#ordered ink. went shops. bought paper. picked up ink. WRONG INK

[obsob]

u would not believe th day ive had.........im melting in a pot as we speak

[ks-caster]

Letters to Gabriel

Fandom: Heroes

Characters: Elle, Gabriel

Notes: Throughout her arc, Elle develops a coping mechanism where she writes letters to Gabriel - even though she’s often betraying or being betrayed by him, somehow writing her thoughts to him helps.

Gabriel and Peter are going through old Pinehurst files, and Gabe finds a manila envelope full of these letters - she kept them, and they were archived.

Letters 1 and 2, as well as the rest of the outline, are available under the cut.

Chapter 1:

Dear Gabriel,

They didn’t tell me how cute you were. 

Or how depressed. 

It was just supposed to be a simple meet ‘n’ greet assignment; I go in, say hello, plug my name into the back of your head for when it’s needed later, and then walk off the face of the earth until next time. 

Well, you know that’s not how it happened.

My hands are shaking. This has been the craziest afternoon. And now here I am, sitting in a corner of an unused office, writing a letter that I can never send, to a guy I barely know. I’m not good at dealing with stress and fear and uncertainty… all those uncomfortable, nagging emotions that no one—at least in my line of work—ever has. Or at least, they don’t admit to them. 

My father has told me all my life that I’m supposed to be stronger, smarter, better. I can’t stoop to being mediocre in anything, and God forbid I should be below-average. So I can’t be worried, not in front of anyone. I can’t be shocked and disturbed that I almost walked in on your dead body. That’s why I’m scribbling my thoughts to a complete stranger on a memo pad I found—okay, stole from—beside Bennett’s phone. I’ve gotta do something, so maybe this will help me calm down before I break down into a nervous wreck.

After I left your shop, Bennett told me that we’re not just observing you because you have a power. We’re waiting for you to kill someone. Bennett said that we needed to see you hunt “in the wild,” because transferring power from one vessel to another is extremely rare. But I’m guessing that the homemade noose—a sturdy thing; I can’t believe that you actually bought it when I said it broke on its own—might just be an indicator that you’re not interested in killing anymore. Maybe what you did before was a fluke. Maybe we’re wrong in our analysis. Maybe we’re totally off-base, and you didn’t kill the guy at all.

But then, why would you try to hang yourself?

Okay, so you probably did murder him. But, well, I’m an agent—if a junior one—and I’ve killed loads of people. You offed one guy… It’s hard for me to remember that kind of… of innocence. I have to go pretty far back. Actually, I don’t even remember the first person I killed, so I have trouble understanding what the big deal is. But it’s sort of sad, still. You seem like an all-around decent guy who made a mistake that can’t ever be fixed.

And you said I was like an angel. When you looked at me, your eyes were so full of light. I’m a manipulative, violent, compassionless bitch, who dreams of becoming a good enough femme fatale to impress her high-standards father. But when you finally got around to figuring out that I was there, when you asked me for my name, when you said I was like an angel… nobody’s ever looked at me like that. Certainly no one’s ever asked for forgiveness from me. More importantly, I was never the kind of person who would ever even consider giving forgiveness if it was asked.

Your face, the way you saw me, what you said… I liked it. It was like I was actually a nice person, for the first time in, well, ever. 

Even though it’ll be pretty bad luck for you, I look forward to seeing you again. I want to see your face, and see you look at me like I’m an angel.

I want the excuse to act like I’m an angel again.

Until next time,

Elle.

The letter was written on lined notepad paper with the Primatech logo in the bottom right-hand corner of each mini-sheet. It had been folded several different ways, and also torn in half—all at once, by the slant—and carefully repaired with scotch tape. 

Behind him the lock on the door rattled as a key was inserted, and Gabriel took a deep breath and then slid the whole stack of papers back into the envelope, closed it, and hid it inside of his shirt. After spending several virtual years alone with Peter in the dreary loneliness of his mind, Gabriel didn’t keep too many secrets from his friend. But this… until he’d read the whole thing, he wanted it to be just his. Not so much secret as personal, he decided, and that was okay. He was entitled to a little privacy.

Chapter 2:

Elle’s second letter was written on the backs of old calendar pages. On one side of each piece of paper a month was divided into little squares for each date, and on the other side her simple, slanted script filled the entire page with dark blue ink. 

Gabriel had taken the big manila envelope back to the hotel room he was sharing with Peter, and had laid the stack out neatly on the desk, in the order they had been in originally. He resisted the urge to look ahead; he had all the letters, so he might as well read them in the order in which they were written. Besides, this might be the only record left of Elle Bishop’s life, thanks to the efficiency of people like Bennett who wouldn’t want dead agents to leave a paper trail. Out of respect for her, he decided, he would read the letters in order, leaving the memory stick for last, since she clearly wasn’t very high-tech in the beginning.

Dear Gabriel, the second letter began.

Hey, it’s me again. You know, I’ve never actually had peach pie before; it was good.

Being with you… was good.

From the moment I stepped through the door, I was walking on air. I was expecting the “angel look” again, but the whole night, I got something better, something I never knew I’d ever want. You looked at me like I was… me. Not “Agent Bishop,” not the Director’s-Creepy-Twisted-Protégé-Daughter, just me, and no one else. All evening, I was just “Elle.” And it was wonderful.

You said you fought with a hunger for more abilities, that you had wanted to be “more special,” and that now you think it’s okay to be ordinary. But oh, Gabriel, you’ll never be ordinary. No one ordinary could ever make me—me!—feel so calm, so complete, so at-home.

Gabriel, I don’t care how corny that romantically-retarded Bennett said it was. I stand by what I said: you are special just the way you are.

And some tiny corner of my brain, the part of me that still has enough human left in it to care, is utterly repulsed and terrified by what I’m about to do to you.

I tried—well, okay; my attempt was lame and went nowhere. I bucked at the reins a little, that’s a better way of putting it. I told Bennett after I left that I thought your suicide attempt was a wake-up call; that I didn’t think you’d kill again if left to your own devices. I even said I refused to turn you into a monster.

But then he reminded me that if I didn’t follow orders, I wasn’t an agent, and if I wasn’t an agent, I couldn’t stay with the company. I’ve been trained—as Bennett reminded me—since I was four years old, by my father, who believed in me, who supported me, who groomed me to be the best and brightest. If I’m not with the company, then… where am I supposed to go?

He’s my dad. He’s put so much effort into raising me. I can’t betray him. 

Not even for someone who makes me feel as… as right as you do.

I gotta stop writing you letters, seriously. I have the one from the day we met stashed in the bottom of my jewelry box—dunno why I kept that one—but there have been others, just notes, really, scribbled on napkins or post-its. Like I said in the first one, I don’t really know what to do when something’s wrong, you know, in my head. Whenever I’m upset or hurting or just surprised about something, I always “tell you,” even though I’m not actually sending you, the real live Gabriel, any of these letters. It became a habit practically over the night, and it’s sticking like a leech. I’ve tried keeping a journal instead, but it just doesn’t work.

Because when I write, I think about what you might look like reading it. I imagine your face, your eyes, how you might look at me, and tell me it’s okay to be ordinary, that I don’t have to be special either.

But if everything goes as planned with our date-night next Saturday, then… Well, it’s just really, really stupid and probably unhealthy for me to keep doing this. I’d never live it down if someone found these. So this will be my last letter to you, Gabriel.

I really wish there was something I could do to save you from me.

Elle 

It wasn’t the last letter, clearly. The stack below it on the desk had to contain at least four or five more.

Gabriel stood up and strode to the window, pulling on the thin chain to make the horizontal blinds rotate open. He stared down at the parking lot below, needing a moment to breathe before continuing. So, even beforehand she knew that what she was doing was cruel and terrible. 

Turning quickly on his heel, Gabriel stalked back to the desk, sat himself down, and picked up the third letter. Delaying the inevitable was just another kind of slow torture.

Part of Chapter 3:

What have I done?

Elle’s third letter, written in black pen on plain unlined copier paper, began without any introduction.

What have I done? She wrote, the script perfect and even, like that thought had consumed her long enough for her to write it out neatly before she could continue. The rest of the letter was barely legible—her hands must have been shaking terribly, or else she’d written it in a moving vehicle. Probably the former, Gabriel thought as he carefully deciphered the wobbly handwriting.

What have I done? Oh Gabriel, what have I done to you?

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Gabriel, you can’t imagine how sorry I am—or perhaps you can. You tried to kill yourself, after all, when you murdered that man, and now I’ve destroyed you, and there’s a razor-blade on the desk by my elbow still wet with my blood. Some people say that cutting helps when you feel like this, but it didn’t help me at all. 

Nothing can help me right now; not even writing this. The thing I do to keep myself sane now hinges on someone whose sanity I shattered. Irony is cruel…

Even killing myself—yes, I thought about that—wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything, it wouldn’t undo anything. So here I sit, bandages wrapped around my bleeding arm, writing yet another letter I can never send, to a man to whom I really do owe these words. I’m so sorry.

And you didn’t kill me.

You told me to get out—to run away before you hurt me. Even in that state, even in the frenzy I pushed you into, you had a strong enough heart to try and save me.

The paper was badly water-damaged; from tears, Gabriel assumed. These obscured the writing so badly that for several paragraphs, only a few scattered words were readable. 

Twenty-two years of my life, the letter continued after the worst of the damage, and I’ve never had anyone look at me like you did—in the clock shop like I was an angel, and in your apartment like I was just Elle. You made me feel like I could actually be that way; not Agent Bishop, but just myself. 

The next sentence was crossed out, and Gabriel had to focus carefully to make out the words. Even my father never looks at me that way, she’d said, and then deleted as best she could.

But I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can’t unmake the monster I created. No matter how much I wish I’d been brave enough or good enough to say “no” at the time, I can’t change the past. I hate myself, and I think I always will. I hope I do. If I brush this feeling under the rug, if I forget how horrible this was, how horrible I was… then what will I become? It must have taken a demon to raise a demon.

She post-scripts more about how much of a coward she is: she doesn’t type it because she doesn’t want any chance that a record of her emotional slip-up will reach Bennett or her father. When Gabriel finds it, it has been torn in half and then carefully repaired with scotch tape.

Outline:

Chapter 3: Elle’s third “letter” is a long rambling apology, dated the same day she manipulated him into killing Trevor. That night she went home and was so full of self-loathing that she didn’t know what to do. She tried to let it out by cutting herself, but it didn’t help; she wasn’t changing anything, and even suicide wouldn’t change what she’d done to him. So she patched herself up and decided to write him a letter—a letter that she knew even then that she could never actually send—telling him how incredibly stupid and guilty and sorry, sorry, sorry she was. Twenty-two years of life, and she’d never had anyone look at her like he did that day in the clock shop; first with eyes full of tears, then with wonder, like she was an angel, and then that day when they’d had pie in his apartment, like she was just Elle. Not agent Bishop, not some made-up character, but Elle, just herself. Even her father didn’t ever look at her that way. (Perhaps that bit is crossed out?) But she can’t undo what she’s done, no matter how much she wishes she’d been brave enough to say no at the time. The letter is written in shaky handwriting on pieces of unlined blank printer paper. She post-scripts more about how much of a coward she is: she doesn’t type it because she doesn’t want any chance that a record of her emotional slip-up will reach Bennett or her father. When Gabriel finds it, it has been torn in half and then carefully repaired with scotch tape.

Chapter 4: Elle’s fourth letter is written—still by hand—a little more neatly on lined, three-ring-punched paper. It has also been torn and repaired. This one is dated several months after the first, and she talks about how she has Peter in custody, and how she’s read the new files on Sylar, and can’t help but wonder if he’s happier that way, with no inhibitions or conscience. But then she records a conversation she had with Dr. Suresh, and Mohinder tells her about how he found the words “Forgive me!” scrawled in blood on the wall of Gabriel’s apartment before the evidence was removed. Now Elle is conflicted. She wants to be a good daughter and a good agent, but she’s having problems with her father. Her father is concerned about the problem Sylar poses, and she’s afraid that she is being blamed for his actions, even though she was following orders when she created him. That’s why she writes another letter—not to Sylar, but to her friend Gabriel, the sweet single guy whose oddities made him easy to talk to, like he would understand her problems because she wasn’t any stranger than he was. But then she reflects on how she destroyed that part of him, and she can never forgive herself.

Chapter 5: Elle’s fifth letter is a rant, written so hard on the paper that it is torn in places and grooved in others. It is on paper torn out of a notebook, and the only tape repairs are where she tore it from writing too hard. She starts off by calling him every bad name she can think of in all capitals, then calms down enough to record that she tore up her two previous letters, and then thought better of it and fixed them, because writing these was helping her keep her head on straight. She goes on to say all the horrible punishments she’d like to inflict on him, and then says how scared she is. Scared because she created an even worse monster than she ever expected, scared because without her father to guide her she has no idea what she’s supposed to do, scared because there’s relief mixed in; she finally doesn’t have to try so hard to impress him. She’s so confused, and even though she hates him, writing a letter to the old him seemed like it might help.

Chapter 6: Elle’s sixth letter is written shakily again, and hasn’t been ripped, though several parts of the page were burned off and re-written on clean paper, which was then taped to the bottom so that the whole thing is readable. She admits how much pain she is in, and how lost she is, and how she is going to Bennet—the man who pressured her into turning Gabriel into the monster who killed her father—for help, because he was the man with the plan; the one with all the answers. She feels a dull, routine sort of hatred for him, but she is so confused and hurt and lost that she doesn’t really know how she feels about anyone anymore. She had even started to blame her dearly departed father for turning her into what she is, but she feels that that’s disrespecting him in death and… She feels that she shouldn’t need the man who murdered her father. She shouldn’t need anyone; she’s supposed to be strong. But she needs him. Writing to him is the only thing keeping her sane. And maybe that simple fact just goes to prove how truly crazy she really is. 

Chapter 7: Elle’s seventh letter is written on burned and repaired paper just like her sixth, from sitting on a plane with Claire Bennet, of all people, on her way to some mystery company to get help. She describes again how the lightning is building up inside of her and making her sick, and how she barely dares to hope that this new company will be able to help her. She’s vacillating wildly between hating him and wanting to kill him and almost wishing he were here—the old Gabriel—so that she could talk to him, and have him look at her like that one more time, like she was just Elle and nothing else. The fact that he could feel remorse for what he had done—when he tried to hang himself—the fact that he could try to change, to go straight… The old Gabriel had sort of inspired her to be better. But it wasn’t enough, apparently. She still didn’t have the guts to take his side against the schemes of the Company. 

Chapter 8: Elle’s eighth letter is typed, and in perfect condition. There’s nobody to fear reading it, really, although she does admit to deleting it from the system after she prints it. She says, “Hey Gabriel, what do you know, I’m writing another letter that I’ll never give you, and you’re asleep in the next room over. This is ironic.” She goes on to say how grateful she is for everything he did. Even though he claimed she did it on her own, she says she never would’ve thought it was okay to forgive herself if someone else hadn’t done it first. She says that the things he’s done only allow him to see the good in others better, because he knows what it’s like to be drowning in his own darkness. She admits concern over the Arthur Petrelli situation, but she chooses not to tell him the truth just yet. She says she intends to, but right now he’s so new to the idea that he has a choice about who he is and how he lives. She believes that he’s not destined to become his parents, but she’s not so sure he’ll believe it yet, so as twisted and evil as Arthur is, she lets Gabriel believe he is his father for now, because if he finds out what Sampson Gray is like, she’s afraid he’ll go right back to how he was. She concludes by saying that she believes he has to power to change, and that Arthur may be using him, but he’s also helping him whether he intends to or not. She plans to stick close and help him break away from his pseudo-family, and then tell him the truth when she thinks the time is right. Then she ends by saying, “look at me, acting all mature and knowing, like I think I’m a seer or something. You’re important to me, Gabriel, and I’ll do anything in my power to undo the wrong I did you, even if I have to lie to you for now.” –This would end the cannon drabbles, because Elle literally dies the next day, and Gabriel is confused when he finds a memory stick also in the envelope.

Chapter 9: This one’s a video letter from Gabriel himself; the Gabe of the future. In it, he details out how time would’ve progressed, and talks about his life with Elle—now Elle Gray—and his son, Noah. (The video shows him holding up a picture of their family.) He talks about how Elle’s power started maturing, and she’s a lot more than she seems. She told him that the future would end; that their lives together wouldn’t last, but he said he didn’t care. He wanted her here and now, even if it wouldn’t be forever, because he loved her. A few weeks ago, she started to seem distant and preoccupied, and she finally ‘fessed up that the end of the future was coming soon. She said that she would use the last of her power as she faded to make sure that their son had a chance to survive. He couldn’t time-travel, but he asked her to put this with her letter collection, so that the Gabriel—the Sylar—of the past would find it and know that even though this particular future was gone, the chance for a life without hands covered in blood was still there if he had what it took to follow it. –Gabriel finishes this video in confusion. There’s also a file on the stick, a typed letter from Elle-of-the-Future.

Chapter 10: Elle-of-the-Future writes and explains how she “caught” past-Elle before she made it to that beach, swapped clothes, put on the bloody bandage, and hid her away in another country before taking her place. Since the future—and her existence with it—was disappearing, she would’ve literally faded and vanished if he hadn’t killed her, and she’s still alive, in the past, and pregnant with their son. She says that her vision isn’t nearly as specific as that of the person who initially explained all this to her, and she doesn’t know where his head will be when he reads this, so for their child’s safety she doesn’t say where Elle is. She does say that she loves him, and still believes in him.

Chapter 11-etc…: Meanwhile, Elle—hidden in another country—still writes letters to Gabriel whenever she needs to clear her head. She writes about what happened between her and Elle-of-the-Future, and also writes one when she figures out that she’s pregnant—and it’s gotta be his. She writes about how—on that last, craziest day of her life—she was terrified, but sort of exhilarated, because she knew she’d have to rely on him more, to protect her. 

She writes about how Claire’s media revelation has forced her to keep herself very carefully in check. She has the baby, writes about it, about how much issue she had with her powers maturing while she was pregnant, and how she was afraid to use them at all until the baby was born. 

She writes at length about labor—she has Noah in a wrecked buss, or some such violent scene. Afterward she lets loose a stunning, frightening display of power that has been held in check for far too long. This reveals her true nature to (bad guys/media) and she has to go on the run. Rebel helps her—she leaves his true identity out just in case some random person ever reads it, to Gabriel’s great amusement when he finally reads it. 

Elle ends up working with kids like Rebel and Molly—and a few OC’s—to help other Empowered in need, and once she’s set up in a house, the kids all live there, so she’s part partner, part mom. She writes to him about how she’s not just a mother to her own child, she’s got a group of grade-and-middle-schoolers sleeping on her couches. 

Also she writes all her thoughts about Noah’s name. She wants an angel’s name, because with all the exposure it’s not safe to call him Gray. She thinks about Michael, but it’s too much like Micah, who lives with her, and she doesn’t want it to get confusing. (She doesn’t get a chance to name her son until a while after he is born, due to running for their lives.) In the end, she chooses Noah, because Noah was a survivor, and she thought that if there was any sort of fate attached to a name, she wanted one that came with protection. It didn’t occur to her until later—and another letter—that Bennet’s first name was Noah. Oops, oh well. Maybe Noah Grayson Bishop will be a better Noah than Noah Bennet.

Her letters conclude with some confessions about how much she still misses him, and how she’s so dependent on her memory of him, and wants him for real. Then she says how she can be totally honest here because no one will ever read these, and how even now she doesn’t have the guts to send them, even though she learned through Molly—whose power matured, making her basically omniscient—that he was reformed now and safe to have around baby Noah. She also admits that she’s frightened, because her power is maturing as well, and her body is changing into she doesn’t really know what.

At this point, Molly decides to send the entire package to Gabriel. She writes him a letter as well, explaining that she can’t like him—because of what he did to her parents—but she can’t hate him either, because of what she’s seen of his life and the way he has been changed. She reflects that she doesn’t really have the capacity for hatred anymore, because she knows everything about people, and can’t help but sympathize at least a little. She finishes by saying please don’t tell anyone that she sent the letters, because word might get back to Mohinder, and he wouldn’t understand.

Then Gabriel writes back. In the penultimate chapter, he says he needs to explain, to apologize, and that he’s been thinking about her and missing her too. He says he wants to meet.

In the epilogue, Gabriel enters a restaurant—or wherever—and sees the back of Elle’s head. He is overcome by nerves. She may not have been present as such, but his last memory of her is killing her. He is afraid to approach; his foot won’t move forward anymore. Then Elle lifts up Noah, and he looks Gabriel straight in the eye. It’s a baby’s face, but somehow it says, “Well dad, what are you waiting for? Get over here.” He smiles, and takes the next step towards the booth. 

Down comes the curtain, have a nice day readers!

[jennifersylvesters]

ring ring ( part one )

Pairing: flower shop owner!Chris Evans x coffee shop manager!reader Word Count: ~3.2k A/N: an update after four months?? can you believe?? sorry for the wait on this! hopefully it doesn’t disappoint. thanks to fay for helping me edit this. feedback is always appreciated/loved aka it’d be real swell if you did

There was a certain rhythm in your life that you became used to. Certain sounds were easily recognizable as you became used to hearing them daily.

The gentle chimes indicated someone was either entering or exiting the shop. During busier hours, the chimes clanged violently with people bustling in and out.

The frantic beeping from the small timer reminded whoever was on “drip duty” to make a fresh batch of coffee.

These peculiar yet distinct sounds even helped you perfect shorter times when making drinks.

Three seconds of the hissing sound from the steam wand would shrill throughout the store before moving into a low rumble. You’d pour the milk into the cup before placing any necessary garnishes. Into the sink the used container would go, clunking as it fell. With a quick click of the lid snapping into place, you would call out the customer's name on the completed beverage. Warm water would quickly slosh through the barista cup and once clean, it was set aside, signaling you were finished with one order. And then it was onto the next one.

Sometimes these sounds blended together so effortlessly that you were unaware of how quickly time slipped away in the cafe.

When the morning rush dwindled down, you often took your lunch break. Before heading to the break room you always reminded the crew to tidy up, earning you eye rolls. Of course they would do so. They appreciated their dedicated leader too much than to let you down.

Silence lingered in the break room, often driving you crazy and forcing you to turn on the radio. While you ate, you ran through tasks you needed to complete. You’d scribble down everything swarming in your mind from the supply order that week to the notes you wanted to discuss with the owner. Lucky for you the monthly meeting with the big boss usually went fairly smooth seeing as he had complete faith in you.

When you finally finished creating tasks, your thoughts would roam to more pleasant and lighthearted topics. More often than not you wondered about what surprises your favorite day might bring.

Wednesday rolled around and you were mildly disappointed when Tommy swung open the door instead of Chris. Tommy was one of Chris’s workers who often did deliveries despite rarely delivering to you. That, of course, didn’t stop Tommy from frequenting the shop.

At this point you knew Tommy fairly well. He was a sweet kid with high energy, sometimes bouncing off the walls; the iced mochas you provided him never seemed necessary but who were you to deprive him of caffeine?

You greeted Tommy with a wave as you stepped from behind the counter. The bouquet in his arms was stunning, causing you to bite down on your lip; they were marigolds wrapped in brown wrapping paper with gold ribbon tying them altogether. You saw your name on the note written in gold ink and a small heart doodled at the end.

It made you wonder if your secret admirer had that good of handwriting or if he got someone else to write your name with such elaborate calligraphy. Either way, you couldn’t believe someone would gift you something as marvelous as this.

“Sorry to have your hopes dashed like that” Tom apologized, pulling you out of thoughts.

You turned your head up gazing at him questionably.

“Must’ve been expecting Chris, but you got me instead.”

“Oh, Tommy. That’s not true!” you replied, feeling guilt swell up. “I like when you drop by too! I think you’re great company! Really!”

He just smiled knowingly as he handed you the flowers. You took it into your arms cradling it delicately.

Gently tugging the note intertwined with the flowers, your face lit up seeing the words neatly sprawled on the paper.

Y/N,

Sometimes it's difficult choosing the right flowers. I want them to encapsulate your beauty yet I know that would never be possible. How could they ever compare to you? I hope these marigolds can express how much you light up my day.

-Your Secret Admirer

“These are lovely” you gushed. Tommy nodded his head watching your enamored state.

“He wanted to come, y’know.” Tommy mentioned as you reread the note, words always sweeter than the last. “He’s just, erm, tied up at the moment.”

You glanced up to see the young man fidgeting. He seemed slightly nervous, almost as if he said too much. Looking across the street, you saw Chris and his beau.

Scarlett’s hands were on her waist with a scowl upon her face while Chris’s brows pinched together. He tried taking her hand in his, but she yanked away. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. Despite being unable to hear the conversation, you could tell how she was shouting at him in the empty shop.

“It’s fine,” you managed out before turning away from the scene.

Something about the commotion you witnessed troubled you. Just the sight of Chris looking distressed made you wish there was something - anything - you could do to lift his spirits.

You hesitantly asked Tommy to wait a minute to which he nodded compliantly. As he drummed his fingers on the counter you made two cups of coffee, adding a sprinkle of vanilla and a dash of cinnamon. You slid the cups his way, announcing they were on the house.

“Thanks. He’ll appreciate it.” You ignored his latter comment and the scampish grin he wore walking out the door. He could think whatever he wanted about your feelings for the flower shop owner; it didn’t mean they were true. At least nothing you would ever admit out loud.

Work days had a defined rhythm, something you paced yourself to. Days off played differently with no distinctive beat. They left you with a desire to do something enjoyable outside rather than keeping yourself cooped up. Yet you often struggled to think of leisurely activities, asking friends for advice on what to do.

This week’s day off was no exception. You simply wandered around a recommended outdoor market, picking up a couple of items while conversing with friendly faces. By the time your evening rolled around, you settled on the plan of going to the movies.

Despite an invitation to go out to the bar with friends, tonight you wanted to relax and wind down; it would be a nice moment to simply breathe.

As you entered the multiplex’s lobby, you noticed a couple arguing near the napkin station. To your surprise, you recognized the pair as Scarlett and Chris.This felt like deja vu witnessing her lash out at him as he ran his hand through his hair frustratedly.

“Scarlett, please” he pleaded, taking her hand in his.

“Go watch the movie by yourself” she snapped as she yanked her hand away and stormed out of the theater.

As Chris stood there dejected, it nearly broke your heart. His slumped posture made him look so small and weak despite his tall stature. How someone could treat him so roughly was beyond your understanding.

“Hey, Y/N.” Shoot. You had been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed his head turn and spot you nearby. You wanted to scurry off in hope he might believe he mistook you for the wrong person. But after seeing that terrible display, you weren’t sure you could muster that.

“Are you watching ‘Roman Holiday’ as well?” It made you wonder if Scarlett got upset because it wasn’t her first choice of film.

Still, you nodded your head at him, telling him how you planned on finding a good seat in the middle.  

“Aw, c’mon. The middle? Where’s the fun in that?” he teased you. “You should sit with me.”

You knew it wasn’t a good plan. After all, you just watched him get into a fight with his girlfriend. But the way he looked at you - almost pleading for you to join his company - made you eventually agree to sit with him.

Despite the previous fight, he acted as if nothing happened between him and Scarlett. He walked in and scanned the auditorium before gesturing you to follow him. “The second to last row is the best option” he confirmed as he plopped down in the center of said row. You weren’t sure you agreed, but you took a seat to his right.  

While waiting for the movie to begin, he apologized for not showing up on Wednesday to which you easily waved off. He informed you how his dog got sick and that he needed to attend to him. It made you wonder if this was an excuse to cover up the argument or if this was what set off the argument that day in the flower shop.

Still, you didn’t pry. You told yourself it wasn’t your business. If he could respect your privacy, you could extend the same courtesy. Instead, you switched subjects, talking about how earlier you spent time at the outdoor market he recommended you visit. He beamed as you told him how much you enjoyed the vendors there before proudly announcing that most of them were good friends of his.

As the lights dimmed, you realized that there were only four other people in the theater. Apparently no one wanted to pay to see a classic when they could watch it at home. But there was something more enjoyable about seeing it in a theatre with the huge screen; it was a  completely different experience than your apartment’s small television.

Apparently Chris must’ve felt the say way as he leaned over and whispered “The movie theater’s really the only way to experience a classic, isn’t it?” You nodded, glad that someone understood your thoughts.

He asked if you wanted candy, holding out a bag of M&Ms for you to enjoy. You politely declined, stating that you bought Skittles. The two of you began to quietly argue about which candy was best only stopping when you became entranced by the film stars on the screen.

As the movie played, Chris repeatedly offered his popcorn to you. “It’s not like I can finish a whole tub by myself,” he insisted. You found yourself scooping up handfuls of popcorn as the movie progressed, leaning closer to him as he whispered fun facts about the movie.

By the time the credits rolled, you couldn’t believe how quickly the two hours flew by. You could’ve stayed longer if that meant you got to hang with Chris. He let out a low grunt as he stretched his arms up, inadvertently pulling his shirt up and exposing some skin. You turned away feeling shy by this view. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to have your nerves on end. 

“That’s probably one of my favorite movies” he admitted as he stood up. As you both walked back to the lobby, you thanked him for his company. “Honestly, I should be the one thanking you” he replied flashing you a bright smile.

Why was it that he could get you so flustered with just a simple glance? You told yourself that he was off limits, yet your heart couldn’t help but beat faster for him.

He offered to walk you home and despite your initial protests, you were weak to his insistence. You were grateful for the good weather as the two of you walked side by side. Despite having longer legs, he took his time so that you never needed to catch up with his pace.

Normally silence bothered you, begging for something to fill the emptiness. Yet this moment being with Chris - arms gently swinging next to one another and just enjoy one another’s presence - was pleasant in a way that you couldn’t particularly define.

“Am I difficult?” he asked out of the blue. You paused, unsure of what to say. Where had that thought come from?

“No. I don’t think so. You’re really amazing” you assured him.

“Sometimes I feel-” he sighed, pausing as he attempted to construct his thoughts properly. “-It feels like I can’t do things right sometimes. Do y’know what I mean?”

Was this about Scarlett? His shop? Either way, this felt personal. You wondered if it was your place to even say anything. One look at his face and your heart ached at his visible frustration.

“I get it. But you’re not difficult, Chris. Maybe you’re going through something hard that I can’t understand, but I mean it. You’re not a difficult person. You’ve always been very nice to me, and I’m just...I guess I’m thankful for that.” You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks hearing those words slip out. It wasn’t a confession yet it felt oddly revealing.

Looking up at Chris, he seemed to be in higher spirits. With a lopsided grin on his face, he pulled you in for a hug, catching you by surprise. “Thanks” he murmured, holding you in his arms for longer than you expected. When he finally pulled away, all you could do was nod.  

The rest of the walk was filled with Chris discussing his favorite movies with you. You couldn’t help but giggle as he proclaimed how much he loved Disney movies, admitting that he always cried at Mufasa dying. “I weep like a big ol’ baby! Just tears everywhere” he laughed, moving his hands around animatedly.

When you finally reached your apartment, he insisted you two should hang out again. It was a nice thought, something you wished could happen. Yet you knew it wouldn’t.

There was the factor of Scarlett being a part of his life. You highly doubted she would approve of him hanging out with you. In fact you could imagine the sharp glares she’d send your way, making your mornings even more difficult.

Not to mention the tiny detail that the more time you spent around Chris, the more you liked him. He wasn’t your secret admirer, yet his words constantly rung in your head. The minuscule facts that he told you stayed on your mind making you wish you could know him better. But he wasn’t yours to love or even dream about in a romantic way.

“Yeah, maybe” you shrugged, knowing that nothing would escalate. You wouldn’t let it.

“See you around, Y/N” he waved as you entered your complex. Despite repeating that you wouldn’t fall for Chris, you found yourself already looking forward to Wednesday.

Monday rolled around and you found yourself falling back into your normal routine once more. The repeated sounds comforted you as your workday flew by. As one of your workers went on their lunch, you found yourself reorganizing espresso bags until the chimes rang.

Peeking your head out of the stock room, you were surprised to see Anthony coming into the shop by himself. Normally he got coffee with Sebastian, but his upbeat presence was always welcomed.

“Hey, Anthony” you smiled, already grabbing a medium cup to get his usual dark roast. He grinned widely pulling out his wallet.

“You’re not even going to ask what I want?”

“Don’t tell me you plan on switching up on me now” you joked as you poured the coffee three fourths of the way. You ducked down to the fridge grabbing the whole milk and filling the rest of his order.

“Course not. But this sorta feels like you're trying to kick me out. You would kick this pretty face out just like that? ‘Cause that’s cold. I think I'm pretty good company to be done dirty like that.” You rolled your eyes at his joking nature.

“If you say so.” Ringing up his order, you slid the coffee his way as he handed you a couple bills insisting you keep the change. Tossing the change into your tip jar, you started back towards the stock room when you realized he still stood in front.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” he asked nervously.

You nodded, curious what had him so serious and perplexed. “Go for it.”

“What are your thoughts on Sebastian?”

You paused trying to think of what to say. It wouldn’t be professional to talk about any of your customers in such an impolite manner, but how could one even explain the feelings you had towards Sebastian?

“I don’t mean to be intrusive” he apologized. “It’s just...Seb isn’t particularly mindful about how he’s perceived.”

“He’s” - you paused, selecting your words carefully - “very thoughtful in his own specific manner.”

This notion seemed to relieve Anthony, who took a deep breath before scratching his eyebrow. “Yes, that’s one way to view him.”

The door chimed and both of you turned spotting Sebastian at the front. Speak of the Devil. He paused, letting the door swing shut behind him. The bartender seemed confused by his friend’s presence, quirking his eyebrow up as he stared at Anthony. His friend just returned the glance with a tight lipped smile.

Despite this strange energy, you warmly welcomed Sebastian into the shop.

He approached the pair of you slowly, hands shoved in his pockets as his eyes flicked from you to his friend. There seemed to be a mental communication between the men as Anthony quickly dismissed himself, thanking you before giving a brief nod towards Sebastian.

“He wasn’t…” Seb started, watching his friend rush out the door. “He didn’t say anything inappropriate, did he?”

You shook your head as Seb seemed to be relieved at your response.

Grabbing a cup, you began working on a latte as Sebastian watched you with a puzzled expression. “Decaf latte with skim milk and two shots, one pack of raw sugar, and a sprinkle of cinnamon, right?” He blinked, taken back by your recital of his usual order. Normally you simply made his drink while he finished the rest of the minor details at the milk and sugar bar. Then again he never spoke much besides his order and a gruff thanks; so perhaps he had good reason to be surprised.

Watching your brisk movements, he blinked a couple times before he nodding his head. “You can always ask us to put the sugar and cinnamon in for you, y’know? We don’t mind.” Seb said nothing, only listening to the sound of the espresso machine whirring as you hummed to the song that bustled throughout the shop.

Placing the coffee in front of him, you held up a hand indicating for him to stop rummaging for his wallet. “Wait one sec. Just...Try it first.” There it was again; the hesitant glance he gave you made you laugh. The more he resisted, the more you wanted this man to trust and understand you. “I wanna know that I did it right,” you reassured him.

His brow creased almost unnerved at how lighthearted you were in this matter. Sebastian took a sip before nodding his head. “Good” he grunted, which caused you to beam. It wasn’t much, but you could deal with baby steps.

“Glad to know that I can do something right” you smiled as you watched him stare down at his drink.

He slid a ten dollar bill your way. As you opened up the register to make change, he was already close to breezing out the door. He paused before leaving, turning and looking at you. “You’re a lot more amazing than you give yourself credit for” he stated, leaving the words to linger in your mind while a pink tinge lingered on your face.

tags list: @sleepybesson, @tomhaz, @supernatural-girl97, @sophiatomlinson23 | @allynalemons | @achishisha, @bibliophilicwit, @brastrangled, @calwitch, @iwonder-womani, @marvelellie, @mustbeaweasleyginger, @nicholasbich, @sillydecoy, @thinkin-bout-queue, @theonelittleone

bolded means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you

[funsize-lucifer-hongjoong]

We Are Stars For Each Other Ch.3 - Hearts Awakened

Genre: fluff, eventual smut, and some angst. NSFW

Female reader X Hongjoong 

Word count: 3,558

So Here’s Chapter 3, released because our boys got their first win and let’s spread some ATEEZ love, Yeah? 

The evening seems to end so fast. It's as though it didn't happen at all. You're home now, a few hours have passed since you left the venue, heartbroken and crushed.

"It's all a game to them." you sigh as you sit down, "They were born to do this to women, or maybe they just like to." Laying back you stare up at the ceiling in distaste.

You lay there, trying to figure out what went wrong. You did everything you could think of. Wooyoung didn't want anything to do with you, and if he did, he was sending mixed signals. Rolling to the side to face the wall, you notice a few tears leaking from your eyes. Had it really hurt you that bad? Maybe it's just because this is your first crush since the breakup. Yeah, that had to be the answer.

"No more fan events for me." steeling yourself and wiping the tears from your cheeks, "And no more K-pop."

Maybe that would be a vain threat to yourself. You had to work all week and there was just too much going on to put any more energy into it.

"I'm an adult, in my 30's. I can't just catch feelings for some random guy, crushes are for teenagers." Rolling over, you decide, it's just for the best.

You fall asleep, not seeing beautiful cat-like eyes, but expressive grey ones, and a beaming smile.

Waking up proved to be harder than you expected when Monday came to pass. It seemed so boring now. It was the same gross Monday morning, with the same ugly outfit, in the same beige building.

Going to work was becoming a chore. You wanted to sit at home and mope, feeling sorry for yourself. The foul mood you were sporting from a bruised ego and busted confidence shined here. It was almost as if, the longer you were in this building, the worse you felt.

Walking home was no different. There were posters on cafe doors of Ateez.

"Fuck my life." You mumble as you walk through the door, "Will these guys never go away? It's like they're haunting me."

You just need to get something to eat, and then you can go back home. Pajamas and junk food were the only things left on your to-do list.

The woman at the counter takes the order, and you sit in a corner booth. Looking out the window wishing for the mess you've made to clean itself up.

A buzzing startles you from a lovely daydream about warm summer weather. Your food is finished and you walk quickly to grab it, and back out the door past that poster again.

"I just want to go home." tears slip from your eyes. You were starting to think that it did hurt more than you originally thought.

It didn't stop you from grabbing the paper off the door, with every intention of throwing it in the nearest garbage can. Once you're in front of one, you can't bring yourself to chuck it in.

"I've got to be the worst at life. I'm just hurting myself." Stuffing the paper in your bag, you walk toward home.

Pajamas and Junk food achieved and Min Seo out of the country for a shoot, you're home alone. Just your whirling thoughts to keep you company.

"Alright Y/N, just pull that poster out and read it. Then throw it straight into the trash." You grab the paper out, reading it aloud, "Ateez Fan sign, at KBS Studios, Friday"

"It must be for an Afterschool pop chart show or something. Why else would KBS be involved?" you question softly

"I understand the whole promotion for the new album, but why are there so many different fan events?" You sit down on the floor, advertisement still in hand.

"Wooyoung looks so gorgeous here. He's so gorgeous all the time." Closing your eyes to the pain ripping through your chest.

"Maybe if I go see him, and just be myself, it'll all work out. Just one more time." A tear hits the paper, staining it and making the ink run. "I could sneak my phone number to him in a gift. Then I'll see what his intentions are."

You tilt your head back, laying the paper down to wipe both hands over your cheeks. Staining them with your pain.

"This is my last chance. I have to make it count." You stand, sticking the poster up to the fridge with a magnet. "Min Seo won't be home for another week, so I'll have to go at it alone. I got this."

With a reserve of confidence you didn't know you had. You snatched up your phone and bought the ticket, walking back to the bedroom.

"I have to do this for my own sanity. If not, I may just go crazy. You've got this Y/N!" Nodding at yourself in the mirror.

"I'm just gonna go to work the rest of the week and before I know it, it'll be Friday." You flop onto your bed.

The rest of the week goes by agonizingly slow. Anxiety bares it's teeth every time you think of how close you're getting.

When you get off of work Thursday you remember something very important, "Oh shit, the gift! I have to get something I can hide my number in. Shhhiiiittt." smacking your palm to your forehead.

"I'm so damn forgetful. Why is it always me?!" you say to the sky, where you hope someone is listening to give some kind of answer to your stupidity.

This plan won't work without the proper pieces, and you didn't remember the main one. Now instead of going home to relax, you have a pain in the ass trip to Hongdae to try to find the perfect gift for Wooyoung.

Hongdae is always busy in the evening. You liked it here when you first moved, but now you see it for what it is. A nightclub infested haven for young people, and the inability to avoid stepping in vomit on the sidewalks.

"So. Fucking. Gross." As you step around, dodging the drunk and the sick.

A small shop in a back alley catches your eye, tiny keychains hang from racks in the window. You walk through the glass door, greeting the older woman behind the counter with a smile.

You see it out of the corner of your eye as you walk the back row. A keychain coin purse shaped like a skull and crossbones, it even had a tiny zipper on the back.

"Perfect." You snatch it up and nearly run up to the woman at the counter. You were so excited you could hardly pull out your card to pay.

You found the perfect gift. What happens tomorrow is decided by fate, and maybe you could pick up a nice dress on your way back to the bus stop.

4 hours in Hongdae and a crammed bus ride later, you're finally home. Kicking off your shoes in the entryway you jog into your room, dumping out a bag onto the bed.

"Here's Wooyoung's present," you smirk, "And here's my new dress." You pick it up and hold it to yourself. The dress was beautiful on the mannequin in the shop window. The length hit just above your knee, in a grey toned fabric with the collar in white.

You hang it from the closet door and grab your phone to text Min Seo. Your fingers flying across the letters, excitement coursing through you.

**Min Seo, I'm going to the Ateez thing tomorrow at KBS.

You weren't expecting her reply so fast.

**Y/N! You're going without me? :(

You smiled at that, she hated to be left out of the fun.

**Yes Minie, I got a new dress for the occasion, I have a plan to get Wooyoung's attention this time.

**Oh yeah? Tell me this plan, maybe I can use it on San

Her reply comes bookended with drooling and eggplant emojis. You can't help but roll your eyes.

**Damn girl, calm down. Lol. I'm gonna put my phone number in this

You take a picture of the tiny toy and send it to her

****Image 234 sent

**OMG Y/N. Why didn't I think of something this brilliant? Ugh. Hey, while you're there, can you tell San I said hello? See if he remembers me, and make sure you tell me EVERYTHING ASAP!

**Alright Minie, I'll do it all for you. Cuz you da real MVP. Lol!

You finish it off with a few heart emojis and a rolling laughing before tossing your phone on the bed.

"Well, tomorrow is the big day. Let's not fuck it up now." Your pep talk ends in a sigh. Closing your eyes for any sleep you can seem to get.

Sleep didn't last as long as the excitement did. You found out quick that it was gonna be a long night, and an even longer day tomorrow.

A long day it was, filled with boring meetings and your mind drifting off to Wooyoung. What would you say to him without sounding like a stalker? This was looking like less of a good idea, the longer you thought about it.

The thought of walking home seemed like torture and taking the bus, worse. A cab seemed like the best option, even though you hated how high the rates were. You flagged one down and rode home in silence. Your mind racing.

Walking into the apartment, shutting the door and leaning against it. The fatigue of sleep loss and the excitement had you burned out at this point.

"Just get it over with. You'll feel better tomorrow, and you can sleep when you die." throwing your bag on the couch and throwing off clothes in every direction on your way to the bathroom.

The process of makeup and hair without Min Seo's help was daunting. It had to be done, even if it was subpar. When you finished, standing to brush the wrinkles from your dress, you thought it was passable at best.

Black heels, your hair braided loosely to one shoulder. The makeup was minimal, only what you knew how to put on. Your eyes were lined, and pink lipstick. You were hoping it was enough to entice Wooyoung, but then you remembered you were going to be yourself.

Dressing up like a high dollar whore last time was an epic fail. Dressing down the first time got no reaction at all. This time it was just you, and you couldn't help the feeling of it not being enough as you walked out the door. All you could hear over the thundering in your chest was the lock clicking behind you.

KBS studio was a bright building at the end of the block. You'd walked through here with Min Seo, but never by yourself. That thought shot fear through you.

Ticket in hand, you walked to the guard at the door. "Hm, no line." You thought, glancing around to confirm no one else was around.

The guard asked about your purse and the stuffed toy in your hand. You nearly forgot to put your number in it, but as he unzipped the top and looked inside to find it empty, you were grateful for your forgetful brain.

"You can pass." The guard nodded his head to the side, "Door 3. The line is in there."

"Thank you!" You scrambled to grab your bag, hooking the keychain on it.

The building itself was much larger than it looked from the street. You followed where the guard pointed you, hearing hushed voices from behind the door stamped with a red 3.

"He wasn't joking. This line is ridiculous." standing with crossed arms you realized why Min Seo always wanted to leave the apartment early.

The table At the front of the room had Ateez seated neatly in a row. Between you and them, a winding queue that looked like a snake of people.

This time was different, it looked more professional than the last fan event. Security stood at either end of the table and between the 8 boys. As the line moved slowly you could take your time to look. You knew mostly who was who now, although you did mix up Yunho and Seonghwa a few times.

Your eyes fell on Wooyoung immediately. He looked so adorable in his sweater with leather straps across his chest. His hair was paler now, almost blonde. His eyes a piercing steel blue.

Grabbing a pen and a small sticky note from your purse you wrote your number down. It was clearly legible. Below the number a tiny heart and Y/N. You folded it up, the line moving slowly still, before putting it in the pouch and pulling the zipper closed.

You were close enough now to hear them talking across the table to the fans stood before them. You clutched the toy skull in your hand, threatening to crush it.

The first one you stood in front of was Yeosang. His smile was adorable, if not a bit mischievous. His hands were thin with long fingers, a piano players hands. A few words were spoken between you as you moved to the next.

Mingi was the bad boy trope. He glanced up at you and bit his lip. While asking if you were excited to see him.

"Is this dude so full of himself that he thinks this actually works?!" You thought, smiling back at him before moving down the line.

When you looked down the table, you saw them. The trio of devilry and filth, sitting like a row of ducks in a pond. San, Wooyoung, and Hongjoong. All sitting beside each other at the end.

"Damn my luck." you said louder then you thought, "Of course they'd all sit together, they probably scheme up which poor girl they're gonna pick on to see if she faints."

You heard Jongho laugh as the next girl had taken your place in front of him. He must've heard you. At least they found you funny, even if they didn't find you charming.

"Well last I checked the score was San had 4, Wooyoung had 6, and Hongjoong had 3. That's been a week ago though." Jongho said as he smirked in your direction.

"Are you planning to be number 5, 7, or 4?" He continued his smile deepening around his eyes.

"I'll just be the first one for you Jongho." You fired back, batting your eyelashes at him. The apples of his smiling cheeks turning rosy.

The line was moving and now you were standing in front of San, and away from Jongho and his inflated ego. You were beside Wooyoung though, and that alone had you nervous.

San seemed to recognize you right away. "Y/N, you came to see me again. Where's Min Seo?"

You noticed he looked a bit sad, not seeing her with you. "She had a modeling contract, so she'll be gone the rest of the week. I came alone this time."

San replied softly, "Ah, tell her to come see me, I miss her lovely smile." he seemed to light up at the thought. It made your heart warm that he felt that way about Min Seo.

While talking with San, you hadn't noticed the eyes that looked over from Wooyoung's other side. Hongjoong was admiring you. "Such a beautiful girl." He thought, as his lip curled into a smirk. He knew you weren't there for him. He had told Wooyoung everything after the last fan event you went to.

Wooyoung had felt so sad for his Hyung then. It seemed to always be like that for Hongjoong. He wasn't the stereotypically pretty man. He was short, with long hair. He didn't follow beauty or fashion trends. There was no way, in his mind, that he could get you away from Wooyoung.

The line moved again, and this was it. Standing in front of Wooyoung. "Goddamnit, why is he so perfect?" you screamed in your head.

Wooyoung glanced up, "Y/N?"

He remembered you. Of all the people he had seen today alone, he knew your name. Your heart soared with new found confidence.

"Wooyoung, you remember my name?" you said, shocked.

"Of course, sweetheart. How can I forget you?" Wooyoung smiled then, but he wouldn't tell you the truth. He knew you alright, if only because Hongjoong Hyung constantly talked about you like you were the last woman on earth.

You stuttered slightly before choking out, "Uh..uhm...I got you something. I put something very special in the pocket, please don't lose it. Alright?"

You handed the toy skull to Wooyoung, your heart hammering away. When he grabbed it from you, his hand brushed yours. Your breath caught in your throat.

The warmth from his fingers and it seemed like all the noise of the event drowned out to silence. It was just the two of you now. He was looking at you with soft eyes and a smile.

"Something special for me?" He looked at the pirate skull noticing the tiny zipper and clipped it to his belt loop. "I'm sure you wrote me a lovely letter, sweetheart. I promise not to let anyone else read it."

Little did you know that Hongjoong had been listening in, barely paying attention to the crying fan in front of him. "She went out of her way for Wooyoung. I'm never going to make this work." He thought to himself, a fake smile plastered on his face.

You stepped in front of Hongjoong, after telling Wooyoung goodbye.

"Hello pink cheeks, back to see me so soon?" Hongjoong spoke softly as he grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers with his smaller ones.

"Of course Shorty, I need to see my guys every now and then." You crinkled your nose at him, absentmindedly playing with the ring he wore.

He laughed. It was a breathy sound, almost as if it were just for you.

"Did you miss me so much?" He said then, pouting.

You smirked at him, two could play this game, and with no concert, there wasn't a chance for him to lure you in with his hip-swinging ways.

"Hongjoong, are you always so flirty with your fans?" You leaned in, "For a man so small, you have a huge ego."

The words had fallen out of your mouth so quickly you couldn't stop them, and Hongjoong turned a shade of red you hadn't seen before. Wooyoung must've overheard it, by the sound of the squeaking laugh to your left.

Hongjoong leaned closer to you, just as the guard was readying you to leave. "Y/N, don't assume I have a huge anything, that's for me to know, and you to find out."

You glanced into his eyes, and it was over. Time stopped, and it was Hongjoong. His pupils were blown out, and his bottom lip between his teeth. When he let go of your hand, the world started spinning again.

"Come see me again Pink cheeks, I'll miss you." He blew you a kiss.

You nodded and walked to your right in a daze. What the hell just happened, and right in front of Wooyoung? Does Hongjoong have no fucking manners?

"He's the fucking devil." You remarked as you turned back from one more look.

Wooyoung wasn't paying attention but Hongjoong was. His eyes were trained on you. He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips and you felt goosebumps run down your arms.

Hongjoong knew you weren't just playing with him. Somewhere deep down, you meant the things you had said. He just hoped he hadn't scared you.

As the fan event wrapped up, and he had watched you walk through the door and back outside, he turned to Wooyoung.

"What was it?! What did she give you? I need to know." Hongjoong sounded desperate and it broke Wooyoung's heart.

"Here hyung, open it and tell me." Wooyoung unclipped the toy and tossed it to Hongjoong.

He opened it quickly, under the table. A small piece of paper was inside and on it a neatly written phone number with a heart. Hongjoong laid his head on the table. You gave Wooyoung your number, maybe he was wrong.

"What was it, Hyung?" Wooyoung asked, concerned for the color draining from Hongjoong's face.

Hongjoong handed Wooyoung the slip of paper, but he didn't lift his head up. When Wooyoung saw what it was, he swallowed hard.

"Hyung, you know I don't want her! I swear! I can't help it!" Wooyoung said quickly, pulling at Hongjoong's sleeve in an attempt to look pitiful and get mercy.

Hongjoong lifted his head and laid his hand on Wooyoung's.

"I know Wooyoung, I know. I'm not mad at you. Would you mind if I kept her number though?" Hongjoong continued, "I need to know if I'm ever on her mind"

Wooyoung smiled at his leader. Hongjoong was tough, but he had a soft spot and you hit it.

"Sure Hyung, keep it, just don't drag me into it." Wooyoung handed the paper back to his hyung. Who then stuffed it into his wallet.

Hongjoong was going to get his answers, one way or another. Just like a pirate, he was ruthless and wouldn't give up until he had his treasure.

[redhourglass]

Bad at Love

Written for @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid and @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian‘s Divas of Storytelling Challenge. My song was Taylor Swift’s “Back to December,” but I also took inspiration from Halsey’s “Bad at Love,” which is where the title is from, as well as countless other TS songs because I’m a monster.

Summary: Ten months after your breakup, you meet up with your ex, realizing where you went wrong in your last fight. (Non-hunter AU)

Warnings: Angst and fluff throughout, reader has some anxiety, Dean has a daughter from a previous relationship

Words: 2.9k

“Huh.” She doesn’t quite know how she feels about it now, but in almost cynical way, she finds it kind of funny. She’d been mistaking love for so many smaller emotions for so long, and the one time she actually gets it right, it’s well after the relationship is already over.

Yesterday.

Her hands hug her coffee mug, now mostly empty, her paint-chipped nails anxiously tapping against the porcelain cup as she shifts her gaze from the looking out the window, to the door, and back again. Straightening her sweater and smoothing the pleats of her skirt, she takes a deep breath through her nose and exhales slowly through her mouth, counting backwards from ten the way her therapist told her to.

Her therapist also advised against multiple cups of coffee, but here she was, on her third cup of the day. She wouldn’t have been so tempted to accept the refill if she hadn’t been so early, but nerves got the best of her. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours the night before, tossing and turning most of the night.

Ten months is a long time to go without thinking about someone. She’s never been able to do that, but kudos to the people who have.  Is it foolish to linger on something that ended almost a year before? Most definitely, but it’s not like she can just forget about what happened. He was a huge part of her life. To discard all those memories would be losing a part of the person he helped her become.

Pushing up the the sleeve of her sweater past her wrist, she glances down at her watch. Seven minutes past ten.

Is he coming? Had he changed his mind?

To be honest, if he had decided not to come, she won’t blame him. She would’ve been hesitant, too, if if one of her exes had asked to see her again.

“And Dean, the one you dated before this. You loved him, correct?”

She opens her mouth to correct her therapist because obviously she hadn’t loved him or she wouldn’t have left, but the words don’t come. Her mouth just hangs open, and she realizes, with a twist of the winch around her heart, that she’d been wrong about herself all along.

“Huh.” She doesn’t quite know how she feels about it now, but in almost cynical way, she finds it kind of funny. She’d been mistaking love for so many smaller emotions for so long, and the one time she actually gets it right, it’s well after the relationship is already over.

The memory threatens to put a gloom on her otherwise hopeful mood, so she straightens her posture, pushes stray strands of hair back behind her ear before glancing again at the watch on her wrist. Figuring she would at least wait another half-hour, she pulls her book from her purse and opens up to the place where she left off.

She found the fairy-tale much simpler and more forgiving and than the real world. As they say, everyone does love a good happy ending. She just hoped her own story could have a fraction of that same happiness, though perhaps with less dragons to slay.

Four pages later, the bell above the door chimes.

She glances up, having been so immersed in her ink and paper world she’d forgotten there was a much larger universe outside of it. As if by magic, her eyes are drawn to the man who’d just come in, her breath catching in a barely audible gasp in her throat. She sets her book down slowly, not even paying much attention to where she places it.

Her table is closer to the wall at the back of the diner, so it takes his eyes a minute to find her. The green of them nearly stops her heart the instant they do. He crosses the room in a few strides, and she reads a similar apprehension on his face as her own.

To combat some of the winter chill, he’s grown a beard, a burgundy knit beanie pulled down over the tops of his ears, and he’s wearing the same mossy green coat she remembers wearing a few times around the apartment. It had smelled so much like him, almost feeling like a hug whenever he wasn’t home.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle, as rugged as she remembers, and warm like tomato soup as he slides into the booth seat across from her.

“Hey yourself.” So much of him is the same, yet now that he’s up close, she can see many of the finer differences. His eyes are different, not in color, but in intensity — stronger, yet distant, like he’s keeping his emotions behind a concrete wall. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping well, either. Maybe thinking about today kept him up late, too.

Her hair has fallen back in front of her face again, bangs too long to be bangs but too short to stay behind her ears. She pushes the hair back out of the way with a single swipe of her hand. “I guess this is kind of awkward, huh?”

“A little,” he says, though his smile is kind.

“Should we start off with the basics?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I’ve never really done this before, met up with an ex, so…”

Her heartbeat thumps loud and fast. “Is it bad that I asked?”

“No, not really,” Dean says. She’s relieved. “It wasn’t really weird or anything, just…strange?”

“That would be a synonym of weird,” she says and can’t help but laugh. It’s not hard to force herself to relax at this point. She’s always been comfortable with Dean, but he was right about this being strange. There’s an urge to let things fall back into old habits, but she knows that she’d quickly fall into the realm of becoming too comfortable if she let things go too far. They aren’t together anymore. She has an inkling that it’s going to be hard to remember that the longer they’re together.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, ignoring the heavy pounding in her chest. She’d read somewhere that acting confident in an otherwise uncomfortable situation could help alleviate some of her anxiety. Sort of a ‘fake it til you make it’ mentality. Her smiles is twice as cool as the nervous teenager she feels like she is on the inside. “So, how has life been treating you, Dean Winchester?”

“Well…” He purses his lips, searching for the right words. “Life’s been treating me…pretty okay, I guess. The shop’s been keeping me pretty busy since you wrote that article about the benefits of supporting local small businesses, so thanks for that. Again.”

“Of course,” Her smile is polite, if not kind.

“But mostly, it’s just been back and forth between home and work,” Dean says. “Bobby…You remember Bobby right?” Y/n grins, remembering the man fondly. It had taken her two weeks to break through his gruff exterior. She finally broke down and bought him an expensive bottle of whiskey. He’d warmed up to her pretty quickly after that. “Well, he hired a couple more people to help run the place and to keep me from working on the weekends as much as possible. Gives him the chance to relax more, too.” Dean leans in close, resting his elbows on the table. “You know, he’s talked about retiring?”

“Well, he’s worked there, what, thirty years?”

“Close to it, yeah.”

“Then he should retire.”

“That’s what I told him,” Dean says. “But I also bet he’d be so bored from sitting around all day that he’d be back at the shop within a month.” His rumbling laugh sends shivers down her spine. He’s exactly the way she remembers. She’s not sure what she expected, but the familiarity of him hits her like a punch to the gut.

She laughs, too, but it’s too distracted to be genuine. “That’s probably true. Poor guy.”

Dean smile remains on his face as he relaxes, small crow’s feet crinkling warmly around his eyes. “So, how’s life treating you these days, Y/n? Same old chaos or has it mellowed out some?” His arms stretch out to rest casually on the top of his booth. “You’re still working for that online newspaper, right?”

The waitress comes by then, taking Dean’s order — a black coffee and a piece of their best pie.

“Yeah, I’m still working there,” Y/n says as the waitress walks away. “It’s been the same old kind of thing, you know, either running around like a madwoman trying to finish an article or throwing crumpled up pieces of paper at the trashcan because I can’t think of what to write about.”

“That sounds stressful.”

“It is,” she says with a sigh, propping her elbow up on the table so she can rest the side of her cheek on the palm of her hand. “Which is part of why I’ve started looking for a different job. I could use a little quiet right now.”

The waitress come back with Dean’s coffee and the slice of pie, setting both down in front of him. Y/n can’t help but smiles when she sees it’s a slice of apple pie, the kind she made for him on Father’s Day.

She sits up straight in her seat as Dean picks up his fork. “How is she?” She bites her lip, fingers knotting together with genuine concern. If anything hurt as badly as ending her relationship with him, it was knowing she’d inadvertently ended her relationship with his daughter as well.

“She’s…good,” Dean replies slowly. “She started the first grade a few months ago at a new school, so that’s been a little rough.”

“Understandably,” she adds. She’s done her fair share of moving around to know what that’s like.

“But she seems to be making some new friends, so I’m happy.” He takes a bite of the pie. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head, unable to hold back a low moan.

There had been a reason she’d chosen this diner. One of her friends at the paper had reviewed it a few months ago and said this diner’s pie was some of the best in the state.

She laughs lightly at Dean’s dramatics, pleased he’d liked it so much. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing okay.”

Dean nods, swallowing. A somber looks crosses his face and he stares down at his plate. “She misses you,” he says, looking up as if to gauge her reaction.

Her heart clenches in her chest. Without much thought, she places her hand over his, brushing her thumb back and forth across his knuckles in a gesture meant for comfort as she says, “I miss her, too.” Dean gives a stiff nod, his jaw locking in discomfort as he struggles to look away from her hand, and she realizes she’d overstepped a boundary. She pulls her hand away and returns it to her lap where it form into a tight fist, so tight her nails dig half-moons into her palm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why’d I do that?

The rest of their time together is brief and skirted. Though they’re getting along just fine for the most part, she can tell Dean’s holding back, not quite laughing the way he used to or smiling as brightly as she remembers. She doesn’t blame him in the slightest, feeling she’s guilty of the doing the same thing.

Ten Months Ago.

He stands behind her as she cooks, distracting her by trailing kisses down the side of her neck as he wraps his arm around her middle, holding her close to him.  “Marry me,” he whispers as he plants a kiss right below her earlobe.

She’d gotten so caught up in what he was doing that she nearly drops the spatula. “What?”

“Marry me.”

She starts to laugh uneasily. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why is that ridiculous?”

She gives him a dubious look. “Um, because we’ve only been together four months?”

He purses his lips, contemplating it for a second, then shrugs. “So what? I don’t see any problem with that.”

Wriggling out of his grasp, she turns around to face him. “So, I haven’t even met your dad yet.”

As expected, Dean stiffens.

“See? What I’d tell you?”  She turns her back to him, returning to her cooking, completely dismissing him.

“That’s not…” Dean huffs, scowling. Digging into the pack pocket of his jeans, he pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

“Calling my dad to see if he wants to have dinner tomorrow night.”

“What? Dean, no!”

“You wanted to meet him,” Dean says, “so I’m letting you meet him. What’s the big deal?” With a frustrated huff, she rips the phone from his hands. “Hey!”

“Dean, I’m not marrying you,” she says stubbornly.

“Why not? Do you not want to?”

“No, I…” The decision is too difficult, too complex for a simple yes or no answer.  She shakes her head helplessly, groaning in frustration as she drops her face into her hands. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice slightly muffled, though not enough to where Dean can’t understand her. “It’s just,” She lifts her head, crossing her arms. “It’s too early for me to think that far into the future. A lot could happen between now and then.”

“Too early to think about our future?” Dean’s eyes narrow. “I have a daughter, Y/n, the one thing I constantly have think about is my future. I need to know that she’s going to be okay, that if something were to happen to me, someone would be here to take care of her. If you’re not willing to think about a future for us, if you can’t even see one, then what’s the point?”

Her eyes widen in shock as the weight of his worlds settle. Moisture stings in her nose, making her eyes glisten.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, actually. I do. I don't date to fool around, Y/n. I do it because I want to marry someone. I’m ready for marriage. Clearly, you’re not, which means I love you in a completely different way than you love me, if you even love me at all.” It’s a low jab, but the resentment and bitterness has been building up for some time.

Y/n’s bottom lip trembles without a sound. She hasn’t said the words yet, fearing their relationship would just end as badly as her previous relationships if she does, like it was some curse of irony or misfortune. He’s said them a number of times, and he’s always said he was okay with her not saying it back, that actions spoke louder than words, but clearly that was a lie.

Dean turns away from her, facing the kitchen table where the two dozen roses he bought for her last week have wilted in their glass vase.

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. We can pack up your things in the morning after I take MJ to school.”

Y/n instantly pales. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

Dean looks back at her. “I’ll tell her,” he decides, knowing it would best best if she heard it from him.

Y/n nods, sniffling, and quickly wipes her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t want to stay ‘til morning,” she says quietly.

Dean presses his mouth in a thin line. “You want help packing your stuff?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’d rather just do it myself.”

When MJ is dropped off after soccer practice later that evening, there’s one less car in the driveway.

Now.

Drinking when you’re at an emotional low is not something she recommends. She hadn’t realized she’d been keeping her feelings locked up until she’d already downed half a bottle of wine.

She should have guessed though, that seeing Dean again after all this time wasn’t something she would just walk away from unscathed. Wounds she’d thought healed have opened like a floodgate, and before long she’s sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, coasting down the road at about forty-five. She has no destination in mind, just relies on the hum of the road beneath her tires and the autonomy of the drive to calm her down. It starts to rain, a dull pat-pat that soothes her tortured soul like a strings in a symphony.

She takes back roads through unfamiliar neighborhoods, choosing turns at whim, and it’s not until she turns onto the last street that she realizes she’d unknowingly been leading herself to an actual destination. She eases to a stop in front of his house, peering out through the rain-streaked car window at the house that glowed softly in the yellow light of the streetlamp out front. There’s a few lights on inside. Pulling up the sleeves of her jacket, she sees that it’s almost midnight, yet Dean appears to still be awake.

The rain has eased up to a light mist by the time she gets out of her car, her breath condensing in a white smoke as it hits the air.

This is her swallowing her pride, her regret, and the feeling that ten months ago she didn’t understand. This is her taking her future by the hand and running with it. Love was once a fleeting thing to her, a mystery, a curse. Now, it’s as simple as breathing.

At his front door, she takes a moment to gather herself and raises her fist to his door, knocking hard four times. Then she shoves her hands back inside the pockets of her jacket, stands back, and waits, counting to ten as she holds her breath, then exhales.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in future fics!

Tagging: @tardis-is-mine @andhiseyesweregreen

[dailynynews-blog]

Disneyland Souvenirs

New Post has been published on https://www.usatelegraph.com/2018/disneyland-souvenirs/

Disneyland Souvenirs

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What You Need to Know About Disneyland Souvenirs

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Here’s a dirty little secret: Some Disneyland souvenirs suffer a shameful fate. That nifty t-shirt goes straight to the donation box, unworn. That souvenir drink cup you paid extra for? It ends up catching dust on the shelf.

Just look how cute all those ear hats are. If you bought a pair, you wouldn’t be the first Disneyland visitor to do it. In fact, they’re one of the most popular Disneyland souvenirs ever. But you’re not going to wear them to work, are you?

The best souvenirs remind you of where you went. They last. They make your heart smile, and you’ll use them or love seeing them in your home for years. The bad ones? Well… as they say, hindsight is 20/20, and you end up wishing you hadn’t purchased them.

Disneyland Souvenirs to Skip

Avoid anything that feels flimsy or seems overpriced. And anything that you can only use at Disneyland, like those glow-in-the-dark mouse ear hats. Skip it if you can buy it at home, too.

Instead, look for things you can use. It’s even better if it’s unique to you and your visit.

Before you buy, walk away for a while. If you’re still thinking about it hours later, you’ll remember and go back. If you forget it in 5 minutes, you avoid a costly mistake.

These Disneyland souvenirs can keep you smiling for years.

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Character Autographed Items

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Instead of collecting characters’ signatures in a book that will gather dust on the shelf, take your Disneyland autographs home on something you can use.

You can get the characters to autograph almost anything, as long you aren’t wearing it at the time.

This canvas bag with red trim cost less than $10. All you need to create it is a Sharpie Permanent Laundry Marker. The characters got excited about unique things like this, too. In fact, the bag’s owner got extra face time with Goofy because he wanted to see all the other autographs.

You could also take a pillowcase and ask the character to write a goodnight message. Or any fabric item. If you’re a quilter, take some fabric squares and work them into a creation for the child (or childlike adult) in your life.

If you choose a washable item, turn it wrong side out and throw it in the dryer when you get home to heat-set the ink before that first wash.

Some visitors take scrapbook pages or photograph mats for the characters to write on and later combine the autograph with a printed photo.

Other ways and places to collect signatures are limited only by your imagination.

Use these tips for meeting the characters to get even more out of your character interaction.

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Clothing You Will Actually wear

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Look beyond the bright-colored t-shirt eye candy to find something you might actually wear at home.

Your wearable item might not be these cute shoes that look like Darth Vader and C3PO, but you’ll find plenty of other attractive options.

For cuter clothing with a Disney style, try D Street and Disney Vault 28 in Downtown Disney, where they have Disney-themed items from brand name designers. Inside Disneyland, you can find clothing you might wear at home at Disney Showcase.

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Disney Tech

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The D-Tech brand of cell phone cases and computer covers includes some cute patterns and designs, from the overtly cartoonish to the subtle mouse-ear textured.

These souvenirs may only last until your next mobile phone upgrade, but you’ll use them every day, and they’ll make other people smile, too.

A Mickey Mouse iPhone cove will provoke total strangers to say hello and say how much they like it. You can get cute selfies in a mirror while holding it, too.

Some of the shops in Tomorrowland feature Tech on Demand, which allows you a more extensive choice of themed designs than it would be practical for them to stock.

You can also buy some D-Tech items online, but you’ll find unique designs at the parks.

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Disney Pins

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Pins are a good souvenir and not very expensive, compared to some of the useless things you take home. You can put them on almost anything. You can keep a Sorcerer Mickey pinned to your tote bag, or stand a too-heavy-to-wear Walt Disney and Mickey pin on your desk at work. You can put them your hat, or your suspenders, too. Or turn them into Christmas tree ornaments.

For even more fun collecting your pin, participate in a Disneyland tradition: pin trading. Look for a Cast Member wearing a lanyard full of pins, have your own pin ready and follow these guidelines.

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Travel Mugs

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If you take your own cup to the local coffee shop every day for a fill-up – or even if you fill it up at home before you hop in the car – you may have a travel cup similar to this already. Why not make an upgrade to one with a cute design that will give you a little smile to go with your daily dose of caffeine?

Several shops at Disneyland carry travel mugs of various kinds. If you don’t see something you like in the first store you visit, keep looking. And if you’re a fan of a particular ride – or the films that inspired some of the attractions, try the gift shop at their exit.

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Get a Disneyland Silhouette

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On Main Street U.S.A. in Disneyland, you’ll find the charmingly old-fashioned silhouette shop. While you sit for them, the shop’s paper artists use nothing but a piece of black paper and a pair of fast-moving scissors to create cute little outline portraits like these.

Get one done of a group of kids – or if you’re by yourself, ask them to put your favorite Disney character in with you.

You’ll also find caricature artists in Downtown Disney and inside the parks.

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Christmas ornaments

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If you celebrate Christmas, an ornament is a perfect souvenir. You’ll find a variety of styles, themes, and characters at most of the souvenir shops throughout the resort.

Back home, remember your trip every year when you put up your decorations. Some of them have the year printed on them, giving you another little clue about the time and place where you first got it.

If you observe another holiday – or none at all – get creative and find a way to integrate these cute ornaments into your yearly celebrations.

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Disney PhotoPass Souvenirs

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Don’t ignore those Disneyland photographers who are hanging around asking if you want your photo taken. They don’t charge to take your picture, but picking up a PhotoPass from them gives you a chance to buy them later if you like.

One of the photographers’ specialties is adding in a little surprise in the digital darkroom, like Tinkerbelle in your hand or a character mixed in with your family.

You can download your photos, send them to friends, have them printed on all kinds of items or mix them with your photos to make a unique keepsake album.

Get the details at the PhotoPass website.

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Disney Art on Demand

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Some people like to buy something at Disneyland to hang on the wall at home.

Those cute little silhouettes would be perfect for that – or you can stop by the collector’s shop next to the Opera House (near the entrance) and pick up a piece of Disney art on demand.

They offer lots of designs, will frame it if you want and ship it straight to your house, so you don’t have to carry it around all day or worry about how to get it into that already bulging suitcase. You can also order art on demand from the Disney store online.