#it's only about ten thousand years late but I finally finished the week lmao

[singinprincess]

Juhi Week Day 7: Wildcard ❤ “Love Love Love” (1989)

#juhichawlaedit #bollywoodedit #aamirkhanedit #Juhi Chawla #Aamir Khan #bollywood2 #juhiweek #bollywood #Love Love Love #spledits #mine #mine: juhi #mine: bollywood #mine: aamir #my gifs #loveloveloveedit #it's only about ten thousand years late but I finally finished the week lmao #SHE IS MY LOVE #same Aamir same

[duskholland]

Say Goodnight | Harrison Osterfield

Summary ↠ you and Harrison broke up before he left to chase his dreams in Hollywood. With 5,000 miles between you, you’re both struggling to adjust to life without the other; exes to lovers; prompt: “why did you call me at 2 in the morning?”

Warnings ↠ angst with a happy ending, a breakup, one curse word?

Word Count ↠ 2.7k

A/N ↠ I miss Harrison. A lot. And I haven’t written enough for him, so...here ya go! This is definitely inspired by Ariana Grande’s song goodnight n go, which never fails to hit me in the feels (listen to the version from her live album... it’s magic).

This is also my fic for @t-holland2080​‘s writing challenge! Thanks so much for hosting such a fun challenge Sammy - I hope you enjoy this :)

(a repost because tumblr decided to block me out the tags lmao)

You didn’t think it was possible to cry this much.

Harrison’s standing in front of you, glistening tear tracks running down his rosy cheeks. His eyes shift over your face, guiltily running the lines and curves of your cheeks and your forehead, trying desperately to stay away from your eyes, because you both know that seeing the heartbreak reflected in his icy blue gaze will be too much. Your chest hurts and you’re shaking, but you know that everything he’s said is true. You know that breaking up is for the best.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I still love you,” Harrison tells you quietly. He rocks back on his feet, his teeth grazing his lower lip before he adds, “I’ll always love you, Y/N. The timing just…”

“The timing isn’t right,” you finish. With shaky hands, you reach up behind your neck and your fingers fiddle with the clasp of the necklace Harrison had draped around you, all those months ago. He makes a small sound of objection as the chain falls heavily into your hands and you hold it out in front of you. “Keep it,” you urge. You finally let yourself meet his eyes, and you try to stay strong as you grab his hand and push the chain into his palm. “So you don’t forget about me whilst you’re off being a movie star.”

Harrison reluctantly pockets the chain, his eyes lingering on the solid curve of the H. “I could never forget about you, Y/N.”

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that the only way Harrison can pursue his dreams is 5,000 miles away, across the Atlantic in America. It’s even more unfair that you can’t go with him because you’re enrolled in university in London. But worst of all, neither of you signed up for a long-distance relationship when you first began dating, and now you’ve had to come to the mutual, heartbreaking decision that breaking up is going to be easier than stringing out a virtual relationship together. It doesn’t matter that you love Harrison more than you’ve ever loved another person, nor that he holds you so closely to his heart that he’s certain you’ve somehow intertwined yourself with his soul: long-distance is too much, and you both think you’ll be too busy to maintain your relationship. Neither of you want to sit by and watch your relationship break down.

So breaking up is simpler, supposedly.

“You should go,” you find yourself saying, swallowing down the lump in your throat. Your hand rests on your front door knob, the cool brass feeling icy against your warm skin. You use your other hand to sweep beneath your cheeks, trying to stop the endless flow of tears from your eyes. “Don’t want you to miss your flight, Haz.”

He runs his hand through his hair, a grimace spread across his face.

“I- Are you sure this is the right choice?” He asks, echoing the words you’ve both been saying for days.

You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know,” you admit. “But I know that I can’t stand here waiting for you to walk away any longer.” You release a deep breath. “Just go, Harrison. Please.”

And he looks like he really wants to stay. His feet twitch, as if he’s about to push his way back into your flat and throw himself down on the sofa like he’s done a thousand times before. But his eyes pass over your tearful, heart stricken face, and he finally sighs, slipping his hands into his back pockets as he manages a weak smile.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he says softly, his lips curving around the words with ease. The way he says your name so fondly causes the pain in your chest to crack and expand.

“Bye, Harrison.”

And then he turns, slowly, and you watch as he drags his feet down the corridor. Harrison pauses when he reaches the staircase, one hand on the door as he casts his eyes back towards you. Your mouth twitches into a smile instinctively: the sight of his face, his loose blond curls, and his friendly smile never fails to make you feel warmer - even now, as he walks out of your life, taking a piece of your heart with him.

You raise your hand in a final wave, and then Harrison steels himself and walks through the door at the end of the corridor, leaving you standing alone in your doorway, a lump in your throat and a weight hanging so heavily in your heart that you know you won’t be forgetting him any time soon.

[-----]

Life without Harrison is hard.

Before you’d started dating him a year ago, you hadn’t believed love could feel so fulfilling or right. But then you’d stumbled into him at Tom’s birthday party and you’d immediately hit it off, and everything had changed. You think it would be hard not to instantly fall in love with Harrison: he’s charming, witty, and he carries such a bright light in his eyes that he had you hook, line, and sinker within the first ten minutes of your conversation.

As you try to move on, you find Harrison haunting your every move. You open Instagram and you see his posts and stories staring you right in the face, broadcasting his life out in LA with his new friends and castmates, and it stings. When you strike out and find yourself in the pub with Sam, all you can think about is how you used to frequent the place with him, and your eyes find the corner booth you’d used to sit in, your figure usually curled up in Harrison’s lap. You can almost feel the presence of his slender, delicate fingers wrapped around your waist as you gaze longingly at the booth.

And the most frustrating part of it all? Harrison seems fine. He seems completely unbothered, which just serves to twist the knife further into your chest every time your thumb hovers over his contact photo, or you start writing out a lengthy, emotional text. You’ve heard nothing from him, and it makes you question everything you’d thought you’d had together.

Everything changes one Wednesday night, around six weeks after Harrison had left.

You’re woken up by the loud, shrill ringing of your phone. You try to ignore it at first, groaning as you roll over on your side and try to press your head into your pillows, but it just keeps going, and it seems to rattle louder against your skull the longer it prattles on. So, after releasing a stream of your best expletives, you roll over and snatch it off your bedside table, accepting the call before you’ve even had time to check the caller ID.

“Hello?” You croak, clearing your throat immediately as you hear the fatigue hanging heavy in your throat.

“Y/N.”

Suddenly you’re wide awake.

“Harrison?!” You exclaim, sitting bolt upright. You bring your knees to your chest as you pull the duvet around you, trying to hide beneath the warm sheets as if they’ll protect you from the way that hearing his voice unleashes an onslaught of painful emotions. “What’s going on?”

Harrison doesn’t reply for a few moments, but merely the sound of his level, familiar breathing is enough to bring tears to your eyes. You try to push them away as your heart races in your chest, so many emotions flying through your heart that it feels consuming.

“Uh, nothing,” he eventually says softly. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why did you call me at 2 in the morning?”

The sound of his chuckle is forced, but it’s so lovely to hear him again that you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Oh, I didn’t realise it was so late,” he says, “‘m sorry, love.”

“It’s okay. I missed your voice.” It slips out before you can really stop it.

“I missed your voice too,” Harrison admits, voice thick. “I miss you so much, Y/N.”

You swallow deeply, running your fingers over the crinkles of your duvet as you think. Your mind runs slowly, clouded with your fatigue and your emotions, and you really don’t know how to take this all, but you know that hearing his voice makes you happy - more happy than you’ve felt in weeks.

“I miss you too,” you mumble down the line. Your fingers ache from how tightly you’re gripping the phone. “How’s LA?”

Harrison chuckles, and you hear a noise in the background as if he’s climbing into a bed. You can almost imagine him: his lanky legs spreading out over the sheets, a low groan slipping past his lips as he stretches out his arms and back. That lazy pink smirk hanging freely from his perfect lips. The image burns into your eyelids.

“LA is mad,” he tells you honestly. “It’s a whole different world over here, Y/N. It’s… It’s exciting, but it’s so different to London. I wish it would all slow down.”

“You’re really busy then?”

He hums lightly. “Yeah. I’m either on-set or doing fittings or rehearsals.”

“Are you having fun?”

Harrison takes a while to ponder your question.

“Yes,” he says, bringing a swell of tears to the front of your eyes. “But I’d be so much happier if you were here too.”

You try to disguise your sniffles, but you’re almost certain he can hear them. “Well… I’m not,” you manage. “I’m glad it’s giving you everything you wanted.”

There’s a very awkward, very thick silence that envelops the line, and it makes you shift uncomfortably in your sheets.

“I should let you sleep,” Harrison says, guilt lacing his words. “I’m sorry for waking you up. I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Oh, okay.” Your free hand clenches into a hard fist as you try to stop your lower lip from wobbling. “Don’t worry about it, Haz. I’m always here if you want someone to talk to.” A small smile flicks out across your lips. “Doesn’t matter what time it is.” I love you - those three unspoken words hang between you. You can feel them, surrounding you, smothering you, and you can almost hear them on the tip of Harrison’s tongue, so you jump in to add, “Goodnight, Harrison,” because you really can’t bear to hear them.

You can feel his reluctance, but you release a deep breath as he says, begrudgingly, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You hang up quickly, your fingers trembling as you toss the phone down the bed. The blank screen stares at you, taunting you, and you’re overcome with such a strong sense of regret that you almost reach out and call him back. Your body craves him - his soft, melodic voice, his gentle words, his love.

Your phone starts ringing, and you snatch it back up, eyes taking in the image of Harrison’s contact photo as he flashes over the screen. You accept it without a second thought.

“I don’t want to say goodnight yet,” Harrison says immediately, words falling into one another. “I don’t want to stop talking to you, Y/N. Can we please keep talking? Just for a bit.” He pauses, his voice breaking. “I miss you.”

The relieved smile on your face shows no sign of budging. “I don’t wanna say goodnight either, Haz.”

[-----]

It’s a bad habit, but for the entire time Harrison is away, you end up on the phone with him each evening. The first few times had been fairly spontaneous, but soon it becomes a habit: every day, as Harrison finishes filming, he gives you a call and you have a long, rambling conversation. It breaks up your sleep, but you grow so used to it that you start setting an alarm at 1.50am just so you can grab a cup of tea and wake yourself up before he calls.

It’s definitely inadvisable to stay so connected to your ex-boyfriend, but it feels too good to quit. Harrison is your drug, and every time you hang up the phone, you’re left feeling sad and hollow inside. But it eases the pain of having him so far away, and maybe a part of you deludes yourself by reasoning that your calls are helping you get over him: cutting him out completely was too hard, but maybe sharing these phone calls will help you. Eventually he’ll stop calling, and you’ll be able to heal, because you’ll have practised saying goodbye so many times it’ll feel normal.

But Harrison doesn’t stop calling, and you don’t stop answering, and soon enough, he’s been away for six months, and he’s preparing to move back to London, his film complete.

You don’t really know where you stand with him, if you’re being completely honest. He’s still your ex - but you’re still helplessly in love with him, and you’re fairly sure that most exes don’t spend hours on the phone each day, chatting and laughing like you’re still together. You try to bring it up with him, but every time you start the conversation, your heart clenches in your chest and you wimp out.

You ignore the difficult conversation for as long as you can - which lasts until you hear a loud knock on your front door, and you know that it’s him.

It feels almost like a gravitational pull, drawing you back to his figure. You’ve spent all day pacing your flat, fussing over your hair and your outfit, but for the entire time you’ve spent waiting on his flight arriving, you haven’t been sure if you’d be able to open the door and face him. But now you know that he’s here, your heart seems to act of your own accord.

You wrench your door open, and immediately you’re pulled into a tight, crushing hug. It knocks the air out of your lungs and you wheeze as you feel that familiar set of curls brushing up against your neck, and you feel a few tears slip from your eyes as you take it all in. He’s back.

“Haz,” you exclaim, your voice choked with tears. His hands move over your back, clinging to you, drawing you as close as possible as his rich, earthy cologne invades your system. It doesn’t even matter that his jacket has a collection of chilly raindrops clinging to the leather, because it feels so fucking perfect to have him so near you again that you can’t focus on anything other than him.

“I missed you,” he whimpers, as he pulls away from your neck. His large hands fall on your shoulders as he stares at you intently, his focused eyes whipping the air from your lungs. He looks so cute that you can’t really stop yourself from shifting closer and pressing your lips to his. Immediately you relax, and he does too, and he kisses you back softly. Your mouths are tender at first, pressing together softly - testingly - but as you wrap your hands around his waist and bring him closer, it deepens. Your mind spins with dizzy, overwhelming happiness as you revel in the feeling of Harrison, enjoying him utterly, your heart thrumming happily against your ribs.

“I missed you so much,” you mumble against his lips, kissing him between each word. Your fingers drift into his hair, and you smile as he hums in agreement.

“We are so stupid,” he says, drawing a laugh from your lips. “Can’t believe we ever thought breaking up was for the best.” His mouth shifts up to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I love you so much, Y/N. Please, can we get back together?” His words are desperate, but they echo the things you’ve been feeling for months, and hearing them is such a relief that you simply have to kiss him again.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whisper, moving to rest your forehead on his shoulder. Harrison brings you into a warm hug, and you let him hold you as you breathe him in. “I missed you. I love you.” You tilt your head back, meeting his eyes gleefully. “I’m so glad that you’re back.”

Harrison reaches down and pulls a familiar, glinting chain from his pocket. Your gaze softens as you pull away from him and tilt your head, letting him wrap the necklace back around your neck. The H pendant settles gently over your chest, and it feels like coming home.

“Perfect,” he comments, and you’re not sure if he’s talking about you or the necklace, but you’re willing to accept either.

With a warm smile on your face, you move aside and welcome him inside. “D’you want a cup of tea?” You offer.

Harrison steps across the threshold and presses a final, loving kiss to your lips. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

----

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#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield oneshot #sammy's summer writing challenge

[southsidestory]

Hey! I LOVE all of your writing! Thanks for sharing your work with us! I saw that you like kakasakura... any chance you would ever write for them? 🙏☺️

Thank you so much, nonny! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing.

As for KakaSaku... well, there’s definitely a chance I’d write for them, because I already have. 😅 I’ve just never posted it.

But since you sent me this sweet ask, I’ll share the first scene of a KakaSaku fic I’ve been toying with. FYI even though Sakura is a chuunin and this is in the period when Naruto is traveling with Jiraiya, Sakura is 18. Because I said so, and this fanfiction land, where my rules are the only rules lmao

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Kakashi’s mission ran over. It turned out that quietly assassinating a samurai lord constantly surrounded by underlings wasn’t as simple as he’d expected. The assassination itself was almost absurdly easy, but getting Lord Akinobu alone long enough to do it wasn’t. He ended up spending almost two weeks in the Land of Iron before an opportunity presented itself.

The trip back to Konoha was uneventful. He should report to the Hokage right away, but he felt a shower and nap were in order first. After he woke up, he watered Mr. Ukki, who had withered a little in his absence. Kakashi suspected that his house plant was indestructible, but two weeks was a long time even for it to go without attention.

He would ask someone to look after Mr. Ukki when he went on missions, but he didn’t have anyone. His neighbors resented him for coming and going at all hours, and his friends were… well, kept at arm’s length. Which was how he liked it. But unfortunately his independence meant poor Mr. Ukki sometimes went without water for a while.

Kakashi meant to go directly to the Hokage tower, but he spotted Gai buying watame from a street vendor and couldn’t resist getting two for himself.

“You only did that to one-up me,” Gai said sourly.

Kakashi continued on, cotton candy in hand. The blue one was the same soft shade as the sky overhead, and the pink was almost the exact color of Sakura’s hair. Like the smooth inside of a conch shell, or the cherry blossoms she was named for.

He hadn’t seen Sakura in three or four months, and he wondered how she was faring. He heard about her occasionally from his fellow jounin. What a skilled kunoichi she’d turned out to be, with the promise of becoming as strong as the Hokage herself someday.

Not much surprised Kakashi, but Sakura did.

He handed the blue cotton candy to a passing child, whose mother immediately yanked it out of his hands and glared daggers at Kakashi. The little boy wailed and reached for the spun sugar treat while his mother lectured him about not taking food from strangers.

Kakashi ate the pink one as he meandered his way toward the Hokage tower. By the time he arrived, he’d finished the cotton candy. He pulled his mask back up over his face, dropped the plastic stick in the lobby trash can, and went up the stairs to Tsunade’s office.

“You’re late,” she said, without looking up from her desk.

Kakashi leaned against the wall, tempted to pull Icha Icha out of his kunai pouch, but Tsunade’s temper and monstrous strength were a formidable combination. He’d like to keep his nose unbroken.

“It was hard to get Akinobu alone.”

Tsunade snorted. “You were the youngest shinobi to be promoted to chuunin in the history of Konoha, and you know a thousand jutsu. You’re creative enough to kill a measly samurai in a timely manner.”

Kakashi didn’t argue. Fighting with the Hokage was an exercise in futility.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I ought to dock your pay.”

He shrugged. “If you want.”

He had a nice nest egg set away, thanks to his thriftiness and over ten years of A-rank and S-rank mission rewards.

Tsunade sighed. “I expect your report on my desk by twelve tomorrow. And I do mean twelve in the afternoon, not midnight.”

Kakashi nodded with all the deference he could muster. “As you say, Lady Hokage.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, even though he did plan to turn in his mission report on time.

Probably.

Someone knocked on the door, and Tsunade called, “Come in.”

It was Sakura, carrying a stack of binders and looking very harassed. “I got those files you asked for, shishou—”

She stopped dead, green eyes wide as she looked up at him.

“Kakashi-sensei!” Sakura’s words were ruthless and so painfully high that he almost winced. 

She hurried to set the binders on Tsunade’s desk, then turned back to him.

"Hey, Sakura. Long time no see."

The surprise fell from her expression and something harder took its place. 

"Yeah," she said. "Been busy?" 

"I was on a long mission," Kakashi said. 

She raised one rosy eyebrow. "Oh? Four months long?" 

Apparently Sakura hadn't grown out of her passive aggressive streak.

"Two weeks,” Tsunade said. “And it shouldn't have taken that long.”

Sakura smirked. "Are you losing your touch, Kakashi-sensei?" 

He laughed a little. "Don't get too big for your britches. I can still take you."

She opened her mouth, no doubt to toss some retort at him, but Tsunade beat her to it.

“Don’t be so sure. You might be surprised by what she’s accomplished.”

“With a proper teacher,” Sakura said sweetly.

Kakashi scratched the back of his head. “Don’t blame me. If any students besides Team 7 had ever passed the bell test, I would have had more practice before you guys.”

“Please. You didn’t have any problems teaching Sa—” She paused for a moment, and in that brief silence Kakashi heard everything she wasn’t saying. She shook it off and went on. “You taught Sasuke fine. Naruto too sometimes, even though he was dead-last in our class.”

Kakashi canted his head. “Sasuke and Naruto were focused on becoming better shinobi. You were too busy nursing a school-girl crush.”

That was a low blow, but he wasn’t going to take all of the blame here. Sakura was as responsible for her lack of growth as a genin as he was. 

She clenched her fists at her sides. “So I wasn’t worth your time? Is that it?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You might as well have!” She took a few steps toward him, glaring ferociously enough to intimidate a lesser man. Too bad for her he’d seen worse than a spitting mad chuunin. “At least you’re finally honest enough to admit it. Not that you haven’t already made it astoundingly clear how weak you thought I was.”

Tsunade stood up and put her hands on her desk. “If you’re going to brawl, take it outside.”

Sakura’s chest was heaving with ragged breaths, her gaze fierce. She barely topped five feet and might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, but size didn’t mean much for a kunoichi of her caliber. Especially a girl trained by one of the legendary Sannin.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go to the training grounds.”

“Come back and challenge me when you’re a jounin.”

He ruffled her hair, and Sakura smacked his hand away.

“Don’t treat me like a child, Kakashi!”

That brought him up short in a way that her temper tantrum hadn’t. She never called him by his name alone.

“Then don’t act like one.” He looked to Tsunade. “Am I free to go?”

She waved at him vaguely. “Get out of here before Sakura kills you.”

Kakashi took the shortest route home, barely hearing the hustle and bustle of the village around him. Mrs. Kurosawa, one of his neighbors, berated him for something on his way up the stairs to his apartment, but he didn’t bother to listen. He locked his door behind him, took off his hitai-ate, pulled down his mask, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He should read, maybe watch TV. Reruns of his favorite soap opera would start airing in an hour, and he needed to catch up before watching the new episode. Immersing himself in Marriage Contract would help him wind down from his overdrawn mission.

And his fight with Sakura. Which, if he was honest with himself, bothered him more.

He shouldn’t have called her feelings for Sasuke a school-girl crush. He’d watched Sakura’s childish infatuation grow into love, and diminishing it was downright cruel.

Some people would say that thirteen was too young to understand love, but Kakashi knew better. Shinobi learned hard lessons of the heart long before other children. Rin had loved him, and Obito had loved Rin. Kakashi didn’t know who he’d loved. He lost them both before he could figure it out.

Maybe if their team could bring Sasuke home, things would turn out better for Sakura.

He hoped so.

#kakasaku #kakasaku fanfiction #kakasaku fanfic #kakasaku fic #ks fanfiction #my fanfiction #kakasaku drabble #asks #nice people #Anonymous

[yehet-me-up]

*busts through the door like I'm the Kool-Aid man* BONJOUR FUCKERS I'M BACK!!! It is I, the Theatrical Gay Anon™! I hope you're ready to endure my endless babbling for a bit cuz I've got lots to say holy shit. Consider this part 1 of like, 1000 cuz I think Tumblr got rid of the submissions feature. I apologize in advance for the spam hehe.

Okay, with that out of the way. Ms. Yehet-Me-Up, may I call you Sarah? Sarah, what the fuck!? I can't even rn. I I give you a simple suggestion, no expectations behind it. I say "Hey, don't you think it'd be cool if Zitao was in the Exodus Mall universe?" to which you said "Yeah, that'd be neat, I might do that. Perhaps make him work at an Irish pub or something" and then I flip out with gratitude and excitement thinking you're gonna do like, a DRABBLE. 500 words at MOST -Theatrical Gay Anon

Imagine my SHOCK, my STUPEFACTION, upon realizing that you wrote OVER TEN THOUSAND WORDS about Huang Zitao aka the wind beneath my wings, the rain to my drought, the corny joke to my Junmyeon. And not only that! But you did this A MONTH AGO. I could've been reading this for so long and I had no idea! How foolish am I? I can't believe you wrote all of this based off of a silly little suggestion I made. I feel like bowing over how not worthy I am Wayne's World style -Theatrical Gay Anon

NOW IN REGARDS TO THE CONTENT OF THIS MASTERPIECE OH MY GOD WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN!? I am floored by your preeminence. First things first, the title? Perfect. Full disclosure, I suck at titles. I've been writing for over a decade now and I'm still shit with titles. It's so hard to come up with just a few words to encapsulate everything you wrote but you do it SO WELL. The moodboard? Amazing. I've always loved that picture of Zitao and it fits so well with the pub setting -Theatrical Gay Anon

I'm afraid you've written "Fractions of Tomorrow" so well that I don't see there being a need for anyone to write anything else...ever. Stories? CANCELED. Poetry? CANCELED. Biographies? CANCELED. It's all over folks. Sarah has written The Best Thing Ever. We've peaked as a society. After I finish writing these asks I'm gonna become a hermit in the woods and make friends with all of the woodland creatures that inhabit it. -Theatrical Gay Anon

But seriously though, I love absolutely everything about this story. As a Zitao fan, I'm used to getting breadcrumbs. Not a lot of ppl write fics about him. I can count on one hand how many long fics of his you can find on Tumblr. But THIS?? This was no breadcrumb, this was a whole fucking bakery. And it all appeals to me so much oh my god? The sappiness of it all, the flowery prose, the rebellious rejection of cynicism, it's all so beautiful I want to marry it. -Theatrical Gay Anon

If I discussed all of the sentences in this fic that made me giggle with joy and kick my feet around I'd be here all day so keep in mind this is just a FRACTION of the ones I loved but I couldn't go without mentioning at least some of them so here we go. "It’s not his first time here, but it’s his first time paying attention" SHUT UP this line is go good it's so simple yet so nuanced I adore it. Seriously, why hasn't anyone hired you to write a screenplay? -Theatrical Gay Anon

"He wonders if you ironed the collar of your shirt to be that precise or if you simply move through the world without acquiring any wrinkles" God, this line is so CUTE it's DISGUSTING he's fond of the reader's un-wrinkled clothes that's such a specific thing to like and is totally the type of thing I've done with the ppl I've crushed on throughout my life. -Theatrical Gay Anon

"‘Zitao,’ he says finally. ‘Cute.’ You say" this is such a little thing but I love that you included his full name in this. I love his full name so much it sounds really pretty. Whenever I hear him refer to himself as "Huang Zitao" in interviews my heart soars. Hearing him speak Mandarin in general is a delight as well. It's an audibly gorgeous language and any racist who says otherwise can EAT MY ENTIRE ASS -Theatrical Gay Anon

"For someone who’s been in love for as long as you can remember she fights awfully hard against Baekhyun’s romantic nature" DEAR GOD I LOVE THESE TWO! I love these movie loving lovesick fools. I love that everyone in the world knows they love each other except them. I love seeing bits and pieces of their story throughout this written universe. I can't wait to see it all come together in Baekhyun's Exodus Mall fic. It's gonna be GLORIOUS -Theatrical Gay Anon

Also! I know you enjoyed my song recs that I thought fit perfectly with All Our Broken Places so here are some for when the Baek x Hitchcock fic drops. I know it's not done yet but I just *know* what it's gonna be like I can feel it in my bones. "Sidekick" by Walk the Moon and "Tongue Tied" by Grouplove. As for Fractions of Tomorrow I knew right away what songs I'd pick. "Dreams" by The Cranberries, "Jumpstarted" by Jukebox the Ghost and "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey -Theatrical Gay Anon

Gosh, this fic filled me with so much energy and joy I feel like a toddler on caffeine. But I really should sleep now though. It's gotten so late that I can see the sunrise peaking up sdksdksl. I'll see ya soon! I will be spamming you with more compliments about this fic once I wake up though! - Theatrical Gay Anon

Hi! I'm back. Okay, now where was I? Oh yeah, I was talking about some of my favorite lines from the story. "‘Hey man, how’s it going?’ Baekhyun reaches out and does a complex handshake with the man before you. ‘Oh, you know. Just working at the salt mines,’ Tao says with a laugh." I LOVE that you made Baek the one Zitao was close with. I miss the beef brothers so much. I'll never forgive SM for what they did to OT12. They were all such good friends 😔 -Theatrical Gay Anon

"‘I’m not sure.’ For a flash Tao’s eyes linger on you once more. ‘I think it would depend on the person.’ And then the bastard goes and winks at you." GOD, HE WOULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS! HE'S SUCH A SHAMELESS FLIRT I HATE HIM *narrator voice* This was of course a huge a lie, he in fact loved Zitao immensely -Theatrical Gay Anon

"‘Sweetheart, I’m everyone’s type.’" You've captured Zitao's unlimited confidence so well and that makes me really happy. It's one of my favorite things about him. The man truly loves himself and I think that's awesome -Theatrical Gay Anon

"Tao looks at you through his lashes, bending close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips when he speaks. ‘Words are just the appetizer, darling. I prefer to have an entire feast.’ 'Any other questions or can I grab your orders?’" ASDKDSDSL SO YOU'RE JUST GONNA SAY THAT PANTY DROPPER LINE AND GO BACK TO BUSINESS AS USUAL ZITAO???? HUH??? IS THAT WHAT WE'RE GONNA DO??? -Theatrical Gay Anon

"‘Oh, nothing.’ He looks like the cat that caught the canary. ‘I just love being right.’" Something I love about EXO fic writers (myself included lol) is that despite all of the different ways they'll write the other members, there is one member who is always written the same and that's Baekhyun. He will always be written as a cheeky little shit cuz he *is* a cheeky little shit. That's just who he is. Messing with ppl is a favorite past time of his. -Theatrical Gay Anon

"'So, love, huh? There’s not some girlfriend or boyfriend of yours waiting for you at home?’" Thank you for not being heteronormative with the "are you dating someone?" convo. I know it might not seem like much but I really appreciate it. -Theatrical Gay Anon

"The beginning of love is always a lightning bolt. If that’s all it ever is you never have to deal with being knocked on your ass by the resulting thunderstorm" OOF, this one got me. So very true. The beginning of love is so scary! -Theatrical Gay Anon

"I could argue that anarchy still is love. Love of your beliefs and love of a person or a place or a thing so much that you’re willing to fight for it" OKAY BUT PASSIONATE LEATHER JACKET WEARING ANARCHIST ZITAO IN A ROCK BAND IS SUCH AN ATTRACTIVE CONCEPT!!! There's nothing sexier than a bad boi that will hate capitalism with you! He'd probably be the one to give ppl rides to protests and stuff I LOVE IT -Theatrical Gay Anon

"If we say love is a feeling, who’s to say that we aren’t in love? If we decide it’s an action then which one is it? A kiss or a commitment or - maybe it’s nothing more complicated than putting words to the way I feel when you look at me?" Listen I don't mean to be dramatic or anything (wait, who am I kidding? I'm literally the Theatrical Gay Anon being dramatic is like my Thing) but if a guy ever said that to me my trans boi pussy would be open for business IMMEDIATELY

Alright, so, uh Final Thoughts. This may be my new favorite work of yours, and no it's not just cuz it's got my ultimate bias in it lmao. This year has been so shitty and it's made my depression + anxiety reach the highest possible levels but reading this, this love story filled with hope and certainty despite not knowing what the future will hold for them, made this year seem easier to cope with. Thank you so much for making this, it means the world to me. -Theatrical Gay Anon

ALRIGHT, LAST ASK AND THEN I'LL SHUT UP I PROMISE but I personally headcanon that Double Shot + Zitao stayed together till the very end. They didn't get married cuz they hate formalities but they got matching tattoos and even when they're old and grey you can still them clear as day on their wrists. When they're asked how they met no one believes their answer lol. And when Double Shot died of old age before Zitao he would sing her favorite song by her grave every Saturday -Theatrical Gay Anon

OKAY SO I know I said I was done and I know I've already sent in like, 30 bajillion asks but I'm curious does Yifan or Luhan also work at the Irish pub?? Or do they work somewhere else in the mall? Inquiring minds want to know -Theatrical Gay Anon

When I tell you this made my entire month (when you sent it weeks ago, I’ve been hanging onto these because they seriously bring me SO much joy holy crap) I am not remotely kidding j;oaisjdflkasdjfa

I am absolutely going to put on these song recs while I work on the next chapter! 

a;osdfjlaksdfjasl the fact that you stayed up late to read this warms my heart so much. It reminds me of all the times I stayed up til the ass crack of dawn reading fanfics because I simply could NOT stop reading, so the fact that you enjoyed this like that makes me helllllaaaa emo 🥰

I just??? 2020 was indeed such a long year and affected my energy and creativity and honestly don’t really remember writing this hahaha. I kind of go into a fugue state with these longer fics and they just EMERGE. So to see you reflecting back some of what I wrote allows me to enjoy the process so much more. Makes writing and tumblr fun and I seriously wish everyone writing and creating could have someone as passionate and thoughtful and hilarious as you hyping them up 🌟 it honestly feels like a GIFT and I will absolutely keep writing this series and hoping to be worthy of it 😘

We will definitely get to see more of these two in the finale fic! I got into EXO after Tao, Yifan, and Luhan left so I’m not quite as familar with their personalities, but I could definitely see Yifan working at the US Bank haha. Business suit by day and partying/flirting by night. As for Luhan I feel like he’d work somewhere like the bookstore or the music store?? somewhere quieter and more contemplative. 

Thank you again for sending this and for being you <3 I hope 2021 is a wonderful year for you and that you know how AMAZING you are 💖💖💖💖💖

#asks #theatrical gay anon

[hollandsmoose]

ruin my life

A/N: Based on “Ruin My Life” by Zara Larsson. I don’t know what I think of this, to be honest, but you’re getting it anyway. So here you go, sweeties, here’s 2.7k of kinda angsty post-breakup stuff with some fluff in the end (because I’m not a monster lmao)!

—————–

It had been your idea to break up. Shawn had protested, but you had persisted. There just wasn’t space for you in his life, and there wasn’t space for his life in yours. He wasn’t able to stay in Toronto all the time, and you weren’t able to fly around the world all the time either.

It sucks, though. It really fucking sucks. You can’t turn on the radio without hearing his voice, you can’t go on YouTube without being recommended 50 different videos of him, and you can’t spend a day without thinking about him.

You miss him now, especially. Now when you’re here on the couch on a Saturday night, wrapped up in a blanket, watching Friends on Netflix. Shawn should be here too, nestled into your side or with his head on your lap. He should be here to complain about what a prick Ross really is. He should be here to laugh at the same jokes he’s already laughed at a thousand times before. He should be here.

Your apartment is littered with memories of Shawn. Some are just the memories of what he’s done here. Standing in the shower reminds you of all the times you’ve heard him sing in it, always belting out some 90’s jam. Cooking in the kitchen reminds you of when you got into a dishwater fight with each other, eventually having to stop because you were laughing too much to breathe. Sleeping in your bed reminds you of the first time you slept together, making love all sweet and gentle.

There are the more tangible, physical memories of him as well. The blanket you’re under now is the same one he used to wear around the apartment like a cape on cold days. The photo frame with the picture of the two of you, which is currently facing downwards on the windowsill, is one he bought for you. The baby pink hoodie you’re wearing is one of his too.

Maybe it’s wrong to wallow in the sadness. It only enforces it, really. It’s just hard not to. You sigh to yourself while you watch Monica and Richard break up on the screen. They had incompatible lives, you think, and so did Shawn and I.

You tear away your eyes from the television screen to look at another screen - your phone. It buzzes, and it catches your attention. Your heart drops when you see what the buzz is about. A message.

Shawn: Are you home?

You put down your phone, then you pick it up. You do this about four times before you gather the strength to answer.

You: Yes.

A short reply to what you hope is going to be a short conversation.

Shawn: Can I come over?

You gulp. This is not going to be a short conversation.

You: Why?

Shawn: We need to talk.

You: It’s getting late, Shawn. You can come by tomorrow.

Shawn: What if I told you I’m already outside?

Shit.

You: What are you doing?! It’s too cold to be outside!

Shawn: Then let me in.

You know you shouldn’t. You know that you really, really shouldn’t. It’s still what you do, though.

You: Fine.

You buzz him in, and then it’s just a matter of waiting. It’ll take Shawn a few minutes to reach your floor, having to take the stairs because this old building has no elevator. You use the minutes to tidy up a bit, clearing the coffee table and putting the blanket back in place.

It’s only when the doorbell rings that you consider tidying up yourself. It’s not that you look appalling, but you are wearing one of his hoodies. Maybe it’s not exactly the best outfit for this situation.

You walk over to the door, and your hand lingers on the handle for a second. You feel a bit like a cartoon character with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The angel is the voice of reason, telling you to open the door and tell him to go back home. The devil is the voice of emotion, telling you to open the door and let him in. Is there really any question about which one you side with?

“Hi,” is all you greet Shawn with, trying to act a little cold, even though your insides are ablaze at the sight of him. “Come in,” He just stands there - almost like he’s awestruck. “Shawn?”

“I’m sorry,” he answers, breathing shakily. “It’s just seeing you again… it’s, uh…” He doesn’t finish that sentence. “Thank you.” He steps over the threshold with red cheeks, and you’re aware they’re not just from the cold outside.

Watching Shawn hang up his coat and kick off his boots is almost a smidge nostalgic. You can’t count how many times you’ve seen that before. It takes a couple of moments before you realize that you’ve not yet closed the door again, and then your cheeks flush red too, having been too mesmerized by him to notice. You finally do it, and you turn to face him.

You clear your throat. “You want anything? Tea, coffee?”

Shawn shakes his head. “I'm good,”

You stand there for a while not knowing what to do. None of you say a word, just awkwardly staring at each other. Ultimately, you go to sit on the couch and tell him to join you. Shawn sits down - but at a respectable distance from you. He smiles at the TV, paused on a frame of Phoebe.

“Friends, huh?”

“Yeah,”

“Which episode?”

“Uh, it’s the first episode of season 3. The one with Princess Leia and the fantasy, you know?”

“Oh, of course,”

Then another silence fills the room. It’s almost laughable, to be honest. He’s the one showing up at your door at 10pm, wanting to talk, and here he is, not saying a damn thing. It takes a few more moments before he speaks.

“I’ve missed you,” Shawn says, and he might as well have stabbed you in the fucking heart because it hurts just the same. Not that you’ve ever been stabbed in the heart, but you imagine it must feel like this. “I’ve missed this place. Missed you the most, though.” You don’t know how to respond, so you resort to your wit.

“I would hope so,” you add drily, kicking gently at the leg of the coffee table. Shawn has always enjoyed your humour, but now he is not very amused, so you budge. “I’ve missed you too,” His eyes light up, and you just pray it’s not with hope. Because he shouldn’t hope. It’s over. You were very clear about that. “It’s not quite the same without you.”

But who are you kidding? When Shawn smiles at you, scooting closer, and he takes your hand in his, then you know it’s not really over. How could it ever be?

Shawn squeezes your hand. “Nothing’s the same without you, baby,”

Regardless of your feelings, you persist, withdrawing your hand. “Shawn, don’t do this,”

“Do what?”

“This! Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Stuff like what?” Shawn asks. “Like that I miss you? That I can’t live without you? That I’m still hopelessly in love with you?” You can’t bear to look at him, so you get up from the couch and look out the window instead. “Because it’s the truth, Y/N. And you know what? I think you still love me too.” Busted, you say to yourself.

“It’s not about that!” you retort, the volume of your voice having increased. When you turn around again, he’s staring at you intently. “You know it’s not about that. It’s never been,” You sigh heavily, frustrated. “It’s not about whether or not I love you because of course I fucking do. It’s about us. Our lives are incompatible, Shawn.”

Now he gets up as well and goes to you, grabbing both your hands. “How? How are they incompatible? Because they used to work together pretty well,”

“We don’t have time for each other!”

“Then we’ll make time!”

“Oh, Shawn, it’s not that simple! We can’t just do that,”

“I’ll make time for you, then,” Shawn counters, his eyes large and pleading. “I’ll take a break. I’ve got a month left of tour, and then I’m off,” You can’t help but be a little taken aback. Shawn has never been one to consider taking breaks, always needing to be doing something. “I’ll take a year off, maybe two. I can just chill and write and be with you.”

It’s tempting to throw yourself into his arms upon hearing those words. It’s a strong temptation, but you still have your angel of reason on your shoulder.

“That’s not realistic,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Shawn, but I know you. You’ll get bored after two weeks, and then you’ll plan a tour or some shit like that.”

Shawn lets go of your hands, cupping your cheeks instead. “Yes, I’ll get bored, but I need to learn how to be bored again. I’ve been on the road for so long that I’ve forgotten how,”

You want to give in, yet you still struggle. “You’re just saying this in the heat of the moment! Come morning, you won’t feel the same,”

“That’s not true! It’s always been my plan to take a break after this tour,”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never let me! You just ran at the first sign of trouble,”

“Hey! That’s not true either,” you protest. It most definitely wasn’t the first sign of trouble. “You were about to go on tour for ten months, and I barely would’ve been able to visit you,” You reach up and push off his hands from your face. “How could we have made that work?”

“It would’ve been hard, but we could have made it work!” Shawn says, his tone desperate. “God, Y/N, don’t you see? I would do anything for you,” He swallows. “I was even going to propose!”

It’s like a punch to the gut. It’s not what you expect him to say at all. You had never thought such a thing was even on his mind. Sure, Shawn and you had talked about marriage, but it had always been this distant thing that would happen someday in the faraway future. You’d only been together for a little more than a year and a half when you broke up, and you had never suspected a proposal to come that early.

“You were?” you croak out, feeling the tears starting to press.

He gives a careful nod. “I’d even bought the ring and everything. I still have it,”

You bite your bottom lip which is starting to quiver. “I, uh, I didn’t know that,”

“Well, it was gonna be a surprise,”

It’s at this point that you start to cry - like really bawl your eyes out. You can’t really tell why you cry. It’s like a mixture of happiness and sadness, frustration and relief, and it’s just... overwhelming.

Shawn instantly notices, wrapping you up in his arms, and when your knees threaten to buckle under you, he’s quick to sweep you off your feet and carry you back to the couch. He sits down, leaving you to sit in his lap, your face buried in the soft fabric of his sweater. You’re getting it wet, yet he doesn’t seem to mind, comfortingly stroking your back.

It feels so natural to be back in his arms. You can’t help but wonder why you ever left them. Of course, you know the reason, but it occurs to you now that it might not have been enough of one.

You hadn’t run at the first sign of trouble as he had claimed because there had been many troubles over your time together, and you had always resolved them. However, you had run the moment the going got a little too tough; the moment you got scared. You hadn’t let Shawn try to make you stay; you hadn’t let him fight for you. You had just left.

“I’m sorry,” you sob into the blue knitted sweater, now complete with a dark patch of moisture. “I’m sorry.”

He shushes you, still rubbing your back. “It’s okay,” You know he’s only trying to make it better, but it only makes it worse. Instead of calming down, you let out a loud wail, clinging onto him even tighter than before. Shawn attempts shushing you again, but this time you draw back and look at his face,

“It’s not okay,” you spit out, although your voice is raspy and strangled. “It’s not fucking okay, Shawn. Don’t say that,” His hazel eyes are wide, obviously surprised at the change of tone. You just hope he doesn’t mistake your anger at yourself for anger at him. “I broke your heart! For no reason!” You lip quivers again, and another onset of sobbing strikes you.

Shawn doesn’t speak. He just sticks to holding you close, letting you cry on his shoulder. It feels a bit ridiculous that you’re the one weeping, considering that you were the one who did this to yourself and that he’s the one who had his heart broken.

It’s only when you finally start to relax that Shawn lets go of you, leaning back to get a look at you. His eyes linger on your probably very puffy and tear-stained face before they travel downwards.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he whispers so quietly that you’re not sure at first if you were supposed to hear. “How didn’t I notice that before?” You snort at his inobservance, not being able to hold it in, and he grins at you. “You still wear my hoodie.”

“Yes,”

“Why?”

Shawn reaches up, tucking some of your hair, a bit unkempt, behind your ear. It’s such a tender gesture, and it has you reeling, incapable of finding words to tell him. Speechless, you reach for him too, using the back of your hand to caress his cheek. However much you want to kiss him right now, you refrain from it. It doesn’t feel right.

“Because it reminds me of you,” you say, voice still a little uncertain and wrecked from all the weeping. “Because I miss you too. Because I can’t live without you either,” His grin becomes impossibly wider, his eyes lighting up, and your heart might just actually skip an actual beat at the sight. “Because I’m still hopelessly in love with you too.”

This is all that matters, you think to yourself when Shawn leans into your touch, nothing else. You have a man who loves you, who supports you and who wants to marry you. Whatever life throws at you, you can handle it. Yes, it's going to be a hell of a lot of work, but it's worth it.

Shawn leans forward and places his lips on yours, something you have not experienced in far too long. Eagerly, you return his kiss, moving closer so that your bodies are pressed together. You melt into Shawn, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands grab your hips, though his right one quickly strays to the small of your back.

When you pull away for air, his eyes are still closed, and you watch as a content smile forms on his mouth, his eyes slowly opening. Shawn studies you for a moment, biting his lip, and then he speaks.

“Marry me,” Shawn says in a breath, grinning again. “I’m not gonna get mad if you say no, but please, please marry me,” Your heart is pounding so hard you’re afraid it might burst out of your chest, and you can’t hide your joy, smiling so much that it almost hurts. “I don’t have the ring on me, but I-”

“Shawn, shut up,” you say, laughing before you press a short kiss to his lips. “Of course, I’ll fucking marry you, you idiot!” He giggles then, not caring how it sounds, and he starts kissing your face all over. “Shawn!” You can’t stop the giggles either.

He sits back and chuckles. “You know, I always thought I’d do the perfect proposal and everything. I’m sorry if this is a letdown, baby,”

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “This is perfect, Shawn. More than perfect,”

—————–

@sauveteen @flickershawn @peachnpomegranate @yellowitsmendes @me-a-hopeless-romantic @couple100miles @rishlo @wdwisperfect @shawn-mendes-thirst @fallininyou @bluerroses @nervousroses @carlaimberlain

#mine #text #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff

[elsaclack]

that i need you because it’s so hard to be who i am

i tried to write something else but it turned into this so i guess i’m a week late lmao but!! here u go

pt. 1 of who knows how many (probably 2 but we’ll see)

title is a line from a song called who i am by nathan perry

Amy empties out her desk about an hour after Vin leaves.

It’s hard, in that moment, to put a name to the sinking feeling in the pit of his gut. Because it’s a happy occasion, it’s a joyful step forward for his bride-to-be, and they spend the half-hour or so that it takes to box everything up giggling and laughing at each momento they find in her drawers. She has a surprisingly large number of non-functional knick-knacks hidden away between her file folders and homemade disinfectant spray, so between neatly packing her stationary and rubber-banding up all of her replacement ink fills for the nice fountain pen her brother got for her on her last birthday, they spend a considerable amount of time trekking down memory lane.

It’s hard not to notice the fact that she only seemed to start collecting things about a year before Captain Holt took over as their commanding officer. She merely blushes when he points this out.

But then it’s 7:30 and the last of her belongings are finally unloaded and carefully placed in and on her new desk and she’s straightening up the last picture of the two of them from the night they got engaged right beside her brand new computer monitor while she talks about what they should order for dinner (she’s been dealing with a hankering for good Chinese food ever since Vin mentioned the authentic Chinese cuisine he ate the last time he was in Tianjin and Jake is definitely not still vaguely jealous of the general lifestyle Vin leads) and Jake’s stomach is hollow, hollow, hollow.

That’s what makes the rumbling so loud, he thinks.

Amy arches an amused brow when his stomach practically wails at the mention of fried rice. “So we’ll double up on the egg rolls, then?”

He grins as he nods, but even he can feel that it’s not quite touching his eyes. “Sounds perfect,” he says honestly.

Her smile softens, edges tinged with concern, but she seems to decide against asking. “Let’s order from the car so the delivery time seems shorter,” she says as she slings her purse over her shoulder.

“I’ve totally rubbed off on you,” he says mock-smugly, and she grins cheekily in return as she rounds her new desk and reaches to take his arm. “Lemme just run back upstairs and grab my bag from my desk.”

She pauses, hand outstretched toward him. “Oh, d’you want me to go with you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just meet you at the car?”

Slowly, her hand falls back to her side. She’s got that look on her face again - pensive and curious, like he’s a particularly difficult case she’s on the verge of cracking but she can’t quite find that final missing piece. “Okay,” she says, pacing backwards toward the elevator, seamlessly merging into oncoming beat cop traffic. “Two minutes?”

“Ten-four,” he salutes, and she salutes back, and he waits until the elevator doors have slid shut before releasing a long, slow breath.

This new desk is set up pretty much exactly the way her old desk upstairs is set up, with the exception of the new filing cabinet off to the left hand side and the fact that this new monitor is so slim it takes up about half of the depth that her old one did. It leaves more room for the little knick-knacks she’d hidden away upstairs - like the plastic police-woman figurine, who’s down on one knee with her gun drawn, a little chip of paint missing on the left lens of her dark sunglasses. She’s part of the set Jake has sitting on his own desk - positioned right, and she fits right up against the open door of the squad car, in front of the police-man figurine, whose feet are spread shoulder-width apart so that he can stand over the woman’s bent leg and fire his little plastic gun over her head. He’d had it for ages before he met Amy, and had kept the entire set for a few years after she came to the Nine-Nine. He’d only given her the woman from the set toward the end of a week-long marathon murder case, and that was only because he was so deliriously tired he couldn’t even think straight.

At least, that’s what he’d told himself at the time.

He gingerly plucks the figurine up off of Amy’s desktop and examines it closely. It’s almost exactly the same as he remembers it - though her plastic hair is a bit more orange than red. He runs the pad of his thumb over the smooth surface of the little blue hat - a move he used to pull often when he was anxious and fidgety upstairs - and then carefully replaces it exactly where he found it.

The night crew is still in briefing when Jake makes it upstairs, so his bag is still sitting exactly where he left it - which is to say in the exact center of his desk, fallen to the side, contents just beginning to spill everywhere - but, still, he falters and stops in his tracks.

Amy’s desk is empty.

It’s suddenly very difficult to breathe.

Which is pretty stupid, all things considered. The sight of his partner’s desk empty and barren should be far less striking than it is, especially since he’s seen his own desk just as empty and barren twice now, for far more terrifying reasons than a promotion. He should be happy, then. He should be happy.

But her desk is empty and someone else is going to sit there eventually and they won’t know him. They won’t immediately know how to play finish the lyrics with him when it’s slow and he’s bored, they won’t know that only he is allowed to sing along to the Backstreet Boys when their songs come up on shuffle, they won’t be able to tell what mood he’s in by what flavor of Pringles he’s eating or even that Die Hard is the best movie in the history of cinema. They won’t try to huck jelly beans at his head when he’s not paying attention or do wild dances in the middle of the bullpen floor when they solve a grueling case at 3 AM or walk around in those big clunky sensible heels or know what he means when he says he feels fizzy and Amy’s desk is empty.

He clenches his shaking hands into fists down at his sides.

He’s not sure how long he just stands there staring at it, but eventually the briefing room doors swing open and the bullpen is full of the din of beat cops chatting and over the noise, he hears a familiar voice calling his name. Amy’s skirting around the beat cops, fighting against the flow of traffic to get to where he’s rooted to the spot. As he watches a few of the beat cops seem to recognize her; a few of them point, a few wave, one even breaks away from the crowd to shake her hand. She greets them all with a polite - and completely thrilled - smile on her face that only fades when she’s standing in front of him and his body mostly blocks her from view. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

There’s a little crease in her brow, more prominent on the left brow than on the right, and when Jake blinks a thousand images flash behind his eyelids of this expression, framed by a thousand different hairstyles and a thousand different circumstances. He feels her hand on his arm and nearly shivers at her touch - surely whoever sits at her desk won’t ever draw this kind of reaction out of him. No one will ever be able to read him as easily and fluently as Amy does, and just how the hell is he supposed to rely on someone else out in the field when the best partner he’s ever had now sits an entire world away from him?

“Your desk,” is all he manages to get out before the words seem to grind to a halt right there in his throat. A brief spark of confusion ignites in her eyes before understanding snuffs it out; she glances over her shoulder at that long stretch of flawless, sparkling faux-wood-grain surface in question, and her grip around his arm grows tighter.

“I’m just gonna be downstairs,” she says softly as she turns back to face him. “Plus, we live together. We’ll still see each other every day -”

“I don’t care about - I mean, I mean I do care about that, but that’s not what’s - I’m just -” he stops and tilts his head back, releasing a loud breath, focusing on the way her thumb rubs against his bicep through his flannel in a slow and soothing motion and not on the fact that his ribs feel like they’re clattering together in an earthquake. “You’re the best partner I’ve ever had,” he finally manages to croak. Her thumb goes still. “You’re my best friend and my fiancée, and I really am so happy and so proud of you, but...but your desk is empty and I don’t know who’s gonna sit there next and that kinda freaks me out.”

His confession hangs between them for all of three seconds before her hands are on his back and her head is against his chest and the earthquake dies down at once. He pulls her in closer, forgetting her rules about workplace-appropriate behavior and no-PDA the moment the scent of her achingly familiar strawberry shampoo drowns out the stale coffee and gunpowder that seems to cling to the very air here. He buries his nose in her hair and breathes deep, and the ache of her empty desk isn’t quite so stinging anymore. He still closes his eyes to block out the sight of it when he turns his head to kiss her temple, though.

“Jake,” she says softly when she pulls away a few moments later. “You know that you and I got insanely lucky, right? I mean, most partners don’t end up falling in love or getting married. Just because you fell in love with your last partner doesn’t mean you’re destined to hate your next one. And, who knows? Maybe Holt will move Rosa or Charles into that desk. Or maybe you can steal it and finally have that mega-desk you always used to talk about.”

He snorts, and runs his hands down her arms until her hands catch in his. “Yeah, maybe. But a mega-desk won’t make me a better detective, and neither will Charles or Rosa. I got better because of you. I guess I’m just...sad to be losing that.”

Her eyes flick down to his lips as she smiles, and then her hands are framing his face and she’s up on the balls of her feet to kiss him. The taste of her spearmint toothpaste has mostly faded from her post-lunch brush, leaving room for that taste he’s yet to put an actual name to - comfort, joy, home, her - and every cell in his body seems to go peacefully still at the gentle pressure of her lips against his.

Slowly, they break apart, and Jake’s suddenly aware of the fact that his hands are on her hips, skimming lightly along her back, beneath her blazer, just above the waistband of her slacks. “You’re not losing anything, Jake,” she murmurs, curling her fingers against his cheek at such an angle that the edges of her engagement ring barely catch against the scant amount of stubble he’s grown over the course of the day.

He tilts his head up to press a slow kiss to her forehead, lingering until his heart doesn’t feel quite so close to the edge of bursting.

“C’mon,” she says as she turns back toward his desk. “I’m starving and I already ordered the food, and I’m really not in the mood to chase some delivery guy down if we’re not home when he gets there.”

He chuckles as he quickly shovels his belongings back into his bag and slings it over his shoulder. She’s already started toward the elevator but her hand is outstretched toward him; this time, he only spares a single glance backwards at her old desk before hurrying toward her and taking her hand.

It’s just a desk, after all.

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine #jake peralta #amy santiago #jake x amy #my b99 fics #peraltiago fanfiction

[fairielust]

hoOoOOo BOY HERE WE GO

so uhhh i had another meeting w wisteria after my exam today to practice for my speaking exam which is nEXT WEEK AHJFEL RIP LOL but unfortunately she had class so i had to wait outside in the cold playing games on my phone till p4 where i could go to the japanese classroom (besides we usually had japanese if this was normal times anyway Soo Nice !!! a class w just wisteria n i good shit !!!)

when p4 came i went up n she welcomed me in w a ‘douzo douzo.’ now you see i wrote a letter to my host family like two weeks ago after three years of silence (ugh i was really busy ok leave me alone i intend to write more after my final exams !!!) but i got a letter back from them last week n i cried they were so sweet !!!! i just had to show wisteria the comments they made about my level of japanese, how they were all really shocked n impressed to see that i had written an entire letter in japanese hELL YEAH !!!! n i told her how happy i was of myself for doing such a feat n she was really proud of me !!! she’s like ‘watashi mo, kei-chan, totemo ureshii ~’ aka ‘me too kei, i’m really happy !!!’ I LOVE LIFE !!! she was just smiling @ me smiling like crazy n asdfhkjl what a moment 

suddenly she shifted into speaking practice n that caught me off guard for the first ten minutes or so bc yknow,,, nerves(TM). wisteria gave me another speech on how realistically i wasn’t getting a band six (bless her for not put pressure on me to do really well in speaking smiles) for speaking n i need to be ‘confidently incorrect ‘(‘you do realise i’ve told you this a thousand other ways kei’ ‘i knowwwwwwww,,,’)

we continued for another ten minutes n by some chance i got good ??? like i started throwing in some more complex structures n when they were right she’d nod n give me some kind of positive noise to encourage me further,,,

when we had finished wisteria was like ‘YES KEI THAT’S IT YOU GOTTA BOTTLE UP THE LAST TEN MINUTES N SPEAK LIKE THAT !!!!’ n was full on clapping n shit im sobbing she was super proud of me n i really needed this bc my mood has been shit during these exams,,, 

(ie my parents didn’t even know i was doing exams n whenever i studied they just didn’t give a shit n i had lots of held-back anger n late night tears still in me buT !!! I DIDN’T LET THEM STOP ME FROM SPEAKING TODAY !!! FUCKING SUCK IT @ DEMONS IN MY HEAD)

after that i asked her if she was going to be there w us on the day of the exam but turns out she wasn’t planning to,,, nekminut she asks what day its on (‘23rd ?’ ‘isn’t it the 25th ? the day after my extension major is due ???’) n she said we could catch a train together to the place to get there ahHHHHHH it’ll be so encouraging if she’s there w us !! (lowkey w me !!) 

after that we kinda wrapped up w speaking bc now we were on the topic of my major works n i asked if she wanted to come to the art exhibition my school’s holding in like three weeks to showcase all of the year12 visual arts major works (aka my work is apart of this i have to be there n shit),,, n she said she’d come,,,

bitch your girl fricking asked wisteria to come to two (2) major things coming up n she said she’d come to B O T H i stan myself

then i started rambling on about how i have to choose a title for my artwork n i told her what i thought was a brilliant idea in my mind bc it’s a line from one of coleridge’s poems (aka the dude i’m studying for english ex 1) where he’s like ‘hunger’d after nature’ only i’d write it in japanese thus combining my love for romanticism n japanese n she immediately got up to look up the translation for me lmAo she had no idea who coleridge was i feel like a genius for once

eventually it got close to lunch time n she walks over to her desk n goes ‘oh kei-chan ! one of the year sevens gave me these, it’s chocolate’ n gives me this lil packet that was super cute ahhh what a legend. (when i ate it later i discovered it to be white chocolate inside some kind of shortbread kinda biscuit it was sOOO GOOD TF i wanted more ????) but uhh how romantic ?? like it was the only one sitting on her desk,,, as if,,, she had intended to keep it to give to me,,, bc she knew i was coming after her year 7 class,,,, uh huh uh huh

as she packed up the classroom she asks in japanese if i had anymore exams n i told her (in japanese !) i had bio n eng ex I left n she asks what days n i said that they were both on thursday n she laughs out loud n gives me a pity look bc bio goes for 3 hours n that’s not enough time to study for eng ex but she’s like ‘you’ll be fine you know all of them anyway’ uGH SHE BELIEVES IN ME WAY TOO MUCH HAHAHAHAHA

adsfdgjk she was also laughing a lot today like she’s just so comfortable when i’m here n vice versa we love a connection

look i’m still in shock i can’t believe that a) i actually did well in a speaking task again n she got super proud of me n b) i asked her to come w us to our exam n invited her to the art exhibition skdskrsjhdf i LOVE HER OK SHE’S SO LOVING N SWEET N SUPPORTIVE OF ME JUST,,, WHY !!!

#musings #tc #tcc #teacher crush #female tc #female teacher crush #lesbian tc #lesbian teacher crush #teacher crush community #love #girl crush #woman crush #i love my teacher #sm #so so much #what a legend #i stan

[buckybarnesstar]

The Video

Note: yikes, what a title, lmao. I hope you’re all doing well! so, this isn’t entirely how it went in the movie, but I hope you enjoy it, anon! thank you for the request! comments and feedback are more than welcome! I appreciate hearing back from you guys.  ❤️

Request: hey :) could you write an angsty one shot where the reader sees videos of bucky being tortured by hydra and later brings it up to him that *you* saw them? thank you <3

You were just finishing up writing a mission report late at night-given you arrived an hour prior from said mission-, in extreme detail since Nick was upset that you left out what weapon you used to kill a guard last time. He was surprised when you held up your dominate hand with a shrug. So, if he wanted details, he was gonna get them. As you typed away, Tony was to your left, sorting through old files. He was moving them into the new safe Nick had brought in, when he let out a rather loud and long yawn.

A smirk formed on your lips as you looked up from your laptop. Tony was sitting in a swivel chair, stacking old manila file folders on the ground. “It’s not even ten-thirty, and you’re already tired?” You shook your head, mocking him. Nick wanted him to sit the mission out and do this for him instead. 

He scoffed and glared at you, sighing heavily. “I’ve been moving these files all day long! And he wanted to organize them by year, and some of them aren’t even dated!” He complained, groaning in frustration.

You tapped your thumbs against your laptop as you thought to yourself. You were nearly finished with your report and Tony did look tired. Pursing your lips, you turned to look back at Tony. “I’m almost done here, why don’t I finish that up?” You offered with a small smile. Tony whipped around to face you with a shocked expression. “Who are you and what have you done to Y/N?” He asked with caution, crossing his arms.

Your eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. “You have ten seconds flat to leave the room or I withdraw my offer.” You began typing on your laptop again, laughing softly to yourself when you heard his shoes squeak against the floor, his speedy steps echoing as he ran out of the room.

After half an hour later of typing your mission report, you sent it in an email to Nick. You sighed and cracked your knuckles, stretching your arms above your head. Your body was sore from the mission and your eyes had grown tired, but you told Tony you’d finish the files. 

Walking over to the stack he left on the ground, you picked them up and brought them over, tossing them down onto the table. A white square envelope slid out of the top folder, a shiny disc catching your eye. Your eyebrows creased with confusion and you grabbed it, flipping it around to look for a name or any piece of information that told you what was on here. You opened the envelope, only to find that the disc was plain, too.

You were always a curious person. Almost everyone in the tower had trouble with accepting that, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. It was in your personality to be curious. And that’s why you sat down in your chair and slid the disc into your laptop.

Biting your lip, your cursor hovered over the play button. What if this was something bad, something terribly horrid, something you’d never be able to un-see. You’d dream of it, think of it, and have so many questions. Or what if it was the long-lost embarrassing drunken karaoke video of Sam and Tony at Bucky’s birthday party?

You quickly pressed play and sat back, anxiously waiting for it to start. 

You realized that this was not the latter as you saw darkness, The camera shook a little bit as it showed a brightly lit room - or rather a lab of sorts. Suddenly voices started coming into the room. 

One by one, a group of men came into frame. Men with lab coats. Your stomach churned and your fingers shook as you heard Bucky’s voice. “Stop! Don’t do this! I knew him!” The camera was shakily aimed at him and you could see him struggling against them. They were dragging him towards a large chair and shoved him down. You knew you needed to stop watching. But you couldn’t look away. Not now.

Bucky had a thousand yard stare, as if everything about him and his life was rushing back and he knew he’d lose it soon. A few seconds later, he was out of control and shoving a guard away from him; he was angry and unstable. You looked away and bit your trembling lip as your finger hovered over the power button, but when you heard more footsteps, you willed yourself to look again.

“Mission report.”

Alexander Pierce was there, leaning down in front of Bucky, his hand whipping out to slap Bucky in the face. The camera had a muffled sound from the person shaking so much. You figured this wasn’t actually supposed to be filmed, or it was and the person was extremely afraid to be around Bucky, or in this case, The Winter Soldier.

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched Bucky look at Pierce. He looked hopeless, he was tired and you could see a spark of fear behind his eyes as he spoke. “But I knew him.” His eyes held so much emotion, something you didn’t see when he first arrived at the tower. It took him a few months to even come out of his room when everyone else was awake. After that, it took a year to get him back to as normal as he could be, given everything that happened.

One more year, and you two were happily together. You both had grown close to each other, you helped him with his nightmares and he always stitched you up, both of you taking bullets for each other. Though the two of you were unstoppable on the field, working together like it was meant to be.

“Wipe him.” 

Those words brought you out of your thoughts and your breath picked up as you watched two men push Bucky’s back against the chair, his hair framing his face. You realized your were gripping the edge of the table when your hand started to hurt from the pressure. Tears filled your eyes as you watched them stick a mouth guard in front of him. He accepted it; he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight back.

The machine came to life and his chair leaned backwards, the electric headpiece coming around towards Bucky’s head. It fired up and you saw his chest rise and fall before he started to scream, the machine shocking him. A sob escaped your lips and your hand flew up, covering your mouth as you cried into it. He continued to scream, his voice breaking and the sound of his metal arm fighting against the restraints shot right through you.

You slammed the laptop shut and squeezed your eyes tightly, but all you could see was Bucky’s face behind your lids. You’d only heard bits and pieces about Bucky’s life with Hydra. 

Now that you’ve seen it with your own eyes, it was something you’d never want to see again.

Two weeks have passed since you watched Bucky’s torture video. You’ve become silent almost, timid around anyone. Telling Bucky about watching the video wasn’t something you wanted to bring up. But you knew he could tell that something was wrong. 

He watched you from the door, your fingers typing on your laptop as you wrote out another mission report. It’s taken you longer than usual because you kept thinking about the video. You noticed you were typing out the details from said video instead of the mission you and the team went on, and you groaned, backspacing two sentences.

“Y/N, you need to rest.” Bucky’s voice startled you and you looked up from your screen. You swallowed nervously and let out a shaky breath. “I need to finish the miss-an email.” ‘Mission report’ suddenly sounded like a terrible set of words to use, despite Bucky’s mind being cleared for the most part.

Bucky sighed and walked into the room. He stood behind you and let his hands rest on your shoulders. You melted into his touch and your lip trembled when you felt the coolness on your left shoulder. Everything you’ve been holding in finally came out. “Bucky..” Your voice broke and you tried to hold back your sobs, but it was useless. He quickly turned your chair to the side and bent down onto his knees in front of you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” His eyebrows creased with worry and his hands grasped your cheeks. You couldn’t form the words, you could only cry. Bucky felt his throat tighten at seeing you like this, your eyes filled with tears and the hiccups coming from your throat. 

He wiped your tears as they fell, giving you time to catch your breath before speaking again. “Y/N, are you okay?” He asked softly, moving his hand to yours, caressing your skin with his thumb. You sniffled and took a deep breath, huffing it out as you let your eyes fall to his metal hand in yours. You weren’t scared, you weren’t angry; just seeing him like that broke your heart.

“I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to be mad at me.” You sobbed again and Bucky stood to his feet, picking you up out of the chair bridal style, so he could sit in with you in his lap. He shushed you softly, cradling your head on his shoulder. “Doll, you’re makin’ me nervous. Please, tell me.” He pleaded softly, looking down at you. 

Wiping your cheeks, you took another breath. “I watched a video.” You whispered quietly, hoping he missed it. But he heard you clearly and his heart jumped in his chest. He knows exactly what video you’re talking about.

He was silent as he gathered his thoughts. Your heart sank as the minutes ticked by without a word from him. Right when you opened your mouth, he did the same, only he could use his voice. “I’m not mad at you, Doll. I wish you hadn’t seen me like that, though.” He held you closer, pressing his lips to your head.

You sat up in his lap and looked into his eyes. The looked sad and he had light circles underneath them. Your hand rested on his cheek and you caressed it. “You’ve come a long way, I know that. But seeing it, it broke my heart all over again, Bucky.” Your lip trembled and Bucky reached up to rub it with his thumb. 

“Hey,” He met your eyes and leaned in to press his lips to yours. The kiss was short but sweet. “It won’t happen again; I’m confident about that now. I have such an amazing team and girlfriend that will make sure of it.” Bucky let his metal hand cradle your cheek. Even touching you with it was proof that he’s one hundred percent sure he’s okay. 

You smiled sadly at him. You sighed and played with your thumbs for a few moments. “I was hoping it was that embarrassing video of Sam and  Tony, singing horribly at karaoke night on your birthday.” You admitted bashfully. Bucky suddenly laughed, which caused your heart to soar at the sound.

Bucky’s laughs calmed and he stood up with you in his arms still, leading you out of the room. You let your head rest against his chest. “Where are we going?” You asked softly, playing with the ends of his hair. “Always so curious.” He chuckled deeply, the action causing his chest to vibrate against your side.

“Well?” You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows expectantly. He stepped into the elevator and a smirk formed on his lips.

“To watch that exact video.”

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