#beat the intrusive thoughts with a stick

[vylantrophi]

sapphic jonatello doodles bc i wanted to draw women. girls. lebesnians if you will. also genderbent donnie is super cuteee i actually love her i am shedding tiny little tears

istg im gonna start drawing more on whiteboard and then importing bc why is it easier to draw on wb than ibispaint,,,,,,

[pitotube]

djsbfb finally saw the stupid post about calling intrusive thoughts 'evil thoughts' in the wild and well obviously it's horrific advice and probably a joke but also everyone in the comments being like "don't call them evil! instead i just whistle/call it something else/do x action".. you are all so fucking stupid dot gif that's what the C in OCD stands for. trainwreck of a concept start to finish

[friendofthecrows]

Lifehack: if you start typing intrusive thoughts in the tags of something, just delete them :))) no i am not saying that :))

[theinfinitedivides]

my head is in my f*cking hands rn

[vanillabat99]

I left my room for a little bit to make food and take my meds, but I am back in the safety of my bed now :3

[privatelyownedsilicagel]

You ever just want to have your button room moment?

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

embry, i'm coming home

pairing; embry call x reader

warnings; kissing i guess idk

just getting back into this, tell me your thoughts and stuff - maybe even request a thing or two

summary; you're Quil's sister, and go over to confront Embry about ditching him, and instead, he imprints on you.

Being Quil's twin sister, you'd known Embry pretty much forever. Growing up beside each other, you'd always thought he was cute, but you never told Quil. You already knew he'd never allow it. It also wasn't something you wanted to do to them, if anything were to happen, it would shift the whole group dynamic, and no one wanted that.

You two had always loved each other, and you both knew it.

But when Embry had started ignoring all his friends... well, it really pissed you off.

Quil and Jake were left sad, upset but mostly confused. What was Embry up to that they couldn't know about? What was Sam Uley doing to these guys that turned them into such a tight lipped, secretive little club.

You were tired of seeing Quil so devastated, and one day, after he got home and locked himself in his room. You'd had enough of it.

Embry didn't have to hang out with them if he didn't want to, but he didn't have to be a dick about it either.

So you got into your mom's car, and drove over to his house. The silence of the broken car stereo just egged your anger on more, making it. And as you thought of what to say, it got more and more irritated.

Parking in the laneway of Embry's house, you saw there were no cars in the drive. And you were thankful for that, no one around to witness you yelling at him for being a shitty friend.

You knocked loudly a couple times, but no one came to the door. You tried peaking in through the window, and didn't see his mom or anyone else in the living room, so she must not have been there. You weren't leaving without answers, so you dug the spare key out of it's hidden spot in the big flower pot out front, wiping the dirt off on your pant leg, you let yourself into his house.

There was music playing softly in his room, he always let it play while he slept. Something you used to find endearing, but right now it somehow also made you mad.

You pushed open the door to his room, and there he was, laying face down, sheets tangled around his legs, back and muscles on full display. If you didn't know any better, you wouldn't even believe this was Embry, he looked so different. His short hair was messy, sticking up in random spots from tossing and turning. He'd always been a restless sleeper.

You picked a random trinket off his dresser, an unsolved rubicks cube, and threw it at him, the sharp corner hitting him on the back, and he sprung up, confused and disoriented at the sudden intrusion.

"Get up," you said, crossing your arms.

"What?" He tried to blink himself awake, holding himself off the bed, flexing his strong arms, subtly cracking your resolve without trying to. In this moment, he was Embry again. Confused, tired, looking at you with sleep in his eyes.

And when he looked at you, a wave of calm ran over you. All the yelling you planned to do washed away, and it all seemed silly now, unimportant. Your heart was beating heavily, and you wanted to run to him. Wanted to kick him, and fight him and kiss him all at once.

Embry was still Embry, you could feel it. But why did he leave you?

"I missed you," you said, voice cracking as you tried to stay calm, unable to yell at him. Unable to find the anger you'd drove over here with.

He scrambled to get up, confusion leaving his face. And he was looking at you like he always did. His body was different, but his eyes, his eyes were his. You felt drawn to him, like gravity had shifted entirely, like you belonged in this room with him. Like you belonged beside him at all times.

"I missed you," he said, acting as if he'd never left. As if he'd never been missing. And everything suddenly felt normal again. Like there weren't any secrets. He came closer, hesitant. Slowly making his way across the small room, stopping just before you. "I've really, really missed you."

There was no reason for it, but tears welled in your eyes, running down your cheeks before you could stop it.

"Then why did you leave?"

"I didn't have a choice," he said, "but that's different now."

"Since when?"

"Since right now."

The tears kept falling, and no one moved. Embry looking down at you sadly, his heart aching at the sight of you crying. He wondered how many times you'd cried over him before today, how many nights you wondered where he is, or why he wouldn't call you back. You had been the hardest to leave behind, even more than his friends. Maybe there was a small part of his subconscious that always knew you two were meant for each other. Like his mind knew to just wait for this moment.

He was the first to make move, bringing his hand up to wipe some of the tears off your cheek.

"It wasn't fair," you sobbed, desperate to wrap yourself around him, but you resisted.

"I know," he said.

"I called."

"I know."

"You weren’t supposed to leave me like that."

"I know," he said again, brushing your hair behind your ears. His warm touch soothing you, making the tears stop. Bringing a sense of comfort you'd been missing for weeks. "Never again."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Embry held his hands against your cheek, his long fingers grazing the edges of your hair, holding you steady and softly, keeping his eyes locked on you. "I will never let you down again." He placed a soft kiss to your forehead. "My life is yours."

"Embry," you sighed softly, confused but leaning into the moment. It all felt right. Like you believed him, you knew he was sincere. You'd barely talked about anything but he wasn't lying to you, you knew that somehow. "Will you tell me why?"

"Yes," he answered. "Anything and everything, I'll explain it all."

"No secrets?"

"Not from you," he said, "I'll never keep anything from you again."

The two of you were still standing in his doorway. And you still wanted answers, today. But... in a minute.

Embry's heart raced as he looked down at you. His imprint, his girl. The one who's always had his heart. The one who he'd already loved. Without thinking, he leaned down to scoop you up. Picking you up like you weighed nothing at all, letting you wrap your legs around his waist, faces inches apart. And he just looked at you, eyes filled with love and devotion. Like you'd been apart for hours, not weeks.

And then you kissed him. You leaned into him and pressed your lips to his, feeling the softness you always dreamed about. It was beautiful, the way your mouths moved together slowly. Him following your lead, spreading his hands over your back and holding you as close to him as possible. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, pressing your chest into his.

Nothing had ever felt more right than this. No moment ever as perfect.

He brought you to the bed, setting you down gently, barely ever breaking contact with his lips. And one of his hands moved back to your cheek, caressing the soft skin as he climbed on top of you, settling between your legs, pressing your bodies together like he belonged there. You moaned into him, inviting his tongue into mouth. It was slow and sensual, and took the time to learn what you liked, what your body reacted to.

Embry was the first to pull away, even though he didn't want to, but he had to stop. Didn't want to rush anything, take anything too far too soon. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful.

"I'm so sorry," he said kissing your nose, then your cheek, then right by your ear, making you moan and push your chest up into him. "I will be sorry for hurting you for as long as I live."

"I forgive you," you whispered, and it was like he was set free. Everything about today had set him free. Free to be with you, to tell you the full truth.

He'd never really left, watched over you and Quil. Checking in on you before and after his patrols. Making sure you got to work safe, and home again.

"Will you come see Quil again?" and you could tell by the guilty look on his face, that no, he wouldn't be able to. While things between the two of you were different now, the rift between friends have stayed the same.

"It's not like that," he said, "staying away is not something I want to do."

He rolled off of you, staying close to your side and pulling you into him, spooning you from behind and nuzzling his face into your neck. He'd never felt truly at home until this very minute.

Everything about you was home.

"I have a lot of stuff to tell you," he said. "And I'd like to get it out of the way so I can keep kissing you."

[emmyc0z]

hi! Could you possibly write about nam gyu or thanos (or both idc) x reader and they try ac!d for the first time together and reader like is so mesmerized??? Also you write so good

ac!d trip

pairing : thanos! x reader x namgyu!

cw : drugs !

a/n : disclaimer i’ve never done ac!d, obviously, so this could be completely inaccurate oops!

*divider by @toastray

you’d all be sitting on the living room floor of your shared apartment. thanos leaned against the arm chair by the side of the coffee table, while you and namgyu sit side by side against the couch.

the tv would be on playing some show that all three of you are mindlessly watching, until the clearing of thanos throat would drag the attention of both you and namgyu to him.

and thanos would pull a bag, in which is what you think is just a piece of paper covered in little squares, of his jacket pocket with a grin and wiggly eyebrows saying something like, “look what i scored last night.”

obviously you’re hesitant because it’s not like you’re a heavy drug user, and on top of that thanos explains that it would also be his and namgyu’s first time trying it. he means for it to comfort you and settle your nerves but it only heightens them because what haven’t these two done honestly.

thanos and namgyu would both place one on their own tongues with little to no resistance. but you’d be hesitant to do the same.

“here, stick your tongue out.” namgyu’s soft voice would ring out from beside you, turning your head to where he has a tab sticking to his finger. his other hand moving to hold your chin steady. and you do as he commands, tongue sticking out with still present hesitancy. and in return he places the tab against your tongue, smiling down at you.

as the next hour passes you all get increasingly silent as the high takes effect. there’s music playing now, comfortably filling the silence, and you swear you can feel every vibration down in your veins. but it doesn’t feel scary like you thought, it just tickles.

namgyu’s head is in your lap, eyes closed and you can only stare at him. at his high cheekbones, at the slight flush in his skin. at the single piece of hair that sticks to his forehead. it would bother you more than him and you’d feel the compulsion to move it, goosebumps raising on his skin as your fingers brush against his face.

he would probably hold your hand over his chest, fingers tracing over your skin and sending tingles from your finger tips all the way up to your shoulder.

thanos just feels funny. like, not necessarily high, but he knows he wants to move. but his jealously is getting the best of him so he’d probably push his way onto your legs, both men’s heads sharing the space on your thighs.

this would be the only time namgyu’s eyes would open for the next 2 hours, irritated by the intrusion before finally getting comfortable again.

you can only imagine your pupils are blown, the same way that thanos are as they stare up at you. his purple hair looks so pretty, has it always been this bright of a colour? you thought it was due for a re-dye just yesterday. you can’t remember. it feels like your brain has taken a picture and turned the saturation up to 100%

thanos fingers would tap against his chest to the soft beat of the music, head continuously moving around despite the grumbles that leave namgyu’s lips. but you can feel the way his fingers are doing the same thing on your hand now, unintentionally following the beat.

it’s actually a miracle your not going into sensory overload with the way you can feel every tap, even the ones thanos is doing on his own body, and the way that the two unconsciously never stop moving around you.

the three of you would sit there for hours, unmoving, even when the playlist begins to play from the beginning again.

and they’d offer it again the next night, desperate to chase the high. or more like, desperate for an excuse to sit close to you for hours at a time, with being high as an added bonus.

[monarchberrysblog]

📄 — intrusion

now presenting…

🎭 kinktober | week two → mask kink and semi-public sex

🔪 ghostface! miguel o’hara x fem! reader 🔪

🩸 summary: run baby, run… (inspired from a tiktok. I tried to put the link, but I can't. Tumblr is being a butt rn)

🩸 content warning: reader and miguel are in an ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP (Y’all freaky frogs), predator/prey dynamic (kinda but not really tho), eccentric behavior on both parties, mask kink (?), anal and vaginal penetration, cat and mouse chase, fucking in the woods, rough sex, VIEWER’S DISCRETION IS ADVISED AND OOC MIGUEL

🩸 word count: +1.0k words (I had to cut this DOWN SIGNIFICANTLY OMG)

🩸 author’s notes: this was a fic that took a while to work on. viewer’s discretion is advised as this has very dark content as this displays essentric behavior on Miguel and the reader. (AGAIN, MIGUEL IS OOC)

📞 not proofread! 📞

link to → kinktober m.list

The anticipation killed you, nagging at you like a girlfriend pushing her ignorant boyfriend to spend time with her. After making an unexpected trip to Spirit Halloween with Miguel, the quips of mask kinks came into the store, specifically to the variety of Ghostface masks. The mask was still a prominent item to purchase, either bedazzled or showing its original look. But after the quips turned into a new thing to try, the clerk gave Miguel and you judging looks, with an employee smirking at Miguel. But here y'all were, in the middle of a thicket of woods behind a cabin you Airbnb-ed, after planning this night to the point it felt worn out like old converse to you and Miguel.

You mindlessly run deep into the woods with nothing but a tank top and underwear you picked. The race in your heart skipped a few beats, the pattern becoming unrhythmic and incomprehensible. The drumming became unbearable to withstand as your legs acted before a comprehensible thought crossed your little mind. His hands squeezed around your waist gently, causing you to squeak out into a fit of laughter.

His desire for you grew, seeing you in that white tank top waiting to be ripped off and accompanying the dead leaves. Pinning you down to the nearest tree, his fingers probed at your clothed entrance, the tips of his fingers tracing the slit-like entrance. “Estás tan mojada, hermosa.” He croons. His fingers bully their way past the gusset of your underwear, shoving the silky material to the side and shoving his fingers instead. Your pain moan filled the empty forest immediately, his fingers bullying their way in while his thumb circled tight, small circles around your clit, coaxing it to arousal.

The palm of his hand covers the bottom half of your face, shoving you against the scratchy, dry tree bark. “Keep it down. We don't wanna get uncalled attention.” He quips. He ooks deep into your eyes, and in the glisten in your eyes, he could have sworn to see little hearts in the shine of your eyes, intoxicated by his touch.

He moved his hand away from your lips and held onto the hem of the tank top before shoving said hem to your lips, shoving the cotton material between your teeth. You happily oblige, your teeth sinking into the cotton, your skin forming goosebumps against the dry material. “There we go.” His hands caress your figure, hand squeezing your breast and slapping it after.

His hand reached down his jeans, unzipping and freeing his aching, leaky cock, begging for your walls to vacuum him in. A perturbe idea came to mind, causing you to smirk and squirm free from his hold, rushing deep into the forest. His hushed profanity could be briefly be heard had his footsteps follow behind.

“Run, baby. Because when I catch you, you are going to be screaming.”

Being slammed down to the ground sucked the lungs out of both of y’all’s lungs. You giggled hysterically, feeling Miguel’s hands work quickly on the waistband of your panties. Being forced on your hands and knees stung, the dead leaves and sticks digging into your skin, but the warming boil in your lower stomach took over.

You involuntarily squirm your hips to free yourself from the soaking undergarment. “Mira lo mojada que estás para mi.” His fingers run down your entrance, collecting your sticky discharge on his fingers and coating his tip. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He exhaled through his teeth.

His hand is wrapped around the arousing length and taps his tip against your entrance. Glancing over your shoulder, you shoot an annoyed look. “Really?” You exhale the question. “Can’t go breaking, can’t I, cariño?” Miguel smirks, your cheek engraving a cheek mark on the loose dirt. You raise your rear to his hips, barely feeling his tip slip into your pussy. “No, not yet…” He chuckles, moving the tip upwards. “Just trust me on this.” He taps at your tight hole. “Okay…” You whine before the slow stretch and burn overwhelms you. “Jesus…!” You cry out, burrowing your face into the dead leaves. “You’re taking me so well, cariño.”

“You’re so big…” You babble to him as your fingers reach up to play with your needy pussy. “Tell me something that I don't know.” His voice purrs, shoving your hand away and using his instead, working on your puffy clit.

A string of profanity escaped your lips, keeping up with the overstimulation. “Your ass is gripping me like a vice, like it never wants to let me go.” Your hands grasp onto the dead leaves while your eyes roll up to your skull, the burning subsiding into pleasure. A breathless moan escaped, keeping up with the soft thrusts.

His fingers push in, bullying into your fluttering walls. “Good girl.” He purrs, his soft thrusts whiplashed you, sucking the air out of your soul.

The struggle was in the air as your lungs exhaled more air. Only soft, struggling groans escaped, barely strong enough to produce a moan.

“There we go, you're doing so well.” Miguel fetes, slowly retreating his fingers away from your greedy pussy. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Being a pretty little thing for me.”

The painful lights of white light brightened the environment. You glanced over your shoulder at the familiar pink phone case above you. “You look beautiful, querida.” He rasps, and his slow thrusts become harsh and rapid. Strings of profanity escaped both of y’all as you reached down to play against your clit instead. “Keep going…” He whispers. His hips snapped against yours, his balls slapping against the swell of your rear.

“I’m almost, almost there.” He exhales and yanks off the Ghostface mask, showing his sweaty yet glistening face. The perspiration dripped onto your backside, the sweat droplets rolling down your skin.

The barely comprehensible response you could produce, let alone give is the sound of a soft splash under you, landing on the decaying leaves. “I’m almost there…” He repeats before he pulls his cock out and groans. The new sticky warmth splattered against your back, allowing his semi-hard cock to rest against the plush of your rear. “You look so pretty, hermosa.” The shudder sound of the camera on your phone greets you back to reality.

“You look so pretty in the color white.”

tag list:

@hyjionie @zaunsin @kavimoo

[punkssavior]

tired of you.

| cm punk x fem!reader

my wwe fic tumblr debut. feeling chaotic.

title is a foo fighters song!

“regret, anger, and a pair of gym shorts.”

content warnings: post breakup. smut. angst. pet-names. choking. mentions of blood/semi-blood play. pain kink. pnv, riding.

i definitely went off the rails and lost the plot along the way.

wordcount: 8.3k

There was something wrong with you.

Maybe, the problem was the pounding headache. The one that’s lasted three days so far and felt like a doldrum banging in your skull.

Maybe, it was the streaks of eyeliner that stained your lower lashes and wouldn’t wipe off no matter how hard you tried.

Or maybe, just maybe, the problem was the urge to reach for your phone and dial up the number of a man who you know wouldn’t right his wrongs.

Yeah, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

It was a Saturday night— alone in your one bedroom apartment. A quiet, dreary week that led right into a hellscape of a weekend. You were always told that breakups were hard, but never this hard.

The stubborn heart that beats inside you almost took hold of the reins when the thought of calling Punk crossed your mind. But the more logical part of your body, your brain, ultimately decided that— maybe that wasn’t the best idea.

The breakup was far from mutual. If anything, it was completely one sided. The last thing you remember from that night a few weeks ago was standing in your apartment door with angry tears in your eyes as Punk drove away from your duplex in a torn down Chevy Malibu.

Like nothing even happened.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could stare at your TV in boredom, watching the same rerun of action movies that played every Saturday night around the same time.

It was getting late.

Maybe you should get some sleep.

But God knows your mind wouldn’t allow it.

As you stand up to gather the growing pile of blankets that collected in the midst of your ‘breakup-self-loathing’, you begin to fight that intrusive urge once more.

You couldn’t call. It was way too late. He was probably asleep, or out somewhere training like he’d do when he couldn’t.

You didn’t want to bother.

Because that’s the last thing you ever wanted to be.

Bang, bang.

Your head whips around; two loud knocks at your door almost rattled it right off its hinges.

Bang, bang.

With a cautious air, you walk to the door and rest your hand on the knob. Before you could even begin to twist it, there it was again.

Bang, bang.

Soon enough your heartbeat matched up with the rhythm of the pounding door— making you anxious enough to look through the peephole.

Low and behold, as if he could read your mind from the miles that separated your apartment from his, there Punk stood. Leaning on the bannister that held up your rickety old porch with his arms crossed tightly to his chest.

It was cold, about 30°, yet there he was in a t-shirt, long dark hair slicked back, like he’d just walked through the rain. You freeze in your tracks, hand shaky over the brass doorknob as you debate opening the door.

Would you let him inside? Would you banish him out to the cold and make him talk to you from behind the threshold? Would you finally stick up for yourself and act like you were asleep? Hoping maybe, just maybe, he’d fuck off and take a hint?

You didn’t want either of those things. You didn’t want him to stand out in the cold, or turn around and leave.

You’d been secretly waiting for the moment where he wouldn’t care about the consequences of his actions.

Nor did you want him to “take a hint”.

You swing the door open, acting completely on instinct. But your breath is caught somewhere in your larynx when you realize that he is actually standing there.

“Nice jammies, player.”

“What do you want?”

Your heart stops. The words you spoke were completely off rip, seeing him in person for the first time in weeks must’ve carried a lot more weight to it than you anticipated.

Punk’s straight face morphs into a smile, his eyes darting down your figure and back up again.

“Came here for the gym shorts you stole. I did my laundry this morning and realized they were pretty much all gone.”

“So— why didn’t you come this morning? Instead of trying to break my door down at midnight?”

You cross your arms over your chest, the black and pink heart pajama set that he had gifted you for Valentine’s Day this past year seemed to be the star of the show. The draft from the outside was cold enough to send chills up your spine, as Punk stood there and just looked at you.

Come to think about it, maybe it wasn’t the wind.

“I was busy. Surely you were too, no?”

“I‘ve been here all day. Maybe if you called and asked, you would’ve known that.”

As you stand slightly elevated before him in your bunny slippers, you can’t help but notice the way he keeps inching closer.

“Well, maybe if you’d answered my calls from last week, we wouldn’t be standing here in the cold. Face to face. At midnight.”

You freeze, as he rattles off, your hands moving to your hips.

He called you last week?

“You called me last week?”

“Mhm. Sure did.”

A puff of air leaves your chest, noticing the now rising goosebumps across his sleeves of tattoos, and feeling slightly guilty about keeping him out in the cold.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you call me?”

Punk chuckles, brushing a lock of that slick dark hair behind his ear. He looked amused, to say the least— maybe he just wasn’t grasping onto the concept of breaking your heart and smashing it all to pieces. Maybe he thought that reaching out to you would be the good little ego boost he needed to carry on his week in the training gym.

“I called because I wanted to check in. Y’know— see how you were doing.”

Your brow furrows, in an attempt not to show him your hand of cards. Truthfully, your heart skipped about seven beats at the way his voice softened, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“You’re joking, right?”

“And why would I joke about that?”

Punk leans on the doorframe, his eyes darting behind your shoulder at the living room that the two of you used to cuddle up and watch movies in. Maybe the sight of it after the breakup was finally cracking that iron-clad cage around his heart.

You never understood Punk. Not fully, at least.

Despite a three year long relationship that ended abruptly on a random Wednesday night— there were so many layers to his character that you just begged and pleaded to understand. He was caring, but sarcastic. An open book, yet somehow there were pages stuck together by an immeasurable amount of glue.

You wanted to learn more, your only wish was to be able to speak in a language that the both of you understood.

You figured that maybe, three years just wasn’t enough time.

“Wanna come inside?” you ask softly, breaking the silence, your voice barely reaching the surface of the now whipping wind.

“Only if you’ll have me.”

As you step back and let him in, you just— watch.

You watch how he kicks his sneakers off in the same exact spot he always did whenever he’d get home from the gym. You watch him anchor himself onto the wall, as if he were about to dig into his pocket and hang up his car keys on the hook that’s remained vacant since he left.

Must’ve been a repeated habit, or muscle memory. But your chest tightened at the thought either way.

“Your shorts are in my dresser,” you hum, still fighting the feeling of heartburn as he moves fluidly through your living room, “I could go get ‘em if you want.”

“Like I don’t know where your bedroom is. You think I’ve got amnesia or somethin’?”

Looking at Punk felt like a slap in the face. A hard one, at that.

His tight, perfectly fitted t-shirt molded to his cut body, contrasted to the loose gym shorts that hung just above his knees made you want to scream at him for being so visually appealing. But instead, you just smiled warmly, and bit your tongue.

There’s a brooding cloud of silence looming over both of your heads. An unspoken tension thick enough to cut with a butcher knife. Punk was acting casual, a bit too casual for your liking. I guess he figured that those stupid, sea green eyes searing into your forehead were enough to let you forget about what happened in this very room.

“Look, maybe you hit your head on the way here because last I checked, you dumped me. And now— here you are, standing in my living room.”

A catty smile flashes across Punk’s face, his lip ring catching in the light above your kitchen island as he leaned on it with that familiar sense of cockiness.

The one you knew, the one that you unfortunately loved.

“Shit, okay— we’re taking a bit of a leap here, aren’t we?”

“Tell me the real reason why you’re here. And don’t fucking bullshit me.”

The jumble of hurt words you’d been pushing down your throat for weeks— finally had a target. Your voice betrays you at the end of your sentence, fleeting off into a much weaker tone than you anticipated.

“I already told you why. I’m here for my shorts.” His posture straightens as he speaks, putting up his guard as the tension rises.

“Bullshit. You know I fuckin’ hate when you lie, dude. What is this, a wellness check? Did you feel so inclined to check up on my sorry-ass to the point where it kept you up at night?”

Punks hands come up in defense as you move an inch closer, wagging a helpless, beaten down finger at him. Yet that smug smile painted on his cheeks remained, only making you more enraged.

“Wellness check? What the fuck is your problem?” his laughter is indignant, as if he were pitying you, “You really think I’d drive down here in the middle of the night to smile in your face and laugh at you?”

“Newsflash, dickhead. You’ve been doing that this whole time.”

In seconds, Punk’s face switches back to a blank slate. He seemed visibly taken aback by your words. His hand, still dawned in a piece of old wrist tape, clung to his chest.

“Wow. Well, I’m sorry— for trying to keep the mood light— and greet you at your door with a fuckin’ smile when I know damn well that I’m the last person you want to see right now… But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re not the only half of this mess suffering? Maybe you’re not the only one who stays up way later than they should, thinking about where everything went wrong?”

As he grows more animated, he nears closer, to the point where you could still smell the remnants of his cologne and see the drops of frustrated sweat beading on his forehead. You wanted to keep screaming, but your voice was caged behind gritted teeth. You guarded yourself with your arms, mimicking his posture as you crossed them over your chest.

“Well maybe you should cut some slack for the girl you left crying in the doorway, Punk.”

His stage name shoots off your tongue like poison, now in a heated face-off with the man you once loved.

And maybe still did, beneath the scratched up, broken down surface. That was the reason why this all seemed so complicated.

“Do you want your fucking shorts, or not?—”

“—Keep the damn’ shorts, Y/N!” He cuts you off before you could even dream of continuing.

Another silence falls over the room after all the shouting, only the TV in the background filling only half of the void that was your brain right now. Despite getting those harsh words off of your chest, a part of you felt inclined to say no more. You figured you’d done enough irreparable damage to both yourself and Punk. It was in your best interest to leave it be.

“Sorry for yelling,” you mumble, a bit sheepishly.

Punk still stood against your kitchen island, his hand now rubbing his temples between middle finger and thumb.

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Awkward. That was the word to describe it. After airing out grievances, finding out that you weren’t the only party in this sick and twisted dance with a lingering feeling that tugged on your heartstrings, everything else surrounding you was just awkward.

You stare at Punk intently, letting him shake his head and mutter curse words under his breath.

“I’m sorry for coming here unannounced. But what I said was true.”

“Hm?” you hum, worried that if you said too much, his vulnerability would be guised as a momentary lapse of judgement.

“I still think about what happened.”

A deep breath catches in your throat the moment his eyes meet yours. It was hard to look at him in general after all that you’d been through, but it was even more difficult to pull yourself away from the defeated, sorrowful expression on his face.

Being so openly honest and true to his inner monologue was a rarity for Punk. You could tell how much he hated the fact that he was admitting this to you, let alone standing once again in your living room after already breaking your heart.

“Seriously,” you begin to say, bridging the gap between your bodies with a sharp tug on his wrist, “Tell me why you came here. If it wasn’t for those two pairs of stupid shorts that you haven’t asked me about in two and a half years, then what was it?”

Punk grimaces, still beaten down by his own honesty, “You just don’t let up, do you?”

“Answer me, asshole.”

You were still aggravated, and the quickly tightening hold you had on his arm was proof of that.

“I came here because I missed you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” A wave of something much more dreadful than relief washes over you— it seemed more existential and off putting than anything. “I missed your face. Your voice. The scent of your perfume. The way you bitch me out to get off and have a good time fuckin’ doing it.”

“I— I genuinely do not believe you,” you mutter, tripping over your words, slightly twisting the skin on his arm in pure, unbridled frustration, “There’s gotta’ be some other excuse.”

Punk’s face comes to a pinch, mulling over your words while simultaneously experiencing the burn from your untamed grip on him.

“There’s no other excuse,” he blurts, bordering a whine, “What? You want me to admit that I’ve been up for days? Unable to sleep, to eat, to wrestle, to fuckin’ unwind and jerk off without the thought of you crossing my mind? Is that what you want?”

Your jaw clenches at the rise you’re getting out of him, wanting nothing more than to smack him across the face.

“Maybe you should’ve said this all to me, what, a month ago? Instead of trying to pop by on a Saturday night like I’m one of your idiot friends?”

It was getting to a point where your nails were surely leaving marks, his arm fully surrendered to you as you took out your pent up anger on one of his innocent limbs.

Punk’s face tightens, the gap in his teeth visible as he writhes in discomfort, “Jesus fuck, you’re hurting me—”

“Touché.”

Having almost completely given up on trying to fight your cat-like grip on his arm, Punk does the unthinkable. With a crooked, masochistic smile, he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you straight into his chest.

“You wanna fight dirty?” he asks, his voice a low, rigid grumble.

Rather than replying, due to the sheer shock running through your spine, you just nod your head meekly.

“We can fight dirty,” a wry chuckle leaves his lips as he leans into your angry face, “Baby, those eyes of yours are quite telling.”

“I’m sick of your shit, Punk,” you spit, still tangled in his sultry words, “it’s too hot and cold with you.”

“Really? Tell me more. I saw how you froze up when I said that I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Tell me that my words didn’t leave a mark in that pretty head of yours.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck

This was getting to be too much.

You wanted to pull away; but the thought of tasting his lips again after you were forced away from them for so long just seemed intoxicating.

“I don’t have to answer you,” you mumble, trying your hand at defending yourself whilst simultaneously breaking your neck to ignore your desires.

“But I bet you really want to.”

You swallow hard at the feeling of his blistered palm trailing across your side. And your nails continued etching marks into his flesh; the closer he got, the harder you tugged .

“We’re not together anymore. I have nothing to fucking say to you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with speaking your mind though, right? That’s what you used to tell me…”

That burning feeling in your chest was back again— like hot lava rising up your throat. You wanted to retort, but couldn’t help but notice how he was completely ignoring the small pooling of blood from the gashes on his forearm.

“…Remember what you used to say to me, Bunny? ‘Don’t be afraid to show a little bit of that heart, Punker. Acting like you care won’t kill you.’ Man, if only you could see yourself right now. Being a damn hypocrite…”

“Stop it.”

The nickname he’d revived from the dead felt like a karate chop to the throat, all while he was still holding you tightly to his chest. His body language read passion, but his words oozed anguish.

He glanced down to your lips, eyeing them with a crooked smile.

“What? Stop what? Stop trying to get you to break down those stubborn walls of yours and be honest with me? I know I hurt you baby, but you can’t keep it all bottled up forever.”

You grabbed him tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Until his face came to a pinch and he was yanking his arm from between your bodies.

He hisses at the sight of trickling blood running down his colorful tattoos, eyeing you shamefully like you were a dog that just crapped in the house.

But rather than letting that anger carry over into another screaming match, he takes the hand that you’d held hostage, and runs it through your hair.

“Bet you needed to let that out, didn’t you?” Punk coos, a complete 180 switch in his demeanor, that same hand trailing down your cheek towards your neck.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Ditto, player.”

SMACK.

Your palm lays flat across the side of his cheek, his head whips to the side. A surge of searing anger seemed to free itself the moment your hand connected with his skin, a small splatter of his blood from your fingertips painting across his jawbone.

He shakes his head, and looks at you, that grip he had on your hip tightening as his eyes narrow, and bore into yours.

“You asked if I wanted to fight dirty, didn’t you?” your voice is weakened by the sheer force of that smack. But Punk just nods like a pompous asshole, a slow and desperate smile sliding across his face with the corners of his mouth coming to a Cheshire-cat-like point.

In moments like these, you had to remind yourself of a few things. Punk knew you better than anyone else— your friends, most of your immediate family, even the people you’ve met in passing and spilled your guts to on a whim. You and Punk would spend hours just talking. About anything. About nothing. There was something about his demeanor that drew out the most vulnerable, tucked away parts of your person.

He also had the ability to use what he knew against you. And from the facial expression he made, and from what you could tell from knowing him, he knew that smack held a lot more weight than just pure anger.

He was into it. You were into it.

With a low, practically inaudible growl, Punks hand slides up the front of your body. You could feel the roughness of his palms and the cool touch of his fingertips lingering from standing out in the cold, as he makes his way past the little plastic buttons of your pajama top.

“I love it when we fight, Bunny,” he grumbles, that hand making its way to your throat, “You wanna show me how angry I make you? How much of an asshole I am for breaking your heart?”

Your breath sputters when he clamps his hand down, gently squeezing the sides of your throat. You could only imagine how you looked to him right now— still a bit ticked off, but now a whole lot more desperate.

“I want— an apology.”

“Really? That’s all you want from me right now?”

As you open your mouth to squeeze out an answer, he presses the pads of his fingers into your neck, hitting that blissful pressure point and instantly relieving your three-day-long headache.

“Yes. That’s it,” you breathe, finding it hard to concentrate on only one feature of his face.

The hand of his that stayed stagnant on your hip began to travel downwards, following the curve of your ass all the way down to where it met your thigh. You swallowed, feeling the pressure from his hand fighting the building, anxious saliva from going down.

“Are you sure about that? You don’t seem very confident—”

“—Yes. Yes. For the love of God, please just—”

Your sentence becomes more and more incoherent as Punk slowly spins you around. Your body replaces his, leaned against the kitchen island, still feeling cowardly beneath his over 6-foot stature.

“Just what? Wanna hit me again?” his eyes narrow with challenge, the grip on your throat still in charge of this dance, “Do it. Hit me again. Show me that you’re not afraid to show me what’s on your mind.”

SMACK.

The sheer power from the second slap loosened Punk’s grip on your throat— you breathed out shakily at the loss of the contact, feeling the delayed sting that shot through your palm the moment your knuckle cracked his jaw.

He eventually frees your neck from his hold to aid his wounded cheek, rubbing it softly as those viridian eyes ask you for a favor that his words had yet to reach.

“Jesus Christ baby. You sure know how to lay a good one don’t ya?”

“Fuck you.”

Your palm began to throb in time with the beating of your heart, the surface skin now tender from two measly slaps to a man who gets hurt for a living.

“Fuck me? Alright. If that’s all you have to say then—”

SMACK.

“I hate you! God, I fucking hate you!”

That dry, fervid rage suddenly morphed into a mess of soggy tears— your words biting violently as they fanned across his now helpless face.

You couldn’t help yourself from crying. As if you hadn’t done enough. But now, in the same vein of feelings you felt the moment you saw his silhouette through the peephole, crying was really the only thing you could do.

“I—I am so fucking sick of you! Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming to my apartment, standing there with that stupid, shit-eating smile. Acting like you didn’t have any part whatsoever in ruining my goddamn life!”

“Y/N, I—”

As much as you wanted this to be a civil conversation, there was no turning back as the tears rolled down your face and onto the floor.

“I’ve been crying over you for weeks. Weeks. You left me. After telling me our relationship was practically meaningless. After dumping me with zero fucking explanation! I’m tired of you, Punk. So. Fucking. Tired.”

Silence.

The tears just kept on coming, there was nothing you could do to stop them from searing hot streaks down your face.

Nothing you could do to stop you from yelling now, either.

“Fuck you! Fuck your stupid hair. That stupid shit box car you drive. Your stupid piercings— and stupid tattoos that you refuse to get touched up because I said I liked them the way they were!”

Punk’s face was a blank slate. All it took was for you to start barking out your qualms with him, and suddenly he was at ease like a soldier.

In the heat of your tirade, you slither out of his arms, angrily marching over to the couch and picking up a throw pillow.

“I can’t fucking believe you. You would think three years meant something, right?! But noooo. Not for Mr. CM Punk. You got to carry on life as usual after you left my house that night. You got to parade around your ring, hearing a crowd of people chant your name like you’re the second coming of Christ! All while I was at home sobbing over gym shorts! Fucking gym shorts!”

The pillow you’d been smacking against your hand was perfect ammo to toss at his head; you grunt as you throw it, listening to the pitiful thud as it slams against the wall behind him.

“You want the shorts? I’ll give you the fucking shorts. The same way I gave you the hours it took me to sew your fucking name onto the tags like you asked me to!”

Your throat felt like sandpaper, your heart racing at 90mph and fluttering with every honest truth you spoke.

“I bet a selfish part of you missed having me around, didn’t you? Because without me, who makes you breakfast in the morning? Who else sits through your God-awful, mean jokes when nobody else is around to hear them?”

It was getting harder to stay away from him now, the adrenaline rush that came with smacking him across the face was the last little push you needed for your penultimate sentence.

“Who else is there, Punk?” the volume of your voice lowers when you take a hurried step closer to him.

SMACK.

“Who else fucks you like I do?”

For a split second, you see the glass in Punk’s eyes shatter. You see all of his rugged features soften and he searches your face for something, anything to say.

But just when you think he’s about to pull away, and curse you out for berating him with your spiteful tongue, his lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss.

You melt into him instantly, all of the pieces of your scrambled up puzzle falling back into place the moment his hands hold you against his body.

His cheek was tender, hot to the touch, and your hand was still lingering from that one final smack, yet he encouraged you to cup his face as it hovered in the aftermath.

The initial kiss grows more primal, a twisted dance of heavy breathing and knocking teeth brings Punk’s hands to travel.

Suddenly your mind is back where it started, an unshakable feeling of wavering uncertainty as he lifts your leg to rest on his hip.

“You— you don’t get to do this,” you stammer, not making any attempt to regain your composure, “you don’t get to just— walk in here and destroy everything I’ve been working so hard to rebuild.”

Your noses knock against each other as your breathing becomes one, Punk pulls away with a tug at your bottom lip.

“Then tell me to leave. Push me away. Kick me out.”

As you open your mouth to retort, his body rolls against yours, leaving your head to spin and freeze up like it always did whenever he turns you on.

“Go on, Bunny,” he continues his torturous drawl, bending down to nip at the sensitive skin behind your ear as he whispers, “Tell me to leave.”

A quiet whimper takes over whatever else you’d planned on saying. Any and all remnants of anger from your rant had suddenly disappeared.

“You—”

Your sentence is cut short by your other leg being picked up off the ground. You gasp, clinging yourself to his hips as he spins you, holding you between the wall and the rising warmth of his body.

“You know I can’t do that, you fuckin’ asshole.”

Another searing kiss, one that made stars pass behind your eyelids as his hands held you tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Surely the pads of his fingers would leave bruises in only the places he could see— he loved to know that he was the only one to touch you in the places that get hidden beneath layers of cotton and lace.

He always did. He always will.

A gasp flies past your lips, and his, as he adjusts his grip on you, nailing you higher to the wall with the sheer weight and force of his lips. His own twisted form of crucifixion.

“God, you’re addicting,” he mumbles into your cheek, his line of kisses getting sloppier as he can’t decide where to pay attention to, “You slapped me ‘till my face went raw… You scratched me ‘till I bled…”

A groan of his own interrupts his string of lustful sweet nothings, only for you to take it as your opportunity to grab his chin in your hand.

You look him in the eye, still feeling the burning sensation in your chest— but this time, it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. It was fighting that feeling that you could never quit.

As you look at him, you take your thumb, still stained with blood from before, and trail it across his bottom lip. His lips and chin are defiled with that perfect shade of scarlet — his eyes glittering as you paint him red.

“…And you cursed me out like a fuckin’ bitch,” he chuckles wryly, his tongue flicking out to catch the blood you’d left.

“And yet—” You cock your head to the side, your features fully softening for the first time since he arrived at your door, “—you’re still here with me.”

Before you could even think, Punk is grabbing at the buttons on your pajama shirt and anchoring you to the wall with his hips. His actions are frenzied, popping open the first, second, and third button.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles in frustration, fully surrendering, tugging at the bottom hem and lifting that black and pink heart printed pajama top over your head in one full swoop. You can’t help but chuckle as he tosses it behind his head, and gets straight to work on worshipping the valley of your breasts with open-mouthed kisses.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Bunny,” he breathes out between each time his lips press against you, “I wanna slap my damn’ self for breaking your heart.”

As he caters to you, you find your hands lacing through his hair, pushing it back to reveal a slit in his eyebrow. The same one he refused to shave back in no matter how many times you asked.

Maybe he thought that you seeing it tonight would help him get lucky.

And judging by the position you were in right now, it clearly worked its magic.

“All these sweet nothings aren’t gonna change the fact that you’re an asshole,” you state plainly, but finding it harder to speak due to him pinning you against the wall.

“You can call me— whatever the hell you want,” says Punk, tucking a strand of your frizzed up hair behind your ear.

The heated encounter had blindly begun to move towards the couch. You found yourself going limp in his arms the moment there wasn’t a sheet of drywall holding you up like a puppet on strings. Punk had you completely at his mercy— although fast-paced, steamy, extremely desperate sex was a staple in your repertoire.

“Is this how you planned on apologizing to me?” you ask, tailing off your sentence with a squeak as he tips you back to lay on the couch.

Punk crawls his way up your topless body, licking a stripe from your belly button all the way to the start of your jaw.

“Wasn’t planned, no. But I suppose that fucking it out to the point of forgiveness is better than a healthy conversation, right?”

Although forgiveness wasn’t a thing that crossed your mind until now, the events that had unfolded within the past thirty minutes had your head in knots. How could a man who you’d sworn off ‘till death come back into your life, simply with a bat of his pretty eyelashes and a flash of the gap in his teeth?

Maybe Punk’s visit was the universe telling you that you’d met your match. You simply couldn’t stay away.

After any and all clothes that barred access to the places he needed you most were removed, you found yourself swimming in a pool of dizzy, love-drunk thoughts. Punk took his time with you, yet still seemed as though he was rushing to get to where you needed him most.

“Fuckin’ Christ, I missed you. I missed you so much,”

Punk groans, taking a moment to stare into your soul before dipping down to bite at your bottom lip with his teeth.

You sigh in bliss, having not felt the touch of him, or anyone else for that matter, since the last time you saw him. As fucked up as it was, you missed this feeling.

You really missed him, too.

“Can I?” you begin to say, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt after another pick up of that steamy makeout session.

“Of course. Anything you want. Have me topless, have me naked, fully clothed, I don’t fuckin’ care.”

You chuckle at his eagerness, he helps you in taking off his tee, and your mind freezes up when you notice the beginning of a tattoo on his chest.

“Is this new?”

You trace the outline of ink with your manicured finger, following its shape all the way to the curve of his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Been thinkin’ about a chest piece for a while.”

“Mmmh, yeah?” you hum, a fluttering feeling rumbling through your stomach the moment you realize that his hand had travelled to the waistband of your panties. “Chest tattoos are fucking sexy.”

Punk smirks, inching that wandering hand down past the waistband of your underwear towards your throbbing core. He bites his lip, that silver lip ring getting caught in the crossfire.

“Glad you think so, Bunny.”

An immediate wave of pleasure crashes over your senses the moment you feel his finger tease at your dripping slit. He always took the time to make sure you were fully ready— but you were afraid that your screaming match from earlier had you more hot and bothered than you’d like to admit.

“Punk, c’mon—” you whine indignantly, writhing beneath him as he slowly starts to spread your own wetness across your folds, “Not getting any younger here.”

“Impatient now, are we?” he bites back, making it a point to slowly, tauntingly dip in and out of your entrance with his slender finger.

You can’t help but moan out in purse frustration— impatience, as he called it.

“If you don’t hurry this along and fuck me already, I’ll send you home with blue balls and no gym shorts.”

As he opens his mouth to retort, you shoot your hand down to catch his wrist, shaking your head at him disapprovingly.

“Don’t remember you ever being this desperate to get fucked, Bunny,” he chuckles lowly, keeping you and your stamina on its toes as he flips your position to have you straddling his lap, “And here I was thinking you were a fan of the slow, sappy shit.”

“People change, y’know,” you shrug, finding a comfortable position to grind your hips down onto his bulge as you slide your hands up his chest towards his throat, “I think you may have ruined me for good.”

Punk was an athlete. He was quick on his feet, and even quicker to get into the minds of anyone he deemed a worthy opponent. When it came to you, the most worthy of them all, he read you like a book. Cover to cover.

“Ruined you?” he asks, watching your hands climb his chest towards his throat, “Is that why you felt so inclined to almost kill me earlier?”

You clasp your hands around his throat, pushing out a shaky sigh from his chest. A smile spreads across your face like wildfire, your hips now wielding a mind of their own against the hard-on in his shorts.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic— Are you going soft on me, Punker? I thought you liked it a little— rough.”

When you looked back down at his face, what you didn’t expect to see was an airy grin. Punk must’ve done a lot of thinking in the time you were apart— because the Punk you knew a month ago wouldn’t stand for a second of this role reversal. But now, it seemed as though he was basking in the art of submission.

Safe to say, you had him whipped once again.

Fucking finally.

A low rumble from Punk floats to your ears, the first sign of his bleeding impatience. His eyebrows furrowed, the tip of his nose twitched, all while your hands were still wrapped around his neck and gently squeezing the pressure points on either side.

“I really meant it when I said you ruined my life, y’know,” you coo to him quietly, rolling your hips down past his crotch in order for your mouth to be level with the new ink traced on his chest, “Because now, I can’t think of anyone else who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Bunny…” Your nickname sounds like prayer in his gravelly voice, as you take your time and nip at the sensitive skin above his peck. Your teeth leave bruises in their traces, but you knew he didn’t mind.

“I really did try to forget about you. It’s true— but I just couldn’t help myself… Thinking about those big, sad, green eyes every time I slid my hand between my thighs t’ try and get myself off.”

A trail of bruises adds on to the weight of your words— all of which were true. You thought you’d had it all under control the moment your relationship with Punk ended. But the harder you tried to forget about those aforementioned eyes or the spiteful, sarcastic bite of his tongue, the more you really fucking missed it.

“You’re fucking evil, you know that?” Punk gasps, a broad hand flying to brush rogue hair from your forehead.

“What about me is so evil? The fact that you loved me so good and fucked me so hard that you stained my conscience?”

In a lingering spike of anger, you dig your nails into his abdomen, watching his muscles flex beneath the grapple you held. Punk winces, returning the favor with a tug at your hair.

“I don’t think it’s evil. I’d say you left your mark,” you add onto the torture, dragging your nails past the tattoo on his stomach towards the waistband of his shorts, “And now, I think it’s only fair that I leave mine.”

The speed in which your lips reattached to his should've been a worthy competitor to the speed of sound; moans catching between heaving, desperate breaths as Punk held you like you were the last thing he’d ever touch.

“Take your fuckin’ shorts off—” you demand, a lightning bolt of confidence shocking through your spine as he follows your orders without question. All while your lips were still entwined.

You blindly reach down past where the hem of his shorts were, a sloppy frenzy of movement as you feel his cock free itself and spring up from the confines of his briefs.

A moan is caught in your larynx as your hand finds his thick shaft, locking eyes with him the second that skin touches skin.

“I— I bet you’ve been dreaming of this shit. Beatin’ the hell outta’ me, bossing me around—”

“—Oh please. I could do this in my sleep. I was always just worried about bruising that big, dumb ego of yours.”

You bite your lip, and Punk just sighs, his head hitting the throw pillow that you didn’t choose to launch at him while he stood against the wall.

“The biggest and dumbest. Yet you loved me more than anything. Isn’t that strange?”

Your eyes narrow at his smug expression. Despite being on the short end of the stick, he sure did have a mouth for the ages.

“But I’m not the one that came here all mopey, trying to put on a fuckin’ show because I missed incredible sex and the smell of vanilla perfume.”

“You didn’t deny that you love me.”

Your lip twitches at his smug expression. You’re almost tempted to rear that same hand back and slap him once more.

“Bite me.”

In a haze of rough, needy kisses and enough love bites to kill a man, you’d finally felt that your teasing quota was met. One final peck to the tip of his nose had Punk gasping for air, as you slithered your hand between your bodies and palmed his cock. You lift your hips, his pupils blown like he’d just seen the center of the universe.

“Missed seeing you on top of me—” Punk blurts out, looking shocked at the delicacy of his own words.

You flash him a wicked smile, not wasting any time in pushing your panties to the side and teasing his tip at your entrance.

“Bet you missed this pussy too, hm?”

Your condescension only adds to the fire raging in those evergreen eyes. Punk can only nod into submission as you lower yourself onto him, stretching out your walls around his cock and reinstating your title as the perfect fit.

Collective sighs fill the air, but there was still a small amount of unspoken tension that lingered above your heads like a storm cloud. There was only one way to release that tension— and it was the best way that you knew how.

Before you know it, the pace of your rocking hips picks up in speed, and the trembling breaths leaving Punk’s parted lips sounded like church bells ringing in your ears.

“Oh my God, fuck— Bunny—” he grunts, his hands grabbing tightly onto to your waist like clothespins as he guides you up and down his cock.

“Say my name. My— real name.”

Now that demand was something you knew he hated to do.

Although never showing any distaste for your real name, he had an aversion to using it. Only allowing himself to use it was of the utmost importance.

For himself, he preferred you just call him Punk, simply because ‘Phil’ just felt too mundane for his eclectic, brooding tastes.

The same went for you. The phenomenon of a ring name was something that got him more hot than bothered— and since you weren’t a wrestler, nor were you planning to be, he was left to his own devices to give you one. That was when ‘Bunny’ came about.

He may have chosen ‘Bunny’ for a multitude of reasons—it could have been for the fuzzy boots you wore on the winter night you’d met him outside of an indie show, or the way your nose crinkled up every time he said something that made you wince. For a while, you’d assumed that he’d forgotten your real name.

But you never really questioned his logic. Hell, you rarely questioned any of his idiosyncrasies at all.

If Bunny was what he liked to call you, then Bunny it was.

“Say my name, Phil. Fucking— say it.”

An impetuous moan breaks you out of your reminiscing, feeling that rage inside of you bubble back up into the desire to cause him more than just emotional pain. You take your hand and cup his jaw, fiercely pulling his spaced out eyes back into yours.

“Ah, fuck— fuckin’ Christ, you’re a lunatic.”

Your grip on his jaw grows tighter, watching him fight a smile with the ruminating thought of his masochistic ways in the back of your mind.

“You love this shit,” you pant, still rocking your hips with an utmost force that eventually brought the coffee table beside you to rattle, “Admit it. Tell me you love it and say my fucking name.”

An array of sloppy sounds fills the room once again, you can see, and feel, Punk’s shoddy attempts to fight back your ruthless aggression with his hips.

He slams into you upwards, a ping-pong of changing power dynamics, your entire body somehow feels like it weighs a ton.

“Kiss me. Bite me. Do it— do it ‘till it hurts.”

Suddenly, you’re crying out, loosening your hold on his jaw to run your nails down the front of his chest. He winces in pure, unbridled lust at the feeling of that brief sharp pain, and snaps his hips up even faster.

“Say my name first,” you barely squeeze out the words.

“Shit— Y/N— I fucking love you.”

Your wish was his command.

As you continue to bounce on his cock with enough force to drive you off the rails, you duck down, and slam your lips against his.

It was almost as if that final kiss was what he needed to send him to the brink of climax— his rhythm suddenly sloppy and his hands now crawling across your back to keep you pinned to his chest. You almost go weak in his arms when he bites at your neck, running his hand through the back of your hair and holding you closer— as if closer than you were right now was even humanly possible.

“Punk, oh my God— just like that, yeah. Right— right fuckin’ there—”

The rhythm of his hips was hitting every single mark— your walls tensing around his thick shaft with each snap of his hips and every glance into his needy eyes. He groaned for you, that poor, beaten up face of his looking as though you had him under a spell.

“Nobody fucks me like you do,” you breathe out, hoping your words were everything he needed and more to push him to the edge, “I love you. I still love you— so fucking much.”

A symphony of moans breaks you out of your bouts of praise, his hips snapping upwards with utmost force and bringing your entire body to tremble above him.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, Y/N!”

And suddenly, as if you were whipped through space and time, stars and fireworks fluttering towards the pit of your stomach— his cock twitches inside of you with an unspeakable amount of desperation and desire, reaching his climax in tandem with yours.

“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, sinking down to lay your cheek atop the fresh ink on his chest.

Punk lets out a low whistle, one that sounds familiar, and oddly comforting to you. It is reminiscent of a sigh of relief, as if having you wholly again was the one thing that kept his sarcastic quips and shitty ego afloat. All of that tension that lingered in the doorway of your apartment disappeared in an instant, his hands wrapping around you tightly as you attempted to level your breathing.

“You really know how to wear a man out, don’t ya?” Punk comments, tracing hearts and stars across your shoulder blades.

“I feed off souls, it's how I stay young.”

A simultaneous, hearty chuckle shakes both of your bodies. There was a feeling brewing around in your head that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. Maybe it was regret, but it was far too early to tell.

Especially with him still being inside of you.

“A succubus of sorts, hm?” says Punk, picking up your chin.

“Maybe. Maybe my mystifying, witchy-woman powers are what brought you here.”

“Or maybe I’m the one who can sense sadness. Don’t think I didn’t see those kicked-puppy-dog eyes when you opened the door...”

There it was again. The Punk you knew and loved. Defensive, yet somehow still able to make you swoon.

“...Gotta admit, there is a bit of magic between us.”

After laying in Punk’s arms for a long while after, that overwhelming sense of impending doom had dissolved completely.

You watched Punk scramble up and down the stairs of your lofted apartment to grab you everything you needed. A warmed washcloth and a glass of water; the two staples in your aftercare routine.

“Need anythin’ else?” You hear his disembodied voice from the kitchen above the running water.

“Actually, I do,” you comment, sitting up fully on the couch after he’d re-dressed you in your pajamas, “I need you to admit that coming here at midnight to bother me about a pair of gym shorts was a stupid fuckin’ plan.”

Punk freezes in his tracks, a sly smile sneaking onto his lips as he reaches over to dramatically turn the faucet off, “Guess I didn’t really think it through. I was more focused on seeing you. I needed an excuse to cover my own ass— the shorts were the best I could do.”

“Do better,” you snarl, “Still want ‘em back?”

Before replying, Punk slides beside you on the couch, his arm ready to cradle your head into the crook of his neck. He presses his lips against the side of your head, keeping there as his breathing slows.

“You can keep the shorts, Bunny. Just as long as you take me with ‘em.”

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything. 

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt. 

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime. 

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality. 

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable. 

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open– 

There’s no one on the other side. 

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order. 

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.  

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in. 

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state. 

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity. 

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss. 

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not. 

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already. 

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.   

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.” 

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do. 

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him. 

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied. 

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked. 

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches. 

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest. 

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way. 

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’. 

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big. 

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity. 

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it. 

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes. 

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation. 

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”  

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.  

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.” 

So Bucky gets his makeup done. 

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms. 

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.” 

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’. 

 Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him. 

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin. 

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.” 

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces. 

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.” 

That sounds…doable. 

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate. 

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead. 

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.  

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned. 

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this. 

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table. 

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t. 

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you  had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you? 

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further. 

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue. 

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit. 

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.  

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless. 

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.” 

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening. 

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated. 

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top. 

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion. 

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens. 

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago. 

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this. 

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.” 

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.” 

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?” 

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs. 

You look like you’re going to lose your mind. 

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?” 

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?” 

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better. 

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch. 

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers. 

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone. 

The video goes up that weekend. 

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out  the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies. 

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved. 

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name. 

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt. 

Motherfucker.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Next part

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Honkai Star Rail) Astral Express Crew finding a Lightsaber

Alternative Title: Welt and Dan Heng have to stop March, Caelus, and Stelle from accidentally cutting their own arm off

I've been rewatching a lot of Star Wars and I wanted to write the consequences of Trailblazers/March finding a laser sword and letting their intrusive thoughts take over because that sounds REALLY entertaining.

Inside the main Parlor Car, the crew of the Astral Express had gathered around to examine a relic found on a nearby planet. It was lost inside an abandoned military base, and conspicuously laying on the middle of an empty floor, to which the Trailblazers had grabbed it without hesitation, seeing something shiny.

(March 7th) "So...What the heck is it?"

March 7th peered over Stelle's shoulder as the Trailblazer shifted what appeared to be a metallic rod in her hands, fumbling with the machine while dragging it closer to her face.

(Stelle) "Beats me. Might be some kind of key."

She wordlessly tilted her wrist towards Caelus, who grabbed it and mimicked the same action, though looking at a hole inside the rod, raising an eyebrow.

(Caelus) "Keys normally don't have slots in them."

The only response he got was from Dan Heng, who simply sighed and pointed the hole away from everyone and towards the ceiling of the Car.

(Dan Heng) "Which is precisely why you shouldn't point it at your face. It could be a weapon."

Himeko and Welt sat on the nearby couch, watching as the younger members of the crew passed the rod along to each other as if sharing a toy.

Welt put a finger to his chin, his eyes squinting at the rod and adjusting his glasses with the same finger.

(Welt) "From what I can see, it is a device of some kind. As to what it does, I'm not entirely sure."

(Himeko) "Perhaps we could activate it from a distance and-"

Himeko was interrupted when Caelus shook it hard, his thumb pressing into one of the indentions on its side and accidentally activated the contraption.

A massive blue beam of light shot out from the hole in the hilt, causing everyone to jump back in surprise.

(Himeko) "...Or not."

(March 7th) "WOAAAAH! So bright!"

The machine hummed as the blue light stood rigid, whirring as Caelus swung it around, away from everyone.

(Stelle) "Looks like a glow stick. I kind of want to touch it-"

(Welt) "-Please do not do that."

(Dan Heng) "I think...it looks like a sword."

(Caelus) "Hang on, let me just-"

Letting his intrusive thoughts win, Caelus let the blue beam of light come into contact with the nearby table, only to split it half with a searing screech as the Astral Express crew gasped in horror.

(Caelus) "...Alright, I can confirm that it is a sword."

(Welt) "Caelus..."

Welt's scolding tone immediately caused Caelus to cease up, on instinct moving to bow and apologize-

(March 7th) "WOAH WOAH! WATCH WHERE YOU POINT THAT THING!"

(Himeko) "Don't cut your head off by bowing, Caelus..."

(Caelus) "R-Right...! So can I turn this off or?-"

He moved to shake it before everyone quickly took a step back as he did so, the blade whirring violently as he attempted to shut it off with brute force.

(Stelle) "Hold that still for a second!-"

Caelus stopped jostling the blade, allowing Stelle to grab the hilt before finding the indention again, shutting the blade off as it shrunk itself back into the hilt.

(Stelle) "...That's cool, a retractable light sword? I kind of want to keep it-"

(March 7th) "PSH! Are you serious! You can't hog that to yourself! Imagine how easy it would be to cut through bread with that!"

(Dan Heng) "We find a sword made entirely of light that can cut through metal like paper, and you want to make breakfast with it?"

(March 7th) "...Well, when you put it that way it sounds dumb!"

(Caelus) "Imagine how easy it'd be to finish commissions with that thing. I want to give it a whirl-"

(Welt) ahem "Stelle, please hand the weapon to me."

Everyone froze up at Welt's command, with Stelle immediately nodding.

(Stelle) "G-Got it, Mr. Yang."

Welt politely took the beam of death away from his rowdy comrades, and examined the hilt a little more closely before handing it over to Himeko, who did the same with a small smile.

(Himeko) "Hm...Seems like an elegant weapon...!"

(Welt) "From an older age, it seems like."

(Himeko) "Perhaps we should go back to that planet to see if we can find more of these retractable swords."

Himeko's smile grew upon seeing March, Caelus, and Stelle's eyes brighten from that sentence. Even more so from Dan Heng's terrified expression.

(March 7th) "Wait, we can get our own down there?! NEXT ONE WE FIND I TOTALLY CALL DIBS ON!"

(Stelle) "Second!"

(Caelus) "Sec-...Aww...!"

(Dan Heng) "I don't think this is a really good idea-"

(Himeko) "Oh, come on! Who am I to deny anyone the treasures they find from an expedition? On that note-"

Himeko handed Dan Heng the hilt, as his three comrades' eyes watched him closely like a hawk.

(March 7th) "Wha-He gets it first?! No fair!"

(Welt) "To be fair, he is less likely to cut his own limb off...Or a table in half for that matter."

Caelus sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.

(Caelus) "Before we go back, do you mind helping me fix that..?"

Stelle sighed as she rolled her eyes.

(Stelle) "Fine. I'm doing this for Pom-Pom, not you by the way."

(March 7th) "Do you think they come in pink! I hope they do!"

(Himeko) "Make sure to bring one back for Welt and I, if you get a chance!"

(Dan Heng) "I'll...be responsible with mine."

(Welt) "We know you will, Dan Heng."

Himeko and Welt waved goodbye to the crew before they departed for the planet once again, after fixing the table with an unholy amount of glue and tape they found on the Astral Express.

As the two sat in silence, Welt turned to Himeko.

(Welt) "I think we should have gone down there with them-"

(Himeko) "Relax, I'm sure they'll be okay. This is hardly the first time they've found something like this either."

Welt couldn't refute her words, instead sighing and adjusting his glasses.

(Himeko) "Personally, I hope they find a red one for me. You?"

(Welt) "...I suppose yellow would be an interesting blade..."

...

(Dan Heng) "...You all can stare as much as you want, I am not letting any of you hold the blade."

(March 7th) "Come oon! Can we swing it around for just a second?-"

(Dan Heng) "March, this isn't a toy."

(Stelle) "No, but it is super cool! Besides, Caelus got to use it!"

(Caelus) "It was pretty sick-"

(Dan Heng) Please do not let them find any of these things to call their own.

[the-anime-enthusiast]

MHA CHARACTERS TYPES IN WOMEN

#1 Katsuki Bakugou

KATSUKI BAKUGOU - PHYSICAL

He likes his women tall and strong (with a scary similar demeanor to his mother 😭). I'm talking 5'6 and up, might feel weird about dating someone taller than him, but the more the merrier⁉️ (I also bc he gets to be around 5'10 to 6ft whenever he finally finishes growing) 🙏

He FOR SURE fw chubby girls, like a lifter kind of chubby... Someone strong and with muscle but something on their bones other than skin yk?

For some this is unfortunate, be he would NEVER date a blonde 😭 He thinks it's creepy cuz he feels weird about dating someone blonde considering his mom's blonde too 😭 He wouldn't mind a darker, more honey blonde than anything, though 😌

He LOVES freckles and moles 😈 He questioned his sanity given Izuku has freckles whenever he found out he liked them, but always tries to keep it out of his mind cuz he'll get the heebie-jeebies again 😔 despite the intrusive thoughts, he loves to kiss them and point out how pretty they are everytime he gets the chance 🤗

He def has a thing for strong legs and a nice ass 🌚 BROS FS AN ASS MAN 😭 Loves just hugging you from behind and grabbing it, not even to be a perv it's just comforting in a weird way 😭🙏

He fw hips to 🙏😌 something to squeeze and kiss on when he's yk 😶‍🌫️ "downtown" 😶‍🌫️ following this he likes stretch marks too, rubbing them feeling the difference in texture on your skin 🤧

Going back to the strong legs 🙏 (and a lil on the chubby stuff) HE FW HEAVY ON THICK ANKLES it's so strange to him and makes him question whether he's sane or not, but he loves it. FS the weirdest thing he find attractive 🫡

He also appreciates some skull crushers 😈 Doesn't even have to be all muscles, just something squishy that's too big for his hand to wrap all the way around 😌

LOVES A BROWN EYED BADDIE ‼️ He loves the look of doe eyes staring up at him but the second your face relaxes and you look like a cold stone bitch he twitches a lil 🤭 (if yk what I mean) He can't get the gojo meme out of his head and gets the heebie-jeebies when looking into someone's blue eyes 😭😭 (monoma freaks him out))

KATSUKI BAKUGOU - MENTAL

You know how he didn't hold back on Uraraka? 😈 Yeah, he likes women who can hold their own against him and honestly that's all he asks for. Ofc he has other standards but something about a strong woman who's just as hard headed as him, really gets him going 🌚

Given he's had to calm down since the war, he appreciates a little bit of feist in his partner, but also a side of them that can be sweet and just as doting as he is 🤭

One of the main points of the people he takes interest in, are that they feel safe around him. 🫶He wants someone who will just fall in his arms at the end of a long day ranting on about work into his neck as he just sits there and listens 🌹 (occasionally chiming in on your coworkers you don't like 😈 )...

KATSUKI BAKUGOU - RANDOMS

He fucks with MUSICIANS HEAVVYYYYY 🎸🎶 You gonna bust out the guitar and strum along to his crazy good beats? HELL YEAH‼️ Maybe some bass to back him up? FUCK YEAH‼️ Gonna pull out your own sticks and out drum him?? DOUBLE FUCK YEAH ‼️Maybe even the clarinet to impress his dad? Hell. Motherfucking. Yeah. Any instrument and he's automatically impressed, he's learned from playing the drums just how much dedication and hard work goes into learning so he truly appreciates it 😈

LOVES FOODIES ‼️ "Hey babe I was thinking of trying that new katsu-" "You don't even have to ask" he replied dragging you to the car. He loves when people eat his food and compliment him on it (although he'll never admit it) so a GF WHO DOES THAT? SIGN HIM UP. 🎂

Low-key fucks with shy girls 😉 He loves outgoingness, don't get me wrong, but whenever they're behind closed doors and his gf gets all shy and scared to look into his eyes he practically melts (the thought of knowing that his gf feels the EXACT same way as him makes him puddy in your hands) 😈

PHYSICAL TOUCH ‼️GIFT GIVING ‼️ QUALITY TIME ‼️ HIS WEAKNESSES ‼️‼️When he can't find the words to tell you how he feels he'll use these to his advantage, hugging you from behind kissing your neck, bringing a lil Stuffie home for you when he knows your down, or just sitting in silence with your favorite TV show on 😌🙏 All that matters is that hes close to you or in your arms making you feel good when you otherwise cant 🫶

THAT'S IT THANKYOU BYYEE 🫶🫶

these are some head cannons for da best boi bakugou bc he's been my fav character for 6 years and what better way to celebrate than curate a list of my fav head cannons for him 🫶

(lemme know who I should do next 😉)

OKAY NOW ACTUALLY BYE BYEEE 😍😍

[bloodlust-1]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Soaked .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Wyll x fem Tav — fluff, Explicit 18+

Summary: Tav's tent is leaking from the heavy rain, leaving her completely soaked, and well - she has to share a tent with someone.

Notes: absolutely nobody asked for this. BUT! I've never read a Wyll fic and I wanted to change that for myself and maybe for some of you ;p Heavy Petting!!

Shit! Tav groggily opened her eyes, only to see the sight of her drenched tent. The rain had seeped through the flimsy fabric, leaving everything inside completely soaked. She let out a frustrated groan, cursing her laziness for not setting up her tent properly earlier that day.

The once comfortable bedroll of blankets and pillows was now a soggy mess, and Tav knew she would be shivering in her damp sleeping bag.

How could she be so careless? She puffed her cheeks out, where the hells is she going to sleep tonight? It was down pouring and Tav needed to get to somewhere dry so she wouldn't get sick.

"Damn it!" She stepped out of the tent, shielding her eyes from the rain. It beaded down on her skin like bullets.

Breathless and drenched, she burst into Wyll's tent, startling him from his sleep. His eyes widened in surprise as he sat up, trying to make sense of the sudden intrusion. But as he recognized her, he relaxed and a small smile crept onto his face, "Tav?"

"What brings you to my humble abode at this ungodly hour?" he rubbed his eyes with a small yawn.

Tav sighed as she pushed back the wet strands of hair that were sticking to her forehead. She half smiled for awkwardly bursting into his tent. "Looks like my tent couldn't handle the rain," She joked shallowly, "and now everything inside is pretty much ruined."

Leave it to Tav to have the worst luck when it comes to camping.

"Do you mind if I bunk with you for the night?" The rain beat against the ground with such force, that it was almost intimidating.

Wyll's tired eyes scanned Tav up and down. Exhaustion and concern were etched across his face as he quickly rummaged through the corner of his tent. Without hesitation, he grabbed one of his own shirts and tossed it towards Tav.

"Here, take this," he said with a hint of urgency in his voice. "I can't have you getting sick in those wet clothes." Wyll's protective nature kicked in.

Tav's fingers tightly gripped the shirt, her eyes fixed on Wyll's stunned expression. It was almost comical how his mouth formed a perfect 'o' shape as the realization dawned on him. "Oh!" In a split second, he spun around, giving Tav a chance to change in privacy.

Tav chuckled at Wyll's reaction. She always found his dramatic responses amusing. But now, as she stood there clutching the shirt, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness. After all, Wyll was someone she thought attractive.

Even in this sorry state, Tav still managed to look pretty damn cute. He couldn't believe she was in his tent, wearing his shirt and changing right behind him.

"Okay, I'm done," she announced, tapping on Wyll's shoulder. He couldn't help but admire her, even in this awkward situation. The way the shirt hung off her curves that stopped at her mid-thighs was quite the sight.

"Sorry about that," Tav said, biting her lip as she tried to contain her awkwardness. "Thanks for letting me borrow your shirt. It's much appreciated." Tav slowly sank onto the floor, trying to get comfortable.

"Wait -" Wyll spoke out instantly.

"Hm?'

He squinted his eyes toward the floor. “Where’s your bedroll?”

Tav scuffed sarcastically, “Soaked.”

Sure, this wasn't the most comfortable situation for her, but it was dry and warm. But this was not good enough for Wyll, he would never let a lady sleep on the floor.

"That's not happening." He sighed and shook his head. Wyll lifted up the covers to his bedding, nudging his head at Tav, "Climb in."

Tav signed in relief, quickly hopping into the bed with Wyll. Her skin lit up with a tingling sensation from the unexpected contact of his skin. It was a bit nerve-wracking, to be this close to him, but she couldn't deny the butterflies that bubbled up inside her.

Just as Tav climbed in Wyll's horn accidentally got caught in her hair. He tried to pull away when he noticed. In a panic, he tugged harder, which only made Tav wince in pain.

"Ouch!" Tav winced, her hand going to her hair as she felt the sudden tug. But before she could even say anything, Wyll was already apologizing profusely.

"S-Sorry!" Wyll stammered. And in that moment, he noticed how close their faces were, their breaths hitting each other in the air.

Tav blushed, She quickly peeled off the strands from Wyll's horn, trying to untangle them as gently as possible. "You're okay, Wyll," she reassured him, "I'm sorry for this nest on my head right now."

Once untangled, Tav squished against Wyll. They both laid silently, trying to shake off their racing hearts. How in the hells were they supposed to sleep now when all they could think about was how closely their skin was touching right now.

"I think you look lovely." Wyll suddenly spoke into the air as he laid on his back.

Tav tilted her head towards him, "Huh?" Her face felt hot for a second, "Oh! You're talking about before..." She felt shy and chuckled amusingly, "Thank you, Wyll..."

He nodded his head in contempt. But Tav spoke up too, "You look good too...I don't think I've ever seen you look bad though when I think about it."

Wyll twisted his body to face Tav, his eyebrow slowly arched upwards "Even with these hideous horns and eyes?" He seemed skeptical.

"Yeah, I never thought of you ugly." Tav was being honest with him and it felt - nice.

Wyll's soft smile twisted into a scowl. "What’s wrong?" Tav asked with concern.

"Zariel. I could hear her in my head." He closed his eyes tightly, and let out a frustrated sigh before responding, "And you'd think she'd be off doing something better than to tease me."

"What is she teasing you about..?"

Wyll's eyes crinkled with a soft smile and giggle, "Ahh..That's a conversation for another day."

Tav brought herself closer to him, she gave him a playful nudge, "What? No - don't be such a buzz kill." she puffed out her cheeks like a child.

"You're too cute." Wyll's eyes softened as she looked into Tav's sincere gaze. "If you really must know, she was making comments about me looking at you."

Tav rolled her eyes sarcastically, "Pfft, why would she make fun of that?"

A smirk spread across his lips, "Well - if I was admiring your beautiful face, then it would give her lots to insult me on."

Tav felt a bit flustered by his comment, but she quickly regained her composure. With a sly smile on her face, "You obviously have good taste. You're quite the charmer, Wyll."

Tav booped his nose, "But don't worry, I won't tell the others. Your secret is safe with me."

Wyll's smirk turned into a genuine smile as he took in her boldness. "I like the way you think."

She felt a sense of pride at his reaction. Tav was used to being the one to surprise people, but it was refreshing to have someone catch her off guard in a good way. "I always speak my mind," she replied confidently.

Wyll chuckled.

Tav gently traced her fingers along his jawline, causing him to shiver in response. "Now tell me - what's really on your mind?"

"Those soft lips, and that little frame," Wyll said, his voice barely above a whisper as he pulled her closer.

Her heart beat faster with each passing second. They were already so close, and it was like an invisible string was pulling them closer and closer. Tav's eyes fluttered close until the warmth of her lips was met with his. It was gentle and soft. Pulling back slightly, she looked up at him with big eyes.

"Is that your way of saying you like what you see?" she teased, her confidence growing by the second.

He chuckled and pulled her in for another kiss, his hands gently caressing her petite frame. She melted into his touch, enjoying the grip of his large hands.

"I more than like it," Wyll replied cockily. "I'm completely captivated by you."

Tav's blood rushed to her face. Everything felt like a dream because just yesterday Wyll was just another attractive man. But now - it felt a little more complicated than that.

Wyll's hand rested on the curve of Tav's lower back. His fingers dipped into her back dimples with gentle strokes, "Even now, I can't help but want to kiss you more."

Tav's fingers traced patterns on Wyll's chest while she gazed into his eyes. Here she was, laid next to the city's righteous rich boy: The Blade of Frontiers. He surely wasn't a disappointment.

Wyll's lips met Tav's in a passionate kiss, their bodies pressed together close-knit. Tav's heart fluttered as Wyll's hand moved from her back to cup her face, deepening the kiss even more.

Their breaths mingled between kisses, and his grip became tighter and possessive. Tav's tongue graced his in a steady motion and her hands clutched the shirt of his back.

Wyll's hands roamed eagerly over Tav's body, his touch sending shivers down her spine. He seemed to put most of his attention on her ass. Wyll actually spent quite some time looking at Tav's body and her bottom was his favorite feature of hers. He filled the palms of his hands with her curves.

He kneaded and groped the pudge of her hips and ass. Tav's body responded instinctively, pressing closer to him, her own hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

With each kiss, the intensity grew, and their bodies molded together. Wyll's hand traveled, his fingers gripped Tav's thigh possessively and pulled her leg up to rest on his hip.

Their hips clashed, each movement sending sparks of pleasure through their bodies. She could feel Wyll's hard length poke at her stomach.

Tav's grip on Wyll tightened, her breath coming in small gasps as she lost herself in the moment. Every touch, every movement, was a desperate attempt to get closer, to feel more of each other.

As their kiss deepened, their bodies moved in perfect synchronization, lost in a dance of passion and desire. Tav's moans mingled with Wyll's, their lips never breaking contact as they explored each other.

Wyll tightly shut his eyes and let out an airy gasp, "You have no idea how much I've been wanting to do that. And now that I have, I can't get enough of you."

Tav planted a single kiss on his cheek, "I never knew how good of a kisser you were.." Her head rested on the nape of Wyll's neck. "I want to keep experiencing that if that's something you want with me?"

a smile spreading across Wyll's face. "Of course. I knew I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you."

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

[earthtooz]

x : PUNCH TO THE HEART ! :*+ﾟ

in which: rin shows up at your place at 2:35 am, desperate for some first aid and your love.

warnings: BOXER!RIN AU, 2.2k wc, gn!reader, mentions of blood, HURT/COMFORT, reader patches rin up, ooc!rin possibly but this is my fantasy and you all are living in it!, ambiguous relationship; u can perceive it however u like :>, unedited, a lot of intimacy, one suggestive line.

a/n: this wasn't meant to happen, but there were quite a few people who wanted this to happen. i will be tagging the accounts, and you should all thank @limitlesshq for making this happen. i'm gonna go eat my laptop now bc i want this man so badly.

it’s 2:35am when you hear the furious rasping of knuckles on your door.

you’re a little terrified, rooted to where you were currently standing in the kitchen when you hear the intrusive noise. on the journey to retrieve a glass of water, you really were not expecting an unknown assailant to disrupt this methodical routine of yours.

willing yourself to move, you approach the door as carefully as possible, holding your breath whilst you peer into the peephole. the sight you’re greeted with causes you to stumble a little, face scrunching into an unpleasant expression as you lean on the door for a bit more stability. 

when you open the door, you don’t know who looks more shocked to see the other.

“rin?” you greet after a brief moment of silence, his teal eyes cutting into yours.

his eyebrows furrow, the shock melting away from his face. “did i wake you?”

“no, i was- uh, doing my work.”

“at 2:30? you should be getting some sleep-”

“can we not talk about my bad habits right now? not whilst you’re looking like…” you gesture to his face, “this.” 

there’s streaks of blood on his face, his hair sticks to his forehead due to sweat, he has a bust lip along with a few other cuts scattered along his skin and the drowsiness in his eyes is making you feel fatigued too. 

but there’s a part of you that twists in discomfort just thinking about what he’s been up to tonight, where he’d been tonight. the bulge in the pockets of his jacket confirm your thoughts and you wonder how much cash he could’ve racked up tonight to look this disastrous.

rin frequenting boxing matches as a fighter for a little extra cash was something you learnt about him ages ago, but ever since knowing it, you don’t recall him being beat up too badly. something about ‘being too good for lukewarm dipshits’. 

rin rolls his eyes. “i’m coming in.”

he pushes open the door a little further to accommodate his frame before stepping through as if this were his home, causing you to stare after him in bewilderment. where was this attitude coming from? why was he acting so weird tonight?

slowly, you shut the door and lock it, turning around to confront rin who now sits on the edge of the couch, forearms resting on his legs as he sighs heavily. walking over to his pitiful figure, you stop a few feet short.

“is something wrong?” you ask, voice practically a whisper as to avoid shattering whatever fragile state rin was in right now. 

“‘m just really tired. nasty fight tonight.”

you don’t say anything, not wanting to force rin to open up. instead, you take a hesitant step forward to card a hand through his messy hair and the sound that leaves him is close to a groan of relief. it hurts, really, rin’s double life stresses you out to the point that it causes physical aches in your chest simply thinking about what he has to go through. he says it’s a nice stress relief and the money doesn’t hurt, but because he ‘enjoys’ the activity, he never knows how to stop.

his hand weakly reaches out to grab at you, pulling you closer once they close around your waist, allowing him to lean against your stomach. the dark-haired soaks up whatever affection you give him and with each stroke of your hands through his hair, he leans himself further into you, using you as a crutch, a lifeline, a safe haven. 

when you step away a little to take a look at his injuries, you don’t miss the way his hands clench onto your shirt, holding on to the fabric with a vice grip as he stares up at you.

“where are you going?” he asks, voice ragged.

“nowhere, why?” you answer. rin’s grip lets up a little, but he pulls you into him effortlessly, causing you to grab onto his shoulders for stability.

“i don’t want you to go. need to be with you tonight. need to be with you all the time.”

the way your heart flips over and over again in your chest should be illegal because you feel like you’re about to be sent into cardiac arrest. rin is most beautiful when vulnerable, you think, and as concerning as your confession may sound, you mean it well. he bears his shield and sword, wields them so well that he forgets to drop them sometimes, that there is so much more to see when your view isn’t obscured by self-reliance and independence.

your hands travel upwards to cup his cheeks and he sighs, closing his eyes to relax against you.

“i’m not leaving, i just wanted to check out your injuries. speaking of which, you really need to wash up. let me take care of your wounds.” 

“they’re fine. i got some first aid already.”

“then why didn’t they wash the blood off your face?”

“i left before they could. wanted to see you.” 

“you’re so bothersome,” you scold with a small smile, patting his cheek affectionately. “i’m tired too, i want to go to bed so it’s either you wash up or i’m leaving you on the street.” 

with a grunt, rin stands up, surrendering to your pleads as he lets you drag him in the direction of your bathroom. “go shower. i’ll take dress your wounds afterwards,” you command, dropping a spare towel in his arms.

the dark-haired glances up at you with an amused look in his eyes. “not gonna join me?”

“you belong on the streets, don’t make me actually throw you out.”

he rolls his eyes. “aye aye captain.”

closing the door behind you, you dutifully retreat to your room where you had last left your laptop running with the document of the assessment you had to complete by the end of the week. killing time by working a little more wouldn’t hurt anyone, you think, before opening another tab, music still softly playing from your laptop speakers to set the ambient mood.

“what do you think you’re doing?”

a stern voice disrupts your train of thought, the sound of furious typing on keyboard suddenly halting when you see itoshi rin in your doorway, dripping water from his hair with nothing but a towel to cover his body, chest on display for your viewing pleasure.

not that you indulge him.

you breathe out roughly, rubbing your face. “oh good, you’re done. c’mon.”

standing up from where you were working, rin doesn’t let you walk too far out of your room, using a toned arm to stop you as it winds around your torso, bringing you to him effortlessly. you feel the post-shower warmth from his chest radiate off him, almost lulling you to sleep with how heavy your eyelids feel.

“you’re not overworking yourself again, are you?” the dark-haired asks quietly, his hand now tracing circles at your hip from where it snuck underneath your clothes.

the yawn that escapes you gives you the only answer he needs. “it’s just tonight, i promise.”

“you say that all the time. you need to take care of yourself, y/n. these habits aren’t healthy.”

“i know, i know. rich coming from you,” you mutter. “can we talk about this another time? i’d really like to clean you up and get to bed as soon as possible.”

you feel him nod from behind and soon enough, the grasp he had around you loosens, allowing you to step away and guide him to the bathroom. there, you sit him down on the toilet seat and furrow through your cabinets for the first kid, grabbing some antiseptic, cotton pads, and a variety of bandaids. 

the remaining mist from his shower lingers in your bathroom and the smell of your products remain heavy in the air- heavy on rin too.

the whole process you spend it in silence, letting the tension accumulate on its own as you brush away still damp spots with a dry cloth and squeeze some antiseptic onto his wounds before placing some bandaids over some of them. he’s not very reactive throughout the process, but his indicators of pain flash across his expression from time to time, even if just for a second. especially prominent when you dealt with his bust lips.

your heart aches.

when pressing the last dressing onto a cut on his cheek, you instinctively bend down to place a lingering kiss over it, as if the one action will communicate all the concern and affection you held for him.

as if the love you feel for him will be branded onto his skin.

it’s with an air of reluctance and melancholy that you pull away from him, not meeting rin’s eyes as you go to put the supplies back in the cabinet and wash your hands. 

you easily preempt the two arms that wind around you and the familiar chest that presses itself to your back once again. it seems to be rin’s favourite position, especially with how liberally he rests his chin on your shoulder, staring at your reflection, waiting for you to look back at him.

you don’t cave. otherwise you might break.

“talk to me,” he whispers next to your ear, tightening his embrace ever so slightly.

the silence is deafening, especially to rin who grows more and more concerned over it.

“y/n.”

“i don’t like it when you show up like this,” you confess in an exhale, reaching for a towel to dry your hands with. “it hurts seeing you hurt with blood all over your face, all bruised.”

now it’s his turn to be silent. you finally bring your head up to look in the mirror but the sight only makes you realise how much of a mess you look. your hair is ruffled, your eyes are drooping, and you look a little crazed. 

yet rin looks at you like you are some iridescent, all-knowing being. like you weave the strings to his life. like you command the outcome of his life. the twisted part is that he would. he would allow you to do all of the above, because “you’re the only place i can go.”

what he means to say is that you’re the only place he wants to go, but the confession causes a hiccup (something that resembled a quiet sob) to escape your throat. rin holds you tighter to him, pressing several kisses on your neck, trying to distract himself from your grief because otherwise he thinks he’d crack too. 

“rin.” one quiet syllable of his name causes him to stop and look back up at you, those usually indifferent, cerulean eyes containing so much intention and devotion. 

he loves you, he realises. 

“i’m glad you trust me and i trust you too, but seeing you hurt and broken down hurts me too.” 

you love him back, he realises.

“you talk all the time about taking care of myself, but what about you? you can’t expect people to do the things you can’t, rin.” you’re not looking at him again; it kills him. “i know i can’t stop you from going out every so often, i don’t have a place to tell you what to do- am i making sense right now?”

he gives your waist a squeeze. “you are. you’re right, i’m sorry for making you feel this way-”

“you don’t have anything to be sorry about. this is all just in my head, i’m sorry, i just need to sleep the day off and then-”

“-stop invalidating yourself. you’re right.”

“i don’t mean what i say from a ‘you’re bothering me’ kind of way, i don’t mind it when you come to me for help- i’m more than happy to! it’s just… i’m not as strong willed as i like to be sometimes.”

you turn around in his grasp and he presses you into the ceramic of the bathroom counter, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. “i know, i know,” he repeats. “it’s okay. thank you for being here, that’s enough for me. you make my nights so much easier, don’t you know?”

his forehead rests against yours.

“best part is being able to know that once everything is over, you can be there to make life so much better.”

with a shaky exhale, you begin laughing. “what if i’m actually asleep though and don’t wake up to answer the door?”

“i thought you were going to be asleep tonight.” 

“then why did you come?”

“i didn’t mean for you to answer. i just wanted to be near you.”

the weight of his confession is hefty, but calms the ponderous storm of your mind nevertheless. you laugh even harder. rin’s ears turn bright red. at least you’re smiling again. he would fight in countless matches and get several punches to the jaw if it meant he could see you all happy and radiant in his arms. 

you retreat out of the bathroom to find appropriate clothes for him to wear so he can be in something other than a towel. 

then soon enough, you’re both curled up under your covers with rin holding you to him in a vice grip. when he’s sure that you’re fast asleep, he breathes a quiet, but meaningful ‘i love you’ into your skin, branding you in return before succumbing to unconsciousness with all he could ever want in his arms.

[hongjoongscafe]

taehyung skinny dipping smut

This one is a very old bitch hours request. I thought maybe I could write some of the pending ones.

Sunset

Bitch hours

Pairing: taehyungxreader

Warning: skinny dipping, public place (with no public around), praise kink, multiple orgasms.

…

“Are you ready?” Taehyung bit his lip as he looked at you with a wide grin.

You hesitated for a few and then returned the grin. “I think so,” you bit your lip.

“Alright!” he chuckles and sticks his thumbs in the seem of his trunks. “On the count of three, okay?”

You nodded, excitedly. Holding the string of your bikini top, “okay!”

“One,” he began.

You pulled the string of your bikini top and let it loose. Taehyung lowered his trunks just a little bit.

“Two,” his voice was giddy as he looked towards the ocean.

You undid the string around your neck, your boobs spilt free as he pulled his trunks even lower, the base of his cock was visible.

“Three!” both of you disregarded your lower on the sand and ran towards the water, laughing because you couldn't believe you had given in to the intrusive thoughts and committed to this with your best friend, who, by the way, had already gone skinny dipping multiple times before and have eaten your ear off trying to convince you to do the same.

The water was cold as it glazed on your feet but you didn't stop until then water was just above your boobs. Your nipples hardened at the cold.

But it felt fantastic. The sunset was pretty, pink and purple. The sun was hidden partially behind the clouds. You gazed at it with a huge smile.

Feeling the presence next to you, you looked at Taehyung who was staring at you with a smile as wide as yours if not wider.

“Do you like it?” He asked you.

“Yes!” something in his chest shifted. He stared at your glossy pink lips as they moved. “I like the feeling of water against my skin. And it’s so b—” Your words died on your tongue as you felt his wet hand cupping your cheeks with tenderness, your heart skipped a beat.

He brought his face closer and looked into your eyes as his thumb caressed your bottom lip. It was all too intimate and right. Without waiting any second, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him. His soft luscious lips pressed against your pillowy ones.

He hummed into the kiss. His hands wandered over your body, feeling each and every curve and crevice of your body.

You deepened the kiss as he let your tongue in his mouth. Your teeth clashed with his and the spit ran down your chin.

You moaned as you felt his big, thick cock tapping on your stomach, begging for attention. You let one of your hands wander down and cupped his cock. Even in the cold water, it was warm and throbbing. He shamelessly grinds against your cold palm, moaning in your mouth.

“F-fuck,” he grunted, as he palmed, and squeezed your ass.

He pulled away from for lips and took in your flushed face. The swell of your boobs was pushing out of the water as you took sharp breaths.

“Tae,” you mewled as his fingers slipped between your legs from behind, feeling your slippery cunt. He pushed his long middle finger inside your hole. “Mm, fuck.” you gasped.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispered as he buried his face in the joint of your neck and shoulder, sucking harshly and then licking the pinkish bruises. He could feel your pussy clench around his digit at the praise. Pulling out just a little, he shoved one more finger into you and scissored your pussy, preparing you to take his thich cock.

Your fingers wrapped your fingers around his cock, your thumb swiping his leaking slit. Your other hand cupped his balls and squeezed them making him moan your name. “Baby, you are going to make me cum so hard.”

Taehyung pulled away quickly hooked his arms under your knees and picked you up. You circled your legs around his waist.

His cock rubbed your core. His eyes were looking deep into yours as he glided his cock on your slit before slowly pushing it in you.

“Ngh,” you gasped. He was huge. None of your exes were this big. Taehyung's cock stretched you open. It was hurting a bit but it was pleasant, and more arousing than ever.

Taehyung's eyes rolled back as your tight slippery, velvety cunt wrapped around him. “So fucking warm. Baby, you are squeezing me so good,” his gaspy voice sent shivers down your spine.

His one hand held you by your hips and the other circled your clit to help you adjust. His lips found yours and kissed messily.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, your nails scratching his scalp. “Please!” you cried.

“Please what, beautiful?” he teased, his fingers hurriedly rubbing your clit, pulling you closer to your climax.

Before you could say something, your body stilled as he pulled an orgasm out of you. Your pussy clenched around him, hard. “Taehyung!” you moaned as you came all over his cock.

You rested your face against his shoulder as he rubbed your back. After a few seconds, you felt Taehyung thrust into you. You hummed in his ear, making him twitch as he heard your slutry voice.

“Come on, baby. One more for me,” he rasped. “I know your pretty little cunt can take one more.”

“Fuck me, Tae!” your legs trembled as he picked up his speed. The tip of his cock brushed against your spongy spot every time he thrust in.

“Rub your little clit for me, baby,” he grunted. His hands clutched your side as he fucked you on his cock. Your hands slipped between your bodies and rubbed your swollen nub, matching the pace of his thrusts. “Yeah! That's it, baby. That's it. Clench around me. Fucking milk my cock good.”

The water around you splashed. Your tits rubbed against his chin. He quickly wrapped his lips around your hard nipple, sucking and licking it.

You felt your loins burn as you came closer and closer to your climax. “I'm gonna cum!” you warned him.

“Cum with me. Let go, baby,” his fingers bruised your hips.

His eyes rolled back as he felt you clench and let go. Your warm cum flushed around him pulling him to his own climax. After a few more sloppy thrusts, he came undone inside you.

You moaned as his cum filled your cunt to the brim. He twitched inside you as he took a deep breath. This was the most intense orgasm you both ever experienced.

After catching your breath, Taehyung chucked, still holding you to his chest, pecking your lips again and again. “We should go skinny dipping more often.”

…..