beyondthebelle

[beyondthebelle]

me every monday night raw

[beyondthebelle]

You Love to Hate Me (pt.1)

Rating: 18+ (mdni!!!!)(no piv...yet)

Pairing: CM Punk x female wrestler/aka you if you believe

Excerpt: I can’t take that again, the sly smiles, the side looks, the snarky laughs when I slip up. Surely Punk isn’t back. That coil in my gut again, a snake coming to life whenever he comes up, getting harder to ignore.

I tried to make the character as ambiguous as I could, other than the reference to them so far as being cis, essentially self insert but without using the second person. Anyhoo enjoy!

divider credit @cafekitsune

I was in the back of my Uber on the way to the airport, ready to catch the red eye to New Orleans. It was eerily quiet on the highway, cars sped past here and there but compared to about six hours ago it was a ghost town. My driver was a nice quiet woman named Lana; her comfortable silence had already earned her the fattest tip I could afford.

There was nothing I liked more in this world than the cool blue silence of the night – it was a welcome friend when my world was so often sprays of red, pops, chants and screams, and the yellows and greens of bruises.  And this weekend was gearing up to be of the reddest, thuddiest, most bruised yet.

The Royal Rumble.

Storylines were beginning to gain traction, the speculation over who was going to show up was getting out of control. I even saw someone say they thought a hologram Andre the Giant was going to appear. I mean come on.

The best part of it all though, was I did know. I knew a couple of surprises. Because I was one of them.

Had people predicted me?

Yeah sure, here and there.

But not seriously, not really. I tried to push aside the feeling that maybe people had just forgotten about me.

I’ve been on hiatus, recovering from a neck injury (an actual one, not a story one) that left me learning how to be independent again. Painful? Absolutely. But nothing I couldn’t take. But the mental toll, the boredom, the embarrassment, the weakness. That'll never happen again.

I let out a long sigh and leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the SUV. Flashes of amber flicked across the interior and the knot of nerves I’d been cultivating in my stomach were beginning to squirm.

“Don’t worry honey, we’re almost there. I know it’s late.” Lana said from the front, her eyes peering at me for a moment in the rearview.

Her voice was so gentle and kind. I threw her a small smile, “oh no worries Lana, you take your time.”

That must have been a bigger sigh than I realized.

After I was cleared I was so excited, so ready to get back to the ring that training had become everything to me. When HHH said he wanted me back by the Rumble and could I work that, I knew my answer before he even finished asking. Yeah. Hell yeah.

Obviously I knew who was coming out for the women, but the men's rumble? Not a clue and that was fine with me. I liked being in the dark as much as possible, it made for better acting when I was on camera. But beyond that, I loved the surprise. I loved the mystery. I loved wrestling.

Damien, Drew, Roman, Sami, Gunther, and Dominick were all confirmed for the men’s Rumble, but otherwise who knew.  The last time I checked online, people were predicting Joe Hendry, Hulk Hogan (ew), Sting, Trick Williams and of course everyone’s favourite: CM Punk.

I held back another long sigh.

The last time I’d been around him was right before my neck injury. Smug, chastising and full of himself. Always that dumb little smirk when he knew he was right. He taunted and nagged me about the moves I was doing, told me I was going to get myself killed. Laughed at me when I told him to fuck off.

“O.K.” was the last thing he said to me, hands up in the air, dirty white bandages his surrender.

I chewed on my lip.

I should have listened, despite the fact that he kept calling me kid, and the looks I got from him every time I messed up, I should have kept my mouth shut and listened. Because it turns out he was right, and when it was my turn for my moment all those months ago, I fucked the move up, I fucked my neck up, and I fucked up the next eighteen months. So, when my moment comes again Saturday night, I don't want it to come with an I told you so.

The jolt of the vehicle stopping shook me out of my spiral and I realized we’d finally arrived at the airport. My body began vibrating with excitement, the kind you feel before a big trip. All nerves and humming. That familiar, mechanical whir of the airport greeted me as Lana and I hopped out. She grabbed my luggage and walked me to the doors. She looked at me and grabbed my hand in both of hers, a startling act of affection for such a silent trip, but I didn’t pull away - intrigued.

“You’re going to be a star.” She said abruptly. A genuine smile cracking the surface of her face.

I stared at her for a second. My face making an "oh" like a silly little fish. “I-I, what? I mean thank you...Lana, really. I don’t know what to say.”  

“Don’t say anything, just know I’m rooting for you Selena,” she gave me a little wink and my hand a final squeeze before trotting off to her car. I stared in disbelief at her and her SUV as it drove off - then snorted a little laugh.

How did she know? How did she know I was Selena Star? Did she know? Maybe people did remember me. Maybe that familiar nagging voice wasn’t everything.

I got onto my app: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ + %100 tip.

It was approaching 3 a.m. when we landed. I’d fallen into one of those fitful sleeps where you blink and thirty minutes has gone by. As we taxied around for what felt like 31 hours (it was 31 minutes) and I walked about 12 miles to the luggage (it was half a mile) I was finally, mercifully at my hotel. Yet, somehow, so were the paparazzi. Thankfully they don’t know what to look for with me, and I’m practically unrecognizable out of my makeup and hair. Suckers.

Would they care anyways? No. I shook my head. I wasn't entertaining that.

I looked around, distracting myself, admiring the lobby. Plush, velvety couches crowded around large coffee tables covered in flowers and piles of magazines to different tourist destinations.

The person at the front desk was an excited looking twenty-something named Sky. The energy coming off them would be infectious if not for it now being 4 a.m.

“Hi!” they blurted out. “Can I help you check-in?”

“That’d be great, thank-you” I answered,giving them as much of a smile as I could muster.

“You must be tired”, they began, manicured nails going at breakneck speed across the keyboard, “so many folks have been checking in all weekend. Are you here for the Rumble too?”

My whole body tensed at the mention of it. Oh no , I did not want to get my picture taken at 4 a.m after being on a plane. “What do you mean?” I said maybe a little too sharply.

Sky stopped their typing and looked at me like they’d seen a ghost, all colour draining from their face. “I am so sorry. I meant as in are you going to go to it like...do you have tickets. Ugh I’m sorry that was so unprofessional of me. We’re under strict instructions not to ask anyone why they’re in town. I’m just so excited I got ahead of myself. I love wrestling, I think it’s why I was put on nights this week,” they rambled on , apologizing three more times.

Ah, I thought. Sky was a fan. That made sense. I’m sure if I was in their position ten years ago, I’d be feeling the same. I felt my shoulders relax at the realization.

“Hey, hey, it's all good. I am going actually, are you? To the Royal Rumble that is” smiling back at them now, understanding the tense excitement.

“Yes!” they breathed out-relieved, “I’m so excited! It’s my first wrestling event ever. Where are you sitting, maybe I’ll see you around?!” They were practically humming.

“Oh uh, maybe!” Technically not a lie. “I’ll have to double check my seats I’m so tired I can’t even remember. Next time I see you I’ll let you know.” I winked at them as I left.

I went to my room and was out before my head even hit the pillow.

The glory of being a surprise is my time before is spent hiding, getting ready, warming up, and sneaking around. It was like being a spy, but without the threat of death.

I rehearsed with the others; Bayley, Liv, and Nia all took turns with me and I wanted to make sure every move, kick, jump, everything was right. No fuck ups, nothing. And when I was sweaty, sore, and winded enough, when I was hungry and could tell the others were over it, that’s when I knew I was done. With my final fake pin on Nia, I stood up, hair sticking to my face from the sweat, breathe shaking my chest, only to see what looked like the flash of hot pink pads disappearing behind a door.

My heart beat impossibly fast.

No. It couldn’t be. It can’t be. He wasn’t even with the WWE anymore. He left shortly after I went on hiatus, some stupid dispute with management he never talked about publicly.

I can’t take that again, the sly smiles, the side looks, the snarky laughs when I slip up. Surely Punk isn’t back. That coil in my gut again, a snake coming to life whenever he comes up, getting harder to ignore.

I'm lost in thought all the way back to the hotel room, mind racing with the possibility of him showing up tomorrow. The women were on first, and I needed my rest. But as I showered and got ready for bed all I could think about was how much I tried not to think about CM Punk for the last 18 months. If I read wrestling news, he was in the periphery, if people talked about him they knew not to involve me, and he was never ever brought up to me while training. Did they know the humiliation I felt every time I thought of him? Was it pity why they never brought him up? They all saw how we used to bicker, maybe they could sense my bitterness now.

As I lay in bed that hot pink flash keeps repeating in my head. It could have been Tiffany, hell maybe it was Charlotte. Right? Anyone can wear hot pink with black and white accents and stars..

Fuck.

After the worlds most fitful sleep, it was Rumble day. Vague dreams of Punk pinning me in a bizarre blended match swirled in my brain while I brushed my teeth, but were gone by the time I was out the door. I needed to focus. Nothing was more important to me than getting through this match not only safely but in style. I was back, and I needed people to remember who I was.

It was nearly time now. My gear was on, my makeup and hair impeccable and I was vibrating. I stood in gorilla and watched on the monitors as Liv and Naomi beat the hell out of each other, while Bayley and Nia fought in another corner. The time went to 10 and that was my signal.

I waited just outside the entrance, hopping back and forth on my feet.

3.

2.

1.

It was go time.

I step out onto the ramp as my music blares and to my utter shock the crowd goes wild. It was like out of a dream. I stay in character, but just barely. I see signs with my name here and there while I'm running towards the ring. I've never felt so alive. These people remember me, these people wanted me here.

I enter the ring with childlike glee but by the time my feet his the mat its all business.

Not a move out of place, not a botch, not a slip to be seen. I'm back, and even as Liv pushes me out of the ring the crowd roars for me, cheers for me and Lana was right.

I am a Star.

That familiar after match ache was settling in. I'd showered and changed into comfortable clothes, and was now waiting for the main event. I sat with Bayley in the box reserved for all of us.

"Sooooo, any idea who you think is showing up?" She asked, side eyeing me.

I ignored the look but not the question. "Well you know me, I love a surprise, so I have tried to stay as blind as possible. I'm hoping for a Joe Hendry, or it'd be cool to have someone like Zilla Fa-"

"What about Punk?"

The question was like whiplash. My head swung around to stare at her. I winced a bit at the motion. "What about him?"

"Do you think he'll debut tonight?" She asked, nonplussed. Like she didn't just interrupt me to ask about a person that I thought was off limits.

"I don't think about him at all" I replied rather stiffly.

"Mhm, that's why you turn pale every time he's mentioned huh?" She said, laughing and stopping when she saw the look on my face.

"What do you mean?" I asked her ,"He was a dick to me and then I destroyed my neck and he's probably been bragging about it this whole time. Of course I'm pale. It's humiliating." I was starting to regret hanging out.

"Hey wait", she began, her hand on my forearm, "I was there you know - when all that happened and that's not how I remember it. I remember him milling around a lot and watching you train. I remember him warning you not to do moves that were frankly way too dangerous too soon. And yeah I remember him being too pushy, too protective. I also remember you telling him to fuck off and him being pretty hurt by it. But what I don't remember is him bragging or saying I told you so to people after the fact."

My head swam at the memory of it all. I was at a loss for words, I had tried so hard not to think of everything leading up to my injury, poured everything into rebuilding my strength, got back to where I wanted to be and now all that was left was to face what Bayley was saying.

When I didn't say anything she continued, "I think you need to rethink what happened, why he kept nagging you, and look into why he left. That's all I'm gonna say. Alright? But you don't need to be so hard on yourself either. Who knows maybe it'd be cool if he was here." She gave a soft shrug and turned back to face the ring after that.

Her words were a gut punch. What did she mean? Was I missing something?

I remember him always being around when I was there at the professional centre, rehearsing, going through my warm ups. We'd run into each other in different hallways, he'd ask me how training was going, if I needed pointers...he was teasing me.

Right?

He had to be, because I always bit back. Saying things like what could an old man give me pointers on? He laughed at me over that one especially. He was always there-always mocking, pushing me around and getting away with it. It drove me insane. That snake in my stomach was alive now, swirling into different twitchy coils and I realized I was beginning to squirm in my seat.

I also remember the lead up to my injury, how badly I wanted to impress everyone by doing something new. But I couldn't focus, not with him around, lingering, watching me, interrupting, distracting me. But I pushed and pushed and he got worse and worse. Arguing with the trainers, pressing me if I needed help until one day I snapped. I was tired of being treated like a child and yet I acted like one. And I got injured because of it. I wasn't mad at him for that, I was mad at me. I should have known better.

But then why was I so adamant on avoiding even the thought of him? Was it because I saw the hurt in his eyes? And that the last thing I said to him was fuck off? Or was it that I missed his teasing and randomly running into him after matches, towering down over me, sweaty and out of breath, asking me how training was going. Holding a donut in one hand, it's sugar glaze oozing a milky white stream down his fingers and thumb.

Oh.

If this was Looney Toons a light bulb would have gone off above my head.

It's been so long, I've been so focused on my career I'd forgotten what it felt like to have a crush, to find someone so disgustingly attractive you can't focus, where they look you in the eyes and make you squirm. I thought I was distracted by his bossiness, his always butting in. But I wasn't annoyed by it, I was turned on by it.

I had to stop thinking about this, not right now, not in public. I could feel myself getting wet at the realization. I needed a distraction.

Thankfully that distraction came in the form of the beginning of the men's Rumble, but before long the familiar fuzzy sound of the beginning of Cult of Personality hit - and as expected the roar was deafening.

I was back in the confines of my hotel room, in an oversized t-shirt and tucked into bed, the cool air of the AC on me. After having the realization that I've been attracted to Punk for the last three years, I needed to be alone. Especially after watching him win the Royal Rumble.

Thoughts of him drifted in and out of my head. Punk coming down the ramp in the pink I had seen. His hair flopping around in front of his face. The more he fought, the more he bled, the wilder he got. The more my heart was racing and and my breathing was hitching. I could feel myself getting turned on and finally let the coil inside me unwind completely. Playing back the night, how good he looked. How his tattoo covered skin glistening in sweat, his hair wet and stringy, eyes wide as he threw person after person out of the ring.

Admitting to myself all the ways I was attracted to him had unleashed something.

Flashes of him and the way he towered over me so many times after a match, sweat, blood, and whatever remnants of deodorant he'd been using dancing around my senses. His scent shouldn't have been as intoxicating as it was, but god it was. Everything about him was.

I could feel the blood rush to my clit, throbbing in time to my heartbeat. I was getting so wet so fast at the realization that he was watching me yes, but not judging me.

Oh god.

Looking back now, it made so much more sense. He wasn't being smug, he was trying to make sure I didn't break my neck and die. He was trying to protect me and I told him to fuck off. A new wave of shame hit me. I needed to speak to him, not only because I needed him biblically, but because I owed him an apology.

knock knock knock

I jumped out of my skin and glanced at my phone. 12:53 a.m. Who the fuck? It couldn't be Sky could it? Did they figure out who I was?

knock knock knock

Again?

"I'm coming! Jesus!" I hollered, stomping over to the door. Who the fuck needed me at 12:53?!

"What!?" I yelled, opening it in a flurry.

There stood all six foot one of CM Punk. Arms crossed against his chest, staring down at me.

"Nice way to greet an old colleague and future world heavy weight champ".

"I-what-what?" The colour had drained from my face. "What are you doing here?"

It was his turn to look confused. "What do you mean what am I doing here? Bayley told me you needed to talk to me."

End of part 1. Hehe

[beyondthebelle]

Oooooooh he's a Gemini!!! That explains it.

happy birthday, seth 💜

[beyondthebelle]

No he has osteoporosis!!!!!!

[beyondthebelle]

oh my god? This is stunning

some digital paint practice with a post-mania match CM Punk!!

(process timelapse below the cut, reblog don't repost and all that jazz)

[beyondthebelle]

he's so cunty I love it

WWE BACKLASH | 05.10.25

[beyondthebelle]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[beyondthebelle]

When I say I'm praying for you, this is who I mean.

I think about this tweet every day

[beyondthebelle]

pissing shitting screaming and creaming

New Kink List 🤣😭

(don't come for me. my brain cannot focus on less than 600 things at time.)

Notes: this list will be a little different than my previous ones. i'll list 10 wrestlers, and those are the only ones you can request. there are 30 prompts, so each wrestler will get 3. once those three have been requested, you can no longer request that wrestler. if this makes sense, continue reading lol

REQUESTS CLOSED.

Wrestlers: Chris Sabin (1) / CM Punk / Cody Rhodes / Damian Priest / Gunther / Jon Moxley (1) / Karrion Kross / Liv Morgan (1) / Seth Rollins / Stephanie Vaquer

Kinks: 1. anal / 2. begging / 3. body worship / 4. breath play, choking / 5. cheating / 6. cockwarming / 7. breeding / 8. cum in panties / 9. rimming, blowjob, deep throating, gagging / 10. dacryphillia / 11. dirty talk, voice kink / 12. double penetration / 13. thigh riding / 14. dubcon, noncon, cnc / 15. exhibitionism, voyeurism / 16. free use / 17. glove kink / 18. humiliation, degradation / 19. hunter, prey / 20. impact play, spanking, hair pulling, pain kink / 21. mutual masturbation / 22. threesome, gangbang / 23. partner swap / 24. pegging / 25. sexting, phone sex / 26. facial, swallowing / 27. size kink, size difference / 28. somnophilia / 29. spit kink / 30. titty fucking

i'll be accepting 3 requests at time, so as not to overwhelm myself. in the request, please specify the wrestler(s) and your kink and any other details you'd like to have included!

TAGLIST: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @princesstiti14 @the-whatever-22 @jeypunkk @madhatterbri @atomicskincareyelinerkid @aceywaycy @riddleebabyy @pyro-romantic @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @beyondthebelle @flowersbloom8787 @terrortwinunicorn @jazzyboo1230-blog1 @deansimpala @there-goes-thefighter @themarvelousmaks @sarlaccussy @infamousvampcx @persephoneinbloom @rk-ho @hollydreamwood @xkittypunkerx @bangchansmami @thatgirljayy @damianpriestfangirl82 @moonlightsinner @pittieprincess22 @cyberdejos2 @brideofinfamy @rainbowdreams-x @headcaseproductions1 @bearbutlikeprincessbear @dontcrykeepyourheaduphigh @loki69zowens @fearlesschimera @rockerfairy93 @misslackey @nichole1989 @hc-geralt-23 @miss-kuki-nz @elaineoneill570 @rheasfingerpuppet @gracy09 @lizzycaraballo-blog @bloodline-fanacc @skyesthebomb @princessesareforsuckers @temporalgalaxymarauder @eboni-napalm @happelu970 @nesiamenick

[beyondthebelle]

So this is actually turning into a whole thing. Is anyone interested in a story that's like a whole thing but also horny?

....is it finally time for me to write the nastiest filthiest pussy poppin shit I can conjure? Has the moment of inspiration come?

yes. yes it has.

[beyondthebelle]

Seriously. I have minimum two panic attacks a day and I work with fuckin books. So let the man do some heavy breathing in an elevator and talk about his struggles y'all.

Truly it's laughable that so many fans are coming down on Jey, when most probably couldn't even do a presentation in front of their co-workers or classmates without similar reactions.

Be so fuckin for real. Would you be chill right before a fight? In front of millions???? The answer is no.

Jey’s WrestleMania vlog captured him crouching down in an elevator facing the wall and breathing heavy, talking about how he thought he was gonna faint at one point, and saying he still couldn’t catch his breath when his match was long over.

Can we stop making fun of the guy for the way he speaks when he shows CLEAR signs of anxiety?

And #hottake, but nobody in that company should be punished for having mental health struggles (by not getting opportunities) just because they won’t look as “professional” as someone else.

[beyondthebelle]

....is it finally time for me to write the nastiest filthiest pussy poppin shit I can conjure? Has the moment of inspiration come?

yes. yes it has.

[beyondthebelle]

painting update my good bitches

please be nice I have no self esteem

[beyondthebelle]

OH GOOD HEAVENS 💦

-`♡´- BAD HABITS (1/3)

➔ Pairing — Damian Priest ♡ f!Reader ➔ Summary — Damian and his best friend help each other cum on a regular basis, and as long as they don't touch each other, it can't ruin their friendship. But maybe sometimes friendships need to be ruined? (Part 1/3) ➔ Word Count — 1.6k ➔ Warnings — NSFW. Dirty talk, masturbation (m and f), spitting, cum 18+ ➔ Notes — Spanish translations are at the end of the story provided by Google Translate.  ➔ Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here!  ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST

Stretching, she slowly drifted into consciousness, heavy-lidded eyes blinking open. Disorientation consumed her momentarily until she remembered she was no longer home in Florida—no, her best friend had surprised her by taking her with him as he toured Europe with the WWE—but essentially vacationing in (for now) Barcelona, Spain. She smiled with one final stretch before climbing out of bed and heading for the shared bathroom in their two-bedroom hotel suite. She and Damian had crashed in their respective rooms the moment they’d arrived—the more than eight hours of flying, coupled with the time change, easily exhausting them.

Finishing her business, she took one step toward her room and stopped. Her eyes searched the darkness as she listened, unsure if she’d heard anything in the first place. There. The corners of her mouth twitched, her lip tucking itself under her teeth as she waited for one more confirmation sound, which came in the form of a delicious groan, and she pivoted, now bound for Damian’s room. He’d left his door ajar, surely on purpose, and her smile grew while she gripped the knob, inaudibly pushing it open.

The black-out curtains used to shield the only window in the room were now open, allowing the city lights and illumination from the moon to paint her best friend—who also just so happened to be the sexiest man alive—in all shades of blues and grays, as well as hard-edged shadows that made him seem even larger than his six-five frame as he lay with his back to the headboard of the luxurious bed, long legs stretched out in front of him. Shirtless, he had one arm bent, tattooed bicep flexed, his hand cushioning the back of his head. Her eyes followed the colorful map on his arm to his broad chest, to his powerful abs and chiseled V-lines. All the way down to his other huge hand, which was wrapped around his equally huge cock, tugging leisurely, hips rolling to meet each stroke.

As much as she wanted to—and would—join in, she loved to simply watch him please himself. Licking her lips, her own hand slid south toward her already aching pussy. Damian moaned, swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, and his thick thighs shifted. The tips of her fingers had just slipped beneath her panties, but she halted their progress as Damian’s body came alive—he was closer than she’d anticipated, so her pleasure would just have to wait. Damian needed her. 

“You could’ve called me,” she broke the silence softly. Damian jumped, his hand pausing, and upon realizing who it was, he glared at her. “You know I would’ve answered.” 

“I heard you snoring all the way in here,” Damian replied, eyes closing as he resumed jerking himself. 

“That’s what got you in such a state, huh?”

Damian chuckled. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. Now bring your ass over here.”

She didn’t need to be told twice before practically skipping across the room and hopping onto her knees on the bed beside Damian, though forcing herself to leave at least an inch of space between them. That was Rule Number One: No Touching. And if they didn’t follow the rules, the both of them irrationally reasoned, the friendship between them that they held so dearly would be ruined. She leaned as closely as possible to him, her mouth to his ear, gently ghosting cool air along Damian’s hot skin, and he thanked her with a strangled groan from deep in his throat.

Glancing down at his working hand, she whispered, “Do the thing.”

Damian turned his head to look at her, and it was her turn to feel his breath across her neck. Her cunt throbbed, but she forced herself to ignore it—she didn’t want to lose focus on Damian. She blinked sluggishly as her best friend released the hold he had on his dick, letting the heavy, girthy flesh smack against his lower belly. He made her squirm for several moments before he finally did the thing—flexing muscles deep within to make his cock bounce without assistance from his hands. He did it twice more, resuming his stroking shortly after. 

“I don’t know why I love that so much,” she admitted. 

Oh, but she knew exactly why she loved it so much.

“Now you do the thing,” Damian rumbled.

Smirk expanding on her lips, she sat back on her heels and lifted her shirt over her head, the both of them knowing she never wore a bra if she didn’t absolutely have to. Damian’s blown pupils glazed over as he enjoyed the show of his best friend massaging her tits for him, flicking her nipples until they were pebbles begging to be sucked, licked, worshipped. She even raised her arms and jiggled them back and forth, giggling as she did so.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Damian sighed, shaking his head. Her heart tingled and her stomach flipped like they did every time he told her she was perfect because sometimes she believed he thought she was perfect, and not just flinging compliments as he neared orgasm.

She placed her fists on the mattress next to him, arching her back, and Damian’s hips were now meeting each stroke of his hand. “Almost as perfect as—” 

“I have to taste you,” Damian breathed.

Her body stilled as she searched his face, his entire body working overtime as he chased his high. Her first instinct was to acquiesce—press her lips to his with no regard whatsoever for the aftermath even if it meant losing her best friend, because at least she would have gotten a taste, at least she would have felt him. But their friendship trumped either of their needs, and since she was the one with the clearest head at the moment, the responsibility fell to her to dash their desires. 

“But it’s against the rules,” she whispered, lacking any conviction. 

“I don’t—” Damian stammered. “I can’t fucking cum. Please, angelita.” 

She gulped, knees almost buckling, heart hammering and cracking against her ribcage. Damian panted beside her, abs clenching, biceps flexing, thighs quaking and promising to graze against her own if she didn’t put more space between them. But she couldn’t. Not with the most important person in her life begging her to help him cum. They’d done this many times before, one talking the other to and through their most intimate moments, but Damian had never sounded like this before—so fucking desperate and needy. For her.  She’d never known him not to be able to shoot his huge load all over abs, sometimes even hitting his chest, no matter how exhausted or sore or stressed he was—he truly must have needed help.

She couldn’t be the level-headed one anymore. She should have expected or at least considered that the day would come when talking just wasn’t enough. 

“Open your mouth,” she gently ordered.

Damian did as he was told—a thrill surging through her veins at his instant obedience—as she leaned over him, opening her own mouth and extending her tongue. The drool that had collected from witnessing Damian Priest jerk off dripped off her tongue and onto his, Damian gasping as her flavor coated his mouth. 

“Christ,” he whispered, eyes closing. “You taste … I’m gonna fucking—” 

“Cum for me, sweet boy,” she encouraged, fingers itching to scratch at Damian’s heaving chest, to squeeze his bouncing bicep, to slap his hand away and stroke him to completion herself. But she’d already done too much, they’d already crossed a line they’d agreed never to cross. Damian whimpered. The man fucking whimpered, his eyebrows knitting together, hand a blur on his rigid dick. “Cum for your precious angelita,” she purred.

The big man’s back arched, and her eyes shifted just in time to witness the first rope of cum land on his abs. More saliva accumulated in her mouth as she watched him virtually douse himself in sticky sweet cream that she dreamt of licking off him, that she wished she could lick off him, that she just knew tasted better than every single other man on the planet. After he drained his balls, and ignoring the rather impressive mess he’d made of himself, Damian’s body finally began to relax, head even dipping closer to his shoulder.

She thought about grabbing a warm, wet towel and cleaning her friend off, but decided against it, trying to convince herself it wasn’t because she knew he’d be pissed when he woke up the next morning with dried cum stuck to his skin, but the idiotic grin on her lips suggested otherwise. Carefully she climbed out of bed, grabbing her shirt—one of Damian’s newer merch shirts; the one that looked like a tarot card, and her new personal favorite. 

“Do you need me?” His voice was swathed in sleep, and he didn’t seem to be fully conscious, but somehow, somewhere, he was aware of the past sequence of events—one helped the other get off and then the other returned the favor. His concern with whether or not she got hers was sweet, and she stopped herself before she read any further into something she knew would only bring her heartache.

Heartache. 

Fucking hell, what was she doing? 

“I need you to go to sleep,” she whispered.

She rushed from Damian’s room, quietly closing the door, all but jogging back to her room and closing that door before collapsing face-first on the bed. Her knees slid under her body, ass raising toward the ceiling, and she spread her thighs as she slid her soaked panties aside. 

“Fuck,” she sobbed, rubbing her heated face along the soft sheets, fingers slipping within her folds, finding her slick clit swollen and throbbing and yes, she did need Damian. “I need you,” she breathed, rolling her hips to meet the circular motion of her fingers, easily bringing herself to climax, biting down on the blanket to refrain from screaming his name. “I need you so fucking bad,” she whimpered instead, spent body crumpling to the mattress.

જ⁀➴°⋆ Angelita — Little angel

TAGLIST: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @princesstiti14 @the-whatever-22 @jeypunkk @madhatterbri @atomicskincareeyelinerkid @aceywaycy @riddleebabyy @pittieprincess22 @cyberdejos2 @brideofinfamy @rainbowdreams-x @headcaseproductions1 @bearbutlikeprincessbear @terrortwinunicorn @dontcrykeepyourheaduphigh @loki69zowens @fearlesschimera @rockerfairy93 @misslackey @nichole1989 @hc-geralt-23 @miss-kuki-nz @damianpriestfangirl82 @elaineoneill570 @infamousvampcx @rheasfingerpuppet @gracy09 @lizzycaraballo-blog @rk-ho @bloodline-fanacc @moonlightsinner @skyesthebomb

[beyondthebelle]

I have to go to bed but I want to say I love the Hall of Fame red carpet because it's so fucking goofy.

Nobody is dressed for the same event and folks just have straight cross body bag purses out here. Incredible stuff 10/10.

[beyondthebelle]

Friendly reminder that while WWE is a company founded and occupied by Trump supporters, not all of their wrestlers are bigoted assholes:

CM Punk, Cody Rhodes, and Chelsea Green have all been vocal about supporting trans rights.

Finn Balor supports LGBTQ rights and has incorporated the rainbow flag in his ring gear

Sami Zayn supports the Free Palestine movement

Piper Niven is bisexual and follows pro LGBTQ accounts on social media

Mia Yim and Alba Fyre support LGBTQ accounts on social media

Becky Lynch and R-Truth support Bernie Sanders

If there's anyone else I'm forgetting, feel free to add to this list.

[beyondthebelle]

My hot take on all of these wrestlers bad takes that nobody asked for: I assume all wrestlers/famous people have actual trash opinions and are horrible people until proven otherwise.

They're famous and I'm sorry, most of the time you don't get to be #1 without having to step on some heads to get up the ladder.

I know that's cynical and not the case for everyone, some people got there because of hard work, luck, getting discovered etc etc. it's not always bad.

But simply put:

Anyhoozlebee I sure hope John Cena loses spectacularly and he's embarrassed forever. Same for you Roman. Ya fuckin losers.