#~mutual pining edition~

[shatouto]

両片思い

[m4iya]

⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚 Order up! Brown sugar milk tea, 100% sugar, 100% ice with black pearls for @moochiwoochi!

Morning Coffee Sakusa Kiyoomi (fluff, crack, mutual pining, post high school)

Every morning for the past few weeks, at nearly the exact same time, the entry bell to the cafe you worked at would ding. In would walk a tall curly headed man, ordering the same thing each time. Once in a while, you'd offer him a baked treat, and he'd accept. Not many words would be exchanged between the two of you, but as time went on, you couldn't shake the curiosity that began to bubble up inside you.

As time passed, you'd begin to anticipate his arrival as one of the first people entering the store at the beginning of your shift. You'd began to apply just a little more lipgloss before leaving the house, touching up your makeup here and there even though you'd never paid it much mind before.

You'd never seen his entire face due to the covering he seemed to always be wearing. Though, as he left the store, drink in hand, you sometimes saw him pull it down a little to take a sip as he pushed the door open with his foot.

Tying your apron in the backroom of the kitchen, you decided that today would be the day that you finally speak to him. But how? And what would you say to someone you'd never had a conversation with before? A couple thoughts rushed through your head as you took one last glance in the mirror, the sound of the entry bell ringing in the background. You hurriedly rushed back to the front of the cafe, standing at the register where you saw him glancing over at the pastries in the display case.

You decided to start with a simple greeting - maybe something funny too?

"Going for something else today?" You smiled.

Surprise momentarily engulfed you as he shot you an unamused side-eye before turning his attention back to the case of sweets.

'So this is how it's going to be.' You thought to yourself before revising your expression, plastering another smile onto your face.

After he was done with his intense inspection of the pastries, he placed his order which was unusually large this time, consisting of a few drinks and sweets. Who on earth would be drinking 3 coffees and an iced chocolate this early? You didn't think he would eat 2 chocolate croissants and 3 strawberry danishes on his own either. As he swiped his card across the machine to pay, you took this as another opportunity to at least try to strike up a conversation.

"Meeting up with someone?" You asked, bagging his items.

"Kind of." He replied, slotting his card into his wallet and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

Holding the bag out to him, he grabbed it from the bottom, holding the handles once you let go. The bell rang once more as he left, and you resumed your work. You shifted around the store, cleaning up coffee cups and wiping down tables when you noticed something laying atop the counter in front of the register. Someone had left their phone there - though it didn't look like it belonged to any of the older ladies who were enjoying a breakfast at the front of the cafe. You still asked just in case, and they confirmed your thoughts.

Setting the phone aside, you wondered if it might be for the man who was at the counter not too long ago. Either way, you'll probably see him again tomorrow if he forgets to retrieve it today - there was plenty of time.

During your break, you took the phone to the 'lost items' box in the back room, sliding onto one of the chairs and enjoying your lunch. After only a few bites into your sandwich, a faint vibrating sound could be heard from the direction of the box you had placed the phone in. Following the noise, you discovered the screen of the phone was lit up; somebody was ringing.

Deciding to click the answer button, you placed the phone on speaker. Maybe you could tell whoever was it was that the owner had lost his phone.

"Didn't I tell you to change my contact name?"

"How come? Whats wrong with Oomi? See, I even put a mask emoji as well..”

You heard bursts of laughter in the background as whoever was on the other side sounded like they were fighting - albeit pretty calmly. Though it didn't seem to be a very long lasting squabble, as it was soon noticed that you’d answered.

"Hello?" You spoke up first. The line fell silent, save for a few subtle voices.

"Giving girls your phone, omi-omi?" Someone sneered in the background.

"Give me that."

"Hey!"

It seemed that he took the phone from the callers hand, opting to speak directly into it instead.

"You have my phone." He bluntly spoke.

"Yeah, you left it at the cafe earlier today."

A pang of silence ran through the speaker as he seemed to have realised who you were.

"Right.." His voice trailed off, softening ever so slightly. “What time does your shift end?"

"5’ o clock." You replied.

"I'll be there before then. Just keep it on the side if you can." His voice was somewhat hushed - maybe he didn’t want the others to hear? Even though he'd only said a few words to you, he seemed somewhat easier to talk to than he had this morning.

Throughout the rest of the day, you wondered if the boys in the background of the call were the ones he had bought the sweets and drinks for. A study session? Maybe they were hanging out together. You began to realise how little you knew about him considering you'd never shared a full conversation before. Thoughts swept your mind as you began to wonder how old he was, if he was in college and what he’d be studying - heck, you didn’t even know his name. And calling him what those guys had said on the other side of the phone didn’t exactly sound like something he’d be too happy about.

You found yourself glancing at the clock every few minutes, wondering how long until another 10 minutes would pass. You’ve never worked so fast before - nor had you been so eager to clock off. You had so many questions to ask him, wondering if he’d even answer any; you let them accumulate inside your already crowded headspace.

At exactly 5:00, you rushed into the employee room to freshen up a little, washing your face and applying some perfume. You made sure not to forget the reason why he was meeting you in the first place, sliding his phone into your pocket. Taking one last glance in the mirror before hoisting your handbag over your shoulder, you left the store, standing at the front where he mentioned he’d be waiting.

Stepping outside the store, you noticed a car stopped on the side of the road, its headlights still gleaming. The drivers seat window began to lower, a familiar pair of eyes meeting yours.

“Hey!” You waved walking towards the car. He stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“Here’s your phone.” He slipped it back into his pocket, thanking you.

This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined it playing out. The plethora of questions you’d accumulated over time suddenly disappeared with him standing right in front of you.

Without a counter separating the two of you, things felt different. For one, you didn’t realise how tall he was, nor did you notice the slight frizz in his curls that seemed somewhat styled earlier in the day. The way the light of the afternoon sun lightly glossed over his skin - you simply couldn’t look away.

He cleared his throat. “Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” You replied, adjusting the strap of your handbag. “I just need to wait for the bus.”

He turned towards the door of his car, opening it. “Won’t it be late by the time you get home?”

“Kind of, but I’m used to it by now.” You shrugged.

“That doesn’t sound very safe if you ask me,” He said, slipping into the drivers seat and closing the door. “I’ll take you home.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll be safe!” Embarrassed, you waved your hands in front of you in an attempt to clear the air.

Though he didn’t exactly look like the negotiable type, as he simply stared back at you with an expression that read ‘Just get in.’

Hesitantly, you walked to the other side of the car and stepped inside, placing your handbag on your lap and pulling the seatbelt over yourself. His car seemed like it had just been driven out of a dealership - it looked completely brand new. There was also a faint smell of sandalwood and vanilla - a very pleasant smell, and it was well ventiated. Below your feet was a duffel bag which was pushed as far into the leg space as it could go - as if he was expecting someone to sit in the passenger seat.

“Well? Are you going to tell me where to drop you off?”

“Oh, right! Let me just pull it up on the maps..” Embarrassed, you dipped your head to search on your phone, almost sure you heard a small laugh from the drivers seat.

As you directed him through the streets, you shared a simple conversation, finding out that he wasn’t currently a college student, but instead a professional volleyball player; and the people on the phone from earlier? Those happened to be some of his team-mates.

“I had no idea,” You chuckled. “I don’t really watch any sports. But I’d watch you play!”

“That’d be nice.” He replied, turning the wheel into the street before yours. “Oh, i’m just down there to the right,” You pointed out. “You can just drop me off here if you like.” He turned on the indicator to take the next street. “I’m already here, might as well get you home.”

Pulling into the street, he stopped in front of the apartment complex you signalled was yours.

"You really didn't have to do all this.." One hand held a grip on your bag, the other on the passenger door. You wondered if you'd ever get the opportunity to speak to him other than just a greeting in the mornings - more than the conversation the two of you shared on this short trip to your home.

"Didn’t you find my phone?" He replied, shifting the car into 'park' and turning to face you. "Someone could've stolen it."

"You'd be able to easily afford another one though."

"Yeah - well, thats," He sighed, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "Thats not the point,"

"Does your shift end at the same time everyday?"

You nodded. "Yeah, why?"

He held his phone, tapping a few things before handing it to you. "I can take you home in that case. But I'd need to let you know when I'd be waiting outside, no?"

You paused, looking at the empty contact screen he handed you; was he expecting you to fill it in?

Taking the phone from his hand, you saved your name and typed in your number, handing it back to him.

"You've never called me by my name, you know?"

"I don't usually need to call a cafe worker by their name."

"Is that an excuse?" You teased. "Because from when I stepped foot into your car, you've never called my name - not even once."

"Um, not necessarily..?" His voice trailed off.

"It's on my name-tag. You know, the one thing hanging off my apron at work."

"I didn't see it, alright?" He sighed, exasperated. "But you don't seem to know mine either." He shot back.

"Come to think of it, I may have already known it from before." Your thoughts trailed back to the phone call from earlier.

"Really? What is it then?"

You had to control yourself from bursting out into laughter as a chuckle escaped you alongisde your words. "Is it.. Omi? Omi-omi?"

"He’s so going to regret that."

from my 100 followers event ✩ other works

[mediumgayitalian]

The best part of being his own camp counsellor is that he can wake up whenever the fuck he likes.

Nico’s a fan.

Because, however, his dumb ass made friends with the camp’s head medic, he doesn’t get to sleep in as often as he would like. He is instead often woken up before the clock strikes nine, which is a tragedy and one of the forty thousand reasons he is going to be present on Will’s judgement day. (The scales tip any which way on a regular basis, but as of last week, Will is going to hell. Unfortunate. Nico’ll still visit him, though. Bring him one half of a twizzler or something.) So when he wakes up, one lovely morning, mouth tasting like something rotted in it and sun well past halfway across the sky, he is capital-C Concerned.

What a horrible tragedy that is. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to sleep in. And his first thought is not gratitude. Solace may indeed have to die — Nico was not this way before he started planting his annoying ass front and centre in Nico’s life. He’s quite fairly certain he used to be frightening and badass. Now Will orders him to drink milk for the sake of his calcium and he does. Gods.

“Morning,” he hedges, approaching the archery range, feeling marginally more alive than twenty minutes prior.

Kayla raises an amused eyebrow. “Dude, it’s, like, two.”

“Well fuck you, then.”

She smirks. “Aw, did baby not get his Sunshine fix of the day? Is that why he’s so grumpy?”

It really sucks that Will is so fond of his siblings. Nico wonders if Will would still like him if he knew how many times he daydreams of transporting Kayla onto the moon per day.

“As soon as I figure out which god would appreciate you as a sacrifice, you’re gone.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorts, turning away and lining up an arrow. She lets it fly, watching as it shaves a splinter off a hunk of wood fifty feet away. “You couldn’t get close enough to kick my ass before I’d skewer you, di Angelo.”

Remembering the warning arrow Kayla had shot through his shoulder last week, he wisely chooses not to press the matter any further. The power visibly goes to her head. Fuck.

“Just — tell me where Will is.”

“Why?” She strings another arrow. The grin on her face is a level of shit-eating that Nico has only before seen on a Stoll. She should spend less time around Julia, or else the camp is in for some serious trouble. “What are your intentions with my dear brother?”

Nico, on principle, refuses to answer that question. Kayla shrugs, finishing her shot and then turning around to stick her tongue out at him.

“No answer, no location! Find him yourself, loverboy. And remember that I am always watching.”

Stomping away, and ignoring the smile twitching at his lips — she is so annoying, truly, gods above he owes Bianca a thousand apologies for ever opening his mouth — he heads towards the infirmary. There are only six locations Will is at any given time, after all, except when he disappears for several hours randomly but Nico doesn’t know how to bring that up yet. As he approaches the infirmary, though, he hears it absolutely blasting with music, like genuinely shaking the ground a little bit, and knows exactly where to find him.

As he approaches the door, wincing at the door, he finds it closed. Odd — Will likes a breeze when he works. Even odder is the hastily-written sign pasted onto it:

ANNUAL CLEAN OUT DAY. IF YOU NEED ME, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU NEED A BANDAID, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT, CALL AN AMBULANCE AND PRAY. I AM BUSY.

(‘Busy’ is underlined three times.)

In smaller print, under the all-caps monstrosity, is:

Unless you’re Nico, in which case disregard the previous sentiment. No, Cecil, this does NOT mean you.

The note is written again in Ancient Greek, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Mandarin, Italian, Polish, Korean, Morse Code, and another ten languages Nico can’t even name. Actually, wait — the top left is Klingon. And middle right note does not appear to be language, showing instead a poorly drawn stick figure in armour being shoved into a cannon and shot into the sun by another poorly drawn stick figure in a lab coat. Nico loves a man who’s multi-talented, indeed.

Hesitantly, Nico cracks open the door. He is immediately assaulted by a solid wall of sound, and then nearly bowled over by the enigma himself, William ‘I Can Restructure A Human Brain But Cannot Tie My Shoelaces’ Solace. He catches himself at the last second, and then barely manages to catch Will, grabbing him around the waist just before his head hits the floor.

“Nico!” he shouts over the music, smiling brightly. “Hi! You’re here!”

“I’m here.” He can physically feel his voice cracking, but luckily the music drowns it out. Hopefully. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Cleaning!” Will straightens up, although he stays within the circle of Nico’s arms. Nico tries real hard to keep his gaze firmly planted on his face and not on the hands he still has in his hips. “I do it once a year, kick everybody out and deep clean the place. Helps keep it fresh and minimize the bloodstains on the floor.”

“Ah. And the music…”

“It’s fun!” Will shouts. He gasps when the CD player skips and a new song comes on, heavy base and funky synths blasting so hard the window panes shake. “Oh my gods! I love this one!” He turns his bright grin at Nico full force, absolutely no holdbacks on the dimples or freckles, gods help him, and bows cheekily. “Can I have this dance, good sir?”

“It’s Britney Spears’ Outrageous,” Nico protests weakly.

“Yeah!”

…Very, very weakly.

“…Okay.”

Will whoops, grabbing his hands and spinning him around. Nico yelps, nearly tripping over a cot, but when he looks back up Will has his eyes closed and is shimmying not unlike a worm on a fish hook, and it’s so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. Will pries one eye open, grinning widely, and shimmies harder.

“You’re such a dweeb!”

“Join me in the dweebiness! Free yourself!”

Nico rolls his eyes fondly, squeezing Will’s hand, and lets himself get ridiculous. He’ll deny it if anyone asks, but it’s fun.

…And not just because Will is next to him, smile brighter than any star, dancing like a massive dork, hand clasped in his.

[lostlikesaebyeok]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒆-𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒐𝒌 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

requested

♡･ﾟ₊ title: she smells like salt and honey

♡･ﾟ₊ pairing: kang sae-byeok x black!brazilian!fem!reader

♡･ﾟ₊ au: post-squid game / best friends to lovers / salvador, bahia setting

♡･ﾟ₊ genre: angst, slow burn, emotional awakening, soft smut, wlw

♡･ﾟ₊ warnings: alcohol use, emotional neglect (by boyfriend), internalised sexuality confusion, implied sexual content

♡･ﾟ₊ summary:

you live in salvador with the sea in your lungs and heartbreak in your chest. your boyfriend, luan, makes you feel small, like your love is too loud for him to hold. the only place you ever feel heard is in your best friend’s arms. and tonight, over warm beer and salted air, something changes. maybe you’re not as straight as you thought. maybe home isn’t a person. it’s her.

you’re honestly not that sure of when you stopped being in love with luan.

it could've been the third time he ditched your plans for a night out with his boys. or it could've been when he said, “you’re being too emotional again,” like that wasn’t the worst thing a person could say when you were trying to talk about your feelings. either way, it’s been months since his kisses felt warm. since his hands felt like home. now, they’re just a reminder of how cold someone can be while claiming to love you.

you’re still with him, though. still taking his half-hearted texts. still waiting on his calls. still swallowing the sting every time he walks ahead of you like he’s embarrassed to be seen holding your hand.

and the only reason you’re still sane is sae-byeok.

she’s sitting next to you now, on the couch in your tiny apartment in salvador, one leg tucked under her and a beer in her hand. her hoodie’s too big, like always, sleeves covering her hands as she lifts the drink to her lips. she’s got that lazy, unreadable expression, but you’ve known her long enough to tell when she’s annoyed.

“he’s not coming, huh?” she says, glancing at the untouched plate of acarajé on the table, his favourite.

you press your lips together and shake your head. “he said he forgot he already had plans.”

“with the same three dudes he sees every weekend?”

you laugh, bitter and short. “yup.”

she sighs and leans back, staring at the ceiling like she’s counting how many more times she’ll have to hear this. “you know you don’t have to put up with that shit, right?”

“it’s not that easy.”

“sure it is. dump him.”

you roll your eyes. “not everyone’s as fearless as you.”

she smirks. “i’m not fearless. i just know my worth.”

you don’t say anything. it’s hard to speak when someone holds up a mirror like that. when they see through you like glass.

you drink your beer slowly, the bitterness of it burning a little on the way down. outside, the air is thick with the heat of a bahian evening. somewhere, music is playing. axé, maybe. and the scent of the sea lingers even through the window.

she’s still looking at you.

you don’t know what she sees when she looks, but it’s different from how luan sees you. he looks at you like a chore, like something to check off a list. sae-byeok looks like she’s trying to remember every detail.

“come on,” she says after a pause. “let’s not waste a night. let’s get drunk.”

you’re a few shots in when you start to loosen up.

sae-byeok’s on the floor, laughing at something you said, her head thrown back, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. her skin glows under the warm yellow light, and her hair’s a little messy, like she stopped caring halfway through the night. you’re sitting above her on the couch, your thighs warm and bare, your curls damp from the humidity, and your face flushed from the alcohol.

“i don’t get you,” you say suddenly.

“what?” she looks up, a lazy smile on her face.

“you. you could have anyone. why are you still single?”

she shrugs. “i have standards.”

“and i don’t?”

“you’re dating luan.”

you throw a pillow at her, and she catches it with one hand, still smiling.

“seriously,” you say. “have you ever been in love?”

her face changes, just slightly. softer and more careful.

“yeah,” she says. “once.”

you wait, but she doesn’t say more.

“what happened?”

“she didn’t know i loved her.”

your heart stumbles.

“did you tell her?”

“nah. she thought she was straight.”

there’s a pause.

you swallow, trying to keep your voice light. “well, that’s dumb. maybe she just didn’t know.”

“maybe.” she’s looking at you again, more serious this time. “maybe she was scared.”

you look away. your stomach twists, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or something else, but you think she’s talking about you.

“you ever think about kissing a girl?” she asks, voice quieter now.

you pause. “i mean… maybe. yeah. a few times.”

“who?”

you glance at her, nervous laugh bubbling up. “why? you gonna get jealous?”

“maybe.”

your breath catches. fuckk.

“do you wanna try it?” she says, and you know she’s serious. not drunk serious. not joking serious. she's being for real.

you don’t speak. you just look at her, really look, and realise how close she’s gotten. you didn’t even notice. but her face is inches from yours now, her lips parted slighty, her eyes flicking down to your mouth and then back up.

you say yes without thinking.

her lips are soft.. even softer than you imagined.

you thought it might feel wrong or weird or too new, but it doesn’t. it feels like slipping into warm water. like coming home.

she kisses you slowly, like she’s afraid to break you. one hand slides to your thigh, resting there gently. your breath hitches.

you lean into her without meaning to. your fingers curl in her hoodie. she deepens the kiss just a little, and your whole body sparks.

when you pull away, you’re breathing hard.

“fuck,” you whisper.

she doesn’t say anything. just watches you, waiting.

“i thought i was straight.”

“you might be.” her voice is steady. “but you want me.”

you nod slowly, still dazed.

and then you kiss her again.

this time, you push her back against the couch. this time, you’re the one chasing.

the rest of the night is heat and motion.

you don’t know how your hoodie ended up on her. or how her fingers ended up under your shorts. all you know is that you’re aching in a way you never have before. and she’s so gentle. so careful. her lips trace every inch of your skin like a prayer. and when you come apart in her arms, you feel something breaking open inside you, something you didn’t know you were holding.

you fall asleep in her hoodie, head on her chest, lulled by the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

when you wake up, the sun is bleeding through the curtains, and the air is quiet.

she’s already awake, scrolling her phone lazily. she glances at you, then sets it aside.

“hey.”

you sit up slowly. your head’s a little foggy, but your chest is clear. light.

“hey.”

“regrets?”

you shake your head. “no. just a lot to think about.”

she nods. “you don’t have to figure it all out today.”

“thanks.”

you pause.

“i think i want to break up with luan.”

she doesn’t smile, but her eyes soften. “i think that’s a good idea.”

you look at her, and for the first time in a long time, you feel seen.

you don’t have all the answers yet, but you know one thing for sure…

you don’t want to go another day pretending she doesn’t make you feel like home.

thank u for reading, angel ♡

(＊ﾟ∀ﾟ)=3 requested by @ygonaprexecapiscante :)

♡ tags: @saeshairtie @eunchacha @ilovesawbyeokandjjmaybank @gg0mezz @gyuyoungg @lyzem @janegrapefruitttt @reynadeluniverso @laylaheinz @laurenkenss @bleedingwhiteroses222 @maevelovessae

[rosstrytobe]

COMPETITION WITH WHO BUCK? 👀👀

[jjkyaoi]

LOVE ships that are best friends first and lovers second. childhood friends to lovers is my absolute shit. i know everyone loves enemies to lovers rivals to lovers whatever but i love people who just know each other inside and out. who, when they’re together, are still silly and friendly first and foremost. the type of relationship that can have slap fights and know every single intimate detail about each other. who are constantly glued together and sometimes speak at the same time like freaky twins in a horror movie. i love friendship as a deep aspect of love u bitches js don’t get it

[fanaticsnail]

Despiértame mi Corazon

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,454

(Image Source: Actor: Alex Pettyfer + @fanaticsnail's dodgy photo editing skills)

Synopsis: You have been on the run from Donquixote Doflamingo, sheltering and caring for a young, sick child. Your emotions catch up with you as you process the change your life has led you to. You’ve left it all: family, career, friends - all to support Rosinante in his quest to cure the boy. Upon seeing you in this state, your Corazon will do anything to see you smile again. 

Themes: mutual pining, sickness, love, Rosi is a daddy, Rosi is a sweetheart, idiots in love, friends to lovers, Trafalgar Law is a child, baby Law is an edge-lord, angst, crying, hurt/comfort, dancing, Rosi is a dork, sad ending (I’m sorry), Dance reference link here.

Notes: This is a gift for @writingmysanity. You get two Cora fics, because we both need it. The other, more happy one, is coming soon, sweety!! 

Song Suggestion: “Wake Me Up” - Postmodern JukeBox

The air carrying the tide towards your feet felt as thick and heavy as the encumbering weight on your heart. Frozen remnants of falling snow stuck to your cheeks, your eyelashes collecting a small amount of dust to coat your follicles in the crisp breeze. Aside from the peace found in momentary stasis, your mind was racing and your soul screaming for release. 

Trafalgar D Water-Law was dying. The boy you took under your wing, the child you cared for, the adolescent who held your heart in his hands was dying. He was not going to make it without consuming the Op-Op Fruit, a cruel reality that had finally caught up with you. 

You were so close. So unbelievably close to getting his cure - his fate balancing on the edge of a knife in the steely grasp of Donquixote Doflamingo. A cure like this was not something that would be gifted freely, both you and Rosinante knew this for a fact. There was no amount of convincing, scheming, bribing, groveling, or begging you could do to gather this cure for the sickly child you both loved. It needed to be claimed by force, and claimed now. 

Finding solace in the small moment you carved aside, you allowed yourself the luxury of hot tears rolling down your cheeks: consumed by the grief in the dire situation you found yourself within. You were simply unable to carry the weight of these harsh and raw emotions any longer. What began as a small sniff through your nose quickly and quietly escalated into soft sobs. As the sorrow was released, you felt the weight grow heavier in your heart and expand to encumber your chest.

Drawing up your knees and cradling them against you, you turned your head away from the shack as your shoulders shook with each whimpered sob. You desperately hoped to any deity that was listening that you were far enough away from your home for the night to hold your sobs in silence, not alerting or disturbing your two companions as they lay in slumber. 

Stalking slowly towards you, aided in silence by his devil-fruit abilities, Donquixote Rosinante was approaching you in your sorrow. His hand stuttered forward, wanting desperately to place it down on your shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze in consoling your release of your emotions. 

He, himself, knew this feeling, and he knew this feeling well. Giving into his feelings a few weeks earlier, while drinking a vast amount of sake straight from the bottle. He felt helpless in the overwhelming devastation that currently held the three of you hostage. Desperate to provide you comfort, although not desiring to give you a touch you were not expecting, he halted his movement from descending upon your shoulders.

Retracting his extended hand away from you, he stumbled backwards towards the shack to check in on the sleeping Trafalgar Law. Clambering up the steps, he looked over the peaceful form of the boy nestled up in his blankets to keep warm in the cool night. Noticing the fluttering rise and fall in his chest, the subtle wheeze extending and catching in his throat, he felt the return of helplessness overcome his body. 

Turning away from the child, his fingers absentmindedly brushed against the surface of the steely frame of his radio, flicking on the valve to wake its static call. He began turning the knobs, seeking out a whisper of a song to drown out his circulating devastation and distract himself with. 

The rustling static did nothing to wake Law from his rest, but did alert you of the fact Rosinante was awake and skulking around. Hastily drying your tears with the inner sleeve on your wrist, you ensured you were the very picture of positivity should the leader of your expedition join you in the cool air outside the shack. 

Your relationship with the younger Donquixote brother was complicated. 

Pledging your undying loyalty under pain or death to Doflamingo in your youth, your proximity to the younger brother had you develop the swell of infatuation with him. Through the years, your heart always had a soft simmer threatening to rapidly boil towards the surface. He was quiet, he was calm, his skills as a fighter were a privilege to behold in battle, and it was an honor to fight beside him. 

Under the orders of the older Donquixote brother, you had done  terrible things that required atonement to cleanse your hands of it. As you were both introduced to the young child who wished for death to claim him, you both became as hardened as the other to force the will to live upon him in repentance for your transgressions. 

Watching Rosinante take the lead in Law’s care, your infatuation rose once again: a rise which prompted you to cast aside your loyalty to Doflamingo and aid ‘Corazon’ in the task of betraying him. You were in exile, hiding while searching for a cure for the boy that you only now learnt were in the clutches of the very hands you were attempting to flee from.

You loved him. You loved watching the lanky man fawning over the sickly boy. It had your heart soar and fly ever higher. The way he loved with his whole heart had a ripple effect, prompting you to open your own heart to love both of them even more. When Rosinante displayed his heart, it was worn on his sleeve and given unconditionally. And when you saw this love for others, it made you long to be a recipient of such devotion. 

The rise in static volume prompted you to turn around, glancing at the looming figure exiting the door of the shack, a radio within his hands. He placed it on the wooden frame lining the porch and gestured for you to come over to him with a subtle sway of his hands. You offered him a soft, melancholy smile and rose to your feet from the cool sand beneath you. 

No words were spoken as you approached him, keeping your head bowed from him as the static crackled and roared to life. A familiar tune from your youth rose in the speakers, your smile broadening as the lyrics shepherded you into a gentle sway. 

Rosinante’s outstretched hand flitted fluidly down to you, a small bob in his head indicating for you to place your hand within his own. You returned this gesture with your eyes closed and shaking your head in disbelief at his invitation. He smiled, reaching forward his other hand down and claiming your unoccupied hand and began swaying you to the beat. 

“What are you doing, Rosinante?” you slowly hummed your question up at him, brow twitching up in intrigue. His warm smile pulled you in, alongside the slow shimmied-shake of his arms with your own. 

“We’re dancing,” he confessed with a rumbled chuckle, his toes accidentally colliding with your own: both flinching at the contact. He shook his head, adding to his answer, “I stand corrected: we’re trying.” 

Although the mood was filled with sorrow, the sway of Rosinante’s awkward movements had your smile rising up your cheeks and eyes drying of their prior downpour. A small swell in your heart at his attempt to make you smile had your cheeks begin to pull upwards by the smallest smile you could muster. 

Everything about the way he danced with you was stiff, awkward and rigid: a memory rising in both your minds of earlier in your youth springing forward.

“You remember when we first danced together?” Rosinante asked you, his painted lips attempting to hold back a toothy grin. You giggled at him, ushering his body to spin in your arms and gently twirled his body. The dark feathers tickled your skin, a sneeze rising in your nose in response to the subtle brush from the inky follicles.

“I remember it being about as ah-... ah-... ahh-...!” you sneezed, shaking your shoulders as you turned away from him to save him from the spray. He chuckled as you recovered from your sneeze, continuing, “-As awkward as this one. You didn’t have your feather coat then, either.” 

“Oh, right!” Rosinante laughed, twirling his body away from yours and removing his feathered overcoat from its place on his shoulders, casting it over the wooden frame beside the speaker. “Alright now, where were we?” His pink shirt dipped in his chest, the subtle rise of his lungs and exposure of soft skin tempted a warm flush to rise in your cheeks. You shook your head to rid yourself of such thoughts about your friend, recovering enough to plaster a small smile on your face. 

Swaying your hips and tapping your toes against the ground, you skillfully twirled your body to rejoin your hands within his. He gleefully laughed at your gesture, his own hips swaying to the beat and rocking his shoulders as the rhythm picked up. His knees were unpracticed and unskilled in this artform, but his enthusiasm overtook his inability to dance. 

Twirling his body away from you, he clapped his hands and began stomping his feet lightly on the floorboards. He tapped twice more before kneeling himself down on one knee, his other leg arched into a deep lunge in front of him. He placed his right hand on his hip, rising his left above his head and brandished it with a playful flourish. 

“Oh, we’re doing this one, are we?” your tone picked up, your brow arching on your forehead as you leant forward to claim his left hand within your right, “You remember how I tripped over your lanky legs when I did this last time,” you smiled, circling his body and hopping yourself over his calf lying flat behind him.

“I do,” he chuckled in return, following your movement with the lull of his head. His smile rose further as you playfully watched him from the corner of your eye. “You remember how we recovered, though? What we did to balance out the dance?” 

“Yes, Corazon,” you half-laughed, half-sighed, as you recalled how the evening progressed, “We drowned ourselves in several bottles of sake and laughed at our own idiocy.” Rosinante shook his head, rising to his feet after releasing your hand from within his. 

“No, mi amor,” he whispered, placing his hands on your hips and swaying you from behind, “I meant this.” He turned you within his arms, raking his hands over your hips, hands circling over your waist and holding you firmly against his torso. You hooked your arms over his shoulders behind your head, shepherding him to embrace you further while swaying to the rhythm. 

Rosinante pressed his cheek against your own, your eyes instinctively fluttering closed as you felt the rise in his grin on your skin. His breath tickled the nape of your neck, you breathing along to his rhythmic pattern with each passing moment. 

You felt all of your worries cast themselves aside each moment he held you in his arms, all anguish and melancholy passing from your body and reigned within his embrace. The pressure of his own sorrows fled from him and onto you, the sharing of the emotional labor departed each of you in this moment to simmer and smother between you.

“Why were we dancing again?” you whispered to him, your lips almost making contact with the shell of his ear. You felt him shudder against your touch, instinctively pressing your back further against his chest and nuzzling into your neck. 

Spinning in his arms, his hands tugging at your shifting shirt as you turned to face him, his eyes widened as he sought out his answer to you. Humming thoughtfully, he finally located his answer in his memory.

“I think it was Doffy’s birthday, or celebrating a raid on some unfortunate-,” Rosinante began, halted by you pulling away and glancing into his eyes. 

“-I mean now, mi corazon,” you floated your eyes between his, looking for rhyme or reason within his steely orbs, “Why are we dancing now?” He stuttered in his sway, freezing like a fainting goat being startled by a loud sound. 

“Y-You called me-...” his breath caught in his throat, lips parting as he floated his gaze between your own eyes, briefly caught in gazing longingly against your lips. “You called me ‘mi corazon’, mi amor.” He held you in silence, his heart swelling and adrenaline urging his body against his will to surge forward. 

The air was tense, the deafening silence being broken only by the smooth rise in melody from the radio beside you. His eyes softened more, wordlessly asking you a question with his lips quivering and eyes frantically darting between your own.

A small nod from him, answered by a nod of your own was all the answer he needed to join his lips with yours, softly molding himself to your lips and breathing in your air. 

The world came crashing down around you, the realms of unanswered questions from your youth were retorted by the soft lips of Donquixote Rosinante’s pressed against your own. You squeaked against his lips, eyes wide and watching as, his were closed with his brows furrowing in deepest concentration. He hissed in a breath through his nose, turning his head by the angle of his chin to deepen the embrace. 

Raking his hands up from your hips, he claimed fistfuls of your shirt in his needy grasp. He whimpered against your lips, prompting you to reciprocate his passionate kiss. You felt his heart, his spirit and his worries pass from his body into yours further. This intimate and wordless confession had your heart racing at the impossibilities that brought you here. 

Slowly pulling your hands from his shoulders, you slid them down his neck and grasped the embroidered pink collar of his shirt and pushed him back towards the railing. As his beck hit the hard, wooden pillar, he gasped into your mouth and desperately clawed at you to hold you firmer. Angling his head away, he pressed lengthy kiss after kiss against your lips, cheeks and chin: a trail marked by his pink lip-paint. 

“I want you,” he whispered against your lips, hovering them above your own before pressing his own against yours twice more, “I want us. I want all of us-.” He peppered your cheeks with lengthy kisses, the smear of his lip paint rubbing against your skin and tinting your flesh. “-The three of us. I want to be our own family: go where we want to go, wherever our hearts take us. I want to forge a life with you and that kid.”

“What are you saying-?” you whimpered for him, your hands claiming his cheeks within them and ushering his face away from yours. He groaned, leaning forward and claiming your lips beneath his own before fully allowing you to push him away.

“I want to adopt Law,” he continued, his hand rising to your hair and caressing your scalp, “You already mother him, fawn over him and treat him like your own.” Your hand flew to his hair as he pressed a long kiss against your neck, “I want to do this, and I want to do this with you, mi amor. I want to marry you, to be yours and you to be mine.” 

“I want us to be happy, mi amor,” he concluded, a melancholy smile finding his cheeks as he dipped his brow down to seek out your eyes, “I will have you smile again: a smile mirrored between the three of us.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your brow, adding a muffled, “Three against the world.”

The shock of it all happening at once held you in momentary silence. Feeling the pull to confess your own adoration and wants for the future onto him, your lips formed words before you could withhold them in your throat. 

“When this nightmare is all over,” you gasped, tugging at his blond locks to subtly weave him away from your neck to look in your eyes. “When we wake up from the darkness,” you slowly caressed his cheek, your thumb finding his bottom lip and attempting to press the paint within the boundaries of his lip line, “I want all of that with you, mi corazon.” 

At your confession, Donquixote Rosinante’s heart soared for you and his tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes. He truly didn’t know those words were needed to grace his ears and soothe his mind, but so thankful you formed them. 

He loved you from the moment he met you all those years ago. The urge to protect you from the evil his brother ushered into the world was so strong, he nearly broke the mask he made while infiltrating the crew. Seeing you hold your own against them, your skill in combat ushering a swift death to those who opposed you with mercy had him swooning at your kindness amongst the brutality. 

“Te amo, mi corazon,” you whispered, your lips again hovering over his own, “I always have, and I should’ve acted on it sooner. I just got caught up with the mission, with loving our child. You are doing such a good job with him, I want you to know that.” You soothed over his blond hair, brushing your nose against his while confessing your admiration further, “I love you, and I love Law so, so much-.” 

Surging forwards, the contact he made with your lips was wet: the stale aftertaste of his last cigarette was eclipsed by the salty tears falling over his lips. He didn’t know when his tears started to fall, nor did you grasp when your own intertwined with his against your lips. You laughed against his lips, feeling the lingering tingle of affection spark and ignite in your chest. He swooned for you, raking desperately at your body to hold you as close as he could without breaking through the material of your clothes. 

You broke away from his lips, gazing into his eyes with nothing but pure adoration and love. His own unspoken confession lingered in the air, the atmosphere tense and swollen with the lust-stricken adrenaline. The spark of the adoration tinting your eyes surged his confession forward, his words clumsily jumbled over his lips. 

“Mi tesoro, mi amor, mi familia,” he whimpered for you, his voice stuttering and stumbling over his words as he stooped down to you, “Te amo-... I-I love you. I love everything about you, and I should’ve told you sooner. I wanted to tell you from the day I first met you. I swooned for you when you danced with me all those years ago. My heart beats for you, and propels me to complete this task all the sooner to start this adventure with you and Law.” 

He pressed his forehead against your own, the feeling of hot tears rolling down his cheeks at the confession had you both sobbing and laughing at yourselves. Sniffling and collecting your own tears on your wrist, and he with his, you both glanced up at each other and allowed your smiles to rise. 

“We will get this done, Donquixote Rosinante,” you hardened your resolve, nodding through every word, “And when it’s all over, we will be una familia- a family, mi corazon. The three of us. Together.” You held each other close on the deck of the small shack: swaying between kisses as the darkness plaguing your journey was eclipsed by the light rising between you. 

Hanging on your every word, a small sob hitched at the crack in the door, Trafalgar Law’s hand clasping over his lips to mask his presence. Law had never witnessed so much love pouring from one person to another. The fact that you both held such love for him too had him openly sobbing at the interaction. 

He wanted this too. 

He wanted to be a family with both of you: two absolute idiots that loved both him and each other unconditionally. Two complete idiots who were hardened fighters, pirates, and war criminals. His idiots.

He wanted this so desperately. 

He wants his imperfect, perfect family. 

But some things were not meant to be. 

Law would call on this memory often. Each time that melody played over his personal radio, his heart would both consequently swell and shatter as tears threatened to pour down his face. He wanted to wake up, for it to all be some horrific nightmare and still be searching with you and Cora-san for a cure for his illness. Your love was real, and he was thankful to play his part in it.

However small a time it was, it was his. His perfect, imperfect family.

[atomicrebelfire]

Gravity Shift

✨ New Fic ✨

Canon-adjacent-ish or maybe not, just vibes, Soft possessiveness, emotional vulnerability, mutual care

📍Read on AO3

A crowded bar. Buck laughing with Eddie. Tommy smiling quietly beside them—technically part of the group, but not really in it.

Tommy’s not jealous. He’s not. He’s just… tactically repositioning Buck. For bar geometry. Totally normal. Definitely not about feeling left out. Definitely not about Buck laughing at someone else’s jokes.

(Except it kind of is. And Buck notices.)

This fic lives somewhere between soft ache and quiet reassurance. It’s about being seen. About being pulled back in. About someone choosing you—not loudly, but clearly. 💙

🌀 Inspired by this incredible prompt from @epiphainie —just took it in a softer direction: more insecurity than jealousy, more ache than heat, but absolutely the same chaotic energy.

[raayllum]

RAYLLUM S5 MEME:  touches [7/8] 5x09, “infantis sanguine"

[defeateddetectives]

hexorcists 8 or 33, depending on what mood you're in lmao

sooo i realized i did #33 here for them for the same fic meme like 8 years ago (we have really been here forever!)

8. Ah, unrequited love.  When your best isn’t enough. (Participation medals of the heart.)

by now, it's mostly a long quiet ache stretched out over seven years but you've learned to make something akin to friends with it.

he says your name all wrong these days, says the wrong name even, and you haven't corrected him in years.

it as if there's a fear that something would happen if he said the right one, that he'd invoke some ancient curse upon you both that would scorch the earth where you stood and leave nothing in its wake.

in your darker, selfish moments, you'd welcome it, can wish for nothing more.

you watch his throat in profile after a strenuous exorcism, his jaw tight, his breathing ragged.

there’s something especially haunting about the sight of him in this moment. the ferocity in his eyes makes you shiver in spite of yourself. you think if he ever looked at you with those eyes, you'd forget your own name: head of eleven houses reduced to whatever he wanted you to be, whatever he wanted you to do.

in your less selfish moments, you think, with some amusement, it is perhaps for the greater good that he doesn't. 

[sb-essebi]

Relief | Dreamling | 9.7k | Explicit | Complete

No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags: #Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot #Mutual Pining #Getting Together #Friends to Lovers #First Kiss #First Time #Dreams #Dream Sex #Throne Sex #Service Top Dream of the Endless | Morpheus #Authority Kink #a healthy dose of oral fixation #Dream of the Endless | Morpheus has PTSD #Dream of the Endless | Morpheus doesn't want to take off his clothes #Clothed Sex #Ass to Mouth #<I thought I’d warn for that just to be safe but they ARE in the dreaming so it’s really nbd

Summary:

But worst of all was the way Dream sat, trousers tight as ever making his thighs look powerful and taut with muscle, the perfect V his legs made drawing such attention to Dream’s crotch that Hob could not help but stare, the beautifully evident bulge there making Hob long to kneel at Dream’s feet and be allowed to unzip and unbutton Dream’s trousers, to slowly unwrap him like a present until he could take Dream’s prick in hand, and feel the heft of him, and wrap his lips around him and put his tongue to every inch of him and taste him to his heart’s content— “What bold dreams you have, Hob Gadling.”

A dreamling throne sex fic inspired by Dream looking gorgeous in the teaser trailer that dropped in May.

Read on AO3

[mynonclicheblog]

when you need shelter, i will cover you / smother your tears and i'll show you mercy i see you in the morning sun, a shadow of the man i love i watch while you're sleeping so far inside your dream / i lie here wondering i wonder, "am i what you're needing?"

[fawnique]

once more to see you

stanford!reader x stanford!tashi

author’s note: first time writing angst!!! or whatever the fuck this is.

warnings: swearing, tragic sapphic love, bad writing

The air reeks of wet cement and something else; was it longing? Or something else entirely as you faced Tashi Duncan on the empty tennis court with the moon’s glow shining on both of your figures, as if it was a third wheeler. You loved to practice at nighttime- something about the serenity of isolation and dimmed lights turned you towards it. The pair of you were both young, rising tennis stars, full of potential and star-power. She accepted you as her peer, and you couldn’t seem to grasp how she saw you both on the same level. You had entered multiple states of relentless questioning of what ‘’peers’’ meant to Tashi Duncan; maybe it was repressed love for you that she only ever took out on her racket, or a soul-burning hatred for herself whenever she even remotely demonised you. Tashi practiced in the sun; typically it would always cascade over her like a friend that’s there but not there. Like when you’re in your dorm thinking about her, but not at her match; but were you just a friend?

‘’It’s late, go home,’’ you commented, glancing up at her as you packed away your gear. It was post-practice, after all. She scoffed without malice-

‘’You think Stanford is my home?’’

‘’You know what I mean. Your dorm.’’ 

She doesn’t reply, instead she gently pulls you to your feet. Your racket is still in your hand as she stands behind you and adjusts your grip on the racket. As if you were practicing a serve,

‘’It helps to hold it more like… this. Less slipping,’’ Her voice is presumably soft, the intent was anything but. You nod, and for what felt like a lifetime, stood there with her cold and calloused hands around your warm ones. Then she pulls away, as if your skin itself burned her. The racket almost falls out of your hands before you quickly stuff it in your bag. 

‘’Why are you still here?’’ You question, zipping up your bag.

‘’The quiet… It's nice. I can see why you practice so late,’’ she sheepishly replied- not even she could believe the bullshit that came out of her usually snark-filled mouth.

‘’Or me,’’ you replied, almost teasingly. She didn’t protest.

One season passed, then another came; tennis season. And through the previous passing season, you and Tashi exchanged one-too-many fading moments of intimacy, the familiar cycle where she’d experience vulnerability around you- then run away; and you waited for her to come back every time. Somehow, it all leads to a shared room in a hotel, your match the next day. But you weren’t opposing each other, at least not for a trophy.

You were in the bed, a forgotten book lying neglected in your hands as you watched intensely as Tashi paced back and forth. As if she’s a caged animal. You’d love to burrow into her mind and figure out what she’s so anxious about and just put it to fucking rest. But you had a pretty good idea of what it was about, on who it was about. Usually if this was in her dorm, she’d run out onto the tennis court, but not everything could be fixed with a racket and a ball. You knew this best.

When the lights turned off, only then would she join you in bed. It was a common practice for you two. She got under the covers and stared through your soul in the pitch-black of the room. As if she was searching for a hint of dishonesty, but she wouldn’t find it. Not in you. She sighed in… relief? You couldn’t tell, not this time. Her hand finds your cheek, laying side-by-side, she kisses you. Lips enveloping each other, a fire burning between the two of you, which only caused you both to dive more deeply into each other; physically but also emotionally. She naturally breaks away first, but doesn’t stop holding you. You both pant, as if the breath that you lost in the kiss wouldn’t come back to haunt you both.

‘’No one can know, not until… later,’’ she says with a hint of hesitant fear in her tone. Her voice shook slightly. Maybe you were the only person who had seen her this vulnerable. You acted as if the venom that just spelled from her lips didn’t burn through your soul, and nodded; in understanding or just compliance?

You wondered if you actually existed to Tashi when you both were in a crowd. You stood next to her, directly next to her as girls swarmed around her in the locker room after her match; which she won, of course. As the others excitedly asked her questions, to sign things, what the match was like, who she was dating; you just stood there. Like your presence was fading every time she ignored your whispers of her name to get her attention. Your hand for a second itched to tug her sleeve, to pull her close, to let the locker room noise fade out instead of you. Then, you just left. You would’ve been making a scene if anyone had actually noticed you beforehand. Because who were you when you stood next to Tashi Duncan?

The storm back to your dorm was filled with internal bargaining, you wanted her to love you out loud for once. For her to kiss you in front of the crowd for once. Not just with the lights off. You swung open your dorm’s door and collapsed onto your twin-sized bed that you occasionally would wake up to with her in there; watching you, and then pretending nothing happened. It seemed to be that way with her, like nothing ever happened, when really- everything happened. You knew that each touch, fleeting glance, private kiss; meant so much more than she would ever let herself believe. And you just had to let it happen.

A knock came from the other side of the door, you left it unlocked. You never consciously meant too, but it always was for her. She opened it, and saw a rather broken figure of you sitting on the bed.

‘’Y’know, it’s not safe to leave it unlocked,’’ she sheepishly chuckled, but it died down as quickly as she saw how upset you were.

‘’Look, you know we can’t just be all lovey and dovey in public-’’

‘’Last time I checked, acting like I exist isn’t being all ‘lovey dovey’.’’

She sighed and went over to sit next to you. She didn’t try to touch you, or comfort you. She just was there. 

She sucked in a breath before reluctantly apologising, ''I-... ‘m sorry.’’ 

‘’How many apologies until you just let it be public-’’

‘’Are you a fucking child?’’ She erupted, standing up from the bed, she paced again. You couldn’t get a word out before she left your dorm and you sobbed. Gutturally. Each tear meant a lifetime without her, that was the last time you ever saw her. Because each time she’d pass by you on campus, it was just the ghost of the woman you used to know; and she haunted you. You wondered if you had a ghost, and if it haunted her. 

But what happens when two ghosts meet again years later? In the aftermath of heartbreak and the loss of whispered sweet nothings, would they rejoice and fall back into each other’s arms? Or would they disappear again, only to be met by the cold and unforgiving memories of them? Today, you found out. You were standing on the court, racket in hand, waiting for the match to begin as your heart pounds in your chest, and the sweat forms on your back from the burning presence of the sun. And by some sort of gut instinct, you look towards the sidelines; only to be met with the eyes of your-something-that-could’ve-been from five years ago. You had heard through the grapevine of gossiping coaches and players that she had torn her ACL, and your heart ached for her in sympathy. You nodded up at her, and she just stared. That was all the clarity you needed to know that whatever happened five years ago, happened.

[rockyroadkylers]

🎶 why do i always finish writing fics at MIDNIIIIIIIIIGHT 🎶

[joverflowers]

When it's dark, you'll stick right by my side

[harringroveera]

Billy and Steve give each other polaroids because of this particular reason