#I have to run a marathon on Saturday and I’m not even nervous about it lol

[roylustang]

Wild how you can feel ur body change through training. Litcherally insane.

[miley1442111]

cookies-a.hotchner

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a/n: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 1000 FOLLOWERS, Y'ALL MEAN SO MUCH TO ME I CAN'T BEGIN TO EXPLAIN IT!!!!

summary: you're the cute barista he sees everyday.

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem barista reader

warnings: fluff, mentions of sa, aaron is a cutie in this, sorry if this doesn't make sense, i was studying german all day and idk if I have the patience to re-write this :)

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Aaron’s nervousness grew as he stepped closer and closer to the counter. Aaron Hotchner was not a man to be anxious, nervous, or shy when it came to speaking to people, even new people. Aaron Hotchner was a confident, intelligent man who was very important and powerful in both his personal and work life. 

So why was he so nervous to speak to the cute barista he saw every morning?

In his defence, you were drop-dead gorgeous. Aaron loved everything about you, your hair, your style, your face, your lips (he spent a lot of time looking at them), and everything about you. You were so interesting, so nice, and very good at making him a good cup of coffee. 

“Aaron! How are you today?” You asked, a smile on your face as he got to the top of the queue. 

“I’m fine thank you, how are you?” he smiled. Good, I got through the first sentence. 

“I’m great! It’s so nice out today,” you mentioned the weather everyday without fail, Aaron smiled and agreed with whatever positive outlook you had, even on the gloomiest of days. 

“It is,” he nodded. 

“The usual?” you asked, getting a cup ready. 

“Please,” he nodded. “And one of the cookies please.”

You stopped your writing on the cup to look up at him. “A cookie? I wouldn’t have put you down for a cookie guy, Aaron.”

“It’s not for me, my son loves the cookies from your shop,” he admitted, since he’d brought Jack here on your day off (yes, he had your schedule memorised. You worked Mondays to Fridays between 7am and 1pm, Saturday off, then on Sundays you worked the closing shift), and he’d enjoyed the cookie quite a lot. 

Your eyes flickered with something like… disappointment, but it was immediately replaced with your signature smile. “Any specific one?” You asked, eyes moving from him to the display case. 

“The red one, he loves spiderman,” he decided after a moment of deliberation. 

“A man after my own heart,” you smiled, and bagged the cookie, giving him a soft goodbye as he waited for his drink and cookie down by the other side of the till. 

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Your co-worker gave you a sad smile as you deflated. Your cute regular, Aaron, was obviously married with children, who wouldn’t want to make him a dad? Who wouldn’t want to give him anything he wants forever? He was just so handsome and so sweet and so-

You get the point. 

You were smitten with a married man you had no chance with. Sigh. 

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Saturday 4pm

Aaron walked in with Jack’s hand in his and the rest of the BAU team behind him. He was in his marathon wear, after just running the town's marathon. The shop was practically empty, it probably had something to do with the time and the fact that they were giving out free food at the finish line. But Aaron wanted nothing more than to b-line it straight to your cafe and get a latte and a cookie (he tried a bite of Jack’s and he very much enjoyed it).

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The bell above the door rang and you put on your best customer service face to be met with Penelope Garcia. Your sister’s friend from college that visits every summer. 

“Pen?” you smiled 

“Y/n!” she squealed, opening her arms for a hug. You came out from behind the counter to hug her.

“How are you?” You asked as the rest of the group looked at the two of you. 

“I’m so amazing! I cannot believe your sister didn’t tell me you opened the cafe?!” She practically scolded. 

“Don’t be too hard on her, she doesn’t exactly… know,” you chuckled uncomfortably as Penelope’s face fell. 

“Why wouldn’t she know?” She whispered, turning you both away from the prying eyes of the group. 

“She… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore,” you shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Why? What happened?” 

“After the… after Ryan did, y’know, what he did, she told me she believed his version and not mine. C’est la vie,” you sighed, picking at your nails as you explained. 

“What?!” Penelope was practically crying. “That’s awful!” “I’m fine,” you chuckled, going back behind the counter. “Now, what can I get you?”

“I have the order written down, it’s a lot,” a tall man from the group offered. 

“Sounds great,” you smiled at him. He handed you over a piece of paper with various drink orders and food orders and you started working on them right away, since you were the only one working that day too. Penelope paid, and watched over you as the group chatted about various cases and congratulated Aaron on his performance. She soon realised she wasn’t the only one watching you, Aaron’s eyes were firmly planted on either you, or Jack. 

Interesting. 

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As you brought over all the drinks, you finally let yourself look at Aaron. 

Fuck, he looked good in a t-shirt and running shorts. It was becoming unfair. 

There were three women on the team. Penelope, not his wife for sure- she was dating Kevin. A blonde woman, showing photos of her kids to the group and sitting far away from Aaron- not his wife. A brunette woman who was gorgeous who sat right beside him, but there was no physical contact- maybe his wife? You couldn’t tell. 

As the night wore on and they started trickling out, you were left alone with Aaron for a split second. While clearing their table, you accidentally knocked into him and spilt coffee on his shirt. 

“Shit, I am so sorry!” You immediately apologised and Aaron just stared at you with this dazed look for a second, then smiled. 

“It’s fine, I promise,” he nodded, but you felt awful. 

“Please let me get you some tissue or something Aaron,” you pleaded, bringing the cups over to the till before running to grab some tissue paper, not even waiting for his response. 

“It’s really not a big-” Aaron started but you hushed him, trying to get some of the coffee off of his shirt. He stared down at you as you worked, muttering soft apologies and sighs or annoyance at your carelessness. “Can I ask you out to dinner?” He blurted out, not even thinking. God, his head felt so hazy when he was around you. 

You slowly looked up in shock. “Pardon?”

“I’m asking you out,” he repeated. 

“But don’t you have a wife-?”

“She and I got divorced a while ago. I get Jack- my son- on the weekends,” he explained. 

“Oh, then in that case, yes please,” you smiled. “I’d love to go out.”

“Good,” he smiled, then he turned quite serious. “I promise to just move things at your speed, I overheard what you and Penelope were talking about,” he sighed. “You’ll call all of the shots, I promise.”

Your heart swelled. He was a gentleman, a dad, and a lovely person? How could you be more lucky? “Thank you, that means a lot.”

Aaron walked out of the coffee shop, a large stain on his white shirt, but a date too, so he really didn’t mind.

He also didn't mind the teasing he got from Penelope on the way home.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[hookedsworks]

Edge(ING) Fitness - Chapter XV

Vessel and III go for a run.

wc 808

III's pov

ao3

masterpost

999

Answer NOW 

DUDE 

Three rapid texts from Vessel after III missed his call. His eyes went wide, and he immediately dialed Vessel. When the line connected, III demanded to know what was wrong. 

“You are never going to believe this,” 

“Where’s the fire, Ves?” 

“No, shut up, it’s my turn. II asked me out! He asked me on a DATE!” 

“That’s impossible. I haven’t even gotten Ivy’s number yet,” III teased. 

“Well, you better get a move on. I finally got a date before you!” 

“So, you really like this guy, huh?” III inquired. He knew that Vessel had been prone to saying yes to dates with people he didn’t like, because he had always been sort of lonely. “Like, for real, I mean,” 

“Have you seen him? He’s so cute. I know he’s like… a bit older than us. But he’s just. GAH! I want to pick him up and swing him around and kiss him so hard his head starts spinning. He kissed my forehead! He has the softest lips, III. I want this. I’m going to try and like. Actually kiss him when we do go on that date. What do people do for dates these days? He said coffee, but when he wrapped my ankle, he like, didn’t like coffee. He said he was a redbull guy,” 

“Vessel. Dude. How much coffee have you had? He said he wanted coffee, so go for coffee! He’s a grown ass man, he’ll figure it out. Now. Because I’ve listened to you ramble on about your crush. I need you to help me with my conquest of Ivy’s ass,” Vessel cackled. Vessel’s laugh was one of III’s favorite things. It was rare enough. 

“So. Uh. I kind of went through II’s insta, and sorta found Ivy’s. If… you want it. Or, or,” Vessel said once III started sputtering about not yet having Ivy’s instagram. “Or. I found out where his rugby practices are on Saturday mornings. If… you still run on Saturday mornings?” 

“One guy asks you out and suddenly you’re this confident and teasing?” 

“The cutest guy in the whole world. Well, aside from you, of course,” 

“Jeez. He’s flirty too,” III’s heart squeezed at the compliment. Vessel had never been so quick, so funny, so smart. Maybe II is really good for him. “But, obviously, obviously I still run on Saturday mornings. I do have a marathon in two months. Which, um. Are you still coming?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it, actually, and how dare you think otherwise?” ah. There’s my best friend. III breathed out in relief. “Do you think you’re going to come to kickboxing tonight?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it, actually, and how dare you think otherwise?” 

*** 

“Why do you do this shit so early?” Vessel grumbled. He kicked a rock on the sidewalk in front of III’s place. Saturday had come and they were going to run past the local field, where Ivy should be. III was bouncing on his heels. 

“It’s cooler,” III responded, then started stretching. “Ivy still hasn’t followed me back,” he mentioned. It had been bugging him since he had followed Ivy, even though he knew that was probably crazy. 

“He might not have notifications on or something,” Vessel replied. He started to follow III’s movements, stretching his legs. 

“Hm. So when’s your date with II?” Vessel froze and blinked at III. 

“We uh. I uh. I haven’t talked to him about it yet. I got nervous. He almost made me cry, and I’m worried that it’s just pity,” 

“You cry when the sun rises too pink. Don’t worry about it. If he’s actually an adult about it, he meant it when he asked you out,” 

“But what if it was just-”

“Vessel,” III cut him off. He heard Vessel’s teeth click shut. “II is an adult. You’re an adult. This isn’t high school. People don’t ask you out to prank you anymore. Text the man,” 

“Fine. After we stalk your boy,” they both took off. They each had one earbud in, and were listening to III’s running mix. Sidewalks gave way to gravel and dirt, and then they heard something up ahead. Faint yelling. 

“Let’s run this one more time!” III recognized that voice. It was pretty boy. But the voice he was using was loud, full of grit and authority. III wanted to ingrain it into his memory immediately. He wanted to hear Ivy use that exact voice right in his ear. 

“III, you okay?” Vessel whispered. He nodded. His mouth was dry. He jogged forward, popping out of the tree line and onto the edge of the field. “III, you don’t have to,” III wasn’t listening. He was thinking about Ivy and his pretty boy shorts. Ivy himself came into view, way closer than III had anticipated. Those shorts were as good as III had imagined. Tight, short, black with a logo printed. Practically crawling up his thighs.

“Hey, sorry man, this is a closed practice… Mustache?”

[not7wu]

Chapter Seven: House of Cards

Recap: Dinner with Tae is enlightening, and things are starting to look up! You even get to meet Jin's brother and sister in law, as well as their adorable niece. Counting dinner as a success, you can't wait to be reacquainted with old friends and spend more time with the rest of the boys.

On the ride home, even though it’s late, Tae convinces you to come over.  You mentioned never seeing Itaewon Class which he took personal offense to, since it features his OST and his Seojoon-hyung.  Tae insists that this has to be rectified immediately and what better way than to have a slumber party marathon.  You accept his proposal even though you're pretty sure you're going to pass out within the first half hour anyways.  When you get to their condo, all the boys are still up.  

Hobi rounds the couch to squeeze you in a hug.  “You guys came back so late!”

You snuggle into his hug as Tae baits the boys, singing, “Guess who we saw?”

“Well, where did you go?” Namjoon asks.

“Ossu Seiromushi,” Tae says.  

You feel Hobi stiffen, his limbs wooden around you.  You don’t know what’s wrong with him, but you try to soothe him, squeezing him a bit tighter.  “Hobi-oppa–?”

“Y/N, give them a hint!”  

You reluctantly pull back from the hug and catch a glimpse of Hobi’s face before he retreats to hug Jimin on the couch like some sort of lifeline.  

“Y/N!  Hint!”  Tae demands.  You shove him in playful annoyance as he dances a circle around you.  Closing your eyes, you take a dramatic deep breath to ready your performance, just because you know it’ll make him happy.  

Making sure you have everyone’s attention, you announce, “The most beautiful girl in the world is kaepjjang.”  

You flash everyone a thumbs up.

“You saw the family,” Yoongi guesses, mouth split with a gummy grin.  “How was it?”

“Fun.  Adorable,” you answer, as Tae hugs you from behind.  “I’m gonna have dinner with them on Saturday.”

Hobi purses his lips.  “Don’t we have plans Saturday evening?”

Your forehead creases as you run through your schedule.  “I don’t think so.  Don’t all of you have a GQ magazine shoot?”

“Not all of us,” Hobi says, as everyone looks at each other in confusion.  Hobi tilts his head and a lightbulb must go off because he goes, “Actually, I think I was remembering that Jungkook wants to spend time with you Saturday night, but I think I jumped the gun before he could ask you.” 

You whip your head to Jungkook who freezes mid-chew of an apple when he realizes everyone is staring at him.  

“What?” he asks, nervous and bug eyed.

“You were gonna ask Y/N to hang out with you Saturday,” Hobi reminds him.

Jungkook scrunches his nose.  “But we have that GQ shoot.”

Now, you’re confused.  “Uhhhh, what is happening right now?  Are we caught in a time loop?”

“Kookie, we already talked about the schedule and you said you wanted to hang with Y/N since it looks like you’re free.”  Hobi’s voice is measured, but it sounds like his patience is thin.  “Kookie said he was a little jealous that you had dinner with Tae.”

“Aww, Jungkookie.”  You feel your heart twinge a bit for the softest of the boys.  “I was already planning on asking you to hang out next.”

Jungkook looks between you and Hobi, uncertain.  “Really?”

“Really, really,” you reassure.

He zips towards you in excitement and Tae almost gets gutted by the forgotten apple in Jungkook’s hand in his enthusiasm.  “Oh!  We could go to an arcade!  Or have a picnic!  Ooh!  Or we could go to Lotte World!”

“We can do whatever you want,” you tell him as he clasps you in a tentative hug.  Of all of them, Jungkook has been the most careful with touching you.  With the others, he climbs, wrestles, and clambers all over them just fine, but he’s always so careful with you, making sure he’s in your line of sight before he makes a move, afraid to startle you.  It’s really sweet and you adore him for it.  You smooch a kiss to his head and he feigns disgust even as he blushes.  “I’ll have to text Areum-unnie to reschedule.”

Hobi bobs his head.  “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“Um, okay.  Well, I’m gonna go do my skincare and then come back in pajamas.”  

“We’re gonna do an Itaewon Class Slumber Party Marathon Extravaganza!” Tae announces.  It takes a moment for that to sink in with the boys, and then everyone starts moving all at once.

Yoongi fights a yawn, “I’m not gonna watch, but I’ll sleep out here with you guys.”

“Do we have enough snacks?”   Jimin runs to scour the kitchen pantry.

Jungkook dashes to his room.  “I’ve got a stash if we don’t!” he shouts.

“I need to go wash up too,” Jin shares out loud, Namjoon following behind him..  

The only ones left in the room are you and Hobi.  

“You said you’re gonna get ready and come back,” Hobi says, probably wondering what you’re still doing here.

He looks normal enough, but something seems off.  You can’t put your finger on it, and you don’t want to guess.  “Are you okay?”

He shoots aegyo finger hearts at you.  “Of course!  I’m excited for a sleepover with all my favorite people!”

Yeah, that enthusiasm seemed forced, but you decide not to call him out on it.  Hobi is a bit of a control freak, so it takes some time for him to process things before he’s ready to talk about them.  He’ll tell you when he’s ready.  

“I can’t promise I won’t pass out early,” you admit with a yawn.  “I have lunch with Jieun and a friend tomorrow and I don’t want to be fantasizing about naps when I’m with them.  I’ll be right back, Hobi-oppa.”

As you head to your apartment, you realize that spending time with the boys has become part of your nightly routine.  Everything has been smooth sailing so far, and you think this might be a good time to tell them about your recovering memories like how you met Jin and your school days with Tae.  You’re practically giddy because it finally feels like there’s progress.  You change into your pajamas and wonder if you should bring a sleeping pad, but when you go to text Hobi or Jimin, you can’t find your phone.  You must have left it at their condo.  Oh well. 

You decide to take an extra pillow anyway and practically skip back.  However, as you approach their door, your excitement dampens. You don’t know how the atmosphere could have changed so quickly in your absence, but the tension and distress emanating from the closed door is practically corporeal, a heated argument bleeding through.  You hover in place, debating if you should go in and mediate or if you should head back to your apartment to give them space when you are startled to hear your name. 

“Y/N was never supposed meet her,” Hoseok spits.  

“Y/N needs her.  She needs more than us.  Who are we to get in the way of that?”  Tae argues.

“We all agreed!  Y/N agreed!  She shouldn’t be near her because she can’t be trusted.”  

Who can’t be trusted?  Jieun?  Areum?  Who else do you know?  Hye?  Daeyon?  Is it you who can’t be trusted?

Jimin tries to reel things back.  “Hobi-hyung.  It’s been long enough and she seems better.  I think she can handle it.”  

“All of you are being selfish.  She needs more time.  Jin-hyung, back me up.”

Silence.  

“Really, hyung?  She’s relying on you.  Can you really be this weak?”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi growls.  “That was uncalled for.”

“Jin-hyung, you know you can’t have anything to do with Y/N.  She’ll be devastated.  You have too much baggage.  And Jieun-noona already admitted to telling her about Rule Five.  But it doesn’t change the fact that you can’t be with her.”

“I’m not trying to be with her.  I’m trying to be there for her.”

This distinction is both a balm and a cut to your heart.  You’ve been presented with a window to look in, but a boundary has been drawn that you can’t step over.  The potential for something more with Jin is pulled out from under you before you could start.  Was there really nothing else between you two?  Were all your flashbacks just a delusion, or something your brain created to fill in the gaps?  Your stomach plummets at the idea that you used a sexual fantasy to confirm a nonexistent connection between you and Jin.  It makes you feel dirty like, maybe you used him, or he used you.  

Hoseok laughs, but it sounds hollow and mean.  “Sure.  You don’t think I see the way things are going with you two?”

“Frankly, it’s none of your business.”

“Like I said.  Selfish.”

“Hoseok,” Namjoon cuts in, voice even.  “We all want what’s best for her, but–and pardon my french–you’re kind of being an asshole.”

“And all of you are crazy.  Things are moving too fast.  If she gets spooked, she’ll make a run for it.  We need to keep an eye on her.  She should stay home.  She shouldn’t be working.  And most of all, she shouldn’t be spending time with Jin-hyung’s family.”

“They’re part of this family too,” Yoongi states firmly.  “And they’re a part of this debacle.”

“Regardless, we agreed she can’t know the truth about any of this.  How many times are we going to keep doing this?  She’s already getting too close and she won’t be able to handle it.  I’m gonna call Bang PD-nim tomorrow about having her take leave from work.  I already took care of Areum-noona.”

“Wait,” Jimin says.  “Is that why you threw Jungkook at her?  So she couldn’t spend time with them?”

You hear Jungkook whimper in distress.  

Jin seethes.  “What did you do?”

“I told Areum-noona that Y/N isn’t feeling up to spending time with them.  And I deleted her and Seokjung-hyung from Y/N’s phone.”

“How did you get her phone?” Tae asks in disbelief.  

“She left it here.”

You are reeling as your trust shatters, frozen in place.  Your brain screams.  You need to run, but your body won’t move.

“I think we’re all losing sight of the goal.  You especially, Hoseok-hyung,” Jimin bites out.

“No.  I’ve never been more sure.  This is how we heal.”

Tae is so angry he sounds like he’s on the verge of frustrated tears.  “But we already are healing.  We had a moment.”

“Yeah?  And how do you know our powers of suggestion and her trauma didn’t manufacture that moment?”  Hobi’s words suck the air from your lungs, spilling the exact doubt that haunts you.  You will your numb limbs to move.  

“What are you trying to do?  Seriously?  What’s the point?” Jin shouts.

“Hyung!  Please stop fighting.  Please,” Jungkook cries.  His sobs are muffled as someone comforts him.

You’re already moving towards the elevator, Namjoon’s voice fading the further you go.  “Okay, guys.  We need to calm down.  Y/N is gonna be here any minute and we need to pull it together–”

—

You’re curled up in bed when someone comes to check up on you later.  You tried to will yourself to sleep, but your brain is running a mile a minute, their words playing on repeat in your head, mocking you.  Someone approaches your bed, so you close your eyes and lay very still, pretending to sleep.  Your hair is brushed back and they slowly rub your back.  

“Y/N?  Are you asleep?”  

It’s Jin.  You struggle to remain still, to not lean into the comforting circles he’s rubbing into your back, but you can’t trust this feeling.  You can’t trust anyone.  You can’t give anymore pieces of you when you barely have enough for yourself.  You wish you could pull Jin in and have him hold you like he did the first night.  You had thought he was your best friend, but now that you think about it, he never said so.  It was simply the conclusion you had drawn.  So, you don’t open your eyes.  You don’t say a word.  You focus on keeping your breathing slow and steady.  

Jin doesn’t leave.  He continues rubbing your back and you reluctantly let it lull you into true sleep.  As you drift off, you think you hear him say, “I’m sorry.”

—

“Hey.  Are you okay?”  

You shake yourself out of your fog.  You had been staring at your monitor, unseeing, for the past…half hour it seems.  It takes you a moment to figure out what’s going on.  

Jihoon is standing over you, concern written all over his face.  You sober instantly.  

Right. You are supposed to have lunch with Jihoon today.  

“Yeah, I’m okay.  Sorry.  I guess I’m just distracted.”

“Oh, well, we don’t have to get lunch if you’re busy.”

“No!  No, I’m not busy.  Let’s go.”  You refuse to let all the bullshit get in the way of you doing good for someone who is struggling.  Sure, you’re not having the best time yourself, but doing nice things for someone else makes you feel like you have some control.

Besides, there’s something about Jihoon that resonates with you.  He reminds you of yourself, shy and skittish.  His hesitant concern is something new, though.  It’s nice.  You’re touched that he’d come out of his shell for you.  With a determined smile you escort him out of the department.  “Jieun-unnie has a meeting she can’t get out of, so it’s just you and me.  I hope that’s okay.”  

The truth is, you didn’t want Jieun to have lunch with you.  You made up an excuse, saying you didn’t want to intimidate Jihoon with too many people.  You wanted to have lunch with him alone so he’d be comfortable.  She readily accepted your excuse, which made you feel a little guilty.  You wanted to turn to your unnie for comfort and advice, but she was too closely involved with your fears and doubts.  And she had admitted to Hoseok that she let you in on Rule Five.  You could no longer trust that she wouldn’t relay everything you tell her to the members.

You can’t tell what Jihoon is looking for as he glances around the office, uncomfortably.  “Yeah, that’s fine, Y/N-ssi.”

You stand and flash him your best smile.  “Let’s go out.  I heard there’s this place within walking distance that does a mean sundubu jjigae.”

You knew leaving the office would be a good idea because Jihoon relaxes as you make your way out of the building.  You don’t know what about Hybe stresses Jihoon out, but he really doesn’t like to be noticed here.  A little selfishly, you’re also trying to avoid Bang PD-nim.  Hoseok must have talked to him already because you saw Bang PD-nim headed your way this morning.  In a panic, you immediately picked up your phone and moved up a work call so you could look busy.  You murmured an apology with a promise to meet up with him when you had the time.  

You don’t want to be held hostage in that condo with BTS.  You don’t want to lose this bit of freedom you have.  Something is going on and you’ll never figure it out if they never let you out again.  The members keep talking about some plan and a truth, some big secret they’re hiding.  You’re not supposed to hang out with Jieun or Areum.  Hobi doesn’t want you working.  Whatever you have with Jin will never come to fruition.  You so want to at least believe in Tae, in the members who seemed to speak up for you, but they weren’t exactly forthcoming.  And all the trust that’s been built so far has cascaded down like a house of cards.  

The commute to work this morning was agony for you as you smiled and laughed and teased like there was nothing wrong.

None of this makes sense to you.  Wild theories have been pinballing in your head.  If they’re lying, why would you be here with BTS?  Did they do something to you?  Was the sasaeng attack even real?  Are they holding you hostage and gaslighting the hell out of you so you don’t sue them?  

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

That’s right.  Jihoon.  Just focus on this moment.  Have a breakdown later.

You’re sat at a table in a quiet corner and you’re once again the focus of his concern.  “You said they have good sundubu jjigae so I ordered two for us since you seem distracted.”

You loosen the hold you have on your blouse and stretch your fingers, folding your hands on the table.  “Thank you.  Sorry.  I’m just–I don’t know.  There’s a lot going on right now, but I do want to be here,” you say.  This isn’t how you wanted lunch to go.  You’re fucking it all up.

Jihoon looks at your hands and then searches your face.  “Do you wanna talk about it?  I’m not trying to pry,” he hurriedly assures, “but if it’s bothering you so much, maybe you need to tell someone.  I’m not sure I can help, but I can listen, if you want.”

In this setting, away from everything, Jihoon looks more confident.  You realize he’s taller than you thought.  His posture is more self-assured.  It’s a good look on him even if it pains you that the roles have seemed to reverse.  Instead of helping him, he’s trying to help you.  

Would telling him everything be bad?  This whole thing is one big conspiracy theory and you don’t know who you can trust anymore.  You don’t even know if you can even trust yourself, but maybe you can have this.  A friend away from it all.  

“I, uh, I don’t know how I got to Korea, or why I’m here.”  Jihoon’s eyes widen a fraction.  Okay, so you just said that out loud.  You wait for him to bail, to react in some way, but he doesn’t say anything.  He waits for you to continue.

Slightly encouraged, you elaborate.  “I, uh, woke up here like two weeks ago?  And I have no memory of how I got here, or what I’m doing here.  I’m American and I don’t know BTS except for their music.  But they told me I lost my memory and that I’m actually Korean.  That I’m an orphan and I have no one.  And I don’t know if this is a dream or if this is real.  I don’t know if all of this is a figment of my imagination, and I think I’m going crazy.”

Yup.  So you said all that.  To a complete stranger.  Who now probably thinks that you’re nuts.  Wacko.  A complete lunatic.  What is wrong with—

“Not to be a pretentious asshole, but dreams or reality, isn’t all of that just a figment of our imagination?  Whatever our mind chooses to perceive?” Jihoon asks, shrugging.  “I think I’m real.  I feel real.  I have real feelings.  My own thoughts.  I don’t know what I can do to convince your brain that I’m real though. Maybe I should pinch you?”

He considers your forearms, and you’re taken aback, instinctively pulling your arms away from the table, but then he snickers, “I’m joking.  I’m not gonna pinch you.”

And it’s so ridiculous that you laugh.  You laugh until your eyes start watering, and you wipe them before they can fall.  You refuse to cry on top of everything else right now.  

Jihoon looks like he wants to comfort you, but doesn’t know how and it lifts your spirits a little, grateful for the levity.  “Thank you.  I needed that laugh.”

“I’m glad.  Thank you for being so nice to me, for getting me lunch.”

“You know, people at Hybe seem nice too.”

“I–” Jihoon hesitates, his eyes darting to his cutlery.  “I guess it’s only fair that I share some stuff with you too.” 

You lean forward, his uneasiness affecting you.

“I don’t feel welcome at Hybe,” he confesses.

“What?  Really?  Are people bullying or hazing you?”

“No, Y/N-ssi.  It’s just a feeling I get.  That people don’t want me there.  A reluctance.  No one has done anything to me, but it feels hostile.  I’d quit, but the money and benefits are nice.  On the other hand, I don’t know why they don’t just fire me, honestly.”

“Because you’re a good worker, Jihoon-ssi.  If they fired you, I would definitely have something to say about that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t know what?”

“That I’m a good worker,” he says with a lifted brow.  

Eh, what dignity do you have left?  “Not to sound like a creep, but I do notice you around the office.  You get things done fast and efficiently.  Sometimes, I’ll see you and think I should say hi, but by the time I finish my task, you’re already done and gone.”  

“You notice me?” he asks, disbelieving.  

“Yeah.  You’re nice.”

Jihoon’s smile is shy and his eyes crinkle like they’re not used to it, but so so want to.  He often makes himself small, nondescript, but here he blooms and gently takes up space.  You’re pleased to see him coming out of his shell.  You wanna ask about his food situation, but there’s this thing called ‘saving face’ that you don’t want to step on.  You also especially don’t want him to retreat within himself.  

“Jihoon-ssi.  What year were you born?”

“95.”  He tilts his head, confused by this sudden change in direction.

“Then we’re the same age.  If you could address me comfortably, I would like to be friends.”

“Oh.”  He looks like he could have never predicted this.  You’re suddenly hit with that deja vu, finding a similarity in the way Tae allegedly adopted you and how you’re now adopting Jihoon, but you quickly chase that feeling away.  You can’t trust it.  Instead, you smile reassuringly at Jihoon, who eventually returns it.  “Sure, Y/N.  Let’s be friends.”

The food is served and you spend the rest of the time talking about inconsequential things: the music you’ve been listening to, his cat, Miro, your poor cooking skills, and how he’s patiently waiting for Minho to return to Shinee after enlistment.

“Is it rude to ask when you enlist?” you inquire.

Jinhoon shakes his head.  “I already enlisted in 2018.  I’m done now.”

“Was it hard?”

“Not really.  I like working out, so it just felt like one long session at the gym.”

“Still, it must have sucked not being able to see your family as much.”

He balks and you immediately apologize.  “Sorry.  I shouldn’t have commented on something so personal.”

“No, that’s alright.  Um.  I do miss my family.  My parents died back in 2016.  Four years later and the hurt still feels fresh any time I think about them.  It’s a good hurt sometimes, but it still hurts.”

“You don’t have any other family?  Siblings?  Cousins?”  You know you’re being a bit invasive, but you want to know what sort of support system he has.  

“I have a half sister.  My mother married an American soldier and moved to America, but she missed Korea, so she moved back and remarried my dad.  It was a bit of a scandal, so both their families sort of ignored us.”

“That’s awful.”  

Jihoon shrugs, dismissing all of it as something in the past.

“Are you close with your half sister?”

“Kind of.  She’s the only family I have left and I’m looking for her actually.  I know she’s somewhere here in Korea, but I lost track of her.  I don’t have any money to hire an investigator to find her, so I’ve been trying to do it on my time off.”

An idea suddenly sparks in your head.  “Maybe we can help each other.”

Jihoon is wary.  “How?”

“I’ve actually been trying to find a file at Hybe, but I’m denied access at every turn.  BTS told me that I was attacked by a sasaeng ex-employee.  Kim Cho-hee.  I don’t know if it's a lie or if the file even exists.  As maintenance, you’re allowed access everywhere and you’re discreet.  If you could find me a physical or digital copy, it would provide me with some answers that I think I really need.  And in return, I can help you fund the private investigator.  I’ll pay for all the fees.”

Jihoon looks shocked as he processes your proposal.  “You’d really do that for me?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“But, you don’t even know me.”

“I know that I can’t do this alone,” you say resolutely.  “And without you, I’m alone.”

His expression softens in understanding.  “Yeah.  I’m alone too.”

“Then let's not do this alone.  Let's help each other.”  You muster all the sincerity you have and hope your desperation isn’t offputting.  If Jihoon refuses, you’ll be back at square zero with no lifeline.  

Honestly, Jihoon is perfect.  He is so far removed from everything.  Everyone barely notices him, regardless if he thinks people don’t like him.  In fact, if people at Hybe don’t like him, that makes you trust him even more.  The only connection he has to Hybe is as employer and employee.  He’s not embroiled in the politics and the gossip except for the snack thing, but you can easily fix that by feeding him.  You acknowledge that you’re kind of using him, but this will be a mutually beneficial relationship.  You can help him find his sister and you do truly want to be friends with him.  This isn’t the most auspicious start, but it’s the best you’ve got right now.

“Please, Jihoon.”

He fiddles with a napkin, but nods his head.  “Okay.  Let’s find out what’s real.  When do we start?”

You hand him your black card.  

—

You don’t stop by Bang PD-nim’s office before the end of the day.  You refuse to be pushed out of the only normalcy you have, the only contact you have with the outside world.  You know you can’t avoid him forever, but you’re going to try your best.  

On your commute home with BTS, Jimin invites you over for dinner and games, but you feign a headache.  You’re suddenly bombarded in the groupchat by all of BTS insisting that they come over to see you.  You take a picture of your leftover sundubu jjigae and tell them you’re fine.  You’ll eat dinner and then head to bed to sleep it off.  Jungkook suggests rescheduling hanging out tomorrow so you can rest, and you almost take him up on the offer.  Instead, you reassure him that you’re still on for tomorrow.  

You can’t avoid BTS.  They can’t know that anything is wrong, that you heard everything they said last night.  And you have to make appearances so they can’t use your health as a reason to pull you from work.  You’re allowing yourself to have this time.  You are just going to take a little break, to gather some strength to face them.  It seems like they know all of your idiosyncrasies, so you’ll have to turn up your acting skills.  

Well, you thought you were going to take a break.  You’re washing the dishes, making a mental note to remember to make a key for the cleaning ajumma, when someone knocks on your door.  It really was too much to expect them to give you space.  You brace yourself and answer the door.

You’re not surprised to see Jin standing there, book in hand.  You put on your warmest smile.  “I’m really okay.  You didn’t have to come.”

“I wanted to,” Jin says.  He brushes your hair from your face and you hold in a flinch.  A twinge must have shown because his brows furrow, worried.  “That headache must be a doozy.  Was work stressful today?”

You’re relieved.  He believes your excuse about the headache, but you don’t want to blame work.  “I think I was just listening to my music too loud.  I should turn it down before I get tinnitus.”

Jin grins.  “Yeah, that would be a good idea.”

You both stand there awkwardly and Jin doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave, so you’re forced to open the door wider to let him in.  He removes his shoes and you follow him to your room.  He drops onto the bed and pats the space next to him.  You don’t know what he’s trying to do, but you orchestrate your face to be open and curious.

“What’s up?” you ask.  You remind yourself not to nervously thumb the hem of your shirt.  You take it a step further and tell yourself not to fidget your hands.  Like a cut marionette, your arms hang at your sides.  You start overthinking your body language, unsure if your angles are natural, but you shouldn’t cross your arms like you want to.  Crossed arms means closed off.  Open arms means everything is okay.

“I figured with a headache, it’d be hard to sleep,” Jin explains.  “Music and TV don’t seem like good options, so I’ll read to you until you fall asleep.”

You could fight him on this, but you know Jin will persist.  You don’t want to raise too many red flags.  You might also be ignoring that you don’t actually want to fight this, that you do want him here, despite everything.  Jin suspects nothing, his expression hopeful and fond and just so happy to be here with you.  It’s difficult to refuse him anything when he looks like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.  You are conflicted between your mistrust and being drawn to him like a moth to a flame.  

“Um, I’m gonna go get ready and then I’ll be right back,” you say nervously.  You dig out some modest sleepwear and head to the bathroom.  You’re on autopilot with your routine.  Be strong, Y/N.  Don’t give in too much.  You have to protect yourself.  

Jin is sitting against the headboard, book in hand.  You avoid his eyes and get into bed.  You sort of tuck yourself in so there’s a bit of a blanket barrier between you and him, but you roll on your side and face him.  You can sense his obvious amusement.

“Comfy?” he asks.

“Yup.  So what’s on the agenda?”  

Unbidden, you think, Jin doesn’t like to read.  He’ll read a page at a time if he does read, and he rarely reads for pleasure unless it’s an assignment of some sort.  You can’t tell if this is knowledge you already know, if you observed this in the weeks you’ve been here, or if it’s just something you inherently know.

“I don’t have much of a selection, so I picked whatever I could find in my room.  Tonight, we’ve got ‘The Remasculization of Korean Cinema: Culture, Politics & Society’,” he presents with dramatic flare.

You scrunch your nose.  If Jin reads that, you really will get a headache.

He of course notices and laughs.  “On second thought, this might not have been the best idea.”

“It was the best of intentions though.”

“I’ll see if Joon has anything lighter,” Jin says, turning over the book in disappointment.

“Why don’t you just tell me a story?”  The words leave your lips without your say so.  He glances at you in surprise.  

“What kind of story do you want?”

You scootch further under the duvet, only your eyes showing.  “Jieun-unnie said you were in love.”

Jin’s breath catches.  

“But you don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” you murmur.  Even with Jin being here, you have decided to put all your feelings into the box of lost things, which you intend to seal away and ignore.  Nothing is going to happen.  Nothing can ever happen with Jin.  So call this self-flagellation or morbid curiosity, but you just want to know.

“Why do you want to know about her?” he asks carefully.

You shrug.  “I wanna know what love looks like to you.”

Jin’s face softens.  He takes a deep breath and sets his book aside on the nightstand.  

“Hmm. People, movies and songs always talk about these dramatic moments.  Being struck by how beautiful someone is like lightning.  Jungkook with his ringing bells.  Tae with his red string of fate and soulmates.  But it wasn’t like that for me.  It was quiet.  Sneaky.  Like standing on the beach and not realizing that the tide is steadily rising.

“She was just someone who was around.  Someone I would see in passing.  Our schedules rarely matched up, so our interactions were incidental.  We never paid each other any mind.  We were too focused on our jobs.  Besides, she wasn’t very outgoing.  She was introverted.  Aloof.  Seemingly unruffled.  But I’d see the way she interacted with the people she was close to.  I’d wonder how someone so intimidating, who seemed so distant in the day to day, could suddenly be so comfortably silly and fearlessly weird with her people.  It’s something idols and celebrities work so hard to make seem effortless.  

“Actually, that’s the best word to describe her.  Effortless.  She wasn’t contrived.  Wasn’t polished, primped, and packaged.  Just naturally effortless.  

“Now, maybe I’m just an asshole, but it made me want to ruffle her up.  Rock her boat a bit just to see what she’d do.  I wanted to know what made her tick.  What songs she cried to.  What books she gave a second thought to.  What code she lived by.  

“I started off small.  I’d steal a pen off her desk.  She’d buy a one hundred pack of G2 pens with a sticky note that anyone was welcome to them.  I’d put googily eyed stickers on her glasses.  She’d stick the goggily eyes on plants around the office.  I’d anonymously rickroll her through email attachments.  She’d reply that my resume was outdated and kindly attached a better resume template, only to rickroll me back.  

“I upped my game.  I’d replace her corner mart bought gimbap with homemade gimbap.  She’d leave me tasty baked goods.  I’d leave her a mixed CD.  She’d leave me a mixed audio cassette.  I’d buy her mittens.  She’d leave me a scarf.  

“And then suddenly, it wasn’t enough.  I had to come by to poke and prod her with words.  I’d tell her she’s pretty.  She’d tell me I’m handsome.  I’d tell her she’s weird.  She’d tell me I’m obnoxious.  I tried to pull her into arguments, but wasn’t really successful until I lied and told her I don’t wear sunscreen when it’s cloudy.  She subjected me to a ten minute tirade about the science of UV rays and I loved it.”  

Jin had steadily grown distant as he went back in time, but he refocuses on you.  His words, the quirk of his lips, the twinkle in his eye had coaxed you out of your duvet cocoon.  You smile encouragingly.

“I don’t even know when annoying her became harmless flirting and then transformed into full blown conversations about kdrama tropes, rating local hole in the walls, and confessions of hopes and dreams.  Before I knew it, she was someone who became the one.  The one I wanted to see everyday.  The one I wanted to share my stories with.  The one who I wanted in my stories.  

“And I thought she was completely oblivious.  We always saw each other in passing or we were always with everyone else, but I really wanted to be alone with her.  I wanted her to only look at me.  

“It all came to a head when all of us bought tickets to go see Passengers.  You know, that Chris Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence movie?  We were all gonna catch dinner and then go see the movie, but I convinced the dongsaengs to skip out.  I took her to one of my favorite restaurants, and I had to pretend to go to the bathroom so I could pay before she could insist on splitting the bill.  We went to see the movie, but I honestly couldn’t tell you what it’s about.  I couldn’t stop watching her.  And whenever she’d catch me, I’d lean in and make a joke, I don’t even remember what, but just something so she wouldn’t suspect.  I wanted her to know how I felt, but I was also terrified of her knowing.”

The way he talks about her, about himself, it feels soft and shimmery like ocean foam, an airy wisp on a reminiscent breeze, and it stirs a longing in you.  Captivates you.

“When we left the theater, she spotted the maknaes.  They saw us coming and tried to hide, but the hilarious thing was, they hid behind cutouts.  Of themselves, advertising a fanmeeting coming up.  A truly slap yourself in the face moment that I couldn’t even appreciate at the time because Tae was busy selling me out, whining that they didn’t want to intrude on our date, but they also didn’t wanna waste their movie tickets.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays your affection.  “What a bunch of idiots.”

“But they’re our idiots,” Jin says fondly.  His smile is small, but it’s a smile you haven’t seen before, like how you can only see Venus right before dawn or just after sunset.  A smile that is only reserved for special circumstances to align, and you stare unblinkingly, not wanting to miss it for a second because you don’t know when you’ll ever find the chance again.  

“I had to drag her away from those idiots.  And she kept trying to pull away, but I couldn’t let her go cuz’ I was trying to muster up my courage.  I dragged her four blocks before I had the nerve to face her.  Before I confessed that yes, that was a date.  That I liked her.  That I loved her.  And you know what she said?”

You hum.  

“She said, ‘I love you too.  But I dropped my glasses back there.’”

You splutter and burst into giggles in concert with Jin’s windshield wiping.  Jin hiccups, “We had to run back those four blocks to find her glasses before I could have my first kiss with her.”  

“You are also an idiot, Jin,” you snort.

“I know, I know.  Not my smoothest moment,” Jin concedes, elbowing you.  “And it wasn’t smooth sailing from there either.  Our schedules still didn’t align the way we wanted it to.  I would be tired and worn out.  She would be busy and frayed.  But we still made it work.  We’d fall asleep together over video calls.  I’d send her flowers and she’d have food delivered to me.  She’d surprise me at concerts.  I’d surprise her at conferences.  We had to steal our moments.   But it was the happiest I’d ever been.  I like to think she was happy too.”

Jin grows silent.  Something in him fades as he picks at your duvet, agitated.  You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, stilling him.  “What happened?” you whisper.  “Why did it stop?”

You know you shouldn’t be asking this.  You’re mentally slapping yourself for making Jin relive this knowing this doesn’t have a happy ending.  But you can’t stop yourself.  You have to reach the end.  You have to read the last page so you can close the book.  He stares at your hands and then…

Softly.  Bitterly.  With self-loathing, he says, “She became a victim of my industry.”

It’s vague, but there’s a finality that you dare not stir.  

Storytime is over.  

You want to apologize, but you know that won’t make things better.  In a way, it feels like you both needed this.  A cathartic release, but something’s missing.  You rub your thumb against Jin’s hand, trying to convey some comfort.  “She sounds lovely.”

“She is.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Debatable,” he huffs in scorn.  

“Hey.”  You tug his hand so he’ll look at you.  His expression is stone, eyes dark when he finally meets yours.  You infuse every fiber of your being with earnesty.  “She sounds lovely.  Don’t retroactively deprive her of her autonomy.  Of her choices.  It wasn’t your fault.”

The stone cracks a bit, a tremulous smile playing on his lips, not quite accepting, but you think he heard you.  

You lightly squeeze his hand in yours.  “It’s getting late.  You should go to bed.”

When you try to remove your hand though, he doesn’t let go.  “Can I stay here?  At least until you fall asleep?”

He plays it like he’s doing this for you, but there’s an open vulnerability and loneliness in the way he’s looking at you.  Is this what Hobi meant when he said Jin had a lot of baggage?  You don’t quite feel devastated, but this isn’t baggage.  It’s a piece of history, and you find some small comfort that if your illness is in fact real, at least it’s your affliction, not Jin’s.  At least he isn’t forced to relive his history.  

“Sure, Jin.  Always.” 

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A/N: I totally didn't get this done till like 0130 so I didn't have time for a beta to read this through before my posting deadline. Sorry for the late post and for all the grammar mistakes! Tehee!

[1310miles]

Forty one

My dear mother passed away on December 22nd. It’s no exaggeration to say that my heart was broken that day and that I’m still probably in a state of shock. Proceeding with normal life while you are grieving is an unsettling experience. I have felt off balance, as though I am functioning on two different plains. All this being said, I wasn’t in the mind set to run my next marathon on January 15th.

I arranged this trip back in September with my friend Lisa. Lisa is pursuing the goal of running a half marathon in all 50 states, and since we are both single travelers, she reached out to coordinate at least one trip together in 2023. It was far outside my experience to travel with another runner, but in the spirit of pushing my comfort zone, I jumped in. We were headed for a three day trip to Baton Rouge, Louisiana!

Right off the marathon I ran in Maine, I continued my training. My mom’s medical issues became apparent in early December, and despite traveling back and forth to Indiana often that month, I was able to keep up with my long runs and check my workouts off. Everything took a terrible turn the week of Christmas, however, and even though it would have helped my mental state, I wasn’t able to run for several days over a two week stretch.

Coming into January, not only did I not feel enthusiastic about traveling and running a marathon, I was nervous that my training hadn’t been complete. If it wasn’t for Lisa, I would have likely bailed on the marathon and the trip. But I had committed to her, and in my heart I knew it would be good for me to go, so I packed my shoes and lowered my expectations.

Lisa was so easy to travel with, and we had a great time getting to Louisiana. I even got some speed work in while sprinting to our connecting flight in Houston. We arrived late Friday, and on Saturday morning we got out for a nice run along the Mississippi River. It was incredible to see the sun shine after many dark days in the Midwest.

At the expo, we discovered that Lisa Way was not registered for the half marathon! She created quite a queue behind her while she sorted through what must have gone wrong. Through sleuthing, the expo volunteers finally discovered that when she registered, she auto filled her last name as her email address. We had a great laugh as we imagined her results being posted as “Lisa lisaway77@gmail.com.”

Downtown Baton Rouge was sleepy and there were no interesting tourist attractions within walking distance, so the rest of our Saturday found us laying in our hotel room, reading and napping. Exactly what we both needed! We talked about our plans for the race, and based on the route map, we saw that we could run together for 11 miles. That’s where the half marathon would break off from the marathon.

Lisa was planning to take the race very easy. She is strong and fast, but she hadn’t trained hard for this race and wasn’t doing much speed work. She thought she’d run about 9:15 miles. I thought about starting and staying with her. But as I laid there, I couldn’t think of a compelling reason as to why I couldn’t run faster. True, my focus was shaken, and my training wasn’t 100% complete, but I had been running strong. Additionally, I find that if I don’t run “my” speed, my body feels uncomfortable and eventually hurts. If I started with Lisa at the speed she planned to go, I might find the race more challenging than if I pushed my pace and ran quicker. I decided my plan would be to start at 8:25 miles and try to keep up that pace.

Sunday morning we walked to the starting line at the state capital building. The sun was just coming up and Lisa and I were in our matching visors. We took off and quickly headed out of downtown Baton Rouge toward the garden district and LSU. For as non-descript as the downtown area was, the residential areas were amazing. I have never run through such unique, diverse residential architecture in any other race. I was so entertained by looking at all the different houses and admiring them. Also, it was refreshing to see leaves on trees and green plants growing.

We headed into the LSU campus, which was enormous. It looked like we were going to go inside Tiger Stadium, but we only ran around the perimeter. I was thinking about how wild and busy games days must be there. The campus was so spread out you would definitely need a car if you went to school there. It was miles from one end to the other.

As we came out of campus and back into a neighborhood, we circled a few lakes that just added to the beautiful ambiance. We rounded one corner and I was preoccupied with reading a spectators sign when I tripped on the ground at the same moment as the man next to me did the same thing! I recovered easily, but he almost fell completely onto his face. It was strange, there must have been a rise in the pavement right there, and it caught us both dragging our feet. Honestly, the roads that we ran in Baton Rouge were in terrible condition. Potholes everywhere. Worse than Chicago! The “falling guy” and I stayed about the same pace the entire race. I would catch up with him or he would catch up with me, but in general we were pretty much matched and laughed about him almost wiping out more than once.

I was cruising along, running around 8:25 miles consistently. My body felt good and the weather and course were basically perfect. The temperature lingered in the low 50s and the sun was out but not too bright. There were no notable hills, but the course wasn’t flat. There were slight ups and downs that kept my muscles engaged. Flat courses just feel tiring because you are using the same muscles the entire time. It was nice to not have to plan for some extreme hill late in the race, but it can be nice to have a great downhill to fly down. None in this race.

Running at such a consistent pace had me lingering around the 3:40 pace group. I never stuck with the group tightly, but they kept passing me and I kept passing them. The group was led by one male runner for the first half, and then he was joined by his friend for the second half. The new assistant leader seemed to simply provide relief from holding the “3:40” sign and to add some energy. They were both nice guys and seemed to know everyone along the course.

Around mile 20, the leader shouted “is anyone here doing their first marathon?” and some runners from the group said they were. Then he shouted “is anyone here doing the 50 states challenge?” to which I said I was. They were all boisterous when I said it would be my 41st state. A woman next to me said “have you heard of the sub 4 club? Because you are running a great pace!” and of course I told her about the people I met in New Hampshire, and that I’d have to run about 30 of my marathons over again to qualify!

I had engaged with this same woman a little earlier in the race. She was running in front of me, and I was looking at the back of her t-shirt. It had a picture of a chicken head and underneath, it said “teaching chickens how to read.” I became lost in thought…teaching chickens how to read!?!? How is this possible. What a very, very strange thing to put on a t-shirt. Looking up again, I realized that my exhausted running brain had completely interpreted it wrong. The shirt said “teaching chickens how to run.” Ok, yes, that’s still very strange. So I told her I thought she was teaching chickens how to read and how silly that was. She laughed, and then told me that she has a chicken sanctuary and saves chickens from slaughter and lets them live out their lives on her farm. I told her that perhaps she could try to teach them how to read in her free time.

The miles continued to add up, and my pace was holding strong. Spectators were really great during this race. Most of the course was through residential areas, so lots of neighbors had their lawns set up to cheer for us. Pretty much everyone was drinking heavily. One of the best lawns advertised a “Corona shot and a Kleenex” and they featured small cups of Corona beer. They were all having a good time, as I think people in Baton Rouge do almost every chance they get.

The finish line was back in downtown Baton Rouge, so as I came out of the final neighborhood, I could see the capital building and knew I just needed to make it there. My energy stayed high and when we were at 1.25 miles left to go, a runner said “only five laps around the track.” I liked that because that’s how I think a lot. I was glad to hear that other people do the same thing. About a quarter mile from the finish I saw Lisa, who had run the half marathon, gone back to shower, and had a coffee in hand. She cheered me on as I came through the finish line. I commiserated with the 3:40 group, the falling guy and the chicken lady, all of us congratulating each other. 

Another 2nd place win in my age group resulted in another awesome medal! It could have been a big celebration, because all of the finishers were given SIX drink tickets to enjoy at the after race party. But Lisa and I needed to head for the airport and return home. We did celebrate with chicken and waffles though. I hope that chicken that I ate didn’t know how to read.

[runveganwankerrun]

Return of The Prodigal

Tue 27th Dec '22

Well, hello! It's been a while. I got lazy. It started with an icy spell of weather that stalled my running. In all honesty, I should have run at least three days in that week, but after a snowfall, which froze and made even my cleets not as effective as they've been previously, I got nervous.

As it happens, I lost a bit of confidence too, due to not running that week. The boost I got from completing 12k a few weeks ago, disappeared, and on the day that I should have run another twelve, I stopped at eight, using the snow as an excuse. It was a bit pathetic as I was running around an all weather pitch in the local park. There was a grassy bit that was totally fine to run on. I was sorry I'd stopped as soon as I got home. Regrets! It was a learning experience, as I haven't stopped too early since. I've bloody well wanted to, but I've pushed through, knowing I'd hate myself if I didn't.

Since then, I ‘fessed up to Coach that I’d been a lazy bastard for a whole week and asked if I could repeat the week. He was okay with that, and added the following week’s programme. I wasn’t to hear from him that week as it was Christmas week. That meant I had eight sessions in front of me.

Week One:

1. 6 km easy plus 3x20 sec strides 

 2. Club sessions?? 

 3. 6km easy paced 

 4. 14km long run (nice and easy)

Week Two:

1. Hill reps. 45 seconds up, 90 seconds down then 15 seconds up, 30 seconds down repeat 8 times. 

 2. Easy 6 km 

 3. Warm up, then 6x 400s at a hard effort with 65 sec rec. 

 4. 2 hours long run, no worry about pace or distance, just being out for a solid 2 hours on your feet.

Now I'm half way through week two, with an extra run last week, when the club had a dress up social run. I was dressed as a wise man on a camel 🤣 I was the tail runner, so at the very back of the pack. It was slow, so even I didn't expend too much energy. It was really good fun. We had a room booked to have tea and coffee afterwards. I can't believe I've been in a club for over five years now and done all the social runs, Covid 19 permitting.

My biggest worry this week is the long run, which I will do on Sunday. It's two hours (not about pace or distance) which sort of scares me. I've done that time loads of times in the past, but not any time recently. Last week, I did the long run on Saturday, Christmas Eve, before volunteering at parkrun. It was 14km, which I thought would take about an hour and twenty, to an hour and thirty. It took an hour thirty-nine. I was a bit disappointed and it makes me depressed about how long my long runs are going to be over the next four months. Still, the good news is they still won't be as long as the first time I trained for a marathon in 2015. I logged I to my Runkeeper account from back then and it was very nostalgic to see some of those training runs.

[ptergwen]

through the lens

w/c: 2.3k

warnings: swearing and mentions of blood (all fluff tho!)

summary: yours and peter’s date night doesn’t go as planned, thanks to his “little” accident and mj’s photography project

a/n: it’s been a minute but i’m back! for now lol i promise i’ll be way more active when exam season is over <3 this was based off the lovely pic above taken by the even lovelier zendaya and i hope you enjoy these… let’s call it random workings of my mind

-

“hang on, can you come closer?” mj instructs you, you promptly stepping towards her. “is this good?” “great,” she affirms and squints behind the camera. “smile really big on the count of three, okay? one, two, three!” doing as she says, you give mj your cheesiest grin with your eyes squeezed shut and all. she snickers while snapping the moment on her polaroid.

mj asked you to be her subject for a photography project. you’re happy to do it, although it’s super last minute. like, barging-into-your-room-and-begging-you-for-help last minute. she was supposed to turn this in days ago. lucky for mj, her teacher was feeling generous and gave her an extension.

you have to work fast because of mj’s deadline and your plans with peter. he’s coming over for a movie marathon and cuddles right about now. well, he’s actually running a tad bit late. that’s typical peter for you.

“just a couple more, and then you’re free,” mj informs you while shaking out the polaroid. “this is honestly pretty fun, you know.” you glance at the photo she’s holding with an eyebrow quirked in surprise. she captures you well. “what made you choose me?” “no one else was free on a saturday,” she snorts and tosses the picture in a pile with the rest.

your mouth falls agape. “i’m not free! peter’s gonna be here in…” you check the time on your phone, much to your dismay. “he’s a few minutes late, but still. i have things to do, too.” a smirk sets on mj’s face as she gets ready for the next photograph. “relax, y/n/n. i was kidding. i’m sure spider-dweeb will be here sooner than you know it.” sighing lightheartedly, you take a seat on your bed.

“don’t call him that,” you shake your head. mj throws her own head back to the ceiling. “ugh, but that was a good one,” she insists, you only humming. “it’s better than penis parker, at least.” “nah, i like the alliteration,” you laugh out and earn a giggle from mj. “you’re lucky parker doesn’t have super hearing, or does he?” winking, you hit a pose for mj. you’re looking at her over your shoulder with smolder eyes.

“ask him yourself, after you get this shot.”

the two of you continue messing around with her polaroid until the film is almost gone, and peter has yet to arrive. you’re starting to worry. you aren’t sure where he could be.

he doesn’t patrol on weekends unless it’s an emergency, and he would’ve told you if there was one already. he’s never this late without sending a text, either. it’s almost an hour past when date night should’ve started. on the other occasions peter has gone off the grid, they didn’t end well.

“i’m freaking out, em. do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?” you ask mj, pacing around your bedroom. she offers a sympathetic shrug. “maybe he just ate some bad yogurt. remember last time?” being the dummy he is, peter once scarfed down an entire tub of vanilla yogurt before he realized it was expired. no one heard from him for days. he didn’t show up to school or answer any calls.

may ended up inviting you over and explaining he’d gotten a stomach bug, which you then tended to him for the rest of. the story was so amusing, and so peter.

“may doesn’t buy him dairy anymore. why do you think he always raids your freezer?” you bring your fingers up to rub your temples. “the kid can empty ice cream cartons in one bite,” she agrees, silently cringing. her curiosity piques at the fact. “is that also a power?” “who cares?” you nearly shout, your fingers curling into fists. “what i wanna know is if peter is fucking okay.”

on cue, there’s a knock at your apartment door. you and mj exchange looks of urgency, both rushing out of your room to answer.

mj follows you through the hall and stands by your side while you fumble with the lock. when your door pulls open, ned has his hand raised to knock again. “ned? what are you doing here?” you don’t give him the chance to speak. “have you heard from peter? he was supposed to be here a while ago, but he never showed.” rather than answering in words, ned takes a step aside.

the sight you’re met with makes you gasp. peter peeks out from behind him, cuts and bruises littering his flushed face. he gives you a lopsided smile.

“you have your answer,” mj murmurs to you and eyes ned curiously. he lets out a nervous chuckle. “here he is.” you push past ned and practically jump into peter’s arms, your hug bone-crushing. “peter, oh my god! are you okay?” wincing, peter hugs you back by your waist. his chin rests carefully on your head.

“hey… i’m alright, baby. still pretty sore, though,” he sucks his lower lip between his teeth. you take the hint to loosen your grip on him. “i was worried something bad might’ve happened to you. i… i guess i was right.” your tone softens, you threading a hand in his curls. they’re completely disheveled from whatever went down with him.

ned heads inside to catch up with mj, the two of them letting you have a moment alone.

“someone’s got a spidey sense of their own, huh?” peter tries to lighten the mood by joking. it doesn’t work, a frown still evident on your face as you try to untangle his once soft locks. “baby, everything’s fine. i just… had a little accident is all. no big deal,” he reassures you and moves in to peck your lips. you’re so shocked that you dodge the kiss.

“little? your whole face is black and blue, pete!” you tug on the white collar of his button up, peter letting out a shaky breath. your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, touch gentle. “how’d you get like this?” he licks across his lips shyly and sets his hands on your hips. “see, on the way over there were these bad guys who-“

“no there weren’t,” ned cuts in, scoffing at the beginning of his friend’s story. peter shoots him a warning look over your head. “yes there were, ned. you weren’t even there!” he catches mj glaring at him before he continues. “don’t listen to him. anyway, i had to fight them because…” when he trails off, you stroke your thumb across his cheek, avoiding any wounds in the way. raising both eyebrows, mj speaks up.

“because why? go on, parker. i’m intrigued,” she encourages him. everyone can tell peter is lying except you. the question really is, what’s he lying about? he gulps down his spit, pulling your body against his for comfort. “take your time, peter. we can wait,” you say only for him to hear. his love filled eyes meet yours, and he nods. ned huffs at the dramatics unfolding before him.

“dude, you’re making this way worse than it actually is. just tell her!” he demands, mj cocking her head to the side. peter’s gaze flits between the two of them. “tell me what?” you wonder softly and tilt his chin, willing him to look at you again. “i… i…” peter’s shoulders slump, his voice lowering in defeat. “there weren’t any bad guys.”

“of course there weren’t,” ned confirms. “no shit,” mj adds. exhaling, you wait for your boyfriend to further elaborate. “what really happened, then? be honest, pete.” peter lets go of you so he can come into your apartment properly, you shutting the door behind him. he scratches the back of his neck as he fills you in. “ok. um, me and ned were hanging out.”

ned is attempting to stifle a laugh for some reason, which mj elbows him for. you take one of peter’s hands. “yeah?” “we were at my place, and… you know those really slippery steps on the sixth floor?” peter pauses for someone to answer, playing with your fingers. “the ones flash almost wiped out on once?” mj questions in amusement. he lets a quiet chuckle out. “good times. yeah, those.”

his gaze averts to the ground, you listening on. “so, i was walking ned out on my way over. we were talking about spidey stuff-“ “as per usual,” mj mumbles to herself. ned raises his hands in defense. “—and i told ned i could always stick my landings. he didn’t believe me.” you playfully roll your eyes, seeing where this is going. “so… i, uh, decided to show him,” peter finishes off.

“i did a, um, backflip. tripped and fell down the flight of stairs,” he finally admits to you, putting his other hand on top of your intertwined ones. “clearly, i was wrong.” his bloody face is now red from humiliation. “you didn’t trip, dude. you freaking summersaulted!” ned corrects him and bursts into laughter he’s been holding back. “idiots, both of you,” mj simply remarks.

“that’s it? why didn’t you just say that?” you almost laugh yourself. groaning, peter rests his forehead against yours. “because it’s embarrassing! i wanted you to think i’m a tough guy or whatever.” placing both hands on his cheeks this time, you nuzzle your nose against his. “you don’t have to be a tough guy to impress me, babes. you’re kind, smart, funny. makes up for you being such a klutz.”

peter cracks a grin, easily capturing your lips in the kiss he didn’t get to before. it doesn’t last long because mj gags and ned whistles at you. you’re both giggling when you pull apart, peter kissing the tip of your nose for good measure.

“you really mean that?” he checks, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. “of course. i have a thing for himbos,” you tease and poke at his bare chest. his eyes widen. “how about i get you some ice and you find our first movie?” you’re already off to the kitchen, beaming at peter. “date night’s still on?” he happily plops down on your couch, mj showing ned her pictures from earlier.

“as soon as those two get out of here,” you call loudly enough so ned and mj hear you. “yeah, yeah. we’re leaving,” mj deadpans, shoving the photos back into her portfolio. peter glances over at it curiously. “what’s that for?” “photography project,” she says and gets an idea. “i have some film left. y/n took up most of it… you losers want the rest?”

while mj coerces her way to a higher grade, you put some popcorn in the microwave for your movie marathon.

“well, i could use a new lockscreen. i’m in!” ned quickly concedes. him and mj both give peter hopeful looks. “i’m not!” he protests, squishing one of your pillows against his chest. “with my face looking like… this? forget about it.” mj walks over to him and places her portfolio on the coffee table. “what? those gashes are gnarly… in a good way, i mean,” she promises.

“painful, too,” peter murmurs. “y/n, hurry up with that ice!” mj demands, grabbing the polaroid camera from its string around her neck. you wave her off. “what i’m saying is, they’ll look sick in my portfolio.” mj forces a smile, ned looking at her weirdly. “uh, what’s the theme of your project again?” “freestyle, baby,” mj casually replies.

peter comes up with a condition that could persuade him. “if you say please, i might consider it,” he concludes, mj perking up. “please be in my project. pretty please?” she instantly requests, ned pursing his lips from behind her. peter rubs his chin. “y/n, what do you think? should i?” you pipe in from the kitchen. “yeah, so she’ll leave my house.”

“you heard the lady. i’ll do it,” peter gives in. all but squealing, mj gestures for ned to sit. “this’ll only take a few minutes. you guys are really saving my ass.” ned gets comfortable next to peter on the couch, who wants to see how far mj will really go. “aw, we are? i believe that calls for a…” ned catches on. “it comes after please…” mj picks up her camera with gritted teeth. “thank you, morons. say cheese!”

that’s the only warning peter and ned get before they’re blinded with the flash. ned does a toothy grin as he leans into peter’s side. peter musters up the best smile he can, hair a mess and cuts burning pink on his face. satisfied, mj snatches the photograph as it pops out.

“pleasure doing business with you two,” she states, you joining the three of them in the living room. you set the popcorn on the table and give peter his ice pack. he presses it to his cheek, kissing the back of your hand. “send me that!” ned reminds mj, helping himself to your bowl of popcorn. she salutes him.

“there’s my star. what do you say, y/n? wanna take one more really quick?” mj suggests, already holding up her polaroid. you take the other cushion next to peter, your head on his shoulder. “can peter be in it with me? since he’s in the modeling mood tonight.” he wraps an arm tightly around you. “let’s do it, sweetness.”

eagerly jumping in front of you two, mj crouches down to get a better angle. “on the count of three. one, two, three!” the camera clicks, and you surprise peter by laying a smooch on one of his cheeks. he’s holding the ice against his other, genuinely smiling for this picture. ned coos at you, mj showing off her work when it dries.

“how adorable,” she says sarcastically but means it. peter nods at her in appreciation, his lips brushing the side of your head. “what can i say, you’re a pro,” you compliment mj. “come on, em!” ned cheers through a mouthful of popcorn.

tonight was an unexpected and exciting mess, even if your date night did get crashed.

[cherriesfineline]

savior next door

im on a writing trance so expect a lot of writings from me hehe, here's what i wrote last night, enjoy besties.

- fluff & a tiny little bit of smut (not really lol) | not proofread, sorry

Pairing: HarryxY/N

WC: 3.8k

the one where Harry is Y/N's shy and virgin neighbor.

The constant feeling of uneasiness has been haunting Harry ever since he almost got himself in a car accident almost a year ago.

It hadn’t been his fault – he was crossing a random street in a quiet area of New York when a hand grabbed his upper arm and pushed him out of the crosswalk, where a car speeded through without even slowing down. “Watch where you’re going, you’re going to get yourself killed.” The woman who’d saved his life scolded at him with a worrying look on her face. He remembers her eyes were glowing in such a splendor, something he’d never seen before – it intrigued him to know who his life savior was, but before he could even make a comment, the woman stormed off and got lost between the seas of people around the corner, leaving Harry in an unsuccessful search for her.

Harry has never been a people person. He always avoids big crowds, social events and especially, study groups. His university journey so far has been a lonely and reserved one, having movie marathons when not studying or discovering new kinds of herbal teas. His only form of social interaction is the occasional chat with his across-the-hall neighbor Niall, whom he considered -kind of- a close friend; his only one, in fact.

“Heard someone’s moving in to the flat next to yours.” Niall knows Harry isn’t exactly a social butterfly, and maybe it’s the fact that Harry is younger than him and how he seems like such a harmless human what makes him feel like he needs to help him. Harry just shrugs at his comment, not really interested in any possible intruder to their peaceful hallway (where both their apartments and the currently empty one in the corner were the only three ones on their floor). And maybe it was the fact that it has been almost a month since Niall’s comment what made him furious when he saw the cardboard boxes on their hallway, forgetting about the possibility of having a new neighbor.

The sudden sound of glass crashing and a loud yell snaps Harry out of his frustrated trance, stepping around the huge boxes scattered around the door next to his to knock on the doorway of the open door. Even if he really isn’t very fond of having a new neighbor that doesn’t mean he’s not going to check on them to see if they’ve gotten hurt. “Is everything alright?” He still can’t see whoever is inside, but he decides on waiting if no one replies to step inside. But he doesn’t need to, because as he was about to make his way inside, a head pops up from one side of the entry hallway, assuming that’s where the kitchen is, as he notices the apartment is a replica of his own, but inverted.

“Hey, sorry, just dropped my favorite cup.” His breath gets caught on his throat when her life savior’s face appears in sight, the cutest frown adorning her features and her sweet voice resonating through his brain. Her eyes, exactly like he remembers shine with an unbeatable glow, like a thousand diamonds under a microscope, but the image he had of her on his brain doesn’t make her justice – she is even more beautiful than he remembers. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. You live in this floor?” Harry can’t help but be disappointed at the fact that apparently she doesn’t remember him.

“Y-yes, next door. H-harry.” He stutters. Her presence just makes him so nervous, he can’t help it. She is probably one of, if not the, most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. Her eyes are hypnotizing, the softness of them which appears to be constant warms his insides and he thinks he could spend hours upon hours staring right at them.

“Do I know you? I feel like I know you.” Y/N’s thinks out loud, her expression alluding to her thoughts trying to place him somewhere in her memories.

“Uh, I- I don’t think so?” Harry feels embarrassed, so he couldn’t come up with a better answer. He is silently hoping she doesn’t remember the time they met all that time ago – this is his chance, he thinks, to redeem himself, for her to see him as a normal dude instead of this clumsy and shy boy who couldn’t even thank her when she saved him from being ran over by a car.

He wishes he could read her mind. What’s her first impression on him? Does she think he’s cute? She probably doesn’t. He thinks she’s too pretty to even spare a second glance at someone like him; a shy boy with bad posture and still breaking out in his forehead despite being 22. And she, Y/N, a woman who could make anyone her own, a woman who probably makes every head turn her way when entering a room. Harry feels his chest deflate as his thoughts start beating him up.

During the course of her first two months living next door, Y/N and Harry barely interact. He keeps stealing glances her way whenever they run into each other in the hallway, getting shy and cheeks reddening when she catches him every time. He gets jealous whenever he hears her walking down the hallway from inside his apartment, obvious guests coming in and out of her apartment – and if the person (because he recalls hearing both men and women) is good enough, he can even hear her sometimes through the thin wall that divides their bedrooms, her headboard clearly mirroring his. He feels dirty and intrusive during nights like these, so he opts on putting headphones on, music playing in his phone to help him drift off to sleep.

But Y/N is fascinated by him, maybe not as much as he is with her, but enough to wonder how it’d be like to reallyhave him in her life. She knows he’s a very reserved man, her animated chats with Niall more usual than not drift towards Harry and how she wishes he’d just keep looking at her when she catches his eye instead of running away – not because her ego is enormous or anything, but she is aware of the obvious crush Harry has on her. “He’s not going to start conversation, you should just go for it.” She remembers Niall told her one night after having a small chat in his threshold; because all Niall wants is for Harry to put himself out there, but he knows he needs a little extra push.

But it all changes one night. A night Y/N drinks more than usual – shot after shot going down her throat making her feel nothing but dizzy, the sensation of puke going up her throat forcing her to call it a night. Barely making it out of the elevator she stumbles on her way to her door, and Harry hears her. The sound her combat books make is so engraved in Harry’s brain he knows it’s her after just a couple of steps.

“Fuck.” Harry hears the unmistakable sound of her keys, and how she’s clearly struggling to fit them inside the lock. After a loud banging sound and what sounds like her sliding down the door, he starts worrying about her and how she’s probably not going to make it inside her apartment without a little help. So he steps outside after sliding his old white vans on to find her on the floor leaning against her door, legs bent and elbows resting on either knee supporting her head.

“Y/N?” He calls her in a whisper. She shoots her head up immediately making her insides turn, and with unfocused eyes, she looks up at him and smiles fondly.

“Hey, pretty boy.” She greets him with a soft smile, eyes closing and opening again slowly and Harry feels his stomach erupt in a thousand butterflies. Did she just call him pretty boy?

“You need help?”

“Please.” Harry’s red cheeks don’t go unnoticed by her the moment she lifts her hand to give him her keys and she honestly thinks he might explode. He helps her get up and guides her inside her home with such gentle movements she could melt in his hold, and that’s when she decides (drunk out of her mind) she wants him to hold her again, soon. And while sober.

He lays her down in her bed and announces he’s going to take her shoes off, giving her enough time to object. “I always catch you staring, you know?” Her thoughts slip off her lips unannounced, but she doesn’t really care. Harry, on the other hand, freezes in his spot, one of her shoes still in hand and with wide eyes he connects their gazes for the second time that night.

“I- I… I’m sorry- I don’t mean to be c-creepy or anything I j-just-“

“Shh.” She cuts him off, his stuttering making its first appearance of the night. “Didn’t say I don’t like it.” She confesses and wiggles her feet so he can resume his actions. Harry’s brain is betraying him more than usual right now. His thoughts are everywhere, not a single coherent answer coming to mind, so he doesn’t do anything but finish helping her out of her shoes in silence.

“Goodn-night, Y/N.” Harry left her apartment that night after carefully placing a soft blanket over her body and making sure she had a glass of water on her nightstand (he didn’t want to snoop around her apartment for some pills for her hangover, so he just left her with the duty of doing that herself in the morning) and laid in bed with so many thoughts running through his head he barely got an hour of sleep that night.

And that went on for a week. Knowing she was sleeping on the other side of the wall makes him more nervous than before now that he knows Y/N is aware of his constant staring – but who would blame him? She really is a sight for sore eyes. Y/N knocks on his door the following Saturday, and he opens it surprised to find her on the other side, mainly because she’s usually out with her friends by now every Saturday (not that he’s constantly waiting to hear her walk on their hallway, but he truly is always sitting on his living room and the thin walls of their apartment complex don’t provide them much privacy).

“Harry, hi.” She offers him the sweetest smile, but there’s a shy and nervous undertone to it this time. “I just wanted to thank you, for helping me the other night.” She clasps her hands together in front of her and nods with a tight lipped smile. “But I also want to apologize, I know I probably made you uncomfortable with uh, some comments I made.” She slightly scrunches her nose, waiting for his reply.

But Harry is, in simple words, speechless. He can’t believe there’s a sober Y/N who just knocked on his door willingly talking to him. Her voice sounds so melodic and Harry just wants to cuddle her and the giant, soft looking green sweater she’s wearing isn’t helping him ease his thoughts. He wants Y/N to hold him while she talks to him with that sweet voice of hers, he wants to hold her small hands and fill her cheeks and mouth with kisses along with every inch of her body -not that she’d ever let him, Harry thought, but a boy can dream-, but most importantly, he wants to learn every single detail about her. How she likes her coffee in the mornings, or if she prefers tea. In which position she sleeps the most comfortable in and if there’s any TV shows she re-watches just because it brings her comfort. He has so many questions he wants to ask her he completely forgets they’d been standing in his threshold for long minutes, with him just staring at her.

“It’s ok, don’t worry.” He says barely above a whisper, and they stay in their positions for a while, again with no words spoken between them, until he finally gains enough courage to ask, “Do you want to come in?” He opens his door a bit wider with a wary look on his face. Y/N nods, her smile widens and makes her eyes sparkle with that glow Harry is still fascinated by.

They sit in the couch with a long distance between them; farther away from the other than any of them like. Y/N does most of the talking, but she truly doesn’t mind – she talks animatedly about this new show Bridgerton she binge watched last night, Harry making mental notes about most things she says. He wants to remember everything, from the way her voice slightly sharpens when she mentions something she suddenly remembers to the way she moves her hands to accompany her speech; he already loves how expressive she is with her face features, and only confirms how he’d listen to her speak for the rest of his life.

Y/N manages to get more words out of him than she expected, and asks for his opinion or thoughts on most things she mentions. She hates making conversation purely about herself, she wants to know about Harry as much as she can. She wishes he would initiate conversation or switch topics with no shame, but she knows she’s asking for too much. This night alone they interacted more than the last three months combined, and Y/N is grateful for it.

Three chapters of FRIENDS had passed when she finds herself scooting a bit closer to him, carefully trying to read his body language. When he stiffens in his position, she turns her head to look at him. His cheeks are tinted a cute shade of pink, and he’s blinking a lot more than he usually does. He places both hands on his thighs and runs them up and down to get rid of the sweat accumulating on them, and he can’t help but gasp when their thighs touch, meaning she scooted even closer. As if that isn’t enough to kill him, she softly rests her head on his shoulder.

“Is this ok?” Y/N whispers, and he forces himself to turn his head to find her eyes, which are already looking up at him. He slowly nods and makes the dumb mistake of looking down at her lips. He feels the hot embarrassment run up his neck and quickly turns to face his TV again, planning on pretending nothing ever happened.

That is, until he feels the soft skin of her palm and gentle fingers grab his jaw, forcing his gaze back on her. That touch alone makes him feel more than any other human has made him feel in his entire life – but it doesn’t compare to the eruption of jitteriness washing through him when her eyes look down at his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry freezes in his spot. He wonders if he heard her correctly, not believing his senses when around her, the possibility of her wanting to kiss him are too low, he thinks, and when he doesn’t respond, she slowly begins to remove her hand from his face, taking a guess on his unspoken rejection. He, for once, reacts quickly enough; he grabs her by her wrist, placing her hand back again in its spot on his jaw, and works enough courage to just go for it. Harry lowers his face to gently envelope her top lip between his own. It’s quick but sweet (just like she had expected their first kiss to be, if she’d ever got lucky enough to experience it) and when he moves away just enough to separate her lips, she wastes no time in connecting them again. This time, the kiss is longer and with more determination than before, and when Harry feels Y/N melt into him, he gains enough confidence to grab her face with both of his hands, deepening the kiss.

They stay enveloped in each other for a while, mouths molding and moving in sync with so many unspoken emotions it feels overwhelming for both – they barely know each other, they’re very aware of it, but the undeniable infatuation they both feel is stronger than they’d ever admit. Y/N feels on her face the long exhale that leaves through Harry’s nose when she softly traces his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and when he meets her tongue with his, the mood that was settled between them switches drastically – from sweet and innocent to needy and passionate.

Harry isn’t very experienced with kissing, let alone with anything past first base. He’d only made out with a girl all the way back in high school during his senior prom, and the girl was so harsh and desperate Harry knew that moment he wouldn’t ever share an intimate moment with anyone again unless he truly felt something for them. Now, he knows it might seem like he’s rushing things in his heart, but he’d do anything with and for Y/N – but he knows he’s not ready just yet.

His nervousness consumes him again when she moves to straddle his lap, making him whimper at the new position. He shakily places his hands next to her legs on the couch, not sure what is too much and what is ok to do. She runs her hands from his jaw down to his shoulders, and moves them all the way down his arms to his hands, giving them a soft squeeze before placing them on her waist and sliding her own back up again towards his neck, never breaking the kiss.

He unintentionally lets a second whimper leave his mouth when she sits herself down on his lap, creating some friction between their groins. He knows he’s hard – he felt his dick grow in his pants the second she touched his jaw, but knowing Y/N could feel it now put him a tad on edge. He separates their lips; their agitated breathing mixing in between them.

“I- I’ve never…” Harry begins, but he’s having a hard time finding the correct words. Y/N understands almost immediately – she’s not proud to admit she had figured he was unexperienced, feeding the stereotype of shy-ergo-virgin, even though she was correct this time.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to,” Y/N gives him a soft peck and continues, “you can say no, but I’d love to make you feel good, if you’d let me. We can keep our clothes on.” Y/N suggests. If she has to be honest, she hasn’t dry-humped anyone since high school, but the thought of doing it with Harry lights her insides in animalistic flames.

When Harry timidly nods, she shakes her head with her eyebrows raised in a disapproving look, “Use your words, H.”

“I- I want you to- to do it. I- I trust you.” His stuttering makes Y/N’s insides warm, the fact that she makes him nervous amuses her – she’s certain she’s never made anyone this nervous before, but it is the fact that Harry admitted he trusts her what sends shivers down her spine. All she does in response is roll her hips against his – and when he closes his eyes with a pleasured groan leaving his lips, she does it again. Harry’s grip on her waist lowers to her hips, squeezing the flesh that was subtly beginning to get exposed from all the movement, and when he throws his head back Y/N takes advantage of his exposed neck to finally attach her lips to it. Her hold on one side of his face moves to grip his jaw, turning his head slightly to the side so she can suck on the sweet spot behind his ear still rolling her hips on his, and when she pokes the spot with her tongue to soothe the pleasuring sting, he unconsciously thrusts his hips up to meet hers; Y/N can’t help but smile and leave a trail of sweet, wet kisses from his new deepening bruise to the place where his neck meets his shoulders, repeating her actions there to leave a second bruise.

Harry feels his cock twitch in his pants when Y/N rolls her hips with more pressure, and they both know he’s close - his inexperience making him not last longer than a couple of minutes. “Are you going to cum for me?” Y/N asks him, holding his jaw tightly to keep his gaze on hers, and when he shyly nods she adds, “I want you to look at me when you do it.”

Harry can’t believe what’s going on – he has the most beautiful woman in the word on top of him about to make him cum, and he’s sure he’s going to come so hard he’ll probably have to throw his briefs into the trash. Her gaze staring so intensely into his eyes is what makes his insides finally explode, his eyes seeing white for a moment – with his mouth open ajar and glossy eyes he feels the large amount of cum spurting from his cock, making a mess inside his pants. The pleasure and fullness he feels during this moment is something he has never experienced before, never thinking he would surrender this fast over someone else’s actions. Y/N slows her movements but doesn’t stop for a while, allowing him to empty his insides until he hisses at the friction. Harry hugs her lower back to pull her closer to him, and Y/N lets her head drop to his shoulder so they can both catch their breaths.

They stay like that for a while, hugging each other with Y/N running her hand softly through his chocolate curls and Harry tracing small circles on the small of her back.

“You saved me from a car accident, a year or so ago.” Harry confesses – the pure bliss he’s feeling makes him dizzy and unaware of his words.

“I know. I remember.” Y/N confesses herself, and when Harry’s soft caresses stop at her back, she removes her head from the warm spot on his neck to look at him in the eyes, finding a confused frown in his eyebrows and lips in a small pout – she kisses him soft and quickly, not being able to contain herself. “I figured you either didn’t remember or didn’t bring it up for a reason, so I chose to not mention it.” She shudders and gives him a soft smile.

“Was embarrassed, still am.” Harry whispers with red cheeks, and Y/N’s laugh resonates through his living room, and if he wasn’t already obsessed with her, her laugh completes his way there.

“So cute.” She pecks his lips. “Can’t believe it took us this long to… talk.” Another peck. A knowing look on her face knowing damn well they did more than talking.

“You are too pretty. And intimidating. Can’t even walk in front of you without tripping over my own feet.” Y/N giggles at his confession, finding him even more amusing.

“Do you want to go on a date tomorrow?” Y/N asked, not being able to wait another day to ask. Harry feels his cheeks hurting from all the smiling, but he is too content in this moment.

“I’d love to.”

x

As always, feedback is truly appreciated,

love, Joey.

[jaysbestie]

ahshshdhsh this is my first time using the ask function in this app and i might as well take this as an opportunity. can you please write about jakey being a hopeless romantic (kinda like f2l thing) wherein they're also classmates and y/n is oblivious af? it would be very much appreciated, thank you~

hi this is a vERY late, I don't know if this is similarto what you wanted, I'm so sorry, but I hope you like it!!

Hoops and Love Letters

pairing ; f2l! basketball player! jake x gn reader

genre ; fluff

warnings ; food

summary ; jake, your best friend since you were children has started making your heart beat fast, little do you know, his is beating just as fast...

"yo jake!"

you were sitting on one of the park's benches with your best friend while eating strawberry flavored ice cream he got for you, when you heard someone call your best friend's name.

"jake!"

it was louder this time, meaning the person calling him was coming closer. Suddenly one of jake's friends, sunghoon, came into view trying to catch his breath while he sat down on the bench between you.

well now that was awkward.

he looked between you two, clueless to the situation you were in and asked,

"did I interrupt anything?"

he asked and to that question, your cheeks reddened as you turned to look at jake, noticing how his cheeks were also light crimson as he opened his mouth to answer his friend's question

"n-no you sure didn't" jake stammered. but jake never stammers?? and you just stood there, a little sad that jake answered sunghoon's question negatively and you just stood there, taken aback by jake's answer and by his stammering.

"it doesn't seem like it tho, anyways, heesung needs you in practice, jay was late and he almost got yelled at" sunghoon started talking without getting a breath, almost as if he was rapping.

you searched jake's face for a reaction and he didn't even look surprised by ths situation going on at the school's gym.

"well, y/n, I'll have to go, sadly, however, ill try to return you your book on saturday on our picnic!" he told you while he got his school bag, from the bench you sat on every day after school, and started walking behind sunghoon to the gym.

"I'll be waiting for my book!" you yelled and screamed, happy that he remembered the poetry book he borrowed from you, two weeks ago. you see, your and jake's bond was something unbreakable, being friends and classmates from a very young age and being lucky enough to be able to continue this friendship till now. you started packing your bag and put the cup from the ice cream in the park's trashcan while going to your house. there really wasn't anyone at home however you prepared your table fully and made yourself lunch. you sat down trying to find a boring enough movie so that you'll be motivated to stop watching it and study or catch a nap.

————————♡timeskip♡———————

it was now 7pm on a friday afternoon and you were currently doing your homework so that you didn't have to do them during the weekend, when your computer started alarming you that there was an incoming skype call by jake. it made you instantly smile and you answered his call watching his face brighten once he saw you had picked up.

"hey"

"hi"

"are you doing homework on a friday night?" he asked, while he looked at me as if I was a weird creature.

"yeah, I don't understand your opposition on me doing my homework on a friday night" you said, the fake offended look on your face made jake laugh and that moment it was like you heard an angel laugh.

"have you prepared anything for our picnic tomorrow?"

oh shIT

you panicked

"I swear to god, y/n y/l/n, did you forget about one of the most important days of the month?" it was his turn to act offended now taking a dramatic pose acting as if he was crying.

you were about to start crying because, hoW. COULD. YOU. FORGET. YOUR PICNIC?!?!

"oH HELL NOH, how could I forget our picnic?!" you stated nervously hoping that he didn't notice the panic on your face when he mentioned the picnic.

"great, I was hoping you remembered about it because, well,,, tomorrow's picnic will be extra special, than just a day on the calendar" he said, he seemed nervous and by his sentence you became nervous too, hoping that something joyful will be behind this "extra special picnic"

"YO Y/N YOU THERE?" he yelled and then proceeded to slap his laptop's screen, just to make sure his computer wasn't the problematical one.

"yeah sorry, my laptop started glitching, see you tomorrow at the park!" you yelled at him and ended the call in a hurry.

you sat up from your desk's chair and walked in front of your mirror

"I now have to go down and prepare for tomorrow's picnic" you said to try and convince yourself to go down and prepare however your plan was interrupted when your phone rang, the name of your other best friend lighting up the screen.

"YANG JUNGWON YOU LITTLE MONSTER" you screamed as you picked up the phone.

" yo y/n what is your proBLEM?!"

"YOU OBVIOUSLY"

"what did I do this time bestie, explain to me please"

"well I was about to go prepare for my monthly picnic with jake but you decided that it was a good idea to call me".

"oooh, jake, the guy that likes you but doesn't know how to tell you"

"plEASE, he doesn't like me, we've been friends for a couple years and he sees me as a good friend"

"ok but like, since yOU like him, why don't you speak to him about it?"

at this point you are heading to the kitchen in order to get ready for tomorrow, since hanging up on jungwon wouldn't happen soon.

"if I tell him I might ruin our friendship, won"

"he likes you too tho, even sunghoon noticed!"

"since when do you hang out with sunghoon?"

"since you were too busy going on dates with jake"

"please, we had study meetings"

"yeah call it whatever you want love"

you tried to respond to jungwon but nothing came out of your mouth so jungwon continued,

"anyways, I'm hanging up so you can prepare for your picnic, by the way, wear those brown corduroy pants I got you for your birthday!!"

"yeah fine, I'll make sure to fill you in on what happened won, good night!"

"night y/n!"

with that you went to prepare some quick snacks for tomorrow and also got some of your favorite jellies from a seven eleven nearby, all because they were also jake's favorite jellies.

———————♡timeskip #2♡———————

you woke up by the sudden sound of your alarm, you didn't even remember setting an alarm but you find have time to worry about stuff like this as you wanted to get up and get ready quickly for the picnic.

your phone rang and jake's number lit up your phone's screen.

"yo jake, bro, homie, fella, how you doin" that was the weirdest thing you've ever, like eVER, said in your life.

"Y/N Y/L/N ARE YOU DRUNK THIS EARLY IN THE MORNING?!"

"of course no jakey, it's 11:29 am, the picnic is in two hours "

" uh uh uh- special picnic" jake emphasized special once again.

" oh well, guess I'll take more time to get ready since its spEcial" you said, mimicking the way he said special.

" I swear to our friendship, y/n, if you're not ready by the time I come to pick you up, consider yourself not my friend" he said sarcastically, adding a laugh at the middle of his sentence.

"oh well, it's your lucky day because I have just started getting ready!" you lied, you walked to your dresser and started searching for that one pair of brown corduroy pants jungwon suggested you wear.

"I'm hanging up jake, gotta go get ready, see you at 1 outside my house!" you hung up without giving him a chance to reply.

bingo

you finally found the pants, searching for a shirt now. you found a white blouse you had got last Halloween for a pirate costume but never wore it. It didn't look like a costume shirt anyway, you shrugged and got into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready afterwards.

You were done with your shower now, the time was 12 pm and you had an hour left before jake got to your place to pick you up.

You put on your clothes and matched a pearl necklace (which was, indeed, a gift by jake) with your outfit, you opted for some classic black converse high tops as for the shoe choice, and with that, your outfit was complete.

You headed downstairs to prepare your basket, full with snacks and fizzy drinks, also getting a light blanket with you, just in case.

You heard a car honk from outside and checked the time, it was 12 : 40, twenty minutes before jake should be here to pick you up. The same honking sound was heard again and you headed to the door to see if it was jake by any chance. It was jake indeed, you got your basket, your keys, sprayed some perfume on and left the house, not forgetting to lock the door behind you.

"well hello there, y/n"

you were ready to tell general kenobi literally at his face, the pun must've been intended as you had a star wars movie marathon some days ago.

"hello to you too, jakey"

You both got in the car and jake turned the music up, a song unknown to you playing on the radio. Jake seemed different today, he seemed nervous, something unusual to him.

"is everything okay jake?"

"yeah why?" he responded while he let out a small laugh.

"oh, nothing!"

The drive went by quickly, however jake had taken you to a place you thought you'd never see again, it was the place where you and jake had first met. A park filled with bushes and sunflowers, huge trees and benches along with wooden tables. You were on the verge of tears, left speechless, you opened the car's door, taking your basket and started running around the park laughing loudly. You were feeling truly happy.

Jake was watching from inside the car, deciding to open his door too, taking his own basket, locking the car and started running towards you.

After running around for some good minutes, you sat on bench and left your baskets on a wooden table, starting to set your food in order for your picnic to start.

You had started eating your second sandwich when jake interrupted you, making you put your sandwich down and turning your attention to him.

"yo y/n, do you remember those love letters you kept on receiving last year?"

"of course I do! I've been searching till this day! but what does that have to with our special picnic?"

"well, I'm the one who sent those letters" jake said, lowering his head and starting to fiddle with his hands.

"well, that was a good one!" you started laughing. Noticing the situation jake was in right now, it only meant one thing, "WAit, you're not joking?"

"not really" he said giggling sadly, lifting his stare and watching into your eyes. You extended your arms and reached out to hug him.

"why didn't you tell me?"

"wait, you really didn't know I liked you? The boys kept on telling that my crush on you was too obvious!" he said, looking annoyed by his friends that moment.

"I mean, you did throw a basket ball at me once that had, "let me take you out" all over it but I didn't think you meant thAT TAKING OUT" you said, laughing at the old memory you had remembered.

well, y/n, would you officially allow me to take you out?" he asked, a glowing happy slice on his face when he noticed your emotionless face, "on A DATE, I mean, not with a basket ball!" he added. With that, you burst into laughter and looked at him, showing him your brightest smile.

"of course I'll let you take me out, on a date, jake"

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 34: Forever

Chapter 33

Read on AO3

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: This fic is on a very long hiatus until further notice. Please see the AO3 link for more details. Much love❤️

It was June third, the day after their eleven month anniversary. Claire couldn’t believe it; it was truly almost an entire year since that fateful Saturday at the stables. A year since their hearts and bodies had spoken what their voices dared not say.

He took her down port again, to a restaurant even more extravagant than the one they’d gone to the last time they were there. It was a glorious Saturday night, and Claire was blissfully happy.

Though something seemed off with Jamie.

His hand had done that tapping that he did when he was anxious the entire drive over, and it was his left, always his left, so she could not reach out and take it to soothe him.

“Why, you’re as nervous as you were on our first date,” she’d teased.

“Aye, well.” He’d forced a chuckle, winking at her. “It’s no’ every day ye celebrate nearly a year wi’ the woman ye love.”

She’d laughed, too, not really considering what an odd thing that was to say.

She also hadn’t considered how strange it was to go so all-out when it wasn’t actually a full year yet. She could truly only imagine how extravagant those plans would be.

And anyway…what was there to be nervous about? There wasn’t a single thing they hadn’t shared, a single thing they didn’t know about each other now. Holding his hand as they left the parking meter, strolling down the sidewalk to their reservation, his palm was as sweaty as it had been the night they’d first slept together.

Had he never eaten at this restaurant? Was he worried she wouldn’t like it?

Watching his hand jiggle at his side at a constant loop at the table, Claire put her menu down.

“Jamie. You’re shaking the whole table.”

“Christ, I’m sorry.” He stiffened, reigning himself in. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said gently. “I’m serious. What’s going on with you? You’re never so out of it when we go out.”

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, and she almost believed him. “I’m alright.”

“You’re about to cause an earthquake with that nervous tick of yours and you expect me to believe you’re alright?”

His lips quirked up in a sheepish grin, and for just a second she caught a glimpse of Jamie again, not the anxious mess she was at dinner with.

“Is something happening with your family? And you don’t want to ruin the evening by bringing it up now? Because I don’t give a damn about the evening. We can leave right now—”

“No.”

Claire jumped a little, wincing at how tightly he squeezed her hand.

“Sorry,” he stammered.  “I’m mucking this all up.”

“Mucking what up?”

He sighed. “Nothing is wrong wi’ my family. Nothing at all is wrong. Everything is…perfect. My life hasna been this right since I was a bairn.”

Claire allowed a tiny smile, her eyes glimmering. “Okay,” she said softly, urging him to continue.

“That’s what has me feeling this way, I suppose. You are perfect. Our life is perfect. I suppose this big anniversary is just…I dinna ken. I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Jamie…” Claire shook her head. “There is no other shoe. I’m not going anywhere. Faith is not going anywhere. You’re stuck with us, darling.”

He sighed in relief, and Claire could not comprehend that he would ever think otherwise to the point where he would feel such relief.

“Even when I’m shaking tables and sweating through shirts?”

She giggled. “Yes. Even then.”

He kissed her hand. “Good.”

The rest of the dinner went off without a hitch, though there was still something underlying buzzing through Jamie. She couldn’t wait to get him alone and reassure him the only way she knew how. If he kept this up, she might not be able to wait until they got home. She’d have to find a long, empty dock and drag him to the edge and kiss him senseless anywhere he wanted. She couldn’t stand to see him like this, and she wouldn’t rest until she could see that he was absolutely sure that she was his and his alone.

Forever.

They went to their usual ice cream place, and as they swapped cups and tasted each other’s, Jamie seemed to relax a little bit more, laughing, savoring the flavor like a little boy. That was one of the things she loved most about him. He took nothing for granted, not even the difference between his moose tracks ice cream and Claire’s mint chocolate chip, not even the pigeons and seagulls that watched them out of the corner of their eye the closer they got to the beach.

“I’ll unleash all my unholy power if they so much as peck this ice cream,” Claire said, eyeing a particularly nasty looking little bastard.

“Dinna fash, my lass,” Jamie said gallantly, raising his spoon like Excalibur. “No harm shall befall ye, or yer precious frozen treat. No’ so long as I’m wi’ ye.”

“My hero.” She batted her lashes at him, then craned her neck and puckered her lips, and he obliged her, kissing her soundly.

The farther along the beach they wandered, the less and less people they encountered, and Claire began scouting locations where they could tuck themselves away for even a few moments of privacy. She certainly couldn’t fully have him here, but a few sloppy kisses and heavy touches would do the trick. Her eyes flicked to a dock with a boat on the end, no people to be found on it. She gave him a mischievous look and began tugging him toward it.

“I ken that look well enough,” Jamie said, matching her mischief. “And I’ll no’ be giving in to ye.”

She stuck out her lip in her most convincing pout. “Why ever not?”

“I dinna trust ye no’ to get us arrested for public indecency. No’ with that gleam in yer eye.”

“I’ll be good! I promise.” She stopped tugging so she could press herself flush against him, arching her back just enough that her breasts were the first thing that came in contact with him. “Come on, love…I promise I’ll behave.”

She fully expected him to grab her hips, press his hardness into her with a growl, and accept defeat.

But instead, he just grinned. Not even a smirk, a full-faced grin.

“If ye can catch me, ye can have yer way wi’ me.”

“What—?”

And then before she could blink, Jamie was running, sprinting away from her, kicking up sand in his wake.

“You bastard!”

She hiked up her skirts and chased after him as fast as her bare feet could carry her in the sand. She lost track of how long she spent going after him, but he was not relenting, not letting her catch up. They were both laughing their heads off, whooping, Claire calling after him until her voice was hoarse. He finally stopped, appearing to not be exhausted in the slightest, and she slowed herself to a jog, chest heaving and burning.

“You absolute maniac,” she panted. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She was laughing as she said it, and he laughed with her, reaching out his hand and taking it when she caught up. He kissed her hand.

“My legs feel like jell-o. You’d better be planning on carrying me back.”

“Aye, of course,” he said automatically. “But I want to show ye something first.”

She cocked a brow skeptically.

“Come on.”

He tugged on her hand, and out of sheer exhaustion, she allowed him to lead the way. They were walking right to a dock, and before Claire could exasperatedly complain that she’d been trying to do the same thing before he started that marathon, she realized.

There were candles lining every step of the boardwalk, a string of lights wrapped around each wooden post along the way. Across the top was a zigzag of more lights, held in place by thin metal poles attached to the wooden posts. She hadn’t seen it, even as she was running right toward it. She’d had her eyes locked on Jamie’s bright red hair all the while, desperate to catch up to him.

“What…what is all this…?” She was still out of breath, and on top of it her breath was gone for an entirely different reason.

He didn’t say anything, just kept his hand laced with hers and continued walking her down to the end of the pier.

“This is beautiful…is this always here…? I don’t understand…”

A familiar humming noise took her out of her dumbstruck admiration of the twinkling beauty, and she whipped her head around. “Jamie…what…?” Squinting, Claire could make out two figures at the opposite end of the pier, and a bouncing little thing in front of them.

Before she could process what was happening, she felt him take her other hand. She turned her head to question him, but was stunned into silence by the look on his face.

He was radiant.

The string of lights painted glowing streaks in his hair and twinkled in his eyes. And God, his eyes…they were bigger than she’d ever seen; she may very well have drowned in them if he didn’t start speaking.

“Claire, I…” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. The hand that was grasping hers was trembling.

“Jamie…?”

“You are…the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met,” he continued, holding her gaze and squeezing her hand tighter. “The first time I saw ye I was…blown away by how big yer heart was. The way ye looked at Faith, the way she smiled at ye…I knew. I knew ye were special. And I didna realize at the time, but ye’d already crawled into this hole in my heart that was made for you. Both of you.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with tears, and it very suddenly hit her exactly what was happening.

“I know the pain ye’ve seen, mo ghraidh, I know the fear and doubt that plagues ye. But I…” He cleared his throat again, and then lowered himself to the ground, on one knee.

A single tear escaped Claire’s eye, trickling down as her breath hitched in her throat.

“I will never, never stop trying to be worthy of ye, Claire. I swear to ye on my life that I will be a good husband, and…a good father. You deserve to be loved beyond measure. And I…I do, mo sorcha. I love you wi’ every ounce of my being.”

Claire was fully sobbing now, and his thumb rubbed over her knuckles as his other hand reached into his pocket.

“So will you, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, make me the luckiest man in the world?” He opened the box, revealing the beautiful sparkling ring within. “Will ye marry me, Sassenach?”

Claire could not speak. She nodded vigorously, more ridiculous sobs sputtering from her. Jamie’s strained, concentrated face erupted into the most glorious smile she had ever seen. He leapt to his feet and Claire threw her arms around his neck, and he encircled her waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her. He exclaimed loudly in Gaelic, laughing joyously, and Claire sputtered her own laughter in between sobs.

He finally put her down, and Claire seized his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, and he kissed her back passionately. When they pulled apart, Jamie was holding the ring, a small but beautiful rock set within it, and she allowed him to slip it on.

“Oh, love…” she croaked out, and he brought her hand to his lips and fervently kissed the ring.

Something suddenly collided with Claire’s legs, and she cried out a bit in shock. Jamie laughed again as Claire turned around and looked down to see Faith clinging to her legs. Looking up, she could now see that the figures in the distance were Gail and Joe.

“You…” She turned back to Jamie. “You had this all planned, didn’t you?”

Jamie just beamed at her, his eyes glistening with tears. Claire let out a joyous laugh and sank to her knees in front of Faith.

“Hello, lovie….” She wrapped her arms around her and squeezed tight, rocking her gently. “Oh, look at you…” Claire pulled back so she could see Faith, dressed in a beautiful little dress, blue and purple and frilly, white stockings and her perfect little white shoes. When she’d left her with Leina, she was still in her pajamas from the night before, and the plan had seemingly been to leave it that way.

“Look at us, hm?” Claire said, sniffling as she stroked Faith’s hair. “All dressed up? Mummy is going to be married, darling.” Claire’s voice broke, and she laughed through more tears. “See, Faith?” She held up her hand, and Faith immediately began fiddling with the rock. “This means I’m going to be a bride, baby.”

God…I can’t believe it.

A hand suddenly touched her shoulder, and she looked behind her to see that Jamie had crouched down beside her.

“I’ve, ehm, got something for her, too,” he said, his nervousness returning.

Claire’s heart felt fit to burst as her eyes landed on the pink velvet box in his hand.

“With yer permission, Claire…” Jamie took a deep, stuttering breath. “I’d like to ask yer daughter to let me be her father.”

Claire’s chin quivered again, her eyes immediately welling up. She nodded, swallowing thickly, and then fervently kissed Jamie’s cheek before standing up to allow him to proceed.

——

Jamie took a steadying breath before straightening himself out, getting up on his knee the way he’d just done before Claire.

“Hello, wean,” he said. She was fiddling with her skirt and twirling it back and forth, staring intently at its sparkles.

“Faith, a leannan, can ye look at my eyes?” He gently poked her chin with his finger, and she looked up, only to become enraptured by the string of lights above her head.

“D’ye like the lights, Faith?” Jamie flicked her chin with his middle finger, signing light. She giggled and snatched his hand in both of hers. “Ah, ye got me,” he teased, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing them. “I like the lights too, ye ken. Reminds me of our special day in our fairy den. D’ye remember?” She hummed a bit, freeing one of her hands from his grip to flap it, saying fairy

“Aye, that’s right. Very good, Faith.” He took her hand again in hopes of keeping her attention. “I had lots of fun that day, Faith. In fact, I have lots of fun whenever I’m with ye. Because ye’re a very special lass. D’ye ken that?”

She started fiddling with the wee hairs on his hands, giggling to herself.

“I asked yer Mummy a very important question, Faith. I asked her if she wanted to be my wife. And I gave her a special present to celebrate, a very pretty ring. D’ye like the ring?” She nodded absently, still twirling the little hairs. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Because I’ve got a special present fer you, too.”

That got her attention. She whipped her head up and looked at him, humming and then opening her mouth with an excited groan. Jamie chuckled softly and held the box up to her. She stroked the velvet box with her hands before pressing her cheek into it, likely enjoying its softness.

“Lovely box, is it no’?” he teased, and then gently lifted her chin to pick her head up off the box. “Let’s look inside, aye?”

Before Faith could snatch the box again or get upset, he popped it open.

“See what I’ve got for ye? Look.” He let Faith take it in her hands. “It’s a crown, see? And look what it says. F-A-I-T-H.” He signed each letter to her as he said it. “Faith. That’s yer name, aye?” She hummed, biting her lip with her smile. “Princess Faith, it says.

“D’ye ken that I love ye, Faith?” His voice got tight, his eyes welling up. “I think I fell in love wi’ you just as quickly as I did yer mam.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. He kept his hand there, cupping her cheek, as he signed I love you with his free hand. “See, a leannan? I love you.”

Faith gave a high pitched, squealing giggle, bouncing as she returned the sign. Jamie uttered a breathy laugh, a single tear trickling down his cheek. He heard a tiny sob from above him, and wasn’t surprised to feel Claire’s hand grasp his shoulder.

“Good girl, Faith,” Jamie whispered, rubbing a circle on her cheek with his thumb. “It makes me verra happy that ye love me, too.” He signed happy, smiling widely. “Are ye happy, Faith?” She hummed, jiggling her hands and nodding. “Good, good lass.” He sniffled, blinking away more tears, reaching to his own shoulder to cover Claire’s hand in his.

“I promise to always love ye, and protect ye, and do right by ye, just as I will yer mam.” He gave Claire’s hand a squeeze. “Will ye be my wee princess, Faith?” He poked a finger at the necklace, his fingertip cooling at the touch of the metal. “Will ye let me be yer Da?” He spread his fingers, poking his thumb to his forehead.

Faith hummed and jiggled a bit, but Jamie held the sign patiently. After a few seconds, she giggled, and then copied him exactly, thumb on forehead. Fingers splayed.

Da.

Jamie laughed out loud, fit to burst with joy. He released Claire’s hand to wrap his arms around his wee girl, and Joe and Gail broke into applause. He felt Claire fall to her knees beside him, and his heart cracked open to hear her openly weeping. He folded her into his embrace as well, and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, fisting his jacket in one hand, caressing Faith’s curls in the other.

“Oh, Jamie…” she blubbered against his skin. “I love you…”

“I love you, too, mo chridhe. Wi’ my whole heart.”

When the three of them finally released each other from their embrace, Jamie freed the necklace from the box and fastened it around Faith’s neck. She rubbed it between her fingers, pulled it up and rubbed it on her cheek, and jiggled it in her hands.

“It’s beautiful, Jamie,” Claire breathed against his neck.

“D’ye think she likes it?”

“She does.”

“D’ye think she…understands?”

They looked at Faith for a moment, grinning from ear to ear as she fiddled with her necklace.

“I think she does.” Claire pressed a kiss into the crook of his neck. “If nothing else, she knows that you love her, Jamie.” Claire met his eye and held up the sign, trembling lips curling into a smile. He repeated the sign, touching their fingers together as he’d often seen mother and daughter do, and their foreheads rested together. “And she loves you, too. She doesn’t say what she doesn’t mean.”

A tear slipped from Jamie’s eye and trickled down Claire’s nose, and they kissed one another sweetly, I love you’s still pressed together.

Gail and Joe suddenly got closer, calling Faith over to them. Jamie broke into a wide grin, watching from the corner of his eye; the last part of the plan was nearly complete.

“Go on, baby,” Gail said. “Go put them on, just like we practiced.”

Faith scampered back to them, bounding and skipping and squealing with glee. Jamie exchanged a look with Claire, who seemed utterly bewildered, and who somehow looked completely and utterly beautiful, even red and swollen from tears of joy.

Jamie ducked his head and allowed Faith to clumsily place the hat atop his head, and then watched as she plopped the one with the bow on Claire. Faith squealed again and jumped up and down, clapping her hands in triumph and then flapping relentlessly.

“What on Earth…?” Claire turned to look at Jamie, and then burst into laughter.

Faith had put Mickey Mouse ears on them both — well, Minnie Mouse for Claire if you accounted for the red bow.

“D’ye no’ find me rather dashing?” he teased, and Claire laughed all the harder. “Here. Look.”

Jamie removed the hat, and Claire did the same, then Jamie held them side by side. Claire exhaled with a breathy laugh, leaning her cheek into Jamie’s shoulder as she read the words that Jamie had had embroidered onto the backs, his and hers respectively:

I asked

I said yes!

[specialagentsergio]

now i’m getting colder || part one

summary: Emily’s been dating you for nearly a year and she’s never been happier--until her past come to call. Then she’s gone, and Spencer’s left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: (faked) major character death, mentions of/implied sex, mentions of vomiting (nothing descriptive), swearing

a/n: i got such a great response from the original fic, so after some requests, i decided to continue the story. thank you all for your support!

word count: 3.8k

series masterlist || masterlist

After the night in Connecticut, Spencer expects everything to change.

He expects you to start spending less time with him and more time with Emily, openly. He expects to have to watch you kiss her, listen to you gush about her to him. He thinks you may even be upset with him for exposing your relationship. So to say that he’s surprised when barely anything changes at all is an understatement.

The amount of time you spend together does go down, but only by about three hours and seventeen minutes per week. (Not that he calculated it on purpose—it’s one of those things he keeps track of without really meaning to.) You still spend a lot of your time with him, listening to him tell you about the books he’s reading and discussing what’s going to be shown at this year’s Georgetown foreign film festival. You don’t talk about Emily that much; at least, not any more than you did before.

Your behavior at work doesn’t change much, either. You and Emily keep things professional there for the most part, enough so that he can almost pretend that you aren’t in love with someone else.

Almost.

Three weeks after Connecticut, his attention is drawn away from his paperwork when you reach over the partition between your desks and tap on the wood.

“Spence.”

“What?”

“Are we still on for the Doctor Who marathon tomorrow?”

He blinks. “Oh, um.” He’s been so caught up in... well, in sulking, that he’s actually forgotten something. “Yeah, I guess. If you still want to. It’s okay if you don’t.”

You frown at him. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“I mean, I just figured...” He leans back in his chair, rocking it a bit. “I figured you’d rather spend time with Emily.”

“Oh.” Your expression doesn’t change much; you still look confused by his words. “Just because I have a girlfriend doesn’t mean I want to stop spending time with you, Spencer. You’re still my best friend.”

“Really?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“Really,” you affirm with a small laugh. “One o’clock, my place. Don’t forget the snacks.”

“I won’t,” he replies quietly, trying to ignore the little bud of hope sprouting in his chest, the thoughts of maybe things aren’t going well between you two and that’s why you want to spend Saturday with him, maybe you and Emily are going to break up—

You rest your chin in your hand as your expression shifts into something serene. Your gaze moves from his face to behind him and he follows it, turning in his chair to see—

Emily’s just walked back into the bullpen with a stack of files. Your eyes follow her the entire time as she makes her way to Hotch’s office, a small smile gracing your lips. You don’t even notice him watching you; you just look back down at your paperwork once she’s out of sight, that smile staying on your face.

Spencer’s chest physically aches, the bud of hope crushed. He returns to his own work, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes. You’ve never looked at him like that, and he would give almost anything for that to change.

---

Emily had wanted to smack herself when she realized that she was catching feelings for a coworker again.

It’s different than it was with JJ, though. With JJ, she had felt an instant connection. She had felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. And just like a moth, she had been burned—JJ had never felt the same towards Emily as Emily did to her. She might have, someday. But then JJ met Will, and the rest was history.

You’re something entirely different. Emily’s always found you attractive, but for a long time, she didn’t have any desire to do more than simply enjoy the view. It takes her a while to really get to know you, since you spend so much time with Reid. But as she does, she finds herself more and more interested in you. A year passes, then two. One thing leads to another, and another, until one day she finds herself, slightly tipsy at one of Rossi’s dinner parties, looking at her friend and thinking, god I’d like to kiss her.

Following that realization, she notices a few things—you gravitate towards her at work, save her a seat on the jet and request to room with her when you have to double up. She thinks you’ve started touching her more than normal, too, placing a hand on her as you walk past and picking stray cat hairs off of her clothes.

The profiler in her recognizes these as signs of attraction. Now she just has to get up the nerve to make a move.

It happens in a hotel room in Phoenix. You return there from the FBI field office, both still riding the high of a successful takedown. You’ve always worked well together, and this case was no exception. You were the ones who made the breakthrough on it, leading the team right to the unsub.

You’d also been the pair that ended up at the location where he was. He’d tried to run, but you’d worked together without conscious thought. Emily had pursued directly while you took a side route. You cut him off quickly, and moments later had him in handcuffs and on his way back to the SUV. No injuries or additional casualties. It’s just about the best ending to a case that you can ask for.

You’re practically vibrating with excitement and leftover adrenaline when you turn to face her in the hotel room. And that smile on your face—god, it’s one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen.

To hell with it, she thinks, and in the boldest romantic move she’s ever made, says, “I want to kiss you.”

She doesn’t even have time to feel nervous, because you answer immediately by taking her face in your hands and pressing your lips to hers.

Emily’s kissed women before, plenty of them. But none of those kisses had ever felt like this. No other kiss has felt so... right.

She can’t keep her hands in one place as she kisses you back; they roam everywhere, from the back of your neck, to your shoulders, your waist, your hips. You seem to be having a similar dilemma; she can feel you touching her everywhere, as if you can’t get enough of her. It becomes clear where you’re hoping this will go when you push her blazer off her shoulders. She has absolutely no complaints about that, and guides you to the bed that’s closest.  

After, curled up in her arms, legs entwined with hers, you say, “I want more than just this. Not that it wasn’t fantastic,” you add. “It absolutely was. But I want this to be more than just sex, you know?”

“You want a relationship,” Emily infers.

“Yeah.”

She puts a finger on your chin and nudges it up so she can look you in the eye. “That’s what I want, too.”

You smile at her and kiss her again, gently this time. You sigh in content as you settle your head back on her chest.

Emily doesn’t think she’s ever felt happier.

---

A case the BAU gets in a gated community turns out to be a unique challenge.

“And that is the whole kit and kaboodle on each of your sixty-four suspects,” Garcia says. “Nothing really stands out.”

“That’s pretty much the main problem we’re going to have here,” Spencer says. You’ve got your back to him right now, so he’s taking the opportunity to watch you.

“Yeah. Vanilla doesn’t make your job any easier.”

“No, it does not.”  

“So, um,” Garcia starts. “How’s it going with the agent whose father was a... you know?”

He frowns. “How’d you know that?”

“I might have looked into someone’s hidden background,” she admits. When he doesn’t say anything, she continues, “What? I am not gonna let some strange new person travel with my family and not find out who they are.”

Spencer glances at Seaver before returning his gaze to you. You’re wearing a sweater he’s never seen before today, and it’s really working for you. “I don’t know, she seems fine.”

“What is that in your voice?”

He scrunches his eyebrows. “What’s what in my voice?”

“Oh my god, you think she’s pretty!” she exclaims.

“What? I never said that!” he protests. He starts to panic—Garcia is notoriously bad at keeping secrets; she absolutely cannot know how he feels about you—before realizing that she’s still talking about Seaver.

“Ho, ho, you totally do,” she practically cackles. “Ha ha! PG out, lover boy.”

He frowns down at his phone before putting it back in his pocket. Whatever his tell was, he’s going to have to figure out what it is and stop doing it. He’s lucky Garcia wasn’t there to see who he was actually looking at.

“What was that about?”

Spencer jumps a little. You’ve snuck up on him, coming over when he wasn’t looking at you. “Oh, uh, n—nothing. It was nothing.”

You raise your eyebrows. “I don’t believe you. Your voice did that thing.”

“What thing?”

“You know, the thing where it jumps an octave when you’re surprised,” you say, pointing up.

“Oh. Right.” He clears his throat. “It was just Garcia being... you know, Garcia.”

“Uh-huh.” The expression on your face says you still don’t quite believe him, but to his relief, you move on. “Did she find anything in our suspect pool?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah. I like your sweater, by the way,” he blurts out, the words completely bypassing his brain-to-mouth filter.

You give him that smile, the bright, genuine smile that he absolutely adores. “Thanks!” you say. “Emily got it for me.”

Spencer’s never been able to look away from that smile before.

There’s a first time for everything.

---

When Reid stumbles upon the two of you kissing outside of the hotel room, Emily’s actually relieved. You’d both been talking about taking your relationship public for a while, and now she doesn’t have to come up with a way to actually do it. (You’d vetoed her “just stop keeping yourself quiet when I go down on you in hotel rooms” suggestion.)

But you don’t share that relief. Instead, your mood has changed from playful to anxious—she notices your nervous tic as you both enter the room.

She guides you to sit with her on one of the beds. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

“I...” You chew on your bottom lip. She waits patiently for you to gather your thoughts. “That’s not how I wanted it to go,” you say eventually.

“It’s not how I pictured it, either.” She tilts her head, unsure what to say to make you feel better. “It could’ve been worse, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“It could’ve been Rossi.”

That gets a small laugh from you, but the smile doesn’t last. It drops mere moments later as you look at the wall your room shares with Reid and Morgan’s. “Do you think he’s mad at me?” you ask.

Emily blinks. “Why on earth would he be mad at you?”

“Well, it’s Spencer,” you say. “’Trust issues’ is practically his middle name, and I’ve been keeping this—us—from him for months.”

She takes a moment to consider this. You’re right, of course—no one knows Reid better than you. He does have trust issues; abandonment ones, too. But she still can’t imagine him ever being mad at you.

“I’m not sure it’s even possible for him to be mad at you.” She takes one of your hands in both of hers. “But I’ll talk to him, let him know this is on me.”

You relax a little, but still say, “You don’t have to.”

Emily shakes her head. “I want to,” she assures. “Besides, it’s the least I can do, since you’ve gone along with my boundaries for so long.”

“Of course,” you say quietly, and tip your head to rest on her shoulder. “Thanks.”

“It’s gonna be okay.” She squeezes your hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

---

There’s something going on with you and Emily.

He sees it in Emily first, noticing that she’s biting her nails and acting hypervigilant, constantly scanning her surroundings as if she’s looking out for something.

He can tell you’re worried, too. You’re watching her more than normal, but with a frown instead of a smile, and you’re quick to look away if she glances at you. Your bottom lip is getting chapped and irritated from how often you’re worrying it between your teeth.  

Spencer isn’t sure what to make of it. It doesn’t help that he’s having headaches more and more often, and getting through them is taking up most of his energy. Even worse, you’re so focused on Emily that you don’t seem to notice that something’s wrong with him, too.

He desperately wants you to, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. He just wants to talk to someone, needs to talk to someone about these headaches, about how much they’re scaring him and how all the doctors say he’s fine but he doesn’t believe them. He knows you would listen, but he just can’t seem to bring it up, can’t overcome his fear of being a burden.

He needs his best friend, but she just doesn't seem to be around right now.

---

“I swear to god, Ian, you come anywhere near her, and I will end you.”

The words she’d spoken just two weeks ago when Doyle brought up your name echo in Emily’s head as she looks down at Tsia’s body. She knew he was hunting all of them, but she didn’t expect this. She’d thought she had gotten Tsia out of harm’s way. Instead, she’d sent her right into it.

She’s usually fine with corpses and blood. After all, she’s seen far worse than a gunshot because of this job. But this is her friend, she was talking to her just yesterday—

Morgan finds her out by the fence lining the building with vomit on her boots. He asks what he can do, and she convinces him to swing by her apartment on the way back to the BAU, not only so she can change, but so she can get rid of the necklace.  

Hotch has just barely started the briefing when they return. His words fade to white noise as she looks over her team, her family. Doyle’s killing families, and now that they’re on the case, hers is next. They just don’t know it.

Her eyes come to a stop on you. The entire team was awake most of the night and everyone’s wearing yesterday’s clothes, but you look as beautiful as ever.

Emily knows you’ve been worried about her this past month, but you’ve also been so patient. You’ve never asked her outright what’s going on, instead dropping hints like you can talk to me about anything and have I ever told you that my college psychology professor said I’m a great listener? When you notice her keeping an odd schedule, leaving for hours at a time, you only ask that she text you when she gets home for the night so you’ll know she’s safe.

When Doyle had revealed that he knew what you were to her, Emily’s first thought had been that she should break up with you, for your own safety. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. You were her safe place, her calm in the center of the storm, her sanctuary.

Her profiler brain had backed her up: Ian wasn’t going to care about the official status of your relationship. He already knew she loved you, and he’d recognize that calling it off right after their meeting would be about protection rather than a change in her feelings.

So she had stayed with you, retreated to her safe place when it all became too much. This past month had been hell, but it would have been even worse without you there to keep her head above water.

You are, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to her. And she’ll be damned if Ian Doyle was going to take that away from her.

Enough.

It was time to end this.

---

The only word Spencer can use to describe the hospital waiting room is surreal. It’s eerily quiet. No one is talking, not even Garcia; she’s scribbling in a notebook instead. People switch between sitting and standing. He paces for a while before sitting next to Penelope, hunching forward in a way he knows is going to make his back hurt in a few hours. Everyone’s restless, even if they try to hide it.

Everyone, that is, except you. You’ve barely moved at all.

It had all happened so quickly. Not long after the briefing, they realized Emily was gone. From the document she had gotten from her informants, the team had quickly been able to deduce that four of the names were spies—and through that, that Emily was one, and she was on Doyle’s list.

Hotch found her gun and badge in her desk.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Spencer had said. “Why run? We’re her family. We can help.”

“That’s why,” you’d responded hollowly. “He’s killing families. She ran to protect us.”

It had been a comfort to see JJ walk back into the bullpen, and she was able to get ahold of crucial information: Emily had gone undercover as Lauren Reynolds and began a romantic relationship with Doyle in order to profile him.

It was information that didn’t sit well with most of them, Morgan especially. But you hadn’t seemed too bothered, almost as if it wasn’t news to you. Spencer had brought it up as you were both collecting your go bags for the flight to Boston.

“That didn’t seem to surprise you. Emily sleeping with him,” he clarified when you just raised an eyebrow at him.

“I knew there was a guy she was with for a while,” you’d said. “She told me a bit about what their relationship was like. Said it wasn’t real to her. I didn’t know he was a terrorist.”

Overall, you had handled this as well as could be expected. If it were you instead of Emily, Spencer thinks he would have been an absolute wreck. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to work the case as well as you had. There were some points where the stress had gotten the better of you, though, like when they were watching the video of Emily’s failed ambush and Morgan voiced his discomfort with it.

“She threw a flash-bang grenade into a car. She’s lucky the three people inside didn’t die. Is anybody else bothered by that?”

“No,” you had said bluntly.

Rossi had immediately tried to smooth it over by saying, “Well, three bad guys.”

Seaver is the one who makes the breakthrough on the case, posing the question of, why families? Hotch is able to convince Clyde to help, and Garcia tracked down Doyle’s son. You had recognized Emily’s hands in the photos of Declan’s faked death, and everything had clicked into place, the final piece of the puzzle of her past.

Morgan was the only one on the team to go into the building. “We’re already bending the rules by doing this ourselves,” Hotch had explained. “Our connection to Prentiss compromises the case. We can only afford to send one of us in there. The rest of us will wait outside in the case that he calls for backup.”

Morgan’s call over the comms had given Spencer emotional whiplash. “I’ve got her!” sparking intense relief, but quickly followed by, “I need a medic!”

Hotch had kept everyone from crowding the ambulance. They’d only gotten a brief glimpse of Emily being loaded into the back of it. Morgan had come over to the group once the doors shut and updated everyone on her condition.

“She, um...” He cleared his throat, clearly trying to reign in his emotions. “She was stabbed. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Okay,” you’d said faintly. Then you’d walked a few feet away and thrown up on the pavement.

You haven’t said anything since.

When the team had first arrived at the hospital, you had just stood in the middle of the waiting room, barely moving, until Garcia guided you to sit in a chair. Spencer had tried to talk to you a few times, just to check in, see if you needed anything, but you hadn’t responded at all. Your eyes were unfocused, and he could tell you were lost in whatever was happening in your head.

They wait for a long time. Spencer knows the exact number is floating around in his head somewhere, but he doesn’t care to track it down.

JJ walks in. Everyone looks up. The look on her face says everything he needs to know.

“No,” Garcia whispers at his side.

JJ draws in a breath. “She never made it off the table.”

His body moves on its own; he stands from his chair and tries to leave the room, but JJ stops him with a hand on his chest. “Spence.”

“I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye,” he says, only able to glance at her face once.

“Come here,” JJ says, her voice just barley audible, and pulls him into a hug.

His face crumples, and he starts to cry. His feelings about Emily may have been... complex the last few months, but regardless of any jealousy or anger, she was still one of his closest friends, and he loved her. She was like the big sister he never had, always looking out for him. Being told she’s gone—it doesn’t feel real.

JJ is the one to break the hug, pulling back from him as gently as she can. When he turns back to face the team, his eyes land on you.

You’re sitting next to Rossi and you’ve practically collapsed into him now, your body shaking with silent sobs. Rossi has a few tears of his own falling down his face as he runs his hand up and down your back.

Spencer doesn’t bother to wipe away his own tears as he makes his way to the vacant seat on your other side. He gently places his hand on top of one of yours and says your name quietly. You don’t move except to turn your hand palm up, put your fingers through his, and grip it so tightly, it’s as if you’re hanging on for dear life. He supposes you are.

You’re going to need your best friend to get through this. He knows that because he’s going to need you as well. He may be hopelessly in love with you and long for you to feel the same way, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

It doesn’t matter, because Emily is gone. She’s gone; she isn’t coming back.

And the world feels colder without her.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

[ghost-in-the-hella]

Could I get "39. holding hands in a museum to pull them to the next exhibition", Chasemarsh, Bless this Mess AU?

As you wish :) Same AU as Bless this Mess, but early days. (For those who haven't read Bless this Mess, it's an AU where Victoria and Kate didn't meet until they were adults and therefore Victoria had never bullied Kate) The museum in this ficlet is fictional but based on my own favorite museum, the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art.

---

“This… is a museum?” The building before her has nothing of the grandeur that Victoria has come to expect from museums. It is neither cold nor imposing, just a modest one-story building with some whimsical decorative frills around the entrance. Bright colors show through the large windows. There are bronze statues scattered around the grounds, but they’re all of creatures that look like they’d be more at home in a fairytale than at a museum. Children run around the grounds, screaming and frolicking.

“Of course it is, silly!” Kate stands next to the entrance sign and Vanna Whites a hand across the bold letters. “The Leo and Diane Dillon Museum of Children’s Book Art. See? It says ‘museum’ right there.”

Part of Victoria wants to roll her eyes, curl her upper lip, and unleash a comment so scathing Kate will feel flayed to the bone for having the temerity to call this obvious travesty a ‘museum’. Fortunately, this is the part of Victoria that - with the help of her therapist and years of hard emotional labor - she’s gotten better at catching and overcoming before it can claw its vicious way to the surface. She searches for something nice or at least neutral to say instead. She likes Kate. If she didn’t like her, she would be home marathoning something on crunchyroll in her pajamas instead of getting dressed up on a Saturday morning to go out on this date with her. She doesn’t want to scare Kate off by being needlessly rude. “It’s… not quite what I’d pictured when you invited me to go to a museum with you.”

Kate’s smile doesn’t falter as Victoria had feared. Instead, it softens into a grin that does frankly criminal things to the state of Victoria’s heart. “I know what you mean,” she says so fondly that Victoria is both certain and relieved that Kate has taken her comment as a compliment instead of a barely masked insult. “The first time I came here, I couldn’t believe my eyes.” Her eyes - such warm, lovely eyes; Victoria can’t imagine a work of art that holds a candle to those eyes in any museum - sparkle. “It’s been my favorite museum since I first set foot inside. I come here at least once a month.” She sighs rapturously and Victoria’s heart gives an embarrassing squeeze. “We’re so lucky to have such a special place so close by.”

Victoria makes a noncommittal sound, not wanting to quash Kate’s enthusiasm. Kate smiles at her and beckons playfully for Victoria to follow her as she leads the way inside. They’ve only gone on a handful of dates so far, but already Victoria suspects she’d follow Kate just about anywhere.

The museum truly is unlike any that Victoria’s ever been in before. There are so many children, for one thing. The security guards just smile at them benignly, for another. The last time Victoria was in a museum, she watched someone get chewed out by a security guard for having the audacity to take notes with a pen instead of a pencil. Had a parent been foolish enough to bring a small child inside, they would’ve been stalked by security and stared at so ominously they would soon think better of their faux pas, and perhaps reconsider their decision to reproduce altogether.

But here… Here, the children are not only encouraged to run free, they’re allowed to touch things with their grubby little child hands. Encouraged to, even; there are kiosks set up all over the room they’re in with interactive exhibits, as well as cozy reading areas all around full of children’s books, where parents and children can sit together and paw through museum property with their bare and presumably unwashed hands.

“Isn’t this place amazing?” Kate asks, her voice as warm and gooey as melted chocolate. “You can practically press your nose up against the art and not get in trouble for it. I love it. I can really get in there and see how the artists used all their different materials. It’s so inspiring!”

“I’ve never seen a place like it,” Victoria replies neutrally. Honestly, the idea of children near artwork makes her break out in nervous sweats. She tries to imagine how her parents would react to children running loose at the Chase Space. They’d probably have a coronary each. She herself wasn’t allowed to set foot in the gallery until she was solidly in double digits, and even then she’d always been treated like a disaster waiting to happen, a ticking time bomb in Mary Janes.

Kate nods in satisfaction. “It’s really special.” She gestures at the room they’re in. “This gallery always has a show of Leo and Diane Dillon’s works, plus the interactive exhibits. The specific stuff changes periodically. The gallery across the hall has shows of different works by children’s book illustrators.” She smiles bashfully, a delicious pink tinge warming her cheekbones. “It’s one of my biggest dreams to be included in one of those shows.”

Victoria stops short and blinks rapidly, trying to process. “Here?” she asks, dumbfounded. Here, where children run amok? Where your artwork will never be hung alongside that of a truly great artist?? She remembers Kate mentioning minoring in illustration in undergrad, but somehow that had never really clicked in Victoria’s brain as something important. It’s not like she’d studied photography or even painting, something Victoria would be able to sustain a deep conversation about.

“Of course here!” Kate giggles. “I illustrate children’s books. Well,” she avers with a shy shrug, “a little bit, anyway. It’s only a side hustle right now, but someday I’d like it to be a bigger part of my career.” She looks around the room and sighs dreamily. “It would be such an honor to show here.”

“Here,” Victoria repeats, her brain still struggling to compute. She’s fully being rude now; she can hear it in her voice, a shift from merely confused to straight up condescending.

But Kate just giggles again and rolls her eyes, not looking remotely fazed by Victoria's attitude. “Not every artist needs to show at the Guggenheim, Tori. Some artists dream of being showcased in the Whitney Biennial, and some dream of showing in, well, the Leo and Diane Dillon Museum of Children’s Book Art.”

The nickname throws Victoria even more than Kate’s good natured response to her blatant rudeness does. It distracts her so much she almost doesn’t notice when Kate’s fingers suddenly thread into her own. “Come on,” Kate goes on, “I’m really excited about this month’s exhibit. Have you ever heard of Mary Blair?”

There’s a firm but gentle tug at Victoria’s hand leading her toward the doors separating exhibition rooms and Victoria’s awareness sparks to life. Kate’s holding her hand. Her heart dances a little two-step as she fumbles for words. “N-no, I haven’t.” Heat flushes her cheeks and she clears her throat self-consciously. “My art history degree didn’t cover children’s book art.”

Kate nods thoughtfully as she pushes the doors open and returns the security guard’s smile and wave. “She was actually more involved with animation and concept art, especially for Disney. Murals, too. But it’s true; art history classes tend to leave illustration out as a whole. It’s such a shame, really. There’s some fascinating history there.”

Victoria’s never given a shit about illustration - for children’s books or otherwise - before, but she’s pretty sure Kate could deliver a four hour lecture on the subject and she’d have Victoria’s undivided attention for every minute. “Photography gets the shaft, too, especially in survey courses,” she says. “Anything other than art history courses specifically oriented toward photography, really. It’s like if you’re not a white cishet male painter, you don’t matter.” She shakes her head in aggravation. “As though the advent of photography didn’t change the entire course of art history, and painting in particular. Such bullshit.”

Kate gives Victoria’s hand a little squeeze, and Victoria is floored once more by the realization that Kate is holding her hand. Still. She’s not even leading Victoria anywhere anymore; they’re just standing there, holding hands. It’s astonishing. “We should write a book,” Kate suggests. “Shed some light on the more underappreciated aspects of art history.” Her tone is light and teasing but Victoria finds herself considering it seriously.

“I could probably sell that pitch,” Victoria muses. “I have some contacts in publishing. You could cover illustration, I could cover photography, we could tap my friend Taylor to cover--” She’s snapped out of her brainstorming by the sensation of Kate’s thumb rubbing softly over her knuckles. “Uh, but we can work out those details later. If you want to. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me about…” She gestures with her free hand. “...whatever’s going on here?”

Kate grins and gives her a warm nod, not letting go of her hand as she leads her to the nearest artwork. “Don’t be scared to get up good and close,” Kate instructs her, tugging her closer. “We’re not at the Met, don’t forget.”

Victoria scoffs. “As if I could forget that.” She lets Kate pull her closer til she’s scant inches from the art and her shoulder is pressed firmly against Kate’s. “Close to the art… or to you?” she asks softly. She doesn’t know how to look at art this closely; it all blurs to abstraction as she waits for an answer.

“Both,” Kate replies seconds before a tender kiss presses bold and warm against Victoria’s cheek.

[rosy-cheekx]

Hypothetically

 @aspecarchivesweek Day One: Wish

I wish to make you happy.

Jonathan Sims/Georgie Barker

This was it. Jon fiddles with the pale green collar of his shirt; eyes focused resolutely on the version of himself in the mirror that hung on the wardrobe in his student flat. Tonight’s the night I’m going to ask Georgie to…

He shakes his head to himself, wincing at the end of that sentence. He knows what he’s going to do tonight, what he wants to do tonight, what difference does vocalizing it make, even if it’s just to himself?

Glancing down at his watch, Jon chews his lip. He was meeting Georgie at the bar in thirty minutes. The bar was ten minutes away…He should probably leave now, right? In case he needed to find them seats or use the loo or if the walk ended up taking longer than the dozens of times he’s been there before? He doesn’t want to be late, that would just make everything worse-

Huh. He’s pacing. Jon forces himself to stop and stands in the middle of his bedroom, wrapping his hands around his sides, thumbs digging into his back, feeling his diaphragm push his ribs out and in as he breathes, focusing on the solid movement of his body. Why am I so nervous? His therapist had talked to him, years back, about identifying sources of his anxiety. He hates that it works, hates that it means confronting his own brain and acknowledging his faults.

Is it the bar? No. This bar, The Addison, is one of the few pubs Jon actually enjoys. It’s always got a bit of a draft so even in the busiest nights it never feels like the heat of the room is inescapable. Jon’s not the biggest fan of beer, per se, but he can knock back a pint with the best of them, so long as he has something in his stomach first, and the pretzels and beer cheese The Addison makes are his favorite. The thought of them make his stomach growl.

Is it Georgie? No. He has a lot of strong feelings for Georgie, feels comfortable being himself around her. He drops his stuffy academic persona and can be his regular, less-stuffy-but-still-academic self, the one who speaks to her flatmate’s cat in a higher-pitched voice but still with proper Queen’s English, because “they deserve to be treated with respect, don’t you Madame?” She cares about him, too, he knows that, and he’s enjoyed their months as friends and the past few weeks they’ve been a couple.

As a couple…He feels a twinge of anxiety in his chest that makes him flap his hands instinctively, a quick stim to ward off the impending doom building in his belly. Ah. Found it. He and Georgie have only gone on a few dates: a coffeeshop on a Saturday morning, and a movie night in Georgie’s flat, an evening which had been planned to be a movie marathon of Georgie’s favorite bad horror movies, the B and C rated films that were truly just a vehicle for half-naked women sprinting down alleyways and gratuitous fake blood effects. Any excuse for them to laugh over popcorn and predict the plot points, except Jon had fallen asleep partway through the second movie and had woken up the next morning on Georgie’s couch, a worn fleece blanket over his slumped form. But this? This was a proper night-time date, involving alcohol and a walk home and, Jon was sure, a “mind if I come in?” and it would be different because it wasn’t a friend he was talking to, it was his girlfriend and there were expectations and he was a virgin and didn’t want to disappoint her because he knows Georgie is experienced and she deserves to have a good time and it’s his responsibility as a boyfriend to do that, even if he’s terrified because he hasn’t before—

Woah. Jon takes a deep breath. That was a lot. He did a full Sims, as Georgie would say, letting things snowball in his head until he explodes. He closes his eyes, wringing his hands again, just a gentle flutter at his sides. It’ll be fine. She’ll understand. She has up to now. Georgie has understood his weird studying habits, his deep aversion to spiders, his need to be early everywhere, his sudden shutdowns and stimming habits and how he loves to be held and touched. She can certainly handle him being a nervous virgin.

Jon slips a condom in his wallet and then, hesitating, tears off two more and throws them in. In case he messes up the first time. Checking his watch, he sees its quarter to eight. If he leaves now he’ll only be five minutes early. Perfect.

--

The Addison is a healthy dose of busy on a Thursday night in late autumn, the hum of conversation and music floating over Jon is just the right amount of chaos for him to reach equilibrium, feeling enthused by his nervous energy. He’s sitting at the bartop, spinning the cap to his beer bottle, watching it whirl, whirl, whirl, clattering on the stained wood and spinning all the while. It’s entrancing.

Georgie is speaking to him now. She smiles warmly at him and feels his stomach flip. God, she’s gorgeous when she smiles. Her hair’s in braids this month, pink and orange weaved tightly together, contrasting with the tight black turtleneck dress she wears. He catches himself staring at her profile, the planes of her face animated as she tells him a story about her professor and his alleged vow to fail her this semester. His face is warm. See, he soothes himself, you are attracted to her. You’re just nervous.

“Jon. Jon?” Georgie’s eyebrow is quirked up and she’s smirking at him, like she’s caught him in a lie. “Everything alright? You’re staring.” Jon feels another rush of blood to his cheeks, prickling at how exposed he feels to have been caught up in his thoughts about her.

“Oh-uh, yeah,” he nods, hesitating before reforming his own features into a smile. “I-I was just thinking. Well. How nice you look tonight.” Georgie isn’t immune to compliments, he knows this for certain, and its reaffirmed as she ducks her own head briefly, smile shifting from teasing to soft.

“O-Oh. Thank you, Jon.” She sips her drink, preferring something a little harder than Jon’s beer, usually a vodka cranberry she can nurse throughout a night or throw back when she needs a little something more in her bloodstream, fogging her mind. “You look really nice too, you know. Your green shirt is my favorite.” She gestures to the button up and he nods absently, glancing down at it. When he looks up, her face is close to his, hand weaving into the curls by his ear. He sighs and leans into the touch, feeling a shiver run through him when they kiss. He tastes the cranberry on her lips, vodka on her tongue, her liquid courage enthusing him as well as her (not that she needs any excuse to be bold, really), and makes a choice.

When they pull away for air, he grins wildly at her, the face he makes when he knows he’s about to a very Not-Sims thing. When the bartender makes his rounds again, a pale man in a black button-down, Jon orders his own ruby-red drink. Georgie’s eyebrows meet her hairline as he does so, folding her hands together. “Who are you and what have you done with Jonathan Sims?” The chuckle behind her voice balances the sternness of her words. He just grins at her and takes a sip of his newly-acquired vodka and cranberry juice, the dry flavors curling on his tongue and making his head feel light and warm after even half the glass.  

-

Jon is drunk. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. He knows he’s a lightweight and even the divine soft pretzels he’s been munching on since his arrival can only handle so much. He’s finished his second hard drink on top of the beer and is feeling properly light and airy. Like a cake, he giggles to himself. He’s having fun, chatting with Georgie about life and cats and uni and their plans for the future. Jon’s entertaining a couple of options, a few research jobs in London, and Georgie is poking his side, making him laugh as she teases him about his studying skills being useful for something more than exams.

“At least I have studying skills!” He says, pushing her off his side, linking their fingers together to inhibit her from poking him again. “You can’t ride my coattails forever, you know.”

“I won’t have to! It came in today.”

“What did?” His thoughts are clouded, edges of anxiety smoothed over into something more ignorable.

“My microphone! So I can start my podcast about spooky shit, remember?” Georgie squeezes his hand and finishes her own drink, far along as Jon in liquid consumed but not nearly as affected as he is. “I’m going to uncover the world’s mysteries and teach my faithful audience about the supernatural. I’ve got the title nailed down, too.” With her free hand she paints a banner in the air. “What the Ghost. ‘Cause it’s like ‘what the fuck’ and I can talk about all sorts of weird shit.” Georgie swears a lot, and more when she’s tipsy.

“Can I see it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. “The-the microphone, can I see it?”

Her eyes widen and she nods, “Oh, yeah of course! I haven’t been able to test it out yet, so maybe you can help me.”

Jon insists on paying. So does Georgie. They resign to splitting it, each vowing to pay next time and knowing they will never outsmart each other.

-

Jon doesn’t realize how drunk he is until he’s walking the five minutes to Georgie’s flat. Tucked into her side, the air is cool around his face, the wind an icy hand cupping his cheek. Everything feels smeary, liquid, warm. Hands in the pocket of the peacoat he knows he bought for the aesthetic and not to keep him warm, he fingers his wallet, feels the circular outline inside, and feels…nothing. Good. He can do this.

He’s always loved Georgie’s flat. It is warm, all orange and yellow lamplight, houseplants, and a cosy cluttered look. Her roommate exists only in residuals, the sneakers she leaves by the door and the dishes she does at odd hours more proof she exists than anything like conversation. Jon respects that. Georgie’s room is a lot like the rest of the flat, which means it’s a lot like Georgie herself. Warm, dark, soft, and scattered, with hidden elements of cat hair no matter how many times she cleans. Jon throws his coat over his desk chair and collapses onto her bed, reveling in how her pillows feel under his back. He takes a moment to greet the weird smile-faced stain on her ceiling before sitting up, watching Georgie fold herself next to him and open a carboard box, taking out a chunky black microphone with a USB cable. She brandishes it like a sword, before angling it to her face.

“This is BBC 4 with breaking news,” she intones into the microphone, putting on a crisp RP accent and lowering her voice an octave. “Ghosts and ghouls have been discovered at King’s College, Oxford, residing as university professors. News anchor Jonathan Sims has the story. Sims?”

Jon presses back his giggles and leans into the character, accent already pretty close to the posh voice she puts on. “There’s been an error, actually. They’ve been the students all along. Journalism student Porgie Parker has been found out to have been a ghost. These discoveries were made after her boyfriend, English Literature student…Bonathan Bims, realized she had never picked up a textbook because she couldn’t! Her hands went right through them!” By the time he’s gotten to the word textbook, Georgie has pounced on him, microphone forgotten as she wrestles him to the bed, alternating between poking and tickling him until he lets the bit trail off, voice a mix of giggles and pleas for her to stop.

When she lets off, Jon abruptly realizes the intimacy of their position. She’s straddling him, her hands pinning his wrists to the plush pillow behind his head. They’re both breathing hard, cheeks flushed, and smiling.

Jon isn’t sure who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. His arms are wrapped around Georgie’s neck and her hands are cupping his face, cool to the touch, nails lightly scratching his jawline. The bed is soft and Georgie is warm, pressing in from all sides, and it feels good. This he likes.

She kisses along his jawline and he feels heart rate pickup, flexing his hands (when did he curl them into fists?) as she presses against his neck. He wishes vaguely she’d put her hands back in his hair, he likes that soft feeling of pressure on his scalp. The smile on the ceiling is smirking at him now, the curve of the water stain looking more vicious than it had earlier.

Her hands are on his chest, she’s unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands feel too cold now, the shiver running through him one of anxiety, not desire, and Jon is sitting up before he knows what he’s doing. Fuck. Georgie, the saint, backs off him and kneels beside him on the bed. Jon’s hands flit to the undone buttons, fingertips circling them, suddenly unsure what to do.

“Are you okay, Jon?” Georgie’s voice is softer, eyes searching his face as she wedges her hands underneath her knees. He watches her wrists, the swing of her braids as she cocks her head, anything to avoid her eyes.

“I-” he gestures to her vaguely. “Y-You know I haven’t before, right?”

“Oh. Oh.” Georgie nods, understanding maybe a little better than he expected. “No offense, but I kinda figured, Jon. Not in a bad way!” She backpedals. “I just figured, you know, there’s no rush.”

“I mean, there’s a little of a rush,” he admonishes under his breath. At her hum of confusion: “You know, the whole-” he gestures again, as if he could pluck the word from the air. “-third date…thing.”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs his name, voice soft and so patient, a voice he doesn’t think he’s heard used anywhere else. “There’s no rule saying what we have to do when. Or how. Or ever, for that matter. It’s no one’s business what we do except ours.” She reaches out a hand, waiting for a slight nod, before taking his thin hands in her own. “Is that why you drank more than usual today?”

Jon nods, feeling a sag of relief spread throughout his body. “I just- I want to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy, you twit. That’s why we’re friends and it’s why I’m dating you.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t need sex to be happy. Is it fun? Yes. But not necessary.”

Jon frowns, chewing on his lip and eyeing the window of her bedroom, tracing the rectangle with his eyes over and over again. “I-hmm.” Georgie watches him search for words; she knows how he ticks well enough to know they’re coming if she waits. “What if, hypothetically, I never had sex with you? Ever.”

“Well,” she gave his hands a light squeeze. “Hypothetically, I’d be totally okay with it, though I’d ask if you were asexual and make sure we had appropriate boundaries.”

“Huh?” The word draws him back to her face, the deep brown eyes that search his own. “Asexual. Like, no sex?” She nods, again, ever-patient. “Huh. Asexual.” He drops the pretense. “Maybe.”

Asexual. The word felt good as he rolled it around in his mouth. He traced the letters with his fingertips in cursive against his thigh as Georgie let go of him, rolling off her bed to pull on sweatpants and a t shirt instead of the dress she was wearing 

“Let’s look into it, if you want. Together.” Georgie grins at him now, rye and warm. “I will have to ask you if want hypothetical crisps, because I’m hypothetically fucking starving.”

[jennagill]

Take a Shot at Love

Summary: Katniss is new in town and Peeta is her range guide. Now rated M. 

Part 3 is written for @promptsinpanem in the 15 Days to Finish Your Fic (For Kika) Round. Parts 1 and 2 on AO3 here. They’re short if you missed them in ... checks notes... 2015 and 2018.

Yes. I told him yes. His face brightened into a warm smile at my acceptance. We agreed to meet at the Club but that doesn't stop the butterflies in my stomach while I get ready in my apartment. 

Right now I'm struggling with what to wear. Practical over anything else. Closed toe shoes, high neck top, practical above anything else. I don’t want a rogue shell casing burning me. Besides, it's only a Sunday afternoon, right?

So it feels like a date, but I—and anything else in my head is blinded by the flash of someone’s daytime running lights outside my apartment. It’s just someone turning around but my eyes cut to the clock and I need to leave now. Long-sleeve turtleneck and vest with jeans it is, as I slide into my boots and head out the door. The drive over to the Capitol Hunting Club is mercifully short, compared to the growing list of questions in my head. I park and grab my bow and quiver with standard arrows before rushing inside. 

The main showroom is packed. Who knew so many people wanted to attend this event? How am I ever going to find Peeta in here? My mind buzzes as I scan for his face when a gentle nudge from behind stops me in my tracks. 

“Hey, found you,” he greets me with another one of those disarming smiles. 

He’s definitely cleaned up well. Gone is the safety hue and in its place, a fetching shade that matches his eyes. 

“Hey, uh yeah. This place is crazy busy. How'd you manage the day off from work?” I ask as my eyes roam the facility and catch a few familiar faces. “Looks like they have the whole staff on point here tonight.”

“I traded a coworker for a few Saturdays. It was quite the negotiation,” he pauses for a long moment, as if he is deciding something. “Ultimately though, I told him that I had a really special date,” he says as heat blooms across his cheeks. 

“So this is a date, then?” I say with caution. “I wasn't sure, so I'm glad we have that clarified.” It almost sounds like a contract, rather than romance.

“It's a date if you allow it,” he stammers as his cheeks reach beet red before settling back into his normal skin tone.

I consider this, weighing my heart, body, and head on the matter. I can only imagine the confusion my face must show until I meet his eyes and the fog begins to lift. “I'll allow it, though...having a first date on Valentine's Day? What kind of omen is that?”

“Truth be told, Katniss, I've been wanting to ask you out for months but never worked up the courage until now,” he says quietly. “I’m not placing any special emphasis on the day, I’m just happy to be here, with you.”

Well that’s hard to argue. “Okay, well where do you want to start?” I try with a smile.

“Shoot first?”

“Pardon?”

“The pistol range, then the archery range, and then the meal?” 

“Oh, I don’t… really know that much about pistols, my only experience with guns is the shooting we did the other weekend.”

“Oh I have a feeling you’ll be dead on with your aim and we can rent from the club too since I don’t own a pistol. I’ll run you through a safety briefing too.”

I keep considering his motives and his actions, if they are aligned or if I’m missing something as we move to the first station. It’s not much more than a series of door frames with walls in between, just enough for two people to stand closely with a shelf at waist height to place the weapons. I watch Peeta take aim at the ringed hearts on paper hung seven yards away. Blue, purple, and pink. Pop, pop, pop, goes my nerves and heart. The sound is too much on this indoor range with the pistols, even with the noise canceling headphones Peeta lent me. 

“Your turn,” he gestures and shows me that the pistol is on safety and pointed down range on the shelf. He changes the target out for good measure too. 

I take the pistol in my hands, forming the teacup he mentioned and squinting at the target. The cool steel chills me—I’m more accustomed to the warm bow wood. I flip the safety off and squeeze the trigger, taking a breath between shots. A crackle of electricity runs through my shoulders and spine as I finish my clip but it’s not the same thrill found in the woods. I take another glance at the target. All of the paper hearts are shredded.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Peeta asks in amazement.

“Thanks, though I think I’ll stick with my bow or trap and skeet,” I say, flipping the safety back on, placing the weapon down, and backing away from the shelf. 

Peeta sends another series of shots down range but I’m done shooting pistols for the day. My fingers are itching to get back on a bow. I go over to the archery station for some sanity while Peeta returns the equipment to the rental booth.

Red balloons are attached to the various targets on the archery range with prizes inside. Peeta takes aim with precision and hits nearly all of them. The slips float down to the floor to be retrieved by attendants. “Bullseye! Have you been taking lessons?” I ask casually. 

“No. I just replayed what you told me in my head, and well—I wanted to impress you.” A lopsided grin sneaks across his face and he shuffles his feet.

His honesty takes me aback. He says everything in such an offhand way and I am foolish to have suspected ulterior motives. “Well...it shows, you’ve improved a lot since the other day.” 

He beams at the praise and then it’s my turn to shoot. The attendant notices that the standing balloon targets offer no challenge for me, so he releases balloons from a ceiling net I had not seen earlier. At first it seems stupid, but it turns out to be kind of fun. Much more like hunting a moving creature, albeit a slow-moving one. Since I’m hitting everything he releases, he starts increasing the number of balloons in the drop. I forget the rest of the range and this date and lose myself in the shooting. When I manage to take down all five balloons in one round, I realize it’s so quiet I can hear each prize slip hit the floor. I turn and see the majority of the people of the range have stopped to watch me. Their faces show everything from jealous to admiration, though Peeta’s face is the brightest of them all.

The attendant calls for cease fire and I retrieve my arrows and prize slips—gift cards for the Club store and café, mostly. We venture toward the cake and coffee bar set out for this event. I wrinkle my nose at the coffee but notice that they offer hot chocolate too. “Oooh, that cake looks amazing!” 

“You should have a slice, I have it on good authority that it's delicious,” he says.

He's met with a raised eyebrow.

“It's from my parent’s bakery,” he shrugs with another disarming smile. “Red velvet cake, cream cheese icing, and dark chocolate shavings on top.”

And he’s not wrong. The dark flavors burst in my mouth, sending ripple effects down my spine. The cake and hot chocolate together give me a nervous energy, propelling me toward the next steps of this date. I feel like I could run 26.2 miles now, okay maybe just a half marathon. We both finish our desserts though I have something sweeter in mind. 

“Will you walk me out to my car, Peeta?” 

Like a gentleman, he does and he waits patiently while I put up my equipment in the trunk. 

“Katniss, may I kiss you goodnight—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish because it’s me that leans in, answering his question with my own response. His lips are surprised but warm up instantly to me. His kisses are warm. His kisses leave me dizzy with want. Amazing kisses. Toe-curling kisses. I feel a swipe of his hot tongue in my mouth and I know that I need more.

He must feel the same way since he’s pulling me closer to him and kissing my jaw and neck, or what he can reach around my sweater. His body is so firm wrapped up with mine, something I’d like to explore more in private.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be goodnight,” I say to the sinking sun and feel him pause at the shell of my ear, “maybe we can—“ deep breath “maybe we could go back to my place?” 

Peeta clears his throat and meets my eyes, “Really?” His eyes cut to the parking lot, realizing that we’re still in a very public place.

“Um, yeah, I don’t live far from here and you could follow me there, if you—if you want to, that is,” I manage, though my confidence is slipping.

“Heck yeah, lead the way!” he says and grins. 

“Okay, right, well let’s go,” I say before I change my mind.

If I thought the drive over to the Club was short earlier, this one flew by, my mind racing at the scenario I’ve just proposed. We’ve made it back to my place before I can second guess myself any further. 

He parks next to me and follows me to the door, “This is a great location,” he chatters as I unlock it, “I mean, it’s a nice place too,” and then he’s scratching the back of his neck, looking around my sparse apartment.

“Well… as you know, I haven’t been in town very long and it seems like I spend most of my free time out at the Club, trying to compete for your attention with others,” I shrug. 

“Compete?“ he laughs and hides his face in his large hand for a moment. “You don’t have any competition anywhere, Katniss,” and this time, it’s him that leans in. 

Our lips have barely touched when I ask, “Couch or bed?”

He pulls back to look at me and curls that lip of his under a set of very white teeth. “Honestly, Katniss, whatever happens, you’re calling the shots.” 

“Right then, bed it is,” and I pull him into my bedroom.

We spend the next few hours teasing, tasting, and exploring as much of each other as possible since Peeta only has one condom with him. He makes it last though and thoroughly fucks me. My favorite part is probably his ass. I remember checking it out on that very first day, and it’s certainly ample to cup while trying to coax him deeper into my throat or dig my heels into it as I spur him to the orgasms that finally give our bodies peace. My mind wanders just before we drift off to sleep, I just hope he doesn’t have an early shift tomorrow.

~~~~~~

Thank you @papofglencoe for the encouragement and quick beta skills on this third part! It was fun to come out of semi-retirement!

[heartbreakgrill]

Common Sense; Ashton Irwin.

description: in which he absolutely simps for you even though he’s a world-renowned rockstar.

a/n: listen to common sense by joshua bassett while reading this ¡

Ashton groaned, tossing his phone across the room towards his unmade bed. It landed with a bounce before another ding of his ringtone announced itself. He squeezed his eyes shut, pursed his lips, and fought his feet. Instead of running to his phone, he walked out of his bedroom and towards the rest of the gathering.

He stretched his thumbs as if they were legs having just ran a marathon. They were stuck in a bent position for too long, erasing and retyping messages that he felt were things he’d never even say in real life. He was the member known for being most flirtatious, good at sweet talking girls and bringing them home for less than 12 hours.

But then he met you.

You had self respect, as well as respect for every other person. You wouldn’t let anyone call you honey, baby, or theirs. When talking to other people, you were kind. If you had to lie with a smile though they were annoying you, you let it happen. It wasn’t that you had a shield or wall of heartbreaks up, no. You just gave respect to others and expected the same in return. Sure, you’d been heartbroken because of it.

But Ashton was different. He wasn’t used to girls using full sentences on text message, or demanding to voice call for long conversations that twisted into FaceTiming over cups of coffee. He’d even read a book that you recommended, starting listening to a new artist that was softer than anything he even played. When you asked, he’d get on his knees and beg for more.

It did not go unnoticed by the rest of the band- and their girlfriends.

“Where’s your phone? You managed to get the glue off your fingertips?” Michael laughed over the rim of a beer bottle.

Crystal nudged him with her elbow, “Mikey! Be nice to him. I think its cute.”

“Oh, so cute! Have you seen Love, Actually yet, Ash?” Calum shot him a wink.

Luke laughed loudly at this, earning a similar shove from Sierra. “Oh, cmon, if you guys acted like this, I’m sure you’d get laid twice as much as you do now.”

Luke and Michael froze, sharing a look that was wide eyed and hopeful. Crystal lay her head on Michaels shoulder, “Yes, get in touch with your feminine side.”

Luke jutted open his mouth to protest. Sierra interrupted him by shutting his jaw and patting his cheek, “Its more than wearing eyeshadow and pink shirts. Its accepting the fact that being on the same level with a girl isn’t weak. Or that reading or watching feminine novels or movies doesn’t make you girly. You’re appreciating our culture, the things that we enjoy even though everybody can, despite their gender.”

Ashton, who had been leaning against the door, took a seat next to Calum. “She’d get along with you two really well,” he chuckled lightly.

Crystal sat up in her seat, “Have you two hung at all recently?”

“No, not since I met her two months ago.”

Luke even guffawed at this, “And you’re simping this much?”

Sierra glared at his words, “I think its sweet. The anticipation is building for the two of you. But, I also think its a little sad, Ash.”

The room laughed at this. Ashton nodded with a defeated grin, “It is. She lives, like, fifteen minutes from here. But she’s always busy with work or school. And when she’s free, I’m out of town or busy with work myself.”

“I’d imagine she’s not so busy on a Saturday like tonight,” Crystals eyes lit up.

“She usually works Saturdays, but,” he slowly stood from his spot, excitement welling up in his chest, “I could call her.”

Cheers erupted from the couches, Luke and Calum hooting a thumping cheer as Ashton retraced his steps to his bedroom. He picked up his phone and took a seat on the edge of his bed. A missed call and two text messages sat stacked on his lock screen.

Both from you.

They were from only six minutes ago, so he called back quickly, disregarding the messages. Surely there was hope if you were texting him. That meant you weren’t busy with customers or work in general.

“Hey!” You chirped from your bedroom, sweats and sweatshirts adoring your freezing figure. “Sorry if I bothered you.”

Ash scoffed, playing with the zipper on his jacket, “Not even. I’m sorry I didn’t get your call. I was chatting with the band, their girlfriends. They decided it was crash Ashtons Saturday night.”

“Oh, please, you enjoy the company. I’m sure you even got to brag about your new houseplant.”

“Courtesy of your suggestion.”

You practically cried with adoration, “You’re welcome.” You cleared your throat before reminding yourself of what you wanted to ask, “So, I was gonna ask if you wanted to do something, but we can plan another day.”

“No!” Ashton jumped from his seat, pacing the room in his socks. Static electricity rose through his body from the carpet, but it dissipated when he set a hand on his hip. “No, what I meant was, I was calling you to see if you weren’t working. If you wanted to come over.”

“I’m actually off for the next week two days. I had a temperature this morning, but I’m better now. But, my boss is very strict,” You rolled your eyes, although thankful for the break.

“Great! Ill send you my address?” Ashtons upper lip began to sweat with anxious energy, face flushed with blush red heat.

“Be there in fifteen. Wait-“ You heard static as Ashton refocused the phone on his ear. “I’m off tomorrow, so should I-“

“Pack a bag. See you soon.”

For the next twenty minutes, Ashton paced the area in front of his door, chattering back and forth with his band mates. Sierra and Crystal were bugging him with all kinds of questions about you. His hands kept tugging at his black hair, the light brown roots barely peeking out of his head.

You stepped onto his front porch with zero hesitation, a puff of air emitting from your lips when you settled on your heels. You raised a fist and rapped your knuckles against the wooden oak of his front door.

The door pulled opened quickly, his handsome face lighting up with his eyes tilted down to meet your own. You grinned up at him as your fingers fumbled with the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I am just so taken back because I forgot how pretty you were. Like, you’re gorgeous on the phone, but, like, right now I can see your features much better, and you are gorgeous,” he mumbled through his rambles.

You giggled, nose scrunching, “Hello, Ash.”

His arms were open because of his nonstop gesturing, so you took it as an invitation and stepped into them for a hug. He gasped, quietly, but you felt his chest collapse against your own. He held your waist so delicately, it made your heart sputter over its own steps.

“You smell good,” you inhaled, fingers dancing across his shoulders. “Is it the stuff you told me about?”

He pulled back, allowing you to walk into his house. He closed the door and stopped beside you in the parlor. “It is. Funny you remembered.”

“I have a good memory,” you shrugged, eyes rolling in a gentle manner. “Can I take my shoes off?”

The boys, Sierra, and Crystal were dead silent in the living room, leaning over their own breath as you kicked off your shoes and lined them up against the others perfectly. Ashton took the bag off of your shoulder and set it on the bench above the shoulders.

“Oh, thanks,” you grinned up at him, watching his hands shove into his pockets, feet rock from heel to toe. “Ash?”

“Hm?” He met your eyes, his own slightly alarmed with anxiety.

You pulled his hand from the aforementioned pocket, wrapped tour fingers together, and held onto his bicep with your other hand. “Don’t be nervous. It’s just me.”

His lips perked up, dimples deepening. “That’s why I’m nervous.”

“I’m nervous, too,” you admitted, tooth piercing your bottom lip.

He laughed lightly at this, “You? Nervous? Cmon, you’re always so confident.”

“It’s easy to be that way when you’re not actually in real life. I mean, I’m still kinda hitting myself for saying you smell good.”

Ashton grabbed your other hand, “Let’s cut to the chase for each other, okay?”

“Please?” you shrugged.

“We both like each other. Like, in a romantic way?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Irwin,” you poked at his hip.

He squirmed away, “Okay, proving my point.”

You giggled, which he adored the sound of. “If we both have those feelings, which we already knew of, there’s no need to be scared. We just needed to lay down the line and walk it.”

“How poetic,” Ashton leaned down and pressed a light kiss to your cheek.

You shivered at the touch before your shoulder squared, “Now let’s go meet those friends who are not so secretly spying.”

[paralleljulieverse]

An Angel from Heaven Come to See Us: Darling Lili Turns 50

This week fifty years ago, Darling Lili -- the last of the big Julie Andrews screen musicals of the 1960s -- had its long-delayed World Premiere at Hollywood’s Cinerama Dome on 23 June 1970. 

The event marked the symbolic endpoint of a three-plus-year marathon in which the ill-fated production was beset by an endless stream of problems and delays from inclement weather and union pickets on location to studio takeovers and shady refinancing deals (Bart, 63-72; Dick, 146-48; Wasson, 146-48). This litany of setbacks saw the film’s already sizeable budget blowout to era-record levels estimated anywhere, depending on who you spoke to, between $14-25mill. (Warga, C-20; Wedman, 7-A; Kennedy, 175-77). Egos clashed, tempers frayed and recriminations flew with writer-director, Blake Edwards, blaming Paramount Pictures for imposing impossible demands, and studio executives firing back counter-accusations of reckless indulgence and profligacy (Oldham, 24-25; 44-45). 

That this highly publicised drama played out against the backdrop of the greatest economic downturn to hit Hollywood in half a century garnered Darling Lili an unenviable advance reputation as “the archetypal flop among big budget Hollywood productions” (Oldham, 44). “Rarely has so much bad word of mouth preceded a picture,” wrote the Saturday Review, “As the shooting schedule increased, as the costs mounted, everyone was certain that Darling Lili would prove to be a landmark disaster” (Knight 22). Another widely syndicated newspaper article dubbed it, “The Most Maligned Movie Ever,” prompting Blake Edwards to fume: “I’ve never known of an important picture in production so talked about, whispered about, and, yes, lied about as Darling Lili” (Manners, B5).

Adding fuel to widespread perceptions of the film as a legendary bomb in the making, the release of Darling Lili was held up for over a year by nervous studio execs. By 1969, Paramount had more big budget roadshow product in the pipelines than any other Hollywood studio (“Par’s Big”, 3). Panicked by the repeated failure of roadshow releases, in general, and the growing cultural backlash against big budgeted musicals, in particular, the studio feared they were “on the verge of an unprecedented financial disaster” and vacillated over how to proceed (Farber, 3). They ordered competing rounds of edits to the film, taking material out to secure a G-rating, then reinserting other material in an effort to broaden appeal (Manners, B5; “Par’s Lili Rated G”,5). There were even rumours the film might not get a release at all. It is “hiding somewhere” and seems to have “just evaporated” noted one newspaper report in late-1969 (Gussow, 62; Benchley, 9).

In December, Paramount finally held two sneak test screenings of Darling Lili in Oklahoma City and Kansas City which proved sufficiently positive for the studio to green-light release (“Kansas”, C2). After the test screenings, Robert Evans, production chief at Paramount and longtime vocal critic of Blake Edwards’s direction of the film, sounded an uncharacteristically upbeat note. “At the end of the film, there was a standing ovation,” he enthused, “and almost all the patrons stopped in the lobby to fill in comments cards...term[ing] Darling Lili as excellent, with special acclaim for both Julie Andrews and Rock Hudson” (Muir, 2-S). 

In January 1970, it was announced that Darling Lili would premiere that summer as a hardticket attraction at New York’s Radio City Music Hall (”Par Gets”, 3). The following month, a series of exhibitor previews was held in five major US cities but, in a telling sign the studio still harboured reservations about the film, the trade press was pointedly excluded from all advance screenings ("Not Ready”, 6). This same lingering disquiet resulted in a radically scaled back approach to the film’s release and marketing. 

Originally planned as a reserved-seat roadshow attraction, Darling Lili was ultimately repositioned by Paramount as part of what they called their “Big Summer Playoff,” a package of eight films given saturation releases during the summer off-season starting in June (“Paramount’s Summer Playoff”, 5). Only New York and Los Angeles would screen the film as a 70mm reserved-seat attraction; elsewhere, the plan was for the “pic to quickly saturate every major and minor market with single-house firstruns and key city multiples” (ibid.). In an era when studios typically gave their top films staggered releases and only ever issued B-product or second-runs widely during the quiet summer months, this new-style release strategy had a decided air of dump-it-and-run desperation. 

The apparent lack of care and finesse in the release of Lili did not go unnoticed. “Darling Lili undoubtedly rank[s] among the unusual summer attractions,” commented one newspaper article, “since one would expect to see th[is] multi-million dollar production around holiday time” (Sar, 4-B). Another bluntly opined that Paramount “seems to have dumped the expensive movie rather than spend any more on it” (Taylor, 21-E). Even Julie, normally the soul of diplomatic discretion in such matters, expressed public dismay at the studio’s handling of the film’s release:

“Three weeks before the opening, there was no advertising campaign. None whatsoever. Paramount didn’t seem to know how it was going to sell the picture--or if. I simply can’t understand an attitude like that” (Thomas, 13).

The sudden shift to a summer saturation release also meant the film’s premiere had to be rescheduled as New York’s Radio City Music Hall wasn’t available till July. In late-May, a matter of mere weeks before the film was set to bow, Paramount announced Darling Lili would now make its world premiere at the Cinerama Dome in Hollywood on June 23 before rolling out nationwide the following day (“‘Darling Lili’ to Premiere,” W-2). The New York premiere, meanwhile, would remain at the Music Hall but delayed a full month after the rest of the country.

Putting on a brave face, Julie and Blake did their best to launch their film. On June 18, they attended a special press preview and celebrity reception hosted by Robert Evans and his then partner, Ali McGraw, at the Director’s Guild Theatre (Sar, 24-A). Dressed in a modish psychedelic Pucci pantsuit -- which fans of Julie-trivia will note was a recycled outfit from her recent NBC TV special with Harry Belafonte -- Julie looked relaxed and radiant or, as one columnist put it, “peachy dandy in her wild patterned party pants” (Browning, 2-13). At the after-show reception, she and Blake mingled warmly with a host of Tinseltown notables including Edward G. Robinson, James Garner, Walter Matthau, George Peppard, Raquel Welch, Sally Field, Dyan Cannon, and Peter Graves (ibid).

The following week, Julie and Blake were back for the premiere proper at the Cinerama Dome on 23 June. Dressed to kill in a sleek beaded cocktail gown, Julie posed for press shots on the red carpet with Blake, Robert Evans and Ali McGraw, and co-star Rock Hudson who attended with longtime friend and agent, Flo Allen. Sponsored by the Southern Californian chapter of VIMS, Volunteers in Multiple Sclerosis, the premiere attracted a capacity crowd with an invitation-only champagne supper held at the theatre after the screening (“Premiere”, IV-8) .

For all the old-school Hollywood trappings of the premiere, the American roll-out of Darling Lili was afforded little sense of showmanship or distinction. The Cinerama Dome would be the film’s only fully reserved-seat roadshow presentation (“’Darling Lili’s’ One Reserve,” 7). The film’s run at New York’s Radio City Music Hall -- which will likely be the subject of another post next month, time permitting -- was another exception but it had a hybrid mix of partial reserved and general admission. Elsewhere, the film was released in what could only be described as a woefully slipshod manner. 

The day after the World Premiere, Lili was issued simultaneously to an idiosyncratic assortment of theatres and even drive-ins across the United States including such out-of-the-way places as Lubbock, Texas; Hattiesburg, Mississippi; and Mason City, Iowa. Conversely, several major metropolitan markets didn’t get the film till much later, and some didn’t show it at all. When the film ran it was often booked for a flying season of a week or two -- in some instances, just a few days -- and given little promotion or build-up.

On a PR trip to San Francisco, Blake Edwards was reportedly incensed to discover that Lili was being shown at a local theatre on a double-bill with The Lawyer, an R-rated crime drama (Caen, 6-B). But this was far from an isolated instance. A survey of newspaper advertising from the era shows that, throughout this initial release period, Darling Lili was widely double-billed in US theatres with a range of questionable screen-mates including Downhill Racer, True Grit, Norwood, The Sterile Cuckoo, and Lady in Cement to name a few.

Much like the film’s chequered release pattern, reviews of Darling Lili were sharply mixed. Contrary to the apocalyptic predictions, though, there were surprisingly few outright pans and quite a number of good, even glowing, notices--certainly enough to furnish choice grabs for newspaper ads. Moreover, a common refrain among even lukewarm crits was that the film was far from the disaster everyone anticipated:

“Darling Lili [is] the musical comedy a lot of people have been expecting to be a bomb, but which turns out to be a quite likeable movie” (Crittenden, D-10).

“When a movie becomes notorious like this, everyone expects it to be an unredeeming dud...I’m relieved to say Darling Lili is certainly nobody’s bomb” (Stewart, 28) 

“[E]veryone was certain that Darling Lili would prove to be a landmark disaster. Happily, the opposite seems to be the case...it is definitely, joyously, what the industry likes to call an ‘audience picture’ (Knight, 22).

While many reviewers found aspects of the film wanting, they were mostly full of praise for Julie:

“Miss Andrews has, I think, never looked better, warmer or more emotionally mature, nor has she sounded better. The irony is that she projects a richness which is wasted here. It’s like getting Horowitz to play Chopsticks” (Champlin, IV-1).

“Andrews...is one of the last of the great English music-hallmarks. She can sing effortlessly, make a mug or a moue with equal facility, throw away a line and reel it back in with the best—when she is given half a chance. Her latest, Darling Lili, is only a quarter of a chance (Kanfer, 78). 

“In Darling Lili...Julie Andrews is the most pleasant actress any audience ever had and that’s what counts...The picture’s weaknesses are Hudson and the war...But I think Julie Andrews is enough” (Geurink, 6-T).

“The best way to enjoy Darling Lili is to look upon it as escape fare [with] Miss Andrews’ golden voice for listening pleasure...While she deserves something much better than her role in Darling Lili, Julie Andrews...is still an out and out professional” (Blakley, 6-1).

“Miss Andrews...is absolutely perfectly suited to the title role. Her voice, her mannerisms, her beauty and her obvious delight with the entire project pay off in one of the finest performances of her career” (Fanning, 17).

“The film’s bright moments belong to Miss Andrews. She is a complete entertainer, and tho [sic] she is center stage for nearly the entire film, one never tires of her pure voice and intelligent acting” (Siskel, 12).

Alas, the better-than-expected reviews were not enough to save Darling Lili commercially. By the end of its domestic run, the film had earned a meagre $3.2mill in rentals, placing it 37th in Variety’s list of annual box-office rankings for 1970 (“US Films,” 184). Instructively, the film posted its best returns at the two theatres where it was exhibited with some modicum of prestige showmanship: the Cinerama Dome and Radio City Music Hall. In the case of the latter, Lili actually broke house records for a non-holiday release (“Radio City,” 12). Combined, these two venues accounted for over a third of the film’s entire North American boxoffice grosses. It’s a curious footnote to the whole sorry saga of Darling Lili which does suggest that, while the film would likely never have been a hit, it could certainly have done much better had its distribution and exhibition been more carefully managed. But that is a discussion for another time and another post...

Sources:

Bart, Peter. Infamous Players: A Tale of Movies, the Mob (and Sex). New York: Hachette, 2011.

Benchley, Peter. “1969 A Watershed Year for Motion Picture Industry.” Journal Gazette. 6 January 1970: 9.

Blakley, Thomas. “Julie Andrews Eyes a New Start.” Pittsburgh Press. 28 June 1970: 6-1.

Browning, Norma Lee. “Hollywood Today: Julie’s Reception.” Chicago Tribune. 22 June 1970: B-13.

Caen, Herb. “It’s News to Me.” Hartford Sentinel. 5 August 1970: 6-B.

Canby, Vincent. “Is Hollywood in Hot Water?” New York Times. 9 November 1969: D1, D37.

Champlin, Charles. “Movie Review: ‘Darling Lili’ Has World War I Setting.” Los Angeles Times. 24 June 1970: IV-1, 13.

Crittenden, John. “’Darling Lili’ Surprises by Being Very Pleasant.” The Record. 24 July 1970: D-10.

“’Darling Lili’ to Premiere in Hollywood June 24.” Boxoffice. 25 May 1970: W2.

“’Darling Lili’s’ One Reserve Seat Date.” Variety. 3 June 1970: 7.

Dick, Bernard F. Engulfed: The Death of Paramount Pictures and the Birth of Corporate Hollywood. Louisville, KY: University of Kentucky Press, 2015.

Fanning, Win. “The New Film: Andrews, Hudson in ‘Darling Lili’ at Squirrel Hill.” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. 25 June 1970: 17. 

Farber, Stephen. “End of the Road?” Film Quarterly. 23: 2. Winter 1969-70: 3-16.

Geurink, Bob. “Julie’s Pretty Darling in ‘Lili’.” Atlanta Constitution. 11 July 1970: 6-T.

Gussow, Mel. “Excitement Fills Premier of ‘Dolly’: But Air of Festivity Belies Future of Movie Musicals.” New York Times. 18 December 1969: 62.

Higham, Charles. “Turmoil in Film City.” Sydney Morning Herald - Weekend Magazine. 25 May 1969: 19.

Holston, Kim R. Movie Roadshows: A History and Filmography of Reserved-Seat Limited Showings, 1911-1973. Jefferson, NC: McFarlane and Co, 2013.

Kanfer, Stefan. “Cinema: Quarter Chance.” Time. 96: 4. 27 July 1970: 78.

“Kansas City.” Boxoffice. 22 December 1969: C2.

Knight, Arthur. “How Darling was My Lili.” Saturday Review. 18 July, 1970: 22.

Krämer, Peter. The New Hollywood: From Bonnie and Clyde to Star Wars. London: Wallflower, 2005.

Manners, Dorothy. “The Most Maligned Movie Ever.” San Francisco Examiner. 15 March 1970: B5.

Mills, James. “Why Should He Have it?” Life. 7 Match 1969: 63-76.

Muir, Florabel. “Hollywood: It Snowed Customers.” Daily News. 21 December 1969: 2S.

“Not Ready for Trades But Exhibs See ‘Lili’.” Variety. 28 January 1970: 6.

Oldham, Gabriella, ed. Blake Edwards: Interviews. Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2018.

“Par Gets Hall’s Summer Spot for its ‘Darling Lili’.” Variety. 21 January 1970: 3.

“Para. Sets Preview Series in Five Cities for ‘Lili’.” Boxoffice. 26 January 1970: 10.

“Paramount’s Summer Playoff Strategy: 5,000 Bookings for Eight Major Films.” Variety. 3 June 1970: 5.

“Par���s Big Roadshow Splash.” Variety. 25 June 1969: 3.

“Par’s Lili Rated G.” Variety. 24 September 1969: 5.

“Premiere.” Los Angeles Times. 25 June 1970: IV-8.

“Radio City Music Hall’s All-Time Boxoffice Darling.” Variety. 5 August 1970: 12.

Sar, Ali. “Paramount Unveils Two Top Pictures.” Van Nuys News. 21 June 1970: 24-A.

Sar, Ali. “Curiosity Films: Plagued Studios Hope.” Van Nuys News. 28 June 1970: 4-B.

Siskel, Gene. “The Movies: ‘Darling Lili’.” Chicago Tribune. 22 August 1970: 12.

Sloane, Leonard. “At Paramount, Real Financial Drama.” New York Times. 28 November 1969: 48.

Stewart, Perry. “Warm Kiss from ‘Lili’.” Fort-Worth Star-Telegram. 1 Juy 1970: 28.

Stuart, Byron. "Pictures: Big Budget’s Big Bust-Up." Variety. 23 July 1969: 3, 20.

Taylor, Robert. “‘Lili’ Can Be Charming.” Oakland Tribune. 27 June 1970: 21-E.

Thomas, Bob. “Julie Andrews Praises ‘Lili’.” Courier-News. 15 September 1970: 13.

“U.S. Films’ Share-of-Market Profile.” Variety. 12 May 1971: 36-38, 122, 171-174, 178-179, 182-183, 186-187, 190-191, 205-206.

Warga, Wayne. “Stanley Jaffe: Paramount Risk Jockey.” Los Angeles Times. 24 January 1971: C1, C20-21.

Wasson, Sam. A Splurch in the Kisser: The Movies of Blake Edwards. Middletown: Weslayan University Press, 2009.

Wedman, Les. “The End of the Roadshow.” Vancouver Sun. 9 January 1970: 7A.

Copyright © Brett Farmer 2020