#(this sounds romantic. it’s not. it’s unhinged)

[numberonetacostan]

I love toico so much I think it's a problem. They are so. I need to shred them up. Like a dog when left alone with a pillow.

I imagine after MePad dies Toilet takes one look at this pathetic five apples tall homeless woman, learns she was also friends with MePad, and goes "ok we're friends now you're coming to my house" because Toilet is somehow the only person in this universe who is capable of owning property.

And thus a beautiful not-romantic-or-platonic-but-a-secret-third-thing relationship is born. Microphone is not fully convinced they're not alternate versions of each other (British, attached to MePad, emotionally unstable, impulsive as hell, and I headcanon both their initials as TG).

They take turns being the one getting them into trouble and the one getting them out of it. Toilet has to accompany Taco to PG-13 movies because she has no ID to prove she's an adult. They speak to each other exclusively in obscure British slang. I also like to include Mic, Soap, & Bomb in their friend group but this isn't about them.

I could go much deeper into deranged headcanon territory but this ask is already rather long. Be prepared for the mildly unhinged, unnecessarily artsy short film directed by Taco and starring Toilet.

Hi there!!^^ Welcome, and thank you for sending in an ask!! :]

Hehehe! Taco going to England with Toilet does sound like it would be pretty nice for her! She's back in her natural habitat <3 and he'd be able to help her get an ID and citizenship and all the stuff she needs to live a proper life and legally exist! I don't think he'd know much about it, but presumably he's already a citizen so that alone is helpful. Toico not-romantic-or-platonic-but-a-secret-third-thing marriage to get Taco easier access to citizenship, anyone?

Pffft! Toilet accompanies her into the cinema, and then they split up. She goes and watches the R-rated horror film and Toilet goes to see the movie version of a Wiggles concert.

And yay british slang! I like to think Taco is the only one who can fully understand what Toilet is saying at all times without Mepad around. The british slang is already programmed into her.

[ectoplasmer]

need to kiss him until we’re both silly and delirious and giggling, until we’re both grabbing at each other’s shoulders and sides and arms, until we’re both half hazardously stumbling our way backwards onto the couch in a heap of laughter just so we can be as close as possible and we’re clumsily bumping foreheads and noses. need to kiss him until he can’t stop smiling and until we’re both stupidly lovestruck and just clinging to each other

[mochiajclayne]

Love the part that two of Law's character songs are really about him standing on business that he can steal hearts literally and one of them is being lost in the new world while he says Luffy's nickname softly LIKE OKAY BOY KISSER. 🫵

[ohhgingersnaps]

Tell me why EVERY brain cell leaves my body as soon as I try and talk to a cute boy

[nyxi-pixie]

me when im supposed to be studying but instead im thinking abt mori and dazai again

let me go absolutely insane for a second (not a second. this is so long. i just checked mfer its over 2000 words. i need to be sedated. imprisoned. restrained. examined. smthn)

'a young man with a death wish once came to me and i wanted to rescue him but i couldnt' and like yeah. beast mori couldnt rescue him. but to a certain extent, canon mori sort of has (touch wood for long term but as it is, dazai is so much less intent on dying than he was in dark era).

and it just. i always wonder about the actual intentions of the mimic situation. because on the surface, it looks like what dazai calls it, then deeper than that, it looks like a very calculated long term strategy, and deeper than that, its just. kinda sad.

i just think its interesting that he plans the mimic thing the way he does knowing dazai will leave despite the fact that he doesnt want him to. and dazai himself reasons this as mori being afraid of him, that mori doesnt want dazai to kill him the way mori killed the old boss. but thats? not true? mori seems unbothered at worst and downright proud at best when he tells oda that dazai will probably kill him one day.

so. Why. did he do it knowing dazai would leave? it wasnt his only option; he could have set skk on mimic. like 5 second future vision isnt gonna do much when the danger is alr there (as oda says). and in the face of a massive black hole coming right at u or a building being dropped on you, five seconds really isnt gonna do much. so mimic cld have been removed without a casualty and the mafia could still have got the permit, and not lost dazai. (who is Objectively an asset to the organisation.) But thats not how it happens. Mori plans it exactly as he does knowing oda will die and dazai will leave. he also then makes it continually obvious that dazai would be welcomed back.

and ive been trying to think of other reasons for it, but across canon and insight from beast mori the only thing i can think of comes back to the fact that mori wants dazai alive. alive and aware that the pm is the best place for him, but alive more than anything else.

i think he wants dazai as his heir bc he knows dazai is enough like him to manage it, but i wonder if it also comes back to the fact that mori is trying to rescue him, and i imagine his own reason to live (and lord knows he suggests he needs a strong one in fifteen) is probably tied down to legacy and responsibility for the city. mori devotes his life to the mafia because he wants peace and appreciates that control (rather than eradication) of the worst of yokohama is the way to keep that peace. and thats enough of a reason to live for him. but it isnt for dazai.

dazai doesnt give a fuck about the mafia as a concept bc his motivations dont rest on ideals the way moris do. dazai only ever does anything because of the people he cares about. everything we see him do, EVEN in pm era where people claim he was some emotionless rockman, come back to his friends.

its why hes never at the centre of the plot. he cant be, because he never does anything for himself. fifteen, in which he is a titular character, is a plot that rests vastly on chuuyas back story. dazais original motivation prior to meeting him is just to khs, and only upon meeting chuuya and them having their whole weird Thing and dazai deciding to be an obsessive freak, does he actually have personal stakes in the job. then in stormbringer, its all abt chuuya again, and dazai is only involved bc he cares about him (whatever he actually says aside). tdipud is driven by odas storyline, and so is dark era. dazai is only active in them bc he cares abt oda.

even when he has more idealistic motivations come canon era, they come back to the fact that hes doing it for oda. anything Above And Beyond that promise is bc hes acting to save the agency, who are his Friends. his motivations are deeply personal in complete contrast to moris, and it is perhaps the only place they really differ.

now ironically, it seems to be that the only decisions mori makes influenced by personal feelings are because of dazai. which takes me to the fact that i think he let dazai leave because he recognises thats whats best for him (at least in the short term - and we'll get to That in a second). and its not really a loss for the organisation because dazais too practical to ever dismiss the mafia, and he still gut responds with their methods. so its an easy sacrifice, a justifiable one.

then theres the contrast with the kouyou&kyouka thing. kouyou doesnt want kyouka to taste the light only to have it sour on her tongue when she realises she cant actually have it because of what she is. because kouyou believes anyone tainted by darkness the way they are can never be free of it. (because she couldnt get out herself).

i wouldnt be surprised if mori thinks the same way, certainly in regards to someone like dazai who Is naturally built for the mafia in a way kyouka really isnt. mori at least believes dazais blood is mafia black and whether or not this is true is irrelevant. he Does have to actively fight his impulses in order to do the Right Thing even now. And even doing that, he still falls into their methods when its practical, or when he's paranoid or unsettled enough to need the comfort of habit, hence the way he treats aku even four years removed from the mafia. hence the way he treats atsushi immediately after Q appears (the way he so instantly latches onto his older self literally slapping the self pity he detests in himself and in his former kouhai out of his current one). hence the way the parallels to mori spring up most when dazai has just been shaken by something.

so i wonder if mori let dazai walk into the light knowing (or believing) he wouldnt fit there, and would come back with a stronger commitment to the mafia as a whole because it may be a concept of sorts, but its one that embraces him in a way the light doesnt, and while dazai does things for the people He cares about, its a mutual thing - he feels responsibility for the people that care about Him too (which probably ties in to the desire for a quiet suicide without bothering anyone, and also to the disgust he has w the sheep - because it Isnt a mutual exchange there).

i think it was always intended as a temporary thing (five years away from the mafia maybe. the 'five years' right before dazai comes to take moris place). give him a taste of the light and let him come to his own conclusion that he doesnt belong there, and eventually turn back to the mafia where he does belong.

(despite suggestions that dazai Doesnt really belong there - smthn smthn cat/dog symbolism - though people suggest this implies he belongs w the ada and i dont think thats true either esp given the way hes omitted from the group so often. i think the cat symbolism w dazai likens him more to natsume than atsushi&fukuzawa esp given the way theyre shown tgthr so often. dazai doesnt belong to any organisation or rigid group, he just fits in line w whoever he cares abt and wherever he decides hes content to stay. v much like a cat actually.).

anyway, moris idea seems to be that dazai wld realise the mafia is somewhere he is cared for, and he cares for the people within it in return. though it doesnt seem to have really turned out that way (maybe mori j underestimated the power of the ada's one specialty: forced integration into its found family. lmao)

so you could see it from a practical perspective: mori sending dazai out to show him he really belongs w the mafia and shld come back to them when the time is right, thus mori secures his legacy by leaving the pm to dazai and the mafia is led forward by someone who could handle it the way mori has.

but. hes never pushy abt dazai coming back. hes downright polite abt it (contrasting to the way he treats yosano), and he puts an awful lot of effort into saving dazais life. (kinda funny that he sends chuuya to pick dazais ass up every five seconds with no reward for either of them - chuuya post dead apple literally asks and moris just like ? uh the safety of the city?? bragging rights😁👍? - but when he sends chuuya to save the agency as a whole the price is Heavy like. exchange of a member is crazyyy.)

dazai is always very much considered One Of Their Own. his seat is still empty waiting for him to come back, he and mori post guild are Always cooperating (despite the kinda petty way dazai talks to him during the reunion - the whole 'i burnt the coat' thing - its almost childish, spiteful in a way that speaks to personal hurt that undermines any control he might have had of their kind of distant passive aggressive exchange. but. im too insane abt that interaction that my interpretation cld be entirely bs.)

they communicate through this ridiculous game of chess, and rely on each other to keep both their organisations afloat. when anyone else from the ada tries to pull the same thing, mori pulls out contracts for their damn souls but when its dazai hes just like ? oh ur bf needs to save you again? of course i can spare him to go pick you up from european prison yeah not a problem! ill even glue his vampire cosplay teeth in!!

in connection with that, even with dazais commitment to Doing The Right Thing, he does not do it in the right way. hes perfectly content to use mori-typical underhanded methods to get the ada to the right place. he sends aku To His Death Knowingly for the sake of saving atsushi and by extension the rest of the agency (and he may have known that the vampirism wld sorta bring him back?? but he still sends him to die), and its sorta similar to mori sending aku out to deal with hawthorne and mitchell while hes in rlly bad shape.

anyway dazais methods always make me think of that cunty exchange sskk have in dead apple 'thats not the way we do things in the detective agency' 'was that a bad joke😘 ur too much weretiger🌈✨💖'. but like. dazai Doesnt work the way the ada does. at least not when things get tense enough to drive him back to habit.

i think people like to interpret dazai as being a better person now, and i think in some ways he is. because hes always influenced by the people hes around most. but also, his motivations havent really changed from pm era. he still does what he does for his friends, they just happen to be on the right side now.

anyway. mori puts more work into keeping dazai alive than any other character (bar perhaps chuuya - but thats because mori saving dazai runs hand in hand with chuuya doing it given hes the one sending him) which is. aurgh.

mori and the wish to save people is just interesting in general. the fact that he became a doctor in the first place is telling on its own plus the unhinged way he deals with yosano - of course someone obsessed with saving people would want a cheat card for sending Death packing - but maybe i could believe it was just a power thing, more to his sense of control. playing with life and death so that he can play god. and i think that probably is just a little bit part of it, esp during the war.

but theres also the way he treats doctors within the pm (sb calls it respect for his former position but it may also be knowledge that the better treated they are the more people they will save). And the only reason he works w the tripartite agreement is bc he loves yokohama, wants its people, including its underground, alive and all that (honestly it probably links back to war stuff - hes really intent on peace).

so hes already someone that is intent on saving people (and beast mori makes this obvious w the way he treats atsushi) but theres a personal edge to it w dazai, possibly bc dazai is so much like him, and asgr is kind of obsessed w the saving your mirrors bc you cldnt save yourself thing (sskk. atsushi&lucy. chuuya with his clone. beast akutagawa siblings. beast atsushi&kyouka. i could continue).

im frothing at the mouth but basically, mori does everything for practical reasons in line with his ideals, his grand vision for the PM, but that doesnt mean he isnt making any emotionally charged decisions. its just that theyre always justified by their practical outcomes. (Especially where dazai is concerned). so he can pretend that theyre not driven by personal feelings but IM WATCHING U MORI U CANT HIDE FROM ME.

yk i sometimes wonder if i see him too sympathetically for a guy thats as so sucks as he is but someone has to counterbalance the 75% of the fandom that thinks hes pure evil for no reason and has no thoughts outside of Being Terrible so. here you go have this from the depths of my brain.

[mydaylight]

If it really turns out that Alfrend Merrick is meant to become Bertha's admirer you'll never hear the end of it from this blog

[starbuck]

i think it’s kind of hysterical that - out of any piece of media that could possibly have a straight relationship that passes the sniff test for me - it’s this one, considering like *gestures to the misogyny*

[kakushusband]

Also my last platonic crush was, what. Luke Atmey in August. And I forgot the Grasp those feelings can have on my brain.

[futurewife]

Deep in the psyche TTOTT I try to ignore it I do. I'm a different man than when I first started publicly slefshipping and was Loki posting..... I AM!!!!

It's the way he's somehow EVERYONES ex/old flame 😂😂 /lh, I think I kinda know how you feel, whenever I actively was watching "Loki" it would all come back to me and I'd be like wait... I still kinda love him so muchly.... It was quite nice actually, there's so much comfort in a familiar face and character especially when they've been a part of your life for a really long span of time :')

[imposterogers]

matt and foggy r so annoying bc they literally friendzoned each other. foggy was like dude ur really attractive and matt was uncomfortable so foggy backed off. matt got to know foggy and was like 'wait i'm in love lowkey' and told foggy that he's looking for a romantic partner that he really likes listening to, pulled foggy into an embrace, and called him strong. foggy, also lowkey in love, was completely oblivious/ignored these advances bc he didn't want to fumble the bag and ruin their friendship. they'd go on to do everything together (intern together, have a joint tab together, open a lawyer's practice together, walk to work every morning together) and foggy would say the most unhinged romantic shit while friendzoning matt even harder in the next breath. 'we'll share everything [...] i'm with you. for better or worse........ bc we r BUSINESS partners.' 'when matt was around, I knew who I was' matt on the other hand was bitter as hell bc the guy he was in love with kept saying said romantic shit and not meaning it the way he wanted him to. 'sounds like we're getting married' 'you're not going to kiss me, foggy'. these bitches r just so damn dumb

[justarkive]

THE JEONS | smut drabble 3

Ass Or Tits? (…Both + 1) 🔞

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

contents: family!au, non.idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff, angst, sensitive topics + smut sometimes!

• chapter contents: smut!! unhinged devotion, horny affection, unprotected sex, chaotic couple energy, soft!kook but filthy smut hehe, body worship lowk. oral f receiving, anal play (rimming), nose in ur puss, tongue in ass, hands on tits… TRIPLE KILL. groping, nipple play, cum on skin, he rubs it in lol, mild spanking, face-sitting adjacent behavior?, he’s obsessed with ur ass fr, possessive!jungkook, one braincell between u both, sex but make it cinematic and unserious, romantic filth, giggly sex, “i wish we could do missionary and doggy at the same time”— and he fuckin does it… not QUITE. but he does it in his own way.

• taglist: @jenniebyrubies @lovingkoalaface @iamstilljk @elinaki92 @rpwprpwprpwprw @mafersame @parkinglot-nights @reallygenerouskoala @mimi1097 @aznstoner @jungshaking @pinkpunkdynamite @angie-x3 (check pinned to be added)

masterlist, series masterlist

Jungkook loves every single part of your body—and he makes sure you know it.

Your face? He kisses it. Slowly, obsessively, like he’s tracing every freckle with his mouth.

Your neck? He marks it. Low and dangerous, where only he gets to see.

Your tits? He’s no better than Hana, truly—always latched on, always greedy.

Your stomach? He’ll cum all over it, no shame, just moaning about how pretty you look covered in him.

Your pussy? Nothing compares. It’s his weakness, his damn religion. He’d pray to it if he could.

Your thighs? He bites them. Sinks his teeth in like he’s starving.

Your legs? Rubbed absently while you sit in his lap, his hand lazily stroking like you’re a pet he can’t stop touching.

Toes? Don’t test him. He’d suck them clean if you asked.

But your ass?

Your ass is where he dies.

Outside the bedroom, he’s no better. He’s got a hand on it constantly—squeezing, slapping, gripping it through your clothes like it’s his stress ball.

Oversized shirts and his boxers are his favorite thing you wear. He swears they’re dangerous. The way the cotton barely hangs on, the way your ass fills out those boxers too well—it drives him insane. And when you lift your arms to stretch and the shirt rides up just enough to flash the curve of it?

Dead man.

You know how weak he is for it. You’ve known for a while. And maybe that’s why you do it now—why you walk past him with nothing but one of his T-shirts and your ass on full display, glancing back with a smirk as you feel his stare burn into you.

You don’t even make it to the bed.

He’s on you before you can blink, dragging your hips back toward the couch, pushing you forward until your hands are braced against the cushions.

“Fuck—” he mutters, voice thick with reverence and hunger, already shoving the shirt up over your back, palms greedily gripping and squeezing. “Look at that. You know what you’re doing to me?”

You giggle, wiggling back into him. “No idea.”

He groans, lining himself up behind you, nudging his cock between your cheeks before pushing into you with a hiss.

“Gonna cum all over it,” he babbles, thrusting deep, dizzy. “So fucking pretty—fuck—you’re gonna let me? Baby, yeah?”

You can only nod, moaning as he hits that sweet spot over and over, breath stuttering with every bounce of your ass against his hips.

And when you say, “Do it, Jungkook—cum all over it,” in that breathy little voice?

He’s a fucking goner.

He’s thrusting into you hard—deep and heavy, hips slapping against your ass with every stroke, greedy hands keeping you exactly where he wants you. You’re whining, moaning, every sound caught between his name and broken curses.

You’re expecting him to say something filthy. Something sexy. He always does.

But instead—

“I wish,” he pants, breath hot against your shoulder, “we could do doggy and missionary at the same time.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he groans, thrust stuttering a little. “Like—if I could see your face and your tits and your ass at the same time? I don’t think I’d last, baby. I’d probably cum in, like, five seconds tops.”

You freeze for a second. He sounds genuinely mournful about it. Like it’s his greatest sexual tragedy.

And then—god, the image—you burst out laughing. Full-body shaking kind of laughter, muffled into your arm, your stomach tightening and your pussy clenching hard around him as you try to breathe through it.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook chokes. “Fuck—!”

You feel it before you hear it—the way his hips stutter, the low moan he tries (and fails) to swallow. You clench again by accident, and he gasps, pulling out at the very last second and barely managing to finish on your ass.

Barely.

You look over your shoulder, still giggling like an idiot.

He’s standing there, blinking down at you, looking like he’s just been personally wronged. “There’s not even that much,” he pouts, rubbing his thumb through the mess he managed to make. “That wasn’t fair. You cheated.”

You’re breathless from laughing, face smushed into the couch cushion. “I cheated?”

“You clenched. On purpose.”

“I was laughing!”

“Exactly!” He grumbles, smearing his cum across your skin anyway, palm wide and lazy over the swell of your ass like it’s his personal playground.

You hum, still giggling. “Come on, Kook. Make me cum.”

His complaints die immediately.

Gone. Buried. Forgotten.

His face is between your cheeks in a second—mumbling something that sounds like “not even mad anymore,” while his tongue drags through your folds with reverence, hands keeping you spread and trembling.

And you just grin, melting into the cushions, eyes fluttering closed while he eats like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

Because, well. It kinda is.

Your back arches against the sheets, hands tangled in his hair, tugging without direction—just needing something to hold onto.

“Oh—fuck, Jungkook—fuck,” you whimper, eyes fluttering, thighs twitching. “Thought—thought you were a tits guy.”

His eyes flash up at you. He doesn’t stop. Not even a little. Just lifts his head barely enough to say, with his mouth still shining and open, “Say it again.”

You bite your lip, gasping through a moan. “Thought you were a—tits guy…”

He groans. Visibly. Like the sound rocks through his whole chest.

“Baby,” he says, voice low, dark, wrecked. “I’m both.”

He kisses your clit once, slow and soft, then moves down again, mouthing messily at your folds.

“But this ass?” He grumbles into you, nosing lower just to prove his point. “This ass has been fucking killing me lately.”

Your breath stutters out of your lungs, a high whine in your throat. You squirm, reaching down blindly until you find his hands, and guide them up—pressing them against your chest, your voice all whimpery and slurred when you pout, “But you’re leaving them out…”

He melts.

Like, literally. His whole body goes soft and gooey for a second, his hands squeezing gently over your tits like he’s petting something delicate and breakable, his thumbs brushing lazy circles over your nipples.

“Cute,” he mutters, voice muffled as he dives back down between your thighs. “You’re so fucking cute, baby.”

You whimper.

He moans.

“You don’t believe me?” he murmurs, breath warm and wicked as it fans across your inner thigh. “Think I’m lying when I say I’m both?”

You can’t even form words—you just stare down at him, dazed and breathless, lips parted, body trembling.

“I’ll prove it.”

And then he does.

He kisses down your stomach, slow and sticky and worshipful, one hand staying high to cup your tits—thumb swiping over your nipple, squeezing gently like it grounds him. The other slides under your thigh, spreading you open wider than you thought possible.

And then—he’s everywhere.

Like literally.

Nose pressed flush to your clit, nuzzling against it like it’s his fucking home. Tongue dipping lower, deeper, licking into your ass without a hint of shame. And all the while—his hands never leave your chest. He’s palming you, groping you, kneading you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted and he’s been starved.

It’s obscene. It’s overwhelming. It’s all-consuming.

You cry out, loud and broken, as your hips jerk and your hands claw at his hair.

“Jungkook—fuck, fuck—” your voice is high and unraveling, thighs shaking around his head as your orgasm punches through you like lightning. “I—I can’t—oh my god—”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t come up for air. His nose still nudging your clit, tongue still buried inside your ass, hands full of tits like he’s living out the fantasy he once only joked about.

Missionary and doggy. At the same time.

Not quite, but close.

And you’re the only one laughing. A choked, dazed giggle slips from your throat even as you’re trembling, and the moment your body pulses again around his face—he groans.

Loud. Deep.

You cry out as you come, high and broken, hips twitching, hands fisting the sheets as your body pulses and clenches and pours out against his mouth.

And he—he licks it up like he’s starving.

Like it’s dessert. Like it’s devotion.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, half-laughing, half-crying, overstimulated and twitchy. “Jungkook—”

But he doesn’t stop.

You’re still coming down and he’s still between your legs, mouth still dragging along you like he could live there, like he wants to live there.

You have to physically pull at his shoulders, tugging him up, shaking your head as you whimper, “Stop, stop—baby, please—”

And then he’s crawling up your body, face wrecked, lips wet, chest heaving, and lifting you into his lap like he didn’t just destroy you. You’re a mess of limp limbs and overstimulated nerves, curling into him with a ragged breath and wide eyes.

You bury your face in his neck, trembling and wrecked, and mumble into his skin, “You’re insane.”

He grins—unrepentant and breathless. “And you’re cute.”

[itneverendshere]

Can we get the first time rafe said i love you to bitchy!pogue!reader?

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first - r.c (+18)

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe warnings: smut; fluff; angst (barely)

He was being weird again.

Not weird in the usual Rafe way—where he’d mutter something half-menacing under his breath, act like just breathing the same air as you gave him hives, and walk away like he hadn’t just insulted someone’s entire bloodline.

This was worse.

This was hovering, this was nice.

He was sitting across the couch with that glazed-over look he’d started wearing lately, the one that made it feel like he was watching you breathe, acting like you were some miracle he couldn’t wrap his head around.

You hated it.

(You didn’t.)

“Stop looking at me like that,” You didn’t bother to glance up from the bracelet you were tying around your wrist. One of those shitty little ones you’d made together out of string and beer caps last weekend when he’d shown up at your place at 2am with a “surprise” and the worst craft supplies imaginable.

“I’m not looking at you,” he said, instantly defensive.

“You’re literally—”

“Not in a weird way.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little weird,” he admitted, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. The one you’d stolen and pretended you hadn’t. 

Rafe had gone from arrogant and angry to… clingy? Affectionate? But he was yours and that was the part you hadn’t worked through yet.

He came to sit beside you, thigh pressed to yours, no sense of personal space whatsover. He smelled like detergent and whatever cologne he used way too much of, and somehow it didn’t suffocate you anymore.

It made your stomach twist, in a good way, a way you’d never felt before.

You remembered when just seeing his name in your phone, asking for a booty call, made your roll her eyes so hard it gave you a headache. When you used to flirt with his friends at parties for shit and giggles, just to watch that angry control of his slip away into nothing, because it always did.

That was the fun part, pissing him off, making him want you even when he hated you. Back then, it was a game, yet now, you were wearing his hoodie, he was close, warm, and gentle, and you didn’t know what to do with that.

“Why are you staring?” You asked, flicking your eyes toward him.

His hair was a mess, lips a little bitten, thanks to your fabulous work. His cheeks pinked under your gaze, which made you suspicious. He only got flustered when he was about to say something unhinged.

He leaned his head on your shoulder, he never used to do that back when you were constantly bickering across bonfires and making out with other people just to piss each other off. Now he was clingy, gentle. It was kinda hot.

“You ever just look at someone and think… shit, she really used to hate my guts and now she’s wearing my hoodie and letting me kiss her?”

“I still hate your guts,” You said sweetly.

“No you don’t,” he grinned, proud of himself.

You didn’t dignify that with a response, only hummed in acknowledgment, fiddling with the bracelet again so you didn’t have to deal with the intensity of his face.

“I think I love you.”

The words were a car crash in your chest. You froze, fingers still tangled in string, head snapping toward him, eyes wide, like what the actual fuck did you just say?

Rafe blinked. Then: “Okay. Bad timing.”

“No shit.”

“I just—” He shifted to face you more fully, fidgeting in his seat, trying not to bolt. “I was gonna wait. Or, like, make it a thing. Flowers and a sunset, I don’t know. Something romantic or whatever you deserve. But you're sitting here with your stupid little bracelet and your stupid beautiful face and I couldn’t not say it.”

You turned to look at him, slowly, eyes scanning his stupid pretty face. Maybe, you could find the old version of him buried under all this softness. But he was gone, that boy who used to shove past you at keggers like you were nothing, who once told you no one would ever really stick around for someone like you? Gone.

He winced. “You’re not saying anything. That’s bad.”

This one—this version—looked like he’d get on his knees if you asked.

“You just called me stupid twice.”

“I meant it lovingly.”

“You love me lovingly,” You said, lips twitching.

“I do love you lovingly.”

It should’ve made you gloat. That used to be your whole thing—getting under his skin, bending him to want you enough to break him. And now he was saying that to you?

It didn’t feel like winning anymore, more like drowning, sweet and terrifying. Somewhere between the late-night calls and the mutual destruction, between his bloodied knuckles and your bruised pride, he stopped trying to fight you, and you stopped trying to run.

He was looking at you like you meant something and you hated how badly you wanted to believe it.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, pretending you hadn’t heard him. Maybe saying it again would undo the panic rising behind your ribs.

You stared down at the bracelet in your lap, fingers still curled around the unfinished knot.

It made you sick. (It made you ache.)

“You’re not gonna say it back, are you,” He didn’t sound surprised. His voice was quiet, not even disappointed, just sad. He got it, knew exactly what kind of girl you were and loved you anyway.

That made it worse.

You looked at him then. The Rafe you remembered—the one with blood in his teeth and a chip on his shoulder—in his place was this… idiot. Your idiot, soft-eyed and pink-cheeked, hoodie strings uneven from where you tugged on them earlier when you kissed him hard enough to make him dizzy.

He looked so earnest it made your throat go tight.

Rafe huffed a breath, a half-smile twitching at his mouth. “You don’t have to say it back,” he said, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just needed you to know.”

You were always good at pushing people away, letting them want you just enough to hurt them. It was easier that way. But Rafe—Rafe didn’t run that night. Not when you were screaming, not when you were cruel, not even when you told him you didn’t care.

You curled your fingers around his.

“You’re still kind of a dick.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“And I still kind of hate you.”

He nodded solemnly. “I can work with that.”

You stared at him for a long second, your chest hollow and full at the same time, and leaned in to press your mouth to his. 

“You’re annoying.”

You didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know where to put all this feeling. It swelled up in your chest until it made your fingers tremble, until your lungs forgot how to work, until all you could think was himhimhim.

“I think I might love you too,” you whispered against his lips, like it was a sin.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging gently, and that earned you a involuntary groan straight from his throat. Rafe angled his head, breath hitching, and kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping past your lips.

You made a small, broken noise into the kiss, and he inhaled it while hands were everywhere, fingers dugging into the fabric of your hoodie—his hoodie, stretched and oversized on you—and he tugged you into his lap without asking. He needed you close, all the time.

You gasped against his mouth when your knees hit either side of his hips, straddling him, but he didn’t pull back. Just kissed you harder. His tongue slid against yours again, slow, making you feel like a live wire, the taste of him was sparking in your chest, down your spine, through your fingertips. You curled your fists into his hair even harder and he made a noise that sounded like surrender.

It wasn’t perfect—your noses bumped, your teeth clicked—but none of it mattered. You shifted in his lap, hoodie bunched awkwardly between you.

You tilted your head and let Rafe deepen it, mouths parting, tongues sliding together—messy in the best way. It wasn’t clean, it felt real. Your hands found his jaw, thumbs brushing the edge of his cheekbone, he felt like warmth, home, and that was terrifying.

Rafe kissed you like he was trying to apologize for every awful thing he ever said over the years, and you kissed him like you were ready to forgive him. 

He pulled back just an inch, breathing hard, lips pink and wet. His hands slid up your back under the hoodie, thumbs stroking bare skin, making your stomach flutter. His mouth dragged down to your jaw, sucking a bruise just beneath your ear, marking you—he couldn’t help it.

“Say it again,” you breathed, dizzy from him, from how easily you fit together like this.

He grinned, leaning in. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

It came out like the most honest thing you’d ever said.

“I love you,” he said, immediately, no hesitation.

You bit his bottom lip gently, kissed it better a second later, “I love you too.”

He laughed, nose brushing yours.

“Yeah,” he whispered, dragging your hips a little closer until your chests were flush, “I know, sweetheart.”

Right now, you wanted to crawl inside his ribs and live there, wanted to hear him say it again, and again, and again. Until you believed it.

His hands under your hoodie weren’t tentative anymore. They were bold—palms gliding up your back, fingertips brushing the edge of your bra, trying not to push, but couldn't stop himself either, making you arch just slightly into him.

“God, you drive me fucking insane,” he whispered, mouth still working a bruise into your collarbone. 

His voice was wrecked, full of that gritty desperation he always tried to hide but never could around you. 

“You don’t even know,” he said into your mouth, kissing between the words now, tongue chasing the taste of you. “You don’t know what you fucking do to me. I can’t think when you’re like this.”

Your lips brushed his jaw. “Good.”

“Mean,” he breathed, and his hands slid down, one dipping under the curve of your thigh, hiking it up until your core was right against him. “You’re mean to me.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, “Still love me?”

“Worse,” he said, like a confession. “I need you.”

You felt it, the way his voice cracked when he said it—it physically cost him something, he was handing you a weapon and trusting you not to use it. You could’ve laughed, thrown it back in his face the way you used to, just for the power of it.

You ducked your head like that might hide how much it meant to you, if he didn’t see your face, he wouldn’t realize how deep it went. You were terrified of what this meant, of how much he was giving you, of how much you were giving back. 

“I’m right here. You have me.”

His hand crept up beneath your thigh, holding you there, grinding you down against the hard line of him through his sweatpants, and shit—you moaned, breaking the kiss.

Rafe’s head dropped back against the couch. “Keep doing that and I’m not gonna make it to the bedroom.”

“Who said we’re going to the bedroom?” you murmured, dragging your nails under the hem of his hoodie. You let your fingertips skim up his stomach, slow and teasing. His abs jumped beneath your touch.

You leaned down, mouth brushing his again, sweetly. And then you rolled your hips, his head dropped back with a strangled noise—half curse, half prayer.

“Fuck. Fuck, baby, you gotta stop unless you want me to—”

You bit his earlobe. “I do.”

“I’ve been so good, baby. I’ve been so fucking good, I swear.”

 “I know.”

“I wasn’t gonna touch you,” he murmured, desperate now. “Not 'til you were ready. Not 'til you told me you wanted it too.”

“I do,” you told him again, mouth brushing his. “I want you.”

His hands cupped your ass and he surged up, kissing you like a man starved, lost at sea for months. You could feel him, hard against you, could feel how bad he wanted you, how close he was to losing it, and it made you insane.

“You're on probation,” you reminded him, even as your fingers slipped beneath the collar of his own hoodie, tracing his collarbone.

“I know,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower, dragging his teeth down your throat. “I deserve it. I’d wait forever if I had to.”

You exhaled hard, body buzzing, nerves coiled tight from weeks of pretending you didn’t miss this or want him like this. You hadn’t let him touch you—only let him kiss you—since the night you said you wanted to try for real. Your breath caught in your throat, and your thighs squeezed tighter around his hips instinctively at his confession.

“You gonna let me?” he whispered, grinding up against you in slow, perfect circles. “Let me show you how much I fucking love you?”

You nodded, breathless.

He kissed your neck again, lips wet and open. “Then say it again.”

“I love you,” you gasped, tugging his hair.

“Louder.”

“I love you.”

His lips curved against your skin, pleased.

“Good girl.”

“You’ve been good too,” you whispered against his ear, kissing the shell of it, “so good.”

His whole body trembled under you.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep talking like that.”

You smiled against his neck, kissing your way down. “So don’t.”

Rafe flipped you onto your back in one motion, hoodie riding up past your ribs, his hands everywhere. He kissed down your stomach, groaning when he saw the little strip of bare skin between the hoodie and your underwear, a gift.

“I missed this,” he said, mouth pressed to your hipbone. 

You tugged at his clothes. “Then stop talking and take this off.”

And he did—hoodie gone, yours halfway up, kisses trailing lower.

He paused when he got to the edge of your underwear, breathing, trying to memorize the moment. His hands were warm, thumbs brushing circles over your hips, he couldn’t believe he got to touch you like this again.

“Still with me?”

You nodded, legs parting slightly, an unspoken answer.

Rafe exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

“God, I missed you,” he said again, this time like a prayer, and pressed a kiss just above your waistband. Then another.

His mouth was gentle, making your whole body twitch. He took his time, dragging the fabric down your legs and when he finally kissed between your thighs, it didn’t feel like a favor or a performance—it felt like worship.

Rafe meant it, he’d dreamed about this every night he slept alone.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, mouth ghosting right where you were aching. “I wanna do it right this time.”

You whimpered. “Rafe—”

He groaned, it physically hurt to hear his name in your mouth like that. “Say it again.”

“Rafe.” You gasped it now, your hands in his hair, hips lifting of their own accord. “Please.”

He didn’t ease into it, instead, as soon as your underwear hit the floor, he dropped to his knees, where he’d been dying to be, he’d starve if you didn’t let him have you. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, pulled your hips to the edge of the couch, and dove in without a single word. And fuck, you felt it.

There was nothing gentle about it—His mouth was hot, tongue sweeping through your pussy like he’d been dreaming about the taste of you. He moaned into you like a man who finally found water in the desert, grabbing your thighs to hold you still while he licked you deep, wet, and messy.

Rafe didn’t stop for breath or come up to check on you. Just groaned and kept going, licking into you like he was trying to memorize you from the inside out.

“God, baby,” he gasped, breath shaky against your skin. “I missed this pussy so fucking much—tastes like heaven. Can’t believe I went so long without it.”

Your back arched, fingers tangling in his hair, but he didn’t let up even when you started to squirm or when your thighs shook around his head. He loved that, so he buried his face deeper, wanting your legs to trap him there. 

He switched it up just when you were about to fall apart—flicking his tongue in tight smaller circles over your clit while one thick finger slid into you, then another. The sound you made had him growling.

“Wanna feel you on my face.”

You did. Loud, messy, with your whole body shaking. He rode it out with you, never pulling back, tongue still working you through it while he moaned, acting like he was the one getting off.

Even after your orgasm hit, when you were twitching and whimpering from the overstimulation, he didn’t stop. Slowed down, sure—but didn’t stop. Pressed soft kisses to your clit, licked up everything you gave him. When he finally looked up at you, chin soaked, lips swollen, pupils blown wide—he looked high off you.

“Want more?”

Because the truth was—he did.

Your body was still trembling when he rose, his eyes meeting yours, it and hit you all over again—this is Rafe. Yours. And he loves you.

He leaned over you, bracing himself with one hand beside your head, and used the other to gently guide your face toward his. He kissed you deep, with so much love it knocked the air out of your lungs. You could taste yourself on his tongue—feel the way his body shook as he pressed closer.

You watched, chest rising and falling, as he sat back on his knees.

“Wanna feel you,” he said, eyes dark but tender. “All of you. Skin to skin.”

Rafe didn’t just want to fuck you—he wanted to know you like this again. You nodded, still dazed from the way he’d eaten you like a man possessed. “I want you too.”

He kissed you again, sweeter, took his time—needed you to feel what he couldn’t explain. And you did. 

He kissed your palm, then stood up slowly, peeling his shirt over his head slowly, baring his chest to you, no cocky flex, no rush—just his eyes on you the whole time, making sure you were still with him, that you wanted this as much as he did. His skin glowed warm in the low light—gold and flushed. You let your eyes trace over every inch of him: the curve of his collarbones, the scar on his rib, the way his stomach tightened when your gaze dipped lower.

Next came his jeans.

He stood up, undoing the button slowly, dragging the zipper down with a little exhale through his nose. His boxers went with them, sliding down over lean hips, thick thighs, revealing just how wrecked he already was for you. Hard. Heavy. Aching.

He stepped out of them and kicked them aside, then just stood there for a second—completely naked. Letting you see him, all of him.

Shit, he looked beautiful, vulnerable, ready. His chest rose with a shaky breath, and he reached for you again.

“You sure?” he asked, voice husky.

You nodded, biting your lip as you sat up a little, knees parting around him, hand reaching to brush over his stomach. “Touch me.”

That’s when he climbed onto the couch with you, awkward in the best way, knees hitting cushions, hands everywhere, both of you giggling quietly into the kiss because there wasn’t room to stretch out—not properly. So you made do, his chest pressing to yours, your calves curled around his waist,

He lined himself up and pushed in, slow. Your breath hitched—he felt everything. The stretch, your body welcoming him like it had been waiting for him all along. His eyes fluttered shut, and his forehead dropped to yours.

Rafe didn’t move at first, simply stayed there, buried deep, holding you.

When he finally started moving, he rocked into you with deep strokes—no roughness. Every thrust sent a wave of pleasure rolling through you, but it wasn’t just the way he felt—it was the way he looked at you while he did it. He was in awe.

His hands never stopped touching you—sliding over your ribs, cradling your face, tangling in your hair. He whispered things between kisses, confessions pressed to your skin.

“Don’t ever leave me, okay?”

You nodded through the haze of pleasure, wrapping your arms around his back, your legs around his hips. You pulled him in closer—wanted him as close as humanly possible.

You didn’t just want to feel him inside you, you wanted to keep him there. 

“Didn’t think I’d ever get this,” Rafe whispered, voice shaking. “Not like this, with you.”

You brushed your fingers through his hair, pulling him back for a kiss, mouths barely moving, and when he pulled back, his eyes were glassy.

You cupped his face. “You do.”

His hips rocked into you again, and you gasped—back arching instinctively, tightening your legs around him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your mouth found his jaw, lips brushing the sensitive spot. “I’ve never—” You swallowed, breath catching. “No one’s ever made me feel like this.”

Rafe groaned, his rhythm stuttering. “Don’t say that unless you want me to lose it.”

He kissed you again, hard this time, a little desperate. His hands cradled your face like you were something fragile, and for once in your life, you didn’t mind that. You let yourself be held like that.

You held his face in your hands too, eyes fluttering open even as your mouth parted on a gasp.

“You okay?” he breathed, “Talk to me, pretty girl.”

You nodded, pulling him down into another kiss, needy. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, voice wrecked.

He braced a hand under your thigh and lifted it higher, pressing in and the sound you made had his hips stuttering. His lips found your neck again, his teeth scrapping at the skin.

“You feel so good,” he whispered into your skin. “Missed the way you sound. Missed how you look when I’m inside you.”

He rocked into you harder now, your bodies finding a rhythm—natural, perfect. His pelvis grinded against your clit with every pass, making your breath hitch and your legs tremble. It wasn’t just sex or getting off. It was everything you’d both been holding back—missed chances, sleepless nights, every second you’d spent pretending this wasn’t what you wanted all along.

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, perfect pressure movements, and your hips bucked involuntarily.

“There she is,” he rasped, lips brushing yours. “That’s my girl.”

You clenched around him at the words, and his eyes rolled back for half a second.

“Fuck, do that again.”

You did, not even on purpose, just from the way he felt, how he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever loved.

Your fingers scratched down his back, legs tightening around his waist, dragging him deeper. “Rafe,” you whimpered.

His hand cradled the back of your neck. “I know, baby. I know.”

He kissed you again, pouring everything into it—his apology, his want, his devotion. You could feel him everywhere—inside you, against you, with you. His hands never left you for long—one on your waist, the other at your cheek, brushing stray hairs back so he could see you while he made love to you.

That’s what this was, wasn't it? You felt it in your bones. Not sex, not a fuck. Rafe felt it too, you could tell by the way he kept whispering your name, how he blinked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Been in love with you,” he admitted against your lips. “Didn’t even know it till you were gone. But I knew it here—” He kissed your chest, right over your heart. “Always here.”

You gasped, overwhelmed, fingers gripping his biceps. “I love you. I love you.”

You rolled your hips up to meet him, gave him everything—every moan, squeeze, every soft gasp in his ear. Your bodies were rewriting history, undoing every bitter word you ever spit out with every thrust.

Rafe’s hands gripped your thighs, his weight adjusting over you, you didn’t notice what he was doing until your legs were being lifted, folded back slowly, one at a time, until your knees were bent near your shoulders.

His arms hooked behind them, pressing you open, holding you there.

“Oh fuckkkkk—” Your breath caught, chest heaving against his. He was already sliding—even deeper than before, and you could feel the stretch, the overwhelming fullness that made your hands claw at his shoulders.

“I got you,” he reassured you, his chest still flush against yours. “I got you, baby.”

Rafe didn’t let the new angle break your closeness, not pulling back even an inch. His body blanketed yours, skin-to-skin, sweat-slicked and trembling, his mouth brushing your cheek as he started to move again.

It was making your head spin.

Your breath hitched every time he sank in, your legs trembling where they were pinned. And shit, the sounds. Wet, rhythmic—the slide of him inside you, the slap of skin on skin, the catch of your breath every time his hips rolled forward and hit that spot that had you clenching so tight around him he had to bite down on a groan.

“Shit,” he hissed, kissing down your jaw. “You feel so fuckin’ good like this. Can’t believe I went so long without this.”

Every part of you was open, exposed, his. 

He was taking his time with it, savoring every little reaction you gave him. His thrusts got heavier, your body folded around him making it impossible for him to miss a single spot.

“You’re so deep,” you whispered, voice high and shaky.

“I know,” he breathed. “Lemme give it to you, make you feel it.”

With your legs bent back, your pelvis tilted up, your body perfectly aligned for him, he filled every inch—grinding in with each stroke, his hips brushing against your clit hard enough to make your stomach tighten into that delirious pleasure.

Your toes curled, thighs quivering while kissed you again, desperately now, moaning into your mouth every time your walls clenched around him. You couldn’t stop it—it was involuntary, your body reacting to how he felt, to how fucking perfect this moment was.

You whimpered his name, needy, and he swore under his breath, shifting just enough to press your thighs closer to your chest. The angle made you cry out—your fingers digging into his back.

“That it? Right there?”

You nodded frantically, eyes wide, tears prickling at the corners from the intensity of it. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes locking with yours.

“You’re gonna cum for me first. I want it, baby.”

Rafe’s hand slid between your bodies, fingers slipping down to your clit again—rubbing in a perfect rhythm, in sync with every deep, body-shaking thrust.

It hit you suddely and violently, tearing through you with a sob that broke right out of your throat. Your whole body arched, legs trembling where he held them, walls pulsing around him so tight he nearly lost it right then.

“That’s it,” he gasped, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s my girl. Look at you, fuck—look how pretty you come for me.”

You were still shaking when he started to really lose it—his pace picking up, thrusts rougher, more ragged now as your orgasm milked him.

He choked out. “Where do you want it? Tell me, baby, please—”

“Inside,” you whispered, gripping his face. “Please. Rafe, please—”

He buried himself deep, groaning your name like it broke something in him, and then he was coming—hips locked, body shaking, spilling into you in pulsing waves.

You both lay there after, sweaty, trembling, still breathing each other’s air. His hands softened on your thighs, eventually letting them fall around his waist again, where they belonged.

He didn’t pull out, only kissed your shoulder, then your lips, still trembling. You didn’t realize you were crying until he kissed your cheek and tasted salt.

“Hey,” Rafe's thumb brushed the corner of your eye. “You okay?”

You nodded, breath shaky, lips parted as you tried to speak. “Yeah… yeah, I just—”

Words failed, there weren’t any for this, how full you felt—physically, emotionally. He kissed your cheek again, letting his lips linger. You could feel his heartbeat still racing where his chest pressed to yours.

He was still inside you. 

Your legs had fallen open around his waist again, loose now, your heels resting against the backs of his thighs. His weight was solid on top of you, but comforting, not crushing. His cock—softening, but not leaving—stayed nestled so deep inside you it felt like your bodies didn’t know how to separate anymore.

Your hands drifted up his back, fingertips tracing sweat-damp skin, and his breath hitched at the gentleness of it.

“Don’t pull out yet.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone. “Not ready to let you go.”

You let out a breathy laugh, aching, “Clingy.”

He smiled, forehead pressing to yours again. “Proudly.”

Your body was still trembling —aftershocks rippling through your muscles in fluttery waves. Every time you moved, even just to breathe, it made him twitch inside you. Not hard again, but still there.

He kissed your lips again, slower this time. 

“I love you,” he said against your mouth, the easiest thing in the world. He sighed, body sinking into yours even more, cheek resting beside your temple, arms wrapped tight around you.

You smiled, eyes wet again. “I know.”

[coolshadowtwins]

I really like “Truth Serum” trope in fanficion, particularly in Svsss fanfic because I think it’s can be a number of things- funny, angst, sweet.

HOWEVER, I feel like there isn’t enough where SY gets Truth Serum-ed, and his romantic partner, martial siblings and/or disciples get to see his absolutely unhinged thoughts.

Like, sure, you get a system reveal out of this, but I also think this is funnier if the bit where SY isn’t SJ isn’t revealed makes this so much funnier.

It’s the trial and SY is made to tell the truth, except it’s his whole thought process tumbling out and he just can’t help ‘Peerless Cucumber’ ranting and tearing apart OPM in front of everyone like the internet troll he still is deep down. Yue Qingyuan is just letting this happen.

It’s post canon and Luo Binghe is subjected to his husband’s feral thought process about him, and how great he is, and how he is definitely not gay for marrying him because come on. Look at Binghe.

It’s during the years after the conference and Liu Qingge is having to hold a ranting SY back from making the demons who got them in this mess cry, because SY isn’t going just a little too hard in his rant. Also he keeps saying how pretty LQQ is but how everyone must think that jeez, which is not helping the situation.

It’s at any point and Mu Qingfang is pretending to have a normal conversation with SY, under the cover of getting this truth serum nonsense fixed. Except SY just keeps saying the wildest shit about his health and what he does to manage it and Mu Qingfang just wants him to keep going at this point to learn the medical things that SY would never admit on a normal day.

I know this might sound like a normal fanfic with this trope, but I just feel like I have never seen one where the people who care about SY are forced to witness him being a bastard internet troll that we all know he is.

Anyway if anyone had some fanfic recs, I would love some lol

EDIT: I made a post with the fics that have been rec’ed that can be found here!

[fanaticsnail]

"Mine"

Masterlist here

Word count: 7,000+

Synopsis: Upon viewing you and your boss, Doflamingo, get a little too close to one another, Corazon feels the urge to finally state a claim over you. He loves you, and now wants you to understand one thing and one thing only: you belong to him. You are his, completely.

Warnings: Rosinante Corazon X f!reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, possessiveness, jealousy, mean dominant Rosinante, drinking alcohol, marking, edging, kissing, sucking, licking, yandere behaviour, pet-names used, Corazon doesn't speak, cum play, bukkake, aftercare, friendly relationship with Doflamingo.

Notes: This gorgeous art was done by @skullfacedlady, who this fic is dedicated to as a gift for her art of my OC Tobiuo and art for my Doflamingo fic 'play stupid games, win stupid prizes'. Let's fuel our obsession with the Donquixote brothers together. Enjoy your dominant Rosinante.

Donquixote Rosinante was not a jealous man. He was cool, calm and collected; level-headed and leading with his head before his heart. There was nothing outside of his control that had him up in arms, fiery, or aggressive about anything.

Silent, a swift word he used to activate his devil-fruit ability at a moment's notice. A moment to create silence in the world around him free of the noise he was plagued by. Silent, was how he found himself now as he watched you laugh alongside his brother at some witless joke whispered down into your ear. 

Other than the mission he was undertaking as a spy for the world government, a bid to satiate his brother's horrid temper and ensure he doesn't make too much ruckus, he was completely silent.

Always silent. 

Although he was yet to make a move romantically towards you, there was an unspoken understanding and appreciation for one another lingering beneath the surface. The touch of a hand, the passing of a shared cigarette between fingers, the smile he thought was reserved for him and him alone. That same smile he was witnessing being gifted to his older brother without a care in the world. 

Doflamingo knew no bounds, there was no limit for him. He was unhinged, ferocious, and brutal. If Rosinante pursued you, Doflamingo could still manage to coax you into his bed with ease should you let him. That thought alone had the younger blonde’s blood boil with a scorched blaze. 

He was a marine, a spy, a confidant to the military while being completely sound in his masquerade as a loyal minion for his older brother. The only time his mask of undying loyalty began to slip was at this very moment: witnessing your hands wander over Doflamingo’s arms, the way your eyes darted between focus on each of his, the curl of your pout as you whispered back up at him with a soft smile. 

The way he grit his teeth, the growing snarl curling his upper lip, the way his eyes were fixed to your hand tapping his brother's shoulder, all of it revealed the way his soul growled to possess you in this moment. You didn't know his true nature as a marine, nor the fact that he was not as mute as you knew him to be. 

To you, he was ‘sweet Corazon, the heart of the Donquixote Pirates you served with, the baby brother to your captain and boss.’ He was sure you didn't see him in a flirtatious light at all, and he was growing more restless at the thought of making you look at him through lust-colored lenses. 

He wanted you so desperately, and he remained consumed with intrusive thoughts of claiming you as his own. Where he would usually gulp back his own desires, casting all aside for the sake of the mission from Marine High Command, he could no longer ignore thinking of the way you'd look in the thralls of pleasure wrapped around his cock. 

His eyes continued to burn holes of flaming desire against your skin, never once leaving your smile and craving more than anything to be the reason for such radiant beauty. He wants to make you laugh, see you smile, hear what you're offering to his older brother and reciprocate the gentle touches. 

And then he wants to make you whimper, whining for him and him alone. He wants to be the source of your pleasure, to have you mewl in bliss while he ruts his painfully hard cock deep within the crevices of your body. He wants to mold you to the shape of him, make you forget any other tryst prior and feel you fall apart and become drunk off what he was giving you. 

Doflamingo continued to offer you crude commentary regarding several mannerisms of the troop he had surrounded himself with. The guests at the soiree had all arrived in their best garb, all enjoying the riches and spoils of the Donquixote pirates at their mansion. 

All he needs is one moment. A single moment alone with you, away from this crowd, and away from the talons of his older brother. Just a single moment, and you could fall apart on his fingers, lips and cock the way he so desperately wants you to. Just one chance was all he needed, he was sure of it. 

While the man who captained you was not interested in you romantically, you were spreading untruths if you said you didn't enjoy his clever analogies and crassness from time to time. He had a mind to invite a few of his regular concubines to the soiree, but opted to take you with him as his date instead. 

You, his counselor and battle strategist. He knew he could come to you for all that ailed him. From desiring to know the method of attack to cause the most damage, to perching on the sofa in your office and talking about his mother. He enjoyed your ear, and you enjoyed listening to his thoughts. 

The one thing you didn't plan on was sneaking glances at his younger brother once he returned to the family. Rosinante was another creature entirely. Where Doflamingo's loud chirping and chattering was harsh and boisterous, his younger brother was silent and reserved. Rosinante intrigued you, and you couldn't deny yourself the knowledge that your wandering eye had stuck to him almost immediately. 

As Doflamingo leaned over to stoop at your ear, you cocked your head up to the side and readied yourself to hear his next lewd remarks. 

“Watch now, you see him?” Doflamingo’s lengthy fingers reached up to your chin and gingerly traced along your jaw to turn your gaze. A young man was being regal and respectful with a blushing young woman, extending his hand toward her and inviting her to dance. 

“I see a well-mannered young man offering a young debutant a dance,” you shrugged with a small smile. Doflamingo's grin widened further, leaning close enough you could almost feel his tongue against your neck alongside his wine-tainted breath on your skin. 

“Well I see a young idiot who got fucked in the ass by their cabin driver moments before entering the ballroom,” he purred, prompting you to laugh a very shocked scoff with your brows raised. 

“Doflamingo,” you gasped at him, gently tapping his chest and smiling up at him with lips partially parted, “You shouldn't be talking about young ladies like that. It's not polite.” He raised his wine glass, cocking his head to the side and offering it out to you to clink his rims with it. 

As your glasses rang at the contact, you raised the liquid to your lips. Doflamingo’s hand snaked over your waist, tugging you closer to him as you took a tasteful amount of wine between your lips. 

“I wasn’t talking about her,” Doflamingo uttered in a nonchalant whisper, prompting you to choke back and burn your throat with the liquid. He chuckled at your fluster, gripping your waist tighter and giving your hip a gentle squeeze. 

“So closed-minded,” he clicked his tongue in a flurry of chastising ticks, gently tapping your nose with his index finger, “Such a shame, little lamb.” You closed your eyes and focussed on breathing through your prior choked inhale as Doflamingo soothed his thumb over your hip bone. 

“You're incorrigible,” you whisper playfully up at him, prompting him to lean in a low stoop and raise the hand containing his wine glass up to your lips. He balances it within his coiled four fingers and tidies your lip with his thumb. 

“You love it,” he whispered huskily down at you, “That's why you accepted my personal invitation to attend by my side, is it not?” You floated your gaze down to the thumb at your lips before shooting him a warning look at his rose-tinted glasses. 

“A little unhinged commentary never hurt anybody,” you shrugged as you gently raise your glass to tap with his once more. He purred his hum down at you, squeezing your hip bone again within his talon-like grasp before he released you from his grip. 

“And what unhinged commentary do you have on the menu this evening?” he asked you, prompting you to hastily gulp back your glass and place it on the tray of the traveling vendor beside you. Pondering in deep thought, Doflamingo's eyes met with his brother’s intense glare directed at you. 

Beneath the shroud of his glasses, he was certain he was safe from notice. Doflamingo assessed his brother's stance and trailed the tension on his shoulders and the possessiveness in his eyes. A cruel smirk drew up on his features just as you turned to face him. 

“I heard a rumor that Diamante and Pica like to hold hands while they take a piss-,” you began, only to halt as Doflamingo's deep purr crooned down at you.

“-Are you fucking my baby brother?” you snapped your head up at him and widened both your eyes and lips in response. He didn't bother moving to face you, instead training his eyes on the way Rosinante’s hardened stance leaned against the wall. 

“Why would you assume such a ridiculous thing, sir?” you asked him, no room for teasing or earlier playfulness in your tone. He finally tore his eyes away from Rosinante and back towards you. 

“Have you the way he's been looking at you?” Doflamingo stooped low, gently raising your chin with the tilt of his index finger. “He looks like he's trying to burn your clothes off with his eyes. Can't say I blame him,” he trails his finger down your neck to your clavicle, teasing at the hem of your formal garb, “You are a gorgeous specimen. Especially in that dress.”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Doflamingo tugged at your shoulder strap and hoisted you closer to him, turning you to shield you with his feathered coat. 

“Do you want to fuck my baby brother?” he whispered, his voice low and unwavering. You darted your eyes between his and slowly bobbed your head in a soft nod. 

“Oh, how delicious,” he uttered down at you, slowly walking you backwards and caging you against the wall with his hand resting on the tiles beside your head, “How soon do you want to fuck my baby brother?” You gulped, stifling your rising blush and biting your tongue in shame. 

“Oh,” he taunted you with his voice shuddering in delight, “Oh, you want him now.” He leaned forward, crouching low and pressing his chest against your own. “Oh, little lamb,” he whispered, his face mere inches from yours, “This is an entertaining discovery. I bet you're soaked through those pretty panties right now, aren't you-?” 

“-I don't appreciate being on the receiving end of such crassness, Doflamingo,” you cut him off with your warning tone, managing to stifle your blush and bite back at his taunt. Doflamingo rumbles a dark chuckle through his chest as he gently reaches forward and toys with a loose strand of your hair. 

“I know,” he shrugged dismissively, continuing to toy with your hair and plucking at your shoulder straps, “I'll stop in just a moment.” You knit your brows inquisitively at him, clamping your teeth down in a tight snap. 

“What are you doing, Doflamingo?” you arch your brow high as his unoccupied hand draws down to enclose around your wrist. He elevated your arm up to circle his shoulders and card through the wispy strands of his blonde hair bordering the scruff of his neck.

Doflamingo looked over his glasses down at you, the ruby hue of his knowing eyes piercing your soul with every passing moment. You took a moment to assess him, knowing truly that he had no interest in you aside from close friendship, but perplexed by this new intimate closeness between you.

“Isn’t it obvious, little lamb?” he cooed down at you, his eyes full of mischief and playfulness, “I have a feeling he’s just as possessive as I am,” he nudged your forehead with his chin to rise your head up further. “Let’s see where it takes him, shall we?” 

Doflamingo held you against him for a few moments longer, whispering more shameless commentary while waving away any attendants who offered you food and beverages. You enjoyed his crass words, gently soothing over the back of his neck as you enjoyed the warmth from his almost friendly embrace. He was many things: a tyrant, a villain, a truly evil man with a maniacal laugh and a darkened heart. But most importantly, he was truly your friend. 

After several more minutes of being contained beneath the shroud of Doflamingo’s feathered cloak, he released you from hiding within his wings and ventured over to the dancefloor, stealing away a guest and twirling them on the waxed tiles. You spared a glance over to the wall Rosinante was perched on and found an unfamiliar absence in its wake. 

You felt a wave of disappointment wash over you at his notable disappearance. Instead of wallowing in this newfound pity, you simply chose to shrug it off and head over to the bar to get yourself another drink. As you called your order over the mahogany benchtop, you felt something make contact with the back of your dress and slip from your hem to fall to the middle of your back. 

Turning to your side, you notice first the darkened feathers of a broad coat before the maroon hood of the man beside you. His purple glasses were drawn up the bridge of his nose, his painted lips curled in a grimace as he gestured to the barkeep for two glasses of amber liquid. 

His hand remained fixed on the middle of your back in an act of possessive ownership over your form as he paid his Berry for the drinks. You searched his face, your eyes wandering over eyes avoiding yours, the tips of his ears tinted with a soft rise in aggressive blush, and his lips forged against one another in a tight, thin line. 

He was angry. 

His hand felt heavy and covetous, the grip increasing on the back of your dress while attempting to remain poised and composed. Continuing to monitor his expression from your peripherals, you gently brush the rim of your glass with his in a gesture of gratitude. 

“Thank you, Corazon,” you whisper, gently leaning your head to brush against his bicep in a soft bob of familiarity, “It is for me, isn’t it?” He offered you nothing in return: no smile, no look, no acknowledgement at all. Raising his own glass to his lips and gulping it back in a hefty swig, he sighed out a silent breath at the burning sting of alcohol. Placing the glass on the countertop, he finally turned to you with his eyes darkened and glaring through his eyelashes as you sipped at your drink. 

His hands clapped over your own on the glass, pulling your hand towards his face and turning your glass and placing his lips over the stain left on the rim of your glass from your lip paint. Without tearing his eyes away from yours, he gulped down the rest of your liquid with his lips casting over your own mark: sharing a kiss without your lips ever meeting. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his, his gaze hypnotizing you with the tension falling from his shoulders in a possessive rage. Releasing your hand and back, he fished out his cigarette carton and flintlock lighter, his eyes held a daring challenge in them before he turned and made his way towards the heavy doors. Thrusting them open, his intentional and weighty steps feeling foreign in comparison to his usual light footedness. 

Quickly darting your eyes over to the dancefloor, you notice Doflamingo’s gaze catch yours. Shooting you a pouting mock-kiss, he waved you on with his blessing to leave the space unchaperoned by him. You sucked your lip into your mouth and sheepishly trailed after Corazon with your head hanging low to shroud your bashfulness. 

The wind hit your face as the setting sun fled over the coastal line of the Dessrossian sea. The blue of the moonlight rose the shadowy corners of the city and made way for the hum of low lamplight. 

Sitting on the seastone wall, legs crossed at the knees and gazing up into the night sky sat Rosinante inhaling his cigarette. Exhaling the smoke, his chest seemed to deflate in somber yearning. His smoky breath picked up in a swirl on the wind that caressed his skin and blew at his golden hair beneath the red signature hat. His feathered cloak laid on the top of the barrier beside him, the feathers rustling with the breeze. 

Your heart began to flitter with an anxiousness and adrenaline spike you had not yet met its equal. The need to draw him into your arms, take him away from all the frivolity, and press sweetness against his lips with your own had become too much. The way his lips parted with every exhale, the danger and mystery held within his expression propelled your chest to set ablaze. The desire to declare your intentions then and there, claim his lips and body with yours grew exponentially. 

Hissing a final shaky breath through your teeth, you halt your inhibitions and set to declare your infatuation with the younger Donquixote brother. Your feet marched towards him, no longer caring that your desperation for him was exposed beneath your steely expression. As you stood before him, he upturned his head and gazed down his nose at you. 

“Corazon?” your whisper was all the warning you managed to choke out before your hands sought his cheeks and propelled you into his arms. He parted his knees to take you between them, immediately circling his arms around your smaller frame and clasping the back of your dress into heaping fistfuls. 

Lips finally meeting, you tentatively pressed your confession into his skin with a gentle kiss. A shocked squeak left your mouth and was swallowed by his, as his own kiss deviated from your prior sweetness. There was no softness in his kiss, the sweet Corazon you so desperately yearned for had been replaced by another beast entirely. 

Corazon’s lips were hungry, consuming your desire and feasting on the whimpers you called to him with. His hands forced your back to arch against his chest, the tilt of his head and circling of his chin mouthing at you set the pace of the kiss and grew your need for him. A sense of urgency was felt in his kiss, the need to state his claim over you rising with his wild lust. 

Pulling away from your lips, he gazed into your eyes to search for any uncertainty within. Both heavily panting and breathless, you felt the possessiveness Doflamingo had warned you about burn into his aura. His smudged lips were parted, eyes glassy with blown pupils. He released his right hand from your dress and drew it up to his face. 

Tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, he reached up his thumb and claimed a portion of red paint from his cheek on the rounded pad. Immediately thrust his hand forward, he held your left breast in his much larger four fingers while smearing the paint within your cleavage. A choked gasp fled from you as he focussed his attention onto your breast, molding the flesh beneath his palm. 

Huffing through a laugh, he tore his eyes from your breasts and arched his brow up at you with a knowing smirk playing on his face. You knit your brows together in puzzlement before looking down at your chest. Lying central over your heart, your eyes widened at the paint over your exposed flesh. A single word was depicted: no questions, no inhibitions, and no care for any passerby to see the mess he had made on your skin. Corazon’s unwavering gaze never left you as you read over his word.

“Mine.”

A gasp was the only sound he allowed to leave you before he circled his arms over your waist and intentionally fell backwards over the wall, taking you with him as you fell. A hand clapped over your lips to stifle a soft yelp of shock, Corazon fell onto his back with a thud. As soon as he landed, he gave you no time to process the change in position as he replaced his palm with his lips once more. 

In a swift movement, he switched your positions and placed your back on the plush grass bordering the elevated pier between the ocean shore and the Dressrosian castle. Your shocked whimper was claimed by Corazon as his lips collected yours with passion and vigor. There was no hesitancy in his lips, no wavering in his movements, nor stalling his lust for you. 

You made him jealous in the ballroom with his brother, the jealousy unwarranted due to the fact he considered his love to be unrequited. As soon as you placed your lips on his, all of his withheld emotions and prior resignation all but fled him. He was not going to let you go. You were his, and his possessive tendencies revealed themselves to you by each time he drew down his lips to ravish you. 

Trailing his lips and teeth down to your cheek and the tip of your chin, he mouthed at your neck and pressed kisses at your rapidly beating pulse point. Sucking a heart-shaped mark into your skin, your back arched as his hands drew up over your breasts and toyed with your peaked buds. You let out a yelp as he heaped the dress within his balled fists, splitting the material of the dress Doflamingo purchased for you, and rendering it unsalvageable. 

Leaving you no time to protest, his lips found one of your puckered nipples and rolled it with his tongue. His other hand toyed with your unoccupied breast, matching momentum and maneuverability he was pressing into you with his lips. You drew up your hands to clap one over your lips, while the other found the top of Corazon’s head and scrunched around the red material of his hat. 

Removing his lips from your chest while continuing to pinch your nipple, he sought out your consent to continue ravishing you. His eyes seemed almost innocent, his head cocking to the side as his brows arched in the center of his forehead. His lips held the sweet smile you knew and loved him for, a vast contrast to the criminally unashamed touch he was teasing you with. 

“You-... ah-... asking for my consent to continue?” you moaned as he joined his unoccupied hand to squeeze at the flesh his lips were occupied with prior. He shook his head before his lips kissed above his smudged writing, drawing your attention to the mark he made prior.

“You-... nnngh-... You asking for-... fuck, Corazon-,” he placed his knee between your legs, making contact with the damp material of your soaked panties and grinding it up against you. You felt the rumble of his soundless chuckle purr and vibrate against your skin, his lips curling into a smile as he continued to mouth at your skin. 

Searching your rapidly clouding mind for any question you had to form on his wordless behalf, you found revelation just as his fingers began to snake down below your panties and gather your slick atop his considerably larger fingers. Dipping his middle and unity finger in a coaxing grind against your entrance, you yanked his head up to gaze back into your eyes and release your skin from his relentless attack of his urgent kisses. 

“Corazon, you-... you want to claim me as yours, don’t you?” you gasped as his lips halted their descent and his eyes darted back up to meet yours. His hazelnut orbs burn into you with his silent unwavering desire, daring you to deny him through his lengthy eyelashes. At that moment, that split motion and hardened intensity, you knew within your soul that you belonged to him and him alone.

There was no other, no friend nor foe that poured into your mind other than your sweet Corazon. He owned you in every sense of the word. Your heart, your mind, your spirit was all his. Always had been, and will always ever be. Unbreaking in his heavy eye contact, he prowled back up towards you and caged your head between his lowered elbows. Testing you with his eyes, he swayed his head slowly from side to side, hovering his lips above yours as you chased him.

“Say it,” his lips motioned, his breath tingling your skin where his vocal fry never spilled, “Say it.” You whined, pouting and avoiding his eyes while your body bucked up involuntarily to brush against his thigh. 

Your open dress caused the wind to prick up and caress your skin with its icy breeze: a drastic contrast between the hot body trapping you beneath him. Corazon’s eyes never left yours, ablaze with the desire to see you admit defeat and title him as yours, and yours alone. Gazing down his nose at you, his tongue soundlessly clicked a few more times in daring you to admit that key phrase that granted him the pleasure of enjoying you exclusively. 

“Yours,” you managed to gasp out, your back arching as your head drew up to seek his out, “I’m yours, Corazon.” He angled his chin, clicking his tongue while urging you to cry out for him more. Gently dragging his fingers backwards and forwards along your slit, he tentatively bullied his lengthy digits into your body and hooked them up to expertly seek out the underside of your clit and massage it with his thick fingers. 

“Fuck, I’m yours,” you curse at him, his brows arching up as he continued to bully his fingers into you, collecting your slick on his middle and unity fingers while his thumb tapped at your clit. Roughly propelling you closer to ecstasy, he held you hostage against your release: the bob and contraction of your walls squeezing against his digits halting his movements and edging you away from your ignition. 

Your hands sought out his cheeks, roughly bringing his face towards you and wordlessly asking for his kiss. He denied you, holding his head away from your lips and teasing you with his eyes. Desperation clawed at you, forcing you to buck up against his hand to chase your high, only to be championed away from eruption by the skilled ministrations of the blonde above you. You keened for him, trying to gather more of him as he held off his lips and your approaching climax with expert precision.

“What? What do you want me to say?” you desperately gasped for him. He arched his brow, continuing to hold your bliss at ransom until you declared what he was searching for. He leaned down, his bottom lip gently brushing with yours before pulling away and focussing his thumb against your clit. Arching your back, you grabbed at his wrist channeling its ministrations against your hyper-sensitive body to draw more of him against you. 

“Corazon, please,” you whimpered, tears beginning to gather in your eyes, “I only ever want to be yours. Only yours.” You reached your hands up to his stomach, snaking your digits across his abdomen and desperately reaching for the hemline of his pants. As soon as he felt your fingers slip beneath the surface, he pulled his hand away from your dripping pussy and removed your hands immediately from his body. 

Clasping your wrists above your head in a single girthy hand, Corazon used his other to unbutton the front of his pants before returning it to your needy pussy. Each touch was highly sensitive, your entrance contracting around an absent touch, and your voice whined for him to let you finish. 

“Please. Please, Corazon!” you sobbed, arching your back and squirming against his hand pinning yours above your head. “What do you want? What do you want? Please, I'll do anything. Anything you want.” 

Truthfully, Corazon didn't know what he wanted. He enjoyed this new shift in power: watching you helplessly squirming to seek out more of his touch against you, seeing the desperation in your eyes, hearing the hopelessness in your soft cries. You were experiencing all of the emotions he felt moments prior while his heart was held at ransom watching you with his brother. 

He wanted to see you cry, hear you whine, feel you sniffle as you keened for him; helpless to the pleasure he was desperately withholding from you. He was so tired of being kind and sweet to you, always kind and sweet to you. 

No, he wanted to be mean. 

His unwavering gaze darkened as he pierced you with his eyes, the smudge of his former mark on your chest spreading through the dewy desperation of your glistening perspiration. You had never looked so beautiful to him, bare for any passerby to witness if they truly focussed on you. Each part of you was perfect to him, every sucked breath, whimper, and sniffle. 

After spending a moment to take you all in, he had no choice but to see you unravel by his touch. A show just for him, with you as the star performer. 

Thumb pressed against your swollen pearl, he finally focussed his entire attention on coaxing you from that edge by pistoning his hand in and out, adding his index finger to the stretch and massaging your g-spot. Scissoring his fingers, dancing his digits expertly on your most sensitive and desperate nerves, your eyes finally ignite with the white of euphoric lightning. 

“O-Oh, fuck!” you yelped, feeling how tightly wound you were, his hands rapidly beckoned your ecstasy like a musician toying with their specialist instrument. You bit your lip to stifle your whimpers, your vision blurring beneath your glassy orbs and light bursting behind your eyes. 

Corazon's jaw shuddered as he felt your body shake and tremble beneath him. His eyes never left your face as he watched your eyes clamp shut and contort in ecstacy. Back arching, hips rocking to match his pace, your body danced hypnotically as you rode through your high. Your slick gushed in his hands, christening him with your essence as he ceased his relentless momentum. 

“Corazon,” you pant with your chest heaving as your lungs expanded. Removing his lengthy digits from your pussy, he teased at your entrance, collected a sample of your essence and gripped his newly exposed cock. Leaning up onto your elbows, you were enchanted by his hand pistoning his shaft, giving his knob a gentle squeeze while lubricating it with your slick. 

Leaning back to sit on his calves, he beckoned you over with a wiggle of his finger. As you attempted to sit, the exertion from the intensity of your euphoria prevented you from rising. Falling back onto the grass, Corazon clicked his tongue at you before biting back a rising smirk. 

He was absolutely smitten with the fact that just his hands had left you feeling like an oversensitive mess trembling on the ground. His patience was never ending, enjoying the show of how helpless you looked while catching your breath. Instead of chastising you for being unable to move, he shuffled forward, staining his knees with the green tint of the plush grass. 

Bringing himself down to cage your body beneath his, he tilted his head with a playful smile drawing up his lips. A soft whine fled from your lips as you felt him line the tip of his cock against your slit. Dragging the blunt tip over your entrance up to your sensitive clit had your body trembling from the heightened oversensitivity. 

“Corazon,” your whispered cry for him had his eyes widening and pupils dilating to a blown-out eclipse of those brown eyes you had grown to love. The man who caged you beneath him resembled a beast: wild with desire and consumed by the need for satisfaction. 

His sweet smile was now mimicking a grimace, the resemblement to his older brother now understandable by the curl of his lips. Caging your waist within his two hands with ease, he elevated your hips from the ground as he sat on his calves. A squeak of shock fled from your lips, the gentle caress of grass searing against your shoulders and pricking your skin. 

Lining up his tip fully with your slit, his wrists snapped you down as if you weighed nothing, sinking his blushing cockhead within your drooling cunt immediately. Crying out at the stinging stretch, you thrust your hands behind you and anchored yourself against the earth by gripping the grass beside your head. 

At the soft cry, Rosinante stilled. His discipline holding by a thread as his eyes take you in. Seeing that deep furrow on your face as you adjust to his great size has him rocking you gently to test out your resolve. Snapping your eyes up at him, you mirror his unhinged smirk and attempt to peer up at him with your shoulders bearing your weight. 

“If you're going to fuck me, fuck me,” you taunt him, your eyelashes fluttering innocently at him, “I can take it. I'm yours.” Your smirk turns soft, the dewy sweat smearing the lettering written over your chest, and heaving with every inhale of breath. On seeing the red paint etched over your skin, his blood boiled like a drop of water into a crackling pot of hot oil. That sizzling danger igniting fire within his soul had his hips immediately rock forward and bury his entire length into your slick heat. 

Eliciting a strangled cry of shock at the intrusion, your voice caught itself in your larynx as your jaw fell slack. Eyes wide, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, smile ghosting at the corners of your lips, your back bowed as the crown of your head flew back to the ground. His cock pressed against your cervix, pulsating its engorged mass deep within your body. Not a single regret cascaded over your mind at the first rock of your much smaller body over his giant steely cock. 

As if only testing your resolve, his thrusts remained shallow: his cock buried into you and only withdrawing a single inch to press back in. Each gasp from your lips mirrored the flutter of your walls contracting around him, drawing him forward and prompting him to growl deep within the chasms of his chest. 

Nodding to him, you slapped his large hands circling your waist and gestures to his cock with your digits. 

“C'mon, Corazon,” you tease him, angling your head to the side and peering at the corner of your eyes and grinning from ear to ear, “You call this fucking me-! Ahh-!” 

The switch flicked, his motions throwing and jolting your body with each heavy thrust. You were a limp doll in his hands, your much smaller frame a pretty cocksleeve for his looming body towering over you. He pumped his cock into your cunt, using your pussy as a channel for his lust. 

His belt jingled and rustled as his pants slunk to his knees, your dress collecting the stain of green from the grass beneath you. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, Corazon panted heavy breaths with his unsyncopated rhythm. Each in-thrust hit the sensitive convex of your g-spot before brushing past and bullying your cervix. Hit blunt tip hit that marker within your body that had you scream in ecstasy, lips parting and drool falling from the corners of your lips. 

Corazon cracked open his eyes and found himself lost in the vision of you splayed out beneath him. Just from meeting his eyes on your body; clothes ruined, back arching, eyes blown with lust, and breath catching in sweet, choked, little mewls, he felt himself almost topple over that cliff of bliss. Your pussy fluttered around him, coaxing a soundless cry to flee from his lips while his hips rutt into your cunt recklessly. 

The coil within your abdomen swelled before binding together in a woven ring. You could barely form a cohesive word. Your arms, along with the rest of you, remained unresponsive to your mind as you felt your release almost snap within you. 

On queue, Rosinante moved one of his hands so his thumb met your clit while the remaining four circled your hips. The pad of his larger digit gently swirled your clit in messy circles, his desperation to feel you cum against his cock driving him to the brink of reckless insanity. As the larger blonde continued to rutt and buck into you while dragging your smaller frame against his, the crude slaps and sloppy momentum had lightning flash behind your eyes.

“C-Co-! Nghhmn-, Cora-!” your choked whimper was caught on your tongue as your body gave in to the call of your release. Your back bowed as you met your crest, the final crescendo being conducted within the symphony of your bodies joining as one. Your pussy gushed against his cock, a creamy ring forming at his base as you contracted around him. Each pulse and wave of your fluttering walls had Corazon crying soundlessly while biting his cheeks to ground himself from toppling immediately after you. Focussing on you first, he continued holding the pace and fucking you through your bliss. 

Falling away from that edge and floating back to the surface, you felt Corazon withdraw his cock from your oversensitive pussy with a rough 'pop'. Gently falling your body to the ground with his larger left hand, his right immediately circled his cock and began pumping the thick shaft over your body. His eyelids fluttered as his glassy orbs rolled back, his lips soundlessly uttering a single word once his gaze pierced yours. 

“Mine.”

At that, his cock leaked in hot spurts, dousing your stomach and breasts in scorching splashes. You could almost feel his chest vibrating with the sounds he couldn't release verbally, his lips repeating several mouthed curses and iterations of your name. His cock twitched in his palm as he rode his high over your body. 

You were mesmerized in the way he moved. His wrist slightly curled it's way inwards with every instroke, uncoiling on the way out, his pearlescent seed finally coating the red mark he wrote against your skin with his lip paint. He drank in your sight: lips parted, clothes torn, tousled hair, flushed cheeks, panting chest, and covered in ropes of his cum.

Riding through his high, he collapsed over you. His hands moved to cage you beneath him, knees on either side of your hips as his breath tickled your face. His lips found your cheek, moving in that single word repetitively. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” he nipped at your jaw, his tongue darting out and dragging down your neck towards your pulse. You whined at the movement, already feeling oversensitive from the two climaxes in sequence. Rosinante’s chest wiggled with his soundless chuckle, rolling back onto his knees and gawking at you. 

You were perfect. 

Gently reaching up to the beam beside him, he collected his feather coat and laid it beside you. His motions were gentle, intentional, and almost sweet in comparison to his prior roughness. He hooked his arm beneath your legs, the other splayed on your upper back as he moved you onto the dark quills of inky feathers. Without a care to the mess he made of you, he curled in the corners and swaddled you within the larger back and sleeves. 

“Corazon…?” you whispered after him, his eyes finding yours and granting you a soft smile while continuing to gather you into his material nest. “What are you-?” 

He reached forward, touching your lips with his fingers before gesturing up to the manor suite his bedroom door was adjoined. Satisfied with you safely tucked within the feathery quills of his lengthy coat, his eyes widened briefly in shock before his features softened all together. 

Firstly tucking his cock back into his pants, he redid his belt before fixing his shirt. You giggled at his silliness, watching each motion with interest while your body began to ache with the overexertion of taking his mass within your body. You attempted to move, wincing as you felt the sting of his bruising kisses and harsh movement against your body. 

At the soft hiss, Rosinante surged forward, caressing your cheek and checking you over. 

“I'm alright, Corazon,” you whisper with a soft smile, “Just a little achy. I'll be fine. I'm-.” 

Your words halt as something shrouds your eyes, warming your head, and eclipsing you with comfort. Eyes fluttering shut, you welcome the embrace of Corazon’s soft hat crowning your hair, the hearts dangling down on your chest and dancing on your skin. The feeling of his arms hooking beneath your legs once more returned, this time beneath the quills of his feathered cloak. 

Looking up at him as he hoisted you into the air, the sun warmed his skin with a soft pink. The orange and red mixing with the hues of purple over the Dressrosian horizon as he raised to full height. His hazelnut eyes fell over your face, his eyelashes fluttering and orbs darting their focus within your own. 

“Mine.”

He mouthed the words once more before walking with you cradled against himself towards his quarters. The gentle touch soothed your skin, the safety of his arms barricading you in his sweet hold as he ushered you to his room with a soft skip in his step. 

You truly felt it: mind, body, spirit, and soul. You were his. Truly, his. 

You belonged to Donquixote “Corazon” Rosinante. 

The only thoughts that withheld you from submitting completely was the knowing smile Doflamingo shot you from the double-arched doors over Rosinante’s shoulder. That unhinged grin, filled with amusement had you dreading the way you were likely going to give your boss a play by play over what had just occurred between you and his younger brother. 

For now, there was this: a man who was nuzzling against your neck, inhaling your scent, and attacking your cheek with soft kisses. The same man who coated your body in a spray of his cum, staining you and marking you as his. The man who had you climax so hard you saw each star littering the sky with renewed vibrancy. 

The man who held your heart completely. 

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane

[glamourscat]

MASSIVE SLAY for calling out the tim drake mischaracterization. If you ever write for him I'll be the first one to read istg

⋆˚౨ৎ Tim Drake HCS ౨ৎ ⋆.˚

<33, thank you :') Tim is not only my fav Robin, but perhaps my fav batfamily member. I can yap about him for hours lmao. and since i am a yapper at heart here some headcanons for Tim, along side A SMUTTY ONESHOT

habit of FaceTiming you after patrol and using it as a gossip (shit talking) session “And you won’t believe what that motherfuck—“

CEO of “this is us”. Spams you with TikTok’s and cringy memes that remind him of you two together or just you in general.

He is chronically online, but not in the cringy gen alpha way, but in the way that he somehow knows every obscure gossips / cancellations happening. Even in niche that he is not into (like chef tini's thanksgiving mac and cheese controversy)

He is so smart, with the highest IQ in the batfamily after Bruce and yet he somehow decides that it's a good idea to try and take the piece of stuck toast with a fork... in a plugged, working, toaster. He is the type of person who's smart academically, gifted even, but never tries-- in fact he finds school boring (and i think this is canon)

Has a private account on social media, the ones that look like fake/bots right? Private with like 10 followers, and he posts mainly his s/o, pictures with his friends and his photography pictures.

He knows how to skate in canon. Stay assured he will teach you how to skate too. Late night skate practices when he doesn't have patrol, or during the summer going to the arcades together -- or driving to the nearest 7/11 to buy a slurpee.

OVER HIS DEAD BODY will he admit this, but he is a cuddler enjoyer. He is pretty short, so if youre slightly taller than him or larger, he is heaven. He likes to bottle up his feelings until he explodes, but, in those quiet nights when he can rests his head on your chest and relax by the sound of your heartbeat... he knows it will all be alright.

Doesn't know how to enjoy things normally. It's even all in with him or none at all. (like i mentioned here) emotionally he is stunned. He either goes down the rabbit hole and become utterly unhinged or is nonchalant, and you know in that moment you have lost him. This can apply for both relationships, friendships and even things like watching a new show or read a new book.

Is so pretty. Long black eyelashes, soft blue eyes that are so bright, his hair are of a shade of black that reminds you of the midnight sky. His muscles are just right. He is pale and yet has a warmness to him you can't really explain.

When he is not patrolling he actually has a pretty stable routine. Tim can be a control freak, and surely he, as the work alcholic vigilante he is, won't make his immune system— which is already weak withouth a spleen— grow any weaker. He takes great care of himself. With going to sleep early, taking breaks, drinks tea, morning walks at 6am...

Has a loud mouth. Most will assume Jason would be the one to swear the most right? And I mean, he is, just not the number one. The number one is this meany right here. Who, in every three words, inserts a swearing word you didn’t even know existed.

Secretly a romantic but not in the "normal way." His love would show up in the little things -> like taking notice of what you like, your fav characters, songs, foods, colour, animal etc.. and keeping it mind when needed. He is there for you when you need him, and he might not be good with words, but for sure he is good at taking care of you with touch.

MIXED TAPES!! You lost the count of how many burned CDs he gifted you, with an accurate playlist of songs chosen mirroring what he wants to portray. Anniversary? Bday? Holidays? He will gift you one along side another present for sure.

“What is this?” Your voice holding a hint of curiosity, surprise even as you look at him with soft eyes

“Pre anniversary gift. I wanted to gift you something— meaningful I suppose” he says shrugging, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably as his big blue eyes were waiting to hear your contentment.

“Aww, you’re so cute …” you tease, on purpose making your tone slightly higher pitch. It might seem sarcastic, but truly it's not. Because you’re extremely grateful, every mixed tape is a little treasure you cherish with all of your heart. You just enjoy messing with him, because his face goes always so red.

“Alright, shut up now” he says, while rolling his eyes. Trying to act annoyed, but you can see right through him. He is miserably failing with this little act, because his love sick smile is big enough to bright the whole room.

百個心都裝唔晒我對你嘅愛= A hundred hearts would be too few to carry all my love for you | in cantonese

Playlist: Slide away - oasis Useless ID - Kiss Me, Kill Me Kiss Me Deadly by Generation X When it’s time - green day somebody - depeche mode Just like heaven - the cure First date - blink-182 Lucky man - the verve Good good things - descendents Teenage Bottlerocket - Spend the Night Teenage Bottlerocket - Don't Go

The drawing is made by me btw!!

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[ozzgin]

Your recent post about your OCs wanting to yandere but [insert something preventing that here] makes me think of an idea 🤔

What if, what if, you have a bsf who's kinda like, into you, and you don't know it. The bsf is sorta yandere, but hides it so they don't freak you out, ykyk? 😏

But then like, you just casually mention one day that it'd be sorta romantic someone would stalk you and kill for you just 'cause "if someone cared for me that much they'd literally murder and stalk me to know everything about me and my tastes I'd be WOOED 😍🥰😫"

And the bsf just casually nods and goes, "well, I already do that for you bbg 😘😘 anything else you want me to do? ☺️"

And you go- "well, there's this annoying coworker-"

"say no more," your bsf says, shushing you with a newfound confidence now that he knows your type.

Does that sound a bit unhinged?

~ 🐇

(glad to hear you're doing well, ozzie!! <33 love yourself!)

Yandere!Best Friend would take his secret to the grave. Oh, he's so ashamed of his rotten self. Would you despise him if you knew about his dirty thoughts, his perversions, his intrusions? He would never dare confess to you, not after everything he's done.

Yandere!Best Friend has always been your biggest supporter and your biggest stalker. Wasn't it all too convenient that he'd readily pick you up within minutes from any location, almost as soon as you uttered the words? Wasn't there an eerie confidence in his voice when he'd reassure you that the poor soul who upset you would never come into your view again? Yet, there was never the faintest tinge of suspicion in your soul. His gentle smile remained as candid as ever.

"You've been stuck to your phone for days now," he jokes, somewhat annoyed by the lack of attention. What, have you found another boyfriend again? He's just gotten rid of the last one, and none of your messages hint that you'd be-

"Sorry, just reading a lot lately. I've really gotten into the yandere trope, you know? Something about an obsessive, creepy guy hits the spot."

You're sadly too preoccupied with your smut paragraphs to notice the borderline psychotic grin of your beloved friend. His heart drums with trepidation, and he places a hand over his heaving chest. God, he can barely contain himself. To hear these words coming out of your precious little mouth...his mind races at a dizzying speed, utterly overwhelmed. It takes a Herculean amount of willpower to refrain himself from pinning you to the ground in that very instant.

You won't be walking straight tomorrow.