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criminalminds-hc-hq · 5 years ago

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Holding On or Letting Go

Word Count: 3,236

Warnings: I can’t think of any major ones at the moment. A little angst. Let me know if you think of any.

A/N: This is a continuation of On the Edge and ended up way longer than that fic. It’s been circling around my head for a while now so I’m glad I finally got it out.

December 20th-

The mall was packed with hardly any room to squeeze between people to get to the nearest store. Emma should have expected it this close to Christmas, but it slipped her mind. Now that she was in the fourth store of the day she was really regretting not ordering something online instead. Brent was being patient with their slow progress which was a relief at least.

With only a handful of days left until Christmas, Emma needed to find something for her mom, but nothing felt right. She was always impossible to shop for and never gave any hint as to what she wanted. So when Brent wanted to go shopping for his own family it felt right. They weren’t really together but he has been a good distraction over the last few weeks since she finally pulled the plug on whatever her relationship with Luke was after their breakup. Sure, Brent wasn’t who she wanted to be with in the long term. They had broken up years ago for that reason. But waking up every morning to the realization that the love of your life wasn’t actually in your life anymore is easier when there’s someone else in your bed.

“Do you think Callie will like this?” Emma turns to see that Brent had picked up a colorful toy that played different instrument sounds with each button. “She won’t understand the difference between instruments, but she’ll probably like pushing the buttons and the lights.”

“She will, but I don’t know how your sister’s going to feel raising a future musician,” Emma says. Looking around she notices a large stuffed rabbit and points to it. “What about that? It’s soft and doesn’t make any sounds.”

Brent turns to see what she’s talking about and laughs. “That’ll probably go over better. I don’t want Amy to kill me in a few months.”

He reaches over to Emma and gives her a soft kiss on the cheek. At the pressure, Emma feels her stomach clench and tries to push the feeling away. As he goes to get the stuffed animal off the shelf, she can feel her frustration flit through her mind. It’s been this way from the start of their “arrangement” or whatever you would call it. It was fine if she was the one to start things between them. If he was the one initiating contact, she would feel herself stiffen. Maybe it’s the surprise. Maybe it’s because his touch feels unfamiliar after years apart. Maybe it’s because he’s not the one she wants to touch her this way.

“I think I’ll get this too,” Brent says as he pulls a wooden puzzle off the shelf next to the rabbit.

Emma feels the pressure you get when you know someone’s watching you and slowly turns to face out toward the rest of the store. There he was along the far wall with the clearance merchandise, seeing her notice him. She can feel his brown eyes burrowing into her as he takes in the scene. What Luke was doing in a kid’s department store five days before Christmas, she had no idea, but the look on his face screams trouble. Quickly, Emma turns and grabs Brent’s hand and starts walking him to the cash register.

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Emma says. “Let’s get out of here before it gets too crazy.”

--------

“--couldn’t find anything for your mom. Maybe we should try another mall.”

“Uh--what?” Emma was lost in her thoughts. Seeing Luke across the last store was unnerving. What was he even doing there? The only kids he knows are JJ’s and Matt’s and he probably wouldn’t be shopping there for them. And that look on his face--it was a look she’d only ever seen once. They had been together for about six months at the time when they were at a bar and a guy hit on her as Luke was coming back with their drinks.

“It’s too bad you couldn’t find anything for your mom,” Brent says as he rubs his thumb in circles over the back of Emma’s hand. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

“Yeah, there’s just a lot of people,” Emma says. The place was packed--she wasn’t lying there. “I think I’m going to order something online. I can’t deal with this madness.”

“Do you want to come back to my place? We can order in some lunch and spend the afternoon looking for something for your mom.”

Emma looks down at her watch and notices the time. “You can’t. You’ve got that conference call in an hour.”

Brent looks down at his own watch and curses. “I completely forgot. I should actually get going then. Do you want me to walk you to the metro?”

At that moment, Emma can feel the hairs rise up on the back of her neck again and looks back at the store they just left. Sure enough, Luke is standing next to the entrance.

“No, I’m fine. I’m going to take one last lap before I throw in the towel for the day.”

Brent takes another look at his watch before leaning down and kissing Emma. She always thought he was a good kisser and, even if her heart isn’t in it, she knows that’s still true. But his facial hair rubs her the wrong way now and the kiss feels overt as she can still feel Luke watching them.

--------

When Brent is out of sight, Emma starts weaving in and out of people as she makes her way toward Luke who is leaning against the wall by the store entrance. His eyes track her progress and she feels her anger flare. This, today, feels more like being toyed with than the weeks they spent playing a game of hot and cold after their break up.

“Why are you here, Luke?” Emma asks with a sigh. “Were you following me?”

Luke raises an eyebrow at this before responding. “We just found out Matt and Kristy are having another one. I wanted to get them something before JJ and Garcia bought up their entire registry.” Emma watches as Luke lifts up the bag he’s holding to prove his purchase and her embarrassment reaches a peak she hasn’t been at in a while.

“Well, tell them congratulations for me,” Emma says and she starts trying to push through the crowd again.

“I can’t believe you got back together with him,” Luke says.

Emma stops at this and shakes her head before turning back to Luke. The look he had when all three of them were in the store at the same time takes residence on his face again. Her heart stutters at the thought of him being jealous, but her anger takes control of her mouth. “It doesn’t matter what you think, Luke. You gave up the right to have an opinion months ago.”

At this, Luke’s face softens slightly and she has to hold on to the words that are trying to fall from her mouth. She doesn’t want his pity (or whatever emotion is currently living in his eyes) and fighting in the middle of a mall days before Christmas isn’t what she wants or what she needs to get over Luke.

“He treated you like shit. That’s why you two broke up. What? You think he’s changed?”

“We’re just having fun, Luke,” Emma says as she rubs at her temple. “It’s not that serious.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, “ Luke says with a bite in his tone.

“Then who does?” she snaps back at him.

“Not a guy who can barely find two brain cells to rub together!”

“Luke, stop it!” Emma takes a step forward to try to keep her volume down while her anger boils over. “You don’t get to say a THING about how I choose to deal. I need something to handle this gaping hole in my chest and you don’t get to give me shit about it!”

Emma has to look away from the expression that comes across Luke’s face at her words. It takes everything in her to hold back the tears that are starting to pool in her eyes. She can’t tell if they’re from her anger and frustration or that fact that dealing with losing Luke is still the hardest thing she does on a daily basis.

“There’s this face you make when he’s kissing you,” Luke says, his tone aiming for light and joking, but pulling closer to bitter. “It’s like you stumbled on a rotting corpse. I’d say I’m surprised he doesn’t notice, but, again, two brain cells.”

Without meaning to, Emma laughs at Luke’s attempt to lighten the situation before trying to cover it up with a cough.

“Luke,” she says seriously. “I’m sorry if the situation makes you uncomfortable. But I wake up every morning and have to remind myself that we’re not together. I never get used to it. It’s always like pulling a band-aid off. Every single morning. So, I’m having fun with someone who can distract me from the pain I’m in. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like it.”

Emma reaches over and squeezes Luke’s free hand softly to lighten the impact of her words. His hand tightens around hers in response. Her words have brought a storm of emotions across Luke’s face, but they aren't still long enough for her to discern them.

“Tell Matt and Kristy I say congratulations,” Emma says before walking away, trying her best not to look back.

--------

December 29th--

For Emma, this was the longest day in history. She spilled her coffee on the way to work, work was its own never ending nightmare, and the metro line she takes home was down. She spent more on an Uber than she usually spends all month on her metro pass. Finally at 11 she’s curling up on the couch with some ice cream and reality TV to start the weekend off right.

Even if it’s all fake, it’s nice to pretend that people’s romantic lives can actually work out. As the show goes on, she notices her phone light up with a few texts and unlocks it.

Matt Simmons [11:21 PM]: Your ex is drunk and won’t shut up. I didn’t know he was a talkative drunk.

Matt Simmons [11:21 PM]: How did you deal with it?

With a sigh, Emma sets down her ice cream and pauses her show. She really thought after her confrontation with Luke at the mall that she’d stop having him in her face all of the time. How the hell are you supposed to get over someone who’s constantly there?

Emma Ward [11:22 PM]: Feed him greasy food and he’ll shut up.

Matt Simmons [11:24 PM]: I wanted to talk to you about him actually. He’s been a mess lately. The whole team’s concerned.

Emma Ward [11:24 PM]: What’s going on?

Emma throws her head back on the couch. He broke up with her. He toyed with her emotions after the fact. And she still can’t hear something like this without her mind going into overdrive.

When a few minutes pass without a response, Emma gets up and puts her ice cream away. The worst case scenarios start playing as she paces around the living room.

After what feels like way too long, Matt finally responds and she sits back down on the couch.

Matt Simmons [11:31 PM]: We’re away on a case right now and we’re sharing a room. He’s not sleeping or eating. And now he’s drunk.

Matt Simmons [11:31 PM]: He keeps saying he “pushed her into that idiot’s arms.”

Emma closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Everything feels like too much. This whole mess was pointless and unnecessary. It didn’t have to be this way and yet, here they were. Her frustration builds up as she writes out her response.

Emma Ward [11:33 PM]: I’m sorry you’re dealing with all that, Matt. Get him some greasy food and put him into bed. He’ll be fine tomorrow. As far as the rest of that goes, I can’t even right now.

Matt Simmons [11:34 PM]: Emma, I wouldn’t have texted you if it weren’t bad. I know how hard your break up has been.

Matt Simmons [11:35 PM]: He’s been useless all week. Now he’s drunk in the middle of a case. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s asked to use some vacation time when we get back.

Emma Ward [11:35 PM]: I don’t know how to help you from here, Matt. I saw him right before you guys left and he seemed fine.

Matt Simmons [11:37 PM]: I think you two need to have a real conversation when we get back.

Emma Ward [11:37 PM]: Matt…

Matt Simmons [11:38 PM]: I know he’s the one who had his head up his ass. Please talk to him when we get back.

Emma puts her phone face down on the table and screams into her nearest pillow. Her mind is already in overdrive, but Luke did this. He’s the one who decided they shouldn’t be together. How does her trying to get over him give him the right to be such an ass right now? At that thought, her concern overtakes her anger as she imagines what’s going on with him right at that moment.

--------

January 3rd--

Taking a moment at the door, Emma breathes in through her nose and out her mouth to center herself. She’s not sure why she’s nervous. All the evidence shows she’s on the right track with her line of thinking. Matt’s phone call earlier should have been proof enough that she isn’t about to embarrass herself in front of this man for the second time in two weeks.

Emma reaches up and knocks on the door. Roxy’s gentle bark confirms Luke’s presence before he even makes it to the door. Her heart picks up speed without permission. When he does finally answer, he’s running a towel through his damp hair, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt she bought him for his birthday with his favorite band on the front.

“Emma? What are you doing here?”

“Matt called and told me you guys got in,” she says and lifts her left hand to show the bag. “I went to your favorite Chinese restaurant down the street and got your usual. I thought we could talk.”

“I would say I can’t believe he called you, but I can,” Luke says as he steps out of the doorway.

Roxy comes bounding up as Emma steps into Luke’s apartment. She rubs Roxy’s ears with her free hand before heading into Luke’s kitchen.

“You don’t need to check up on me, you know,” he says from the doorway. Emma sets the bag on the counter and turns back to face him. Luke looks rough with bags under his eyes. Matt was probably right about Luke not sleeping.

“Matt said you had a rough week,” Emma says. “And he kind of insisted.”

“I’m sorry he did that.”

“I’m not,” she says as she leans her back against the counter. “He says you got kind of drunk the other day. On a case.”

“That was a mistake,” Luke says. He sets his towel down on the counter next to her and leans his side against it. This is the closest she’s been to Luke one-on-one in months and her breath hitches at the thought. With him angled towards her and her angled toward the door, she can’t see his face to try to read his emotions.

“Matt made it sound like you were going to get in trouble.”

“I got chewed out and if I do it again Prentiss is probably going to eat me alive,” Luke chuckles. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Seems like there was something you couldn’t handle,” she says before finally looking over at him. “Can we stop dancing around the subject and talk like adults?”

Luke’s eyes go from warm chocolate to a deeper, hardened candy color and Emma knows his walls are going up. But they can’t keep this bullshit up. If she loves him and if he, like she hopes, still loves her, all of this is so unnecessary. Luke’s causing them avoidable pain because he’s worried. She’s worried too. But all the pain from the past few months is so much worse.

“Em, I’m fine. You’re obviously fine too.”

“Why ‘obviously’?” Emma says, staring up into Luke’s eyes. Trying to show him she’s not going to let this go.

“You got back together with Brent, obviously you’re fine,” Luke says with an edge in his voice.

Out of frustration, Emma lightly slaps at Luke’s upper arm. “Are you seriously that stupid?” Luke reaches out and grabs the hand Emma left hanging in mid-air after slapping him. “I already explained that to you before you left for that case. I was never ‘back together’ with him. We were having fun. It was supposed to be distracting me from our break up.”

“‘Supposed to be’?” Luke asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, some idiot got drunk at work. Then his team started texting me all the time.”

Luke moves to intertwine their fingers together, but says nothing, deep in thought. Emma has to force herself not to say anything to interrupt. Her pulse is racing and she’s pretty sure the hand Luke is holding is covered in sweat by now.

“I made a mistake,” Luke says softly. Emma turns so she’s facing him completely. “I didn’t think it was fair that I was gone all the time. Constantly canceling plans and never being there for important events.”

“And you think Matt and Kristy don’t go through that?” Emma counters. “Or JJ and Will?”

“It’s different with them. They’re married, they live together.”

“I don’t see the difference, but go on.”

“I think I knew it was a mistake from the moment it happened,” Luke says while rubbing his thumb gently along the back of Emma’s hand. “That’s why I kept coming by after we broke up. I didn’t know how to fix this.”

“Well, sleeping with me and then not talking to me for two weeks definitely isn’t it,” Emma jokes to try to alleviate the tension.

“I’m sorry I had my head up my ass as Matt would say,” Luke says, reaching up with his free hand to rub her cheek softly. Emma can already feel her cheek reddening under his touch. “I love you and being without you has been impossible. When I thought you were moving on, it killed me.”

Emma looks up into Luke’s eyes at this and notices tears pooling in his eyes. Her throat tightens at the sight. She’s never seen Luke cry before...or come anywhere close to it. She didn’t realize how hard their separation has been for him. Not even with Matt’s texts last week. Not even with Garcia’s texts after that.

“I love you, too,” she whispers softly before leaning up to kiss him.

Luke responds in kind and presses her to him gently. This kiss is different from ones they’ve had in the past. Slow, gentle, and full of all the pain they went through over the past few months. Emma can feel a tear sliding down her cheek, but doesn’t know which one of them it belongs to.

#criminal minds hc hq #criminal minds #luke alvez #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #fiction #luke alvez x oc #cm #pre season 15

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gotham-ruaidh · 5 years ago

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Truth to Triumph

Previously…

Chapter 19: Intermission

October 15, 1904

“A Madcap Princess” ran on Broadway to rave reviews in the summer and autumn of 1904.

Fully electric hansom cabs such as these debuted on New York City streets in the late 1800s.

“I’m sure you’re sick of hearing this, Jamie – but my God! What an impact you’ve made.”

Jamie blushed as Aidan McCallum, third-in-command in the New York City Police Department, pumped his arm in a strong handshake.

“It’s the least I could do, Chief – you know how greatly those victims suffered. How much they’re still suffering.”

Chief McCallum sniffed, his thick, walrus-like mustache shifting amid the deep-set lines of his face. “Oh, I know about that all to well. My wife, Amy – she’s volunteered for almost every charity initiative to support the orphans.”

A soft touch on his shoulder – Jamie turned to smile at Claire, who had returned from the bar with two glasses of Champagne.

“Chief McCallum – may I introduce my fiancée, Dr. Claire Beauchamp?”

The chief bowed, resplendent in his navy blue dress uniform.

“A pleasure. May I assume you’re the Dr. Claire my wife keeps hearing about, from her work with the Slocum victims?”

“The pleasure is all mine, Chief. And you may. I’m fortunate to have treated a fair number of them – I work at the quarantine hospital on North Brother Island.”

“Where the ship wrecked. My God,” the chief gasped. “That must have been a sight to see.”

“Nothing short of hell on Earth, to be honest.” Jamie carefully sipped his Champagne, watching his fellow theatergoers mill around the lobby.

The chief shook his head. “Anyway – those articles you’ve been publishing in the World? Those bastards at the Knickerbocker Steamship Company have blood on their hands. You’ve single-handedly proven that.”

Jamie shrugged. “I’ve had help. But I’m grateful I’ve been given the platform. Mr. Pulitzer says that he got a call from President Roosevelt himself this morning. He’s eager to get the Department of Justice involved.”

“One of the more meteoric political rises in recent years,” Claire remarked, as Jamie’s arm tightened around her waist and settled on her hip. “New York City Police Commissioner for not quite two years. Then Assistant Secretary of the Navy for just over one year. Then Vice President for just six months, until poor President McKinley was assassinated – and now, he’s President of the United States!”

“You missed his two-year stint as Governor of this great state,” Chief McCallum interjected. “But you’re right, Dr. Beauchamp – Teddy has certainly gone places, these past few years. But he’s never forgotten his roots, here in New York. I hear at the Department that he’s been regularly checking in with my boss. Wants to make sure we keep an extra eye out in the neighborhoods where the Slocum victims now live.” He sighed. “It’s my job to keep people safe – and I can’t understand the thought process of those criminals at that company. Playing with people’s lives.”

Four notes in a quiet chime. The group looked up to see a young woman strolling through the lobby, hitting the xylophone – clearly the intermission was over.

Claire smiled at the Chief. “We better be getting back to our seats, Chief. So lovely to meet you – I’d love to meet Amy someday.”

The Chief touched the brim of his cap. “I’m sure she’d love to meet you too, Doc. And Jamie – well done. My department backs you up, one hundred percent.”

Jamie nodded his thanks, and Claire steered him back towards their seats.

“That’s the fourth man who’s buttonholed you tonight,” she remarked as they approached their row.

“All positive, thank God. Their praise is worth every ounce of effort we put into it.”

They sat back down, watching the heavy curtain draped across the stage.

“Do you like the show, Claire? I know we got the tickets at fire sale prices, since it’s closing in less than a week – ”

Gently she settled her free hand on his knee. “I love it. I love how ridiculous it is – it’s so nice to spend an entire evening laughing. Don’t you agree?”

He did. So much that during the entire second act of A Madcap Princess – a hilarious mélange of screwball comedy and musical theater, set at King Henry VIII’s court – he watched her smiling face, rather than the farce unfolding on stage, and knew he was the happiest man on earth.

“I know you told me earlier, but – what happens now?”

Jamie slung his arm through Claire’s as they exited the theater at Broadway and West Thirty-Eighth Street. “It’s all up to the lawyers now. Railroad Randall’s lawyers, and Silas Hawkins’ lawyers, and Mr. Jerome, the District Attorney.”

“He’s made a name for himself as an anti-corruption crusader, from what I recall.”

“Yes, he has. He knows this is the case of a lifetime. Mr. Pulitzer says the criminal charges – criminal negligence – are certain, with the documentation Mary provided.” He stopped on the corner and raised his hand for a cab.

“I’m so glad Joe was able to help her out. Some time with his sister in Bergen County will do a world of good.”

An electric hansom pulled up – and Jamie and Claire eased into the open cab, Claire pulling her shawl around her shoulders against the October evening chill.

“Third and Twenty-Second, please.”

“All right, pal. You and your lady just hold on tight – this goes faster than the horses!”

Claire had just enough time to grip the side of the cab before they sped off, wind whipping her face, clutching Jamie’s hand tight.

They didn’t speak during the journey back – they didn’t need to.

Jamie knew his work with the Slocum was nearly done – all that remained was to cover the charges that would be filed, and then the trial, should Randall and Hawkins be foolish enough to not broker a plea.

As for Claire – she still treated Slocum victims as patients, and she still diligently made house calls both in what little remained of Kleindeutschland as well as uptown in Yorkville. That would always continue – but already there were new patients. New lives to heal; new stories to tell.

Somehow they both knew that this very strange chapter in their lives was ending.

And yet, another chapter was beginning. For five days hence, on her birthday, they would be married – not by a justice of the peace in the brownstone’s parlor, as she had originally planned, but in a small private ceremony at the Church of the Epiphany, just one avenue over from the Beauchamp family home. She had grown up attending Mass at the church, and Father Kenneth had been so kind and understanding when he had baptized Henry in a closed-door ceremony just days after his birth – no questions asked.

So Father Kenneth would marry them; her parents, and Henry, and Joe and Gail Abernathy, and Mrs. Crook and Lizzie, and Nanny Fitz would all be in attendance. Mr. Pulitzer had declined the invitation, saying that he’d be busy on a Thursday afternoon, and had sent the happy couple a check for one thousand dollars and a voucher for three nights at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, all expenses paid.

They would remain at the brownstone at least until the springtime. Settle in to their new lives together. Above all, make sure Henry became acclimated to the new arrangement.

Though truth be told, Henry had been the most excited when the three of them had visited Jamie’s dusty rooms on Stanton Street, the day before. For Henry took the lead in helping Jamie pack his boxes and move his furniture downstairs and into the apartment of his very grateful Irish neighbors. He had played with the five children until Claire announced it was time to go, sadly saying goodbye but happy to carry a small bag containing Jamie’s books.

Henry deserved a sibling. Jamie, thankfully, shared her enthusiasm in this regard.

New beginnings all around. It was all Claire could think of as the hansom driver careened down Broadway, dodging horse-drawn carts and weaving between tram lines and steering clear of the handful of other automobiles on the road. The wind blowing in her face reminded her of the summer she and her parents had spent on the beach when she was a girl, and she had insisted on riding the Whip and Steeplechase over and over again.

She and Jamie had to take Henry there, come springtime. Perhaps there would be another child on the way by then…

“Ah! Great work.”

Jamie jumped out of the cab and onto the pavement in front of the Beauchamp family brownstone. He helped Claire up, and together they fished for cash and coins to pay the three dollar fare.

“Thanks ever so much!” Claire waved as the driver doffed his cap and silently whizzed down East Twenty-Second Street, toward Second Avenue.

“That was fun!”

Jamie gathered Claire close, and kissed her smile.

“Come on. Let’s kiss our son goodnight.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #truth to triumph #jamie and claire

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watchtowerindistress · 6 years ago

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Can We Pretend - Billy Russo x Reader

Requested. I honestly have a lot of requests in my inbox which I have more time to write in the next two weeks. I’m currently feeling this imagine the most, so I’m trying this one out.

The Punisher Masterlist

Warning: Language, past violence (nothing too graphic)

Words: 1493

Please support me by buying me a cuppa and reading my published books.

If I'm honest, what I liked were the things we didn't know

Every morning, every night, I'll be beating down your door

Just to tell you what I'm thinkin', but you already know

-Can We Pretend by P!nk feat. Cash Cash-

Your hands were turning the hangers as to look at the dresses on display more openly. You had to chuckle, Frank and Karen never did anything traditional and professed by society.

Both had decided to have a small wedding with no less than 30 people. Just closest friends. Unfortunately, for both of them, the family part could not be included. In Frank’s case, it could not be avoided but with Karen, it was a deliberate choice.

A decision you could definitely get behind.

Karen and Frank would both have all the family they needed.

And with that thought in mind, you turned your head, mindful of the amount of dresses already gathering on your arm.

Your gaze met the back of Billy who was standing in front of the assortment of suit jackets. A small and fond smile was forming on your lips. One suit jacket looking like all the others and yet it was still hard for him to decide.

The sound of your boots hitting the ground resounded underneath you as you stepped closer to him.

Billy was frowning deeply, gazing at the wide display in front of him, as if he were in a trance.

You put your chin on his shoulder, slightly stretching on your tiptoes to reach his height. Your breath blew against his scarred cheek, grabbing his attention. “Still not finding anything,” you whispered, revealing a warm smile.

Billy grumbled to himself, like he was facing a complex decision. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

You hummed, agreeing with him, and carefully putting your chosen dresses over an armchair. Putting your hands around his well-made arms to turn him around so you could look him in the eyes.

“Forget about that.”

Billy’s black eyes were gazing around nervously.

“What’s the matter, Billy?” You tilted your head, trying to get through to him.

“Nothing,” Billy muttered incoherently. And you thought Frank was a man of few words.

Raising your eyebrows, you sighed. “Now without the bullshit, please.”

Billy released the breath through his mouth, averting his eyes. “There are going to be lots of people.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in thought. “Yes, if you call 30 people lots. And you know most of them, Billy.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”

Your lips were twitching at his sour comment.

“Something funny?”

If you were anyone else, the intense stare would have scared you, but you knew him as long as he knew Frank.

“No, it’s not like that.” Your palm grazed the sensitive skin around his scars, momentarily jolting him. If Billy was nervous before, now he was swallowing. Sometimes it felt like after he was tortured in Afghanistan and his face was sliced open and made unrecognizable, he appeared touch-starved.

“I don’t care how you look like, Billy.” The shock was clear on his face as his mouth opened. “I’m getting the feeling that you’re really self-conscious about your looks and that’s all right. But I want you to know that I will not leave your side this whole time.

Billy averted his head, shaking it once. “I don’t deserve you.”

You only smiled, saying, “I love you.”

“How do I look?”

Amy munched on a bag of popcorn, giving her the once-over. “Like you want to kill Frank.”

Karen scoffed once, her fingers ghosting over the satin-y feel of her dress.

“I’m serious. I think you need to give him CPR because he will drop dead, that’s for damn sure.”

Karen laughed lightly.

“Amy, language,” you said, stepping into the room, already wearing your golden dress for the wedding.

“Oh my God, (Y/N), thank you for coming,” Karen exclaimed, hugging your body tightly like a lifeline.

You shortly reciprocated the notion but were afraid to even touch her wedding dress and stepped back. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I want to see Frank’s look on his face when he finally sees you in that dress. He won’t know what hit him.”

“Told you,” they heard behind them as Amy spoke through a full mouth.

“How can you eat now?” Karen put her hands on her hips in question.

Amy rolled her eyes. “Oh please, I can fit into anything.” Her gaze went down your arm before she gazed at you again. “So, how was shopping with Billy?”

“It went. But we found something for him. He was pretty nervous about today.”

“Because of the wedding,” Amy asked with a high note.

You shrugged. “I guess so, but he’ll want to be here for Frank.”

Amy merely hummed suspiciously but sent you an angelic look when your eyes narrowed.

“You seem nervous, Billy.”

Billy chuckled to himself, his palm ghosting over the drapes of his suit. “Do I?”

“Yes, everything will be fine, trust me. So, put on your big girl panties and try to enjoy this, all right?”

Billy cleared his throat, trying to quench the laughter building up in his throat. “Yeah, you’re right, (Y/N).” To your surprise, he raised your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss on your skin.

Damn, who knew he could still make the butterflies in your stomach rise?

“What?” Billy sent you a soft gaze.

“Nothing.” You could imagine you were looking at him like Frank did with Karen and his so-called heart eyes. “Just still surprised at you, that’s all.”

Billy sent you a smoldering gaze, just to send your heartbeat racing. “I live to surprise you.” He was stroking the hammering pulse at your wrist, feeling your heart palpitations.

For good measure, you punched him in his ribs to erase that smirk from his face. Bastard.

Billy grunted but did not let up with that smirk.

The wedding was beautiful. Truly magical. Frank looked like he was having a heart-attack but in the end merely tears gathering in his eyes were the testament to his true love for this badass woman.

He was going to kill anyone who would ever dare repeat this.

Every time you sighed so deeply and leaned against Billy, the dark-haired man only put his arm over your shoulder, stroking the naked skin.

Your throat tightened when they finally kissed to end their vows.

“Congratulations, guys,” you called out and hugged them both. There were some tears gathered in your eyes as well, so Billy had the good instinct to trap Frank in a bear hug.

Karen and you rolled your eyes at their antics but still gazed at them fondly.

“So, have you told Karen the good news already?”

“What good news,” you and Karen asked curiously.

Billy was shaking his head desperately, making you furrow your eyebrows. If you did not know any better, you would say that Frank was blabbing his mouth about something.

“What is going on?”

Billy sent you a nervous look, like the one he did before, and sighed. “Let’s talk about where it’s quieter.”

Frank had a guilty expression on his face as you sent him a confused look.

“Okay, again, what is going on, Billy?”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was meant to be a surprise … which in hindsight I should have known better. Frankie could keep his mouth shut like a stubborn mule around terrorists but be a blabbermouth when it comes to being Cupid.”

You laid a hand on his shoulder. “Billy, explain.”

Billy’s hand went into one of his pockets, holding onto something. He took your wrist and bringing it to his lips, like he was stepping out from a Jane Austen novel. His lingering stare would have set you ablaze you again if the nervous expression was not underneath it.

“I’ve been carrying onto this thing for months. I lost my nerve a few weeks ago and then I did not want to steal Frank’s and Karen’s thunder. But now I don’t care. I got nothing to lose.”

Your heart was thumping in your chest and your mind was going in a certain direction, but you did not want to get your hopes up.

Before you knew what was happening, he revealed the inside of your palm. That sneaky bastard actually sneaked a ring while he was giving you that kiss.

Oh my God, a ring!

Your head swiveled upwards, shock plain to see on your wide eyes.

“You’ve always been there for me. While others appreciated me for my good looks, you were one of the few who stood by me even when I hated looking into the mirror. I know I don’t deserve you, but please will you at least let me try?”

With a teary gaze you felt too stunned to speak, in fear of sounding like a choking animal. You nodded vehemently. “Yes.” You smiled, covering your mouth with your hand.

Billy’s wide smile could have blinded anyone within his reach as he put the engagement ring around your finger and you hugging you towards his chest as if you were his salvation.

#steph writes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo imagines #the punisher imagine #the punisher imagines #can we pretend

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catloud · 5 years ago

Text

Greta Gerwig is The Best One

I grew up loving, living and breathing two films: Little Women, with a wild and passionate Winona Ryder, and Emma Thompson’s Sense and Sensibility. The middle of three sisters, I saw our dynamic as a trio in both of them. We cast ourselves as these women, making our own Pickwick Papers and putting on plays in the garden, just like our beloved March sisters. My own teenage solitude revolved around moody walks in the hills near my house on a Scottish island, calling Willoughby’s name in the rain, usually to the soundtrack of Greenday or Alanis Morisette or Damien Rice. These were the raw materials I had to craft my identity with. Sisters. Sisterhood. Love. Passion. Power. Freedom.

And, just as I was conditioned to pick a favourite Spice Girl or colour of Starburst, I immediately made Jo and Marianne my respective LW and S&S favourites. But Jo is something special. She is, after all, the patron saint of all aspiring writers and country bumpkins who move to the city for adventure. I feel that.

I know there’s something about Jo. Why did I make her The Best One?

What about Meg? Lovely Meg! Naturally maternal and equal parts severe, sensible and sweet, she gracefully bears the burdens of societal pressure and familial responsibility as the pioneering eldest child, while also taking responsibility for wrangling her more wayward sisters. She is a Mini Marmee, and lord knows we all love Marmee.

Or gentle Beth, wistful and musical, always striving to keep the peace between more the more overwhelming personalities within the household, and trying to make the world a better place for those less fortunate in times of extreme uncertainty. She loves everyone and everyone loves her.

Or Amy? Artistic and refined Amy, who matches Jo in talent and strength of will but is a thousand times more socially savvy. She makes the rules of the world (for women like her) work as she intuitively knows how to wield and tame them, while Jo fights them kicking and screaming all the way.

The March sisters are timeless because they pose a question that has refused to leave me alone – what am I supposed to want? Jo is our natural Girl Power era heroine. She is all of the great feminist moments in one person. She’s Jane Fonda getting arrested at a protest. She’s telling a mansplainer to shut the fuck up. She’s not taking “because you’re a woman” for an answer, ever.

She’s wild and proud, recklessly emotional and deeply ambitious. And there it is. Ambition. The most masculine of fatal flaws that is at first admirable before it devours everything in its path, stopping at nothing till the whole world has been swallowed and spat out again.

We can’t all be Jos. Stoking and sustaining that level of craving and chasing is absolutely exhausting. And when what you want comes to you, and comes crashing down again because nothing is forever, then you’ll see the holes left behind. Creative projects and the pursuit of the next thing can be Polyfilla for the gaping, untreated hole left by perpetual loneliness. No one wants to look into its mouth for long, and so the great cycle begins again.

And I think about this now, because Hollywood’s Remake Olympics feels necessary this time. I need to see Jo again.

I find myself thirty, solo and skint. I have yet to find a like-minded soul who is more Alcott’s Laurie and less Austen’s Willoughby, and I’ve spent most of my twenties pursuing a career that I have loved but I’m convinced hasn’t loved me. I’ve hunted opportunities, scraped by when cash was tight with a knot in my stomach and instead of chasing something brilliant and wonderful, I have been obsessed with not failing. Failing isn’t an option. I don’t know what else to be instead.

Why was my hometown not enough?

Why did I have to want more?

These questions are Greta Gerwig’s territory, an artist who has made herself very much at home with stories about women at crossroads who sense good things on the horizon, but struggle to get their bearings. She is an artist I watch with so much strange pride, horrified that so few women are staking claims and taking names in a director’s chair and yet, there she is. There she has been, for years.

As a writer and as a performer, Gerwig understands how painful it is to be in a perpetual state of becoming. Frances Ha - the 2012 film she starred in and co-wrote with director Noah Baumbach - is a masterpiece. I resisted watching it for years, because I was scared of seeing myself in it. I was right, but I didn’t need to be scared. It’s filled with the same mundane intimacy in Little Women - girls sitting in bed together, making plans for a big, varied, wild life. Gerwig and Alcott write love stories about wanting to love life and have life love you back. Her eponymous character is the earnest, awkward and mis-stepping heart of a film that scrambles up the crushing economic realities of modern life with whimsical and chic French New Wave aesthetics, adding glimmers of Fame and Footloose for fun. “Scrambling” is the most appropriate adjective for her. A precariously-employed dancer, she tells successful and self-assured best friend Sophie in the film’s deeply intimate opening montage “I tried to make a frittata and it’s really more of a scramble”. And we all know you can’t make an omelette without cracking eggs. They feature again in her Oscar-nominated and Golden Globe-winning Lady Bird. Arguing with her mother, Saorise Ronan’s Christine/ Lady Bird asks why she can’t cook breakfast, to which the excellent Laurie Metcalf replies “Because you take too long and make a big mess and I have to clean the whole thing up.” Eggs. Metaphors for messy lives, and a nod to the mothers we came from. The mothers! They’re poets and they don’t even realise. I love Gerwig and Alcott’s big-hearted mothers, so afraid for wayward daughters who want more than they can provide and say things like “I didn’t raise you like this!” when they act up. When we act up. I know you didn’t, and I’m sorry.

At the helm of Lady Bird, Gerwig is even more masterful at painting sisterhood and choices with a bold intensity, coloured with vivid metaphorical visuals. Juxtaposing the joy of a first kiss with a hushed conversation about tight finances gives economic hardship and anxiety the same weight in the drama as romantic entanglements. Lady Bird’s mother is often visibly crushed by her daughter’s ungrateful and embarrassed recognition that they aren’t wealthy, and “wrong side of the tracks” cliches are shown to be careless, throw away words for painful and inescapable realities. Gerwig crafts anxious and relatable narratives around being economically downtrodden and feeling less sure-footed in the face of those who have hit certain milestones. Her work is peppered with the many little audacious deceptions we pull off that conceal deep-rooted despair; the greater truths can be reached when we take sex out of the equation, or throw it in; the sorrow of being left behind. But she always gives us joy, too. Writing the names of boys we love on the wall and painting over them when don’t anymore. Going to view houses, trying on other lives for fun, because it’s wonderful and poignant to deliberately get lost in the woods to simply feel every now and then.

She makes me nostalgic for that particular sweet spot in my adolescence. There is so much I hated about being a teenager, but I was restless and hungry and I miss that person. I still want to believe that the world is full and vibrant, and that I deserve a slice of it nut sometimes I fear that I will never feel brave or excited again. But Gerwig is familiar with this feeling and Little Women, in essence, explores all of these fears. Her films show women living their lives differently and overcoming the battles that ensue, and this makes her the perfect wrangler for the March sisters, each with their own diverging life paths but all of them equally valid.

Of course, to call it an exploration of modern feminism isn’t wholly true. Feminism that isn’t intersectional isn’t feminism and Little Women as a historical piece is incredibly white and heteronormative. But, there are lessons to be learned about what being a woman today looks like. It takes guts to be a mother and raise children, or to pursue the life you desire even if it takes you thousands of miles from what you know and who you love. She understands that choosing a creative career - and continuing to choose it in the face of all its difficulties – is to peer into the lion’s mouth. Her films have a simmering undercurrent that points a finger directly at the harsh reality and unspoken acceptance that art is for the rich, and the pursuit of culture indicates a sense of superiority or reaching above station. And it will always take courage to break free from expectations, even if those expectations come from the people you love most.

I refuse to pick a favourite this time.

Meg March is coming home.

Beth March is your favourite album on vinyl.

Amy March is playing poker, and winning.

And Jo? Jo March is every foolish text and all sparkling, heartfelt conversations.

If I have to pick My Best One, it’s Gerwig herself. She is a storyteller who handles life’s tiny disappointments and triumphs like precious ornaments. She is a master of making mountains out of moments, of carefully handling stories that give women space to live untidily and brilliantly, of big and small rituals we do to root the person we’re becoming to the person we used to be, and to the people, places and things we’ve loved, always.

I feel safe in her hands. I couldn’t trust my March sisters to anyone less worthy, and I can’t wait to see these women I love through her imaginative, sensitive and determined eyes.

#Greta Gerwig #Little Women #Jane Austen #Jo March #filmmaking #sisterhood #feminism #film #nostalgia

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Note

Emma sends her friend Killian a text, not noticing the horrible autocorrect mistake and Killian gets the wrong idea.

All she needs is for finals to be over in two weeks. She needs them to be over, and then she’ll be free to do whatever the hell she wants for three months. Yeah, she’ll probably end up getting a job down at the Sheriff’s station, something she does with her dad every year since she’s been old enough to legally work there as an intern…which is definitely a bit of a stretch. She’s not exactly sure how her dad gets the approval from town council to pay her for answering phones and fiddling around on her computer for three months out of the year, but he somehow does. Whatever. It works for her. She gets to help out on the occasional interesting case that happens in Storybrooke and spend time with her dad.

It’s kind of like the dream for a twenty-two year old who’s a semester behind in college but can’t finish over the summer because her classes aren’t offered then. That sucks, a lot, but she’s a bit thankful for the extra six months to figure out what the hell it is she’s going to be doing for the rest of her life, which is terrifying in and of itself.

The fifty minutes of her advanced corporate finance class (she’d like to have words with whoever the hell decided this was necessary for a criminal justice major) tick by at a snail’s pace, Dr. Jitka’s monotone voice nearly lulling her into sleep until there’s an elbow hitting into her ribs at such a force that she almost falls back in her chair, having to grab onto the table in front of her to keep her from falling backward.

She knows exactly who just elbowed her, her eyes quickly glancing to her right where Killian is diligently taking down notes in his neat handwriting looking as if he didn’t just knock the breath out of her and nearly knock her over.

Asshole.

But then she sees the smallest of smiles on his face, his pink lips stretching out under the black of his scruff and the shade of his baseball cap. Yeah, that’s what she thought. It’s not like there’s anyone else who could have possibly elbowed her in the ribs.

Dr. Jitka finally finishes talking, their allotted time ending, and she scurries to pack up all of her stuff and make it to the Starbucks in the building, caffeine calling her name. Killian follows behind her, his longer strides allowing him to keep up with her hurried pace, even managing to pass her and sneak in front of her in line, the asshole.

“I need my coffee, Jones.”

“You are not the only person who’s tired, love. Do you even have any money left on your card?”“Ahh,” she groans, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, “no, no I don’t. I was just going to pay with cash.”

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear, something she’s noticed him do a lot in their four months of knowing each other. She thinks it’s a nervous tick. He does it before he asks a question in class, which she’s decided is his weakness. He’s this really confident guy, seemingly never lacking in it, except when he doesn’t know what’s going on, which isn’t often. He’s freakishly smart, is only in this class as his minor since his major is in mechanical engineering, and she kind of thinks he gets down on himself when he doesn’t know what’s going on.

But who is she to know the inner workings of Killian Jones? They’re friends, they talk, they study together a lot, but he’s still teetering on one of those people where she’s got a fifty-fifty shot of talking to him after graduation. Because, really, what do they have in common besides being in a torturous advanced corporate finance class?

(The same taste in movies, television shows, books, a liking for black coffee, the ability to stay up past four in the morning with no issue, the same biting sarcasm, a penchant for innuendos…maybe a few other things.)

But who knows? She, who doesn’t like making new friends, likes being his friend, even if she does call him an asshole more than she calls him by his actual name. So maybe she’ll put in the effort so that they can be friends outside of this class. He’s got an entire year left compared to her one semester, so it’s not like he’s going anywhere.

“I’ve got money I’m not going to use. I can pay.”

Her lips gape open, the act of kindness shocking her considering he never pays for her stuff when she forgets her food card. “Really?”

“Aye, it’s not like it transfers over to next semester anyway. You want something to eat?”

“A cake pop.”

“Love, it’s not even noon.”

“You offered. Don’t knock on what I’m getting. And I want my coffee – ”

“ – black but you’ll add two sugars to it, I know.”

“Good man,” she sighs, patting him on the back. “I’m going to go get that table in the corner before someone else does.

She walks out of line, dodging people and hoping and praying that no one takes the spot. It doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, but an open table is pretty much buried treasure, so when you see one, you have to take it and claim it as your own. It’s a tough competition to not be sitting outside in the rain, which has been a constant for the past few days. She manages to snag the table, plopping her backpack down in Killian’s chair so that no one takes it before pulling out her laptop and opening up her notes, trying to understand what the hell Dr. Jitka was even talking about.

Killian joins her ten minutes later, placing her coffee and cake pop down on the table while he settles across from her, his legs kicking hers and shaking the table when he crosses them underneath the wood. When she goes to grab her cup, she sees a number written in sharpie right under Killian’s name. She rolls her eyes. Of course the barista gave Killian her number. She didn’t even know people did that, but apparently they do.

“So how did you charm the barista for her to give you her number on my cup?”

“Oh I didn’t.”“Then why is this number on my cup?”

“Amy, up there, is my ex. I have her number blocked, and every time I’m in here she writes her number on my cup. I hate to say an ex is crazy because, well, that’s kind of a sucky thing to do, but Amy is crazy.”

“You’re telling me that your ex-girlfriend works in here, and not only do you still come in here but you also trust that she’s not going to spit into your food?”

He puts his cup down on the table, his lips twisting up and his forehead wrinkling. “Never thought about that second thing. Bloody hell.” She laughs, reaching over and taking a sip of her drink. “Ah, ah, ah, love, if she’s spitting in my drink, what’s she going to do to yours?”

“Nothing? I’m your friend.”

“Amy doesn’t know that.”

“Oh gross,” she groans, putting her coffee down on the table and looking over at the counter, where, sure enough, Amy is staring them down. “Why’d you guys break up?”

“She thought I was cheating on her so she cheated on me.”

“Were you?”

“Nope. I like to consider myself a one woman type of guy. I’m not quite sure how she got the idea that I was cheating.”

“Well, Amy seems like a gem.”

“You want to know the kicker of it all?”

“Sure, Jones.” She leans forward, closing her laptop so she can prop her elbows up on the table. “Tell me all of your dirty little secrets.”

“She cheated on me with my best friend.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Aye. Obviously he’s no longer my best mate, but that was a fun time.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but at least you’re not with someone who’d cheat on you. No one deserves that.”

“So,” Killian whistles, picking up his cup again and eyeing it for a few seconds before seemingly deciding to screw it and drink his coffee, “you going home to your weird little town of Storybrooke for the summer?”

Changing the subject. Got it.

“It’s not weird. It’s just got an interesting name.”

“You guys have, like, one market, a diner, and a library. It’s like every small town you’d see in a movie.”

“Well, not all of us live full time in Portland, but yeah, I think I’ll go home and work for my dad. It’s easy cash, I get to spend time with him, watch all of the tourists roll in, and buy a ridiculous amount of ice cream.”

“Sounds like a dream. I’ve got to do my last semester of co-op.”“That sucks.”

“Eh, since it’s my last semester I get a pay raise, and I get paid double overtime. So obviously I’m going to be chomping at the bit for that so I can graduate with some actual money in my bank account.”

Her phone buzzes then, a text from Ruby, and that’s when she sees that she’s ten minutes late for her next class which is in another building. “Shit, I’ve got to go. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t forget about the assignment.”

“I won’t,” she promises, picking up her backpack and running out of the door, leaving her possibly poisoned coffee sitting on the table, her entire purpose for coming into Starbucks pointless now.

-/-

Emma: Joooooooonesssss.

Killian: Swan.

Emma: Oh come on, you’re supposed to be just as dramatic as me.

Killian: Oh my Swan, my Swan, whatever is wrong with the fair maiden that she calls out my name like that, since I do assume that it’s not in pleasure.

Emma: Okay, well I didn’t mean to be that dramatic.

Emma: I don’t understand our last homework assignment.

Emma: I need a B on it.

Emma: Can you help?

Killian: Of course. My place or the library?

Emma: Your place. I’m so frustrated.

Killian: What time?

Ruby calls out her name then, something about the two of them forgetting to pay a bill, and she groans as she gets up from the comfort of her bed (which is likely another reason she wasn’t getting anything done) to go see what’s happening. Ruby is scrolling through their apartment’s portal, showing her their last statement, so she doesn’t really look when she replies to Killian’s text.

Emma: How about sex tonight?

Emma: I don’t think I can finish without you.

Killian: Yeah, okay, that’s perfect ;)

She puts away her phone in her back pocket, forgetting about it and not seeing Killian’s next text as she deals with them not paying the electrical bill, which was definitely Ruby’s fault because she was in charge of paying their bills due on the first this month.

Killian: But what time are you coming over?

-/-

She pulls up to Killian’s apartment around five forty-five, but it takes a solid ten minutes to find parking. He lives close to campus, which blows her mind that he can simply walk to class, but those are the kinds of perks that she guesses you get when you’re on scholarship and literally only have to pay for somewhere to live. Seriously, even his textbooks are paid for.

It pays to be smart, apparently.

But once she finds parking a good half a mile away, she grabs her backpack and starts walking toward his place. She’s a little sweaty by the time she gets there, the rain stopping and humidity starting, but that’s fine. She’s just in her gym clothes anyways. When she knocks on his door, it takes no more than ten seconds for it to swing open.

Was he waiting for her?

Weird, but he is a stickler for time.

She doesn’t think anything of it until she gets a good look at Killian…and of the apartment. He’s wearing jeans and a light blue button down, the elbows rolled up to show his forearms. It’s a normal outfit, sure, but Killian rolls into class in sweatpants and a Henley or t-shirt, his hair usually tucked under a baseball cap. But right now it’s artfully tossed, the kind where you know the guy spent time on it but won’t admit to it. And is he…he’s wearing cologne. It smells damn good, but she’s confused.

Really confused.

Because he’s got soft music playing in the background, and she swears that she sees candles flickering in his kitchen.

“Hello, love,” he greets, bending down and kissing her cheek. When he pulls back, she can still feel where his lips touched her skin, the bristle of his scruff…she doesn’t hate it. She just doesn’t know what’s going on. “Why don’t you come in? Make yourself at home.”

“Was planning on it.” She makes her way into his apartment, passing his living area and heading toward the kitchen table only for him to grab her wrist, lightly tugging until she turns around.

“I feel like the living room would be better, or even the bedroom.”

“Weird but okay.” She’s definitely not going into his bedroom to do homework. That would be a disaster and uncomfortable on so many levels, so she settles down onto his couch, immediately pulling out her stuff while Killian sits down next to her, close enough that their thighs touch.

Her skin sparks the slightest bit, gooseflesh rising on her arms, but she ignores it, pulling open her notebook to where she’d been working out some of the more complex questions so she can get him to figure out where the hell she went wrong. But when she turns to ask him how to do the weighted average cost of capital, his face is freakishly close to hers the heat of his breath ghosting over her lips. And then before she knows it, his lips are on hers.

It’s nice, and she leans into it, returning the kiss and sliding her lips over his while his scruff brushes into her skin and his hands lightly thread into her hair. She gets lost in it, forgetting about who she’s kissing or why she’s here until he groans and his fingers grasp into her hair. That’s when it all comes back to her and she yanks back, separating the two of them and falling back on the couch, her notebook crashing to the ground while Killian blinks down at her.

“What the…” she stutters, hear heart beating quickly within her chest, “…what the hell was that?”

“What the hell was that?”

“I asked you first.”

“Are you five?”

“No, but I’m confused.”

“So am I.”

“You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“Well, I don’t despise you, and you’re a good kisser surprisingly enough. But I don’t…I don’t know where that came from.”

“What do you mean you don’t know where that came from?”

“Because I don’t? We’re supposed to be doing the damn assignment.”

“You literally sent me a text asking to sleep with me.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” she cries, backing up further on the couch until she’s sitting on the arm and curling into herself while her face heats. She’s probably red enough to pass as a tomato. “I did what now? Because I would literally never ask anyone to sleep with me through text.”

If she’s red, Killian is worse. He keeps running his hands through his hair, making it stand up in a million different ways, while his lips open and close over and over again. What the hell is going on?

This is WACK and it has nothing to do with the Weighted Average Cost of Capital.

Oh wow, she just made a finance joke in her head. Maybe she really is losing it.

“But you did,” Killian says, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. “Here, you sent one text that says ‘how about sex tonight?’ And then right after you said ‘I can’t finish without you.’ I thought it was strange and pretty unconventional, but I don’t know. We get along. I think you’re gorgeous, but there’s obviously been some kind of misunderstanding, and I’m just going to never show my face in our class again.”

“You’d miss the final.”

“Thanks for the obvious, Swan.”

She waves her hand toward him, scooting down on the couch and sitting cross legged so that she’s closer to him. “Let me see the messages.” He hands the phone over, the messages still open, and she reads through them right up until…”How about sex tonight? I can’t finish without you. And oh my God, I said I was frustrated earlier.”

Her laugh begins low in her belly, making her entire body shake until she��s dry heaving, basically hiccupping into the laugh, and she can’t breathe. She’s laughing so hard that she can’t breathe. Killian’s phone falls to the couch, landing in between her legs while she covers her mouth with her hands to try to stop the appalling sound that’s coming out of her mouth. This is hysterical, and she has never been so glad to misspell a text.

“I’m glad you find this so funny, Swan.”

“Oh c-come on,” she gasps, wiping the tears that are falling from her eyes, “this is fantastic. I meant six, you know? I did not mean sex.”

“Aye,” Killian gruffs, rubbing his hands up and down his face until he’s practically pulling his hair out, “I realize that now. I’m sorry that I…I’m sorry that I misunderstood, that I pushed myself on you. I’m also sorry that I’m a bloody idiot.”

She shakes her head back in forth, disbelief over this whole thing settling in while she tries to stifle her laughter. She leans over and pats Killian’s knee, which only makes him groan more. “I’ve always heard the jokes about engineers not having social skills, but I really didn’t expect you to fall into that category.”

“Are you trying to torture me?”

“Absolutely not. I still need your help with my homework, and you can’t do that if you’re both emotionally and sexually frustrated.”

“Oi,” he protests, his lips finally ticking up into the smallest of smiles, atta boy, “I am not sexually frustrated.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you’re not. Also,” she begins, getting up from the couch and wandering around the room, turning the music up on his Bluetooth stereo and blowing out the candles, “now I know what Killian Jones does when seducing a woman, and this is something I’m going to remember forever.”

“Can you knock me out so I forget?”

“No. Then I’d mess up your perfectly styled hair that I know you spent a lot of time on, not that you haven’t already done a number on it with all of that tugging.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh, I think that’s a lie.” She walks back over to him, settling down on the couch next to him and propping her head up on her palm before she sing-songs, “You think I’m gorgeous. You want to kiss me. You want to hug me. You want to love me.”

Killian rolls his eyes, a more genuine smile on his face now. “Okay, Sandra Bullock.”

“I like that you get the reference.”

“I’ve seen the movie.”

She laughs again, bending down to pick up her stuff, flipping back to her notebook page with her homework. “Killian, I promise you don’t have anything to worry about or be embarrassed with. I will never bring it up again if you want. We’ll just finish this homework and study, okay?”

“Aye, that sounds like a plan, though I don’t think I can truly forget.”

So they eventually get around to her homework. She’s still confused, doesn’t think she’ll ever understand it, but Killian talks her through it enough that she might get partial credit on the final. Possibly. She’s not really sure. But she does know she’ll at least get an A on the homework. It helps to have a genius friend who may or may not want to have sex with you but who can definitely help you with your assignments when you feel like pulling your hair out.

After they’re finished with their assignment, everything submitted through the online portal, Killian orders a pizza, grabbing two beers out of his fridge and handing one to her while a baseball game plays on the television. She doesn’t mean to, but she watches him as he takes a sip, his jaw ticking while he tilts the bottle against his lips.

It’s…attractive.

And it’s not exactly news to her. She’s always known Killian was attractive. It’d be hard to miss. His eyes…well, damn, he’s got some of the prettiest eyes she’s ever seen, and his smile is just a bright. The fact that she knows he works out regularly helps. A little. Or a lot.

His personality helps more than a lot.

Does she…like him? Maybe. Probably. Definitely.

Oh God, feelings are the worst, and she’s not sure that she wants them.

Okay, she kind of wants them.

She kind of wants him.

“Killian?”

“Yeah, love?” he asks, not looking away from the game on the TV.

“Did you really want to sleep with me?”

He groans, falling back into the couch so that his head falls against the cushion and his hair flops in his face. “I thought you said we could forget about it.”

“I did…I just – I’m curious.”

He points over at her, seemingly circling her entire being. “Of course I wanted to sleep with you. I mean, I’d prefer that we were both on the same page and that maybe, you know, you’d let me take you out on a date first.”

“Killian Jones,” she gasps, reaching over and squeezing his shoulder, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“That is not what I said.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to send you a sext, but here we are.” She laughs as he groans again, throwing his arm over his eyes. “My answer would be yes, by the way.”

He lifts his arm, peeking over at her. “Really?”

“Yeah, let’s go with the Friday after finals are over.”

“Why, Swan, are you asking me out on a date?”

She leans over and quickly slides her lips over his. Killian’s the one who takes a moment to react this time, his lips soft when they finally move over hers and his hand gentle as it threads into his hair. She meant for it to be short and sweet, but as she readjusts herself to straddle his lap, her knees on either of his thighs, it intensifies, Killian groaning into her mouth as his tongue traces at the seam of her lips. That’s when she pulls back, resting her forehead against his and loosening her grip in his hair.

“So it’s a date then, Swan?”

“Yeah, you can pick me up at sex.”

#cs prompt #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic

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lizwontcry · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Big Bang Theory (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sheldon Cooper/Penny Characters: Sheldon Cooper, Penny (Big Bang Theory), Leonard Hofstadter, Amy Farrah Fowler, Bernadette Rostenkowski, Howard Wolowitz Additional Tags: penny being pregnant is utter bullshat, so here is my answer to that Summary:

The baby isn't Leonard's.

While the light is still red, Sheldon leans in and kisses Penny gently. She feels an interesting sensation in her belly as his lips meet with hers, and she is hopeful that there will be a lot more kisses like that in her future.

For Sheldon's fortieth birthday, he and Amy throw a huge party and invite everyone they know. With their Nobel Prize money, they have cash to spend on this affair, which they host at a luxurious mid-century modern beach house in Los Angeles (obviously this was all Amy's idea and Sheldon reluctantly went along with it). Raj mans the grill, providing hot dogs and hamburgers, and there is plenty of alcohol available to enjoy as well--Penny makes sure of that, although she does not imbibe herself--for obvious reasons.

"Are you having fun, Mama?" Bernadette asks Penny, after doing three tequila shots in a row with Amy while Penny watches with increasing jealousy.

"Of course! I love seeing my friends getting drunk and then almost drowning in the pool," Penny says, and Bernie laughs too loudly.

"I'll toast to that!" Amy says, doing one more shot than Penny would have advised.

Kripke and Bert are in the corner of the pool arguing about the season finale of Game of Thrones, and Leonard and Wolowitz are watching some Youtube video of the latest particle physics discovery on the patio, preferring to stay in the shade until absolutely necessary.

Penny is sitting by the side of the pool, surveying the action, happy for her friends and the fun they're having. She is also trying not to think about ruining most of their lives with one small sentence, which will have to be done sooner rather than later.

Sheldon extracts himself from Amy for a few minutes and comes over to sit by Penny. They both put their legs in the water. Penny briefly touches Sheldon's toe with hers, which makes him twitch a little. Penny laughs. She knows how much he hates other people's feet.

"Happy birthday, sweetie. I hope you're having fun."

"It's not the worst party I've ever been to," Sheldon admits. "Although I'd much rather be eating Thai food at home while watching--"

"The new Spiderman Blu-Ray, we all know, babe," Penny says. She loves her weirdo friend.

"Yes, that's correct." Sheldon takes a sip of the spiked lemonade Wolowitz made. Penny does enjoy a semi-drunk Sheldon. That's how they got into this mess in the first place.

"So I suppose you haven't told Leonard yet," Sheldon says, looking across the pool at Leonard, who is now eating a hot dog while playing volleyball with Howard. Penny has never been less attracted to him.

"Oh, yeah, I told him last night and he took it really well. He can't wait to raise your baby and co-parent with you and Amy. He's over the moon."

"Sarcasm?" Sheldon asks.

"Yes, Sheldon. Obviously I haven't told him yet. I wanted to wait until after this party. He's so happy right now--he thinks he's going to be a daddy and he never stops talking about it. This baby was going to give him the chance to raise a child the direct opposite of how his mother raised him."

"Why would he want to do that? Beverly is a perfect mother," Sheldon says, and Penny ignores him.

"Anyway. I'll tell him tomorrow night. Are you ready to stick with the plan? I'm not putting my ass on the line if you're going to chicken out."

For a brief moment, Sheldon puts his arm around Penny and she rests her head on his shoulder. This public display of affection is not a good idea, but nobody is watching them, and Penny can always explain that Sheldon was expressing his newfound happiness for her pregnancy if anyone asks.

"I'm ready. Amy thinks I'm going to a conference in Colorado next week and that's why I've been packing in advance."

Penny nods. "Good. But... you don't have to do this, you know. I realize this isn't how you imagined your life turning out. I can deal with it on my own."

"Of course I know that, Penny. And yes, this is not optimal. I made a vow to Amy and I planned to uphold it for as long as I lived, but things change. Now that I've won the Nobel, I find that I am amenable to other possible outcomes. You are carrying my child, and I am committed to you and the baby. We can make this work."

Penny smiles. "We can. I know we can. Have you figured out how you're going to explain this to your mother yet?"

"No. I can't even picture how she's going to react. There's no telling what Jesus is going to think of my actions but I'm sure I'll find out soon." Sheldon sighs and Penny feels the familiar ache of how their lives are going to change so drastically and how many people it's going to affect. "I have to return to Amy now. You are going to tell him tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Penny promises, dreading every single second leading up to her telling Leonard that she is actually having Sheldon's baby.

"Then I'll be ready tomorrow," Sheldon says, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. He takes his shiny alabaster legs out of the pool and walks away to find his wife. Penny watches him closely. Although she occasionally had feelings for Sheldon in the last 12 years since they've first met, of course she didn't think they'd end up together. But it feels... kind of right? She doesn't love him, exactly. Not yet. She's hoping that will come after all the guilt from cheating on Leonard with his best friend, and taking her best friend's husband from her, has dissipated somewhat. It's right there on the surface--part of her thinks she's been falling in love with him one small moment at a time for a while now--at least ever since they went shopping together and Sheldon came out looking like a snack in that black suit of his. That's when Penny realized he was way more than a socially awkward comic book nerd.

Penny gets in the pool and swims over to Leonard, who offers her half his hot dog, which she takes gratefully--she's eating for two now. Bernadette joins Howard at the volleyball net and they play together, couple against couple, not knowing that there will be one couple less in the next 24 hours or so.

24 HOURS LATER

Telling him now. Meet you outside in hour. - P

Fine. See you then. - S

It’s about 8:13 PM on a Sunday night. They just had dinner--Leonard made a lovely meal of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, which Penny had been craving for a week. Leonard is sitting at his desk, writing a grant proposal (or something, Penny isn’t really paying attention) and listening to a TED talk. In other words, just like every other Sunday night Penny can remember in the last couple years. She has no idea what Sunday nights with Sheldon is going to entail, but she’s definitely ready to find out.

This would all be so much easier if she went with her first plan, which was to leave Leonard a note and never speak to him again. But Sheldon vehemently disagreed with that method and convinced her to tell Leonard the truth in person. Penny hopes Sheldon’s inherent goodness will rub off on her.

“Hon? I have something to tell you,” Penny says. She’s sitting in Sheldon’s spot on the couch.

“One second, let me finish this sentence…” Leonard says. Penny waits at least two minutes before Leonard turns around. “Okay! What’s up? Is the baby kicking again?”

“No, that’s not it. But it does have to do with the baby. Um, remember that night when Sheldon and I went out for some drinks and then I came home and was too drunk to, you know… do it with you?”

“Yes… of course I do. The week before is when we made that baby. And as I recall, we haven’t ‘done it’ since then.”

Penny nods. The ever-present guilt is starting to make her a little queasy. The questions she asks herself over and over, day and night, are stacking up again--how could I do this to him? He loves me so much and I cheated on him. I’m the worst wife ever. And the like. Penny has always known her morals have been questionable. In a way, she’s not even surprised this happened. Her relationship with Leonard was bound to derail eventually, just because she is the way she is. This is what she thinks in her darker moments--most of the time she’s able to at least justify it enough to make the guilt go away for a while. But that’s not happening tonight. Most likely tomorrow she'll wake up and her other dominant feeling will take over--that she deserves this baby, that her marriage has been a disaster from the beginning, that Leonard cheated on her before they even got married... you know, that kind of thing.

“Well. Sheldon and I had a good time that night. We laughed a lot. He drank more than I’ve ever seen him drink. He was telling me about winning the Nobel Prize and Amy and the problems they’re having in their marriage, and I did the same…”

Leonard looks--well, he looks a lot of things. A bit hurt, a bit confused, a bit angry. He’s going to be a lot more of those things in a few minutes.

“Why would you tell him about our issues? We barely even have any. You know I don’t want to go around telling our friends everything.”

Penny resists the urge to roll her eyes. They have plenty of issues that her pregnancy was just going to provide a band-aid for; before she got pregnant they'd fight every couple of days about both the little things and the big things. From how Penny never takes the trash out to how Leonard doesn't want Penny to audition for anything because he thought her acting days were over. They fought about that one a lot.

She doesn't argue with him on this point, though, because she's the one currently at fault here. "I know. But I was drunk, and I was in a mood. Well, something happened. Something you aren’t going to like. I made a mistake. Sheldon and I both made a mistake. When we got in the car to drive back to the apartment, we sort of… ended up in the parking lot of the Pasadena Public Library. And…” Penny doesn’t know how to finish this sentence. It’s so bad. It’s so so bad.

Leonard has started to figure out that his worst nightmare may be coming true at this exact moment. “And what? You checked out some books and went home?”

“No. It was dark and rainy and we were both drunk. One of us kissed the other. Then we got in the backseat and things… happened.”

“What are you telling me, Penny? Because surely you aren’t saying that Sheldon got you pregnant? That would be utterly ridiculous.”

Penny stares at the floor. She’s glad she already moved most of her stuff into the car so she wouldn’t have to stick around much longer. Can she leave now? Does Leonard have all the information yet?

It turns out he has a lot more to say. Penny listens to Leonard yell, and cry, and accuse, and say all the mean things she knows are true. He deserves to let it all out, she thinks. He deserves a better wife, and she deserves a better husband. They were never right for one another--just because they lived across the hall from each other doesn't mean they are soul mates. It just means they lived across the hall from each other.

While he goes on and on, Penny thinks about how she used to love Leonard at one point in her life--it seems like a long time ago, but she wasn’t always dissatisfied and bored with their marriage. She should have done something about it instead of ending up in a backseat with Sheldon, but… it happened. Things can change so quickly.

“I’m going to leave now,” Penny says when Leonard has finally run out of things to say. Leonard doesn’t argue with her. Instead, he ignores her completely, which she actually prefers. She gets her purse and a few other things from her room, and leaves the past behind.

Sheldon is waiting for her in the lobby. They hurry to her car, and once Penny has driven a mile or so, she stops at a red light. She turns to him and is surprised to see that Sheldon is smiling. Like, a real, actual, human smile.

"How did she take it?"

"Not well, I'm afraid. I believe she's writing you several angry texts or emails as we speak." Penny knows there's a lot more to the story, and that Sheldon is devastated in his own way. Amy was the first love of his life. She hates what Amy is about to go through, but there's no turning back now.

"That reminds me..." Penny says. She lowers the window and throws her phone out of it. It lands with a satisfying thud on the road.

Sheldon, without even thinking about it, does the same with his phone. Penny is shocked but delighted.

"This is the new me. The 40-year-old father of a new baby. The 40-year-old husband of Penny. The 40-year-old Nobel Prize winning scientist. I like the sound of that," Sheldon says. Penny laughs. She can fall in love with this Sheldon. This is a much different version of the 20-something she met for the first time who proudly showed her his whiteboards so long ago. This is the man she may, in fact, spend the rest of her life with--and that doesn't scare her or bore her to tears when she thinks about the prospect.

"Let's do this," Penny says. Sheldon nods, and as the light turns green, they drive into their future.

#shenny #I keep writing stuff #fandom #fanfic

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iraclemayrps · 5 years ago

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! you know what i'm here forrrrrr

@neicyrps

Who was the one to propose:

Tariq. Duh. It sort of just…happens. For Ryan, anyways. For months, Tariq secretly stressed over how to do it. Part of him - the over the top person that he is, wanted an ‘all eyes on us’ kind of proposal. ‘Cause that’s what Ryan deserved. But the more he thought about it. The more he knew Ryan and what she’d want. He decided that a more lowkey proposal was the best way to go. So he did. He’d slipped the ring on her finger after she’d crashed hard from a double shift. The question in bold sharpie writing on one of her old bright pink note cards tapped on the bathroom mirror for her to see when she shuffled in. And the living room littered with her favorite flowers trailing from the bedroom, the table set with her now cold favorite meal and him chilling on the couch as if he hadn’t been waiting for hours for her to wake up.

Who stressed more over wedding planning:

Both. It’s the cultural clash that Tariq expected would happen after proposing to a good old, Southern Christian black girl. From the food to the music. To who’ll preside over their ceremony. “Should we just have a justice of the peace? I mean, it will be a interfaith marriage.” Tariq sighs and pulls Ryan into a silent hug. He is two seconds away from grabbing his fiancee and heading to the courthouse to marry her. Right the fuck now. Some of his uncles are asking if she’ll convert. Or if he will. His aunties are talking kids. And all Tariq wants - besides marrying the woman in his arms - is to take her somewhere quiet with nice ass weather so he can see her in as less clothing as possible. No wonder a few of his cousins laughed when they found out his fiancee was Christian. In the end, they work it out ‘cause failure was not a fucking option. But damn, if he isn’t looking forward to their honeymoon.

Who decorated the house:

It’s a weird mixture of both of their tastes. The integration of Ryan’s favorite colors with his (green and gold) is an interesting sight for Tariq. An argument - or several - originated from him learning not to use decorative pillows for anything other than aesthetics. “Pillows are used for sleeping, Nae.” “Not those, Tariq! You’ve smushed them. Do you know how much those cost?” And it’s not like Tariq didn’t know. He just assumed that as a grown man, he could sleep on any pillows in his house. …Apparently not all of them. “I’ll cash app you the money. Just.. damn.”

Who is more organized:

Ryan. Hands down. Not that Tariq isn’t organized. But Ryan likes things in their place. All the time. He knew that going into this. Them finally living together. And he thought that knew. Or that, at the very least, she’d tried to warn him. But…he’s… learning to keep his shoes are out of the way so she doesn’t trip in the dark of night as she trudges to bed exhausted. Or remember to put up reminders when he’s used the last of something. It’s not perfect but Tariq is learning.

Who initiates bedroom fun:

Tariq. But in his defense, have you seen his wife? He continues to give praise to Allah on that alone. Especially considering how they met. He’s been threatened with a ‘no-touching’ rule that has to go into effect when Ryan has important things to do. Like major reports to complete and things like that. But so far, Ryan hasn’t used it yet. She will though. One day. Until then, Tariq is more than willing to keep her distracted.

Who suggested kids first:

Verbally, between the two of them, it’s Ryan. Tariq shouldn’t find the anxious look she gives him, or the wringing of her hands and thinning of her lips, to be cute. But he does. His Ammi has been asking for a grandchild since a week after they returned from their honeymoon. Which, trust him. Tariq was trying. The idea of a unique, smaller version of them out and causing havoc in the world was something that Tariq couldn’t shake. “I’ve been waiting on you, Doc.” He laughs ‘cause it’s the truth. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do this.”

Who’s more dominant:

Tariq. It’s not because he’s a man. But that Ryan has this unspoken thing about telling him what she wants aloud. He figured that out as he got to know Ryan. Not that she doesn’t have her moments. It’s weird but Tariq likes it. Which, dealing with him, appears to come easier and more regularly than before they met. Ryan’s not entirely demure - see how they met. It just has to coaxed out of her. Which is something Tariq doesn’t mind. At all.

Who’s the cuddler:

Tariq. He’s a tactile communicator. He talks with his hands. He works with them. Like most people, he uses them often. But it’s just something about Ryan that makes him gravitate towards her. Like a ship steering towards a lighthouse near the coast. His hands have to touch some part of her. Most of the time. So cuddles are natural. He likes the feel of her near his side. Or front. And on his emotionally draining days, his back. Her fingers combing through his short hair as he listens to the beat of her heart.

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity:

Cuddling aside? Ryan may or may not have gotten Tariq hooked on some trash tv show. One that, save to say, he does not watch without her. “Alright, alright. Explain this to me again?” They sat on the couch, Ryan curled against his side, as a earlier season of a Bravo reality tv show classic starts up. “Okay. So that’s Nene. She doesn’t like Kandi this season. That’s Kandi. Oh. And she’s not cool with Kim again - Nene, I mean - but they’ll probably make up in a few episodes. And then there’s Sheree…” Tariq will damned if he’s clowned for even knowing this. Let alone watching it.

Who kills the spiders:

Tariq is the go-to killer of all things creepy crawly. There’s this one instance of Ryan being unpleasantly surprised by a spider crawling along the shower wall. While she was in there. Ass naked. “Why’d you leave the window open, Ryan?” Tariq asked, in between chuckles. His sides hurting from laughing so hard. He’d thought a burglar was in there with her, from the scream he’d heard. “I got it. I got it. It’s dead now. Don’t worry.” Tariq almost slipped and fell from the water splatter on the floor left behind when Ryan hauled ass out of the shower to get to safety. “No, we’re not moving! You should’ve turned on the damn fan.”

Who falls asleep first:

They take turns. Mostly due to their erratic schedules. A first year doctor and a late-night hip hop radio personality? Of course sleep is the last thing on their minds.

Who is louder?

Sexually? Ryan. Non-sexually? It depends. When it comes to the World Cup. Or football - see soccer - in general, Tariq is an obnoxiously loud fan. Anything that lets him proudly wear Pakistan’s colors is a guarantee for him “show out” as Ryan would say. On the flip side, she’s the same way about things she enjoys. So it depends on the season for both. Tariq is definitely louder when it comes to shit talking. He keeps trying to give Ryan pointers but “Who’s gonna stitch you up if I’m shit talking with you?”

Who is more experimental?

Both. Tariq isn’t afraid of try new things. But depending on the subject, Ryan can be more hesitant. “What do you mean, out here? Tariq. Have you lost your mind?” “Noori. It’s our honeymoon.” My light. It’s one of Tariq’s new nickname for Ryan. He’s been using it since they’ve got engaged. It’s becoming a favorite of his. “You’re telling me that you don’t wanna feel me under the stars? C’mon, nobody’s here.” They discover that mirrors are a great compromise.

Do they fuck or make love?

Both. For someone who doesn’t drink, alcohol definitely plays a part in this. Tariq can tell the night he’ll have, depending on the number of drinks Ryan has. Nowhere is she like Amy from Brooklyn Nine Nine. But he’s learned the higher the number of drinks, the more likely fucking will happen over making love. Drinks aside - emotions are the other factor. If they’re in a stalemate as both of them can, and will be, stubborn as hell - Tariq knows that the first few rounds of makeup sex can hardly be called that. Maybe a few things end up getting damaged or even broken. But in the end, his marriage is in tact. Which is all that matters.

Who is more likely to be caught masturbating?

Tariq has. Not that he planned on it. But, in his defense, it’d been a minute and he missed his wife. Obviously. Ryan was at work. Or well, he thought. The shower - yes the same one that Ryan had the classic run in with the spider - was supposed to be a safe place. But sleepy doctors do not like walking into their marital home hearing moans greeting them in the night. Especially from their husband. Without her. “So you gonna stand there or…?” Tariq shot Ryan a challenging eyebrow, stepping back in open invitation for her to join. So it was all good.

Who comes first?

Ryan. It wasn’t for lack of not trying. It’s just that… well, she married a man that makes sure that she comes before him. Literally. Not that she’s complaining.

Who is better at oral and who prefers it?

For a good, old born and raised in the church Southern Christian, Ryan is excellent at oral. Which was a top-notch surprise for Tariq when he finally learned this fact. However, Tariq certainly prefers to give as good as he gets. He has this smug quirk that he does in the days following. Tariq struts around their place shirtless afterwards, proudly displaying his supposed battle scars from his efforts. Despite saying otherwise, he knows Ryan loves it.

Who usually initiates things?

For the most part - Tariq. Ryan initiates calling Tariq out on his shit. Or when she needs her stubborn husband to gain an objective perspective. A busted lip and bruised knuckles on her husband is not what she expects to see when paged down to the ER from her rotation in the lab. “You can’t just fight everybody that says stupid shit.” “What?!” “You can’t. What if something happens to you? What am I supposed to do then? I didn’t marry you to become a fucking widow, Tariq.” With a heavy sigh and an apology on his bloody mouth, Tariq agrees to pick his battles next time.

Who is more sensitive?

Ryan. Hands down. She has the emotional sensitivity on lock. Physically - “Stop that shit.” Tariq jerked, his body moving from Ryan’s reach instinctively. “Are you…” “Nah, what’re you doing? Get your hands-” The noise that left Tariq neared a pterodactyl screech. “You’re ticklish!” “No the fuck I’m not.” “Stop moving. Let me see.” She could barely get the words out, laughing around them. “Ryan get your fucking hands away from me.” “Oh my god, Mr. Big and Bad, is ticklish. I got your ass now.” “Ryan!”

Who has the most patience?

Both. In different ways. Tariq directs people to the near-saint like patience he says he used while “waiting on my wife to stop being another man’s fiancee.” To which, his voice may sound annoyed but the confident smirk Tariq wears while uttering it says something else. As a doctor, Ryan has patience in spades. It’s something that Tariq jokes about - still he likes that about her. She’s the calm to his ongoing storm.

#char: tariq hassan #neicyrps #i took this meme literally in some areas lol but whatever you got them feels #rp shit: answered memes #rp things

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orbemnews · 4 years ago

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More Businesses Are Standing for Justice What’s good for business Andrew here. Yesterday’s guilty verdict against George Floyd’s murderer, a former Minneapolis police officer, was a symbol of something profound: a demonstrable shift in the way this country, increasingly supported by business, has strived for civil rights. As we ponder the meaning of this decision, it is worth recalling a moment in 1965, in the middle of that era’s civil rights movement. A Wall Street bond firm, C.F. Securities, told Alabama that it would “no longer buy or sell bonds issued by the state or any of its political subdivisions.” Gov. George C. Wallace, who objected to desegregation, had said the state shouldn’t pay for the National Guard to protect Martin Luther King Jr. and protesters in the Selma-to-Montgomery march. The investment firm’s executive vice president, Donald E. Barnes, wrote to the governor that his failure “to protect the citizens of Alabama in their exercise of constitutional rights” amounted to “discouragements to Alabama’s economic future.” He insisted that the move was based on economic risk, but the letter made clear it was about more than that. The rest of corporate America was mostly silent, or opposed: Moody’s said it was “not sympathetic with the civil rights movement” and had no plan to change the state’s credit rating. What C.F. Securities did may have been unique in 1965. But this past year has proved that business is playing a much larger role in social justice, even if progress has been far too slow and much work remains. Companies have given employees paid time off on Juneteenth; the N.B.A. emblazoned the words “Black Lives Matter” on courts; Netflix steered its cash into local banks that serve Black communities; Wall Street banks announced programs worth billions to support Black communities; and just last week, in perhaps the greatest demonstration of the new responsibility business is feeling, 700 companies and executives signed a letter opposing laws that make it harder for people to vote. “The murder of George Floyd last Memorial Day felt like a turning point for our country. The solidarity and stand against racism since then have been unlike anything I’ve experienced,” Brian Cornell, the C.E.O. of Target, wrote in a note to employees of the Minneapolis-based retailer yesterday. “Like outraged people everywhere, I had an overwhelming hope that today’s verdict would provide real accountability. Anything short of that would have shaken my faith that our country had truly turned a corner.” You know what? Justice is good for business. HERE’S WHAT’S HAPPENING The European Super League has collapsed. Plans to create a closed competition of top soccer clubs fell apart yesterday when six English teams withdrew, bowing to outrage from fans and threats by lawmakers. Shortly after, an official at the Super League said the project had been suspended, ending an effort to upend soccer’s multibillion-dollar economics. Johnson & Johnson resumes the rollout of its vaccine in the E.U. The bloc’s drug regulator said that the shot’s benefits outweigh a small risk of blood clots, but wants a warning added. U.S. regulators will decide whether to end a pause on the vaccine in the coming days. Goldman Sachs releases worker diversity data. The Wall Street bank disclosed for the first time how many of its senior U.S. executives are Black: 49 out of more than 1,500. Banks agreed last year to publish more information about their work forces; Morgan Stanley has an even smaller share of Black executives than Goldman. Apple’s new products raise competition concerns. The tech giant unveiled new iPads and iMacs, and a revamped podcast app. But its new AirTags, which attach to items to help find them, was criticized by the C.E.O. of Tile, which makes a similar product. Apple also said it would roll out new iOS privacy features — criticized by Facebook and other app makers — next week. Understanding the ‘antimonopolist’ Lina Khan Lina Khan’s nomination to the Federal Trade Commission is one of the clearest signs of progressive influence in the Biden administration. A Columbia University scholar who worked on a major congressional report about Big Tech and antitrust last year, Ms. Khan is a star in the constellation of competition law experts known as “antimonopolists.” Her confirmation hearing with the Senate Commerce Committee is today. Ms. Khan “captures the zeitgeist,” Bruce Hoffman, a partner at Cleary Gottlieb and a former director of the F.T.C.’s competition bureau, told DealBook. She helped shape the legal and cultural conversation about the power of internet giants, which could win her some conservative support. Having a “strong” perspective probably isn’t an obstacle to confirmation, Mr. Hoffman said. “Antimonopoly is more than antitrust,” Ms. Khan wrote in 2018. It shifts away from a “consumer” take on mergers managed by antitrust agencies to a broader approach using “policy levers” across the government and keeps workers, voters, the environment and more in mind. Big Tech will be a likely focus at the hearing. But this would be a “disservice” to Ms. Khan, according to Mr. Hoffman. “At the F.T.C., a lot of the agenda is reactive,” he said. Companies file merger paperwork and regulators respond, whatever the industry. Ms. Khan has a broad perspective on competition law, Mr. Hoffman said, and today would be “a fair time” to ask what “objective standards” she’d apply. Updated April 20, 2021, 10:50 p.m. ET “You have to have some morals.” — Ari Emanuel, the outspoken C.E.O. of the entertainment conglomerate Endeavor, speaking in a New Yorker profile about returning an investment from Saudi Arabia after the killing of Jamal Khashoggi. Separately, Endeavor disclosed yesterday that it hopes to be valued at more than $10 billion in an I.P.O. These ‘Roaring Twenties’ have railroad battles, too Canadian National Railway yesterday offered to buy Kansas City Southern for $33.7 billion, topping a $29 billion bid last month by its rival Canadian Pacific. They’re jockeying over the chance to create the first railroad connecting major ports from Canada to Mexico. The bidding war reflects bullishness about an industry poised for growth if a post-pandemic boom ushers in this generation’s “Roaring Twenties.” Money or certainty? Canadian National said its bid “clearly provides superior value.” Canadian Pacific, which is smaller and has less overlap with Kansas City Southern’s operations, said antitrust concerns made the counterbid “illusory and inferior.” Kansas City Southern said it would evaluate the new bid in accordance with its agreement with its original suitor. A curveball or a grenade? Canadian National may be bidding in earnest — or just disrupting its competitor’s deal. The new offer could raise anxieties about railroad consolidation, making regulators more cautious. The prospect of a deal has received a mixed reception from freight shippers, who suffered in the last round of consolidation. And we haven’t yet heard from Senator Amy Klobuchar, who heads the antitrust subcommittee and represents key industrial interests in Minnesota. Giving Coinbase a run for its (digital) money The public listing of Coinbase, the largest crypto exchange in the U.S., generated a wave of excitement that competitors aim to ride. Among them is Binance.US, the third-ranked domestic crypto exchange, which yesterday named Brian Brooks — formerly Coinbase’s chief counsel and most recently acting U.S. comptroller of the currency — as C.E.O., beginning in May. “There’s a lot of buzz about my former employer, which is well-deserved,” Mr. Brooks told DealBook about Coinbase. “But it’s in everybody’s best interest if there’s more competition.” Mr. Brooks’ first task is building trust with regulators. He says “managing reputation” is his biggest concern. Binance has shifted its operations throughout Asia since it was founded in 2017, and some say it played fast and loose with rules. The C.F.T.C. was reportedly investigating the company for allowing U.S.-based customers to trade crypto derivatives, which is banned (the agency declined to comment). Mr. Brooks insists he did “a lot” of due diligence on his new employer and dismisses “loose talk” about the exchange flouting regulations. Binance’s group C.E.O., CZ Zhao, says he embraces regulation. Hiring Mr. Brooks is one way the company is trying to make the point. Binance also hired Max Baucus, the former Montana senator and ambassador to China, last month, along with other former regulators. Binance.US sees potential to lead in undeveloped areas of the American crypto landscape, like derivatives and lending. Mr. Brooks said the company can learn from competitors like Coinbase and Kraken — and challenge them. That is, if he can convince regulators to bless its efforts to bring crypto into the financial mainstream, a preoccupation of players across the industry. JPMorgan wants to end banker burnout, for real this time Yesterday, JPMorgan Chase’s co-heads of investment banking, Jim Casey and Viswas Raghavan, announced policies aimed at improving working conditions amid record deal volume and banker burnout. The company has attempted similar things before. DealBook spoke with Mr. Casey about the latest plan — and whether this one will stick. JPMorgan has recently hired 65 analysts and 22 associates, and plans to add another 100 junior bankers and support staff, Mr. Casey said. It’s targeting bankers at rival firms, as well as lawyers and accountants interested in a career switch. The bank will tell associates not to do marketing work on weekends. It will encourage all bankers to go home by 7 p.m. on weekdays and add more flexibility for personal time. It will also force bankers to take at least three weeks’ vacation a year. JPMorgan rolled out similar efforts to protect junior bankers’ hours in 2016, but “it wasn’t stringently enforced,” Mr. Casey said. Why not? “Laziness.” This time, junior bankers’ hours and feedback will figure in senior manager performance evaluation and compensation. “It’s not a money problem,” Mr. Casey said, so there won’t be one-time checks or free Pelotons after a rush. Junior bankers will get their share of the record $3 billion in fees JPMorgan earned in the first quarter. Some things won’t change. Because banking is a client-service job, managers sometimes have limited control over workloads and hours. “You might do 100 deals a year, but that client only does one deal every three years,” Mr. Casey said. How the bank will measure success: “Ask me what our turnover ratio has gone to and I will tell you,” Mr. Casey said. The goal, he said, is “lower.” THE SPEED READ Deals Politics and policy Senator Bernie Sanders is co-sponsoring a bill that would impose a financial transaction tax on Wall Street to drastically expand tuition-free access to community colleges and trade schools. (CNBC) Twelve megadonors accounted for nearly $1 of every $13 raised by federal candidates and political groups since 2009, a new study found. (NYT) Tech Best of the rest The Sacklers, the family that founded the maker of OxyContin, are worth about $11 billion, according to documents released by a Congressional committee. (WSJ) “Behind the Mysterious Demise of a $1.7 Billion Mutual Fund.” (WSJ) Amazon is opening a hair salon in London. It isn’t called Prime Cuts. (WaPo) We’d like your feedback! Please email thoughts and suggestions to [email protected]. Source link Orbem News #businesses #Justice #standing

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sherrybaby14 · 7 years ago

Text

She’s Not There

This is for @wayward-mirage ‘s British Men Of Letters Challenge

Summary: You decide to visit London for a week after college graduation. My Prompt was “She’s Not There” by the Zombies (Which is an awesome song and on my playlist!)

Warnings: Smut, a bit of fluff (for me, it’s a little fluffy, probably not for most), oral

Characters: Ketch x Reader, background Mick Davies

Tags (people I think might like it, ignore if not interested) @kellyn1604 @marauderice @miiraal @alyisdead @mac5323 @2-fast-2-curious @negan--is--god

The light was on inside the establishment. You took that has a good sign and the gnawing in your stomach was replaced with hope in your heart. The door pushed open and showed a nearly empty pub. One guy sat at the far end, swirling a drink and a bored looking bartender watched the television. He didn’t acknowledge the dinging of the bell as you walked inside, but you rolled right up to him anyway.

“Do you serve food?” You leaned over the bar.

“Na.” He didn’t glance away from the screen.

The hope in your heart vanished but the pain in your stomach didn’t return for the moment. Your feet were tired and at this point you needed a map to get back to the hotel so you sat down and rested an elbow on the bar.

“Can I have a drink then?” Now it was your turn to be rude as you looked through your bag for the travel guide.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender still didn’t look at you.

“Lite beer?” You had never been in a pub before and weren’t sure you ordered it right.

“Lite beer?” The bartender looked at you with his face pinched. “Are you mad? We have Guinness and Fullers.”

“A Guinness please.” You had no idea what a Fullers was and figured better the beer you had heard of before.

The Bartender poured the drink and put it in front of you before turning back to the television. You glanced over to see what was so important to find him watching some sort of soap opera. A woman slapped a man across the face.

“Ooooo!” The bartender started clapping. “Good fo’ er.”

“I take it the man deserved it?” You weren’t really interested.

“Shhh.” The bartender batted his hand towards you.

You rolled your eyes and looked down. Off the plane for two hours and already making friends. You reminded yourself not to get down and took a sip of your drink. A bitter burnt taste filled your mouth and you lunged forward, spitting the beer half back in your glass, half of the bar as you started to cough.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin me!” The bartender through up his arms.

The other patron started laughing and clapping. You turned your head to the right and got a good look at the man. He had a suit on that looked crisp. In fact, crisp was the perfect word to describe him with his brown hair and grey eyes. His laughter did not die down and your cheeks began to burn from embarrassment.

“You guys are a country fool of assholes.” You pulled out some money and put it on the bar before shoving your book back in your bag.

The bartender grabbed the cash and went to the register, you stood up and started for the door when a hand grabbed your elbow.

“Don’t be like that darling.” His eyes locked with yours and you realized he was older, but not as old as you initially thought. There might have been a ten-year gap between you two. “Also. In London, we do not tip. George give the lady her change.”

“She spit on my bar.” The bartender started complaining.

The mystery man glanced over his shoulder. You couldn’t see his face, but you saw as the bartender went pale. He reached out towards you with some bills and a few coins. You lifted your arm and the stranger let go of your elbow.

“Have a nice night miss.” George the bartender nodded at you.

“Thank you.” You dropped the change in your bag and looked at the man, making sure he knew who you were really thanking.

“Almost everything is closed on Sundays in England.” The mystery man opened the door. “There is a take away a few blocks over that might still be open.”

“Take away?” You raised an eyebrow.

“How do you American’s say it? To go?” He raised an eyebrow. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

You exited the pub, not sure that walking with a strange man at night in a city you didn’t know was the right thing to do, but it couldn’t have been any more dangerous than walking alone. Besides, he was dressed so sharp and you had on jeans and a t-shirt, your hair swept up off your face and probably looked as jet lagged as you felt. If there was a threat on the street they were much more likely to stay away from him than you.

“What brings you to London?” The man asked.

“Pleasure.” You stuck your hands in your pockets. “Or how do you British say it? Holiday?”

He smiled at you and you started to think maybe you had the wrong first impression of London.

“Don’t most girls your age go to party places? Mexico? Jamaica?” The man’s accent was sexier than you wanted to admit. “You’re not even in the tourist section of London. No Picadilly Circus?”

“My parents were from here. I wanted to see what their lives were like.” You looked at the brick streets and parked cars. This area was much more residential than you thought it would be, but it was only your first day.

“So where are mum and dad then?” The man probably thought you were twelve.

“Dead in America.” You weren’t phased by the answer any longer. “Car accident. I was a baby at home with a fourteen-year-old sitter. I don’t remember them in the slightest so no need to apologize.”

“Came here to visit some relatives?” He asked.

“Nope. Don’t have any.” You raised an eyebrow. “Hey, are you trying to ask me these questions so that way when you kidnap me you will know who is going to look for me?”

The man burst out laughing and you bated your eyelashes at him.

“You’re a clever girl you know that.” He shook a finger at you. “I always try and get as much information out of my potential victims as possible.”

“Nah, you’re more of a protector than a kidnapper.” You approached a cross walk and looked to your right before stepping out into the street.

He grabbed your arm and tugged you back just as a car zoomed by, honking its horn. You found yourself pressed up against his chest and your eyes moved up to look at his steely grey ones.

“See?” You asked.

His mouth twitched and he let go of you. Then glanced to his left before crossing with you in tow.

“What about you? Where is your family on this beautiful English evening?” You wanted the conversation back to light.

“In a beautiful English cemetery.” He held up his hand. “I never knew them either, no need to apologize.”

“Is it called foster care in England?” You asked, wondering if you and this man shared another part of your pasts.

“Yes it is, but no I wasn’t one of those children. I was raised in a special type of boarding school.” Before you could open your mouth he added: “No. It’s not Hogwartz, but I did love it there. I received the perfect training for my job, which I love now.”

“And what is it you do?” You guessed money based on the outfit.

“I work with a lot of monsters.” He smiled at you and gave a wink.

“I thought banker, but now I’m leaning towards stock broker?” You over exaggerated your eye movements, looking him up and down in the process.

“Good guess.” He chuckled. “And you? I’m thinking broke student?”

“Try broke graduate.” You laughed. “This is my one last fling before I go and find a job in the real world.”

“Psychology major?” He paused. “No, art history?”

“Electrical engineering.” You loved saying that and seeing the shock on people’s faces.

A small window was lit up a few stores down and your stomach growled.

“Sundays are a slow day in London. Tomorrow everything will be open. I’m sure your hotel will serve a proper British breakfast. They all do.” He paused in front of the window.

Even though everything was in English you didn’t know what most of the board was.

“I’m guessing they don’t have a hot dog or hamburger?” You looked at the man sheepishly.

He went up to the counter and ordered. You watched as he paid and felt the urge to give him some money.

“My treat.” He must have heard your movements.

In a moment he was back with some sort of sandwich for you and one for himself.

“Mmmmm.” You swallowed. “This is delicious.”

“Could I be so bold as to ask you your name?” He spoke without a bit of food in his mouth.

“Now why would I tell my kidnapper my name?” You winked at him. “What about you Mr. Fancy? What is your name?”

“Tit for tat.” He laughed.

You shrugged and continued walking down the street, enjoying the foreign country and old architecture. It was easy to imagine this place one hundred years ago.

“Alright Miss Americano. If you don’t want to tell me I guess I’ll call you Amy.” He took a much smaller bite of his food than you did.

“Amy the American?” You swallowed. “I like it. I think I’ll call you Brittany the Brit.”

“I’ve got to object to that one.” He almost sounded nervous. “My name is Arthur.”

“A pleasure to meet you Arthur.” You held out your hand and he shook it.

“Not going to tell me your name?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I think I’ll stick with Amy.” Different country, might as well be a different person.

“Alright Amy. It’s getting late, can I walk you back to your hotel?” He smiled.

“No thanks.” You took another bite. “I think I want to wander. I’ve only been here a few hours and I slept on the plane. Thank you for the food and the company though.”

“Haven’t you heard the story of Jack the Ripper?” He looked left at the next crosswalk and you remembered the right way this time.

“I think I’ll be alright.” You roll your eyes. “I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life. If my fate is to be chopped into pieces by a mad butcher so be it.”

“Butcher? Didn’t they think he was a surgeon?” Arthur kept pace with you.

“Didn’t you hear?” You smiled. “They never caught him.”

“Right.” He smirked back at you. “If it’s alright, I’d feel better about myself knowing I’ve kept you company.”

“Fine by me Arthur.” As far as strangers went you could have done worse.

~~~

“This is it.” You stopped in front of your hotel.

“This?” Arthur stretched out his hand. “Amy this is a dump!”

You looked over your shoulder. It was a strange set up, there was a house you had to cut through that led to more of a row of shacks than a hotel, but it was better than a hostel and more affordable than other places.

“Well it’s my dump for the week.” You shrugged your shoulders at him. “Thank you for keeping me company tonight.”

The hours had flown by, discussing movies, politics, art, everything with Arthur. You were sad it had to end, but it was after three in the morning and the tiredness was creeping up on you.

“I’m not letting you stay here.” He shook his head. “Get your things and we will go to my apartment.”

“Now if that isn’t a line that screams I’m a kidnapped I don’t know what is.” You laughed. “Seriously Arthur, I’m fine here.”

“Well you can’t stay here alone then.” He looked annoyed.

“Does that mean you want to come in?” You lowered your voice and looked at him through heavy lids.

The annoyance on his face transformed to shock and then switched to a predatory hunger, one that made your hormones flare. He nodded his head and you turned, walking up the stairs with Arthur following behind.

The owner of the hotel lived in the house and you felt like you were sneaking in after curfew as you moved towards the back door. In a moment you were outside again and made your way straight to your room.

It was the second time you had seen it that day, it had a twin size bed, a concrete floor, and a small private bathroom. Your suitcase was set out on the desk with nothing unpacked. You went to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. The soft light really did make this place seem like a dump, you turned to apologize when Arthur’s arms wrapped around your waist. He pulled your tight against him and smashed his lips against yours.

You opened your mouth, as hungry for him as he was for you. Your hands found his suitcoat and you pushed it off his shoulders. He started pulling at his tie as you undid the buttons on his shirt. Both of you kicked off your shoes and managed to still kiss as the socks came off too. Then he pushed you away.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you spit out that beer.” He yanked your T-shirt over your head.

His lips were back on yours and you slid your tongue into his mouth as you undid his belt buckle. He unbuttoned your jeans and pushed them off as his pants fell down. You both were standing in your underwear when he broke this kiss again. His breathing was heavy and yours matched. You were unsure why he stopped and looked up at him. His eyes were dancing all over your face.

You didn’t look away as you reached behind yourself and undid your bra clasp. It fell off your shoulders and joined the pile on the floor. Next you slid your fingertips under your panties and slid them over your hips, before stepping out of them. Your hands went to his abs and you traced your finger across his stomach, before slipping them under his waistband. You pushed down pulling the garment off of him.

His cock sprung forward and you decided to slide down with his boxer briefs until you were on your knees. You never broke eye contact as you started to tease the tip of his cock with your tongue, playfully flicking it back and forth, enjoying the taste of the precum that had already worked its way out.

He let out a grunt as you wrapped your mouth around his head, taking a very small amount in. You wanted to taste all of him, but before you could his hands were on your shoulders pulling you back up. He spun you around so your feet were still on the ground, but your hands were on the mattress.

“If you kept that up Love, I wouldn’t have been able to properly fuck you.” He lined himself up with your entrance and a grin spread across your face.

He slid deep inside of you with ease and you arched your back at the fullness he brought. His hands slid up your body. One stopped at your nipple and started to pinch while the other went all the way up to your throat. His hand was large enough to cover the whole thing as you tilted your head back.

Arthur started to move in and out of you, pumping himself as he caressed your throat, lightly squeezing in unison with the pinches on your nipple. You let out a moan, but bit it back for fear of waking one of the neighbors.

“If we were at my place I’d want you as loud as possible.” He leaned over your back and bit your ear. “Next time, you’ll listen to me.”

He jammed inside of you and a gasp came out as he landed directly on your G-spot. You started moving your hips in tandem with his thrusts. It didn’t take long until he squeezed down on your nipple and throat at the same time as he smacked against your pleasure center and a loud roar racked through your body.

His hands dropped and you fell forward. He continued his movements, each pulse sending another euphoric wave.

“Are you on the pill?” He asked.

“Uh-huh.” You were fairly certain your head was nodding.

With one final grunt it was his turn to explode. You could feel his cum coating your walls as he let all of his weight on top of you, both your bodies half on the bed. He kissed your shoulder before pulling out.

“Come on now.” He pulled the covers down. “I need some sleep tonight.”

You forced yourself to wobbly feet as Arthur climbed in the bed.

“You’re staying?” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Unless you’re kicking me out?” He held up the blanket for you.

You didn’t understand the point. It was a tiny bed and this was just a one-night stand, but it was late and some cuddling wouldn’t hurt. You climbed in next to him, curled up to him on your side with your head on his chest. There really weren’t any other options in such a small bed. Arthur leaned over and shut off the light.

“You’re different.” He kissed the top of your head.

“I know.” You weren’t sure you got the second word out before you drifted off to sleep.

~~~

It was silly, totally unlike him, and almost bizarre. Most of the women he picked up with either sophisticated professionals or nightclub tens. This American broke graduate should have been nothing to him, but when he saw her spit that beer out he was smitten. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought her a witch, or possibly a siren or succubus. Of course she wasn’t any of those things.

Right now she looked like an angel, asleep against his chest. He wanted to get the hell out of this dump, but he wanted to take her with him. Unfortunately, the latter wasn’t an option since he had to get to HQ in an hour. He lifted her arm and rolled out the other side hoping not to wake her.

Amy. His Amy. That wasn’t her name. He started to dress in yesterday’s clothing and glanced at her, still fast asleep. Now would be a good time to do some snooping and get her real name. He grabbed her bag and started to open it.

“You don’t have to rob me.” She didn’t lift her head from the pillow. “Just take how much money you think you deserve from last night’s session and I’ll consider you a prostitute.”

“Prostitute?” Ketch furrowed his brow and set the purse down. “I want to know your name.”

“Amy.” She grabbed the pillow and centered herself in the middle of the bed.

“Your real name?” He picked up his shirt and started with the buttons.

“How do you know it isn’t Amy?” A sly smile spread across her face.

He glanced at his watch, short on time as it was. He would have to go straight to the office. It wasn’t a surprise, he had been awake for at least an hour before he got out of bed, but he just wanted to hold her.

“Alright Amy, can I have your phone number?” Maybe he could get some other information.

“Don’t have one.” She stretched and sat up in bed.

“What do you mean?” Ketch grabbed his tie.

“I mean I don’t own a phone.” She motioned for her purse, which she then dumped on the bed. There was no phone or passport. “This is the last chance I will ever have to live off the grid. I’m running with it. When I get back home I’ll sign up for one.”

“What if someone wants to get a hold of you?” Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“I have an e-mail address.” She did another stretch, the sheet almost falling to expose her nude form. “Which I will be checking when I get back home.”

“What if you met some charming Englishmen, who wanted to see you again?” He sat down on the bed and grabbed her chin.

Her eyes were something else. Something he desperately wanted to see more of. She looked suspicious at him, but he leaned in placing a delicate kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be spitting out some Guinness on a bar tonight, around 7 o’clock?” She tilted her head to the side.

“Did you pack a nice dress?” Ketch stood up from the bed and pulled on his suit coat.

“Only walking clothes.” She brought her knees up to her chest, it was so tempting to dive back into bed with her.

Ketch pressed his lips together and pulled out his wallet.

“Once you’re done spitting you Guinness I’d like to take you to dinner.” He placed a few hundred pounds on the bedside table.

“Now who’s the prostitute?” She reached over and grabbed the cash.

“We’re all whores in one way or another darling.” Ketch smoothed out his shoulders.

“This is way too much.” She looked up at him with confusion.

“I know.” He winked. “This way if you want to give it back to me you won’t stand me up, but seriously, pretty lady pretty dress.”

He grabbed a hold of the handle and left the room before she could follow him. A guest who looked as cheap as this place was stood outside smoking a cigarette. They watched his every move. This trash normally disgusted him, but right now he was on top of the world and nothing was going to bring him down.

~~~

Ketch was the first one in the office and sat at the conference table, waiting for the others to arrive. Whatever assignment Hess was giving out he hoped it didn’t involve travel. For the first time in forever he would be content with the ease of London.

“You’re in a good mood.” Mick walked in the room.

“Surprisingly, you’re correct.” Ketch sat up at the table.

“Ah, there’s the Mr. Ketch we all know and love.” Mick picked up the file in front of him. “Who is she? Are you and Toni back on again?”

“Her name is Amy.” Ketch didn’t normally share, but for some reason he felt like bragging. “She’s an interesting girl.”

“Sure.” Mick continued to flip through the file.

Dr. Hess walked in and both men stood up. She signaled for them to sit before going to the front of the table.

“Mr. Ketch you did not go back to your home last night. Anything to report?” Dr. Hess took a seat.

“Personal, not business.” Ketch picked up the file.

“If it’s an internal romance remember not to let it…”

“It’s not.” Ketch interrupted.

This action caused Mick to lower the file. Dr. Hess looked taken aback.

“I apologize for my rudeness.” Mr. Ketch smiled. “I would like to request an assignment that would keep me local for the next week.”

Dr. Hess’ jaw twitched. She went back and forth between the two men.

“Fine.” She signaled for them to switch files. “Mr. Davies you leave this afternoon.”

The meeting went on and Ketch kept thinking back to his American chickie, he would have to remember to make reservations for dinner. He hoped she like seafood.

“You were serious.” Mick roused Ketch from his thoughts.

The rest of the participants were packing up their things and leaving. Ketch grabbed his file and rose.

“If this is love be careful.” Mick stepped closer. “It doesn’t work out well for our people.”

“Love?” Ketch laughed. “She’s practically a stranger.”

“All the more reason to keep your guard up.” Mick’s eyes were bouncing back and forth between his, looking for a lie.

“Have fun in Russia.” Mr. Ketch gave a smile and raised his file. “I’m sure my artifact assignment will take all week.”

Mick sneered as he looked down at his file. Ketch walked out the door, hoping that nothing else popped up this week and he could spend more time with his Amy.

~~~

It was six forty-five when Ketch got to Lowery’s Pub. He half expected her to be there waiting for him, imagining she could not stop thinking about his either.

“Usual?” George asked as he grabbed the glass and poured the drink.

Ketch took a seat at the end of the small establishment and swirled his cocktail. He came here often enough that they knew his drink, but not so often that he was a regular. There was no doubt his dress made him stand out, most of the men in here were blue collar, but Ketch didn’t live too far and liked to come here when he wanted to be alone. Plus, it was open on Sundays.

He remembered last night and a smile came to his face. The sound of her voice while she told him of her past, the melody in her laugh, the noises that came out of her as he fucked her. It rose something inside of him he didn’t know existed. Mick mentioned love, but that wasn’t it. Ketch didn’t think there was a name for it, maybe infatuation mixed with lust? Either way, he was eager to see his Amy again.

The screen switched over to the seven o’clock programming and Ketch took another look around the bar. He worried she wouldn’t be able to find the place again. Five minutes passed and he debated on heading to her hotel, of course what if she were standing him up on purpose? Wouldn’t that make him look like a stalker.

The idea of being stood up bothered him more because it meant he wouldn’t see her again, not because of the stigma or her thinking she was better than him. Another ten minutes passed. Ketch finished the last of the drink he was nursing.

“Another one sir?” George came by with the bottle.

Fifteen minutes late. How long should Ketch give her? He ran his tongue over his teeth and pointed to the glass. Another drink poured. He took a sip, knowing he would sit here waiting until that bottle was done and then he would be drunk enough to wonder over to her hotel and demand an audience. All-in-all, not a bad plan.

Of course then the door to the pub opened and his Amy walked inside. She moved with confidence he hadn’t noticed last night, and the dress. A stunning little black number. It was perfect for her shape, flattering her in all the right place. The heels she wore made her look at least three inches taller than she was. Her hair was styled to perfection. It was a stark contrast to the subtle beauty she displayed last night. Ketch had a feeling he was going to have to fight off other men this evening. Truthfully, he found each version of her to be just as stunning.

“Does Arthur approve?” Amy span in a circle as she walked towards him. “I bet you thought I wasn’t going to show up.”

Ketch cracked his neck and stood up as she arrived.

“Nonsense.” He paid his tab. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me.”

“Here I thought you just wanted your change.” Amy grinned at him.

“Well it would be a waste of a dress if you didn’t show it off a little bit, and seeing as I’m the financier behind it I should get to enjoy it, don’t you think?” Ketch collected his change and put it in his wallet. Then he moved his hand to the small of her back. “Shall we?”

She eye’d him suspiciously as they turned back around and walked out of Lowrys.

“We have to walk a few blocks to the main road and hail a cab.” He made sure to leave his hand on her back.

They walked by several groups of people, all of whom checked out Amy. Ketch tried to keep his cool, but he felt a strange possessiveness over the girl, one that urged him to bash these people’s brains in with his fists. She was his and his only.

“How was work?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Dull.” He wondered if she sensed his displeasure and tried to relax.

“Not any monsters in the office today?” She turned her attention back to the street.

“Not a one.” Ketch looked left at the intersection, while again his Amy looked right. “If you don’t remember what way the cars are coming from you will find yourself in the hospital.”

“Wouldn’t that be a way to spend a vacation.” Amy turned her head left and then they both crossed.

“What did you do on Holiday day one?” Ketch surprised himself that he genuinely cared about the answer.

“Slept, did a little shopping.” Amy ran her hands down her dress. “Visited the spa.”

“The spa?” Ketch didn’t think this was supposed to be a relaxing trip.

“Before I forget.” Amy reached into her clutch and pulled out a coin, placing it in his hand. “Your change.”

Ketch looked at the minuscule amount and back up at her.

“Well you said buy a dress, and I did, but then I needed new shoes and a new purse to go with it.” Amy looked down and pointed her foot. “Then I couldn’t possibly wear something so nice without having my hair done, which snowballed into a manicure, pedicure, and a massage. Then I had to tip them, naturally since I’m an American.”

“You spent six hundred pounds today?” Ketch raised an eyebrow.

“Everyone is a whore for something.” She grinned up at him. “Are you not going to be able to afford rent now? No fancy dinner for Arthur and Amy?”

“You’re a funny girl.” Truthfully Ketch was thrilled she’d spent it all. He assumed she would have tried to go cheap and give him most of it back, he wished he had more cash on him to spoil her with. “It is a beautiful dress and you do look beautiful.”

He stuck his hand out and a taxi stopped in front of them.

“Wait until you see what I picked out for underneath.” Amy almost whispered the comment, but Ketch heard her loud and clear.

Testosterone spread through him and he held up the door, hoping it was blocking his growing erection. Amy gave him a sly look as she dipped in the cab. Ketch had half a mind to skip dinner and just take her back to his place, but he was a man with a plan and the girl would need to eat in order to keep up with him.

~~~

Dinner was delicious, it was probably the nicest restaurant you had ever been to. Arthur took the liberty of ordering everything and the menu lacked a price list. You expected him to be annoyed with spending all his money, but it was nothing to him.

In the morning he made that crack about you feeling guilty and giving him change, but if a strange man you would never see again gives you money you take it and spend it. Particularly on things you don’t need. The last thing you wanted was to look back on your trip to London and say ‘why did I do the right thing and give that guy his money back?’. Now you could say ‘look at my fancy shoes!’.

“Thank you for dinner.” You left the restaurant and Arthur didn’t hail a cab.

“Thank you for the company.” He slid his hand in to yours.

You hesitated to wrap your fingers around his, confused by his actions.

“Something the matter?” He glanced down at you.

“No.” You shook it off. Arthur was just a hot guy who wanted a piece of American ass. There was nothing else to it, you didn’t mind having another bite of an English gentlemen so you laced your fingers with his. “Is it too far to walk back to the hotel?”

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” Arthur stopped walking and pulled your hand so you faced each other. “I have a wonderful bottle of wine we can open.”

“We already had two bottles with dinner.” A nagging feeling came to your gut that he was trying to take advantage of you.

“I also have a much bigger, more comfortable bed.” The predatory look that sent tingles down your spine came back.

“Sorry.” You looked away and shook your head.

“Are you saying I won’t get a peek at what’s underneath that dress?” He sounded more playful than threatening, but you did detect a hint of frustration. “I suppose my imagination will have to do. Are you sure you won’t let me pay for a nicer hotel for you at least? I hate to think of you alone there at night.”

He was such a proper gentleman, even when you were acting like a tease. There really was no reason to lead him on either. You liked him, he was great in bed last night, and dinner had been fun. Still, the idea of going back to his place wasn’t right to you.

“Then don’t leave me alone there tonight.” A smile spread across your face.

All expression on his face melted away. He swallowed hard and flagged down a cab. You were on vacation, might as well have some fun.

The taxi pulled over and you got in first, when Arthur came in you reached out and grabbed his suitcoat pulling him closer to you. Your mouth met his and you did not hold back on the passionate kiss that came forward, you arched your back and tried to press your body to his chest.

“Ahem.” The driver interrupted.

Both you and Arthur turned your heads to the front.

“Northerly Hotel please.” Arthur barely got the words out before you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him back towards you.

His hand smacked the window to steady himself, but he didn’t object as his mouth covered yours. You brought your freehand behind his neck and pulled him closer. If your one-night stand was going to turn into a two night stand you might as well make the most of it.

By the time the cab stopped you and Arthur needed to come up for air. As you exited the vehicle he followed, throwing a bill at the driver that was more than the fare.

“Not waiting for change?” Your eyes looked him up and down.

The cab ride had wrinkled his perfect clothes, and your hands in his hair made it fluffier.

“Un-un.” He grabbed you by the back of the head and placed another long, hard, kiss on your lips.

You barely broke apart to walk through the doors and out to your shack. The entire time he had been right behind you, rubbing his hands up your body, staying as close as possible. While trying to get the key in the lock he bit your shoulder and you let out a moan as his hands ran over your breasts.

Finally, the key turned and you were in the room. You spun around and grabbed his face again, the two of you kissing as you fell to the bed. He pushed himself upwards and slid off his suitcoat. You helped him with the tie and the shirt. The kiss broke and he stood all the way up, undoing his pants.

You used this as an opportunity to stand. With concentrated slowness you grabbed the hem of your black dress and pulled it over your head. You weren’t lying about the undergarments. You had a low cut black lace bra and matching underwear. Both pieces cost more than anything from Victoria’s Secret.

“Do you like your purchase?” You ran your hands down your body.

Arthur had that hungry look again. He kicked off the pants, losing his shoes and socks in the process. He had a phenomenal body as he stood in his boxer briefs, his eyes taking you all in.

“No.” He pulled down his underwear to show a very hard dick that made you even more aroused. “It’s rubbish. Take it off.”

There was no mistaking his tone or meaning. In a second he was on your again, his hands rubbing up and down your sides as he kissed you with such passion you thought you would fall over. You brought your hands behind you and undid the clasp as he forced the panties down.

His hand was under your ass and he lifted you in the air, wrapping your legs around his waist. You felt his cock poking at your entrance and he walked towards the door, pushing your back against it as he sunk inside of you. He let out a groan and his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and licking.

You ran your fingernails down his back and tightened your legs as he started to rock in and out of you. A growl escaped his mouth and he removed one of his hands from underneath you, making you wrap your legs even tighter to support yourself, your heels still on.

His free hand went behind him and grabbed one of your wrists. You brought your other hand in front and he grabbed that two, his palm large enough to hold both of them. Then he threw them both above you head and pinned them to the door, along with the rest of you. You tried to pull them down, but only in play. He gripped them tighter and the knowledge of how much stronger her was than you made you gush.

You let your head fall back as he continued moving in and out of you. You tried to rock your body with his, but you were scared of your legs falling.

“So fucking beautiful Amy.” Ketch licked up your neck. “So tight and wet for me.”

His words were the last thing you needed before you started falling over the edge. He responded by pressing his pelvis against yours and grinding, sending powerful surges through your clit.

“That’s right. Cum for me.” His mouth was on yours again, but you were too incoherent to kiss him back.

You were starting to lose the strength to hold up your legs and slipping down the door. He let go of your wrists and brought his other arm back underneath you, giving you the support he needed to rail inside of you.

His teeth bit down on your shoulder and you cried out as his cum filled your insides. You slumped forward, your head on his shoulder as he picked you up off the wall and carried you to the bed, his cock still softening inside of you.

Arthur lied your down gently, pulling you heels off as he set you on your side and lay down next to you. Your eyes were heavy with sleep.

“You can take a rest Darling, but we’re far from done tonight.” He kissed your forehead. “I plan on taking you as much as I can.”

You nuzzled up next to him, lacking the energy to ask him why.

~~~

When you woke in the morning there was no doubt you were sore. Maybe today would have been the better option for the massage. Arthur was sitting on the bed staring at you. In your sleepiness at first you didn’t notice, but then your eyes popped open and you shot up. It was a little unnerving to see a fully dressed man watching you sleep.

“What time is it?” You clutched the sheet to your chest.

“Sorry if I woke you.” He smiled. “Well, not really. I wanted to speak to you before I left. It’s about seven thirty.”

The two of you had sex at least three times last night. It might have been four, but that time could have been an after effect dream from the orgasms.

“I want to see you again tonight.” Arthur set his hand on your knee.

“Why?” You enjoyed his company and the sex was phenomenal, but you had to make sure you were on the same page. “You know this is nothing, right?”

His eyes slanted.

“I’m only here for five more days. You’ve probably already wasted over a thousand dollars on me.” You looked him up and down. “A guy like you can get anyone you want. Nothing is going to come from this.”

“I know.” Arthur laughed. “But I’ve never been with an American before and you are an exceptional lay. If you don’t want to see me again that’s your call.”

You felt silly. Of course you were misreading this situation. He was only interested in sex too. Way to have a huge ego.

“Of course if you don’t want me to take you out first we can skip right to the sex and I can leave you money like a prostitute.” He grinned at you.

You took the pillow from behind you and smacked him in the head. He lunged forward and grabbed your shoulders, pushing you back to the bed. His grey eyes had a playful look and he studied your face.

“I know what this is Love.” He placed a peck on your lips. “It’s fun, and I do enjoy fun.”

You bit your lip and nodded. Then he kissed your forehead and stood up.

“You’re here, what five more nights?” He straightened his suitcoat. “I would like to have as much fun with you as possible in the next five nights. If you find a better offer, I will not be the slightest bit offended. Now I’m not normally a wham-bam sort of guy. I like to mix in a little romance, and this way you get to experience more of London. I think it’s a fair trade.”

If it weren’t for Arthur you probably would have spent the last two nights by yourself, wandering around, trying to meet other travelers who were likely here with their own companions. It was a pretty sweet deal.

“Go on…” You sat up again on the bed.

“I’ll pick you up tonight here around nine.” He went to the doorframe. “Wear something fun. I’m taking you to a London club.”

“Ooooo, dancing and drinks?” That wasn’t really your scene, more like loud and crowded, but maybe it was time to experience new things.

“You can pay for your own outfit tonight, I’ve got to save my money for the bill you’re going to stick me with at the end of the week.” He opened the door. “By the way, be ready on time tonight.”

You grabbed the pillow and tossed it at the door, but Arthur shut it before it made contact. You got out of bed with a stretch and headed to the shower. Four nights were left, not five. Hard to believe that tomorrow you would be half way done with your last hoorah.

A week of fun with a traditional Londoner, was there any better way to experience the city? You tried to reassure yourself, but something in the back of your head told you this situation was off. You shook the doubt away. A fun time with a fun guy, that was all there was to it.

~~~

“It was time I caught up with you, I could really use someone to speak with.” Ketch looked out the window at the London skyline. “This girl, she’s…indescribable. I enjoy her company on a whole different level. She’s so clever and smart, my Amy. You know I don’t even know her real name? I’ve searched her room several times, nothing identifiable.”

He turned around and looked at the looming Doctor’s office. The patient lounger was empty, but Ketch always kept a clearer head when he was mobile. Dr. Jennings was seated in his chair behind the desk, his back to Ketch.

“We’ve gone dancing, I took her to the theatre, even did one of those tourist nights at the tower of London. During the day she strolls around, trying to connect with her parent’s ghosts, but it’s me she’s forged the real connection with.” Ketch walked around the desk and took a seat. “But she’s made it very clear it’s only about the sex for her.

“Don’t get me wrong Doctor!” Ketch held up his hands and shook them. “The sex is fantastic, best of my life. Her body was made for mine. If it were up to me I would stay in bed with her all day.”

Ketch stood up from the chair, not enjoying the still sensation.

“But there’s more between us. I know it. Me and my American Amy.” He breathed out. “I mean, some of the things I’ve done for her, spent the last five nights in a shite motel on a twin bed. She still won’t come to my apartment, makes jokes that I’m actually a serial killer, but the first night we met she called me a protector.”

His chest thumped at the memory.

“It’s like she makes me feel more human, she really sees me.” He walked back to the skyline. “We have two more nights together. I’m picking her up after I leave here to go on a traditional English Pub Crawl. Ten pubs in five hours. I do wish it was Football season, I would have loved to take her to a match.

“For our last night I was going to take her to the London Eye, but I’m starting to realize, I don’t want it to be our last night.” He turned back around and faced the back of the chair again. “So the way I see it is I have two options.”

Ketch circled the desk and went to look at some of the Doctor’s artwork. It was a painting of lilies, probably designed to calm his patients.

“First I can ask her to stay, she has no job, no family, no close friends. Her possessions are in a storage locker. When she returns to America she will be living in a motel until she finds work. Can you understand such madness?” The lilies were not calming to him. “But if she says no then I run the risk of scaring her off or having to fight her down.

“Option two is I simply take her.” Ketch wiped his mouth. “I know it sounds bad, but hear me out. She would learn to love me, and I have the means to do it in such a way that she wouldn’t even see it coming. Lock her in one of our safe houses. If my methods don’t work I could always employ the Men of Letter’s methods, but I would hate to risk destroying that mind. I want her for more than that body you see.”

Ketch walked back to the chair and sat down.

“Of course that would turn me into the kidnapper she’s always said I was, but in a way I would still be her protector.” Ketch smiled. “America is still the wild west when it comes to monsters. Demons, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, ghouls, witches, Jinns. You think about it, it’s there. So really I would be protecting her by keeping her here.”

He picked at the arm of the chair, trying to fight away the anger at a monster getting their hands on his girl.

“So what is it, do I ask first or assume she’ll say no and just take her?” Ketch locked eyes with the doctor.

“Mmmm! MMMMM!” He tried to yell over the duct tape on his mouth.

“You’re right.” Ketch stood up and grabbed the knife off the desk. “Tonight we will just have fun, tomorrow I’ll ready a space for her keeping, and then tomorrow night I’ll play it by ear. Either way, my Amy is already home.”

With the final word Ketch plunged the knife into the Doctor’s heart and pulled it out. The aorta had been severed and the death would be quick. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed the home base.

“I found the artifact and the thief.” Ketch wiped the blade on the Doctor’s shirt. “I need a clean-up crew sent to this address. I’m taking tonight and tomorrow off. I’ll report in first thing Sunday morning.”

He put the phone away and grabbed the box containing the artifact. After fixing his jacket he strolled out of the doctor’s office. There were still a few hours until he was due to pick up Amy, so he decided it was best to swing by the headquarters and drop off his find.

~~~

“What are you doing here?” Ketch walked into the library surprised to see Mick up in the stacks.

“Research.” He grabbed a book and brought it down. “I fly back to Russia on Monday. It’s an interesting issue…”

“I don’t care.” Ketch picked up a book and flipped through it.

“I hear you returned the talisman.” Mick pulled the book out of his hands. “What does Hess have you doing next?”

“Not sure.” Ketch pulled out a chair and sat down. “I am taking tomorrow off.”

“Mr. Ketch taking a day off of work?” Mick snickered. “She must be some girl.”

“You’re more in touch with your feminine side than I am.” Ketch put up his legs. “I don’t like to ask questions I don’t know the answer to, but I’m at a loss for what she will say.”

“You proposing?” Mick jutted his shoulders out and pulled his face back.

“No you twat.” Ketch took his legs off the desk. “I barely know her.”

“She best present you can give a girl is to stay away from her.” Mick flipped through the pages. “People in our line of work can’t for relationships. Let her run while she still can.”

“Is there a copy of information about those American…huntsman lying around?” Ketch stood up.

“They call themselves hunters. There’s a few hard copies by the shelves.”

Ketch walked over to the section on the Americans and grabbed the book he wanted to flip through.

“I’m off.” Ketch didn’t turn around.

“Arthur.” Mick stood up and Ketch paused. “Women like honesty. Whatever you have to ask her, be direct and truthful. You might discover being vulnerable pays off sometimes.”

“Thanks.” Ketch was going to add an insult, but he wanted to get home and change before picking up his Amy.

~~~

The rugby shirt was the perfect size. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve sworn Arthur had it tailored. Your hair was braided and out of your face and you completed the outfit with jeans and tennis shoes.

You glanced at your suitcase on the desk. It was packed and ready to go. Your airplane outfit was all that remained. When you got back tomorrow morning it would be easy to grab your stuff and flee. It made you sad that your time in London was coming to an end.

One last night being spent at a pub crawl. Arthur promise he would pick out what beers you should drink and that none of them would be Guinness. You were going to miss him, and it was more than just the sex. He was uptight, a little odd, but he did show you a good time while you were here.

His assumption that you meant five nights when you said five days was never corrected. It was better this way. You would celebrate tonight and not have to go through a painful goodbye. Besides, you were certain whatever he planned for tomorrow night was way over the top. He was probably going to take you to Big Ben, the Palace, or on that stupid Ferris Wheel. You weren’t here for the tourist attractions, you were here to get the real feel of the place, to try and imagine what it was like for your parents.

You glanced at the clock, two minutes until he showed up. It was time to make it to the street. After picking up your purse and locking your room you made your way through the alley of shacks, passed the main house and on to the street. Arthur was already there, leaning against a lamp post.

“My my, you dress down quite nice.” Your eyes ran over him. “I didn’t think you owned anything but suits.”

His jeans were far from Levis, and his rugby shirt fit him as perfectly as yours fit you.

“Are we going to look like nerds? Matching like this?” You pointed between the two of you.

He held out his hand and you grabbed it as you started walking down the path.

“Amy you always look like a nerd.” He winked at you.

“Oooo, I wouldn’t talk Mr. I-only-eat-my-food-in-iddy-biddy-bites.” You nudged him in the side.

“Well we don’t all the jaw flexibility that you do Darling.”

You gave him a smack on the arm and he fake winced in pain.

“You Americans, always so rough.” His hand went out and tickled your side.

You let out an eep and pulled away from him. This was the perfect way to say goodbye.

~~~

By the time you made it to the tenth pub you were beered-out. It didn’t matter that the two of you were dressed alike, everyone in every bar was dressed alike. The rugby game was blasted on every screen in every establishment.

“Here you are.” Arthur practically yelled when he set the water down in front of you.

The match ended at the last bar and everyone in here was in full celebration mode. The roar of the crowd louder than the music. Your ears were ringing and you knew it was about time to leave. You reached across the table and touched Arthur’s hand.

“Do you want to go back to your place?” You asked.

“Sorry?” He turned his ear towards you. “What?”

“DO YOU WANT TO GO BACK TO YOUR PLACE?” You moved closer when you yelled.

His eyes looked blown when he realized what you said and furiously nodded his head. Arthur didn’t bother with his beer and grabbed your hand as he led you through the crowd. There was no doubting his excitement, he wanted to get you in his apartment since night one and you always refused. You decided spending one night there would be your parting gift.

Soon you were in the back of a cab, making out again. The material of the rugby shirt felt too thick and the garment you once found comfortable now seemed in the way. He was such a good kisser and an even better lover. There was no doubt you would miss him. You let out a moan and forced the idea of goodbye out of your head. There was never a future here, he was just some guy you’d only known a week. It was for the best.

The cab came to a stop and you jumped out, pretty much having the system down to a T by now. Arthur threw some money at him and picked you up, your arms around his neck before planting another kiss on you.

“I’m excited to finally see your place.” You pushed your forehead to his. “Since you wouldn’t invite me over or anything.”

“You’re a piece of work.” He set you back down on sidewalk.

You turned towards the building and wham. Arthur landed a smack on your ass. He squeezed you bottom and whispered in your ear.

“Just wait until we get upstairs.” He slid his hand along your body and pulled you into the building.

It was older than you expected, Arthur seemed like such a modern guy. There was a doorman who did not look up as you walked towards the elevators. Arthur spun you in so that your back was to his chest and started to nibble on your neck.

“I was beginning to think I would have to drag you here kicking and screaming.” His whisper sent a chill through you.

“I think you would have liked that too much.” You brought your arms up behind you and started to run your fingers through his hair.

The elevator dinged open and the two of you fell inside. His arm leaving your waist to hit the button before returning to your body, this time sliding up your neck.

“Is that what you would like Love?” He nibbled on your ear. “Me taking you any way I like?”

His dirty mouth turned you on more than you wanted to admit. You twisted in his arms until you were facing him. His eyes were heady with lust and you resumed the passionate kiss without responding.

Arthur was the first real man you had ever been with. You were sure the age gap had something to do with it and thought from here on out you would only be interested in more mature men who had a clue what they were doing with the female anatomy.

The door binged open and he broke your kiss, pulling you into the hall, practically running down. When he started unlocking the door you snaked your hand around him and grabbed the crotch of his jeans, just as you expected he was hard and ready for you.

“You’re making this difficult.” His hand slipped when he tried to put the key in the lock.

You gripped the girth of him and squeezed through the pants. He let out a groan and almost dropped the keys. You giggled as you kissed his back through the shirt.

“Now you know what it feels like.” You bit down on the fabric.

Finally the door opened. You looked around in the darkness but Arthur bent down and through you over his shoulder. You let out a scream and SPANK! He slapped your ass again.

“Remember love you can be as loud as you want in here.” He ran down a hallway and opened a door.

He set you down and flipped on the light.

“Now that’s a bed we can really use.” He stood behind you and grabbed the hem of your shirt.

You lifted your arms and the garment was gone. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the huge bed would barely be an American queen. The thought was lost when he unsnapped your bra. His hands slid up cupping each of your breasts and he resumed kissing your neck.

You tilted your head to give him access as you kicked off your shoes. He massaged your chest and your nipples were pulled between his fingers, causing you to let out a whimper.

“Take off your pants.” His bit into your shoulder.

Your fingers undid your jeans and you pushed them down, along with your panties. You stepped out of them and turned to face Arthur, who was still totally clothed.

“God you’re beautiful.” He pressed his forehead to yours.

You tugged at his shirt and he lifted it over his head. Your hands went to his pants as he kicked off his shoes. Before you could push them down he moved forward, causing you to fall onto the bed, your feet still on the floor.

He ducked down, his jeans open but still on, and dove between your legs. His tongue touched your clit and you let out a cry. One of his hands steadied on your thigh, keeping you spread. His other slid up to your pussy and started circling the entrance.

Your hips started to rock towards his mouth and he looked up at you. His eyes were like steel and they conveyed one message. Keep still. You gasped as you were rewarded with his finger sliding inside of you. You put a hand on the back of his head to pull his hair and he let out a grunt. His tongue moved away from your clit and you whimpered.

“Lay back.” There was no room for argument in his voice.

You did as you were told and his tongue made contact again. He alternated between licking, sucking, and nibbling all while his finger rubbed against your walls. You went to moan and brought your wrist to your mouth, biting down. His other hand left your thigh and pulled your elbow. His mouth left your core again and you lifted your neck.

“I want to hear you scream.” He licked his lips before attaching ot you again.

You did not hold back this time. His mouth sucked hard on your bundle of nerves and you cried out as you arched your back. He prodded the small button and the cries turned to moans. He continued to work, stroking, sucking, licking…it all turned to one and soon you were literally screaming cries of pleasure not caring to stifle yourself.

You thought he was finished, but his mouth didn’t leave. In fact, he sucked down harder and added a second finger to your channel.

“What are you doing to me?” You asked with heavy breaths.

“Whatever I want.” He gave you a wicked grin and you dropped your head back down to the bed.

His mouth resumed its spot and his teeth started grazing your clit again, causing you to squeal. His fingers picked up their pace and his tongue started flicking back and forth on your clit.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word again before you arched your back and sparks went shooting down your limbs.

His hand and mouth were gone and in a second he was on top of you. His cock felt huge as it slid into your tingling body. He stayed above you, his hands on either side of your head as he slammed into you with might. Each thrust caused you to cry out, unable to tell if you were having one massive orgasm or a million mini ones.

Either way, you didn’t know that satisfaction of this level was possible.

~~~

Even though the bed was bigger you were just as close as you had been in the hotel, Arthur spooning you as close as possible. Both of you knew this was just a break, it was unheard of for the two of you not to go for it at least twice. The euphoria was still alive and you felt peace in his arms.

“Stay.” He kissed the top of your head as his fingers lazily traced your arm.

“You know I can’t.” This was a conversation you wanted to avoid.

“Why not?” He popped up on an elbow. “You have nothing to go back for. Make England your home, with me.”

You shifted so you were on your stomach, your neck turned towards him. There wasn’t a bit of joking in his eyes.

“We always agreed, this was just sex and fun.” You smiled. “And it has been wonderful, but I can’t stay here.”

“Sure you can…”

“I don’t have a visa or any reason why they would let me, even if I wanted to.” You wanted this conversation to end.

“But your parents were British… “

“And they never took care of my citizenship. Even if I wanted to go down that road it would be months of paperwork and applications. If I stayed here illegally I could kiss that goodbye.” You hoped he was getting the hint.

“I enjoy you, so much.” His hand stroked your back.

“You don’t even know my name.” You rolled your eyes.

“Only because you won’t tell me.” He smiled. “Put me out of misery my dear Amy, what is your name?”

You started to speak, but hesitated. There was no point in giving the man false hope. Instead of speaking you put your mouth to his and started to kiss. He responded and pulled you closer to him. Round two was starting early.

The conversation only strengthened your resolve that lying about tomorrow was the right thing to do. Having a traditional goodbye would be too hard.

~~~

“So you’re staying here again tonight?” Arthur asked over breakfast.

You were in one of his shirts and his scent was all around you. You nodded your head and took a bite of the toast, missing your American food.

“I wish I didn’t have to work today.” He took a sip of his tea. “I’ll pick you up at your hotel at six. Have all your stuff and then tomorrow I’ll take you to the airport.”

“Is it really picking me up if it’s just you and a taxi?” You shook your head.

“I’m there, so it’s me.” He winked. “Besides, we’ve had some fun in the cabs.”

You grinned and shook your head.

“Sorry about last night.” His smile faded. “I had too much to drink, with that staying stuff.”

“Already forgotten.” You gave the scouts honor.

Arthur clearly didn’t get the reference.

“Maybe you could leave me that e-mail address though? Or maybe your name? Or what state you live in? Where you went to college? Normal information people give out.” He gave a fake laugh.

“Trust me, you know more about me than most.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Alright Amy.” He got up from the table. “I’ve got something special planned for your last night. Hopefully it will have touched you enough to throw me a bone.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” You stood and started toward the bedroom.

Arthur was in the kitchen and you picked up your clothes from the floor. It was sad leaving him, but the adventure of Amy had to come to an end. You told yourself you were sparing him from having to say goodbye. As much as you enjoyed yourself you still got the impression he was more into you than you were into him.

You dressed and grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. In your reminiscing haze you forgot to put on your panties. They sat there on the floor, you reached for them but decided to leave them, let Arthur have something to remember you by.

You decided you deserved a souvenir of him too. The t-shirt was too big to hide in your bag, and were pretty sure his boxer briefs wouldn’t give you the same level of appreciation. You examined his room for something to take he wouldn’t miss.

There was a small bookcase, it looked decorative since each of the books had the same binding. Almost like they were multiple copies. One sat out, it was small enough that you could slide it into your bag.

You flipped it to the middle and scanned the page for information, then read the name Sam Winchester along the text. You recognized that from somewhere. When you remembered you laughed. You never figured Arthur to enjoy pulp fiction. Someone you dated in college loved Chuck Shurley books. This one was hardly a collectable and you doubted Arthur would notice it was gone. You dropped it into your bag before leaving the room.

“Ready?” Arthur asked.

You nodded and he placed his hand in the small of your back as he led you out in the hall. You took the elevator down and noticed he wouldn’t stop staring at you.

“What?” You smiled, your making me self-conscious.

“Just counting down the minutes until we’re together again.” Arthur laughed.

“We’re still together right now.” You gave a nervous chuckle.

The elevator opened and Arthur went for the doorman. He asked for a cab and you crossed your arms, promising yourself you would not cry. He came back towards you and offered you a hand, which you took. Of course a taxi showed up right away.

He leaned down and gave you a small kiss. You couldn’t help yourself and brought your arms up around his neck, opening your mouth and gliding your tongue against his. You broke the kiss and took a heavy breath.

“Just something to think about while you count down the minutes.” You pushed away and stepped in the cab.

“Six o’clock.” He held the door. “Be on time.”

You smiled and sat down. The cab door closed and you didn’t look away as the vehicle sped off. The tears didn’t come though. London was an experience, one you would never forget, but Arthur wasn’t the man for you. There was no reason to know this outside of your own gut. There was affection and lust there, but it wasn’t deep enough for you.

The cab arrived at your hotel in a manner of minutes.

“Would you mind waiting?” You asked the driver. “I need a ride to the airport.”

“That’ll be extra. The gentleman already paid me.” He looked at you in the rearview mirror.

“I know.” You smiled. “Just a few minutes.”

You practically ran to your shack, changed clothes, and grabbed your bags. Soon you were back in the cab and on your way to Heathrow.

Once at the airport your first stop was the locker you rented. The digital combination was your birthday and it popped open. You pulled out your passport, keys, wallet, and flight information. All of the things you were terrified of losing.

An hour later you were done with security and an hour after that your plane was on the runway. Once it was six pm London time you would already be across the pond. Your heart ached a little, but overall you felt like you did the right thing.

Once the plane took off you went for your bag and pulled out the book you had taken. There was nothing wrong with a little light reading on the flight.

~~~

Ketch was beyond angry. He was ripping apart his apartment, pulling items off the shelves, punching holes in the walls. He didn’t understand. A knock at the door broke his fit and he yanked it open to see Mick, computer in hand.

“Did you find anything?” Ketch ignored the mess of his apartment.

“Nothing solid.” Mick walked over the strewn objects and went for the kitchen table. “She paid in cash at her hotel, said she left this morning. The cab driver took her to Heathrow, I taped into the security cameras, but couldn’t find her.”

“Let me tell you about the way she looked.” Ketch leaned over Mick’s shoulder as the computer booted up. “Her hair color was…”

“Don’t bother.” Mick shook his head. “There is too much surveillance. Unless you had a picture of her to compare it would be impossible to find her. Do you have a name? Address? Anything we can go off of?”

“I have some of her DNA.” Ketch remembered the panties she had left.

“I don’t want to know how,” Mick exhaled. “Unless she has a criminal record in a specific city we won’t be able to find her. America doesn’t have a national DNA database.”

Ketch let out a frustrated yell and kicked the wall.

“What about looking at the flight information for today?” He thought they might be able to narrow it down by age.

“Two hundred and sixty thousand passengers today, even if you narrowed it down to say twenty thousand it would take you two years to go through it all.” Mick tapped his fingers. “And of course, you would have to explain to Hess why you want that information.”

Ketch never saw this coming. He had spent the day making plans, getting her new home ready. He had everything planned out perfectly. She was going to be his forever. Then all of a sudden she disappeared.

“So she stole a book on American hunters from you, never gave you her real name or any identifiable information.” Mick took a breath. “I don’t want to spike your anger, but do you think she may have been working with them the entire time? Maybe our American counterparts are smarter than we think?”

“No.” Ketch shook his head. “They don’t even know we exist. She wasn’t like us or them. She was different.”

“I hate to break this to you, but I wouldn’t bother trying to find her.” Mick pointed to the airport security footage. “She’s not there.”

A/N: I do have an idea for a part two, if there is enough interest. Thanks for reading!

#Toni’s BMoL British Invasion #ketch x reader #supernatural smut #spn bmol #arthur ketch

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