Romans & histoires Angry Pucca

Paisley was furious and scolded, "Are you fucking out of your mind?" "You are the one out of your fucking mind! You pretend to be elegant and noble when you are a shameless bitch in your core! You're a whore who's so desperate that you even want old men!" The other party retorted immediately using vicious words. Paisley had never been scolded like this, and she was so angry that she was trembling. When she looked over, she saw that the person who was cursing at her viciously in the wheelchair was Angel.

I asked, cocking my head to assess him. Luca's blue eyes flashed at me angrily, a frown on his face. "Drink? How can you drink at a time like this?!" I chuckled and poured myself another glass. Luca always did have a temperament. Growing up everyone naturally assumed I was the hot-headed one of the trio. But it was Luca all along. Fucking mad man. I had seen him take down someone three times his size with the sheer force of his anger alone. He was quite difficult to reason with especially when he was angry.

Fucking bastard! ****

She said cutting him off "kindly fuck the fuck off!" She'd taken a piece of fruit and stomped up the stairs to accentuate her anger, and then slammed the door so loudly, it scared the neighborhood cats She fumed over some things, mumbling to herself about her shitty as fuck day, not that she'd been conscious for most of it, the anger kept on welling up in her, the intense emotion brewing in her, bringing her to an emotional peak, squeezing out every drop of emotion for her and a loose scream escaped her throat.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Neither of them looked away first. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> The puck dropped.

Chapter 47 "What the heck are you doing there?" Pocco exclaimed at Sheira. She gave him an ignorant look as she played with her hair, rolling them on the tip of her fingers. "Sheira? Are you just going to ignore me like this?" he said and Sheira groaned, annoyed by his reaction. "What?! You're annoying, Pocco, can't you just stop scolding me?" she said. "I won't, cause you look like a maniac in there, just a few minutes ago!" the tone of his voice began to raise that the nurse passing by couldn't help but look at them.

If the thing had been easily bendable, it would have been crushed by now. Luca was seething. The rage he felt throbbed against his veins and he knew he had to get out of there before he killed his cousin in front of their clients. He glanced at Jace who was still playing poker and grinning like a cat, unaware of the video in his hands. He wanted to march over there and punch him till his face caved in but he couldn’t do that, not with the people they had in their presence and it made his blood boil that he had to control the anger in his system.

Anger surged through me, causing my hand to clench tightly, and I momentarily shut my eyes, attempting to quell the rising rage. "Buco del culo!" I cursed under my breath, employing a newly learned Italian profanity that had caught my attention while perusing the language course. I knew Antonio couldn't have heard my muttering; his ears were unlikely to be so keen. Nevertheless, he turned towards me, a hint of amusement evident on his face, as he casually tightened his grip on me.

What if his absurd accusation gets little support? “Gosh! I don’t understand: What’s your problem? If I flirt with other men, that’s none of your business? Ain’t I right?” Her words hit him like a blister on his skin, making him feel the urge to push her away from him. Anger covers him from every angle. “Warning!” “Excuse me! This is my lif—“ she can’t complete her sentence. “F**k your life!” A wave of shock courses through her after witnessing his explosive anger which darts a realization that protesting in such a situation would be an ill-advised decision. As his rage intensifies, the atmosphere transforms into one of palpable horror. With a steady gaze, Rosalia studies him intently, her f

When the puck dropped, I didn’t just play; I went to war. I was emotionally exhausted, my heart was literally breaking, and the only outlet I had for the massive, chaotic storm of anger and hurt swirling inside me was the ice beneath my skates. Every time I touched the puck, I played with a reckless, feral aggression that I’d never used before. I wasn’t just skating; I was flying, my blades carving deep, violent grooves into the fresh ice. When their defenseman tried to pinch me along the boards, I didn’t dodge him; I dropped my shoulder and slammed him into the plexiglass hard enough to rattle the glass, stealing the puck and accelerating down the ice.