#cm return

[dilf-in-peril]

Some WWE talent has been told that CM Punk is contractually obliged to wear a collar with a little bell on it so he can't sneak up on other wrestlers in the locker room. We've not been able to confirm this.

[thlayli-ra]

He has risen (again) (..and another time after that)

For the Saint Sebastian and stigmata girlies (ng)! 😘

[cosmoseinfeld]

[x]

[hotchology]

[pettyrgeo]

fwoom

[honeypiehotchner]

i'm returning to my rewatch of criminal minds (i paused ages ago to watch teen wolf) and now i'm on s2e9 "Last Word"

the NOISE i MADE when Hotch popped up in the GREY SUIT AND RED TIE

i need to be sedated

[corsomondo]

mreow

Edit: changed his nose a little bit

[petrichoravis]

Eternal Return. | s.r.

summary: you and Spencer have very different definitions of love.

word count: 2,6k

what to expect: spencer reid x reader, toxic relationship, gn!reader but written with fem!r in mind, mention of wanting to be hit, angst, reader is drunk for one millisecond, addiction but not of any substance but more as a metaphor, anger, fighting, suggestive towards the end but no smut, situationship needs its own warning, English is not my first language.

songs that inspired this fic: strangers - ethel cain, vortex - lizzy mcalpine, loving you will be the death of me - tom odell , limerence - lucy dacus

a/n: if you’ve seen this before, no you haven’t

────── 𖦹 ⊹���⟡⋆

intro

When you look up the definition of the word eternal, many definitions will be presented to you.

One of them will be, that the word can be used to emphasize expressions of admiration, gratitude.

Another result will tell you that eternal can mean that something seems to last or persist forever, especially on account of being tedious or annoying.

Two things that seemed so opposing, that have the same name, but mean different things.

chorus

The neon lights made the glitter on your collarbone shine as you moved effortlessly around the dance floor. You felt truly alive for the first time in months.

A guy was eying you from across the club with hungry eyes, a girl was drooling, frozen in place as she watched your movements. God, it felt good to be hungered for, to be lusted after.

Spencer watched you, too, from where he leaned against the wall furthest from the dance floor. His eyes were always respectful, always so soft. He would never look at you like that. And as much as you knew this was hurting him, you just wanted it rougher, harder.

Both of you have been through your game enough to know how this would end, but it didn’t stop you from hoping that this time would be different every time.

Right now his eyes were sad, with his brows furrowed as he watched you dance with another guy.

You let the stranger’s hand wander lower this time, in hopes of pushing Spencer to the finality of his restraint. You wanted him to come over and rip the guy off of you. You wanted to be a possession.

But because Spencer was lovely, kind hearted Spencer, he watched from the sidelines as you moved your hips and let the guy kiss your neck.

It wasn’t that he didn’t hate what you were doing, he wanted to tell you to stop, to make you leave. It just simply didn’t feel like his place. He wasn’t confrontational—funny, given his job—especially not with you.

You got bored of the guy soon after and excused yourself to get another drink. It was Spencer’s opportunity to get you home.

Bumping into the people around him as he made his way towards you didn’t phase him at all, too focused on getting to you before you placed your order.

“I think you’ve had enough, love.” He whispered softly as he reached you. His hand caught on the small of your back.

“Doctor.” You slurred a little as you turned towards him. A seductive smirk adorned your lips. “I didn’t know you were here too.”

You came here together, but it felt like an unnecessary thing to mention in this moment.

“Yeah. Come on, let’s get you home.” He apologised to the bartender for the inconvenience of having to make a drink that won’t be needed and payed for it regardless.

A whine left your mouth as he wrapped an arm around your torso and pulled you out of the club. “You’re such a spoilsport.”

“You will thank me tomorrow.”

“I doubt it. That guy was really hot.”

The pause you make let Spencer know that you were waiting for a reaction, but he refused to give it to you.

Prison changed Spencer, not in the good ways, either. He learned to be violent, to be harsh, to take a punch and hand out one that hurts twice as bad. But he refused to take it out on you.

He led you to his car, opening the door and buckling you in when you were seated. When he rounded the car and got inside, you had already unbuckled the seatbelt again.

“Don’t do that, it’s dangerous.” He scowled.

“No, it’s not. It’s more fun like that.” You grinned at him.

“Fun?” He asked, his voice raising a little. It was getting harder to restrain himself. “You think it’s fun to become a Projectile? To be thrown from the car or shaken up within it, potentially dying?”

The harshness of his voice only made your eyes gleam. It was exactly what you wanted, a reaction from the usually so composed Spencer Reid.

“No,” you said with the tone that one would say dummy, “the risk of it is fun.”

Spencer’s hands clenched around the stirring wheel, closing his eyes and taking a seen breath to calm down he manages to reply without a trace of anger in his voice. “Well, we’re not driving home until you’re safe.”

You blew a breath out of your nose, but moved to reach for the seatbelt. “Fine. But like I said, spoilsport. You could really loosen up a little, Doctor.”

Choosing not to engage further, Spencer started the car. The drive was quiet and you occasionally threatened to open the window and let your head hang out to fight this boredom.

You sobered up a little on the drive, the water he always kept in his car and fresh air clearing your head.

When you arrived at your place, Spencer parked the car and got out without a comment. You thought you had almost done it, pushed him far enough, until he opened your side of the car and helped you out.

“God, you’re unbearably kind, you know that?”

“There is no such thing as too much kindness.”

You knew he ment it, too, and that just made you want to push him more, to make him break through his carefully crafted facade of gentlemanliness.

Sadly, you didn’t think it was a facade, he was truly just good.

He further proved it when he knelt down in front of you to untie your shoes as you entered your apartment. It was clear that he was mad, his silence spoke volumes where his usual ramblings should be, but he still took his time to ensure your comfort.

“Hit me, Spencer,” you said almost calmly. You almost sounded like you were begging for it. “Come on, I know you want to.”

“I would never hit you, you know that.” He said, taking off your shoe. His voice shook a little with the energy he had to invest into holding back his emotions.

He refused to put even a finger on you in those situations. He will always refuse. But it was enough, for a while you were sated by the quiet flame of anger in his eyes, by his clenching fists and need to leave the room. But not for long. Not today.

“But why? It would help you get the anger out. I’m sure you have statistics on that.” You pushed on.

“I’m not angry at you.” The muscle at his jaw ticked as he took your other shoe off, placing them onto the shoe rack.

You scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

He stood, then, closing his eyes to take a deep breath. He didn’t say anything else when he opened his eyes to look at you.

Spencer didn’t hate you, it would be easier if he did. He loved you so much that he would give you everything of himself, even if it would kill him. But he would not harm you.

The worst part was that he knew it might cost him you.

You looked up at him with siren-like eyes that almost made him get back onto his knees and give you everything you wanted.

No, that wasn’t right. He wouldn’t be giving you what you wanted, would he? He would give you what he wanted you to want. Tender love, worship.

But it wasn’t what you wanted and it wasn’t fair to both of you.

Still, Spencer’s love for you was strong enough to take it and he would gladly, for being in your life was all he wanted, to be able to love you the way you deserved to be.

He watched you watch him and saw himself in the reflection of your eyes. Like the repeating mirror effect. A good metaphor for your relationship, he thought.

“It’s late, we’re both tired.” He said quietly, the exhaustion of the night catching up with him. “Just come to bed and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

You just rolled your eyes, your feed stayed anchored in the same place. “Come on. You must be mad at me.”

Spencer’s jaw clenched and he looked at you. Really looked at you. Looked at you like he hated you, despised you. Like he would rather be anywhere else but here with you.

A sigh left his mouth as he closed his eyes to calm himself down again, but you wouldn’t give him a chance.

You just smirked, you had him where you wanted him. “He was all over me Spencer and I let him, I would’ve let him kiss me if you didn’t interfere. I would’ve let him do more, honestly. His hands felt so good—”

“Stop!” A bang as Spencer hit the wall with his flat hand. “Stop.” This time he said it as if he was in pain instead of seething with anger. His face didn’t look like he was full of hate anymore, the ugly emotion he never wanted to feel in relation with you was replaced by remorse.

“Yes,” he started, his voice cracking a little. He couldn’t look at you. “I am angry. Of course I hated his hands on you. I wanted to…” a shuddering breath, as if he couldn’t believe his thoughts. “But just because we’re…it doesn’t give me the right to pull him off of you, if him all over you is what you wanted.”

There is a short moment of silence where both of you debated what to say, thought about where this conversation would end. If this was the end, the push too far.

Stepping closer to him, you said, “What if I wanted you rip him off of me?” You were back to being sweet, now that you had gotten what you wanted from him. Sultry and smooth as you looked up at him through your lashes.

“Then you have a very wrong picture of me.” He mumbled, looking at you, then. All he saw in your eyes was the satisfaction of pushing him to express his anger. And as much as it made him feel wrong, a sick part of himself enjoyed playing push with you. (No pull, he would never pull.)

“Maybe,” you purred. Of course you saw that part of him, too, even in the dim lighting of the hallway in which he thought he was hiding so well. “Maybe I know you better than you know yourself.”

Another step closer to him and his hands went to your waist automatically. It reminded you why you stayed despite your differences. Even the worst people—the ones who claimed to be indifferent to phrase and worship—wanted to feel like gods from time to time.

Spencer said nothing, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes searched your face for any sign of remorse, but he wouldn’t find any, he’s been here often enough to know that he shouldn’t hope. But nothing was stronger than a hurt persons longing.

He just saw satisfaction and lust. You had been given what you wanted and now you were greedy for more. You had gotten a taste of blood.

Spencer was too aware of the fact that you weren’t a good person and every time he would bring you up in a conversation with Penelope or any other team member, they would reinforce that statement.

But how could he listen to them? It’s not like he fell in love with your goodness. It’s not like he was goodness impersonated either, so how could he fault you for it?

“Let’s go to bed.” You murmured seductively, you lifted up one of your hands to brush along his stomach over his shirt and, with satisfaction, felt his muscles clenched under your touch.

He let you lead him to your bed, then, let you push him down onto it.

His gaze never left you from where he sat, watching you as a strap of your tank top slipped off your shoulder. You made a show out of climbing onto his lap, all seductive and confident. Your knees on either side of his hips as you finally sat down.

You grinned down at him, kissing his cheek, his jaw. Spencer gave a soft breath and closed his eyes.

This was like an addiction, every time he swore he wouldn’t do this again, he already knew that he would give into it at the slightest temptation. He simply didn’t have the willpower to deny something that felt so good.

One of your hands cradled the back of his head, letting your fingers weave through his soft curls. Until you his pulled his hair to tip his head back. Spencer’s mouth opened in another soft gasp, this one closer to a moan.

You leaned down to capture his lips between yours and his head went silent. He had no time to be ashamed of what he did in the hallway, no time to be angry when your tongue licked his lips like it was right now.

Big hands on your hips, holding onto you like you might slip away. You groaned into each other’s mouth as you rocked together, clothes wearing thinner until they were in piles on the floor, heavy breaths forming clouds in the air.

He wanted to resist you, tell you that this was a bad idea. Connecting sexual acts with anger could reinforce a cycle of conflict and intimacy is what he would say if he could remember how to speak. But he couldn’t and what did it matter now, anyway? That cycle had long been closed and whether or not he gave into you one more time doesn’t make a difference now.

I won’t give in the next time it comes to this, he promised himself.

Spencer’s body sighed your name as he let himself fall back onto your bed, the shape of him on the mattress welcomed him back as you climbed on top of him.

Who wouldn’t choose the devil they knew over the heaven they didn’t when the devil looked this beautiful?

outro

Both of you would take this moment as a victory. Spencer got to worship and love you tonight. Tell you, you were the most beautiful person he has come across in his short life on this planet.

And you would take it as a victory to have watched him break, hit the wall and look at you as if he wanted it to be you instead.

The next week, like every week, you would repeat this play. Both of you would always end up back with the other again and Spencer would always promise himself that this time would be the last.

But there will not be a last time, not in quite some time.

You would always find him in the right moment (or the wrong moment, if you will, it were his weakest moments that you seemed to be able to smell like a hound). In a bar or a club, maybe even in his apartment this time, the location didn’t matter.

Because you wanted the hurt, the raw skin, the taste of blood in your mouth. You wanted the part of love that kills. But you wanted it from Spencer.

And he wanted the nurturing kind of love. The one where there is trust, fleeting touches of fingertips against soft skin, kisses that feel like spring, a bed for two. But he wanted it with you.

The Eternal Return of two people who wanted to love the other, but had two very different definitions of the term. It’s not their fault that there is one word that encompasses so many different meanings.

──────────── 𖦹 ⊹₊⟡⋆

thank you for reading! please remember that reblogs are the only way to promote a fic, so if you liked it, think about supporting me. feedback is appreciated!! 𝜗𝜚

[filialdisciple]

this is why you shouldn’t trust me to place different characters in one canvas

[everychungmyung]

yeag

[thlayli-ra]

I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner but it came to me the other day and I just had to write it down. A wee fic to dip my toe back into the Valetverse again.

When Hell Froze Over

Characters - Seth Rollins, CM Punk, Drew McIntyre, others mentioned

AU - Valetverse (created by Syreina)

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Swearing

Words - ~1,577 words

Background Info - In a world where women no longer exist, society is split into two; dominants (the ruling class) and valets (who possess the 'inualidus chromosome' that allows them to bear children). Stripped of basic human rights, valets are expected to be entirely subservient to the dominants that claim them and few are prized higher than the valets of the WWE. Seth Rollins and CM Punk are both such valets and are married to Roman Reigns and The Undertaker, respectively.

Summary - Seth Rollins had it all and was convinced nobody could take it away from him. Until the static hit!

***Please note; the author of this fic is a Punk girlie (ng) so everything written here, including the hate, is done with loving affection. I have no problem with Punk haters interacting, so long as we all keep it civil. Thank you!😘***

He was the Visionary! He was the Revolutionary! He was Seth Freakin' Rollins!

And he was on top of the world!

Standing in the cage, he closed his eyes and savoured the sound of the crowd chanting the sweeping notes of his entrance music long after the TitanTron had gone quiet, waving his arms to encourage them to carry on and on and on. Precious gold hung heavy around his waist, the World Heavyweight Championship, symbolising his position as the top dog on Monday Night Raw. The headliner, the main-eventer, the face of the brand. Even backstage, he was looked up to and respected, acknowledged by all as the valet locker-room leader.

Meanwhile his husband Roman Reigns, the Tribal Chief and dominant locker-room leader, was making headlines with his historic reign as the Undisputed WWE Universal Champion over on Smackdown, proving once and for all that he was the Head of the Table, while his other husband, fellow valet and recently re-branded Jon Moxley, was dominating the 'other company' with his faction, the brutal Blackpool Combat Club.

The Shield may no longer exist in paper, but nobody could deny their stranglehold on the current wrestling landscape. Sweeter still, nobody came close to challenging them for it.

Not even the Judgement Day! Chasing their newest runt, JD McDonagh to the top of the cage, Seth and his team mate, Sami Zayn, grabbed hold of their foe. Ignoring his pleas for mercy, they threw him towards a waiting Randy Orton below who executed a picture perfect RKO to finish off the Irishman, adding him to the list of his fallen brothers. All it took was a Cross Rhodes for Cody to metaphorically cut off the head of their leader, Damian Priest, and going in for the pin, the ref counted the one, two, three.

The bell rang and the crowd went wild for their victory. Grinning from ear-to-ear, Seth lapped up the applause, his body wracked with the pain and exertion of the brutal War Games match. Below him, Cody was embracing his husband, Randy, who had triumphantly returned from an eighteen month absence due to a back injury. Seth gazed warmly at the happy pair but beneath his smile, his cogs were already turning. Randy was no push-over in the ring, and Cody, the prodigal son, had a way with the crowd that almost rivalled his own. They were potential threats, ones that could prove dangerous in the future. However, as of that moment in time, they were on the same team and on the same wavelength. Seth wasn't worried. He was too engrossed in relishing his fresh victory, cherishing the noise of adoration from the WWE Universe.

And then the static hit!

Somehow the noise grew, a jet engine roaring in his ear.

'No! No fucking way!'

And there he was! Sauntering in with a plain white shirt and the smuggest grin on his face. As if he had any business being there at all!

CM Punk! Phil fucking Calaway, himself!

Seth couldn't believe his eyes, this couldn't be happening. Punk was finished, washed up, done! He'd been fired from that pissant company, branded a thug, a bully, a locker-room cancer. He'd had his character, his reputation and legacy dragged so viciously in the dirt that he'd never clean his slate again. Never!

So, how the fuck was this happening?

Seth saw red! Pushing back his stunned teammates, he stomped out the cage door, heading for the ramp. His path was blocked by refs and production crew, sensing the rage pulsing through the champion's veins. Seth didn't care. He saw the so-called Best in the World posturing at the entranceway, taking selfies with fans, teasing them with taps on his wristwatch.

And they were lapping it all up! They should have booed him out of the building like they were doing on those other shows, blowing the roof off with chants of 'CM Sucks! CM Sucks!' Not welcoming him back with open arms like some conquering hero. This wasn't fair! This wasn't right!

He had walked out on them nearly ten years ago. He had abandoned them all; the company, the valet division, the fans, even those that needed him most. Right when they'd finally given him the ball, he'd dropped it and never looked back. Not only that but he had done everything in his power to tear it all down since.

So now, he could just... walk back in?

NO! He wasn't having it! Not in his company!

'Woah, woah! Easy there.' He had more people around him now; Cody and Sami, even Michael Cole and Corey Graves had left the commentary table to try and calm Seth down, force him back. It only ignited the fire further.

It was all caught on a fan's mobile phone. How he had repeatedly stuck up his middle fingers at Punk, swearing bloody murder at him with the foulest language he could muster. It would become viral, as much a talking point of that night as the return that proved hell had truly frozen over.

CM Punk was back in the WWE.

While everything else; the War Games match, the victory, even Orton's return all fell away into the background.

Even for Seth, who now had only one focus, one vision. Hearing Punk spew his empty apologies, prattling on about conquering his white whale of main-eventing Wrestlemania, saying that he was finally 'home' before signing that dotted line that tied him to the red brand - Seth's brand! - caused that wrath inside of him to bubble into a boiling froth until he could stand it no longer.

His music hit and he stormed out to the ring. Standing toe-to-toe with his former friend, now his bitter enemy, he stared down the older valet without fear. Eyeing up the deeper lines in his face, the grey in his beard, the new scars marring his skin. Behind those pursed lips, he knew a tooth was missing. Punk had changed in so many ways.

But so had Seth. He was no longer the kitten, and he had outgrown the Architect. He was now the veteran, the top guy, the champion, and Punk was beneath him in every way possible.

'Don't you dare call this place your home!' Seth warned the older man. 'This is my home! This is our home and I will do everything in my power to protect it from people like you!'

Punk looked on, his arms crossed across his chest, blinking slowly like a bored cat. Never once making a move to grab a mic himself.

'I'm going to say this plainly, with every fibre of my being,' he paused, ensuring he could see the look on Punk's face as he uttered, 'I hate you!' It stung him, the older valet ducking his head. 'The truth always comes out, pal, and I know, you know, everybody here knows... this is your last chance.' Another pause, letting the significance of his words set in. 'So one of two things is gonna happen; you either expose yourself and self-destruct like you always do. Or if, by some miracle, you have changed, and you've got any gas left in this old tank? Maybe one day you'll be lucky enough to stand across the ring from me, in a World Heavyweight Championship match and then I will expose you for the fraud that you are!'

Finally, finally, Punk grabbed a microphone and Seth readied himself. The other valet was notorious on the mic, it had been what had propelled him above the rest, that had broken down barriers and glass ceilings, that had changed the entire culture of wrestling as a whole. He knew that whatever was coming his way was bound to be brutal.

'Are you done?' the older man asked, patronisingly. Seth tried to keep calm, hide his ire. 'That's your one free pass to stand here and speak to me disrespectfully without me coming after you.' Pass? A free pass? Seth didn't need a fucking free pass! But he had no time to argue back as Punk went on, announcing that he was entering the Royal Rumble. 'And when CM Punk wins, maybe, Seth, it's you, he's coming after!'

The confrontation was over, and even though by all standards, it should have been another victory for Seth, it felt hollow. What good was winning a war of words when his enemy refused to fight?

But he was coming for him, he knew that for certain now. He wanted that main event at Wrestlemania, he wanted that shot at the World Heavyweight Championship.

He couldn't let that happen.

But then, as a Scottish poet once said, "the best laid schemes o' mice an' men, gang aft a-gley." Seth injured his knee a few weeks later. He would not be able to fulfil his promise himself.

So he took inspiration from another Scot...

There had been another who was equally enraged at Punk's return. That same night, at Survivor Series, he had stormed out when Cult of Personality hit. A towering, hulking brute who had grown jaded and angry. Who had a knack for putting other superstars on the shelf. Another, who had entered his name into the Royal Rumble.

'Drew McIntyre,' Seth accosted the Scottish Warrior backstage.

'What do you want?' the huge dominant snarled down at him.

Seth was unfazed. 'I believe we both have a common enemy.' McIntyre's eyes narrowed, a sparkle of intrigue in the intense blues. Seth knew then and there that he had the dominant's attention. 'You say you want to redeem yourself?'

He leant in close, whispering conspiratorially.

'How would you like to be the saviour of Wrestlemania?'

Tags; @my-intrests @selamat-linting

[alltimelowsuckedmydick]

"Hey, asshole! Can I not enjoy 10 minutes of my fucking return?!"

[vantabone]

idol and fanboy tangchung 🤤🤤🤤🤤 (borrowed and inspired by @huepou and @azu1as)

song: monday's melancholy by honeyworks

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Older

Inspired by Older by Isabel LaRosa

Cm Punk X fem reader Word Count: 1300

Summary: Cm Punk was always jealous of the relationship between Y/n and Wardlow, he never understood their relationship. Sure he and Y/n had an 18-year age gap but he knew he would treat her so much better. When Wardlow cheats Punk knows now is his only chance to get with Y/n. “I can be your new Daddy” 

MAIN MASTERLIST CM PUNK Masterlist

Die For You (Pt 2) Obsessed (Part 3)

I knew it was wrong, everything about this was wrong. Y/n was young, way younger than I, 18 years to be exact but I couldn't help the feelings I had for her. I was jealous of the guys that spoke to her, they were head over heels in love with her and I couldn't blame them, she was the most gorgeous thing I had ever laid my eyes on. She was delicate like a flower, yet wrapped in barbed wire. She had a sensitive soul yet she hid it from the world, building walls around her years ago. I watched as the blond girl ran past me with tears in her eyes and I knew something was wrong. I walked to catering and noticed Wardlow trying to run after her. 

“What the fuck did you do?” I yelled walking up to the large man, stopping him in his tracks 

“It’s none of your damn business Punk” He spat, shoving me out of the way. Without realizing it I went to swing at the man when I felt someone grab me from behind. 

“Woah there big guy, he’s not worth it” I turned to find Cash and Dax, both having concerned looks on their faces. 

“What’s going on?” I asked the two men in front of me

“He cheated on her” Dax replied 

“What a jerk!-” I yelled

“Okay man, I love you but you are causing a scene” Cash interrupted me “Let’s talk somewhere else” I looked to see everyone looking at the three of us like we were madmen. 

We walked down a few halls to the private locker rooms and passed Wardlow pounding on Y/n’s door. “Y/n, I’m sorry, okay. Open the door” I gave him a nasty look before heading into my locker room. 

“Okay, what really happened?” I asked Cash and Dax, closing the door behind us

“Do you remember how she was upset after he had that fit at Revolution?” Cash said 

“No-” 

“Oh that’s right you weren't there” I gave him a nasty look. “My bad, so anyways he lost the TNT title, blew a fit and left right before Y/n won the title”

“What an asshole” I muttered under my breath

“So apparently when he left, he got with some groupie. Fucked up right, worst part is after she finally forgave him and everything because he was literally begging on his hands and knees for her to take him back he kept sleeping with randos in each town we went to” 

I said nothing, I just sat in shock, trying to comprehend what I just heard. I never understood the relationship between the two of them, she was too good to be with someone like him. Their relationship always seemed weird, like something was always off, but I could never place it. I was lost in my thoughts when I was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 

Cash and Dax exchanged a confused look before opening the door, revealing a quite angry Wardlow. “What the fuck do you want?!” I asked the man who now stood in front of me. 

Sure the four of us were friends but for some reason I never quite liked Wardlow. I was always civil with him but maybe it was my jealousy that made me secretly despise him. 

“Can you get her to open up?” He asked, referring to Y/n who had understandably locked herself in her private locker room. “Why should we help you?” Cash asked, “Your just going to cheat on her again” I spat “You have no idea what you are talking about Punk” Wardlow spat back “This is none of your business” “Well it sure seems like my business if you are out here asking for our help” “Tell us why we should help you?” Cash asked, not buying a thing coming out of wardlows mouth. “She’s mentally unstable, she is literally crazy. I’m scared she is going hurt herself in there” I could tell his words were sincere, however, I did not buy the fact that Y/n was mentally insatiable. Sure her whole gimmick was being a hardcore Barbie but I knew deep down she wasn’t really crazy, or was she? 

We agreed not to help Wardlow but to help get inside Y/n’s locker room. “You two stay with him, I will check on her,” I told Cash and Dax, not trusting Wardlow within a square inch of Y/n. 

I carefully knocked on Y/n’s door, waiting for a response. “Go Away!” She yelled through the door “It’s just me” “What do you want Punk? I’m not talking to him” “This has nothing to do with Wardlow, I just wanted to see if you are alright. I saw what happened.” Y/n opened the door and let me inside. “So everyone saw,” she said as the tears began to reform in her eyes. “Don’t worry about them” I told her sincerely, joining her on the small couch which sat in the middle of the locker room. “So what happened love?” “I don’t wanna talk about it” I know I shouldn’t be asking such an invasive question but I just had to know “What do you see in him?” “What?” “Wardlow? What do you see in him? He is a big idiot with big muscles and probably a big dick” Y/n laughed at my comments, which made me happy to see her smile. “So you’re only interested in his dick?” I asked playfully “No” “Then what is it?!” “I dunno, he made me feel safe. I know that sounds stupid but it’s true. He’s huge, he kept all the creeps away, and the sex was a nice bonus” I mean it made sense. When they were first an item I noticed how protective he was of her, I wonder what happened. “I could take better care of you. I know I’m not as tall as him or as muscular but the difference between the two of us is that Wardlow is a boy and I am a man. I bet I could make you feel just as good as he did. I would do anything and everything for you.” Y/n said nothing, I knew she was shocked at my words. I knew I was better for her, I would spoil her with expensive gifts, and praise her every day. I knew she was into older guys, she and Wardlow had an eight-year age gap, the only thing the two of us would have was eighteen years. 

“I mean it,” I told Y/n softly as I carefully lifted her chin so she could look at me. “I will give you the world. You will never have to worry about a single thing. I know you Y/n, you act all tough, you live for violence, love the taste of copper on your tongue. Fuck, I’ve seen your matches the title of ‘The Queen of Hardcore’ serves you well but I know that’s an act to hide who you really are. All you want is to be cared for. You like being with older men, the way they protect you, the way they love you better, the way they spoil you. You kill yourself in that ring to have someone like me put you back together, hold you close when you cry, love you to death. Tell me when I’m telling lies” I could tell by the look on her face that she knew I was right 

“Forget about Wardlow, I can be your new daddy” 

[ge]

actually crying so hard thinking about chung myung and chung muns relationship againSOMEONE PLEASE COME PUT ME DOWN!!!!!

[mizukamiyaseiryu]

when your past life is cringe