#if you hate him you will die and go to hell

[azonewithu]

Im harsh. Wrong these people are stupid. Hey at least Trumps saying he wants to end the fighting who the fuck knows by now what anyone really wants. Theyre all engaged in wars that have no end. We should all start fighting like that if this continues. I know one thi g we cant continue to support any war in the middle east or its all over. Its bad enough the Russians wont back off. Id give ypur heafs a shake or this earth is gonna start shaking. Gods fed up hes had enough of you people. Wheres your fucon idiot dead man walking dueler. How about hos wife. Oh firget her she likes me. Doesnt wanna duel or die for nothing. You people dont care about anyone but your own people. God sees that. Now youll have to put up with him not giving a fuck fir you. I asked whetes your fuckn faggot coward dueler who wants to duel for your piece of shit non existent god. This place is safe i hate Onterrible i csll it id rather at this point luve anywhere else. Im glad i murdered so many people here and didnt get caught. This place is just as fucked. But im here so i kerp a certsin standard here. Ill come up out of the ground and drag anyone down to hell though. Most of the people who mess with ne go missing or end up murdered. My planet foesnt like assholes eho fuck with me. Wheres this benign idiot god you sleak of illduel anyone. Yeah youre good peiple keep telling uoursrlves that. Youre not good at fighti g abd ibeat your ass.

[dragon-kazansky]

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Times are changing, and nothing is as it once was. The Dreaming is being rebuilt, but much is happening. The siblings reunite once more, Hell becomes vacant, and Delirium seeks out their missing brother. Dream faces his past, and his wife questions her place beside him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

I added a bunch of you who commented to the tag list. Let me know if you want to be taken off, but I'm loving the comments lol

Chapter Thirteen - The key to Hell

You sat in your room at the end of the bed, staring at the wall opposite. It was a strange feeling. The Dreaming felt incomplete when he wasn't there. He was the missing piece to this realm.

He had said preparations had been made. You sort of knew what he was hinting at, but hated to even think about it. You weren't near enough ready for that.

Then there was the matter of if he succeeded. He would bring Nada back here. You can't fault him for wanting to save the woman he loved.

Someone he certainly still loved. You would probably do the same in his place.

Dream was not without flaws, but you loved him dearly, and you understood him in every way that counted. His feelings were more than valid… and you were prepared to let him go for the love of another. If Nada wanted him, she could have him. It was not your place to stand between them.

A knock on the door has you breaking free from your thoughts. You turn to see Lucienne. You smile at her as she approaches you. “Lucienne. Come, sit with me.”

She does as you request and occupies the empty space beside you. “Are you alright?” She asks.

“Of course.” You smile at her. She doesn't buy it, you can tell.

“If I may speak plainly, I am concerned about you.”

“Whatever for? I am well.”

“Others may believe you, but I do not. Can I speak as a friend?”

You smile softly. “Of course.”

“Your heart is cracking. I can see it clearly enough. May I ask what you discussed with him on that balcony?”

You look at her, no longer smiling. She can see right through you and there's no point in pretending anymore. Lucienne knew you well enough.

“I gave him his ring back.”

She seems shocked by this news. You don't miss the way she glances at your hand. She meets your gaze again with worry. “Why?”

“You heard him. You know why he's going to Hell, why he's prepared to die. He's rescuing the woman he loves, to right the wrong he made many years ago.”

Lucienne sighs softly and reaches for your hand. It's a comforting gesture and you find yourself latching onto it. You squeeze her hand softly, needing that anchor to stop you from drowning in your feelings.

“You haven't forgotten, have you?” She asks.

“Forgotten what?”

“He went to Hell for you once too.”

You stare at her in confusion. “He went to Hell for his Helm.”

“Well, yes, but the reason goes much deeper than just that,” she says. She can see you're still confused. “He went on a quest to regain his tools for you. Without them, he could not wake you from your prolonged sleep.”

Your heart skipped a beat. That wasn't too long ago. How could you forget?

“He battled Lucifer for his Helm for your sake.”

“Still…”

She gives your hand a squeeze. She gives you a warning look. She's stopping you from going down a spiral of negativity.

“He may be going now to rescue Nada, but that does not mean he doesn't love you, my lady. Lord Morpheus would go as far to move the heavens for you.”l

You look at her in silence. Your heart was breaking again. Did you overreact by giving him the ring back? However, the lingering thoughts of him wanting to fix things with Nada were still there.

Another squeeze to your hand. Lucienne wasn't going to let you sink. “Don't forget all he has done for you. When he loves, he loves deeply.”

Thunder rumbles. You're with your friends back at the entrance. Dream has been gone a short while now, but something must be happening. The Dreaming was influenced by its king, so thunder rolling in wasn't a comforting sign.

The door rattles behind you all and then opens. Dream comes walking in. He's alive, but also alone.

“You're back,” you speak softly. He doesn't say a word to you. Dream keeps walking, brushing past you silently. Something has happened.

Lucienne steps beside you and gestures towards him with her head. You take a deep breath and follow after him.

“Should we follow her?” Matthew asks.

“I'm not,” Mervyn comments.

“You're right, she's got this.”

You follow Dream back to your shared room. Private, quiet. Perhaps he wanted you to follow.

“Dream?”

He comes to a stop in front of the mirror. You watch him closely.

“What happened? Are we at war?” You ask. “With Hell? Lucifer?”

He turns to look at you over his shoulder. He's quiet. You don't like it when he's so quiet. You also hate the distance between you, but you fear you caused that.

“Lucifer has abdicated.”

“What?” You stare at him in shock. “Lucifer quit? Can they do that?”

Dream slowly sits down in front of the fireplace. “All the demons and the dawned are freed.” His eyes drift from you. “Nada’s gone. I looked everywhere for her.”

You try not to let your heart crack any more than it already has. It was his choice.

“Surely someone must know where she is. Someone must be in charge of Hell.” You dare to step closer to him.

Dream lifts his eyes to you once more. “Someone is.”

Your gaze drops to the key in his hand and you feel like time has stopped. You look at him again.

“You?”

“Lucifer cursed me with it. Soon every deity and demiurge will be armed at our door. They will fight and kill for this.”

You feel fear settle in your bones. Dream can tell just from looking at you. He feels he has no right to even touch you, but he still holds out his hand, hoping with whatever is left in him that you accept. And you do. Your hand slides into his.

“But I will not let it come to that,” he assures you.

Dream refuses to let go of your hand now he has it in his grasp. Your feelings on the matter were valid, but it was tearing him up inside that you were willing to leave him.

“Where are we going?”

“To speak with my sister.”

“Oh…”

He takes you down to the gallery and still refuses to let go of your hand. He stands before his sister's sigil and calls out to her. A moment later, Death appears.

Right away she's pleased to see you both. After the family meeting, she was worried about you two.

“Is this about Hell?” She asks.

“You know.”

“Yeah, of course I know. Everyone knows.”

Everyone? Great…

“What do you think I should do?” He asks her.

“What do you want to do?”

He goes silent. He knows what he wants, but saying it out loud may only hurt you further. He doesn't like hurting you.

“I want to find Nada.”

Death glances at you. You're not even looking at either of them. Your eyes are trained on the floor by her feet and it takes everything in her not to shake some sense into her brother. At the same time, she knows him too well.

“Well… Nada will have to wait. Because Hell is empty. And everyone who used to live in Hell is back in the waking world and planning on turning that into Hell.”

You look at Death with concern.

“You have two choices,” she tells Dream. “Either you take the key Lucifer gave you and you rule Hell.”

You did not fancy that idea.

“Or give it to someone else.”

“Hell needs a leader who is responsible. Principled. Wise. Someone who gives excellent advice…” He looks at his sister, “ordinarily.”

“You're not giving it to me.”

“I have deities from every realm about to arrive at my door.”

“You think I want them at mine?” She asks, aghast with the idea. “It's bad enough I have to collect the dead all over again, in addition to my regular gig.”

“Then I will help you.”

“No, you will not.”

As amusing as it is to watch the siblings quarrel, your fear for what will become of Hell was certainly putting a damper on your mood.

Dream could sense your unease and tried to assure you with a squeeze of his hand. It was amazing how comforting that gesture from anyone was.

“It is my job to sort out the dead,” Death reminds him. “Your job is to sort out Hell.”

Death gives you a smile before leaving.

Dream falls silent. You look at him softly. What a mess…

Dream sits you down. He holds onto your hand with both of his. He avoids your gaze, but you don't have to look into his eyes to see the gears turning in his mind.

“Speak to me,” you urge him softly.

“I need your help.”

He lifts his head and looks at you. There's a desperation in those blue pools of his. You fear him drowning in it. Lucienne was your anchor when your feelings threatened to overwhelm you, so it was your turn to anchor him.

“Tell me what you need.”

His shoulders relax when you speak. Despite the confusion, the fear, the hurt, you're still willing to assist him. It is one of many reasons he loves you, but now was not the time to dwell on it.

“When they come, we shall let them in. We will let them stay. I will hear all they have to say to me about Hell. I need you to help me decide.” His hand squeezed yours. You were getting used to this feeling.

“Okay.” You nod your head.

Dream looks relieved. A moment of silence passes between you. You could happily stay in that moment forever, but he speaks your name and you already feel the walls crumbling.

“Don't, Dream.”

“Please.”

“Not now.” You stand, but you don't let go of his hands. “Not now.”

For a moment, everything is normal again.

He understands. Despite how desperate he was to talk with you, he knew there would come a better time. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

@missdreamofendless @kpopgirlbtssvt @thoughtsfromlayla @errantsomnium @heavenlybluegirl @rousrm @bes2005 @qardasngan @adrestlyd @jeshomie @deadwizzardlover @missbeesentertainment @cardiganswillow @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lunesmai @insanedreamer296

[formulafanfics13]

Daddy - CS55 🔥

Masterlist

summary: a quiet family dinner turns into chaos when you accidentally call Carlos daddy in front of your actual father. You meant it for your boyfriend—obviously—but the look on both their faces when they each reach for the salt? Pure horror. The rest of dinner is awkward as hell, and later that night, back in your room, Carlos can’t stop replaying it. You tease him—shamelessly—and he finally snaps. Fucks you hard. Fucks you mean. And when the word daddy falls from your lips again, this time with your legs spread and your throat raw from moaning, Carlos makes you say it over and over while he ruins you on the hotel mattress.

warning: daddy kink, public embarrassment, cringe comedy at dinner, teasing, dom Carlos, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, degradation + praise kink, hair pulling, fingering, choking (light), creampie, fully consensual filth, boyfriend Carlos losing control

The thing is... you didn’t mean to do it. Not like that. Not in the middle of a quiet dinner with your dad. Not with Carlos sitting right beside you, too polite and too golden and too fucking composed. It slipped. You’d meant it playfully. Soft. Flirty. Just between you and him.

“Daddy, can you pass the salt?”

The second it left your lips, you knew. Carlos’s head whipped toward you. Your dad blinked. Both of them reached for the shaker. Both of them froze. The silence was violent.

You bit your lip. “I- uh- sorry, I meant-”

Your dad awkwardly handed over the salt. Carlos didn’t speak for the rest of dinner. Even dessert was painful.

You got back to the hotel first. Sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through TikTok and cackling. When Carlos finally walked in, he looked like he’d seen God and been personally shamed. “I hate you,” he muttered, peeling off his jacket.

“No, you don’t.” You grinned. “Did you see your face?”

He groaned. “I thought I was going to die.”

“He reached for it too!” you howled. “You both did! That was cinematic.”

Carlos shot you a look. “You said it like it was for him!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did I?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re evil.”

You stretched, spine arching, shirt riding up slightly. “You like it when I call you daddy.”

“Not in front of your actual dad!”

You smirked. “Maybe I like confusing you.”

He crossed the room in two steps. Grabbed your ankle. “You think this is funny?”

You grinned wider. “You look kinda flustered, baby.”

His jaw clenched. “You want to say it again?”

You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. “Say what, daddy?”

That did it. He shoved you back onto the bed, hands firm on your thighs, eyes blazing. “You wanna be a fucking brat, huh?”

You giggled. “You already know I do.”

He kissed you hard. Bit your bottom lip. Slid his hands under your shirt and yanked it up. “You’re gonna be sorry you said that in front of your dad.”

“Yeah?” you taunted. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Carlos tugged your panties down, rough and fast. “I’m gonna remind you who owns this little cunt.”

You moaned.

He slapped your thigh. “Turn over.”

You obeyed.

His hand came down hard on your ass. Once. Twice. You gasped. “Next time you say daddy in public,” he growled, “you better make it fucking clear who you’re talking to.”

You looked over your shoulder, smirking. “And if I don’t?” He shoved two fingers into you, deep. You screamed. “Then I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be limping into breakfast.”

You moaned, writhing under him. “Please…”

“What do you want?”

“Want you to fuck me, daddy.”

“Louder.”

“Fuck me, daddy.”

He yanked his jeans down, lined himself up, and slid in with one brutal thrust. You choked. Eyes wide. Mouth open. “So fucking tight,” he groaned. “Like you’ve never been fucked before.”

His hands gripped your hips. His pace was relentless. You were already crying.

“Say it again,” he ordered.

“Daddy-”

“Again.”

“Daddy, fuck-”

He reached forward. Grabbed your hair. Pulled. “Good girl,” he growled. “My filthy little girl. Moaning for daddy after embarrassing me in front of your whole fucking family.”

You sobbed. “Did it on purpose- wanted you to fuck me like this.”

He slammed deeper. You gasped. Could feel him in your stomach. “That’s right,” he whispered. “You want everyone to know I own this pretty little pussy.”

You nodded, tears spilling. “Only yours. Always yours.”

He flipped you onto your back. Kept fucking you. Harder. Faster. You screamed. Clawed at the sheets. Came once. Then again.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

You did. He spat into it. “Swallow.”

You obeyed. “Good girl.”

His hips stuttered. His cock twitched.

And then he came inside you, groaning your name, burying himself deep, filling you with every drop. You lay there wrecked. Drenched. Shaking. He leaned down. Kissed your forehead. “Next time,” he whispered, “I’m fucking you before dinner.”

You giggled. “Yes, daddy.”

[gravitysheep]

Chuuya was glad that Dazai found his excuse reasonable, given it was true. Should he lose control of himself and unleash Corruption without Dazai around so many people would die in his rampage. It wouldn't even register to him that he was destroying everything while he was out of control... Without a specific target to focus on his corrupted self would kill and destroy anything that moved. Just like what happened all those years ago before he joined the mafia.

"... If it isn't enough or they don't believe you about Corruption tell them about the Arahabaki incident... That should be incentive enough for them to keep me under surveillance. Much as I fucking hate that it's necessary now."

He was certain that no one knew about exact details of that incident there was no denying how devastating the aftermath was. The crater was proof enough of just how dangerous he was in his corrupted form. While he was curious about the real reason he knew Dazai well enough to know he wouldn't talk about it. Especially not while he's in this state. The red head sighed and glared hard at the ground since it wasn't Dazai's fault. After all he was the one that could lose control at any time apparently. Even when he thought he was safe. Fucking hell, he hated this so much. Not only was he now going to be under near constant supervision, it was by the most annoying man in the world.

"Yeah yeah... Let's get out of here before we're caught or something stupid like that."

He ignores how strange it was to hear Dazai call his apartment home but that's what it would be now. Hopefully they could survive each other's presence. He follows the other man to his car, put the stuff he was carrying into the backseat before hopping in the driver's seat and taking them back home. Once they're back in the apartment he sighs heavily and then looks over to Dazai, "go the fuck to sleep now mackerel. We'll deal with finding a home for your things after you wake up."

It's a valid concern, and a reasonable cover that Chuuya provides. It wasn't so much of a lie, doing this to prevent what could be hundreds of innocents from dying. That is what Dazai was doing, but it wasn't his initial intention. Because, for one reason or another, he wants to protect this idiot. The Agency didn't need to know about that though. He just had to hope they trusted him enough.

"It's a reasonable excuse. As long as they don't find out why I'm actually doing this."

Because his reason was so fucking absurd that even he thought he was crazy. Whatever... It was difficult to think this hard when he was so out of it, and a little pissy from the pain. He shoved the bottle into his pocket with the others as he groans his displeasure and took a look around, before going over to the table to swipe his game device off it. It's something to do when he inevitably doesn't end up sleeping most, if any, nights while making sure Chuuya doesn't blow up half the city.

"Fair enough, I suppose. I'll bring back anything else I need tomorrow after work. Take me home, slug."

A strange thing to leave his mouth when he thinks about it. Considering Chuuya's apartment home, but he guessed that was going to be the case now. God, this was all so damn bizarre. Either way, he's going back to the door and lowering his sunglasses back down as he opens it to peer out and make sure no one was around. Seemed fine to him. He gave Chuuya a glance, before opening the door fully and heading back to the car. This was going to be a nightmare.

[ckret2]

inspired by ur aku flower post - how would aku react to someone getting flowers for him? random/scara/jack whoever u choose to answer for

lmao absolute worst character for anybody to end up in a "love me back or I'll die" situation with

for anyone who missed it, we're talking about this post and the hanahaki disease trope ("if you fall in love and [it's unrequited] OR [you keep it secret], you start coughing up flowers [until they love you back] OR [until you tell them]." I prefer the "keep it secret" version).

This is gonna get a lot of different answer variations.

We're going with vanilla hanahaki, not the "if you're evil falling in love AT ALL gives you hanahaki" one I made up in the prior post, that strain is Aku exclusive.

if it's Jack and if it's the unrequited hanahaki strain—

my first instinct is, if Aku found out that Jack was incredibly ill because he'd fallen in love with him and would eventually die if Aku didn't return the sentiment? He would be like LMAOOO FUNNIEST WAY FOR YOU TO GO BUT AT LEAST YOU'RE GOING. He'd start popping up to taunt Jack at random like "oh samuraaaiii〜♡ do you want some of thiiis〜? 😘 WELL TOO BAD BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY! HAAA HA HA DIE FASTER."

On the other hand: there's a problem with that. why in hell's name would Jack fall in love with Aku. Jack hates him, for good reason, because Aku is literally the worst. Aku's not offering Jack aaanything to fall in love with. so in order for this scenario to happen, Aku would already have to be, like, 95% less evil. Aku's gotta be made a good guy here, whether via divine intervention or implausible redemption arc or amnesia or AU, whatever. Choose your own adventure. THE POINT IS: before Jack can fall in love with Aku, first Aku has to be, like, not a global tyrant, and also nice to Jack sometimes.

Which means in order for Jack to start hacking hana, Aku would need to not have the kind of relation with Jack where his first reaction is "then perish." We'll go out on a limb and assume maybe he likes and/or cares about Jack to some extent. We're assuming this isn't a jaku endgame scenario (because if Aku reciprocates, then like,, Jack wouldn't be sick from unrequited love, would he), and even a good Aku isn't gonna be the type to go "if you're dying for love of me then I shall selflessly try to love you back," so his first reaction is probably, "Well... stop it. Find someone else. Maybe someone your height."

After he finishes laughing at Jack. I feel like laughing at Jack would be a constant.

On the OTHER other hand: maybe it wasn't "Aku" that Jack fell in love with, but Ikra or Jill or some other Aku hot babe disguise. And if THAT'S what happened, we could still get the "try to kill Jack faster" route. Heck, it's possible getting Jack to fall in love and then killing him via heartbreak was his plan. Make him fall in love with someone who could never reciprocate because she isn't even real, then mock him with reminders of her everywhere he goes.

I'm typically not a fan of the "unrequited" hanahaki strain because i prefer it to be a disease you do to yourself, not something someone else does to you by not reciprocating. That makes it seem like the other person is a murderous bad guy if they don't return the victim's feelings.

But like, if the other person IS a murderous bad guy, doing it ON PURPOSE, that could be fun.

... fic where aku disguises himself and travels with jack for like a year, gets reeeally close with him, to trick him into falling in love so he'll die of heartbreak, but jack just goes "no, i can let go of my feelings for [ikra/jill/whoever], get over her, and move on," and goes on a little spiritual quest and he's fine; and aku's like "well damn, that didn't work, worth a try"; and then aku coughs up a rose and goes "oh no"

anyway—

if it's Jack and it's the unconfessed hanahaki strain—

it's more likely that this one developed naturally, since "get jack to fall in love and kill him by not reciprocating" is a lot easier to pull off than "get jack to fall in love and then let him kill himself by not confessing," because like he can't control whether jack confesses. so this is probably a scenario where Aku's on decent terms with Jack.

in order for Jack to have "didn't confess your love" hanahaki for Aku, AND for Aku to know about it (so he can, y'know, react to it), then he'd have to find out Jack's got hanahaki but not that it's for him. and if he's on decent terms with Jack he probably doesn't want him to die, so his most likely reaction is hollering at him for being the fool to end all fools, demanding to know who it is that's got him in this state (he refuses to answer), and commanding him to go confess to whoever-the-hell-she-is. "This whole world adores you, whoever she is she's probably already in love with you! It seems like everyone is." "Everyone? Even you?" "HAAA HA, no. But what does my opinion matter, go talk to your girl." "hm."

... fic where some-sort-of-non-evil aku's worried about jack dying and keeps trying to talk him into talking to his unknown crush or at least tell aku who she is or maybe just get over her, and aku realizes he's slowly growing jealous of this unknown person jack's romantically killing himself over, and then aku coughs up a flower and goes "ah hell. ... well, with everything else jack has going on, obviously i can't tell him about this" and

anyway—

Alternate evil Aku scenario where Jack fell for Ikra/Jill/whoever but that WASN'T Aku's plan, so Aku doesn't know it's for him, he just randomly catches Jack spitting up petals somewhere down the line—probably dramatically in the middle of battle or something—and Aku goes "OH?? YOU?? FELL IN LOVE??? AND HAVEN'T TOLD HER???? POOR, POOR, MISERABLE, COWARDLY SAMURAI! I WOULD NOT HAVE EXPECTED YOU OF ALL PEOPLE TO LET YOURSELF BE WEAKENED BY SUCH A SECRET—WHO IS SHE FOR YOU TO SO FEAR CONFESSING??"

and Jack's just standing there like 😡😡😡 trying to swallow down a whole daffodil while Aku laughs at him

Aku decides if he ever finds out who it is Jack's in love with, he's making her his queen. (it's purely a symbolic title, he's not sharing any power.)

if it's Scaramouche, first we're gonna talk about robo-hanahaki

Because what the hell does hanahaki disease look like in robots. if you assume it's a magic disease then sure fine a robot can cough up flowers, whatever, it's fine. but if you assume it's a biological, psychosomatic disease, then there shouldn't be all that organic matter inside a robot. And I prefer it being a biological disease. So what, is he coughing up tin foil flowers??

But Scaramouche isn't just a robot, he's also got a bit of Aku essence in him—it was probably pumped in the same way we see Aku fuel the ultra-bots. Maybe he's coughing up weird black smoke/goo flowers. You can even use that to justify why & how hanahaki disease works in him—he's coughing out blossoms made out of the same stuff as Aku because Aku's the one he's in love with, like the essence powering him is calling out to its source, trying to crawl back to Aku.

if it's Scaramouche and the unrequited hanahaki strain—

I'm already writing a whole damn fic with a setup of "Scaramouche is in love with Aku and Aku doesn't (initially) reciprocate" so I'll try to give an answer that doesn't overlap too much with it lol

I feel like Scaramouche, with his huge ego, thinks he has a good enough chance of wooing the boss that it's at least worth trying, so if he gets hanahaki he's not like "o woe is me, this is a death sentence, i shall die lovelorn—" no he's like "now how do I manage the symptoms til I charm the boss? 🤔"

We're assuming that all his efforts fail here because if they didn't fail then his hanahaki would be cured without Aku ever finding out. Instead he probably manages to keep the symptoms to himself up until it starts interfering with his work—if he's got flowers coming up his throat while he's singing or playing the flute, his effectiveness on the battlefield tanks, and a star performer like him is NOT putting up with that, babe.

So Aku's finding out because Scaramouche sheepishly confesses to him—because when this is affecting his work, Aku can't not know about it. The boss will know what to do about it! Maaaybe he'll even give Scaramouche a shot...?

Aku goes "hmmm... no. Reprogramming!"

Scaramouche is a very useful minion; but having a weird virus that takes out his two best weapons destroys that usefulness. Aku's not throwing away his #1 assassin if he can help it, but he's quite confident he's not gonna fall in love with Scaramouche, so the only option is for Scaramouche to fall out of love.

Luckily, Scaramouche is a robot. Problem solved!

if it's Scaramouche and the unconfessed hanahaki strain—

It's highly likely that Aku wouldn't even find out Scaramouche is sick. If hanahaki can be cured by simply confessing rather than seducing the object of your desire, Scaramouche would be inclined to confess much faster rather than let it become a problem—and once he confesses, he's not sick anymore, back to work! So as soon as he starts spitting out Aku essence flowers, Scaramouche is going, "aw, nuts. ... I wonder if Aku would like black bouquets made out of his own blood."

(He'd love that, actually.)

If the only reason Scaramouche is confessing is to stop coughing up flowers, Aku's going "Okay, well, are these feelings going to cause any problems with your work?" "No." "Good. Then get back to work."

Alternate scenario where Aku finds out Scaramouche is coughing up flowers before Scaramouche confesses, and he gets pissed. That's the problem with these new robots with emotions, they keep falling in love with things, last time it was some ugly dog, who knows what it is this time, Aku will NOT tolerate his assassin dividing his loyalties between HIS LORD AND MASTER and some cute sentient car or whatever it is he's found, and if that means Aku has to get Scaramouche's whole mind rewritten to completely forget about his little crush then so be it, whatever it takes to ensure he remains COMPLETELY loyal to Aku—

"I am, boss, it's you!" "Oh. ... Very well! Then that won't be necessary."

Scaramouche is hard to hanahaki via the "unconfessed" variety because I don't think he's, like, capable of shame or of dreading rejection. He'd only keep the secret for strategic reasons (like, "wait until I have a chance to polish up and get my coat dry cleaned") and only temporarily. He skips straight past The Agony Of Carrying This Sweet Heavy Secret that most characters would have in his situation.

if it's someone random and the unrequited hanahaki strain—

There are no other specific characters I'm interested in exploring this with, so this is just for any generic random person. Could be one of his scientists or some mercenary he regularly hires or a random citizen that fell for him via his appearances in the news or a cultist or minion or whatever.

If it's somebody that matters to him (read as: someone who's useful to him), like one of his top scientists or an assassin that does regular jobs for him, I think he'd be irritated—because, from Aku's perspective, "hanahaki disease over unrequited love for Aku" is simply a terminal disease. He doesn't reciprocate, he isn't interested in trying to reciprocate, he feels no guilt or personal responsibility for this. He's like "well, fall out of love, I have work for you."

But considering that Aku has so many red flags that if you stitched them all together you could make him a red riding hood cosplay that fits his full height, if his personality alone isn't enough to prevent them from loving him, he's not sure what the hell else could do the trick. "Would it help if I tortured you??" He's trying torture regardless of their answer.

If it's just some random citizen though, or somebody unimportant? He's fine with it. Just let it happen! He kind of likes it, actually! The thought of some poor, helpless, innocent person rotting to death from the inside over him—so deeply devoted to their lord and master that they'll die for it—their body, heart, and soul sacrificed as an offering to him and his dark glory—all that pain and suffering and despair, all of it for AKU...

Listen. listen. if there's anything, ANYTHING AT ALL, in ALL the universe, that Aku might consider a turn-on—it's probably that.

He finds out somebody's upchucking flowers over him, and he's asking them for the flowers. He wants to keep them.

Somewhere deep in his fortress he's got a centuries-old collection of dried and preserved flowers. Each one as valuable as any jewel in his vast stores of treasure, each as precious as a hundred statues in his honor. This is the ultimate display of submission to his rule.

(And it's also proof that not everyone despises him—but surely that doesn't matter to him, right?)

if it's someone random and the unconfessed hanahaki strain—

this would have to be another "aku finds out they're puking petals but not that it's over HIM" situation.

And if (he thinks) it's not over him, 1) he would once more be annoyed if someone useful is dying on him, especially in this scenario when the solution is so simple, and 2) no matter who it is, whether he knows them well or not, he would never, ever, EVER suspect that they're lovesick over him.

Because he's him.

Although, like in the "unrequited" scenario, he might still end up with a flower collection. If it's some random public citizen who's fallen in love with the ruler of the world, they might end up confessing just to save their own lives, and if they do confess he's still asking for their flowers. like, they're not dying over him anymore, but they were, and that's still kind of flattering.

And after long enough of that it probably eventually becomes public knowledge that Aku wants the hanahaki flowers produced in his honor. And some people—well, if they're into Aku, they're probably already some kind of "would totally marry a serial killer" freaks—they might also be big enough freaks to send him their flowers, anonymously. They won't tell him who they are so it isn't a confession, but they're still letting him know they love him enough to choose to die for him. Without having to write a single word, a combined love letter and suicide note.

Oh, Aku would covet those flowers.

(You could also apply the flower collection headcanon to the answers for Jack & Scaramouche, although I feel like it would feel different for Aku if he actually knows the person. It loses some of its romanticism. But Scaramouche's black blood bouquets would win beaucoup points for the aesthetic, and anything Jack produced would get a place of honor above all the rest of Aku's collection—what greater triumph could he possibly have over the samurai!—so, there's that.)

[spitefulsatanfics]

May I ask a request with dean x hunter!reader

I was watching the season9 and then I remember your fic In The Shadow of Her Crosshairs, so I thought of this request. Hunter!reader is fatally injured on a hunt with Dean, fearing that she would die, makes a deal with the angel Ezekiel in reader's body without she knowing (or not). I thought of something angst with hurt comfort, I love the way you write Dean, Sam and Cas, you detail their humanity very well without losing the essence of each one character. Thanks❤

"Through Blood and Grace"

"I’m the one in charge here, not you." – Zachariah, Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N (established relationship)

Tone: Season 4–6 Canon-Compliant • Heavy Angst • Hunt-Driven Drama • Hurt/Comfort • Romance-Laced Grit • Manipulative Angel Tactics

Rating: PG-16 (Injury detail, emotional breakdown, mild gore) Minors Do Not Interact.

The church loomed at the edge of town like something abandoned by God centuries ago. Its spire, crooked and blackened with time, clawed toward the cloudy sky. The air carried a damp chill, heavy with the smell of rain-soaked dirt and rust.

“Why is it always the creepy churches?” you muttered, adjusting the strap of your shotgun as you stepped over the cracked threshold. The wood creaked under your boots, soft with rot.

Dean smirked faintly, but there was a tension around his eyes. “Because ghosts have a real flair for the dramatic.”

You glanced at him sideways. “Maybe they just know how much you hate going to church.”

He shot you a look, but you caught the flicker of humor. Sam, behind you, checked the EMF meter, the needle twitching like it was possessed.

“Big spike,” Sam said. “Whatever’s here, it’s close.”

You’d been hunting with the Winchesters for years now, and dating Dean for almost a year. You’d seen him in every mood—from cocky, smirking flirt to hollow-eyed survivor—but tonight there was a tension under his skin. He hadn’t eaten since morning, hadn’t slept properly in days. You knew that look. He was carrying something heavy again.

“Dean,” you said softly, falling in step beside him. “You okay?”

He didn’t look at you, his jaw tightening. “Just keep your eyes open, sweetheart. This one feels wrong.”

It wasn’t just paranoia. The church was too quiet. No birds outside, no wind through the broken windows. Just silence and the distant tick of the EMF.

“Feels like a trap,” you murmured.

Dean gave a grim nod. “Yeah. That’s why we’re burning the bones and getting the hell out before she decides to redecorate us into the walls.”

The spirit hit hard and fast. A woman’s scream ripped through the church like glass shattering. The pew behind you exploded in a hail of splinters.

“MOVE!” Dean’s voice barked, sharp with urgency.

You ducked low, swinging your iron crowbar with force, and the spirit flickered, shrieking as the iron burned her essence. Sam fired off a shot of rock salt, sending her scattering like mist.

“Basement,” Dean yelled. “We find the bones, now!”

You nodded, adrenaline burning hot. But as you took your first step, the floor beneath you gave way. A jagged plank shot upward like a spear, slamming into your side.

The pain was instant and blinding. A hot shock radiated through your body, and you choked on a gasp.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice cracked like you’d never heard it before. He was on you in an instant, shotgun discarded. His hands pressed against the wound, and the warmth of your blood spread fast beneath his palms.

The world blurred, but Dean’s face was a vivid, desperate thing in front of you. His jaw was clenched so hard it trembled, his green eyes wild and wet.

“Hey, hey, look at me, baby,” he demanded, voice raw. “You’re okay. You’re fine. Just stay with me. You hear me? Stay. With. Me.”

You coughed, your throat thick with blood. “Dean… it’s—”

“No!” His voice cracked so violently it startled you. “Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare tell me it’s okay or any of that crap. I’m not losing you, you hear me? I can’t.” His face twisted, like he was barely holding it together. “I don’t… I can’t watch you die. Not you.”

The words clawed at your chest harder than the pain. Dean Winchester didn’t cry. He didn’t beg. But his eyes glistened, and his breath hitched.

“This is my fault,” he whispered, pressing harder to stop the bleeding. “I brought you here. I should’ve—God, I should’ve done something.” His voice cracked again, breaking entirely this time.

“Dean,” you tried, your fingers brushing his wrist weakly. “I love—”

“Don’t,” he begged, his voice so hoarse it barely sounded like him. “Don’t talk like it’s goodbye. Not when I—” His jaw snapped shut, but his eyes said everything.

Your vision darkened, his voice echoing like it was coming from underwater.

The Angel

When you opened your eyes again, the church was gone. The world was white—too white—and humming faintly, like an endless vibration.

“Aw,” a familiar, sarcastic voice drawled. “You’re cuter alive. Let’s see if we can keep it that way.”

You spun around, spotting a man in a sharp suit walking toward you with the swagger of someone who thought he owned the place. His smile was both charming and cruel, and his eyes were cold, calculating.

“Who are you?” you demanded.

“Zachariah,” he said, spreading his hands like a game-show host. “Angel of the Lord. Or, in this case, the guy offering you a once-in-a-lifetime deal. And, sweetheart, that lifetime is very short if you don’t listen.”

Your jaw tightened. “What do you want?”

He tilted his head, smirk deepening. “Oh, see, that’s the million-dollar question. I’m here because you’re dying—and because Dean Winchester would lose his tiny little mind if you bled out right now. Frankly, that’d be… bad for business.”

“What business?”

Zachariah rolled his eyes like you were slow. “The apocalypse, darling. Heaven’s chessboard. You’re a piece Dean can’t afford to lose. And if keeping him functional means I patch you up? Consider it a strategic investment.”

Your eyes narrowed. “So you’re using me.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” he said with a mocking grin. “But let’s not make it sound so cold. You get to live, Dean gets to keep his girl, and I get a nice little seat in the back of your head. Everybody wins.”

“And if I say no?”

“Well…” His smile sharpened. “Then you bleed out. Dean watches you die in his arms. He spirals. I get the messy, angry version of him, which, frankly, is less useful. So, you know… don’t be stupid.”

You grit your teeth. “Why me? Why not someone else?”

“Because Dean cares about you. And when Dean Winchester cares, he does stupid things. Big, universe-breaking things. I like having that leverage.” He stepped closer, voice dropping to a quiet threat. “So, what’s it going to be, sweetheart? Say yes, or we let the curtain fall.”

Dean’s voice—ragged, desperate—echoed through the white void.

You swallowed hard. “Fine. Yes.”

“Good girl,” Zachariah said, smug as ever. “Try not to make me regret it.”

-

You gasped awake, lungs burning with new air. The pain was gone, but Dean’s face was still hovering over you, pale and streaked with tears.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked. He let out a shaky, broken laugh. “God—you’re alive. You’re alive.”

Before you could speak, he hauled you into his arms, holding you like he’d never let go again. His face pressed into your hair, his breath trembling.

“Don’t you ever—ever—do that to me again,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

You swallowed hard, the echo of Zachariah’s smug voice humming in the back of your skull. You didn’t tell Dean. Not now. Not yet.

For now, you were alive. For now, that was enough.

══════════ ✦ ══════════ Written by 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 ♡ Date Written & Published: July, 2025™ ══════════ ✦ ══════════

I hope you enjoyed and didn't mind my changes! x

[petertingle-yipyip]

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY - JOAQUIN TORRES

//happy late birthday dee! i thought it be fun to write a little birthday fic to celebrate since i cant give you a physical gift! @fallingfavourites //

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Word Count: 1,866

Summary: Working on your birthday isn't always the worst (it is) but at least you have a very sweet, very handsome, very loving boyfriend to help lighten the mood.

Joaquin had a very specific day planned. He made sure to tell Sam he was explicitly unavailable, as in do not call him in at all. Even if the world is going to end and Joaquin Torres was the only man that could save everything, do not call him. He would be extremely busy.

Sam had laughed. Joaquin insisted that the love of his life’s birthday was not a joke.

Regardless, Sam promised, which meant that Joaquin could devote the entirety of his attention to you.

You, however, hated working on your birthday. It was as if the universe knew that it was a personal day to celebrate so it made sure to send the worst shoppers your way.

You had your usual shift. You had considered taking it off but when you thought about the bit of extra money, you didn’t consider it again. However, your usual eight hours turned out to be an overstimulating hellscape.

People were leaving clothes by the handfuls hung in the wrong spots, which left you walking in continuous and angry circles to put things away. The shoppers also seemed to forget how hangers worked, considering how many things you found on the floor or thrown over the top of the aisles.

You went to your coworker in the dressing rooms with an arm full of loose clothes. Her eyes were wide at your collection.

“I want to die.” You complained.

“At least it’s your birthday?”  She tried to cheer you up.

“Maybe if I had a pin that said ‘It’s my birthday. Please be nice to me.’ people will clean up after themselves. Like seriously. I just cleaned up the dresses and they’re a mess again!”

“You get to go home early though, don’t you?”

“I came in at 6am, yeah. It’s only two more hours… How bad can it be?”

Before your coworker could answer, you saw the blur of three kids running by and one was brandishing a back scrubber like a weapon. You groaned, mimed hitting your head against the wall, then set off after the unattended menaces.

When you caught them, you had to use your older sibling authority voice. Immediately, they stopped and tried making excuses. One of them straight out ran back to their mom. And maybe it was just because of how exhausting the day was, but you weren’t as nice to the kids as you probably could’ve been. Regardless, it got your point across and they didn’t mess around again.

By the time you got back to your apartment, you just wanted to lay in bed. You didn’t want to eat or read or even watch movies. You called Joaquin on the drive home and chatted with him, which helped you mellow out. He let you rant about the kids and the mess and the all around shitty day.

He ended the call with a ‘happy birthday’ and a promise to see you as soon as he could.

You planned to take a nap, maybe just play on your phone. Maybe you could get one of your other friends for dinner that night, or you’d just drive around town collecting your free birthday vouchers.

Any thoughts of decompression vanished when you got to your apartment door.

It was unlocked, which was definitely wrong considering you always locked your door. You stepped inside carefully, quietly laying your bag on the side table. You found the old softball bat you kept near the door, just in case that very scenario, and walked carefully through your apartment.

There was a general rustling in the kitchen, followed by a clatter of dishes to the floor and a man’s voice exclaiming in surprise. You raised the bat as you came around the corner.

You came face to face with Joaquin, who screamed at your sudden appearance.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You shouted, letting the bat fall.

“I thought you were at work!” Joaquin said instead.

“I said on the phone two minutes ago that I was on the way home!”

“Okay but why aren’t you going around for all your free drinks and treats and snacks?”

“Cause I’m tired.” You ran a hand down your face. “I’m probably gonna go out la- Wait a minute. What are you doing here?” You asked again. “And why’d you leave the door unlocked? That’s how people get kidnapped or things get stolen.

Joaquin gave a small scoff. “Come on, Y/N.”

“That’s literally why there’s a bat by my door.” You deadpanned.

“Okay, but like… Who’s gonna kidnap me? I’m the Falcon.”

“You’re ridiculous, is what you are.” You smiled slightly before stepping around him to get a water bottle out of your fridge. “New question then, since you won’t answer the other one.”

“What was your question again?”

“Too late. How long have you been here?”

“Couple hours.” He shrugged. “I wanted to do some stuff for your birthday.”

“Like?”

“Like build that new bookcase for your room.” He gestured towards your bedroom.

“The big one from Ikea?” You asked hopefully.

“Mhmm. I fixed the drip under the sink and now I’m doing dishes.”

“You didn’t have to.” You moved to stand in front of him.

“I know.” He smiled slightly. “But I knew you were going in early and since it is your birthday after all, I wanted to do some stuff to help out.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist and he immediately held you closer. You felt the release of tension in your shoulders as you stood in his embrace. Joaquin was always a relief, always a breath of fresh air when everything seemed stale or overwhelming. Being with him was like being under a bridge when it was raining. Everything seemed so far away, so unable to reach you.

He was safe.

He was home.

“I love you.” You mumbled against him.

“I love you, too.” He said softly before taking a small step back to face you. “You go relax, take a nap.”

“I don’t need-” You tried to argue, despite that having literally been your plan.

“You do.” He cut in. You frowned and lightly smacked his arm. “Take a little nap. I’ll finish up in here and then we’ll go out for everything else.”

“You just want to go to that one place with the cookies.” You teased.

“I do enjoy those cookies.” He nodded. “But no, this is about you. I promise it’s not gonna be some whole excursion or debacle.”

“Debacle, huh?” You laughed.

“Okay, you know what.” He laughed with you before turning you and pushing you towards the room.

You grabbed his hand and dragged him with you.

“Dishes can wait. Come lay down with me.” You said. “And just so you know, given that it’s my birthday, you can’t tell me no. That’s like… a law.”

“Really? And who told you that?” He asked, though he made no effort to stop you or get away.

“My cousin, he’s a lawyer.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He shrugged and flopped onto your bed.

Your hands were still intertwined so he pulled you down with him. You couldn’t help but laugh as you landed before adjusting to fit perfectly against his side.

“Happy birthday, querida.” He said softly, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“How did I get so lucky?” You whispered to yourself, leaning your chin on his chest to look up at him. Of course, he was already looking at you.

“I was wondering the same thing.” He smiled softly.

After a short nap, less than an hour, you felt a lot better. When you woke up, Joaquin was also taking a nap beside you. Briefly, you wondered how tired he was. Sure, your retail job was mentally draining and had you reconsidering many life choices on a daily basis, but compared to what Joaquin did, literally saving the world, your job was a cake walk. You started plotting what you do to return the favor for him.

Not long after you woke up, so did he. He flashed you that groggy smile and your heart seemed to flip in your chest. You were in so deep with him and you didn’t even have it in you to care.

“I like waking up next to you.” He mumbled, sleep still heavy in his voice.

“I think you needed this nap more than I did, Lover Boy.” You teased.

“Nah, I’m-” He broke off in a yawn. “I’m good.”

“I bet.” You laughed and climbed out of bed. “I’m gonna order some lunch.”

“No!” Joaquin shot up and you froze, brows raised as you awaited his explanation. “Birthday girls don’t pay for anything.”

“I can very quickly make you regret that.” You warned.

He snapped fingers on both hands before pointing to you. “You get ready to go. I’ll drive.”

“Go where?” You asked but he was already on his way out the room. “Joaquin!”

“Ten minutes!” Was all he answered with.

You sighed to yourself before changing into something more comfortable, yet nice enough to wear out in public. You had no idea what he was planning, but given that it was Joaquin, practically nothing was off the table.

Ten minutes came and went then you two were off. You had driven to several chains and local businesses, redeeming vouchers or discounts for various goodies and drinks. You even had to stop at your apartment to put some drinks in the fridge when you ran out of space in the two drink carriers you had gotten from one of the chain spots. By the time your first round was done, it was dinner time.

Joaquin had already ordered something so you two picked it up before he took off driving again. This time, he took the highway out of town.

“Now what are you up to?” You asked, looking out your window to the night sky.

“You’ll see.” He smiled proudly.

You simply shook your head before opening up the box of cookies. You broke off pieces and fed them to Joaquin as he drove, often timing it to interrupt something he was either saying or singing. He laughed every time and seemed to have no inclination to stop you.

You two ended up at a small clearing miles outside the city. He parked, ran around to open your door, then pulled out a large blanket from the trunk. He laid it out and set up the food and drinks like a little picnic.

“My grand finale.” He gestured to the blanket with a wide smile.

“It’s perfect.” You smiled, reaching for his hand. “You’re perfect. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He shrugged a shoulder before he brought you to sit with him. “You deserve it.”

“It’s not nothing.” You corrected. “You drove me all over town, you got me my favorite restaurant, and you brought me all the way out here so I could have a perfect picnic with my perfect boyfriend under a perfect night sky… Where’d you learn to be such a great boyfriend anyways?”

“There’s a whole school for it.”

“Oh yeah? You got a degree in relationships?”

“Yeah, top of my class at the School for Lover Boys.”

[gav-san]

The Bad Ending- What if Rosinante had died?

The Tragic end to Rosinante's Cosmic Joke was that if he had died, your soulmate bond would flip to Doflamingo. Sad snippet ahead D:

Pic Link

You felt him die.

There are no gentle words for it. No poetry. No comfort.

It was a rupture. A severing. Like a blade buried in your sternum and twisted, carving his name from your heart in real time.

Rosinante, beloved Rosinante, was gone.

One blink, one breath, and the most important thing in your world had vanished. Silence roared through your head like an avalanche. You couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t feel him.

Couldn’t even hold the echo of him anymore.

One moment, the bond hummed with his heartbeat like it always had off-tempo and soft, a comfort you’d known since the womb.

Silence. No fading. No warning. Just... gone.

You collapsed into the snow of Minion Island, keening like an animal, clawing at your chest as if you could reach through time and stop it. Pull him back. Find him. But all you found was absence.

The kind of silence that echoes.

You thought it couldn't get worse. This would be the moment of your life that you would look back upon as the worst.

You were wrong.

A pulse. A snap.

The bond flared again, violently, like it was fighting you. Like it was lashing out.

And then another soul slammed into yours.

You both screamed.

Across the island, in the smoldering remains of a massacre, Donquixote Doflamingo staggered back, one hand to his head, rage turning to confusion as something unfamiliar poured into his mind.

A soul.

Your soul.

He reeled. “What the hell?!”

So did you.

“What the FUCK?!”

You felt him; hot and coiled like barbed wire, brimming with sadism and control, his thoughts too loud, too cruel, and too close.

He felt you, burned raw by grief, stunned and terrified, screaming someone else's name like it meant everything.

Rosinante.

He froze.

“Why the hell do you know that name? Just who—”

You curled tighter against the broken earth, heart in shambles, soul disoriented, the bond wrong. So wrong. You’d never felt this before; this rage, this jagged mind, this stranger in your head.

“Who are you?” you gasped, horrified.

“That’s my line,” he growled.

The bond hissed between you. Alive. Irrevocable.

You both went still.

He stared into the horizon, half-wild. You could feel the tail end of bloodlust in him, burning like oil. You could taste gunpowder, metal, and something buried even deeper: confusion.

Memories, a death seen from both ends of a gun.

Something worse.

Realization.

“He had a soulmate,” Doflamingo said slowly. “He never said a damn word. Some brother. Seems he was good at keeping his favorite lies quiet.”

Your blood turned cold.

You understood. Too late.

The magic didn’t choose someone new. It reconnected the line. It traced the blood.

From brother… to brother.

Your heartbreak became his inheritance.

You both hissed from the contact, like oil and water in a burning pan. You tried to force the bond shut, to crush it in your mind, but it only coiled tighter. Anchoring.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor.

Your soulmate was dead.

And it replaced him with the man who killed him.

“…Interesting,” he whispered. Then louder, silk-slick and awful, “This is what he hid from me? All this time?”

You glared at him, through the bond, through your blood. “You don’t get to feel anything,” you snarled. “Not about him. Not about me.”

His grin widened.

“I feel everything now, sweetheart.”

You lunged at the link, trying to sever it with raw will alone, and he actually stumbled again, flinching as if your pain physically struck him.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” he said, breathless, laughing like a boy with a new toy. “He kept you. He kept you all to himself.”

You trembled.

And he thrived.

“Oh, you hate me. That’s good,” Doflamingo crooned, pacing, hunger creeping into his tone. “You’re sharp. Lively. Full of him. And now you’re mine.”

“I will kill you,” you whispered.

“I’d love to see you try,” he purred, touching the side of his neck where the bond hummed like a live wire. “Let’s see how long you last without tearing yourself apart.”

And then, softer, almost reverent. “…Tell me, what did he sound like when he laughed with you?”

You didn’t answer.

You wept in silence.

And Doflamingo, monster that he was, smiled like it was a gift.

@physics-of-one-piece

[takusan-no-ai]

Nurture of the Descendant

PAIRING: Hela/James/Natalia/Anthony/Peter x Male Reader (Platonic) (Separate)

SUMMARY: They are confronted with a boy who claims to be their son.

Hela was more than exasperated at seeing you. Sure, she knew of the multiverse, anyone with a brain did, but to have a son by the means you described: creating life. It was…frustrating. All she’s ever known, and wanted, was to be the ruler of Asgard. And that included Hel. Death, despair, horror, it was her duty. Her life. She didn’t believe you at first. What are the odds of some random boy claiming to be one of her variant’s son?

Yet the longer she spent time with you the more she came to see the resemblance. You understood what it meant to rule, to serve death, to inflict it upon others and show them the true meaning life. That time spent “bonding”, though Hela would deny it, was actually the first time she felt herself care more for someone than herself.

And she was horrified of that. A deep seated unease like never before. And she knew exactly why: you hated your mother. You told Hela as much on your first encounter. You called your mother weak for “wasting her powers on life instead of death”. You never got along with her no matter how much she loved you. And there Hela was…feeling the same way.

James was decently shocked at knowing a variant of his had a son. The whole thing with being not all emotionally there, as well as Hydra, made him believe love was a distant dream that would never happen. It actually cheered James up a little to know a variant of his found happiness.

Your clinginess threw him for a loop. James was careful not to be too distant from you but it was hard when you technically weren’t his son. He could vaguely tell something must have happened to your father, seeing as you had a tendency to refer to James as ‘dad’. He wanted to walk away but your disappointed face whenever he ignored you changed his mind.

He lets you know that he can’t fill the shoes your father had, but that he’d try his best to be there for you when he could. And whenever he was too busy Alpine was there to keep you company. Plus now James had a training buddy (because he’d rather go through hell than see his son die).

The Red Room Ops Program was a dark part of Natalia’s past that she wanted nothing to do with. They took her family, her friends, her life, and her ability to create it. Thanks to the multiverse’s existence, Natalia had hoped that somewhere out there was a variant of her’s that never went through her pain. Then you appeared. A young boy that looked all too familiar.

Then you told her that technically you were one of her variant’s son. More specifically, you were a clone created in the Red Room male division: and you passed the exam being dubbed the title “Wolf Spider”. Natalia was upset that such a program was still ongoing in your world, but even more than that she was shocked at your clinginess.

Yes, the Black Widow in your world was your mother. But Natalia wasn’t. Yet despite that she understood what the Red Room did to people. And she couldn’t bring herself to be cold to you. So, even though it was weird to her, Natalia decided to take you in as her own. You were close to your mother and Natalia hoped to become closer to you. Besides, she’s always wanted to have a family.

Anthony was definitely cautious when some boy claimed to be his son. Then he accepted it when you reiterated that it was a variant of his. What can he say? He’s easy to please. Now he was intrigued though. What was your dad like? Mother? Any siblings? Was he still Iron Man or did he retire when he had you? And boy…you told him exactly what he asked for. “He was never there.” Anthony came to realize at that moment exactly what he feared: he’d been just as selfish, arrogant, and egotistical as he imagined.

Sure, he grew as a person is much more tolerable, but that didn’t mean every version of him was. He wasn’t there for your birth or any birthdays. He gave you enough money to survive but never asked how you were doing. He didn’t care much for your achievements or failures so long as you didn’t commit any crimes. He was alcoholic and always busy trying to impress his shareholders.

Just hearing you go off about him, Anthony was this close to going to your universe just to knock some sense into the guy. The rich idiot was given the gift of a child, a son, and even a wife! Yet he threw it all away and for what? Divorced. Unloved. And a deadbeat. Anthony couldn’t bring himself to blame you for giving him the stink eye sometimes. But he does promise, and shows through his actions, to give you the Tony you never had.

Wow…Peter was not prepared for some boy to come up and call him a deadbeat dad. So much for a charismatic first impression. Oh, you’re his son from the future? The one he called Rocket? Yeah that explained the whole you-look-like-me situation. So how’s Aradia and Mors? A punch in the gut was the answer to all his questions.

Okay he got it: a guy had a child and then up and left, so now your only way of knowing him was through stories from your mother and stepfather. Honestly Peter was touched that you went looking for him, and he was saddened by the fact that you were separated from your twin. Probably explained why you punched him since your brother was one named Rocket.

But if there was anything Peter wasn’t going to do it was wrong his own. He already messed up once and doing it again was out of the question. Peter makes an effort to be there now: training, traversing space, and having ice cream parties with his best buds. All while hoping that one day you’ll see him as a real father.

- Fin

[swirlingdebris]

JONGHO ★ 달려가 너에게 내 맘이 닿는 곳으로 ♡

[smneillr]

i judge people based on what they think about frodo baggins

[formulafanfics13]

Okay so I know your like 60 fics away from requests being empty… so I am so so sorry to ask for this. And feel free to not do it right away…

BUT

In your most recent driver reacts to you accidentally sending your nudes to the group chat, Oscar punched a wall when Max sent a heart in response… am I smelling jealousy???

Could we get a jealousy fic with Oscar being jealous about Max? Maybe he’s already having a bad week, feeling like Max gets way too much glory, and then he sees you chatting with Max after a race or at an after party or somewhere, and that boy is steaming.

Thank you!!! Love love love your work. Not my first time sending stuff in but this is my first official request!!! Eek!

This was on purpose! i defo think max would be a lot calmer about it, like max defo knows what he's got, and would defo brag... oscar however, more reserved, more private... i think oscar would lash out more because hes more 'keep things behind closed door' kind of guy.👀

What Has He Got That I Don’t - OP81 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar Piastri is having a rough week. The car’s off. The press is harsher than usual. And Max Verstappen? Max is winning everything. Max is smirking through interviews. Max is the paddock’s golden god. But what Oscar can’t handle — what breaks him — is seeing you laughing with Max after the race. Standing too close. Smiling like that. And suddenly, he’s not the cool-headed McLaren boy anymore. He’s a mess of jealousy, teeth and hands and desperation. Because Max may win races, but Oscar refuses to lose you.

Warning: Explicit sexual content. Jealousy kink. Oscar being possessive. A little insecure. Reader enjoys teasing him. Emotional sex. Slight roughness. Hair pulling. Sacred praise. Soft aftercare. Protected. Oscar’s love language is “don’t ever leave me.” Jealous boyfriend feral mode: activated.

The afterparty is chaos. Bodies everywhere. Champagne mist in the air. Laughter echoing off marble walls. Some Monaco rooftop the Red Bull boys rented out just to celebrate Max’s win, again.

You weren’t going to come. Oscar didn’t even want to be here. P7 doesn’t scream celebration. The car was twitchy. The pit stop was shit. And the interviews after? Brutal.

“Do you think Max’s success puts more pressure on the rest of the grid to prove themselves?” “Is it frustrating watching someone your age dominate so consistently?”

He smiled. He nodded. He said the right things. But fuck, he hated it. And now, across the room, he sees Max. And you. Laughing. Leaning in a little too close. Resting your hand on Max’s forearm like it’s nothing. Like Oscar’s not right fucking herewatching it happen.

Max says something and you tilt your head back laughing, full and loud and real. And Oscar’s chest tightens.

He doesn’t realise his fists are clenched until Lando nudges him. “Dude. Chill.”

Oscar says nothing. Just drains the rest of his drink.

He doesn’t speak the entire drive back to the hotel.

You notice. “Oscar,” you say softly, in the elevator. “What’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer. But the second the hotel room door closes, he turns. “You like him?” he asks. Voice too calm.

You blink. “What?”

“Max. Do you like him?”

You laugh, confused. “Oscar, what the hell-”

“You were all over him.”

You frown. “I was talking to him. We were all at the same table—”

“You were touching him.”

“Are you serious?”

His jaw clenches. “You were laughing like he was the funniest man on earth.”

“Oh my god.” You fold your arms. “Is this about Max? Or is this about the fact that you didn’t win?”

Something breaks in him. He steps forward, crowding you back toward the bed. “Don’t,” he says low. “Don’t act like I’m making this up. You know how it looked.”

You’re suddenly breathless. “Oscar-”

“You’re mine,” he snaps. “Not his. Mine.”

You stare at him. And then you smirk. “Prove it then, pretty boy.”

He snaps. Mouth on yours. Hands rough. Teeth scraping down your neck. He’s a mess, tugging your clothes off, pushing you back on the bed like he’ll die if he doesn’t get inside you right now.

“You think he could do this?” he pants, sliding down your body. “Think he could make you this wet just by looking at you?”

You moan. His fingers slide in deep. Expert. Brutal. “You’re fucking soaked.”

“Osc-”

“No,” he cuts you off, kissing your thigh, biting. “You don’t say his name again. Not when I’m the one making you scream.”

You arch. Tremble. He fucks you like he means it. Like it’s a statement. Like every stroke is a reminder.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He pulls your hair. Kisses your neck. Groans when you beg for more. When you come, it’s loud. Messy. You sob his name. And he’s still not done. He flips you. Bends you over. Slides back in with a growl. “You don’t even look at him again,” he hisses, rutting into you so deep you see stars. “You don’t smile at him. You don’t laugh at his jokes. You’re mine.”

You can’t even speak. Only nod. Only take it.

And when he comes, it’s with a shuddered cry into your shoulder. Like he’s emptying every inch of his insecurity into you. Every ounce of frustration. Every fucking word he wanted to scream at Max.

After, he holds you. Tight. Too tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I just… he wins everything.”

You stroke his curls. “He doesn’t have me.”

Oscar swallows. You tilt his face to look at you. “I chose you,” you say softly. “Always. I don’t want Max. I want you. My boy. My golden boy.”

He kisses you again. Slower now. Worshipful. “I just… I love you so much.”

“I know.”

And that night, when you fall asleep curled into his chest, Oscar dreams of podiums. Of press conferences. Of you. Of winning something Max Verstappen never could.

[raekenrmcf]

[faulknercore]

If you hate them you will die and go to hell x saw characters .ᐟ ꒰ miss them 💔 ꒱

[belladonnafeli]

Oh you hate bran? You think he’s boring? You think he’s whiny? Should we throw a party? Should we tell the old gods? Wanna go tell bloodraven?