#ignite your bones

[friendshapedcas]

Reading ‘ignite your bones’ on ch. 6 and have been consistently crying since ch. 1. So anyways I can’t recommend this enough

[tomoyorecs]

Ignite Your Bones

Author: ilovehowyouletmefall

Rating: E

Word Count: 67,177

Summary: Even at his lowest, Dean still lets himself hope for something.

It’s fascinating.

“We're surrendering,” Sam finishes their little speech. “We're giving up.”

Chuck nods, as if he’s thinking it over.

But the eager glint in his eyes gives him away.

“Okay. Dean, kill Sam.”

*

Chuck takes the Winchesters up on their offer in 15x19. Dean, Cas, and Jack deal with the fallout for their relationships. It gets worse before it gets better.

Commentary: Dean kills Sam to save the world (and Cas) and feels guilty. He griefs with alcohol and isolation. The way his thoughts are described to us is beautiful, amazingly immersive.

Cas helps Dean through it, and I love his POVs. I love it because Castiel isn't perfect, and the author knows it - and Cas knows it, but he acts anyway.

Slowly, living with Cas and Jack, seeing Jody and Patience, and allowing time to pass, Dean cas find space for new things, new relatioships and a new life.

It's a beautiful story, and have reread several scenes of it since my first read.

[hansoeii]

let time pass.

[angelinthefire]

So my latest idea for deancas in the winchesters tv show (a tv show that I have not watched [... yet???]) is roughly something like this:

ok, Dean and Jack and Bobby get back to Heaven, and Dean goes into the Roadhouse this time. It's a little party. You can tell that Dean is still melancholy. And then he sees Cas again. Cas is kind of nervous. But Dean just melts when he sees him, and also manages to look somehow sadder. And he hugs him tight for a long time. And Cas relaxes too. But they're still in the Roadhouse surrounded by people, so they don't talk, and Dean gets pulled back into the celebrations.

But later, it's night, and Dean steps out back of the Roadhouse, into the field. Cas is there, looking up at the sky, hands in his pockets. Dean comes and stands next to him.

Their conversation starts out much the same way as in Full of Grace, with Dean being like:

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. Though I was hoping you'd take longer to get here."

Dean scoffs and shakes his head. "I tried, y'know. To be the guy you gave that speech to."

Cas turns to face him fully. "You are that guy."

"Cas..." Dean's gaze seaches Cas' face as he searches for what to say.

Then:

Dean focuses and asks softly, "What do you want?"

"Dean?"

"Tell me. You said the one thing you want is something you can't have. So tell me."

Cas fumbles for the right words for a beat, just the thought of what he wants alone starting to make him emotional. Finally he says with a sad smile, "To have a life with you."

And the irony is not lost on Dean. He takes a breath that's thick with tears, clearly thinking about might-have-beens. His gaze drops from Cas' eyes to his mouth, and he says with a soft desperation, "Then let's get out of here. Let's live."

Cas balks. "I can't."

"Since when do you care about rules?"

Cas just looks at him imploringly.

But Dean is already getting worked up at the idea. "Come on, what's one more time? It'll be just 30, 40 years, that's nothing." He grips Cas's arm. "But we can... you can have anything." His eyes are bright with a hungry kind of hope. "I want... I wanna give you anything."

And Cas is clearly getting reeled in. He's staring at Dean like he wants to kiss him.

"He doesn't mean it, you know."

Cas and Dean turn towards the new voice.

"Jack?" Cas says.

"He's telling you what you want to hear, so you'll do what he wants," Jack says with a kindness tipping towards pity.

"What the hell?" Dean says.

Jack turns to him, matter of factly, "Am I wrong?"

"Of course you're fucking wrong. The hell is wrong with you?"

Jack shakes his head sadly. "What's wrong with you? You have heaven, Dean." He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "There is something wrong with you, isn't there?" he says like he's seeing it for the first time.

Dean hardens. "Then kick me outta heaven. Go on!"

"... where's Jack?" says Cas, who hasn't stopped staring at Jack the whole time.

Jack turns to him, confused.

So Cas repeats himself, firmly but slowly, "Where is Jack?"

A horrified look comes over Dean's face.

Not-Jack smiles. "He's with me. Don't worry, he's safe." It's not reassuring.

And anyways, the upshot of the following dialogue would be that Chuck didn't win. Chuck has to live out his miserable existence on earth. But God did win. Because Chuck was just a guy that God was possessing. But the way God possesses someone, they start to lose sense of themselves, and parts of their personality start to find expression in God. Chuck was petty and squirrely. Jack will be a different kind of God. But the whole thing is unsettling and chilling.

I'm not sure how I would have things escalate, but they do. Of course Cas wants God to leave Jack alone, maybe he even offers himself as a vessel but God refuses. Idk, more stuff is said, it ends with God giving them a clear and definite threat about not screwing shit up anymore.

Then he disappears.

Dean and Cas are both striken. They talk. "What do we do?" - "What can we do?" etc. etc. I haven't thought about this part in depth, but some sort of plan is made.

Dean caps off the conversation with "We've got work to do"

They head towards the impala. Then,

"Dean?"

Dean turns towards Cas.

"Did you mean it?"

Dean doesn't answer at first.

"It's okay if you didn't," Cas says. And he's sincere. He's got bigger things to be upset about now, after all. "I'd understand."

Dean gets a hard look. He moves towards Cas, grabs him by the lapels, and pulls him close, and when they're close enough to kiss, Dean says,

"We're gonna kill god. And then I'm gonna show you how much I meant it."

End scene. And then I guess Dean and Cas just pop up in the background of the main plot here and there as they chase god through the multi-verse

[bloodydeanwinchester]

the thing is that even though castiel’s love for dean was something that chuck couldn’t control, i think that the confession scene and castiel being taken by the empty right after was definitely chuck’s way of taking that love and weaponizing it against them in the way that he knew would hurt dean the most

[neonbreakor]

He’s wandering around the hospital looking for a specific room. But he’s not having much luck. 

“Excuse me, do you know where I can find room 710?”

[vhstown]

please stop scrolling and take the time to read this.

i don't think people understand the extent of the horror happening in palestine right now. "death" means nothing to people because of desensitisation so let me just tell you what white phosphorus is. it's being used in israeli munitions and has been and will continue to be fired across gaza and the palestinian borders.

white phosphorus burns when it comes into contact with oxygen (at nearly 800°C or 1500°F. the human body can withstand ~50°C for reference.) the air you breathe in ignites and it is near impossible extinguish. it sticks to clothing and skin and is very difficult to remove because it will continue to ignite in air. it burns flesh up to the bone and even past the bone because it penetrates tissue and is absorbed VERY easily. if you inhale it it'll destroy your respiratory tract and lungs. it can cause failure in multiple organs including the liver, kidneys and heart. it is being released in one of the most densely populated places on earth.

the only way to treat someone exposed to white phosphorus is to submerge them in saline or water and to pick out the substance with forceps, and when you undress a wound the substance can re-ignite. this is just ONE weapon that is being used to kill palestinian people right now. palestine does not have access to medical care, humanitarian aid, power, or internet. their hospitals are being bombed. gaza is one of the most densely populated places in the world with over 50% of the population being children. many children are the sole survivors of their families. there are videos of children experiencing panic attacks and symptoms of ptsd. the fact that israel has committed war crimes in plain sight means that we can only imagine what will happen to the palestinians in complete darkness.

israel has and will continue to deny this. your interests and fandom will still be here, you will wake up tomorrow morning and see your friends and family, but an entire nation of people are being wiped off the map. being silent is being complacent. reblog, spread information, tell people in real life, attend protests, sign petitions, call your government offices, at the very least be angry and upset and horrified because once you become numb and indifferent and hopeless the oppressors will have already won.

what's happening right now is more than a genocide and once it becomes a part of history we'll wonder how the world let this happen. genocides have been part of all nations. just because it is far away does not mean you don't have to be concerned. the fact that YOUR governments and YOUR idols and the people around YOU are supporting the mass eradication of an entire group of people should scare you. it shouldn't make you feel anything less than sick and angry and disgusted. DO something about it, no matter how small you feel your voice is, because palestinians no longer have one.

[edit] links to some helpful reblogs: one & two

post on how you can help palestine

learn about palestine with this masterlist of info

+ a further reblog of mine

[edit 2] about palestinians "not having a voice" at the time i wrote this post internet connection was cut off entirely and even journalists weren't able to report for a period of time — that is all i meant by that. they of course have a voice and i never meant to undermine how people are risking their lives in gaza to get information out there and i apologise if thats what people took from it, it was not my intention but it is entirely my bad. please continue to spread information and updates from gaza as they come.

[happy74827]

Joyride

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Remember kids, always look at the road when driving. It can help you avoid certain blabber mouths 🫶

WC: 2556

Category: Fluff, Annoying!Deadpool, 4th Wall Breaks, Insane Amounts of Profanity {TW: Deadpool (for obvious reasons)}

In honor of watching Deadpool 3 (super good btw), enjoy this random chaotic fic I created with the help of @yoursacredqueenmother. This is super chaotic lmfao

『••✎••』

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

A millisecond ago, you were driving down a street. In the middle of traffic. At a red light. Now, you were panicking, looking over the front of your car for the flash of red you had just seen. It took a couple of seconds for you to realize that there was blood on your car and on the ground—a lot of blood.

"Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

You quickly hopped out of the car, rushing to the spot you thought the person… or thing would be, but… there was nobody. There was blood on the ground but nobody.

Did you hit a deer, and it just… ran off? No, that can't be right. You definitely saw something red, and it most certainly was not a deer.

You looked around, confused. How the hell does something bleed all over the ground and then disappear without a trace?!

You got back in your car, deciding to drive to the closest police station. Maybe they knew something about this.

So, you decided to abandon the shortcut home and drive to the nearest police station, which happened to be just down the road. But as you were minutes into the drive, you felt the sudden urge to look in your rearview mirror.

And there you found your mysterious red-suited victim in the backseat, holding the biggest knife you have ever seen as his white-covered eyes stared at you from behind the mask.

You never hit the brakes faster in your life. The car made an ugly screeching sound, and the sudden force slammed the red-clad man into the back of your seat, making him let out a surprised yelp.

The car finally came to a stop, and the masked man recovered quickly, pushing himself off of your seat and glaring at you.

"Well, aren’t you just a heart break—"

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

You grabbed your keys from the ignition and popped off the attached pepper spray, turning around and squirting him in the face. He let out a scream, and you quickly got out of the car, shutting the door and running as fast as you could.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get very far. Despite being hit by a car, and subsequently getting pepper sprayed, the man (or what you assume to be) caught up with you and blocked your path, his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side.

"Alright, lady, what the fuck?" He asked, his voice sounding nasally, most likely because of the spray.

You stared at him, confused. He looked like he was waiting for an explanation.

"W-What the fuck?! What the fuck me? What the fuck you!" You exclaimed, your voice cracking a little. "What the fuck are you doing in my car?!"

"Well, I was trying to hitch a ride! But clearly, that didn't work out. Thanks a lot, by the way, for the pain and suffering. You’ve really opened up my horizons here."

It almost sounded like he was pouting.

"What the—! A ride?! Why in the hell would you just hop into someone's car?!"

"Uhh, because you ran me over, genius! I mean, come on, the least you could do is offer a guy a ride home after that. And then, the cherry on top of the fucking sundae: pepper spray!"

The masked man, so to speak, threw his arms up in the air, and you could almost see him rolling his eyes underneath the mask. Of course, that’s when you noticed the obvious broken bones in his hands. And the blood. There was a lot of blood.

"Look," the guy started, walking closer to you. "I know, I'm a big scary guy with a big scary knife and a bad temper and all, and you’re just… well, I’m sure you have an amazing personality, but how about we put all that aside, and you give me a ride, alright? Just drop me off at the corner of 10th and 55th, and you can forget this ever happened."

"You’re arm… your wrist. It's broken," you told him.

"Yeah, no shit," the man scoffed. "Got any Taylor Swift CDs in that car?"

"Uh… no, not really. Why?"

"Cause, baby, I’m Shaking It Off!"

There was a pregnant pause, and you weren't quite sure if he was being serious or not. I mean, surely he wasn’t about to just ignore the fact that his arm was the complete opposite of norm—

But when he shook his arm in a violent manner, and a loud crack followed suit, you realized, with a heavy heart, that yes, this guy was serious.

What you didn’t know until a few seconds later, however, was that he snapped his bones back into place like it was nothing. It took the flexing in his fingers to realize it, too.

"Holy shit." You truly were in awe.

He seemed to find amusement in your expression, tilting his head slightly and giving you a once-over. And, yes, you could feel his eyes on you, and for some reason, it sent a shiver down your spine.

"So… Wendy Torrance, about that ride? Can you give me a lift, or are we gonna start that chick flick moment where your mental breakdown leads to slow-motion running to a Sia song?"

You could only stare.

"Alright, well, if you're going through with the latter, then at least play something that doesn’t involve that little dancing girl who likes to wear potato sacks as clothes."

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

"You are literally insane." You breathed out, shaking your head.

Even if you couldn’t see it, something told you that he made the biggest grin underneath his mask.

"Why, thank you, darling."

Fast forward a couple of minutes, and you found yourself driving towards the address the red-suited stranger had given you. You couldn’t really make conversation. He had his hands in his lap, playing with a knife, and was staring at you, his head tilted.

"You can blink, you know. I'm not a zombie," he informed you, making a gesture to his mask and eyes, which you assumed he was blinking underneath.

"Right," you nodded.

“Well, mostly, at least. I mean, I still have a pulse, but it's kind of irregular, and I think it's because I keep getting shot and stabbed in the heart. Oh, and I guess I'm also pretty much immortal, so that's probably the reason. But I think the whole not-dying thing cancels out the heartbeat thing, right? Like, the more times you get impaled or decapitated or set on fire, the more it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t affect you anymore, am I right?"

You glanced at him. He was staring at you, his hands still and his knife resting on his leg.

"…Do you ever shut up?"

"Woah-hoho, feisty. And here I thought I was going to break the ice with a good ol' fashioned knock knock joke."

"I don’t think that would've been funny."

"That's what the last girl said."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. Except she wasn’t talking about the joke. I made her laugh in a different way."

You glanced at him again, and he was giving you a knowing look.

"I can't decide if you're disgusting or not."

He hummed, shrugging his shoulders. That made him shut his mouth just long enough for you to turn on the radio but not long enough to avoid the inevitable.

"Hey, hey, I got a good one: Knock knock."

You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes. "Who's there?"

"Orange."

"Orange, who?"

"Orange you glad I'm not a serial killer?"

"That wasn’t even good."

"I know. It would've been better if I could've pulled the knife out of my belt. You know, just for show." He twiddled his fingers at you.

"That wouldn’t have helped," you said.

"Nope," he agreed. "But it would've made a great story."

"I suppose."

"Yeah. Hey, hey, I got another one: Knock knock."

"You just—"

"Knock knock."

You let out a huff. This man was the most childish, annoying, idiotic, strange, weird—

"Knock knock."

"Oh, just fucking tell me the joke!"

"No! It doesn't work that way!"

You rolled your eyes, but before you could answer, he beat you to it.

"Okay, okay, how about this: Knock knock."

You didn't say anything.

"Knock knock."

Your eyes flickered over to him for a second.

"Knock knock."

"For fucks sake!" You exclaimed. "Who's there?"

He leaned forward, closer to you, and you could see his mouth moving.

"Deadpool."

You were confused.

"D-Deadpool? Is this a reference to that shitty horror movie? If so, that wasn't even good, and I'm not laughing, and I don't get the joke."

He just gave you a blank look, or at least you thought he did.

"No. My name's Deadpool."

"That’s…" you trailed off. "A pretty dumb name. Like that outfit you're wearing."

"Hey! Diss the name all you want, but don’t you dare diss the suit. It's my trademark. Not everyone can pull off this type of look; it’s a very rare art."

"Whatever. You still haven't told me the punch line to your dumb joke."

"Punch line? I never said there was a punch line. It was a knock knock joke."

"So then… What was the point? To annoy the driver into wanting to run you over again?"

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that vibrated in his throat. That… That was… oh.

He was still close, and now, with the new angle, you could see the small, yet very visible, curve of his lips, and that made you wonder who was actually hiding behind the mask.

"You are seriously the strangest person I've ever met."

"Oh, babe, you don't even know the half of it."

"Please, enlighten me," you replied sarcastically, glancing over at him.

His masked eyes looked into yours, and you knew he was grinning; you could practically feel it.

"What do you wanna know?" He asked.

"Uh, I don't know. Something other than the fact that you're a nutcase. How about your real name? It's obviously not 'Deadpool,' and I doubt anyone actually calls you that. So, what's your actual name?"

"Oh, wow. Right off the bat, huh? You know, the last girl I was with wasn’t nearly as direct. Then again, she never sprayed me like I was a roach in her kitchen."

You didn’t respond. You kept your eyes on the road.

"Fine," he relented. "But don’t expect a happy ending. This isn’t Kanas anymore, Toto."

He leaned back in his seat, his arm hanging off the open window, the wind blowing through his red suit.

"Names Wade, like the boxers, but without the fancy pants."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Wade Winston Wilson, I love long walks on the beach, and a good movie, and tacos, and chimichangas, and guns. Especially guns. Kinky, but not too kinky… and did I mention the tacos? Cause I love fucking love tacos."

Maybe you should start carrying tape around.

"What about you, sugar lips?" He asked, gesturing to you with the hand he wasn’t leaning against. "Got a name, or can I call you mine? Ooh, I should’ve used that before the pepper spray. 'What's your name, or can I call you mine?' Classic, Wade. Well, except for the fact that I forgot the 'I'd like to hit it from the back' part. Damn, should have used that, too. It's a good thing they gave you the lead. Otherwise, the audience would've been confused. They would've been wondering, 'Why did the writer suddenly change the dialogue to be about sex? Wasn’t this supposed to be that pure Notebook love story we all wanted?'"

He paused for a moment.

"Wait a minute. Are we still doing the monologue thing, or is the writer done? Cause, no offense, but that was a shitty transition. And, come on, no one wants a Notebook love story anymore. Who writes those? What we need is a little romance and a whole lotta smut."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Me? Nothing, just giving some feedback. I've always had an open relationship with writers. Some might even call me the next J.K Rowling. Except, instead of a lighting scar and magic, I have an ass load of weapons with an insatiable lust for violence and blood. And tacos."

You decided to ignore him.

"Anyway, back to you. You never answered my question. Do you have a name or not?"

"I can’t believe I actually agreed to give you a ride home."

"Yeah," he said, sounding bored. "Why did you do that?"

"I don’t know. Because I hit you with my car and felt bad? You had a broken arm and were bleeding out all over the ground."

"First sign of insanity."

"What?"

"Nothing," his mask wiggled around the area of his eyebrows. "So, your name? Don’t tell me you’re gonna pull out the classic yes and no abbreviations. You know what? I’m just gonna call you Spidey. It's easier, and it’ll sound sexier when you're screaming it later."

You rolled your eyes, deciding just to ignore his comments for the rest of the drive. You were wishing that you didn't live in a city full of traffic cause, damn, this was taking a while.

"Alright, turn here."

You followed the directions and pulled up in front of an abandoned-looking building. You didn't say anything, but you did raise an eyebrow in question.

"What? A guy like me has to keep his place secret, especially when the fangirls are after him."

"I didn’t ask."

"Yeah, but I saw you wondering."

"Right."

"Hey, Spidey," he said, unbuckling his seat belt. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem. Just make sure to keep your ass away from car bumpers. And out of my car."

"Awe, come on, baby cakes, don't be like that. You're really missing out. My ass is the finest in the business. Not to mention my package. You should see the reviews I get online."

You snorted. "I'll take your word for it."

"Yeah, you will," he said, leaning over and patting your cheek. "Hey, if you ever get lonely, or bored, or horny, or whatever, just give me a call. Here," he handed you a crumpled piece of paper. "Don't lose it, that's my number. We should totally bang, like, tomorrow, or tonight, or right now."

"Goodbye, Wade," you said, and he took it as his cue to leave. He gave a silly salute and exited the car, but not without giving you a wink first.

"See you soon, Spidey!"

With that, he walked up to the building and disappeared inside. With a sigh, you collapsed into the seat, not even bothering to watch him. You were exhausted, and all you wanted was to go home and sleep.

After a couple of minutes of relishing the nice breeze that came through the open windows, you sat up and un-crinkled the paper.

The only thing written on it was a phone number, with a small, messy, red heart and a few words that honestly had you questioning the sanity of the world:

'If you're lucky, maybe I'll even let you top. ;)'

——

Spoiler alert: it took about a month for the two of you to hook up.

And no, you did not have Domino’s luck.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: yandere awakening

part two

gn reader

Thinking of having a nullifying cursed technique without knowing it…

Curses, attacks, and techniques have no effect on you—once cursed energy comes into contact within your range, it ceases to exist. You're a human erasure for all things paranormal.

And it’s beyond strange for a certain six-eyed limitless sorcerer...

Gojo sees on a molecular level—it's like converging x-ray and thermal and night-vision into one lens that's both microscopic and telescopic at the same time—he sees energy and atoms—he sees everything, he sees through everything. Nothing escapes. The tiniest shift in someone’s expression indicates exactly what they’re thinking, and he can tell—as if he can read minds even though he can’t. Everything is just so obvious. Everything. Even though he is blindfolded, he can see. All things energy, light, heat, movement, what someone had for lunch, the tiniest vibration in the ground and buildings around him, the slight shift in the wind when a butterfly flaps its wings a mile away. It’s all there for him, laid bare before his many eyes. Everything, and then he bumps straight into you.

It's by no means any powerful encounter—his body is much taller and bigger. It’s rather you who’s dealt an impact, bouncing off and staggering back until falling hard on your ass.

But he’s no less shocked because of it. Something just passed through both limitless and six eyes. An attack from a curse? A technique from a sorcerer? Here? Now? On the open street on his way to buy mochi? No… what’s going on? What on earth was that?

“Ouch—what the? Watch where you’re going! And what’s up with the blindfold, you lunatic!?”

Watch where you’re going, huh… He’s never heard that before. Even stranger, who is speaking? He peels his blindfold up and… wow.

He can see you. No, not like he can see the others around you—passing bodies full of flesh and blood and bones and food. You’re none of that, you’re just a face and body. You have a rumpled expression—sour. He can tell you’re upset, but it’s harder than it’s supposed to be. He has to think about it all on his own. Yes, you’re mad. At him? Yes. You’re mad at him.

You’re mad at him, and yet he doesn’t care. There are more important matters. Like, who the hell or what the hell are you?

“Well?” you state snappily, and yes, it was you who had spoken earlier. “Are you gonna help me up or what?”

He doesn’t know if he should. You’d only touched him indirectly before, through two layers of both of your clothing. What if your skin burns his? What if everything ceases to exist?

He does it anyway.

Reaching down his hand, he holds his breath and recites seconds within his head as if he’s counting down towards the end of the world—one, two, three, and…

It burns. But not in a bad way. But it burns—everywhere all at once—igniting him like a matchstick ripped across the red. It burns, but it feels good. And he realizes he’s felt cold his entire life.

“Uhm, you can let go now,” you drag him out of his discoveries.

He looks away from his grip on your hand and at you, now standing, and wow, really wow… It’s like he’s seeing for the first time. There’s so much he's blind to, and yet, nothing's ever been clearer—the smoothness of skin, the soft differences in its pigment, the vividness of eyes—your eyes. He knows they aren’t, but they’re the biggest he’s ever seen.

“Hey, buddy, are you alright?” you ask now, leaning towards him—a hand on his shoulder, its burning warmth seeping in through his jacket, as the other remains in his. “Is there someone I should call?”

Oh right. He must be acting like an asylum escapee.

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. I’m great. I’m Gojo. Satoru Gojo,” one after the other, words leave him as if he’s forgotten how to act normal.

“Okay then—that’s good, uhm, Mr. Gojo.” 

How strange. He can’t tell what you’re thinking at all—in fact, he hasn’t the slightest clue—it’s all a guessing game. It’s as if before, all he needed to do was look at a book to know what was written within, but with you, he actually needs to read. And he's never learned how to.

“Uhm, alright, so I’ll be on my way then—”

“No!” his grip tightens, and you gasp with a jolt, looking at him even wider than before. Shit. “I mean… I’m sorry. I should… I should apologize for walking straight into you. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No, I’m good. It’s really alright. No need to worry. I should really go, though—”

You look positively freaked-out now—if he were to make a purely uneducated guess. You tried pulling your hand to yourself again, and it became more clear—he was making you uncomfortable. But still, he didn’t want to let go. Even with limitless off, nothing had ever felt as good as the contact he was feeling right now. He doesn’t think he can let go. But shit—people are beginning to stare…

“Okay, I’m sorry—” he lets go, and you instantly hurry along with quick steps, shuffling through the crowded street as if you’d just encountered a madman.

Maybe he is. He sure follows after you like one.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[ervotica]

hehe dark!rafe fucking jj's ex bc she spiraling after the break up and using hella drugs so he's just degrading & using her however bc she's beneath him and he can't help but record it and send it to the male pouge's

warnings; DARK, smut (18+ only), drug use, dub-con (r is HEAVILY under the influence and not very aware), throat fucking, fingering, slight daddy kink, breathplay, degradation (I may have gone insane with this one I fear)

A cruel hand is splayed against the top of your spine where the base of your neck begins, subduing you enough to keep you from thrashing as Rafe curls his fingers against the spongy walls of your cunt. You're alight with pleasure, the lick of a flame igniting your every muscle as you gargle into the sheets below you; you're not entirely sure how you got here but your drug addled brain is too hazy with the white-hot euphoria he is so kindly granting you.

He groans at your blank eyes, breath hot on your skin as he licks a long line against the column of your throat and bites down, taking great enjoyment in the way you wriggle and whine.

"Please," you gasp out, that coil in your belly drawing tighter the longer he keeps his fingers nestled against that spot deep in your pussy that makes you scream.

"Please, what?"

"Please, daddy. Lemme cum."

"Attagirl." His grin is wolfish, teeth pointed and bared like a predator. "Little fuckin' whore, aren'tcha, kid? Bet Maybank never made you feel this good."

You shake your head vehemently, almost incomprehensible where you're drooling into the pillow beneath your balmy face.

He tweaks his fingers once more and suddenly the dull flame of bliss has roared to life, squeezing every one of your muscles like tendrils as you gush and your hole clenches around his thick digits.

The muted roar of white noise is all you can hear for a good while; eyes rolling, lashes fluttering, limp and spent from just one orgasm.

You don't see him next but rather you feel him. A thick mushroom head prodding against your swollen lips, the taste of bitter precum on your tongue as he feeds his cock down your spasming throat. A gag rips through you but he pushes past it, unfazed by your own discomfort as he chases the feeling of your tender gullet tightening around him.

"Yeahhh, that's good," he unabashedly moans, deep and gravelly. His cock pushes at the thin skin of your neck, flesh bulging as he settles your nose in the thatch of hair at his pubic bone, heavy sack pressing lewdly atop your gurgling mouth with every rut of his hips.

Bubbles of spit ooze from the corners of your stretched lips and then you're suddenly blinded by white light. The flash of a phone camera crowds your vision and Rafe doubles down, hips pistoning against your slack face as he groans and grunts, degrading insults pouring from his mouth.

"Dirty slut, all you're good for 's takin' dick, right? Just a filthy little hole for me to use when 'm bored."

You purl and choke around him in an effort to voice your complaints, but all it seems to do is spur him on further.

"G'na have this throat trained in no time, kid. You're my personal cocksleeve from now on."

He wrenches himself away despite being seemingly on the precipice of blowing his load; you gasp and whimper as he turns to prop the still recording phone on the dresser behind him, twisting a large handful of your mussed hair around his hand and dragging you across the expanse of the king sized bed. Your neck contorts in an odd sort of manner as he positions you with your head hanging upside-down from the side of the plush mattress. It gives him ample leverage to use you without care; he's not bothered if you pass out, he'll use you either way.

It's rough, borderline abusive, how he fucks your throat. Hard and fast and unrelenting despite your almost continuous retching and slapping feebly at his thick thighs. The bulge in the divot of the soft flesh only becomes more prominent, his spongy head pushing from the inside as though it's trying to rip through you.

His hand reaches between his own legs to plug your nostrils and a menacing chuckle hits your ears as your vision blurs and your eyes lose focus and roll to the back of your skull.

He lets up just as you're on the cusp of unconsciousness, dick never leaving your warm cavern as he reaches blindly behind him for the phone. Forearms dig cruelly into your ribcage as he props himself up and zooms the camera in on your sopping, swollen cunt, parting your petal soft lips and slipping two fingers inside to bully another orgasm from you.

"If I were you, Maybank, I'd have never given up this tight cunt," Rafe rasps. "Fucked the poor thing dumb, already. 'M keeping her."

He presses send before you can protest- not that you'll ever be able to. You'll be too cockdrunk to ever notice what he's done.

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

ceo!sukuna x secretary!reader, modern au

tags: degradation, daddy kink, dirty talk, fingering, spanking, true form sukuna notes: minors dni, one sequel to "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘉𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘴" - you decided to not text your boss Sukuna wc: 1.3k

Sukuna was fuming with rage as he sat at his work desk, eyes glued on his door waiting for you to finally come in. He gave you his private number, a number no one got (since he mainly fucked women at work anyway) and you didn’t call him? Not even bother to sent a message? Did you even save his number? Sukuna's rage was a tempest, a storm swirling within him, threatening to burst forth and consume everything in its path. His fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turned bone-white, his jaw tensed, muscles coiling like springs ready to snap. Each breath he took felt like fire searing his lungs, fueling the inferno of his fury.

It wasn't just anger; it was a primal force, raw and unbridled. How could you crawl over to him like a slut and then just ghost him. After he left the bar he couldn’t even get his cock soft – it waited to be buried deep inside your cunt. Suddenly (and finally) his door opened and you walked into the room, your eyes staring at the floor.

“Good morning, sir”, you greeted him sheepishly.

“Lock the fucking door and come over here, now.”

Your boss didn’t even bother to hide his anger and you were smart enough not to question his mood. Without a word you walked over to his desk. His red eyes were burning holes into your skin.

“Why didn’t you text me? I told you to do that”, Sukuna stood up, his fingers tapping on his wooden desk as he moved closer to you.

“I don’t think that would have been appropriate, sir.”

As the words hit his ears, a surge of anger coursed through Sukuna's veins like a bolt of lightning. The sentence struck him with the force of a physical blow. His jaw clenched so tight it felt as though his teeth might shatter under the pressure. A torrent of emotions roiled within him, a turbulent sea of indignation and frustration threatening to engulf him entirely. How could you dare utter such words, he seethed inwardly, feeling his temper flare hotter with each passing moment. Every fiber of his being screamed for retribution, for a release of the pent-up rage festering within him. Yet, beneath the anger, there simmered a sense of hurt, a wounded pride that stoked the flames of his fury even higher.

“Inappropriate, huh?” Sukuna's heart pounded with an adrenaline-fueled rhythm as he pressed you against his workdesk, his palm firmly planted beside you, caging you in. The suddenness of his action caught you off guard, your eyes widening in surprise before a flicker of excitement danced within you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, a silent declaration of desire. The scent of your perfume filled his senses, intoxicating him further as he leaned in.

“You know what’s inappropriate? All the times you went on break just to rub your little pussy after I praised you. The way you press your legs together in an attempt to not cum all over the place after I yell at colleagues who fuck up their work. You think I’m dumb, little one?”

Sukuna's lips grazed your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. The faintest touch of his lips against your skin ignited a fire within you, a wave of sensation coursing through your body like electricity. His kisses were rough and urgent, each one leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His grip tightened on your arm, a rough urgency in his movements as he spun you around, your back now pressed firmly against Sukuna’s chest. The suddenness of his action caused your breath to catch in your throat, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. His touch was possessive yet intoxicating, sending a jolt of desire coursing through your veins. With your back against him, you could feel the heat of his body, the strength of his embrace and his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“You need to be punished, baby, Was waiting for you the night to text me”, he whispered into your ears before taking a step back, “Bend over the desk, slut.”

As you leaned over your boss's desk, the air seemed to crackle with tension. Your movements were graceful, yet purposeful, the lines of your silhouette casting a spell of allure. With each subtle shift, the fabric of your blouse hugged your curves, your skirt rocking up, teasingly revealing hints of the allure beneath. Sukuna, momentarily captivated by the sight before him, struggled to maintain his composure and not just fuck you right there and then.

“You’ve been a bad girl”, all of sudden, without any kind of warning, his hand smacked down on your ass, earning a small squeal, “You a little cocktease, huh? Knew damn well how fucking soaked you got after our simple kiss and then you decided to not text me after?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir”, he whimpered as another blow hit your ass. Sukuna pulled your skirt down to the ground, exposing your behind. Now it would start to hurt.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, baby. I wanted to fill you up real good last night. I would have come over just to let you bounce on my cock. Beg for forgiveness, slut.”  And once again he smacked your ass.

“I’m sorry” Another blow. “Pl-please…Please forgive me, Mr. Sukuna.” Another blow. Your ass was turning red at this point. “I’m begging you pl–please…ahh.” That moan was everything Sukuna needed to hear – so needy and eager, he imagined you would love for him to manhandle you like this. Such a dirty whore.

You were a begging, trembling mess before him and he loved every inch of the view. Grinning he reached his hand out, his finger grazing over your thong covered slit. “Soaked through your panties already, baby? That’s all it got? Some dirty talk and spanking? Want daddy to help you out?”

Self-respect? Professionalism? Everything left your body as soon as he called himself daddy. “Yes, please help me out, daddy.”

“Now you’re a good girl.” Sukuna pulled your thong down and you groaned as you felt him use his finger to circle your clit. Seemed like daddy knew your body well, knew the pressure and the patterns that could turn you into a stuttering and groaning mess. When he dipped his fingers inside of you, you shifted slightly to make him go deeper. His fingers fucked you open so well, deepening his strokes to rub your g-spot and draw you closer to the edge. You felt yourself give in to him, becoming more wet as he continued touching your clit and pumping his fingers into your sloppy cunt as well.

“You’re so fucking wet for me. Can you hear it? How my fingers ram in and out of your slutty hole, huh? Clenching me so well, sucking me in. Tell daddy what you want, little one, tell me.”

“D–daddy…please, please fuck me”, Sukuna never stopped fingering your hole and restarted spanking your ass, “I need your cock, daddy, ahh– I’m begging you to fill me up.”

You heard Sukuna unzipping his pants, something warm now pushing against your entrance about to replace his fingers.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll call me your god.”

Maybe you were way too horny and desperate, losing touch with reality because suddenly you felt two hands grabbing your waist while two other hands wrapped around your body and cupped your tits. Sukuna rammed his cock into your pussy but you could feel something even thicker and bigger laying on your ass.

“You’re my favorite human, little one.”

[hitoshitoshi]

Hair Washing [Husband!Zayne x GenderNeutral!Reader]

Summary: You take care of Zayne and he allows it for once in his life.

Tags: Established Relationship, Married life, Hair Washing, Self Degradation, Hurt/Comfort, Self Indulgent, Workaholic and Stubborn Zayne, Domestic fluff, Non-sexual Intimacy, Romance.

Zayne drove his Audi into the garage, the purr of the engine fading to silence as he cut the ignition. As the garage door descended, shutting out the world where it was just him in his car — his forehead resting against the steering wheel, eyes closed, the weight of a 16-hour shift was hitting him like a fire being snuffed out by a lid. 

'Pull yourself together,' Zayne chided internally, straightening up with a soft inaudible groan. 

Flipping down the sun visor mirror, Zayne assessed his reflection. Dark circles lurked beneath his hazel eyes, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his skin lost a bit of its glow. Zayne grabbed a comb and meticulously smoothed out his hair into place. 

'You have no right to burden others with your childish grievances,' Zayne reminded himself, a mantra born of years of self-imposed stoicism. Zayne would not allow himself to ever burden you with such a pitiful thing such as tiredness or to ever make you worry as long as he lived. 

Satisfied with his appearance, Zayne exited the car, his movements deliberately measured to hide his bone-deep fatigue that threatened to consume him. As he approached the house, he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. The mask, Dr. Zayne — the Cardiac Surgeon, slid off as he was now Zayne, your husband. He opened the door, stepping into the warmth of your shared home. 

Zayne called out to you, "I'm home," his voice was steady and neutral, betraying none of the relief he felt at finally being home to where you were, in the house you two had lived in and cherished.

The sounds of rapid footsteps echoed through the house, and Zayne felt a flutter of warmth in his chest. You appeared, eyes bright with joy and relief that your beloved husband came home from work. For a moment, Zayne allowed a soft smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he drank in the sight of his partner. 

Your heart raced at the sight of Zayne, a mix of excitement and concern washed over you. You rushed forward, arms outreached for a hug, but you stopped mid-motion as you took in Zayne's appearance. Despite Zayne's immaculate exterior, you knew Zayne more than anyone else to know that he was tired —  the slight degree of a slump in Zayne's shoulders, the barely perceptible tightness around Zayne's eyes, the shadows under Zayne's eyes being a shade too dark. Your heart clenched, seeing the man you loved with your entire soul, pushing himself so hard. 

"Zayne, you look tired," You said softly as you reached out to touch Zayne's arm. Your fingers trembled slightly, torn between the desire to pull him close and the fear of overstepping even if you two were already married. "Let me take care of you tonight."

Zayne felt a surge of conflicting emotions at your words —  gratitude warring with his ingrained need for self-reliance. It was always Zayne treating and spoiling you, and not the other way around. Even the times when you tried to spoil him back, Zayne would always find a way to turn it around so that it was back to him spoiling you. His eyebrow arched slightly, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement to hide the vulnerability he felt.

"I'm fine," Zayne replied, his tone leaving  no room for argument, even as an iota of him longed to give in, "It was just another day at the hospital." Zayne knew that he couldn't convince you since you were as stubborn as him, but it couldn't hurt to try.

 Your eyes narrowed, unconvinced. You could see the weariness Zayne was trying so hard to hide, and it made your chest tighten with worry. You insisted, "You've been gone for over 16 hours and this was the 3rd time this week back to back that you've had these long shifts. You need to rest. Let me help you rest." 

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've had longer shifts that were more troubling throughout the years," Zayne countered, a hint of stubbornness creeping into his voice. Even as he spoke, he felt his resolve wavering under your gaze —  he hated concerning you. He hated making you feel this way —  he hated himself for making you feel this way. 

You stepped closer, your hand was gentle but insistent on Zayne's arm. You could feel the tension in his muscles and the slight tremor of exhaustion. "Please, Zayne," you pleaded, "Let me do this for you once. You always take care of me, let me take care of you sometimes. Even if it's on a blue moon, let me take care of you once." 

Zayne's eyes shifted away as he let out a sigh, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed a bit. A wave of tenderness washed over him, mingled with gratitude as he reluctantly gave in. "Fine," Zayne conceded, his tone was of his usual deadpan but it was tinged with affection. "If it will put your mind at ease." 

Your face broke into a warm smile, relief and love shining in your eyes. You grabbed Zayne’s hand as you led Zayne towards the bathroom. Zayne allowed himself to lean slightly into your touch. For once, Zayne allowed himself to accept the care he so often denied himself. 

You filled the bathtub with hot water, the sound of rushing liquid filling the quiet room. You added a generous amount of bubble bath, watching as frothy suds formed on the surface. The scent of rose oil wafted through the air as you added a few drops of it to the water. Your heart raced in anticipation and nervousness, hoping that you’d be able to take away Zayne’s stress. 

Soft light from carefully placed candles flickered across the walls as you dimmed the overhead lights. You turned to Zayne who stood in the doorway — a hint of vulnerability in his usually stoic expression. 

“Come,” You said softly, extending your hand out towards him. Zayne took your hand, allowing himself to be led to the bathtub. He raised your hand up to his lips as he gave your knuckles a soft kiss as a thank you. Zayne didn’t know the last time someone had put effort into him that wasn’t you — at least, someone who didn’t have any outside intentions of being nice to him. Zayne was forever thankful that he had such a kind spouse in his life, that out of all the lives he had lived, that he was able to be with you in this one.

As Zayne settled into the warm water, a soft sigh escaped his lips. The tension he’d been carrying began to melt away, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Your heart swelled with affection at the sight of Zayne finally relaxing.

With gentle movements, you began to soak Zayne’s hair with warm water. Your fingers combed through the dark strands, careful not to tug or cause discomfort. Zayne’s breathing deepened slightly, the rhythmic motion lulled him into a state of calm he only experienced with and around you. 

You reached for the shampoo, squeezing a small amount into your palm. The fresh, clean scent filled the air as you began to work it into Zayne’s scalp. Starting at the temples, you used your fingertips to massage in small, circular motions, applying gentle pressure to stimulate blood flow and to clean all of Zayne’s hair and his head. As your fingers worked their way to the base of Zayne’s skull, you could feel the tension that Zayne’s been holding start to loosen. Zayne let out a low hum of appreciation —  the sound sending a small flutter though your chest. God, you loved your husband so much. You worked the shampoo through the rest of Zayne’s hair.

Once Zayne’s hair was thoroughly lathered, you began to rinse it clean. You used a small cup to pour warm water over his head —  your other hand acted as a shield to prevent shampoo from running into his eyes. Zayne’s thoughts drifted, the simple act of being cared for stirred emotions that he usually kept tightly controlled.

Next, You reached for the conditioner, applying a generous amount through Zayne’s hair —  focusing on the ends which tended to be drier. You began to massage Zayne’s scalp once more.You used your thumbs as you applied pressure to the occipital ridge at the base of Zayne’s skull. You then moved to the crown, using your fingertips to make small circular motions. You paid special attention to Zayne’s temples as you used gentle sweeping motions with your thumbs to ease away the day’s stress.

As your fingers worked their magic, Zayne felt himself surrendering to the care being lavished upon him as his eyes fluttered closed once more, his entire body relaxing in the hot water. A surge of protectiveness and tenderness surged through you as you noticed the change in Zayne’s demeanor. You bent your head down as you placed a soft kiss on your husband’s lips who reciprocated the kiss with even more gentleness in his movements.

“Thank you,” Zayne murmured against your lips— his voice was low and thick with emotion. The simple phrase carried the weight of all the gratitude and affection he struggled to express aloud.

You continued massaging Zayne’s scalp as you replied to him softly, “Always.”

The rhythmic pitter-patter of water being poured filled the air as you rinsed out Zayne’s hair; steam curled lazily around them, carrying the fading scent of the conditioner. Zayne’s breathing slowed as the last of the conditioner washed away. Your hand found Zayne’s elbow, steadying him as he rose. The sudden change in position sent a momentary rush to Zayne’s head, his usual grace faltering. Your eyes met Zayne’s briefly in the foggy mirror as you reached for the robe hanging nearby; the dark purple fabric rich against the bathroom’s pale tiles. As you helped Zayne slip on the robe, the soft material settled against his skin, still warm and slightly damp. The sound of footsteps resonated through the house as you both made your way to the bedroom. The air was cooler, raising goosebumps on Zayne’s exposed skin. He sank down onto the bed’s edge; the mattress dipped slightly under his weight. You moved behind him with a towel in hand. The first touch of terrycloth against Zayne’s nape sent a shiver down his spine — bare perceptible but there. You towel dried Zayne’s hair as his eyelids grew heavy; his usual sharp focus softened around the edges.  You reached over to the nightstand where you grabbed the comb, its teeth scraped gently against Zayne’s scalp, with each pass detangling your husband’s hair — detangling all of the stress in Zayne’s mind who only focused on you and your touch. A clock ticked softly somewhere as the lamp on the other side of the bedroom casted a warm glow that softened the lines of their faces, illuminating your faces and your love. As you worked, Zayne found his gaze drawn to your reflection in the dresser mirror. He watched the play of emotions across your face: concentration in the slight furrow of your brows with care in the gentle set of your mouth. Something stirred in Zayne’s chest — an emotion he had sought after for so long that he would fight with his entire soul to keep.

“I love you.”

“I love you most”.

It was more than just a hair wash to both you and Zayne; it was an act of love, trust, and vulnerability that would deepen your bond in ways words could never express. 

A/N: I love Zayne. I really really really love Zayne as you can tell. Have I mentioned that I love Zayne? Because I love Zayne. I have Zayne smut in drafts thats halfway written :3

If you like otome games, including Love and Deepspace, you should join Linkon Lounge! A discord server that's LGBTQ+ friendly (only serving those who are 18+) where we all can share our interests, talk to roleplaying bots (Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, and Sylus), and have fun game, movie, and stream nights where we stream games and/or cards that we pulled that others want to see. It would be super fun to have you as a member of our server.

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Masterlist

[angelinthefire]

That last post I reblogged is so so correct. And like, that's the thing. That's why so many of the endgames envisioned for spn feel wrong and claustrophobic. Like Dean’s stuck in a role that he’s never been able to break from. He's never had the chance to just stop and just be. The only happy ending for him, or heck the only narratively satisfying ending for him that demonstrates any kind of development, has to be one that does not include Sam. But the writers were just as stuck as Dean was.

[bloodydeanwinchester]

ohhh my god I am in love with this fic

[neonbreakor]

GURREN HEY! IM THE BODYGAURD FOR RUNE! IVE HEARD A MILLION THINGS ABOUT YOU! -as fast clacking of her heels could be heard running over to the man, and shaking his hand with both of hers rather vigourosly, surprisingly alot stronger than she looks-

"The bodyguard? So, you must be Lemon. Rune's told me about you. She said you're a great friend. It's good to finally meet you" He shook her hand.

[fanaticsnail]

You're Angry at the Tall Men

Masterlist Here

I have two very dear mutual creators on here that are struggling with the flu. Hopefully yelling at the tall men of one-piece will help you both out: @feral-artistry & @sordidmusings

Word Count: 200-400 per gentleman: Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo

Warnings: anger, violence, suggestive spice for a few, angst, afab!implied but not overly mentioned, height difference.

First time writing for Cora, Croc and Doffy - mainly going off small clips and overall vibes. Apologies if I didn't do your blorbo justice.

(Apprehensive tag list: @gingernut1314, @writingmysanity)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.

Buggy: 6’3

“Sit your tall ass down!” you roared at him. The clown shrieked back, immediately reaching his stuttering hands towards the back of a chair to unceremoniously fall back onto the wooden base. Unfortunately, as his ass barely grazes the base; his weight proceeds to fall from its intended target, plopping down onto the cement ground instead of finding comfort on the chair.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out alongside his wince, his red nose creased as he felt the pain shoot up his coxic bone and tingle up his spine. This moment of failure breaking a small crack in your iron fury, a giggle attempting to break through your anger. He winces his beautiful teal eyes up at you, cringing through the pain and gritting his teeth in an attempt of a smile.

“You are so pathetic,” you growled at him, extending your hand out and collecting his chin within your thumb and index finger. You were held captive by his sparkling eyes beneath his lengthy blue eyelashes as he looked up at you in awe.

“It’s why you love me, right?” he whimpered at you, his crooked smile drawing you in closer to him. You stooped, pressing a small kiss against his rotund, red nose.

“Yes,” you again growled at him, pouting with your brow falling low in the center of your forehead, “but I’m still angry at you.”

“I know,” he grumbled in response, his eyes upturning and almost pleading, “but I can fix that, right?”

Shanks: 6’6

“Woah, woah, love!” he cried out, backing away from your approach with his wide smile plastered to his cheeks. He was still smiling, even when you backed him against the wall with your forearm horizontally pressing him back into the wooden banister behind him.

“You absolute stupid, ridiculous, drunken-,” one look into his loving eyes rendered you immediately defenseless to his aura. He looked at you with such love, his brown eyes holding only softness and adoration within them. He brings up his arm, choosing to caress your cheek and lace a loose strand of your hair to hook over your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into you, leaning his head down and moving his lips against your forehead to murmur into your skin, “forgive me, I didn’t mean it.” Inhaling a deep breath, you feel the rage falling away from you as he continued murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” he breathed his raspy voice into your ear.

“And you’re so handsome when you’re not the one making me angry,” you growled back at him.

Mihawk 6’6

“Mihawk!” your rumbled growl echoed in the high ceilings lifting the light in the large dining room. He was stooping, fingertips halting their descent to grasp the back of his dining chair. He huffed out a sigh, rotating his neck and removing his hat from his head. He placed the hat on his dining setting, and prepared himself to receive your wrath.

As soon as you saw him preparing himself to receive the scorn you were about to bear down on him, you decided to switch it up. Something about how smug he was did not satiate your fire from erupting further. You had every intention of taking him by his wrist and leading him to the impressive steps of the foyer and taking a few steps up to bring you to the appropriate height to maintain eye contact as you reprimanded him.

But his ear was right there, no longer shielded by his broad hat to halt your action. Immediately, you pressed your index and middle finger against the overly sensitive shell of his ear and began dragging him towards the archway leading to the foyer.

“Not quite so hard, dear,” he winced as his steps stuttered behind you. You allowed a sinister smirk to rise on your lips, gaining a sickening amount of joy from knowing you were paining him a little to satisfy your wrath. As your feet found the steps, you relinquished your hold on his ear and turned to face him, your eyes first glancing at the raven curls atop his head that you rarely are accustomed to seeing these days. His head was bowed, his hand drawn up to cradle his ear and sooth over the throbbing shell. At this, your anger ceased and you immediately sought out his eyes by cupping his cheeks and elevating his face.

“I’m sorry, my love. Did I hurt you, are you okay?” you hastily spoke, eyes checking over his face for any semblance of hurt or pain.

“Only my pride, dear,” he replied in a soft grumble, continuing to keep his eyes from joining with your own. You sighed in relief before shaking your head to remind yourself why you brought him here in the first place. You furrowed your brow and slunk your hands from his cheeks to fall them against his chest.

“I’m-,” you began, your angry words halted by Mihawk taking a step forward and pressing his forehead against your own.

“-I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered into your face, his eyes half lidded and sorrow falling over his face, “I never meant to hurt you, and I’m willing to spend all the time it takes to make it up to you.”

Sir Crocodile 8’3

Clutching his cigar in his index and middle fingers, he flicked the ash into the glass and gold tray on his desk. He could hear the fall of your feet outside the door, his jaw falling slack in bored frustration. 

“You devious bastard,” you growled as the door to his office flung open. He inhaled deeply, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out another cigar to clench his teeth onto. As your eyes met, his brow arched while his eyelids hung half-lidded. He sat back against his armchair and uncrossed his legs from their join of the knees. Remaining wordless, he fished around in his pants for his lighter, to find nothing but his golden pocket watch and a few rolls of berry within his leatherbound wallet.

“Be a dear and find me a light,” he dismissed your anger with the wave of his hand as his eyes searched his desk for his capped lighter. This seemed to engage your fury further, making you immediately lunge at him and crawl onto his lap. You drew your claw-shaped grip up to his jaw, snarling into his face as you did so.

“You think I care about your lighter right now, you arrogant lizard,” you spat at him. His eyes widened in surprise, initially being taken off guard by your presence atop his thigh. Immediately after processing the shock, his eyes darkened as he used his large, golden hook to circle around your thigh; trapping it within the metal and drawing it closer into him. Your kneeling position atop his lap was now made ever more dangerous than it had been, not knowing how he would truly respond to your anger. Both of your tempers began to flare as he snarled at you.

“Lighter first,” he growled at you, looking up into your enraged eyes as your hair cascaded down over his face, draped almost intimately over his forehead. You scoffed, flicking the hair over your shoulder and grimaced at him in response. 

“And why should I do that after what you did?” you gnashed your teeth, baring your rage in your now untested situation. The tense air now growing thick and dense as your bodies pressed closer together. He gripped your hips with his hand, his golden hook scraping over your thigh and placing your knee over his waist as he drew you closer. 

“Lighter first,” he began to snarl at you, “or I will channel your rage in another way.”

“Try me, Reptile,” you snarled at him, clenching your teeth as you stooped lower into his face. He immediately stood, his tall body hoisting you up against his hips and slamming your back atop his desk. He hovered over your body, leaning his face down and snarling into you,

“You should’ve just done what you were told,” He growled into your neck.

“You shouldn't have pissed me off,” you gnashed your teeth once more, your eyes widening as you felt his teeth bite down hard on your clavicle, soothing over the new injury with his tongue. 

Corazon 9’7

“Donquixote Rosinante!” you shouted, walking around the halls and tracking the stupor of his step. You immediately heard a thud, followed by several crashing booms reverberating within the hallway. None of these sounds halted your descent, your rage and fury propelling your steps further towards him.

When your eyes fell over his body, he was hoisting himself up from his entanglement with several cleaning products; a mop over his head and a bucket circling over his left foot. He looked ridiculous, his coat hanging limply from his shoulders over his open heart-stitched shirt.

As he rose to his feet, you were taken aback at how truly tall he was; his body towering over your own. You lost your nerve slightly at his stature, but still the edges of your body remained singed with the fires of rage within your soul.

“Cora-!” your words were halted by the man drawing such anger from you wordlessly holding up his palm to silence you. Your brows fell further down your face, your frown deepening as you watched him silently search his surroundings. His eyes widened first, before softening as he stooped down to collect the bucket that was once wrapped around his foot. He blew over the base of the bucket with a small puff of breath, placing the brim on the ground and dusting the base with the back of his hand.

He turned his painted face up to you, a tight smile pulling at his mouth as he extended his hand to you. You sucked in a breath through your nostrils, pouting as you took his hand. Stepping up onto the bucket, you still remained short to his great height. Still holding onto your hand, his smile softened as he bent at the knees to crouch in front of you, looking up into your face with eyes baring great sorrow at how angry you were with him.

Relinquishing the hold against your hand, he gestured for you to bare your soul out to him with a simple swipe of his hands. He was so willing to have you share your emotions with him, it almost made you want to cry with frustration at how truly loving he was to you. 

“You’re just going to sit back and take it? Say something, Cora. Anything!” You screamed, the sting of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. He continued to watch on, never once rising from his crouch, nor bringing his eyes away from searching your face. It was only when a hot, frustrated tear fell from your eye down your cheek that he rose up to his full size once more. 

He wordlessly drew his palm up to claim your cheek, his thumb brushing the tear away from its descent down towards your mouth. 

“Please,” you whimpered while searching his eyes, “please say something.”

He leant forward, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, circling the other arm around your shoulders and holding your chest flush with his own. His lips found the crown of your head, pressing a soft and careful kiss against the top of your hair.

“Calm,” he uttered, the room circled around him by the spark of his devil-fruit power. You looked at him confused, your nostrils flaring at him while still expressing your anger. 

“Why use the devil-fruit powers now?” you asked him, shaking your head at him as all else in the hallway was silenced. No taps of feet, no drips of taps, nor the sounds of breeze through the trees outside the room could be heard within the silent barrier. 

“Because I want everyone to know how angry you are with me,” he uttered, his nose lovingly brushing against your own, “And I want to be able to scream how much I love you with no consequence.” He pressed his lips against your forehead, smearing his red face paint against your skin as he trailed a flurry of gentle kisses against your nose, cheek bones and the corner of your lips in an attempt to smother the flames of your anger. 

“This doesn’t make up for what you did,” you spat at him, your narrowed eyes looking at him through your eyelashes remaining dark with fury.

“I know,” he admitted, unwrapping his arm from circling your shoulders. He grazed his arm down and collected your hand once more within his, lacing your fingers together as he uttered, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ll never do it again.”

Doflamingo 10’

He was immediately expressing joy at how riled up he had managed to make you, his lips curling back into a sinister smile. He darted his tongue out over his mouth to dampen his chapped lip before he allowed a rumbly chuckle to exit from his chest.

“Doflamingo!” You screamed, rage and fury overcasting your usual stoic state with their venom. He rose to his feet and was almost bursting at the seams with how happy getting a rise from you was making him.

“How dare you?! How dare you do that to me?!” You roared, not halting your approach in any way. He towered over you, his lanky build condescendingly casting his feathered silhouette over your body.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he shrugged, speaking quickly with a broad grin continuing to polish his cheeks. His eyes remained hidden by his glasses, your own eyes beginning to prick at the corners with a frustrated rage.

“Wipe that horrible grin off your face before I rip it off,” you spat, your hands demonstrating how truly violent your thoughts were.

“Only if you do it with your teeth, Princess,” he bore his teeth down at you. His smile widened further up his cheeks, your urge to claw out his eyes not satisfied in the slightest. You impulsively swung your hand at his face, your wrist caught within his circled grip. His laughter erupted over his chest at this small demonstration of violence, so easily stifled by his hands.

“Ohh, you’ve got some fire in you today,” he chucked his taunt at you, leaning down further into you; his nose almost brushing against your own with how close he drew himself down to you, “What I’d give to see that demonstrated with your body wrapped around my- AHH.” You halted his words within his mouth by clamping your teeth down against his nose hard enough to draw blood. After tasting the metallic flavor roll over your tongue, you withdrew your teeth from his flesh and bore your red-tinted lips at him.

He reached up to clutch the scruff of your neck, pulling you closer into him and purring a roar of his own into you:

“Mmm, Harder.”