‘It will warm up in time, sweetheart.’

‘I wonder if you would say the same if it was squeezed onto your tummy,’ she glances down at her growing bump, her tired eyes focusing on the device as it starts to move across her abdomen, ‘does it make it easier to see the baby?’

Sarah responds with a curt nod, her focus never wavering from the task at hand. She continues to alter the path of the transducer, as if trying to ensure that every inch of Amy’s abdomen is covered.

‘In a way,’ she presses down slightly, her gaze lifting only momentarily as she addresses her patient, ‘the gel acts almost like a connector of sorts. It reduces the amount of air between the scanner and your womb, so I am able to get a clearer image of the baby.’

‘Would the air bubbles distort the picture?’

The midwife raises her brow, regarding Amy with an expression of curiosity. She tilts her head in Amy’s direction, her subtlety instinctively succeeding in drawing Adrian’s attention.

‘She seems to know a lot about this subject, Mr Raines,’ a nervous laugh escapes her, and Adrian is quick to notice the faint curvature of bewilderment on her features, ‘is there some incredibly informative new parenting book that I am yet to become aware of?’

‘Not quite,’ he greets her with a soft smile, his tone becoming more animated as he continues his train of thought, ‘Amy’s pregnancy, it… took us by surprise to say the least.’ He reaches forward, gently pressing his hand to the Bloodkeeper’s cheek, ‘neither of us are experts on child-rearing, so we thought that it would be better to listen to first-hand accounts before delving into any parenting books.’

‘Sometimes it is best to listen to those that are closest to you,’ she nods in agreement, delicately changing direction of her examination as she glances back at the screen, ‘may I ask who this person this?’

‘Most of the advice we’ve had has been from my Sister-in-Law,’ Amy looks up at Adrian, whose hand rests firmly upon her shoulder, his grip supportive and familiar, ‘although my Mom has given me a few pointers that might help.’

‘It is always good to receive another mother’s advice, regardless as to whether she is your own,’ she smiles warmly at the pair, her happiness only brightening as she catches sight of the screen; the midwife refocuses her attention on the couple, her voice laced with excitement.

‘Are you ready to see your baby?’

‘Y-yes.’

She turns the monitor towards them, her right hand still slowly moving across Amy’s abdomen; at first, all Adrian and Amy can see is darkness, but as they focus on the screen, a soft, grey image comes into view.

‘Is…’ he hesitates, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes linger on the picture, ‘is that…’

‘It most certainly is.’

‘Woah…’

They both continue to look at the image, their mouths agape in wonder as they process what they are bearing witness to. After a couple of minutes, Amy glances up at Sarah, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears.

‘That’s…that’s our baby?’

She nods, reaching over to adjust the tissue that is tucked into Amy’s waistband. Using her free hand, she points to the screen.

'There’s the baby’s head, and if you look closely…’ she pauses, slowly rolling the device back down its original path, ‘you should be able to see their arms and feet.’

Amy fixes her gaze on the image, her eyes widening as the child’s features become visible. She turns to Adrian, a single tear trickling onto her cheek.

‘That’s our little one,’ she smiles excitedly, a nervous chuckle escaping her as her tears continue to fall, ‘I…this is really happening.’

He reaches for her hand, taking it in his own before lifting it up to lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

‘Neither can I,’ he flashes her a giddy grin, his gaze never straying from hers, ‘I never thought that I…that we could…’

Amy shakes her head, a nervous chuckle escaping her.

‘It’s… not exactly something that I thought would be happening to me.’

‘I thought so too, at least not for me,’ he looks at her earnestly, his gaze softening in adoration as he studies her features; he reaches up to caress her cheek, the pad of his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her skin, ‘but I’m so glad that I get to do this with you.’

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (Emma Mathers)

Masterlist Behind Closed Doors Masterlist

Warnings- tension, again.

When In Paris

The suite at the five star Parisian hotel was far more glamorous than anything Emma had ever experienced, and that was coming after an extensive flight spent on a private jet. The wonder in her eyes was unmatched, and by just looking at her face, Keanu could tell that their trip was her first time traveling in luxury. Something about the twinkle in her eyes made him want to see it more, he wanted to spoil Emma, just so he could hear that, melodic, breathless laugh that she'd emitted when they boarded the private jet, see the way her red painted lips parted in awe when they landed in magnificent Paris and be privy to the way her pretty eyes widened when they entered the suite.

Upon Miranda finding out that a new collaboration with a New York based cosmetic company would have her missing the premiere in Paris, Keanu had found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Partially because he didn't want to spend the trip, and by extension his birthday, tolerating Miranda's constant nitpicking of Emma's methods and the little insults she usually threw the girl's way. But there was another part of him, softer and more cautious about letting its intentions known, that insisted that he was actually relieved because no Miranda meant more time alone with Emma. Keanu knew that he shouldn't have been thinking like that, he was engaged and highly doubted that Matt and Poppy's nanny even returned his not-so-platonic feelings. She was young and would probably be repulsed by the idea of being tied down by a man his age, far less one with young children.

As Keanu settled into his room, the master bedroom right next to the slightly smaller room where the twins would be staying and directly across from Emma's room, he tried to push away the intrusive thoughts, only to be interrupted by none other than the subject of his wandering eyes. "Got a minute?" She smiled shyly, loosely gripping the knob of his ajar door.

"I could spare a few," he grinned brightly despite himself. For her, he'd carve time out of the busiest of schedules.

"Great," Emma blushed, noting the way his gaze roved her form, clad in a snug, white sweater and a simple pair of blue jeans, "The kids, they want to go out. I'd take them on my own, but I've never been here, and I wouldn't want to get lost." Glancing at the floor, she tucked an escaped strand behind her ear, and Keanu didn’t think he could put into words how much he wanted to be the one doing that; his thumb caressing her high cheek bone, her skin soft and warm to touch. “If you don’t have time, then-”

“No,” Keanu dropped the shirt he was holding back into the suitcase, walking around the foot of the king sized bed, collecting his leather jacket and scarf on his way towards Emma. He stopped closer to her than he should have, and with that proximity, she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze, “I have time, we could go for a walk and if I remember correctly there should be a great café about a block away. You’ll like it.”

Stunned, Emma blinked quickly, not expecting Keanu to be so readily on board the idea of going out mere hours after they’d gotten to the hotel. She had started to forget how much fun and how carefree he could be when Miranda wasn’t around and even if she knew that her opinion didn’t really matter in the scheme of things, Emma thought she preferred Keanu when he was alone.

Surprisingly, he led her towards the drawing room with his hand on the center of her back, almost weightless even as comforting warmth emanated from his palm. It was almost as if he wanted to touch her, though he knew he shouldn't.

Calling out to the kids, who came running excitedly, both still dressed to go out, Keanu swiped Emma’s camel coat from off the back of the grey, floral patterned cabriole sofa, helping her into it. His fingers brushed her shoulders through her sweater, electrifying her nerves, and when he absently passed his hands over her arms after it was on, Emma sucked in a breath, restraining herself from leaning into him, “Thank you,” she blushed, hoping he wouldn’t see it.

“Of course,” he hated having to take his hands off her and before he could stop himself, Keanu found himself wondering what it would be like if he were with Emma instead of Miranda, surely, he hadn’t known her for as long, but being with her came naturally, and as he watched her kneeling to get Poppy into her pink, fuzzy, petite coat, closing up the large plastic buttons at the front, Keanu couldn’t deny how purely familial it felt; just her, him and the children. No one moaning about how the children should stay back for the evening, telling Matt that he couldn’t wear blue on blue or making snide remarks in his ear about how the nanny was overstepping when she pecked the kids on their foreheads. Keanu liked it when Emma overstepped, when she cared for his children as if they were her own, when she lightened the mood with a joke told under her breath and when she’d, even if accidentally, showed her concern for his own wellbeing, as if he were more to her than just an employer. “Everyone ready?”

“Ready guys?” Emma turned the question to the twins as she slipped her cell into her nude colored shoulder purse, proceeding to stylishly wrap a floral scarf around her neck, adding a pop of color to her cool toned outfit. When they both nodded vigorously, bouncing in agreement, she offered her hand, giggling when Matt went for it, leaving Poppy with him, “Alright, then let's go, lead the way,” Emma beamed, turning to Keanu.

The café that Keanu had told Emma about was right where he remembered, and they were led to a table quickly by the young hostess; perk of being a celebrity. They were tucked cozily in the corner of the patio dining area, where their scenic surroundings were still visible; orange and yellow leaves peppering the sidewalk after having fallen from trees planted along the edges, while picturesque buildings on the other side of the worn brick street added to the view. A small platter of strawberries and cream macarons as well as orange and chocolate madeleines, along with two hot chocolates were enough to get Matt and Poppy settled for a while, talking and giggling amongst themselves. Emma was sitting across from him, occasionally slipping small forkfuls of French silk pie into her mouth as she drank in the beauty of city, “Do you like it?” Keanu interrupted her thoughts, just as she was setting her latte down, her cherry red lipstick lightly staining the delicate china.

“The coffee, the chocolate or Paris?” She held his gaze, tongue darting out ever so slightly to moisten her lips, just before she brought the silverware to her mouth again, a playful glimmer dancing in her eyes. She was so, so beautiful, and Keanu had caught himself staring a few too many times.

Smile still evident, he shifted around a sliver of his moose cake, the plate streaked with pink, white and brown, trying not to fumble on his words. Emma didn’t really make him nervous per say, it was quite the opposite actually, Keanu usually felt a comfort and ease around her that was absent in the company of most others, like she was simply encouraging him to be the best version of himself. Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t long to be close to perfection in her eyes; say all the right things at the right times, impress her because even if she didn’t make him feel like he had to, Emma made him feel like she deserved it. “All of it, Paris, the chocolate, the coffee,” he quoted in reverse.

“Its…..perfect,” inhaling, a lone shiver ran through her, and she sipped her latte again, “I’ve actually never been out of the states, so this kind of feels…….magical.” There was a childlike sparkle in her expression, something Keanu hadn’t witnessed in anyone other than children in years, at his age, there weren’t many luxuries that he hadn’t yet experienced, and despite their two years together, Keanu had yet to see anything close to that on Miranda’s face. There was a time, within the first few months of them dating where he’d strove to impress her, going any lengths just so she’d be happy with him, but by the eighth or ninth month, it became a daunting, tiring task, and Miranda didn’t seem to care what he did, as long as it was up to her expensive tastes. Emma though, there was an air about her that made Keanu feel special, like he could give her the smallest thing and she’d just be in awe.

“You’ve never travelled?” Keanu frowned, his kids had been travelling with him since they were a year old, and at that point, he didn’t think they knew a life that didn’t involve leaving their home country at least twice a year.

She nodded, tearing her gaze from across the street and casting it back towards Keanu, “Nope, not out of the states,” embarrassed, Emma drew in a soft breath from the chilly autumn air, “First we couldn’t really afford it, but even when I got older, after my mom got us in a good place, she had to save so I could go the college. I don’t mind though,” straightening her back, Emma regained her quiet confidence, “I’ve got a lot of time for that.”

“You do,” Keanu agreed, bringing his espresso to his lips, blowing on the scaling beverage before taking a long sip, “I mean, one day you’re gonna be a famous designer and you’ll get to go wherever you want.”

Laughing quietly, Emma bent her head shyly, wispy dark strands falling over her face, having escaped from her high ponytail, “I don’t know about that,” she dismissed, “I mean, its gonna take a while before I even cement myself in the L.A. fashion scene, famous…..that’s something else. It’s a nice thought though.”

“Its a great reality too,” tentatively, he reached for her hand laid on the top of the wicker table, squeezing affectionately, before catching himself and reluctantly retracting, “I’ve seen some of what you can do, those dresses your made yourself, that purple tutu you made Pop for her recital last month, you can do this Em. I know it probably doesn't mean a lot coming from me, but I believe in you.”

“I,” she stumbled on her words, astonished by his faith in her, “It actually does mean a lot to me Keanu,” Emma dragged her lower lip through her teeth, and Keanu shifted in his chair, inhaling sharply, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he croaked, trying to slow his breaths. It was amazing how he could go from being wonderstruck by Emma to being turned on in just seconds. She was truly an enigma, one of a kind. “You know,” he huffed, hoping to change the topic and get them talking again to steer his thoughts away from anything too perverse, “This is my favorite, here, try it.” He offered her some of his cake on his fork, encouraging Emma to lean in. So much for going for something more innocent.

Hesitating, Emma eventually leaned over the table, letting Keanu feed her a bit of the cake, moaning in pleasure at its taste. She could easily see why it was his favorite, the raspberry, vanilla and dark chocolate all melded together in her mouth to create a symphony of flavor, each one complimenting the other perfectly as the moose melted on her tongue. “That’s amazing!” And at that, Poppy and Matt started cheering about how they wanted to try it too, their faces lighting up at how delightfully sweet the creamy desert was.

Dragging his lip through his teeth, Keanu chuckled as he looked on at Emma, “You have a little….” he gestured to the corner of his mouth, only laughing louder when Emma missed several times over. “Here,” he grabbed up his napkin, reaching over the table, “Let me,” dapping the corner of her lips, Keanu eyed the way her cheeks reddened and took a chance at carelessly brushing her skin with his thumb, his ragged breath matching hers. “Em…..” Knowing that the right thing would have meant pulling away wasn’t hard knowledge to come by, but knowing how to just be Emma’s friend and boss certainly was.

Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side and Emma’s blinking slowed, roughness of his touch so inviting that she wanted it to last forever. There was something at the tip of her lips, and Keanu yearned to know what it was, perhaps permission for his feelings, indication that she returned them, but alas, their moment was cut in half when Matt spotted a walking balloon vendor across the street, him and his sister protesting loudly, clamoring about how they wanted balloons. Immediately, Keanu pulled away, collecting his bearings and discarding the napkin, as Emma averted her stare, hoping to find anything more interesting. They’d come so close to crossing a line, and Keanu knew that had they kept going, he’d have hell to pay when he returned to L.A.

One Week Later The premiere had fallen exactly on Keanu’s birthday, which was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, him being gone for the day meant that Emma would have enough time to put her plan in action, but on the other, it also meant that by the time Keanu had gotten home, they kids were beat and borderline cranky. Thankfully though, Keanu had returned by half nine and neither Matt nor Poppy had fallen asleep in the cute little semi formal outfits Emma had dressed them in. As he’d walked in, flicking on the lights to illuminate the main room, looking tired and a little more down than she’d been expecting, Emma and the kids yelled excitedly, “Surprise!”

Shocked, Keanu jumped, holding his hand to his chest, speechless for a moment. Though, that, fortunately, didn’t last very long, “What is all this?” Second by second, a wide grin split his lips and his eyes scanned the room, landing on their set up on the coffee table; a layered cake, the one he’d mentioned as his favorite at the café, glasses along with a bottle of cider and a few presents, wrapped in cheerful paper with ribbons and bows adorning the top.

“It’s for you daddy!” Poppy was the first to run up to Keanu, grabbing his leg in a hug, followed only second later by Matt, who did the same. And just as he bent over, taking them into his ready arms, Emma stood from the sofa, not wanting to intrude on their moment, “Happy Birthday!” Kissing his cheek, Poppy, was sure to hug him as tightly as her little arms would allow.

“Happy Birthday daddy,” Matt followed suit, clinging to his father, playing with Keanu’s simple, black skinny tie as he hoisted them both on either side of his lips, “Do you like it? It was all Emma’s idea!”

“Well, I can’t take all the credit,” she admonished lightly when Keanu glanced to her, “I had a couple of excellent co planners,” tentatively, Emma finally approached them, her heels clicking quietly on the cream marble floors, “We just wanted to do something special for you.”

The warmth in his heart was reflected in his expression, and if his arms weren’t so full, he’d definitely lean in to pull Emma in a consuming hug, “Thank you,” it had been a while since anyone put that much effort into his birthday, the older he got, the less he’d want his family to do, and it went without saying that Miranda was never big on getting him anything more than a cushy present. In fact, usually, Keanu would be inclined to spend his birthday with just his children, watching movies with them on the sofa after a take out dinner. The quiet affairs never bothered him, he'd had enough parties and glitzy birthdays in his twenties and thirties, and was wholly ready to continue on with smaller, more intimate ones.

When he set the kids down, Keanu placed a hand on her elbow, still an arm's length away, leaning in to peck her cheek, "This is amazing, I can't tell you how much it means." When Keanu pulled away, despite his efforts not to stare, he found himself doing it anyway, absorbing the way her burnt orange sweater dress hugged every curve perfectly, boasting her legs when the hem cut off mid thigh. Her hair fell in voluminous waves down to the center of Emma’s back, framing her delicate features, and her simple, clean cut make-up accentuated her full lips and dark eyes. “And you,” Keanu stuttered, affectionately squeezed her elbow, “Look beautiful.”

Caught off guard, Emma blinked quickly, her deep burgundy lips moving to form words but never quite making it through any. “Oh!” A wider smile threatened to break through just as the apples of her cheeks unintentionally went red, “Thank you,” she took a step back and Keanu took that as a sign to reluctantly retract his touch. “Uh,” stuttering again, she looked around wildly, not really sure who’d done the initial overstepping but knowing that someone had to put an end to it, “Why don’t we sit? Yeah, you still have to blow out your candles and open your presents.”

“We can’t wait for you to see what we got you daddy!” Poppy jumped excitedly, a few raven strands escaping the braid Emma had put her hair in, falling over her face as she clapped small her hands. Without settling down in the slightest, she grabbed Keanu’s hand, the size of hers almost muted by his larger, rougher one as Poppy pulled her father towards the sofa, urging him to sit before hopping into his lap. Looking on, Emma offered her hand to Matt, leading him to the chair as well, trying not to think of how much she wanted something like that one day. The real deal, not just a pseudo family, where it felt like she was getting paid to play house, but a husband with children of her own who adored her as much as Matt and Poppy did Keanu.

Leaving a healthy, safe distance between them, Emma claimed a spot on the long sofa, chuckling when Matt mirrored his sister and situated himself in her lap, squirming in anticipation. “So,” securing the boy, she wrapped a slender arm around him, gently flattening her palm to his chest so he wouldn’t fall with all the movement he was doing, “What’ll it be birthday boy? Cake or presents first?”

“What do you two think?” Keanu bent forward to look at both his children, laughing softly when they both bounced in their places, cheering that he go with cake first. “Cake it is,” he determined, and soon after, Emma was reaching for the lighter on the table, keeping Matt away from the flame as she lit the tall candles strategically sunken into the cake, among the cluster of raspberries decorating the top. When all five were lit, Emma and the kids sang happy birthday, clapping when he blew out the candles. Afterwards, she cut them each a slice, and between bites, they moved on with presents.

Up first was the one that Emma had helped organize for Matt and Poppy to give him; they had done most of the the work while she’d simply provided guidance and occasionally, assistance. They’d chosen to make their father a picture frame, using popsicle sticks and colorful craft items, and it had turned out wonderfully, the neatly arranged painted, sticks decorated with buttons, cut out shapes made of plastic, and ribbon had a picture of Keanu and the twins on the inside. “I love it!” He hugged them tight, kissing their heads, still staring at his present. Even off to the side, Emma could see the softness in his eyes, the warmth clinging to his features, there wasn’t the slightest bit of untruth when Keanu said he’d loved the gift, and she admired him for it. A celebrity, who could probably buy anything he wanted at any given moment, appreciating a sweet, handmade gift as if the world had been served on a silver platter. “This is the best present ever!” Keanu hugged them again, keeping Matt and Poppy close.

It was only when he’d released them, did Emma present him with her gift, wrapped up in a blue and white polka dot box, held closed by white silk ribbon, “This one is from me,” her shy smile faltered when their hands touched, and she he'd her breath, hoping he’d like it.

Giving the edge of the ribbon a tug, Keanu undid the bow, opening the box. His jaw hung slack in breathless awe, and trying to be as gentle as possible, he reached into the box’s depths, producing an exact replica of the bike he rode to work almost every morning. It had been spray painted in the exact same colors, carried a downsized version of the very same details and even had a tiny license plate with his initials engraved onto it, “Em…” he gasped, running his fingers over the perfectly mimicked details, “This is….wow,” he huffed a chuckled.

Dragging her lip through her teeth, Emma searched his features, “Do you like it?” She probed nervously.

“Like it?” He glanced up at her, his emotions spilling out in just the way he looked at her, “I love it,” he chuckled louder, “Emma,” Keanu set his gift down on the coffee table, reaching for her bare knee with the hand that wasn’t holding Poppy close, “It’s so thoughtful of you.” The smile brightened his rugged, somewhat tired features as he added, "I love it."

"Great," Emma tried not to look him straight in the eye, knowing if she did, she might be wholly responsible for what happened next. His touch, warm on her thigh, squeezing affectionately, sent shivers up her spine and Emma was caught between wondering how things might have escalated if they were alone and thinking that it was time to pull away. "I'm glad you like it," even if she knew she'd already let his touch linger for far too long, Emma placed her hand over his, and faintly, she heard Keanu's breath hitch as his eyes widened slightly.

They both knew that at that point, their position wasn't unintentional, yet, before either of them could act, they were interrupted by Poppy stretching sleepily, admitting that she was tired. In an instant, whenever they were sharing had been broken, the moment was gone. Leaving them blinking quickly, seemingly emerging from a trance, and prompting them to get the kids ready for bed.

That night, Keanu helped Emma out with bedtime rituals, sticking around during bath time all the way through until they informed him that they wanted Emma to read to them before lights out. It was nearly eleven when she finally emerged from the hallway, shoes clicking softly until she finally decided that they were too much noise, nudging them off with her toes and resuming her small stature. “Hey,” she smiled tightly, calling Keanu’s attention as he stood at the floor to ceiling window, nursing something far stiffer than cider, the glittering lights of illuminated the Eiffel Tower casting a yellow glow on his face, the only thing brightening the room after he’d dimmed the lights.

“Hi,” he grinned widely, the way he always did when Emma walked into the room, “Whiskey?” He offered, moving to the mini bar, ready to get her a drink.

“Sure,” in minutes, Keanu was approaching her, offering Emma the glass he’d gotten, their fingers once again brushing during the hand off. That time, they both just huffed shyly, pretending to ignore it as they approached the window, staring in silence for a while, until Keanu scoffed a chuckle. “What?” Turning to him, Emma observed his profile, wondering if people were even supposed to be made that perfect.

“Its just,” shrugging, Keanu punctuated his words with a brief sip of his drink, not even hissing at its strength, “It’s almost over. Another year gone.” He seemed pensive, his thoughts colliding and confusing him; she’d never seen him in that light and all Emma wanted to do was help.

The alcohol burnt her throat as it slid down, and unlike Keanu, it showed on Emma’s face, though, it created a familiar warmth in her belly, one that she liked; even if she was quickly going to learn that it wasn’t just breaking the autumn chill, but also ebbing away her inhibitions. “You sound disappointed,” and when Keanu didn’t offer a response, she gently pressed, “Are you?”

Shaking his head, Keanu downed the rest of his whiskey, wincing slightly and discarding his glass on the top of a nearby accent chest, slipping his hands into his pockets as he turned to face her. His tie was loosened at the neck and before the twins’ bath, Keanu had discarded his blazer on the chair nearby. He was striking, even when he was close to disheveled. “I don’t know,” the disconcertment echoed in his tone, “Do you ever think that you’re doing the right thing, but then…...there’s one little change, and suddenly it feels like you’re making a huge mistake?”

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Emma tried to decipher the true meaning behind his words, opting for an analogy when she couldn’t, “When I first started college, I knew exactly what I wanted; I wanted to be a designer,” she smiled wistfully, “And my nana always taught me to go after what I wanted, even if it was silly to everyone else. So I started fashion school, but then the fees started to take a toll on my mom’s finances, and even if I got two part time jobs, it still didn’t save me from starting to sink.” Emma sighed deeply, looking out towards the city again, “The circumstances changed, or maybe I just noticed them for the first time, and suddenly, going to fashion school seemed selfish, like I’d made a terrible decision, a huge mistake. But when I told my nana what I was thinking, she asked me where I saw myself in ten years and……..that’s how I knew I had to stay.”

Knitting his brows, Keanu seemed more perplexed than when they’d started their conversation, “I don’t understand,” his voice was gruff and low and he hung on, waiting for her explanation,

Sighing, Emma’s contemplative soiree softened, “I guess it meant, if you’re sure about something, if you know it’s right in your heart, then even if things get in the way, you’ll find your way back to it. We’re constantly searching for happiness, and what’s right is always so……subjective. But if you know it's right in here,” stepping closer, Emma gently tapped Keanu’s chest, “Then even if it wavers here,” her cool fingers rose to his temple, “You’ll always go back to it.” Like Keanu, Emma finished off her drink, leaning past him to leave her glass next to his, her other hand still on his face, then cupping his cheek.

“What if……” He mulled on his words, letting them rattle around in his mind fitfully before spilling, “What if what makes me happy, and what’s right in here,” he reached out, pressing two fingers to the center of Y/n’s chest, just above her breasts though still where he could feel her heartbeat, “Are two different things?”

A lump had settled in her throat and a minute part of Y/n knew where things were going, while everywhere else screamed that they shouldn’t have gotten there in the first place. Keanu was her boss, her engaged boss. Yet still, she couldn’t find it in herself to tear her hand away from his face, or push him off her. “They’re always the same thing,” sparing the city of love one last glance, Emma shifted her sights to Keanu, stoking the apple of his cheek, marveling at the way he tilted into the softness of her hand and barely noticing the way his hand had slid up to cup her neck. “Maybe you’re confused right now, but they're always the same.”

“I’m so confused right now,” Keanu confessed, closing the final inches of space. They were lost in each other’s stares and at that point, there was probably nothing in the world that could push them apart. With his hand on her neck, she could feel his callouses and his warmth, radiating, doing more than the finest spirits ever could. The cloud of air between them was tainted with the aroma of expensive booze, still clinging to their hot breaths, mingling with the smell of smoked cigarettes and the alluring fragrance of Emma’s perfume. With every exhale, their chests touched, ever so slightly.

“What do you want?” Emma nudged, licking her lips when Keanu’s face drew closer, tilting her head so she’d grant him access, anticipating what would happen next.

“I want…….” He furrowed his brows again, “I want to be happy.”

“Then be happy,” and that was all it took; the final thread snapped and her words were the permission he’d been seeking. And though, all along, Emma sensed it would happen, when Keanu’s lips were finally laid on hers, she was completely and utterly surprised. They started slow, locking and moving in tandem at a most leisurely pace, though as the pair felt each other out, Keanu’s free hand found the dip of Emma’s waist while she clutched a fistful of his shirt, the silky fabric wrinkling in her grasp, the air took on a new heat and their kiss grew steamy. Six months worth of almosts and boiling tension just swirled around them, pressing them together, and when his tongue broke past her lips, sliding over hers, Emma moaned into Keanu’s mouth.

No one had ever tasted like that, like their lips were meant to spar with hers, no hands ever fit so well on her body. Wrapping his tie around her fist, Emma yanked him closer and they stumbled back. By then their longer, passionate kisses were punctuated by shorter, sweeter pecks, and all she wanted was for him to hoist her up into his strong arms and press her against the cold glass.

Then it hit her; the criminality of what they were doing. Miranda already hated her, and she was going to marry Keanu. That make out session alone was putting her job on the line, the job that she so desperately needed. Logic kicked in and without warning, Emma was letting go of Keanu’s tie and pushing him away. He looked just as frayed as she was, and even a little hurt, “We shouldn’t…...this is wrong. We can’t do this,” Her whispered words were more to convince herself, and before Keanu could respond, Emma was apologizing, turning away from him and scuttling out of the room.

“Em,” he tried to call after her, but it was too late, Emma was already gone, and Keanu had a feeling that things had just gotten way more complicated than he could have ever imagine.

*****

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