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lovejosephquinn · 1 year ago

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Imagine it’s like your third/fourth date with Joe and he decides to have the date at his so he can show off his mega cooking skills. Everything is so cute and fluffy and saccharine and then it’s the first time the two of you have sex. But it’s all adorable and sweet rather than the (wonderful) filth that you usually do!! I feel like I don’t see enough first time fics anymore :(

I GOT YOU. One fluffy fluffed up imagine just for you bestie 🥰

Under 18's DNI. Word Count: 3.5k

There was something different about Joe, the absolute charmer of a man that you had never witnessed before in anybody else. It was something you couldn't quite pin point and if you had one guess it would be that you had never been treated quite like the queen that others had told you that you oh so truly deserved.

It hadn't took long for Joe to break down the walls in which you had held up as much as you could from previous relationships, but he had it all, not just the looks that were an extreme bonus and you felt like you could jump him every time you saw him but also the persona he only really kept for people that was worth it, the whit and the chaotically beautiful and quite frankly funny yet brutally sweet and caring nature of him had shined through by the time your second date had come around.

Basically, to put it bluntly, he was your definition of perfect and it was something you couldn't possibly refuse to let go.

It was proving an impossible task to not fall in love with this human so quickly. It was cringeworthy to admit, but he was the first thing you thought about in a morning and the very last thing you dreamt about at night, it was a puzzle piece in your heart that was missing and he somehow completed it by walking into your life at the time he did.

Not to say you didn't meet the way most courting adults do nowadays, through the wonders of dreaded hooking up dating apps. You had felt like a teenager with a massive crush staying up until 4am the first time that you ever exchanged messages, talking for hours in pointless conversation, sharing memories and exchanging pleasantries and the general chit chat to get to know one another. You just clicked. What seemed too good to be true turned into texting every single day, calling each other when you both had a spare minute, sharing the occasional face time just to be able to say hello at the closest face to face you could finally get a chance to meet; and then it happened.

Date one: a simplistic meal at an authentic Italian restaurant, suited and booted, a grand first impression of a gentleman if any. Your first kiss. Sensual, slow and heartfelt.

Date two: Driving out to a lake which was situated around the lovely grounds of a valley, you held hands pretty much all the way around, giggling, sharing ice cream, feeding the ducks with over priced bread and laughing at Joe nearly falling in the water when he leaned to actually hand feed the duckling, resulting in him almost looking like a drowned rat and being branded an accidental murderer forever.

Date three: Another meal at a fancy five star French restaurant in the heart of London, followed by drinks in bars that Joe insisted he needed to take you to as they did the best martini's you'd ever tasted. He wasn't wrong, you fucking hated martinis until that night, maybe it was just a placebo due to the fact he enjoyed them, so you made yourself like them too, you had to impress him to right? You'd made out in the taxi all the way back to your flat, Joe dropped you off not insinuating that he wanted to take it any further as it was clear you both didn't want to rush something that was going so well and risk it failing over sleeping together too quickly.

Date four was tonight. You had arranged a quieter more casual meet this evening. Joe had shown great determination in getting you to his home to cook for you, vowing to you over and over that he was a way better chef than those of the restaurants you had eaten at together on dates in the past. Even though it was less formal affair, you still made yourself look presentable, sporting an oversized jumper dress with a more relaxed approach to stick to wearing trainers, it wasn't like you would have them on long anyway. Minimal make up and a nice up do, packing your over night bag as you had the bright idea that you would stay over the night so that you didn't have to rush through the time you had together; you could take your time.

You packed pyjamas, why? Because you didn't know how comfortable you would be to sleep in your underwear next to a male who you weren't sure would want to see such a thing. He's a man, of course he fucking would; but you didn't want to come across eager.

It was about a 25 minute drive to where you needed to be, you were still nervous to see Joe after already seeing so much of each other in the last few weeks, it was still fresh to you but you knew as soon as you were together, the comfortability would kick in pretty much when you arrived and shared your first glances.

When you got to the front door, it opened before your fist had even touched the object. You stood there with it mid air, a small wolf whistle followed by the sweetest smile, his sweetest smile, teeth and all. Joe of course was dressed to the nines, shirt and trousers but as you looked down to check the full variety of what you had to stare it, you noticed the cute pink socks sticking out like a sore thumb underneath the foot of his trousers. You couldn't help but snigger a giggle.

"Real men wear pink." Were his first words.

"And you're looking sincerely sexy in those pink socks Joe." You both chortled out a bark of laughter as Joe gestured for you to come through before closing the door behind you.

Once you were no longer in view of the public, you were met by Joe's hand clutching around your waist, bringing you in to close the space between your bodies. You leaned upward to receive a content little peck on the lips, your hands placed on his chest to keep you steady as you brought your feet back down fully to ground level.

"You look beautiful, darling." Joe cooed.

"Oh stop it." You patted his chest as he hummed a chuckle.

"Thank you would be a better answer." He tilted his head to one side, unknowingly surprised with you reaching to share a more intimate kiss this time. As you pulled back, Joe sighed almost peacefully, the way you did when you had butterflies flipping around your stomach. The feeling was definitely most mutual.

"Okay you win, that was a perfect response." Joe took your hand once you had rested them back to your side and brought you into the kitchen/dining area where he pulled out your seat for you. You thanked him as you looked around to see how classy he had set out the cutlery, a small plate, a dinner plate and a wine glass. A jug of water in the middle of the table in case you needed it at any point throughout the meal.

"Smells divine in here." You gazed around the messy kitchen, the sign of a good hearty meal being cooked as well as it could be showed that he was pulling out all of the stops.

"I hope you're hungry, I made a little too much pasta." Joe pressed his lips into a thin line, furrowing his brow and shrugging his shoulders slightly at you.

"I meant you, the food smells good too."

"Oh stop it." Joe mimicked you, covering his hand over his mouth in a pathetic and quite frankly over dramatic attempt to pretend he was embarrassed over your compliment.

Joe poured the wine into your glass, insisting that you taste it to make sure it was the one that you had said you liked beforehand. Great memory. Perfect for the pasta dish that you were about to consume. The indeed heavenly smell of prawn tagliatelle with various vegetables was dished out in front of you. You ate everything, even went in for seconds, it was a good job you didn't eat much today and you had to all intents and purposes starved yourself so that you would be ravenous by the time you had your dinner date.

Was this man ever wrong in his assumptions? Nope. He was a sensational cook, his mum had clearly taught him a lot and he was well trained in the kitchen, perfect as you were up for a dinner date like this every night for the rest of your life if this was the quality of food you would receive.

To top it all off, he had also prepared dessert, an affogato served with home made pistachio ice cream, an eye rolling, taste bud tingling way to finish off your meal indeed. You had polished off the wine too quickly for your liking, the combination of wine heated your cheeks along with the warmth of the house and also being sat across from Joe probably didn't help the matter.

You had retired to the living room after helping him clean up. Joe had insisted that you were his guest and wouldn't lift a finger but after a playful and most valid argument between you, Joe accepted your point of it would get done faster if you did it together. Putting on a movie seemed like the best option to end a solid ten out of ten evening together, a romantic comedy that you had seen at least thirty times in your life. You downed the last of your wine in your glass and set it in front of you on the coffee table, snuggling into Joe's side, he caught the hint pretty quickly and lifted his arm to let you sink into him further. His hand stroked the bare skin of your shoulder where your jumper had faltered a little, sending goose bumps raging their way through your skin.

It wasn't long until the movie was forgotten about, a deeply passionate kiss provoked by Joe himself. He had smoothly managed to push his finger tip toward your jaw, putting enough pressure to make you look up toward him where his free hand came to cup your cheek, bringing you forward to softly connect your lips together. You lifted yourself up with the help of Joe to sit yourself directly on his lap, tongues now involved as begged at your bottom lip for entrance. The kiss became intense, your fingers ran through his untamed curls which were soft and a little frizzy from the humidity of cooking whilst your other hand was wrapped in the chains around his neck, pulling him to be as close to you as possible. The dimmed lighting added to the voluptuousness and your whole body was screaming with desire to be touched in anyway he would dare to.

The kiss broke intermittently as you both panted for just that little bit to regain the oxygen your lungs had lost in the last few minutes.

"Shall we go get a little more comfortable, love?" Joe offered, stroking his thumb over your cheek giving you a smile that could heal the world.

"I'd love to." Joe kept you in his grasp, lifting himself up off of the sofa and you instantly obliged to wrap your legs around his waist. He carried you upstairs and into his bedroom, using his elbow to switch on the light before he slowly set you down on your back onto the foam mattress that you immediately thought was going to be a great nights sleep from the instant comfort you felt. Joe rested himself by the side of you, propped up on one elbow as his hand magnetised itself straight back to your cheek. He examined your features for a moment, staring through into your soul, your eyes following every muscle that worked in the doe eyes that sparkled towards you.

"Just to be clear you do want-" Joe whispered shyly, but before he could finish it was a response you didn't even have to think about.

"I do, I really do." He knew you were on the same page, his lips coming back to join yours in the most gratifying and pleasurable kiss. Electricity was shooting it's way down to your core, followed by anxiety that he may not like what he saw underneath your clothing.

You broke the kiss this time, pushing all doubts out of your mind as you sat up to remove your jumper dress, leaving yourself in your matching underwear, slowly looking up to witness his reaction.

It was very much worth it.

Joe's eyes had grown lustful, extremely excited to see you looking so vulnerable for him. Joe pushed his hands towards the back of your bra, stopping for a second to look at you for reassurance.

"May I?"

You giggled. "You may."

Joe touched you delicately like you were made of porcelain, not wanting to break you but at the same time really wanting to feel every ounce of you. He massaged your breasts in the palm of his hands, lightly pinching your nipples and gaining a whimper from the sensitivity that it caused.

"You like that, baby?" Baby. That was the first time he had called you that and you hoped it would not be the last.

A stifling yes was all you could manage, his touch riling you up good and proper as he laid you down back into an easier position to access so that his mouth could taste where his fingers had just influenced.

Soft moans were making the erection in Joe's trousers twitch as he worked his way down with unhurried yet deliberate little embracing kisses down your body. His hands following where his lips had just caressed until he was knelt down before you, placing your feet at the edge of the bed, reaching upward to slide your panties down and fully off. You were stark naked and his bush baby eyes had never shimmered brighter than they were, his jaw could of fell to the floor the way his mouth gaped open looking down at you.

"You're so fucking beautiful, I am so lucky." There was that sigh again, oh so delightful to observe.

Joe planted more kisses along your thighs before working his way towards your slit, guiding his hands to open it up so that he could start by licking a small stripe down to the base of you with the tip of his tongue. A louder moan escaped you this time.

"Relax darling, I want to make you feel so good."

When he got into a more focussed position, his hands reached for yours, intertwining your fingers together as you both gave a little reassuring squeeze to let each other know it was okay. His muscle massaged against your clit, making the muscles in your legs twinge each time he slipped it over a particular spot. He pressed succulent kisses against you with each taste, humming and breathing in the scent of you.

"That feels so good." You mewled.

"Mmm." Joe answered, he was in too deep for a truly more accurate reply.

His movements got a little faster and heavier against your bud, your body squirming around the sheets, your fingers pressing harder into his knuckles before he let one of your hands go, your instant reaction was to massage your boob and play with yourself a little. Joe surprised you by pushing a finger inside of you, the cold metal of his ring touching your entrance when the entirety of his digit made it's way up. He added another shortly, curling them upwards but keeping the pace gently measured to really make you feel even better than you could have ever imagined.

It all ended too quickly as Joe pushed himself away from you, ridding the contact from his fingers and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth to dry himself off.

"Why did you stop?"

"I can't take it anymore, I need to feel myself inside of you, you feel too good like this, god knows how you'll feel like that." Joe undressed himself and you watched his defined figure unravel before you, gawking from his neck down, not too toned but just right. His cock stood to attention, leaking pre-cum from being so heavily turned on from his time during his little cunninglingus fun. You were impressed with everything he had to offer, why wouldn't you be impressed with the sheer just above average size he was packing.

"You are perfect Quinn." You bit down onto your bottom lip, hypnotising him immediately with the way your eyes clung to his.

"No baby, that's you." BABY. BABY. B A B Y.

Joe lined himself up over you, not letting you move from your previous state, silently insisting that you relax whilst he continued to make you both feel incredible. He rubbed his cock between your slit, gaining some of his own spit and your slick to lube him up for easier access.

"Are you sure-"

"I'm sure, baby." It was your turn to mock him whimsically but he seemed to drink it in as you did, the pet name in particular. Joe pushed himself inside of you slowly, inch by inch filling you, your walls instantaneously clenching around him sending a ferocious groan straight from Joe's mouth.

"Just as I thought." He said.

You giggled a little too suddenly. "What?"

"Heavenly."

Joe began to rock his hips back and fourth into you, the girth alone sent your back arching as he leant down, the muscles in his arms flexing to keep him hovering above you, his chains dangling around your chin as he thrusted back and fourth. Sharp breathes and the heat of passion were strong between the two of you, a rush of new found energy had you both singing each other's names like a prayer. The movements were sloppy yet so eager, fiery yet heartfelt. You looked into each others eyes with promise and sensibility. If you weren't mistaken, the look of love. Too lost in your thoughts, you were brought back down to the present to see Joe's lips moving, your hearing came back into play once you had stopped being so caught in your brain.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Never better."

"Did you hear what I said?" Joe pushed into you a little harder this time making you gasp.

"Evidently not." You breathed out a distorted moan followed by a chuckle.

"Be mine." Joe repeated himself hoping that you heard him loud and clear this time.

"I already am." You smiled as soon as he did, his lips crashed against yours, your heavily beautiful kiss moving in time with that of his hips, stopping sporadically to take a breath or to get out the breathless whimpers you needed to let escape.

The knot snapped inside your stomach when he hit one final thrust, sending you both over the edge together. Your bodies tingling from head to toe, the sensation you wished would last a lifetime and more from the stimulation and pure feeling you were eating up at this very moment.

"That was-" Joe was left stuttering so much that he had to pause.

"Amazing?" You finished.

"Exactly." Joe leaned down to kiss you one last time before pulling out, your orgasms rid to their full potential, it had made it all the more zealous to have reached your peaks together.

You ran to the bathroom to flush out what you needed to, cleaning yourselves up before returning to Joe's bed, the pyjamas long forgotten about that you had packed, a comforting thought that you now would be able to sleep skin to skin, happy and tranquil. Joe rushed downstairs to turn the tv off, not long after returning and making a huge leap towards the bed to which you jumped out of your skin when you realised he was almost about to crush you the same way he could have done the duckling on your second date.

It was all laughter and mind numbing chatter for the rest of the night, you laid in Joe's arms, your ear just resting above his heart which beat steady and relaxed.

"You meant it?" Joe mentioned and you looked up at him dazed and confused in your exhausted state.

"Meant what?" You asked.

"That you were mine." Joe looked deeply into your eyes, looking for the answers before you spoke them.

"Always."

"Perfect." Joe planted a kiss onto your forehead, his fingers making light work stroking up and down the top of your back.

"That's you." You nestled your face into his chest.

"Sweet dreams then, my darling girl."

You laid in the same position until the sun rose and the light dimmed it's way through the corners of Joe's curtains. A new day had never felt so good, especially beginning it in the arms of your man. Perfect.

#joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn angst #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joe quinn smut #joe quinn x reader

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sgiandubh · 1 year ago

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Do you have any secret tips for restaurants or cafés for a trip to Paris?

Dear Paris Anon,

I am happy and amused you ask me this question. Happy, because I have been calling Paris home for six years: that means there are places where I was madly kissing a beautiful (and cruel) boy from Bastia, places where I walked at night drunk as a boiled owl with people who are still in my life, places where I regularly went shopping or having an endless coffee with friends and places I was entrusted with, like precious jewels. Amused, because to be honest, Paris is probably the last French destination I could think of for an enjoyable week-end en amoureux (I suppose you want to go as a couple?), right now: it is overpriced as hell (the Olympics are round the corner), dirty and seedy (I was shocked, last time I visited and Manu Macron, my old acquaintance of yore, spoke about parking all the homeless outside of town during the Games 'for aesthetic reasons' - the boy never had a sense of humor, trust me on this one).

I shall give you 5 restaurants and 5 cafés (oh God, why didn't you ask me about Bangkok, instead?). Many of them are on the Left Bank (all of my addresses were there, simply because the closer to the university, the better).

Five restaurants: as it happens in Rome (where the gap is truly tragic), I will try and recommend places where locals go. You will find a menu in English everywhere, but at least try the holy trinity of bonjour, l'addition (the check) et merci. All the Parisian waiters are sourer than the Politburo and insolent as highway robbers, but do not be deterred by their manners. Order away.

Le Relais de Venise - son entrecôte (271 Bd Pereire, 75017). It is not in the center. They do not take reservations. You will be met with a long line of people patiently waiting (Seinfeld style) to get in. They have a minimal set menu (which is always a very good sign: https://relaisdevenise.com/menus/set-menu.php). The waitresses are kind and dressed like 1920's maids. It will be the damn best entrecôte-frites you've ever had (their sauce is a secret). Nothing changed there since 1959. Double check opening times and plan accordingly: you will need a taxi and plenty of time ahead. Almost a bargain for its stellar performance. The London one is a sad spin off.

Le Soufflé (36 rue du Mont Thabor, 75001). An original choice, but oh so good! They only cook soufflés (not exactly a pudding, but a pudding angels must have on a daily basis). Very reasonably priced for Paris (set menus at 40 and 55 euros - https://www.lesouffle.fr/bienvenue/home/menu/). If you want to eat à la carte, I recommend le soufflé Henri IV (cheese soufflé with chicken & mushrooms sauce) : it is heaven.

La Jacobine (59-61 Rue Saint-André des Arts, 75006). You will find tourists in this one, it is always full. Service is impeccable. Do not bother with Le Procope round the corner: it used to be one of my haunts, but this is over. The best soupe à l'oignon (onion soup, notoriously hard to cook) I ever had (yes, they still add white wine!). I would also recommend the magret de canard sauce aux cèpes (duck breast with a porcini mushrooms sauce). I could not find a decent menu, but that should give you an idea - they don't have a website (https://eater.space/la-jacobine). Very reasonably priced, too - and very, very good.

Chez Julien (1, rue du Pont Louis-Philippe, 75004 Paris). This is one of my mum's favorites. It is open only in the evenings, but it is an excellent choice if you want to call it a night, because it has service continu (all night long, wow!). It is more expensive - this is, after all, the Right Bank, so expect prices to go drastically up. This is the only option serving wonderful breakfasts, so I beg you: have breakfast in town at least once, Paris hotels tend to do it on the sad and sorry side (https://www.chezjulien.paris/en/home#menu-en). Pair anything you pick with a glass of Pouilly fumé white wine (it goes with anything, it is that magically good).

Money is no object? Entice the guy to take you at (I am torn, here, to be honest) La Tour d'Argent (19 Quai de la Tournelle, 75005). It is very expensive (like VERY), but it is worth every penny (https://tourdargent.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/LTDA-SEPTEMBRE-EN.pdf). You must (it's an order!) order the canard au sang (you will find it on the menu under the entry Duckling Frédéric Delair and it is outrageously priced). But you will never have a chance to see the table show anywhere else (it is served in two times: first the fillet and then the legs and it uses a sort of Medieval contraption, to get the blood out for the sauce) - just a specialty from Normandy, you will not find in Rouen anymore. It is divine. They have been there since 1583. What are you waiting for? (for a less break the bank option, try Le Grand Véfour, near the Louvre - google it, it will take forever to explain why).

Four cafés and a salon de thé (tea parlor) : all are haunts of mine. In every single one of them something very personal happened to me. Consider yourself lucky. On a more practical side, all of them double as excellent lunch options, for a fraction of what you would spend in a restaurant. :)

Chez Carette (4 Pl. du Trocad��ro, 75016, but also Place des Vosges, with a nod to C). You will have an exceptional choice of anything you could think of and the same Roaring Twenties atmosphere as in the Relais de Venise restaurant. The chocolat chaud (hot chocolate) is almost perfection (do NOT go to Angelina, on the rue de Rivoli, that is another favorite which went south and not in a good way). The best macarons you will find North of Saint Jean de Luz's Maison Adam (where the story of macarons began in earnest). This is Someone's favorite, but then he always was a Right Bank purist. Service is old school, which means supremely kind, if only a bit on the slow side: you are in France, soak it in!

Les Deux Magots (6 Pl. Saint-Germain des Prés, 75006). On the Left Bank in the publishing houses district. This is my second favorite (there is a first favorite) and you will likely find me on the heated terrace with a cigarette and a newspaper, if I were there. Service is appalling, but you should not mind, I have warned you. Reasonably priced for what and where it is. Breakfasts are mediocre, but still enjoyable and lunch/dinner menus are typical brasserie fare - you are not there for the food, you are there to cosplay Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir and act intellectual and sophisticated and have endless talks about the world's destiny (https://lesdeuxmagots.fr/en/breakfast-menu/). If nature calls, head downstairs with an air of intrinsic superiority and don't forget to pay the grumpy dame pipi (toilet lady), who will give you what you need and look at you like you are the scum of the Earth. Always makes me laugh.

Le Café de l'Epoque (2 Rue du Bouloi, 75001). On the Right Bank, at the end of one of the most beautiful passages couverts (glass-roofed passageways) of Paris. Again, you are there for the supremely dreamy atmosphere, I can only fail to describe. Look on the map for all of these passageways and then get lost in the maze of stamp shops, bookstores, taxidermists and God only knows what else you could think of (or at least add to this passageway the Galerie Vivienne). Usual brasserie/bistro fare, reasonable prices (https://cafedelepoque.fr/en/services). The lemon meringue pies are to die for.

Café Le Rostand (6 Pl. Edmond Rostand, 75006). Steps away from the Luxembourg Gardens, which I crossed every single day to go to the uni. Steps away also from the secret and sublime Medici fountain in above park (oh, the things I did there!). Surprisingly good French fare, the beef tartare is excellent (a rare thing!) and well priced (https://lerostand.fr/carte/ - use Google translate, they don't care for tourists). Service is cheeky. Round the corner, one of the most charming shops in Paris, Parapluies Simon (56 Boulevard Saint-Michel, 75006) - only umbrellas and dandy walking sticks (you can hide a whisky mini flask in one of them, I am told by Someone on the phone, but I think he is trolling us - we love that shop).

The Tea Caddy (14 Rue Saint-Julien le Pauvre, 75005). It's been there since 1928, when a certain Miss Klinklin opened it and introduced the Devon scones to France. It is my favorite favorite (https://the-tea-caddy.com/en/tea-room/) and it is perfect on a rainy day. Steps away from the Medieval church of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre, one of the most authentic and moving experiences of its kind in a very secular town. The Shakespeare & Co. bookstore is just round the corner. A rare gem of a place.

I could go on and on and on. Three more short tips and you will thank me for it, as alternatives to deceiving mainstream options:

The Musée de l'Orangerie instead of The Louvre. Blasphemy? Intense perfumes come in small bottles. It is breathtaking (https://www.musee-orangerie.fr/en).

Château de Rambouillet instead of Versailles (you will not be able to enjoy it AT ALL). Where else could you find Marie Antoinette's private 'milk bar' (La Laiterie de la Reine/ The Queen's Dairy), a supremely elegant affair, with milk-spouting fountains, built to encourage hygienic milk consumption as an alternative to breast-feeding (she was unable to). Trust me and plan a full day for it (https://www.chateau-rambouillet.fr/en/discover).

La Sainte-Chapelle instead of Notre Dame. I always preferred it to anything else, except perhaps Vézelay (far, far away from Paris). It will shock you, but in such a perfect way (https://www.sainte-chapelle.fr/en). Enough said: I will let you discover. Across the Seine, couple this visit with the Musée de Cluny and tell The Lady and the Unicorn I miss them (https://www.musee-moyenage.fr/en/).

I am not sorry for the length of this post. At all. I hope you will enjoy this modest, but very personal selection and perhaps you will come back and tell me if it was worth something. Bon voyage!

Notre Dame on a snowy evening, Paris 1953

#Anon

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w2soneshots · 10 months ago

Text

Italian food -Zerkaa

words: 0.8k+

warnings: light smut.

summary: you and Josh go on a cute date night.

Liked by faithlouisak and 209,156 others

y/username: date night🤍

-comments-

zerkaa: 🔥🔥

taliamar: beautiful girly😍

-> y/username: ❤️

y/nfanpage21: you two are so cute!

user35996210: that pizza looks banging

Me and Josh met at school but didn't become anything, then years later we bumped into each other at a club, he asked for my number and the rest is history. We've been together for 5 years now and make time every two weeks for a date night, we're both very busy so making that time is very important. Each time we take turns for who organises the date, it doesn't have to be dinner it could be bowling, winter wonderland or a cute setup at our apartment.

Tonight it was Josh's turn, he chose a cute Italian restaurant that's located in a beautiful building with an amazing view of London. The booking is at 6 o'clock and he doesn't get back from his Sidemen shoot until 5 so I blasted music while I got ready. When he arrived home he quickly had a shower and got dressed. Then once we were both finished getting ready we got an uber to the restaurant.

"This place is beautiful" I said once we were inside the building. Josh smiled "I thought you'd like it". I just looked back at him with a cute smile then someone took us to our table. Once we were seated a waitress came and took our orders. "Ooo can I get the margarita pizza please" I said. "I'll have the same, thank you" Josh said. When we got to the restaurant it was still light outside, but once our food arrived it had turned dark and the large windows were filled with different coloured lights coming from other buildings, it looked beautiful.

"How did the shoot go?" I asked. "Good, hang on- let me show you a picture of the set" he said dropping his pizza and pulling his phone out to show me. "Oh my god that's sick" I said enthusiastically, today they filmed "the chase: sidemen addition 2" and this time they filmed it on the actual set. "Stephen was jokes as well" he said. "I can imagine" I said with a chuckle.

When we finished our pizza's we ordered some desserts. "Thank you" I said as the waitress placed my ice cream sundae down in front of me, Josh said the same when he got given his brownies. Once we finished we left the restaurant and got a taxi home. Josh kept his hand firmly on my thigh the entire journey. When we arrived outside our building we made our way inside and were soon inside our apartment. I kicked my heels off and dropped my bag, I sighed. "You look beautiful" Josh said quietly once I turned to look at him. I bit my lip slightly, wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. His hands traveled from my waist, to my hips and finally stopped at the back of my thighs. "Jump" he whispered into the kiss, and I did.

I wrapped my legs around his body as he held me up, not breaking the kiss once. He slowly walked towards the bedroom and dropped me onto our bed. He reached forward in the dark room and pulled my jeans off, then he undressed himself leaving him in only his boxers. I pulled my shirt off and over my head also leaving me in just my black lace thong. His eyes turned slightly darker as he climbed on top of me. I smirked and he pulled me into a passionate kiss.

The next morning... I woke completely naked under the duvet, next to Josh who just had his boxers on. "Morning" I said rolling over so I was leaning my head on my arm. "How'd you sleep" he asked. I sighed "Better if I had gone to sleep earlier". "He laughed "thats the price you pay" he said. "It was worth it" I said with a cheeky wink. I slid out of the bed, pulled on my underwear and one of Josh's shirts then I walked through into the bathroom, brushed my hair into a ponytail, washed my face and brushed my teeth.

When I was done I walked back into the bedroom just to see an empty bed. I shuffled into the kitchen, "want some breakfast?" Josh asked, stood looking into the fridge. I smiled "yes please". I walked towards him and wrapped my arms around his back, on my tip toes since he's so tall. He turned around and placed his hands on my waist. "I love you so much" he said staring into my eyes. I smiled slightly and a warm blush washed over my cheeks, "I love you too" I said and pulled him into a quick kiss.

#fanfic #image #oneshot #sidemen #smut #zerkaa #zerkaa x reader #josh bradley #josh zerkaa #instagram

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mariacallous · 7 months ago

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On Wednesday, New York governor Kathy Hochul shocked the state and the country when she announced she would indefinitely shelve New York City’s long-in-development congestion pricing scheme. The policy, in the works since 2007 and set to begin in just three weeks, was designed to relieve car traffic, curb road deaths, and send a billion dollars in annual funding to the city’s transit system by charging drivers up to $15 a day to enter the busiest parts of Manhattan, with rates highest at “peak hours.” (Truck drivers and some bus drivers could have paid more than $36 daily.) At heart, the idea is straightforward, if controversial: Make people pay for the roads they use.

But congestion pricing was also set to become one of the most ambitious American climate projects, maybe ever. It was meant to coax people out of their gas-guzzling vehicles, which are alone responsible for some 22 percent of US greenhouse gas emissions, and onto subways, buses, bicycles, and their feet. Policymakers, researchers, and environment nerds the world over have concluded that, even if the transition to electric vehicles were to happen at lightning speed, avoiding the worst of climate change is going to require fewer cars overall.

Now, the movement has seen a serious setback, in a country where decades of car-centric planning decisions mean many can only imagine getting around in one very specific way. Just a few years ago, cities from Los Angeles to San Francisco to Chicago began to study what pricing roads might look like. “Cities were watching to see what would happen in New York,” says Sarah Kaufman, who directs the NYU Rudin Center for Transportation. “Now they can call it a ��failure’ because it didn't go through.”

On Wednesday, Hochul said her about-face had to do with concerns about the city’s post-pandemic recovery. The congestion pricing plan faced lawsuits from New Jersey, where commuters argue they would face unfair financial burdens. Cameras and gantries, acquired and positioned to charge drivers while entering the zone, have already been installed in Manhattan, to the tune of some $500 million.

Kaufman, who says she was “flabbergasted” by Governor Hochul’s sudden announcement, says she is not sure where the policy goes from here. “If we can’t make courageous, and potentially less popular, moves in a city that has transit readily accessible, then I’m wondering where this can happen,” she says.

Other global cities have seen success with congestion schemes. London’s program, implemented in 2003, is still controversial among residents, but the government reports it has cut traffic in the targeted zone by a third. One 2020 study suggests the program has reduced pollutants, though exemptions for diesel buses have blunted its emissions effects. Stockholm’s program, launched in 2006, upped the city’s transit ridership, reduced the number of total miles locals traveled by car, and decreased emissions between 10 and 14 percent.

But in New York, the future of the program is unclear, and local politicians are currently scrambling to figure out how to cover the transit budget hole that would result from a last-minute nixing of the fee scheme. The city’s transit system is huge and sprawling: Five million people ride the Metropolitan Transportation Authority’s buses and subways, almost double the number that fly every day in the US.

In New York, drivers entering the zone below Manhattan’s 60th Street would have been charged peak pricing of $15, but would have only faced the charge once a day. They would have paid $3.75 for off-peak hours. Taxi and ride-hail trips in the zone would have seen extra fees. After years of controversy and public debate, the state had carved out some congestion charge exemptions: some vehicles carrying people with disabilities would not have been charged, lower-income residents of the zone would have received a tax credit for their tolls; and low-income drivers would have been eligible for a 50 percent discount.

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stephensmithuk · 11 months ago

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A Study in Scarlet: The Lauriston Gardens Mystery

To quote the current dress regulations of the Royal Navy (https://www.royalnavy.mod.uk/-/media/royal-navy-responsive/documents/reference-library/br-3-vol-1/chapter-38.pdf): "Sideburns for RM [Royal Marines] Personnel shall not extend below halfway down the ear." Moustaches can be worn by Royal Marines at their discretion, but not regular Royal Navy personnel. Beards require authorisation and are to be shaved off if the situation means that a gas mask is likely to be needed.

A hansom is a two-wheeled horsedrawn carriage with the driver sitting on an open-air seat at the back and officially two (although three could squeeze in) passengers in an enclosed cab below him, being able to give the driver instructions through a trap door. They were the standard London taxi until motorcabs turned up in 1908 and were largely superseded by the early 1920s, although the last licence for a hansom wasn't given up until 1947. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hansom_cab)

Taxis in London can be hailed on the street or via cab ranks. Minicabs were of course not a thing at this point. The taxi business in London has been regulated since 1635 - when the numbers proliferating the streets were starting to cause hazards.

A hat tip to @geeoharee for raising the distance involved for the taxi journey. At around 5.4 miles drive, you would probably be looking at around £24 at today's prices, depending on traffic.

The Brixton Road dates back to the Roman era as it was part of the London to Brighton (to use their modern names) road - it is today part of the A23 that follows the same route and is notably used for the annual London to Brighton Veteran Car Run. It had - and still has - a lot of Regency-style houses.

Strand is a major throughfare in the City of Westminster, part of the London theatreland area.

Trichinopoly is now called Tiruchirappalli, a major city in Tamil Nadu, India.

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #history #factoids #acd canon #a study in scarlet #stud

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angelgendered · 2 months ago

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God im gonna cry. I have. Seat I don't have to struggle to get to. I was gonna have to walk from my leicester Square hotel to the theatre which to most people is nothing, but to me, with my unsteady gait, terrible pain and fatigue, it felt insurmountable. I was worried I wouldnt be able to go because of this. I was so close to selling my ticket.

But im so glad I didn't. The people I've had contact with at atg and Harold Pinter Theatre have been so helpful and lovely. They've dealt with my request very swiftly and courteously and have been nothing g but understanding of my plight, lol

I nustbhave to find the money for the upgrade. Its one of the seats with a package tied to it cos it was one of the three seats left in the circle on my birthday, and all three were the same price anyway and next to each other too.

I've got the aisle seat which will help me be more comfy too. They're going to store my chair. I'm so happy. It might jsut be a play but it's my first alone holiday since my ces and operation, even if it is only overnight. Its my first time in London for years and even longer since I've seen anything in the west end

Idk

I'm just so excited now. Now I have my access taken care of its a weight off my shoulders. A big weight. And I know now that I can go and not worry about having to brave my pain and fatigue and having g to grt s taxi for a less than 3 min trip lmao.

#god bless thoughtful venues and staff

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heathrowcarrier · 1 month ago

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Heathrow Airport Taxi Booking: Easy and Reliable with HeathrowCarrier

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Moreover, HeathrowCarrier’s transparent pricing eliminates uncertainty, with all-inclusive quotes provided upfront. Whether you’re a business traveler or a family on vacation, HeathrowCarrier guarantees punctual, hassle-free taxi services tailored to your schedule and preferences.

#heathrow airport taxi booking #book cab to heathrow #book a cab from heathrow #book a cab to heathrow airport #london taxi prices #london black cab fares

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someforzari · 1 year ago

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Coloured Sky

Niki x black!gn!reader

Genre: fluff

A/N: My first work where the skin colour was specified, I hope its up to your standards.

Ep.1 | Ep.2

You started listening to kpop in 2019 but it was more of a casual liking in 1 or 2 groups, rather than the only thing you would listen to. So when the group 'Enhypen' came out you peaked a huge interest in them. You biased Niki for his cute persona and how he always found a way to lighten the mood.

In little time, you found yourself listening to them often and even buying an album now and then. When all of your friends started talking about going to a concert together, you suggested Enhypen's upcoming tour.

"_____, we're not made of money and plus that's in New York, only you have a place to stay there, what will the rest of us do?" Jen retorted looking at the price.

"She's right, _____" Another friend agreed.

Sighing, you knew you had to meet them at some point in your life and why not now since it was your gap year before starting college, but seeing how you had £50 to your name, you knew that wasnt happening anytime soon. You chose to go to New York anyway since you had already bought plane tickets to see your family there, texting your mum to tell her.

"Guys, I have to go pack my bags but I'll talk to you soon. Love you bye." You said leaving the café. A quick wave of goodbyes surging through your friend group.

Time skip: 11:34pm, Thursday 28th March

"Yes mum, I've packed everything. I know the trip is overseas, look, I'll be fine. I'm staying with aunt shay, I'll be alright." You explained to your mum, holding the phone between your ear and cheek. "The plane leaves at 4pm tomorrow. No, I'm getting a taxi. Look, I have to go I'll update you soon. Bye."

Putting your passports and luggage near the doorway and setting your alarm to 8am you crashed on your bed and slept soundly.

Time skip: 8:13am, Friday 29 March

Brushing your teeth slowly due to drowsiness and scrolling through instagram was a normal part of your morning, your eyes widening upon seeing a new post from Enhypens official account. It was a picture of Niki and Sunoo at the airport, nothing special except that the destination was New York. That left some excitement for your day, dreaming about running into him unexpectedly and becoming his friend. Of course, you knew your delusions were just that, delusions. But you were free to imagine, right?

Stepping into your room to double check that you had packed everything, you noticed that your nails looked terrible and decided to get them done later. A decision that would save you from embarrassment later on.

The nails you picked weren't too over the top, just french tips with a few charms. Looking at the time on your phone, you gasped. 2:09pm. You were going to be late for your flight. At your apartment, a taxi was already waiting for you as you had planned, pulling the luggage into the boot and sitting in the taxi, you sighed and hoped you'd make it in time for your flight as the airport was an hour and a half away, hopefully there wouldn't be much traffic.

Timeskip: 5:43pm, Saturday 30th March

"Yeah, I'll manage." You said as you left the house to go explore New York City.

Living in the UK, you never experienced anything close to New York, sure, London was just as busy, but the nightlife couldn't compete. Plus, you lived in Whitehall of all places. It was cold, and even though winter had finished, the sun still set by 7.

It was amazing. The street signs with vibrant colours and cute little pictures of cartoon characters and animals, the shops with the latest iconic trends and the souvenirs were so creative.

Looking around, you didn't notice the shouting and running around. It was New York, this was normal, right?

Wrong. You would've been able to look some more, if only someone didn't bump into you and both of you fell.

"Who the hell...?" You mumbled holding your ankle and looking at the person.

Niki Rishimura. He was the man who had bumped into you, making you fall and hurt yourself. The throbbing pain in your ankle was forgotten as you stared at him with your mouth wide open and eyes wide.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Is your ankle hurt?" He asked frantically, clearly worried.

You couldn't even answer, you just sat there, staring at him. Once the state of shock took over, you were quick to reassure him that you were fine and asked him if he was hurt at all.

He offered to get you coffee as an apology. Being a modest person, you refused at first saying there was no need, secretly hoping he would take you anyway. Him being the absolute angel he is, he insisted to treat you to coffee and you agreed. He reached out for his phone and asked for your number, you blinked a few times in confusion but not wanting to pass up this opportunity, you typed in your digits as fast as your sore hands could.

"I'll text you later, I have to go now." Niki said smiling sweetly at you and picking up a call from his manager.

You couldn't believe it, you had just met Niki Rishimura and gotten his number! And, you were going to see him for coffee! The whole way back to your aunt's house, you smiled and some people even looked at you like you were insane, but they wouldn't understand. You couldn't wait.

@microwvdstrawb3rri3s

#enha #enhypen #enhypen niki #niki #niki x reader #enha fluff

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taxiservicechaurffeur · 1 year ago

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https://vipluxurychauffeur.com/glastonbury-chauffeur-service

Turn your visit to Glastonbury Music Festival intoa luxurious and relaxing experience by booking a vehicle with VIP Chauffeur Ride. We ensure acomfortable, and joyful trip for you and your co-travelers. Our highly professional and reliableLondon to Glastonbury Festival taxi price will leave you impressed every time.

#London To Glastonbury Festival Taxi Price

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valthepoetess · 1 month ago

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✮ The Adventures of Saturna ✮ Vol. 1

(This story is in latin spanish available on Wattpad!)

This story tells, pardon the redundancy, the adventures of my oc Saturna Cloudford!

⋆ From the beginning of her life, until giving her heart completely 💕 ⋆ Ship Saturna x Simon Ghost Riley (just because 😍🥰) ⋆ Action, romance, drama, MORE ACTION and more romance. ⋆ References to pop culture lol don't judge. ⋆ I promise you'll have fun!

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*

Saturna Cloudford is an interesting and passionate woman, Lieutenant and paramedic leader in the UK Armed Forces, mainly in TF141. Here I will immortalize her experiences as the beautiful OC that she is. Enjoy 💕💞

∘₊✧─────────★─────────✧₊∘

Prologue

Saturna Cloudford, born on March 22, 1996, in the beautiful and iconic borough of Queens, NYC, grew up in a house in the suburbs, in a middle-class neighborhood with her father, Oliver Cloudford, and her mother, Marie Conetti.

Oliver was a decorated US Navy Colonel, who perished in battle after 20 years of service, and was awarded a Purple Heart medal in his honor. He died when Saturna would have turned 16 years old. Marie is a woman from Italy, who moved to America to seek a better life away from her family, and then met Oliver.

Saturna is a woman currently 28 years old, with short, dark wavy hair that is very difficult to deal with, just as her mother told her, "hair reflects personality." She is about 1.75 (5'9'') tall, with a usually athletic build, although not very defined. She has quite expressive and dark eyes, a round nose and her upper lip is larger than the lower one (as if they were inverted). Thin and fine eyebrows, and a light brown complexion. Don't forget her tattoos, the most recognizable is a small tattoo of a carnation on her chest (🏵) She also has the logo of her favorite band (Måneskin) tattooed on the back of her neck, and a star design on her lower back.

She has always been outgoing and friendly, exuding self-confidence and mostly good humor. She is kind, thoughtful and passionate, determined in everything she does. She considers herself an activist and has quite liberal morals, although politics is not something she likes very much, she is always up for a debate. He loves to talk, and let's say more than usual. She considers herself an atheist, not a believer in any god per se, but she believes that there is some powerful force that governs everything equally, she considers it the universe. She is agile, flexible and good at hand-to-hand combat, quick to think and skilled at making decisions under pressure. Despite her work, or her life in general, what identifies her is her relaxed and unflappable attitude towards things, she is not someone who gets stressed easily, and she has carried that within her since the beginning of her life. (…)

Now our Sat was heading towards a new chapter in her life. Sitting in the back of the taxi, with her suitcases on her lap, looking out the window with her headphones on and thinking about what kind of adventures she would have now. He was heading to the main base of TaskForce 141, a Multinational Special Operations Unit located in London. Or well, on the outskirts of it. This unit, mostly anti-terrorism, specifically senior commanders like Captain John Price had offered a spot on their team for Cloudford. Also because Sat had been recommended by CIA agent Laswell. Maybe she had seen something useful in her.

Naturally, Saturna was full of doubts and nerves. She was a Lieutenant and a lead paramedic, why would she be indispensable in a place like this, surrounded by military personnel and soldiers far more experienced? “Weren’t there plenty of paramedics here?” she thought. A smile appeared on her face at the thought.

"Great, now my job will be to patch up injured cadets and prescribe meds" she said to herself.

Of course, she was joking. The fact that she was part of such a unit was a complete privilege, and she wasn’t the least bit unhappy about it. She was genuinely excited. Even so, the thought of being treated like a medic or doctor didn’t sit well with her (and that was based on experience). She simply sighed and leaned her head on her hand, gazing out the window as the landscape grew colder and wetter, moving along the lonely road with her favorite song, “So High,” playing in her ears.

At some point during the trip, the horizon changed from dense forests and trees to open, green fields, with the sun now shining more brightly. “That must mean I’m close,” she thought. And indeed, the taxi driver was already glancing at his meter and announcing their arrival. Saturna felt her excitement grow. Then she noticed the large gray barracks with brick walls surrounding it, buildings no taller than five stories, and a wide field in the center of it all. She had arrived at the base.

The taxi came to a stop right in front of the threshold near the end of the road. Saturna’s heart stopped along with the vehicle. She saw the flags waving on either side of the main gate, representing the 141 and the United Kingdom. Moments later, Saturna was out of the car with her carry-on bag, as the driver helped with the luggage from the trunk. As she took her bags in her arms, a bearded man with a distinctive fisherman’s hat walked out through the gate, accompanied by a younger man in a cap. He walked up to the threshold and stopped a few meters in front of Saturna. She was more nervous than ever, but she still paid the driver, rolled her suitcase beside her, and walked toward the Captain. With a big smile, she stood before him.

“Saturna Cloudford, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” the man said as he extended his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain.” She shook his hand.

“Please, call me Price.”

Saturna nodded, and as Price noticed she had brought more luggage than she could carry, he motioned to his companion to lend her a hand.

“Gaz, come over here,” the Captain said, and Gaz quickly grabbed Saturna’s rolling suitcase.

They headed into the base, with Price walking in front of the two. Saturna looked around, observing and taking in as much as she could while trying to keep up with the quick pace of her new Captain.

“Welcome to our main base,” he said. “This is the meeting point, where you’ll find the cafeteria, common rooms, and the parking area outside, along with some more offices further in. To the south are the residential buildings, and I’ll get you the key to your room as soon as possible. As you can see, there’s the field.” He gestured to the green field in the center of the base. “You can run or train there, as it’s right in front of the gym. We also use it as a shooting range. The gym itself is small, so most soldiers train outside or on the field.”

Saturna listened closely, trying to absorb all the information the Captain was giving her.

“The armory is next to the parking area, which you probably saw on your way in. The showers are close to the residential buildings, connected to the locker rooms. And finally, the medical building was added relatively recently; that’s where most of your work will be.” Price stopped walking and turned to face Saturna, as Gaz stepped beside him. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Good,” Price said in his firm tone. “I’ll leave you to explore the place and get familiar with it. I’ll be in my office and will give you your dorm key later.” Saturna nodded, and Price gave a parting wave.

Saturna was then left standing with Gaz, who was still holding her luggage.

“I’m Kyle, but everyone calls me Gaz,” he finally introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you, Gaz. I’m Saturna.”

“Where are you from?”

“New York, though I’ve been here in London for a few days. And you?”

“I’ve lived here most of my life. But hey, it’s nice to have Americans on base.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked curiously.

“Well, there aren’t many Americans here, and they’re pretty useful in battle. At least the ones I know,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, I see. Well, yes, I’m American. And I think chocolate milk comes from brown cows,” she joked, and Gaz laughed.

“Well, I guess everyone’s got a belief… like that. I like you, Saturna. And because of that, I’ll show you around a bit more—since Price’s ‘tour’ was pretty basic,” he said. “Come on.”

“Sure, thanks,” she replied, and they both began walking around the base.

(...)

Price sat in his office behind the desk, holding Saturna’s file in his hands. With her arrival, as with any new team member, he had to thoroughly review her history before giving final approval. He noticed that the file seemed a bit thick. He sighed and got to work.

He opened it, and the first page was her standard résumé, along with a photo of her.

" SATURNA CLOUDFORD

Full Name: Saturna Cloudford Conetti

Alias(es): "Sat" - "Poetess"

Rank: First Lieutenant (Elite)

Other: Lead Paramedic Rescuer (Elite)

Age: 28

Nationality: American

Date of Birth: March 22, 1996

Place of Birth: Queens, NY, USA

Eye Color: Black

Hair Color: Black

Height: 5'9" / 1.75 m

Weight: Approx. 60 kg

Blood Type: A+

Ethnicity: Mixed (American-Italian)

Native Language: English

Other Languages: Spanish, Italian, French

Marital Status: Single

Address: [N/A]

Insurer: [N/A] "

Everything seemed normal to Price, and he continued to the next page.

"High school and preparatory school completed. Half a year of university at Columbia University, Manhattan, in 2015."

Saturna had been withdrawn after six months from university, by her mother’s decision, without completing her degree in Communications and Journalism. Instead, she was sent to a convent outside of D.C. (Washington), called Santa Clarissa di Fresa, Convento delle Monache e Riformatorio, where she would remain for the rest of the year.

Price was intrigued by the fact that Saturna had left university to be sent to a convent, especially one with a questionable record of conduct. Still, he didn't dwell on it. It wasn't his business, he thought.

In 2017, Price read, Saturna had completed her studies and graduated as a nurse with honors from the Mercy Health Institute in New York. But it seems she didn’t stay in the healthcare center. Instead, in 2019, at the age of 23, she joined the Civil Guard Academy, becoming a paramedic, and months later, a rescuer. From 2019 to 2021, Saturna would be recruited and sent all across the United States alongside the country’s Special Forces, on rescue missions to reach civilians in the most inaccessible places possible. Saturna had no trouble with this work, which is why she was often assigned to those kinds of situations.

The most significant part came in 2022. At the age of 26, Saturna was awarded the "Orange Eagle" distinction, an honor given to rescue operators and civil defenders, for saving and securing 1,433 lives during Hurricane Ian that hit Florida that same year. She was known as "Poetess" for two reasons: The first was her ability to calm civilians, especially children, with her words and quotes. The second reason was that during her time at Columbia, she briefly played in a rock band where she was the lead vocalist, and her stage name was "The Poetess."

Finally, Price reached the last page of the file. It simply mentioned that she had carried out some missions alongside the Armed Forces and the CIA, possibly meeting Kate Laswell in the process, who would later offer her the job in the 141. And the rest, as they say, is history.

"Lord… Finally." Price muttered as he stretched in his chair. "Next time, I'll have someone else review the new recruits' files."

With that, Price gave Saturna's file the green light, marking it with a red seal.

(...)

Saturna knocked on the office door, and Price invited her to come in from inside.

"Here are the keys to your room. It's 505 in Building B," said the Captain, handing her the keys.

"Oh… 505, what a wonderful coincidence," she said with a playful smile as she put the keys in her pocket.

"Huh?" Price asked, not sure what she meant.

"Nothing, sir," she replied. "Thank you for everything so far."

"It's my job. And I expect you to do yours well." Saturna nodded. "Though, after reading and reviewing your history, I have high expectations."

Saturna’s face lit up. She hadn’t expected to make such an impression on her Captain so quickly.

"I’ll give my best. Thank you."

"Dismissed."

Saturna walked across the base to Building B. She had already toured a bit of the base in the afternoon, running into some people who welcomed her, like a friendly Scottish guy they usually called "Soap." When she arrived at 505, her suitcases were already outside the room. Maybe it was Gaz.

She entered with her luggage, taking in her surroundings. It wasn’t a five-star place, but it certainly wasn’t what she had expected. She tested the bed by sitting on it and then lay down, staring at the ceiling.

"To think that just a few weeks ago I was sharing an apartment with strangers," she said to herself. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand beside the bed. It was 8:50 p.m. "Alright, time to get to work."

Saturna got up from the bed and hurried to unpack her things, adding a little shine to her new room. She filled the place with her style, placing her clothes in the empty dresser in the corner, toiletries on top of it, her belongings like a notebook and pens on the desk next to the window, a small dreamcatcher hanging on the window, as well as her thousand accessories, including quartz necklaces, handmade bracelets, and countless pairs of earrings in all shapes, colors, and styles. To finish, she placed a framed photo of her and her best friend from college on the nightstand next to the bed.

"Good…" she said, looking around with satisfaction. She hadn’t made the biggest change of all, but at least the place now had her personality.

She was starting a new chapter in her life. There was still so much ahead to go through, to live, and to experience on a path filled with adventures, and she was determined to give her best. To think that just a few weeks ago, when she arrived in London hoping for a new job thanks to Laswell, she was living uncomfortably in a small apartment, sharing space with complete strangers. And to think that just a few years ago, when she was back in her home country, she worked tirelessly day after day to create a better future by doing what she loved: helping people. And to think that all of this stemmed from her drive to follow in her father Oliver's footsteps, and one day be remembered and respected just as he was in life. And to think that all of this came about because she chased her dreams and gained independence, leaving her mother’s home… Now, she was here, living what she had once only dreamed of. This was much bigger than she had imagined, she thought. It was far more important.

And she was grateful for every part of the journey that had brought her here.

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

THANKS!!!!!1111!!111

#HistoryandChronology #✮ The Adventures of Saturna ✮ Vol. 1 #original story #prologue #Saturna Cloudford #call of duty #cod oc #oc #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #oneshot

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harryforvogue · 10 months ago

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Part Two | Chapter Twelve: Kiss Me Like You Want To Be Loved

Bellefonte, Pennsylvania

July 1919

In the span of just one week at Aunt Geraldine's home, we've caused quite the ruckus.

Still she shows remorse when we pack the taxi and glance at the massive house once more before turning to hug each person. The train we've decided to catch is an early morning one, too early for little Grace to stand outside fully awake, knuckling her eyes as she waits for her turn to be hugged. I hug her tightly and tell her I'll see her soon and we can read all the books we can. She smiles at the idea, and Geraldine sends her back inside to go back to sleep. I nod appreciatively at Geraldine and let myself be engulfed in a hug.

During this week Geraldine has become a friend to me, despite her lack of relation to me. Her hug for Harry is shorter and more cautious, but loving nonetheless.

Regardless of the pleasantries, I feel it's my duty to step forward and apologize for the mess Harry and I have made during our stay.

"If we've disrupted you in any way," I insist, holding Jared's hands, speaking firmly. "I'm sorry. I couldn't have predicted any of it."

Jared gives me a nonchalant shrug and tells me that it's the price of marriage, but Geraldine is kinder yet more strict when she speaks to me, holding my elbow tightly and making sure I hear every syllable of her words.

"Don't you ever apologize for a man," she tells me lowly, furrowing her brows. "You are too good for him."

I shake my head and nervously check over my shoulder to see if Harry's listening or within earshot. "I rather think we're both pathetic enough for each other."

Geraldine smiles, holding a hand to my cheek. The gesture suddenly, and quite violently, reminds me of my mother, who used to hold my face like this when I'd be crying to wipe the moisture immediately after it fell from my eyes. She never tolerated weakness in the house, though on some events, weakness was the only friend I had.

"You are too good for him," Geraldine repeats, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. "Be safe. Let us know you've arrived in Newport safely."

We've decided Newport is the next destination. Harry's decided it. He's told me that men in his company have raved about how beautiful of a place it is and how he must go to see it himself. It's on the East Coast and only a day's ride by train.

"I will," I promise, waving goodbye to them as I walk to the car. I sit beside Harry and wait for the rumble of the car against the pavement to remind me how far I'll be from the family soon.

Harry notices a few minutes later, cautiously peering at me. His curls are tucked behind his ears, and the way he ducks his head allows a strand to fall into his eyes. He messily pushes it away when he glances at me, waiting a moment to gauge my expression before speaking. This is progress, I think, though it's not anything more than an inch in the direction of our goal.

"Are you alright?" he asks finally.

I crack the window open a bit and nod, glancing out. "I'm going to miss them."

"Oh," Harry says, agreeing. "Me too. They're a lovely family. I do hope to visit them again soon before winter."

"Geraldine reminds me of my mother."

"Do you miss your mother?"

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. "A lot." I look back at him and study his now distant eyes. "Don't you miss yours?"

"Of course I do." He stares out the window behind me, his eyes oddly matching the color of the sky. "I miss her all the time."

"She should visit us."

His gaze flickers to mine as he raises a brow. "I couldn't convince her to leave London. I doubt she'd want to be here. You know how she is."

"Still," I say. "It's a thought."

"Maybe soon." He cracks his knuckles. "I can't wait to sleep on the train."

"You didn't sleep well?"

"No," he admits, rubbing his eyes. "Barely slept. I've got a migraine."

I turn my body towards him. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He pulls his palms away from his face and sends me a wry smile. "Yes, I did have a nightmare."

"Will you tell me about it?"

Uncertainty touches his eyes as he focuses back on the scenery outside the window as we just pass over the recent town and enter a larger field, the breeze from the cracked window blowing his hair around.

After a tense silence and inner battle, he nods once. "Alright. I'll tell you on the train." He seems to regret the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. "But you won't do anything except stay quiet and listen. I don't want commentary."

I cross my arms. "I want to comment."

"Well, I won't let you."

"Is it about France?"

"Yes."

"How about this: for every bad memory you tell me of France, I'll tell you a good one."

"Annaliese," he says dryly, "I mean no offense, but there is nothing you can say that will make me think France is a nice place. I appreciate the thought, but it's going to be useless."

I mull this over in my head, eventually agreeing to it. "You're right. I want you to be comfortable."

His glassy eyes soften before they glance back out his own window. This is progress, I think happily. The kind of progress we need.

***

"Who will we be staying with?" I ask Harry as I sit in my seat on the train, taking my hat off.

Harry says, "We're staying at a hotel. I do know some people in Newport, but I doubt I'll go to see them. It's best if you sleep now."

"Are they the friends from the army?"

Harry nods. "Though, I wouldn't call them my friends. Friends stay in touch and none of us have decided to do that."

I stretch my legs the best I can, slumping against my seat. The thought of his promise brightens me, and I eagerly turn to face him. "Okay well, start talking, Styles. Tell me what your dream was about."

Harry, alarmed at my eagerness, raises his brows. "Annaliese, it's not one of those cute bizarre dreams."

"I'm not excited to hear your misery, Harry," I assured him gently. "I'm excited to hear you talk. I want to know."

A part of this desire comes from wanting to fill in the blanks of what happened during the time I was absent from his life. I want to know it all: his early mornings, his training, how he felt on the trains, how he felt having a dry laugh with his company. I want to know all the happiness but also the pain. If the pain outweighs the happiness, I will be more than willing to oblige and listen to his struggles.

Harry seems conflicted, unsure where to start, but finally, he gathers his thoughts and begins in a deep voice just as the doors of the train cars close and it jerks to a start. I listen intently.

"I can't sleep on the mattress very well," Harry admits, looking out the window, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm too used to the hard ground of the trenches or the cots in the infirmary. The night you accidentally came to my room was the last time I tried to sleep on the bed. It's quite uncomfortable for me. I laid down on the floor with my blanket over me, just thinking for a bit." Harry's ears go pink. "I have to do that before I sleep, to tire my brain out. If not, my body will be tired, but not my mind, and it's my mind that puts me to sleep, isn't it?

"I had settled in and shut my eyes after thinking a bit. Most of my dreams occur after I've already woken up through the night, but this time I had the dream as soon as I drifted off. It was quite bearable at first, just memories of France and my company, but it soon became violent."

He pauses and I think he's finished, but then he picks back up.

"I didn't think you could hear things in your dream. But it's the most frightening part, I think. Hearing things you can't see, wondering how your brain is able to come up and mimic those sounds when you've buried them in your everyday life. I don't hear those noises anymore, but for some reason, my brain likes to remind me of them, to make sure I don't forget them.

"I heard," he says, frowning, "the shells." He pauses once more, clearly trying to filter as best as he can. "See, the thing with shells," he continues, glancing at me, "is that you can tell what kind they are and how close they are as you spend more time at the Front. And these particular ones in my dream, they were both loud and shrill."

He doesn't need to fill me in for me to figure out what that means.

He opens his mouth and then closes it. "That's it. That's my dream. I was at the Front and I heard shells, increasing in both volume and quantity until I was suddenly awake," he concludes quickly.

That isn't the full story, but I remain patient. I wait a minute before speaking. "Did you get hurt?"

Harry raises his eyebrows. "In my dream or during the war?"

"During the war," I clarify. "You mentioned the cots in the infirmary."

"Oh. Well, yes. I did, a few times, but it was nothing more than a few grazes." His expression turns sour. "I did, however, have an unfortunate incident with a broken shrapnel."

"Will you tell me about it?" My eyes wander to the cut that runs through his eyebrow, knowing the scar was the result of that particular incident.

He glances down at me for seemingly eternity, before shaking his head. "Not today." He looks ashamed.

My heart aches with love for him and the steps he's taking. He's wiping his palms anxiously on his trousers, fingers trembling. Impulsively, I reach over and touch his hand in an attempt to stop the quivers. He freezes. I hold my breath as I pick up his hand and turn it over, palm facing upwards. I study the long digits of his hands, slowly tracing the lines separating his fingers into thirds.

I pick up his hand again and put it in my lap, encasing it with both of my hands.

His green eyes are stormy, his tense body conflicted. I trace the veins on his wrist as I wait for him to either relax or pull away. His eyes burn into mine, searching through them for some answer that I hope I'm able to provide him.

When he makes no move, simply watching me, I push myself closer to him, begging him in my head to not move away. My shoulder brushes against his, then my ankle, then my knee, and finally my thigh. The warmth of his body pressed to mine makes me smile reassuringly at him, reminding him that it's alright with my expression. He doesn't move or shift or even breathe, still as if he's being hunted, eyes firmly glued to mine.

"I'm sorry," I whisper sincerely. "I wish I could fix it all for you, my love."

I crane my neck slowly and focus on his mouth. His pink, wide mouth that's always thinned or in a firm line. Keeping a tight grip on his hand to ground him, I carefully look at his dark eyes with a look that reads "Stop me now" before I press my lips to his, watching his eyes flutter shut just in time.

To say I've missed his kisses is a grave understatement. It's a brief, chaste kiss, but it's not one sided. I've shared enough kisses with Harry to know that. Harry tilts his head and kisses me back slowly, his pulse quickening under my fingertips. Slowly, I pull back and quickly check his reaction. His eyes open and he stares at me for a minute, jaw tight with either regret or interest.

I never find out which one it is as the train conductor comes by to ask for tickets. Harry shows him both of ours. He doesn't say anything, but he leaves his hand in my grasp, giving my fingers the softest squeeze. His frame is more relaxed, breathing heavy, but that's all.

The storm passes and he finally glances at me and whispers, "You should get some sleep. We've got a long ride."

I nod, feeling like a teenager who has just got her first kiss with her high school crush. Oddly enough, the fluttering in my stomach feels a lot like how it did during my first kiss with Harry, on that hot summer evening in London, exactly 3 years ago.

***

When I wake up, Harry's still gazing out the window. He's called for lunch and the smell wakes me like an animal out of hibernation. Harry gives me a soft smile and lets my hand slip from his when I begin eating.

When talking with him, I must listen closely to his words. I lean in, listening to him intently, watching his every movement on his face to grab onto his softening eyes -- a clue I've read to look into when inspecting a man's face, particularly a man you're in love with -- and his fluctuating voice as it increases when talking about something exciting and decreasing when making observations of the city we're passing.

Unhappy with the lack of findings, I sit back in my seat across from him and just listen instead, glancing out the window as he points out what exactly we are passing. Currently still in northern Pennsylvania, it's all just open fields. It's quite a romantic scene, I think to myself, the skies littered with a few white clouds acting as chaperones over the cattle and horses that graze in the fields. Occasionally, we'll see farmers herded animals, but for the most part, it's free will. I find myself longing to be in those fields, frolicking with my husband beside me, asking me not to go too far or he'll miss me.

The husband in question sits in front of me, talking about labor unions in Pennsylvania. When I glance back at him, his eyes are wide with excitement over his own findings in the library and book ship in Bellefonte. I listen halfheartedly for a moment before returning my full attention to his voice, finding serenity in the low rumbling tone rather than the words they're making. His eyelashes flutter when the sun hits his eyes squarely, his green eyes becoming paler like a cat's eyes. Unlike a cat's pupil, however, he doesn't recoil and become slits. They stay wide and excited as he continues speaking, incorporating his hands in his speech to aid him as well.

When he finishes his speech, glancing at me a bit shyly, the tips of his ears are pink, and I highly doubt it's due to the heat from the sun and lack of curtains on the window.

"That's all," he concludes with a slight cough. "That's all there is until 1917. Not quite sure what happened with the men all away when American troops began migrating to the east for the war. I don't think there would be strikes with no men."

I put my chin in my palm and tilt my head. "Can't women go on strike?"

He raises his eyebrows, most likely surprised I was even listening. "Well, yes," he says, quite mildly, "but there isn't a reason to go on strike in dire situations. Ends must be met, right? Despite living conditions. If the price of living is high, though it doesn't seem like it was during the war in America particularly, it doesn't correlate with the wage of the workers. That is," he continues, "the reason for most strikes. The lack of good pay. But at this point, desperate times called for desperate measures. The American government, like the British government, if you remember, became strictly war manufacturers. Someone has to do the work, regardless of how much they're getting paid."

"What if," I say, "the woman refused to work?"

"That's entirely possible and completely up to the woman. If she were single during the war, I doubt her working a man's job bothered her. Independent women, I find, are far more ambitious than married men," he adds.

"Really? You believe that?"

"Yes. I see that dynamic between us."

"Between us?" I hum, running a knuckle over my lips to hide a smile. "You think I'm more ambitious than you?"

"Yes," he answers confidently. "Do you disagree?"

"Not exactly. I'd argue we're both quite ambitious. In different ways. For example, while I may be adamant about my work and creating a living for us, you're more ambitious about traveling and researching history."

"Traveling," he says with a twitch of his lips, "isn't ambitious."

"I'd argue that it is."

"Why?"

"It takes guts to go to a foreign country and expect to just blend in."

He looks thoughtfully out the window. "Right, but it wasn't just me who blended it. I believe it was harder for you to settle in, with English being your second language and the Americans so... American."

"It was your idea to come here."

"It was yours. I merely agreed. And you've been here longer than me."

"You've been in a more foreign country for longer than me. While France is my home country, it's unknown territory for you."

"Was," he interjects, glancing back at him. "It was unknown territory."

Leveling with him, I reply, "It still is."

He shakes his head slightly and links his fingers together, rubbing over his silver wedding band. "I think your definition of France and mine are wildly different, Annaliese."

This is true, but a part of me strives to continue educating him in the country that I've loved even during the years I've been away from it, to remind him what exactly beauty is. The appeal of the country shouldn't have been the proximity to the enemy on the eastern front, but the people, the language, the arts, and the communities built into the villages for many generations. It is the true meaning of what it means to be French, yet when he closes his eyes, he imagines machine guns, artillery, and scarlet blood.

"I understand," he continues, unbuttoning his jacket and removing it swiftly from his torso, "that we're quite different in our definitions, however, I can assure you that I have no plans on changing my mind about it." He proceeds to undo his collar and open it, revealing a flushed pink color, his chest rising and falling a little easier. He rests his head back and sighs deeply. "And I have no intention of you converting to my side."

"Well that's a relief."

He smiles a bit, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, well, you stay in your area, and I'll stay in mine."

"Because if you tell me about your experiences in France, I will not think of France as just yards and yards of trenches. I will still see it as the beautiful country I know it as because I know that the war is over and well in the past--"

"Miles," he softly interjects. "Miles and miles of trenches."

I pause, quickly assessing the atmosphere between us. His eyes have become a little glassy and unfocused as I continue to speak, so I catch my breath and stop talking.

"Nothing will change your mind," he says finally, resting his temple on the window, "and nothing will change mine. Seems like we're in agreement." The light streaming past the glass creates a small rainbow against the bridge of his nose.

Dropping the subject, I nod. "Very well. Nobody's won this round."

"Round?" he says, distracted."Are you keeping score?"

"I'll be damned if I let you win."

"I've already let you win a few times."

"Stop letting me. I want to win fair and square. I'd be more than happy to admit when I'm wrong and apologize when needed."

He doesn't reply, closing his eyes instead, offering me nothing more than an amused expression and a shake of his head.

A few moments pass in silence until he opens his eyes again and watches me. I feel his gaze on me, and to give him peace, I don't startle him by glancing back immediately. "Hey," he finally says softly. He bumps his knee against mine gently. "I don't want you to ever apologize to me. Please don't again."

I bump his knee back. "I don't like when you apologize either."

"Then let's make a deal. Nobody apologizes."

I stick my hand out and look him in the eyes. "Sounds good."

He hesitates for a moment, but finally places his hand in mine, giving it a firm shake. When he goes back to sleep, I hold that hand in my lap, running my thumb over my palm. I watch him sleep as his protector.

***

Summer is, arguably, the best season. Spring, while a predecessor of summer, often has cold fronts and the rain is icy, dark clouds hovering over our heads. Rather less in New York, but the gloomy weather stays as if we were still in London, now just surrounded by skyscrapers instead of fancy buildings with ancient architecture. London has, to me, quite a Gothic touch, and perhaps the gloominess of the weather fits its personality, however, spring in the East Coast is vastly different, thankfully. As we still find ourselves in the East Coast, the state we are in now, traveling fast towards our destination has no change. I'm unsure where exactly we are, I think, looking out the window, finding nothing more than a thick post rain fog that blocks my immediate view.

Summer brings rain, and sometimes it is frigid and cold, but when you're inside, staring at the soft rain dropping onto the windows and eventually disappearing into the atmosphere, you can't help but grow an appreciation for it. The air is humid and thick, barely breathable, and the rain a cold contrast against the skin to ease the tightness caused from the lack of air. The rain holds oxygen and solace.

Harry's slept through the rain, but he's rising now, his eyebrows pinched together with discomfort. Upon opening his eyes, he sees me and sits up a little straighter, rolling his tight neck.

"It rained?" he murmurs, knuckling an eye. My heart swells with love, wanting nothing more but to cradle him to my chest and tell him that yes, it rained, but I didn't let him get wet.

"Yes," I reply instead, smiling. "It looks lovely, doesn't it?"

Harry's unfocused eyes drowsily glance at the window. "I can't see anything."

"That's the best part."

He slants me a look and hums.

"I think we're almost here. I overhead the conductor a few minutes ago. I wish we could get something to eat," I say.

He's still rubbing his eyes. "I'm starving."

"What's the plan for Newport, then?"

"Still the same." He stands up and stretches his long legs, suddenly aware of the cold, bending down to pick up his jacket and rest it on his shoulders for warmth. "I'm going to sleep so well tonight."

Taking the topic of conversation to be a little cheeky, I say, "Sure! I'll keep you warm."

He sits down again and glances out the window, fog still blocking his view. "You're quite funny."

"Fine, I'll take the floor then."

He ignores me, running his finger over the foggy glass. "We can get two rooms."

"I will hurt you if you pay for separate rooms just to sleep, Harry," I say seriously. "Hey." I deliver a small kick to his ankle. "Stop thinking about it."

To my surprise, a slight smile plays on his lips, a mild one. "I'm kidding."

"I don't think you are," I reply suspiciously.

"If there's a couch, I'll sleep there."

"Or, I can make a wall between us when we sleep and we'll stay on our sides, hands to ourselves."

He rests his head back and looks at me through his dark eyelashes, raising an interested eyebrow. "You really want this," he states, not quite a question.

"Well, most wives would like to lay with their husbands."

"Most husbands would like to lay with their wives," he answers with a strained undertone. "And I can assure you that I am no exception."

There's a less reasonable side of me that wants to lean in and argue with him that all his actions and words prior to his conversation have suggested otherwise, that he would rather lay on the cold, hard floor than lay on a comfortable mattress besides his wife. His face gives him away, surprisingly, since he's been so hard to read recently, but this is clear on his face, in his transparent eyes with which he holds eye contact with me, waiting for his words to settle into my head. They no longer hover, settling finally. And then it hits me, quite violently, that the issue isn't laying besides a body, but what happens when temptation gets the best of him.

I feel my face growing hotter, and he seems to relax when he sees the realization on my face.

"You know I would not mind that," I say firmly, hating the blush on my face.

"Maybe not, but I would. You have always known how hard it is for me to keep my hands off of you."

I do know. I think about it all the time. "Is it so bad to want to lay with your wife?"

"Of course not," he says, peering distractedly out the window. "But it's not the right time. I've told you that it's not you."

"Well, why does the thought of sleeping with me displease you so?"

"Displease me? It doesn't. It's quite attractive, but it's...it's..." He breaks off, slightly flushed. "Never mind."

Eagerly, I continue to convert before it's lost. "I want to know. What is it?"

"You'll laugh."

"I won't!" To be truthful, there's a chance that I might.

He starts, pauses once to inspect my unmoving face, and then sighs, continuing once more. "I treat it like a reward. For when I'm better."

"For when you're better?"

"Yes. I'll have you as a reward for when I'm healthy again."

Perhaps this won't be as funny as I anticipated. "Are you sure that's such a good idea? I'm not too excited by it."

"You don't think it's odd? Or creepy? That I use you as an incentive?"

I smile, nudging his knee with mine. "I don't think it's odd or creepy, but it might be a little useless. I don't think I can last as long as your recovery seems to be taking."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Are you making fun of my illness?"

"Well." I shrug. "You are testing my patience. If you think I'm waiting that long, you're wrong. What if mine stops working?"

Wide eyes blink at me. "Stops working?"

"Yes," I say seriously."

"Wow. Your priorities are not in order."

"Think about it."

Harry smiles. "I have a feeling you'll hurt me if I tell you I expect you to wait for me."

"I'll wait because I have no other outlet for relieving my pain."

"Pain," he repeats, eyebrows raised.

"And I'll wait, but I won't be happy about it."

"I don't expect you to be happy about it."

"Harry," I say, squeezing his hand. "Don't worry about whether I'll be happy or not. I'm completely kidding. If it's helping you, then it's okay. I'm here for you, remember? The point is to make you comfortable. Don't worry," I add. "It won't suddenly become inoperable."

Harry's hidden dimples suddenly deepen when he turns his head to look at me.

"I know that, Annaliese," he says, flicking my forehead. "Quit saying that. I don't like the image in my head."

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