#god. i'm exploding (positive)

[thefirstknife]

Literally every time I tune in for a story update and think "there's no way I'll be taking emotional damage this week" and then I do.

First I really like the added context about what an Echo is, from Ikora:

Genocide. Thousands of civilisations across the universe, all visited by the Black Fleet. All lost to the violence of the final shape. That's where this Echo comes from. At least, that's our theory. Reports from the Pale Heart, readings on the Valence emanating from the Traveler... Everything we faced when we stared down the Witness and broke its fleet. At first, we didn't know what to call them. But Echoes seemed apt. Memories from the victims of the Pyramids, held by the Darkness... then coalesced by the Light into artifacts as sharp and fatal as their pain. If Darkness is memory, and Light is form... What else could they be? But... there's still so much we don't know. Is this the only one? What forgotten people gave form to this Echo? What was their final cry at their end? For control? A means to turn back their oppressors? My Hidden will keep searching for whatever answers the Witness' death can give us... hopefully they number more than the questions it left behind. But we need to stop the Conductor and secure the Echo. Guardian, descend into Nessus. Massive amounts of radiolaria has been diverted beneath the planet's crust. We need to find out what the Vex are building there.

I think it's fair to assume that the memory of the Qugu is what formed this Echo then. That's fascinating also because of what other species we might learn about in the next two episodes.

Psion mention:

Show us the Psions. What are they doing. Don't throw these hints at me, at the same time with Otzot and OXA hints.

And then the emotional damage??? First Saint on the holoprojector:

Guardian. I hear that you are hard at work on Nessus, following the Echo and the Conductor. I know you do this in part for me, but... I do not know if I am worth the trouble. I was pulled through Nessus like a toy on a string. The Conductor's words still echo in my mind, "A copy of a copy of a copy." Osiris pushed through time to find his Saint-14. [sighs] He said he was careful, but... he reached blindly, and pulled out... only me. And no... I live a life tat does not belong to me. I am something left over from a broken timeline... a remainder. The Conductor whispered I should be thrown away... A solution as simple as, correcting an error. And maybe... that would- Ah! I-I do not know what to think anymore.

Saint. "Not worth the trouble"? Saint, I personally walked through the corridors of time to get you out. I had to see your dead body with my own two eyes. I need to tell him this. He has to know. Oh my god.

But also. Osiris did not reach blindly. I am jumping off a cliff! He spent so much time and effort trying to find the right one in the right moment. That was the whole point. But Saint doesn't know this because Osiris never told him exactly what he did. If they don't mention everything we've done in Dawn, I am just going to walk into traffic. This Saint knows that we saved him. That we gave him the shotgun. We saw him in several different moments of his life and he carried the shotgun through: this is important because he died with it originally. So we know it's the right one. That's the only reason the Sundial worked out even; because we're tied to Saint via a paradox.

And then the radio. WHAT is happening.

Osiris: You're only doing this to hurt yourself, and I will not be a part of it. Saint-14: Osiris. Answer the question. I need to know. Osiris: It doesn't matter! Not like this. Saint-14: It matters to me. Please. How did I first tell you that I loved you? Osiris: Saint... [sighs] You had asked me for something, some tactical report. I gave it to you, and you thanked me, and-and you said that you loved me. You said it as if you had, already said it a thousand times before. I was not ready to say it in return, but... it was not long until I was. Saint-14: That is not... I do not remember it this way. That is not what happened in my... my simulation. We were together in the Tower, overlooking the City. Talking about... something small. And I said what I felt in that moment. And my Osiris did not hesitate to say the same. Osiris: "Your Osiris?" Saint, you love me. It doesn't matter how or-or where that began. Not in such fine detail. Saint?

I reiterate. What is happening. We know that the story Osiris told is true because we got it as a lore tab. And we also know that we saved the right Saint. We didn't pick one randomly as he thinks, Osiris and the YW went to great lengths to do this. So what's going on. Did the Conductor mess him up? Saint has not, until now, exhibited any issues with memory and has never had different memories from Osiris or anyone else. What did she do to him when he was yoked? Did she use the power over Vex to mess with his memories? Implant memories the Vex might have in the network about him from other timelines? I'm losing it.

Speaking of the Conductor, we got a firm confirmation it's Maya in the lore tab from Polyphony. And it's MSund12 so that also tells us which Maya; one of the copies from the Vex Network. It also details stuff about her shock upon learning about the Collapse and all that was lost and how humanity never truly recovered. She thinks she can... "help" by using the Vex and simulations. This also links to the mysterious lore tabs on the exotic items from the season pass.

Anyway, I'm perishing.

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

Swear to god this will be the last post I make about it but they finally address the whole 'south American' lostbelt thing only to 1: keep calling it the wrong location 2: still not get the right location

Like I need them to be so serious right now, it's not like the Aztec and Mayan civilizations weren't spread through Mesoamerica but they were not primarily Central American and all the named locations in this lostbelt are named after places in Mexico! Which is in North America! Which is very explicitly not part of Central America!!

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

i've been slowly showing my brother the danganronpa games and he's on chapter 1 of v3, and in my spare time i have also been replaying v3 and i'm on chapter 6, and let me tell you -- experiencing those two chapters almost simultaneously is making me feel physically ill

[s0lairee]

FOOL!SAM SPOILERS!!!! SPOILERS EVERYWHERE ESPECIALLY THE TAGS

FOOLIVERSE VINCENT IS STILL A VAMPIRE??

[angeltism]

HPLY SHIT OHMYKYGOD ONE KF MY HUSBANDS OHMYKGODBOHMYIGIS

[callixton]

sometimes i remember how many things i have made my responsibility and i truly think there's something wrong with me

[feastingonchrist]

oh i've been WRITINGGGG so much you know what this means...

[songmingisthighs]

Birthday Baby Wish

group : ateez

pairing : dad!yeosang × mom!reader

genre : smut

wc : 2.9 k

warning : mature, mdni, explicit sex; impregnation kink, piv sex (obvi), unrpotected sex (obvi), dirty talk, slight asphyxiation ? (not choking but the position makes it hard to breathe), nasty shit idk (not baby poop just... the process of making a baby), yeosang wants another baby

a/n : i'm finally doing another special birthday post for a member and y'all can blame not only my cycle but also kang yeosang for existing because how fucking dare he

buy me coffee ?

Yeosang's birthday party ended rather spectacularly, and following the group's hangout tradition, Yeosang foiled Wooyoung's kidnapping attempt, and he had to resort to wrestling him for his daughter. Wooyoung really did take advantage of Yeosang being preoccupied as he actually managed to get to the elevator before Yeosang realized.

After everyone left, you immediately started cleaning up while Yeosang spent a much needed time with his daughter.

Yeonhee's eyes were fluttering close, and Yeosang was just standing there, cradling his baby while looking at her in awe. She was already seventeen months old at that point, but Yeosang still couldn't believe that she was there with him. Since the moment she was born, Yeosang tried his best to spend every single moment with her. Even when you both were implementing the family bed, Yeosang would sometimes find himself spending at least an hour just staring at Yeonhee, comparing her features to yours and also with him, wondering who she'd look like more when sh'e older. So when you both agreed that it was time for Yeonhee to start sleeping in her own room, Yeosang immediately volunteered to be the one to tuck her in every night. That way, he would be able to admire her as much as he wanted. How could he not? He would watch the way she held onto his fingers with her more stubby ones, the way she was breathing oh-so-calmly in his arms, feelings built up and overpowered Yeosang, and it felt like he was going to explode. Realizing that if he stayed any longer he might do something to wake her up, he carefully placed Yeonhee in her crib, giving her one last kiss before quietly leaving.

He found you in the kitchen, scrubbing away the last of the dirty dishes, and he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist from the back.

"God, Yeosang! You scared me!" you lightly scolded, smacking the arm around your waist with your soapy hand, "Did you put the little princess to bed?" At the mention of his princess, Yeosang buried his face in your shoulder and let out a squeak, "Unfortunately, I did," he sighed. You raised an eyebrow at him, "Unfortunately? Baby, she needs her rest, did you not see how she was playing with Wooyoung? Had she stayed up any longer she'd be super cranky and we'd be dealing with her tantrum all night," you pointed out. Yeosang lifted his head and placed his chin on your shoulder. "Well, can you blame her for being excited? Wooyoung matches her energy because he's practically a toddler with a job, so of course, she'd be happy to have a playmate," he stated.

You couldn't help but purse your lips slightly, quietly agreeing to his point that your daughter does seem like she could benefit from having a steady playmate. But you said and did nothing other than putting the last of the dishes up on the drying rack and taking your gloves off.

"So I was thinking," Yeosang started, clearing his throat slightly while playing with the fabric of your apron, "You know... Since it's my birthday a-and usually we do... Things, things I want on my birthday... So..." You knew where this was going, and frankly, you were at the point of waiting for Yeosang to communicate his desire to you. You've seen the way Yeosang look at his daughter, and you've seen the long look he sported when he saw a big family walking by. You both had a deal of having two kids or three max, after talking him down from his insane baseball team-sized family, courtesy of Yunho. Though an understanding was established, you two were waiting for the perfect time. At least, that's what Yeosang was doing; you were just waiting for him to assert himself. Knowing Yeosang, he needed the push to make what he wanted known. Still, you think you deserve some fun watching him squirm to get his point across.

"So... What?" you asked nonchalantly, but a faint smirk made itself present on your face. Yeosang groaned and turned your body around, "I think we're ready for another baby," he said confidently, though a slight blush was present on his cheeks. "Really? So that's your birthday sex wish? To knock me up again?" You were taunting him slightly, but you had to admit, even the mere words made you clench. That and also the thought of how different Yeosang become when baby making is involved. You didn't know what exactly it was, but Yeosang practically became a different man; more pointed, more confident, more cocky.

Yeosang sharply exhaled from his nose, making it known that he, too was affected by your words. His hands skimmed up your body and rested on your waist, firmly holding with his big, strong grip that made your breath hitch. "My birthday wish, dear wife, is for us to have sex all night long until there is no doubt that you're pregnant," he leaned in and brushed his lips lightly against the skin of your cheek, "And we're starting now."

A squeal left your lips when Yeosang suddenly hauled you over his shoulder, and it was at that moment you understood, admired, and fully supported his dedication in the gym because he managed to make carrying another human your size very effortless.

Yeosang dropped you on your shared bed and immediately caged you under him. He hovered above you for a while, scanning your figure with hunger in his eyes, a purpose, a goal. Soon, he leaned down and started kissing you from your forehead, down to your cheek, the corner of your lips, your collarbone, and then stopping at your stomach. He inhaled deeply as he pushed the fabric of your shirt up, causing you to shudder when you felt his lips start nipping at your exposed skin. "Have I ever told you how absolutely breathtaking you are when you're pregnant?" he muttered against your skin. You raised an eyebrow at him as you ran a hand through his soft, silky hair, "Are you saying I'm not breathtaking when I'm not pregnant?" Teasing him further, you pulled up your knees so your feet were planted on the bed, trapping Yeosang's figure between your legs. Your skirt rode up, and it immediately caught Yeosang's eyes, which followed the way the flowy end pools at your hip, allowing him to peek into your red lacy underwear. "Not even when I'm like this?" you faked pouted at him. Yeosang's breathing immediately stuttered, and his face became even redder. You had been together for years already, so it was kind of embarrassing how he still blushed like a virgin seeing you in such a position.

Reacting to your taunts, Yeosang moved his hands into your underwear through the seams at the apex of your thighs. His thumbs immediately found purchase to your clit as they began gently massaging it while the other poked into your opening just a bit lower. Your eyes closed at the sensation but your mind was only completely disabled when Yeosang started sucking marks into the soft skin of your stomach. With each movement of his hand, you felt yourself getting wetter and the more Yeosang worked on you, the more pliant you became, moving your hips along with his movements.

"Honey, you always look breathtaking to me, but when you have my baby inside you?" you yelped when he suddenly took your skin between his teeth, "It was a miracle that we were able to get out of bed every morning," he smirked. "F-fuck, I know what you mean," you moaned when Yeosang pressed harder into your clit. "Do you know what I missed most about your pregnancy?" Yeosang asked as he slowly crawled up your body. You couldn't even answer him verbally as you were so clouded with pleasure, so you were only able to shake your head. "I miss how extremely horny you are, you get so wet and it just drives me crazy," Yeosang moaned as the thumb that was at your entrance turned into two fingers slipping inside. "F-fuck!" you gasped when he started pumping into you sloppily, spreading your arousal all over your pussy lips which made your underwear stick to you. "Not to mention you were always trying to jump my bones, and who was I to deny the mother of my child?" Yeosang chuckled as he pulled himself away from you, causing you to whine and whimper, "It's amazing how much I would give you after you gave me Yeonhee. Now imagine how even worse I'll be when you give me another baby."

Without wasting time, Yeosang immediately pulled himself out of his jeans. You took a peek and you realized how hard he had been while teasing you. The tip of his cock was red and leaking pre-cum, and the slight breeze from the AC caused it to twitch as if uncomfortable waiting any longer. You were about to take your clothes off when Yeosang stopped you, "No time, baby, I need to impregnate you right now." Then all of a sudden he pushed your thighs to your chest and aligned his tip right at your entrance. "Are you ready?" for a moment his cockiness slipped and the usual caring Yeosang came back, wanting to be sure that you were okay before he could proceed. You smiled and nodded before you took hold of your thighs, opening yourself for him, "Yeah, I am."

In a split second, Yeosang's eyes darkened, and he thrust himself inside you in one swift move. The fullness made your eyes roll and your back arch, but you didn't even get to enjoy the feeling because Yeosang was already shallowly thrusting inside you, setting a slow pace at first but he was making sure that his hips slapped your bottom every single time.

"Fuck! I'll never get tired of this pussy," he groaned, licking his bottom lip while smacking you once in the ass. You yelped on impact, but rather than feeling pain, you simply clenched, forcing more arousal to leak out of you. "You better not, since we'll be having even more sex during this pregnancy," you huffed. Yeosang's cock practically twitched inside you at the mention or maybe even affirmation that after this you will definitely get pregnant. "Fuck, can't just say something like that so casually to me, baby," suddenly he pulled your hips up and slid a pillow under, giving you a new angle, "I might not hold back," he smirked before dropping down to rest his elbows on the sides of your head. The new position locked you in place what with having the back of your thighs on Yeosang's chest and your knees now resting over his shoulders. "Do you not want me to hold back?" Yeosang asked as he thrust in again. This time, you felt him so deeply thanks to your elevated hips. You moaned loudly at the feeling, and Yeosang took it as a sign to move again.

Setting a new pace, Yeosang thrusted into you with power and precision. You could feel the veins of his cock scratching against your gummy walls, sending shivers up your spine which caused you to tangle your hands into his hair. "Fuck, Yeosang!" you whined, a bit louder than you wanted to which worried you because your daughter was sleeping in the room just down the hall and there you were screaming like a whore. "Shh, shh, baby, you don't wanna wake Yeonhee up, do you?" Yeosang smirked, teasing the absolute hell out of you because he knew exactly how loud you could be. You couldn't even answer him clearly, so in an effort to minimize the chances of your baby waking up, you smashed your lips with Yeosang. The position and Yeosang's mouth on you took away your breath, literally. You were starting to get lightheaded in the best way. It felt as if you were in a different space that only had you and Yeosang in it. Everything, including all your senses, was filled with Yeosang, and it was electrifying. There was a battle for dominance in the kiss, which was futile because you knew very well that Yeosang was pulling all the shots as the person in the more advantageous position. It was the thought that counted and Yesoang played along, as if he wasn't putting you in your place.

The more Yeosang thrust, the more you could feel him inside you, to the point that you felt like his tip was kissing your cervix, opening you up more to prepare you for what's to come.

You pulled away from the kiss slightly and whimpered, "F-fuck, Yeosang, I'm so close!" "Yeah? That's good baby, cum first, you need to cum first so can you touch yourself for me?"

With slight struggle, you managed your hand down to rub at your clit sloppily. "That's it mommy, show daddy how bad you want to get knocked up," Yeosang grunted shakily, clearly incredibly turned on, "You can't wait to get filled up by your husband, do you? I'm sorry honey, I should be doing better as a husband and fill you up with my cum every night," "Y-yes, fuck!" You gasped, "I should always be f-filled with your c-cum," you whimpered, edging yourself closer and closer to the end. "Okay baby, okay, you better cum soon then so I can fill up your little cunt," Yeosang smirked, pushing his body off of you slightly so he could watch the way he was fucking you just right while you chase after your high. To aid you, Yeosang slipped his right hand under your shirt and into your bra, groping at your tits harshly, tweaking at your perky nipple. "Come on baby, cum for me, cum for me quick," he breathed, starting to feel his own climax coming. The pleasure from his hand on your chest shot straight to your pussy and your body convulsed; your jaw slacked, your legs tensed to the point of almost cramping, your toes curled, and your back arched high. Yeosang only slowed his movements down, allowing you to come back down from your high without losing his momentum.

"T-that was..." You drawled as your senses returned. Your legs felt like jelly and they slid off Yeosang's shoulders due to the lack of strength. "I know, I saw you climax," Yeosang smirked before he positioned your legs again, this time simply spreading them open as he picked up his pace. "But now is my turn."

Overstimulation started building inside you the more Yeosang chased his high. He was so close and your slick was aiding in him reaching deep into your womb. You felt yourself opening up to him and you almost screamed so you resorted to covering your mouth with your hand. Seeing all of this, Yeosang smirked as he panted, "Hold on, okay, baby? Just a bit longer and you'll be stuffed. Just a bit longer and you'll get my cum," he grinned. You used your free hand to grip his shoulder, your nails digging into his skin as if telling him that it was too much, that you were overstimulated to the point that it started hurting. "No, no, no, you can take it, even your body knew you can," he saw how your hips were still meeting his own despite your brain telling you that you had enough and it was making his mouth water.

"P-please," you managed to whine despite your mouth being covered. Yeosang's movements became more erratic, and his breath became uneven, telltale signs that he was on the verge of coming undone, and you saw how his body was starting to twitch. Seeing him like that stirred something in you, and your hand suddenly moved on its own, from his shoulder to the back of his head. You grabbed a handful of his hair and you tugged it back once. It was as if that one simple action was a lever because the moment Yeosang threw his head back, his hip completely stilled, his cock twitched inside you, and the dam was released. Ropes of white painted your pulsing walls and your eyes, and his rolled back from ecstasy.

Yeosang's body slumped forward on top of yours, strength left him completely at that moment but his hips still twitched as your walls that rubbed on his cock overstimulated him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

"You did so well, baby," he hummed, pecking you gently on your lips, making you giggle. "That's so vanilla of you to say after you fold me in half and hammer into me like a possessed jackhammer," you teased and he blushed, embarrassed with the way you phrased things, so he buried his face into your shoulder.

It took you about fifteen minutes to regain all your senses back and the first thing you thought of doing was to clean yourself a little. Just as you tried to push Yeosang off of you, Yeosang grunted and pushed his body up slightly. "What are you doing?" he asked. "I need to clean myself, Yeosangie," you smiled and tried moving again, but were stopped when Yeosang pushed you back into the bed whilst simultaneously sitting up on his knees, which took you by surprise. "You think we're done?" he smiled angelically, but when he suddenly peeled his shirt off, you sensed that he was far from done. "We're just getting started, baby. I mean, I think I mentioned something about fucking all night long until we're sure you're pregnant."

A gasp escaped you when you felt Yeosang slowly dragging himself out before pushing himself back in as equally slow.

"You better get comfortable in this position, baby, since this position might increase the chance of getting pregnant."

network :

@sandsofire @pirateeznet @kflixnet

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[narcissistshandler]

hello! this is my first time to request something, can you write overstimulation for sae or rin? (or other bllk characters if you want). like make them get soo ruined, leg shaking, crying, and begging something like those :) thank u in advanced !

　⸸ .ᐟ S ' G O O D FOR Y O U

「 pairing 」 male reader x itoshi rin / itoshi sae [separately] 「 content 」 overstimulating the Itoshi brothers 「 tags 」 amab!reader, top!reader, sex toys, anal sex, overstimulation (obviously), use of "daddy" (to refer to the reader) on Rin's part

a/n I love the Itoshi brothers, unfortunately Sae's part is more of a bonus and the focus here is more on Rin, but hope you like it! [unedited]

RIN always wants your touch, your complete attention and love so much that it feels like an empty hole unable to be filled. Like a cat, he slides into bed as soon as you push him, no questions asked. So complacent to you. And damn flexible. You can push his legs up to his ears after he can't keep them open any longer, spread wide above his head. Hold them there with one or two hands, the position giving you better access to his hole, and allowing you to see the bulge in his stomach whenever your hips move forward ── your dick rearranging his insides. He's fully exposed like this.

God, yoga really did wonders for your relationship.

Unlike his workouts or stretching, at this moment Rin gasps, seeming to struggle with each breath. "You’re making such a mess. Do you even remember how many times it’s been?" you say. But Rin's tear-filled eyes have already lost focus, his bad habit that you thought was adorable taking over too: his tongue lolling out of his mouth, drooling over himself. He was too far away to hear you.

Rin isn't the type to beg because he simply loses himself in the pleasure. You fucked him for hours on end, cum accompanying each thrust, dripping from his full insides. He can only mumble nonsensically, a complete mess, shaking all over when the heat is suddenly there again, in the pit of his stomach, ready to explode. And he doesn't want to cum again, even though his body throbs and yearns. He doesn't want to, no—

His cock jumps into his stomach, the head an angry red where blood pools. There's a growing pool of fluids collecting there; the last two orgasms haven't gotten anything out of him but a few splashes, his balls too tight to give you something—anything. But he couldn't anymore. He was so sensitive. He was always too sensitive to bear the provocation.

But you push him anyway, feeling his entire body tense, the already relaxed hole around you barely squeezing. "I-I'm gonna—" Rin whimpers, tries, the words barely pronounced. "[n-n-name]... I-I can't— I can't— ahhh..."

"Just one more? Just one more, come on, for me. Come for me again, bunny." You, cruel as you are, smile at him, gyrating your hips in a way that makes you perfectly hit that sweet spot inside him. The stimulation is so much it hurts, so good it hurts his stomach, where your cock seems to reach. Pushing inside him, forcing his insides, over and over and over.

"It’s too much, it’s too much, I— I’m gonna—" he's babbling, toes twitching, shaking his head as if in denial. But his body is obedient and responsive to you.

"What was that? 'Too much?' Come on Rin-chan, you want to be good, don't you? Yes, you do, sweetness," you smile as Rin nods, sweat running down his chest. "You can take it. Just. One. Ngh. More." You keep your grip on his heels, keeping him open as you pound into him, mercilessly, grunting at the delicious heat and the fluttering of the walls as he comes again.

Rin is now crying for real, lips trembling, a drool laced mess. His poor penis twitches and throbs and tenses, but nothing comes out of it. It starts to go limp, having nothing left to give. It looks painful. Rin reaches between you to hold him, his hands shaking like the rest of his body.

You think he'll try to ease the tension, maybe rub the burning away from his sensitive urethra, but he doesn't. Your obedient bunny is masturbating for you. Gritting his teeth, grunting and whimpering, something between a wild animal and sweet prey as he obeys and tries to make himself come again for you, trying to keep his cock hard and ready for your demands.

His green eyes roll back in his skull, his muscular legs bounce and spasm, but you hold them in place, abusing his prostate as Rin pulls himself through the pleasure and pain. For you. Wetting his entire chest and chin, squirting for what feels like an eternity as his entire body struggles to escape his control. Too much. Too much.

Rin gasps, seems to be relearning how to breathe, so out of breath that you fear he's going to pass out, "No more, I c-can’t feel my legs..."

"Every time you whimper it makes me want to keep going just to see how much longer until you break. Although, from the way your lovely cock is dripping, your hole all stretched and smooth, I might already have."

"Plewse—"

His hips buck and he swallows the rest of the word. Oh, he's going to pass out──

"Just a little more, bunny, daddy's so close to cumming, you're not going to let me down, are you? It's okay to cry, baby, you can let your dick go. Obedient thing. Just a little more and I'll let you rest."

Even if in the end Rin was completely in pain and unable to feel his own body, the ultra-sensitive hole and his cock dripping with no sign of pause, he would never stop you from taking your pleasure from him.

He was so good to you.

Tears, begging, obedience and everything.

+   B O N U S: SAE ITOSHI

It's been hours since you started playing with his body, as you lewdly called it. Destroying him, was how Sae preferred to put it. Some people often claimed to enter some sort of subspace when under continuous stimulation, but Sae was hyperaware the entire time. Unable to escape from your hands.

He lost count of how many there were. The toys pushed through the smooth ring of muscles, some so small they barely gave satisfaction, some long ones, which reached so deep that they took his breath away. One was as thick as your fist and Sae might have torn the sheets as he writhed from the overwhelming stretching sensation.

He's already forgotten how to breathe when you pull the powerful little vibrator out of him. It feels like his hole continues to vibrate even now that it's empty, the sensation doesn't go away. The tight ring at the base of his cock didn't help, only making it more cruel. Sae was at your mercy, taking an indecent variety of toys inside him, balls tight with release denied.

"[name]." His voice was low, rouca, the warning clear as day, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the way his hole fluttered weakly against a cabeça de seu pau. "You promised." Sae was shaking like a leaf. You tried to pull him to his knees, but he couldn't stay in position, having slipped down onto the dirty, sticky sheets.

He no longer remembered the promise very well, but it probably had to do with letting him cum after he took the monstrous dildo inside him. And nothing about you pushing your cock against his swollen, sensitive hole.

"Just a little more, I promise. I'll let you cum as soon as I have my cock buried deep inside you."

"[name]," He gasps, not believing you. You would finish off what was left of him.

"Yes?"

Sae's hole throbbed, his cock felt like it was about to explode beneath his body, and everything about him was sweaty and hot. The denial, the stimulation, hurt. But he still wanted your cock so badly──

"Yes... Please."

[harrysfolklore]

yes do the lewis fic pleaseee

short and sweet bc i promised anon i would do ittt i hope you like it

You're fidgeting with your rings - his rings, actually, that you stole months ago - when Lewis notices your knee bouncing for the hundredth time. The arena feels too warm despite your backless Valentino.

"You're going to drill a hole through the floor, love," he murmurs, leaning close enough that his lips brush your ear. His hand finds yours, warm and steady.

"Easy for you to be calm," you whisper back. "You've won eight world championships."

"Seven," he corrects automatically, making you roll your eyes.

"The eighth was robbed and we all know it." It's an old argument, one that makes him smile every time. "Besides, this is different. This is-"

"This is you about to win Song of the Year," he finishes, so confident it makes your heart ache.

You turn to face him properly, taking in how unfairly good he looks in his suit. "How are you so sure?"

"Because," he says, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "I was there when you wrote it at 3 AM on my kitchen floor. When you called me crying because the bridge wasn't right."

"You're biased," you argue, but you're smiling now. "You have to say that. It's in the boyfriend contract."

"Ah yes, the famous 'support your controversially young girlfriend' clause," he teases, and you can't help but laugh. It's become a running joke between you, how the media can't seem to get over your age gap.

"Speaking of which, did you see that headline yesterday? 'Grammy Nominee Spotted Looking Cozy with Elder Statesman of F1'?"

Lewis groans. "Elder statesman? I'm forty, not dead."

"Ancient," you declare solemnly. "Practically fossilized."

He's about to retort when Taylor Swift takes the stage, and suddenly you can't breathe again. Lewis must feel you tense because his hand tightens around yours.

"Hey," he says softly. "Whatever happens, you've already won. Seven nominations in your first year? That's unheard of."

"I just want-" you start, but then Taylor's speaking.

"Music tells our stories," she's saying. "And sometimes, a song comes along that captures something so real, so raw, that it changes how we see love itself..."

You feel Lewis shift beside you, and when you glance over, he's already watching you with that look - the one he gave you the first time you played him this song, the one that makes you feel invincible.

"And the Grammy goes to..." Taylor's smiling now, like she knows something. "'Birds of a feather!"

The world stops. Starts. Explodes.

Lewis is up first, pulling you into his arms before you can even process what's happening. "That's my girl," he whispers fiercely against your hair. "I told you, didn't I? I told you."

You're crying already, you can feel it, but you don't care. His hands cup your face and he's beaming at you with more pride than you've ever seen - more than after any pole position or race win.

"Go get your Grammy, superstar," he says, and then he's gently pushing you toward the aisle.

The walk to the stage feels infinite. You're aware of everything - the weight of your dress, the cameras following you, the deafening applause. But mostly, you're aware of Lewis in the front row, standing and clapping like he's watching the love of his life win Song of the Year at the Grammys (which, you suppose, he is).

"Oh god," you start, gripping the golden gramophone like a lifeline. "I wrote this song about falling in love. About meeting someone who changes everything when you least expect it."

You find his eyes in the crowd, and suddenly it's just the two of you.

"I should probably thank Formula 1 for canceling that race in Singapore, or I never would've been in that hotel bar, jetlagged and grumpy, when this absolutely ridiculous man in the most expensive hoodie I'd ever seen asked if he could buy me a drink."

The audience laughs, and Lewis is shaking his head, grinning that grin that still makes your knees weak.

"To Lewis - thank you for being the most unexpected plot twist of my life. For showing me that timing is everything, even when Twitter thinks our timing is inappropriate." More laughter. "For listening to every demo at 3 AM, for believing in me when I was just another girl with a piano and a dream..."

You're fully crying now, but so is he, so it's okay.

"For never once making me feel too young or too inexperienced, for teaching me that love doesn't follow anyone's timeline but its own. And yes, I know this speech is probably going viral for all the wrong reasons, but you taught me that sometimes the best stories are the ones nobody sees coming. I love you."

The camera cuts to Lewis, who's not even trying to hide his tears. But neither of you seem to care at the moment.

Later, after winning four out of your seven nominations, you're in the back of the car heading home. Your head's on his shoulder, Grammy in your lap, when he speaks.

"You know what this means, right?"

"Hmm?"

"Now I have to win the championship this year. Can't have you showing me up with all these trophies."

You laugh, snuggling closer. "Better get practicing then, old man."

"Menace," he mutters fondly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

[pha55ed]

Infrunami || JMA21

type :: smut!

tw/cw :: gentle!dom!pepe, somnophilia, size kink, overstimulation

summary :: pepe has been away for almost 3 weeks and he's never been needier. but you're sleeping so peacefully, thank god you agreed to be able to use each other whenever.

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || OVULATING CELLY!!!

Usually when Pepe comes home, he'll dramatically yell out "I'm home!" for the entire world to hear. But this time, he simply opens the door, drops his bags and goes on a hunt to find you in the shared apartment. His shoulders are sore, his races were awful, and he needed an outlet for this all.

"Cariño," He called out for you. But it fell on deaf ears as he looked inside the bedroom to find you peacefully sleeping.

He feels a wave of softness run over him, simply just from seeing you after so long. It's like you're a drug for him. A smile appears on his lips as he quickly changes into some fresh pajamas. Except his pajamas is just his boxers, so it's not much "changing"

Before he jumps into his bed, he can't help but just stare at you. How you're so peaceful, cute pajamas on, hair all over the pillows. It's always been a joke from his friend group that he's a simp for you, but he truly is. You didn't even do anything and he already has a boner simply from appreciating your beauty.

"Fuck..." He mumbles as he reaches in his boxers, stroking his hard on. He gets on his knees on the bed, using his free hand to caress the small of your back that wasn't covered due to you moving a lot in your sleep. The soft skin touching his hand made him want more, need more.

Thankfully you both agreed before to allow the other to do whatever you want when they're sleeping. And Pepe has never been more grateful for this rule until now. He quickly reached for some lube in the nightstand's drawer, rubbing it all over his dick to make sure it wouldn't hurt.

His dick curves up to touch his stomach, the cold lube touching his belly made him hiss a little. But that didn't matter, as he slowly and gently pulled down your pajama pants and panties. It was like he was teasing himself just from getting a view of your cunt.

As if you would break from a gust of wind, his fingers softly touch your cunt. Rubbing it in circles in a gentle motion. You twitch from the touch, the feeling of the leftover lube from his fingers making you feel cold. But you didn't wake up. Instead, you just moved your body to face away from Pepe.

You facing away on your side, with your thighs touching together, only gave Pepe a better view of you . And also a tighter position to fuck you in. Pepe can't help but chuckle slightly, thinking that it's your body's instinct to get into one of his favorite positions.

He can't hold back anymore, propping both of his arms around your body as he positions his dick at your entrance. And like usual, he slips his tip in. Barely. You're too tight to even take more than the tip.

"Ow," you mumble loudly, blinking your eyes awake. As your eyes piece together the puzzle in front of you, you're met with Pepe sinking his head down into your neck.

"I'm sorry, cariño." He says in a groan as he pushes further into you, making your insides burn from the stretch. "Couldn't help it."

You moan lightly against his shoulder blade. To let him in easier, you move onto your back and slip your leg under his chest, putting you in missionary. Which is actually Pepe's favorite position.

His big frame became 10x times bigger when he was with you. His towering height, slight muscles, and masculinity were all exploded to an extreme level with you. You loved it and so did he.

Even though you feel the sting from him stretching you out, he's still not fully in yet. He had about an inch and a half that he needed to get in you. You moan again, wincing slightly as he begins to coo at you.

He balances his entire weight onto one arm, using his free hand to move the hair out of your face. His fingers caress your cheek and trace your jaw. "It's okay, it's okay" he whispers to you. "I'll wait."

And he kept his word, waiting until you give him a sign that you're ready. But he's not a jerk about it, that's the last thing he wants to be. He's patient and slow. Thrusting in and out so gently, as if you would break. He's loving it, feeling every bit of you wrap around him and each centimeter of him being soaked by you. Kissing all around your neck and lips, making sure you knew how much he loved you.

But for you, this is teasing. You're practically soaking the entire bed by the time he begins to finally pick up his speed. And the only reason he even began to go faster was because you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you aggressively.

"Faster?" He asks, making sure he understands you. You nod, letting a moan slip out from him thrusting in you yet again. "You sure?" A smile creeps onto his lips. Again you nod, knowing exactly what his smirk means.

And he starts. Thrusting in an out at a pace that had the bed frame hitting the wall. He moved one hand to pin both of yours onto the bed. The other hand was busy caressing your boobs and waist. Playing with your nipple and then admiring your curves.

He moved his head down from your neck, now facing your breast. His lips met your breast, sucking on them and twirling your bud with his tongue. All while thrusting in and out of you whilst the other hand was holding your waist. His grip was soft, yet controlling when needed. He halted you whenever you bucked upwards but would quickly loosen his grip to make sure he didn't hurt you.

You moaned out his name, begging to do anything to touch him back. But he didn't let you. Only he wanted to be in control, giving you as much pleasure as possible. "Mm please Pepe," you moaned out as he kept thrusting into you. His harsh pace was a stark contrast from his gentle touches.

"You wanna cum?" He misinterprets you. "Cum then," He mumbles and lets a small groan escape. "Cum, I'll just, agh, I'll keep going."

You shake your head, unable to use words from how much pleasure he was giving you. Even his voice was sending you into a further spiral. "N-No, wanna-" You let out a moan, needing a few seconds to continue your sentence "Touch you, mm, wanna-"

"No" He says instantly, thrusting extra hard into you when he says that. You swear that if you were to look down, you'd see a bulge in your belly from how deep his dick was hitting you. "Jus' be pretty"

And you obeyed him, who are you to not listen to him? He knew you too well. Your body was coming undone, feeling your stomach tighten and your brain get fuzzy. All you could think about was looking at Pepe's eyes while wondering if your bed would break. He knew you were close, going extra hard in his thrusts and even moving his hand to your clit.

He rubbed circles on your clit, making you yelp and cry from the overstimulation. But it was all you needed to finally cum, making your legs wrap tightly around his waist to try and halt him.

Pepe knew you too well, he's a caring man after all. So he quickly moved both hands to go under your back, lifting you up to now be stranding his lap. You thought that having your legs wrapped would stop his thrusting, but the new position made your legs useless. He used his strong arms to grip your hips, forcing you to bounce up and down on him.

"Pepe!" You screamed out, grabbing his shoulders for support as you feel your own cum drip down his dick, being forced back into you.

"You can 'ake it." He groans loudly as he focussing on watching your boobs bounce. "Relax, cariño."

[risingblackmoon]

I wanted to add more tags but I reached the LIMIT I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS A LIMIT BUT. BUT. GESTURES. HEY GUYS GO CHECK THIS OUT. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

I am handing you this 30 second song I wrote and sang

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

not sure if you’re taking requests !! but if you are, on my knees 🧎🏻‍♀️and here to kindly request a drunk no doubt! Jake who is a PEAK LOVEY DOVEY DRUNK when he gets home (or refuses to leave unless yn is picking his ass up lol) 🫶🏼

HIII ugh one of my og jakeyn lovers i appreciate u so so so much & all ur comments & love ALWAYS <3333 and YES OH MY GOD i can totally imagine it rn DRUNK JAKE WOULD BE SO CLINGY AND SO CHEESY AND LOVEY DOVEY IM GONNA BE SICK. also this one ended up being longer than my usual requested drabbles WHOOPS SORRY I JUST LOVE SIMP JAKE UGH 😫

──── MY ANGEL, MY UBER, MY EVERYTHING.🍸🍋🌿 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

You hear it first before your eyes even open.

A loud buzz, obnoxiously close to your head. You groan, your arm flailing out from under the comforter to mute your phone off and go back to sleep.

And not even three seconds later—

Buzz. Buzz.

You groan into your pillow.

One eye cracks open just enough to glance at the screen:

jungwon👯

Yeah.

This can't be good.

You answer with a sleepy grumble, "What."

"Heyyyy Y/N," Jungwon says, way too chipper and lively for your liking at this hour. "Sooo...you might wanna come pick up your boyfriend."

You blink slowly, brain still foggy with sleep.

"Huh."

"Jake's, um. Very drunk. And refusing to leave unless it's with you."

You stare at the ceiling above, deadpan, "You're joking."

"I wish," Jungwon sighs, sounding both amused and exasperated at the same time. "We tried everythin—"

A crash. A muffled ow. Some rustling. Then—

"WAIT—ARE YOU TALKING TO Y/N?"

Jungwon groans. "Jake—no, don't—hey, Jake, that's my—dude, give me my ph—JAKE—"

"BABY."

Jake's voice explodes through the speaker.

"BABY I NEED YOU. PLEASE."

You blink at your phone, now fully awake. And fully amused.

"Jake—"

"They're trying to make me go home to the dorm," he slurs dramatically. "Like—to my own room. Alone. WITHOUT YOU."

"Jake, you live with me," you giggle, already climbing out of bed and reaching for your hoodie. "You'll be fine."

"NO. I won't. I wanna be in our bed. With my girl. Smelling like your vanilla shampoo and on your comfy silk sheets. Please. It's a basic human right."

You're full-on giggling now, navigating through your dark room for your keys, because—

Unfortunately, you're in love with him and will do anything for this poor guy.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Just hang tight and give Jungwon his phone back okay?"

Twenty minutes later, you're outside the bar Jungwon texted you the address to.

And then you see him.

Slumped against the wall, tie crooked, shirt loosened, hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are glassy and pink-tinted, cheeks flushed, ears red.

Sunghoon stands next to him, one arm outstretched to keep Jake upright, while Jay's trying to press a water bottle into his lips.

Then—

Jake looks up.

"BABY!!!"

He launches off the wall. Slightly pushes Sunghoon and Jay off. Trips over his own feet. Nearly collapses straight into you.

"Oh my god, Jake," you're giggling, catching him as he immediately melts into you, burying his face into your shoulder.

He smells like beer and cologne and Jake—his entire body warm and heavy as he wraps himself around you.

"You're here," he mumbles into your hoodie, relieved. "I told them. I told them you'd be here. Said my girl's gonna come for me. She always comes for me."

You glance over his shoulder. Sunghoon looks three seconds away from joining Heeseung, slumped on the sidewalk. Jay's already walking away.

"What happened to this being a wholesome group dinner outing?" you ask dryly, lifting a brow as you still try to stay balanced under Jake's full body weight wrapped around you.

"Don't blame me," Jungwon shrugs, wide-eyed. "Not my fault your boyfriend's a lightweight."

And you can't even argue with that.

Given your current position.

You're convinced Jake fell asleep like this. Standing up. Hugging you.

"Okay, okay. Let's get you home," you say, amused as you wave bye to the rest of the guys and steer your mess of a boyfriend towards your car.

The drive back isn't any better.

Jake refuses to let go to you.

One hand wrapped around your arm. The other holding your hand that isn't on the wheel. Body stretched over the console. Head on your shoulder, a sleepy smile playing at his lips as the smell of alcohol still lingers on him.

"You're so pretty," he murmurs, nose brushing your neck. "Like, so pretty. That's why I call you my pretty. You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen. I'm gonna marry you."

You keep your eyes on the road, but you laugh softly, trying to keep up with his mumbled words, "You say that every time you're drunk, Jakey."

"And I mean it ever time I'm drunk," he pulls back just enough to look at you with a serious look, but it's more like a pout. "And sober. Drunk me. Sober me. Future me. Past me. I love you. Love you so much. You're my angel. My Uber. My everything. My—my forever girl."

You burst out in giggles, "Your Uber?"

"Yeah," he nods, grinning at your reaction. "You picked me up. Best Uber ever. And your car always smells good. Like peaches. Five stars. Infinite stars."

By the time you drag him into the apartment and finally in bed, he's still clinging onto you, professing his love endlessly between hiccups and yawns.

"Pretty," he whispers, his nose nuzzling into your hair, breath warm against your skin. "M'gonna marry you. You know that right? You know I love you? So perfect. My girl."

And you're a goner. Completely wrecked.

"I know, Jakey," you smile, stroking his hair as his breathing slows. "I know."

And you do.

Because drunk or not—Sim Jaeyun is the realest thing you've ever known.

And he means every word.

no doubt m. list

tag list! pt. 1 (open)

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @veilstqr @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Close Coverage // Chapter 3

a/n: wrote this chapter singing “and i bet we’d have really good bed-chem" the whole time (edit: don't get too excited. nothing happens. at all. just building tension, i'm just excited for what's coming.)

wc: 4.5k

warnings: one singular curse word lol

**** Chapter 3: Chemistry Test ****

Azzi

Azzi walked into the studio three minutes early.

Which, for her, was basically late. Especially when Paige Bueckers had already arrived and taken over the entire energy of the room.

The space looked like a Nike campaign had exploded inside a Pinterest board—cool-toned LED panels glowing overhead, softbox lights suspended from a grid of matte-black rigging, and a forest of C-stands, tripods, and silver camera carts arranged in barely organized chaos. Lenses gleamed from every direction. Coiled cords ran underfoot, taped down in neon gaffer strips like a roadmap only production assistants could read. Somewhere in the back, a massive monitor replayed silent game footage on loop—a slow-motion Sparks–Valkyries highlight reel with a grainy filter, like someone had decided this needed to feel both nostalgic and expensive.

Azzi clocked the setup immediately. The positioning of the lights, the reflective bounce boards angled to flatter skin tone, the black-and-white wardrobe rack sorted by player name and shoot order. Every crew member moved like they were late to something else—coffee in one hand, walkie in the other, eyes scanning, not stopping. It was the kind of set that looked effortless but buzzed with urgency. Like it had a budget. Like every second was paid for.

And then—she clocked Paige.

She was sitting half-sideways on a makeup stool, sipping something green and overpriced, mid-laugh with the stylist like they were old friends reuniting after war. Her blonde hair was already camera-ready. Her voice cut through the background like it had its own channel.

It was… a lot.

Azzi’s instinct was to put her hood back up. Just for something to do with her hands. Instead, she rolled her shoulders back and stepped in.

Paige looked up. “Hey stranger.”

Azzi stopped.

Not dramatically. Just enough that her momentum shifted—like her body clocked something her brain wasn’t ready to name. Knees soft. Shoulders settling. Like she was prepping for a screen she hadn’t seen coming.

She didn’t answer right away.

What was there to say? Hey. Long time. You’re still allergic to subtlety, I see.

Paige’s fingers curled around her cup. Like her body noticed the tension before her brain caught up.

“You made it,” she added, still smiling like they were in on a private joke. “I was starting to think you’d ghost the whole campaign and make me carry the brand alone.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched—reflex, not approval. “Wouldn’t want to steal your spotlight.”

Neither of them moved.

Paige’s hand twitched at her side, like maybe it wanted to do something—offer a fist bump? A handshake? Set the building on fire?

Then she shrugged, like she’d decided against all of it. “Please. You were born with your own.”

Their eyes held for a second too long. Not in a soul-searching way. More in a did you really just say that with a straight face? kind of way.

Azzi blinked once. Was that supposed to be a compliment? A deflection? A dare? Hard to tell with Paige. Half of what she said came wrapped in smirks and static.

And just like that, Paige turned. “Come on,” she said, gesturing toward the wardrobe rack. “Let’s make the internet combust.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. Not hard. Just enough to register as God, you’re exhausting.

Then she followed.

Mostly because standing still felt worse.

There was a black-on-black outfit waiting for her on the front of the rack—more fashion-forward than functional. High-waisted compression shorts. A cropped sports bra with subtle mesh paneling and a matte finish that looked like it had been engineered in a wind tunnel. Over it, a structured half-zip jacket with asymmetrical seams and a stitched Nike swoosh so understated it felt like a dare.

Azzi took it in quietly.

Definitely not built for comfort. Definitely not built for hiding.

The stylist—sleeves full of tattoos, bangs cut blunt—beamed. “This set’s so you. Strong. Minimalist. Intimidating in a good way.”

Azzi managed a polite smile. “Cool.”

She didn’t do short shorts. Not unless there was a stopwatch involved and zero audience.

She didn’t say that, of course. Just kept her expression flat as she took the hanger. Didn’t flinch at the hemline. Didn’t blink at the cropped cut of the top.

And she definitely didn’t look at Paige’s version—already hanging on the far end of the rack. Same set. Different color. White, clean, sculpted. Same heat-engineered fabric. Same precise, cling-to-everything silhouette.

Same full-body fuck you to subtlety.

Because of course it was.

Of course they’d dress them like opposing forces and choreograph it like a standoff. Rival energy, but camera-ready

Paige hadn’t said anything yet. But Azzi could feel her. Some people were loud. Paige was gravity.

Azzi ducked into the changing area and pulled the curtain closed behind her.

This wasn’t the usual jersey-and-smile setup. This was curated tension. Glossy, charged, edited within an inch of going viral. Rival energy repackaged as brand synergy. And she was wearing it. She peeled off her hoodie and stared at the set in her hands.

It was sleek. Sharp. A little ridiculous. The kind of outfit that made her want to fold her arms across her chest and say no comment.

She didn’t feel exposed. She looked like the version of herself the world already believed in. She just hated when that was the headline.

She put it on anyway.

One leg at a time. Jacket zipped halfway. Waistband adjusted.

Nothing self-conscious—just routine.

The mirror inside the changing space was unforgiving in that high-def kind of way. Azzi stared at her reflection. Not out of vanity. Just… a systems check.

She looked like she belonged. Composed. Precise. Exactly the image they'd expect—and the one she'd worked for.

But her pulse was ticking a little too fast. Her mouth was dry.

Because this wasn’t just a shoot. Not really.

This was Paige. In white. Lit like a movie poster. And Azzi had to act like it wasn’t designed to get under her skin. Easy.

She cracked her knuckles once, soft and controlled, then pushed the curtain open and stepped into the chaos.

****

Azzi wasn’t nervous. She just… didn’t want to be here.

The lights were too warm. The set too curated. The energy too loud in that artificial way that made her feel like she was watching someone else’s highlight reel in real time. These kinds of shoots always left her skin buzzing—not from excitement, but from the strain of pretending it came naturally.

She didn’t like pretending.

There were too many people. Too many reflective surfaces. Too many invisible expectations stitched into the fabric of the outfit she’d been handed like a costume. One wrong look and she’d come off too cold. One wrong angle and she’d look like she didn’t belong.

And Paige—Paige was already on.

Effortless. Engaging. Built for the lens.

This was her thing. The camera found her like it was orbiting something. Every movement was intentional. Every look a full sentence. Even her rest face had charisma.

And Azzi? She was just trying not to overthink where to put her hands.

“All right,” the photographer clapped. “Let’s start with the shoulder shot.”

Azzi blinked. “The what?”

“You two facing each other. Paige’s hand on Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi—look just past her. Stoic. Power contrast. Very dual cover energy. You’ll see.”

Azzi didn’t move.

Because of course that was the first pose. Paige touching her. Her standing still. Their bodies arranged like a statement.

Professional. Artistic. Controlled.

But also… no thanks.

“Got it,” Paige said, already stepping into place like she was born to be directed.

Azzi let out a breath. Quiet. Quick. Then moved to her mark like her body had made the decision before her brain could veto it. She kept her gaze neutral. Shoulders squared. Arms loose at her sides.

Then Paige’s fingers touched her shoulder.

And every inch of calm evaporated.

It was light. Barely there. But warm. And definite. Right at the edge of the collarbone, where tension gathered and refused to leave. Paige’s hand settled, fingers angled like she’d done this before, like she knew how to look effortless even while burning through someone else’s equilibrium.

Azzi’s jaw clenched.

Not because she was angry. Because she didn’t know what to do with the way her whole body noticed.

And then—God—there it was. The look.

Paige’s eyes locked on hers—sharp, steady, too blue to ignore. The kind of blue that belonged in ice or glass or something breakable. Azzi hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath until that gaze landed. And then it was all she could do not to flinch.

So she looked past her. Just slightly. A soft shift of focus.

Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a retreat.

“Perfect,” the photographer called. “Now hold that. Little closer. Eyes locked, Azzi—through her, not at her. Paige, smirk if you’ve got one in you.”

Paige chuckled. “Always.”

Azzi didn’t respond. She kept her eyes trained on the softbox light just past Paige’s head. She didn’t dare shift focus—not when Paige’s breath was brushing her cheek. Not when she could feel the shift of Paige’s weight, just barely leaning in.

The camera clicked. Paige’s hand didn’t move. If anything, it flexed. Just enough to register.

Azzi felt it. Sharp. Immediate. Unwelcome.

Not annoyance. Not distance.

Just heat. Low-grade. Inconvenient. The kind that didn’t belong here.

Not under lights. Not with Paige.

Definitely not with Paige.

Click.

Click.

The heat between them wasn’t visible, but Azzi was sure someone would see it in the playback. Or maybe it was just her. Maybe she was the only one who felt like the air was folding in on itself.

Paige’s voice came low. “You good?”

Azzi nodded. Once. Tighter than she meant to.

“Okay!” the photographer said. “Reset!”

The camera stopped clicking. The crew buzzed with quiet approval. Someone muttered “perfect contrast” behind a lens. Another assistant scribbled notes onto a shot sheet.

Azzi stepped back automatically. Paige’s hand dropped from her shoulder, but the imprint stayed.

She didn’t shake it off. Just moved toward the wardrobe cart like gravity had changed slightly.

“You can relax for a sec,” someone called out cheerfully. “Next setup’s being lit now.”

Azzi nodded, already halfway to the water table.

She took a sip she didn’t need, just to feel grounded. Coolness on her tongue. Something to do with her hands.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Paige laughing with the stylist again. Head tilted. Arm draped casually across the back of a stool. The kind of effortless comfort that came with being born camera-ready.

It was annoying.

Not the charm—that was expected. It was the ease.

Azzi didn’t get to feel easy. She got to feel prepared. Locked in. Polished within an inch of her own permission. She didn’t know what to do with someone who made the performance look like personality.

Paige caught her eye briefly. Lifted her brows like, everything okay?

Azzi nodded once. Quick. Like punctuation. She turned away before Paige could read too much into it.

She wasn’t rattled.

She just needed to reset. That was all.

The crew called them back a minute later. Next setup.

“Back-to-back. Heads tilted slightly, almost touching.”

Azzi swallowed.

Perfect.

****

They stood with their backs nearly touching. Only an inch apart, if that.

Close enough that Azzi could feel Paige’s breath when she exhaled. Could sense her shifting slightly in place, the quiet rustle of compression fabric brushing fabric. The air between them felt weighted. Tight. Like it hadn’t been there before they stepped into position.

Azzi rolled her shoulders once, slow and subtle. Trying to shake the static building under her skin. It didn’t help.

“Let’s bring your heads a little closer,” the photographer called. “Like you’re in sync without even trying. Just the idea of contact.”

Azzi tipped her head inward.

And paused. Because Paige did the same at the exact same moment—too smoothly, too deliberately.

Now their temples were nearly grazing. The curve of Paige’s cheek hovered just behind Azzi’s jaw.

The warmth was unreal. So was the way Paige smelled—lemon, maybe lavender. Clean. Sharp. Familiar in a way that felt like a trick.

Azzi hadn’t meant to breathe it in. Hadn’t meant to notice. But now it was in her throat, under her skin.

Too close. Too much.

Azzi blinked hard, locked her eyes on a piece of tape near the base of the backdrop. Something to anchor her. This wasn’t that deep. It was just another pose. Another shot. She could stand still. She could survive proximity.

Then Paige’s voice slipped in, soft and way too close to her ear. “You’re gonna hate this picture.”

Azzi didn’t move. “Why?”

“Because I look good,” Paige said, amused, “and you look like you’re trying not to blink.”

Azzi exhaled through her nose. Steady. Controlled. “You really think everything revolves around you.”

“No,” Paige murmured, the corner of her mouth curling. “Just everything interesting.” Azzi didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. The photographer’s camera clicked again—rapid fire.

“Perfect,” he called. “Stay right there.”

She tried. But Paige tilted her head just slightly—closer. Her hair brushed the back of Azzi’s neck, and Azzi’s skin lit up like someone had hit a switch.

“You’re doing it again,” Paige said quietly.

Azzi didn’t move. “Doing what.”

“That whole don’t-look-at-me thing.” A pause. “Kinda funny, considering.”

Azzi’s throat tightened. “Considering what.”

“You’re literally in a campaign. With me. In spandex.”

“I’m being professional.”

“And I’m not?” Paige asked, voice low now, laced with something lighter. “We’re allowed to have fun while we work. It’s called range.”

Azzi didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her jaw was tight and her pulse was going rogue, and she had no idea what her face was doing because she wasn’t even sure her body still belonged to her.

She could feel Paige smiling behind her. Could feel it.

The photographer called, “Alright, last one! A little more lean. Just barely—like you’re pulling toward each other without meaning to.”

Azzi shifted imperceptibly. Paige leaned in without hesitation.

And for a second—just a second—Azzi let herself tilt.

She didn’t move. Didn’t shift the inch of space between them.

But she felt it. The heat. The gravity.

Like her body was suddenly aware of just how close it was to Paige’s.

The smallest lean and they’d be touching. Shoulder to shoulder. Hip to hip.

She stared straight ahead. Counted the clicks of the shutter. Focused on the lights.

Tried not to wonder how much of this was for the camera. Tried not to care.

But her pulse was misfiring. Her skin was too loud.

And that— Yeah. That was the problem.

The camera clicked once more.

“That’s a wrap on stills!” the PA announced. “Five-minute reset for mic’d up.”

Azzi stepped forward like she’d just been released from something. She didn’t look back.

Not at Paige. Not at anyone.

She needed air. She needed water.

She needed her body to stop reacting like it didn’t care that this was just a photoshoot. She let her arms fall loosely at her sides. Let her eyes stay on the wall behind the camera. Anywhere but Paige.

The energy that had filled her shoulder hadn’t left—it was just drifting now. Diffused under her skin.

Someone handed her a mic. She took it without a word.

“We’re moving into the rapid-fire segment next,” the PA said, chipper. “Stay in those outfits. Just mic’d up and vibing. Keep the banter light but competitive. Think: rivals who maybe share playlists.”

Azzi didn’t go for water. Didn’t peel off the jacket or shake out her arms like some of the other athletes did between setups.

She walked quietly around the back of the studio—just out of sight, behind a stack of unused light panels—and pressed her spine to the cool concrete wall.

Her hands were still.

But her chest was tight. Her pulse steady but wrong.

She tipped her head back, eyes closed, and tried to exhale like it might help. Like the memory of Paige’s hair grazing her neck would just… leave.

It didn’t.

Neither did the heat. Or the scent. Or the way Paige had said “Just everything interesting” like it wasn’t the boldest thing anyone had whispered into her space in months.

It was all still there. Stuck to her skin like static.

And the worst part? For half a second—just one—she’d actually wanted to lean in. Not as a joke. Not because of the setup. Because she felt something.

And what the hell was that?

She’d spent her whole life brushing past moments like this. Ignoring distraction. Controlling static. Staying locked in.

But that—whatever that was—cracked through.

So she did what she always did.

She shut it down.

Pulled the drawbridge, sealed the gates, rebuilt the wall—fast, practiced, automatic.

Her shoulders squared. Her face reset. Her breath leveled.

Professional. Controlled. Untouchable.

That was the job. That was the plan.

And if her pulse was still off, if her skin still buzzed— Well. She’d learn to ignore it.

“Alright,” the photographer called. “We’re going mic’d up next. Just keep it loose—banter a little. Let the chemistry do the work.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Let Paige try.

Azzi had walls for a reason.

And this time, she’d remember how to use them.

Paige

Mic’d up spots were supposed to be fun.

Paige had done enough of them to know the beats—banter, charm, maybe a spicy one-liner that made it onto SportsCenter’s TikTok page. But this didn’t feel like that.

This felt like trying to walk across a balance beam while someone threw lit matches.

That someone was Azzi.

They weren’t friends. Weren’t teammates for long. Weren’t anything, really, beyond years of headlines and one too-long stare during a USA scrimmage when they were sixteen and seventeen. Still, being paired for a promo like this meant they had to pretend.

Pretend they had chemistry. Pretend it wasn’t weird. Pretend Paige wasn’t thinking entirely too much about how good Azzi looked in that cut-sleeve jacket and fitted shorts and impossible-to-read expression.

Because she did. Look good, that is. Sharp. Serious. A little intimidating. In that way that made it hard to look away.

There was something in the air now. Not loud, but there. Like the charge right before a tip-off. Or a spark that hadn’t decided if it wanted to catch.

And for a second—just a flicker—Paige wondered if Azzi felt it too.

But then Azzi blinked. Shoulders squared. Jaw set. Like she’d just flipped a switch behind her eyes.

Door closed. Message received.

Huh.

“Rolling in three…” the producer called. “Two…”

Paige locked in her best “camera-ready” grin and turned toward her. “All right. Let’s show the people Huskies and Irish can play nice.”

Azzi didn’t look at her, but her eyebrow lifted just enough to register. “Pretty generous, calling you nice.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh. “Wow. Coming out swinging already.”

“Just setting expectations.” Azzi’s tone was flat, but the corners of her mouth tugged up like she couldn’t quite help it.

The crew chuckled. Paige leaned in slightly. “It’s okay to be nervous. I’m a lot to be across from.”

Azzi’s mouth barely twitched. “You said it.”

That got a full laugh.

Paige felt it—the buzz of attention, the rhythm kicking in. Okay. This, she could work with.

“First question,” the PA read. “Who’s got the better handle?”

Paige raised her hand immediately. “Me. Obviously.”

Azzi glanced at her. “If you like dribbling in circles.”

“I call it creative movement.”

“I call it a waste of the shot clock.”

Laughter again. Paige smirked, but her brain stalled for half a second longer than it should’ve. Because that… kinda stung. Not because it was wrong. Just because Azzi said it like she meant it.

“Next,” the PA said. “Who talks more trash?”

Azzi, instantly: “Paige.”

Paige’s hand flew to her heart in mock betrayal. “Oh wow. No hesitation.”

Azzi shrugged, barely glancing her way. “You’re not subtle.”

“And you’re no fun.”

It slipped out quicker than she meant it to. A little too sharp, a little too real. Not quite a joke. Not quite not.

Azzi’s head turned, slow and deliberate. Her gaze narrowed—not dramatic, but pointed. Like a thread had just been pulled too tight.

Paige’s fingers curled lightly in her lap. She shifted, just enough to feel it.

“Sorry,” she added, with a smile that was trying too hard to land right. “You are fun. Like, very… introvert-fun. Deep cuts only.”

Azzi didn’t respond. Just looked at her, eyes steady. Measuring.

A beat.

“Okayyy,” the producer said slowly, dragging the word like they were trying to break the tension. “Moving on. What’s one thing the other person does that annoys you on the court?”

Paige tried to laugh. “Where do I start?”

But Azzi didn’t wait. “She flops.”

That made Paige blink. “Excuse me?”

Azzi turned slightly, angled just enough to be caught by the second camera. “You sell contact like it’s an acting reel.”

Paige’s jaw dropped, then clicked back into place. “I get fouled.”

“You get dramatic.”

It was said plainly. No heat, no bite. Which somehow made it land harder.

Paige laughed again, but it came out tight. “Well, not everyone can be an emotionless highlight reel.”

Azzi’s smile vanished.

Not all at once. Just enough to shift the whole tone of the room.

Her shoulders stiffened. Eyes fixed on the PA, like Paige had suddenly stopped existing.

One hand flexed against her thigh. Small. Measured. Controlled. Which said everything.

And just like that, the air changed. Even the lights felt hotter.

Azzi’s expression didn’t flicker, but the silence that followed? Loud.

“Sorry,” Paige offered, hands half-raised. “I meant it as a compliment. You know—methodical, flawless, machine-like.” Azzi’s jaw tensed.

The PA didn’t even look up. “Cool. Um… let’s maybe not start a fight on camera?”

A beat.

“Or at least wait until lunch.” “No, it’s fine,” Azzi said quietly. “I didn’t realize being consistent was a flaw.”

“Didn’t realize having a personality was one either,” Paige muttered, mostly to herself.

Too late.

Azzi looked at her.

Really looked.

And Paige suddenly wanted to rewind the last twenty seconds of her life.

The director clapped once. “Okay! Let’s take five!”

The crew moved fast—headsets off, cameras paused, someone offering water like they could cool the temperature in the room with hydration alone.

Paige stayed frozen. Mic still on. Brain on fire.

Azzi unclipped hers without a word and walked off set.

Paige watched her go, heart in her throat. This was supposed to be easy. Charming. Safe.

Instead, she’d pushed too far, misread the moment, and hit a nerve she didn’t even know was still raw.

Now Azzi was iced over, the crew was tense, and Paige was sitting there like the punchline to a joke no one found funny.

Maybe Azzi never had.

****

Paige sat in the makeup chair, mic off, fingers curled loosely around a half-empty water bottle, trying to untangle the five-minute spiral that had just knocked the air out of the room.

A makeup artist drifted by with a compact and a brush, pausing beside her.

“You good?” she asked gently, not meeting her eyes.

“Totally,” Paige said, voice light, smile tighter than it should’ve been. “Just… conserving energy.”

The makeup artist nodded. “Right. Gotta save some for the drama.”

Paige gave a short laugh—too quick, too bright. “Yeah. Can’t peak too early.”

The makeup artist moved on without a word.

Paige stared at her reflection. Yup. There it was. That smile that didn’t quite reach. The kind you practiced until it felt like muscle memory.

It started fine. Easy. Banter, jabs, the kind of low-stakes teasing that made shoots like this go viral for all the right reasons. And then—somewhere between the eye rolls and the too-close pose and that one line about emotionlessness—something shifted.

Azzi had walked off.

No dramatic exit. No fight. Just a clean, quiet done.

And Paige was still here, stuck in the residue.

She’d said worse things to teammates in scrimmages. Sharper lines. Harsher tones. And they’d laughed. Or barked back. Or let it roll off like athletes do.

But Azzi wasn’t someone she had that kind of rapport with. Not someone she could read or recover with.

Paige leaned forward, elbows to knees, watching the studio lights dim into standby. The set was quiet now, everyone moving around her like background noise.

She didn’t know why this stuck.

She didn’t think they had anything like that between them. She hadn’t thought about Azzi that way. Not really.

They were on similar paths. Always had been. But Paige was older. A year, technically—but in the world they came from, that was just enough space to make them feel like separate weight classes.

Azzi had been the phenom trailing behind. Paige had been the one already living in the spotlight.

And Paige? She’d been too busy trying to live up to that—to the “once-in-a-generation” thing—to ever think about chasing someone else’s lane. She didn’t compare herself to the other girls in her class. Not Caitlin. Not Angel. Not Hailey.

She’d learned early that comparison was a rigged game. There was always someone louder. Sharper. More liked. More marketable.

So you pick a lane and you run it until your lungs burn.

That was the job.

By the time Azzi made her splash, Paige was already being called a generational player. The next thing. The sure thing. She was too busy keeping up with her own expectations to look back, or sideways, or anywhere long enough to clock a rivalry.

And maybe that was part of it.

Maybe she hadn’t seen Azzi as a threat.

Not because she wasn’t one—but because Paige had been too busy trying to live up to the spotlight she’d never asked for, but couldn’t afford to drop.

She thought Azzi was quiet. Controlled. Just a player in her orbit.

But maybe she wasn’t orbiting. Maybe she’d been lining up a shot this whole time. And Paige had just turned her back to the basket.

She sat back, watching a loop of their stills flash across a muted monitor screen. They looked good. Too good.

There was something there—sharp, charged. Like tension caught mid-spark.

Weird.

They weren’t friends. Barely talked. But the camera had caught something real.

Like they’d slipped into a story neither of them remembered starting.

She wasn’t sure what they’d captured in those frames.

She just knew it didn’t feel fake.

Maybe she should’ve known, back then.

She remembered seeing Azzi at some AAU tournament. Just once. Azzi was younger—quieter—but already dangerous with the ball. Unbothered by the noise. Paige had been all highlights and handshakes by then, already half-branded.

She didn’t stay long. Didn’t say anything.

But she remembered thinking: That girl doesn’t play for cameras. She plays to win.

And for the first time, she started to wonder:

What if this was a rivalry? Not the headline kind. Not the one you get handed. The kind you only recognize once it’s already shaped you.

[r0-boat]

Whb Beelzebub NSFW alphabet

We are almost done with the Seven Kings aaa

Cw: mentions of cannibalism, consent non-consent, safe words, mild drug use(weed), drinking, overstimulation, slight feederism

Beelzebub is such a bad influence Oh my god...

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Beelzebub is not for the faint-hearted. He is not perfect, nor does he claim himself to be. He tells you he doesn't think he's all that good at aftercare and truly believes it. Even if the evidence is right in front of you when he is cuddling and holding you close, petting your hair, playing in, and stroking parts of your body, making you melt with his gentle touch. His fingers occasionally fiddle with parts of your body that he finds interesting.

Usually, your chest or between your legs, sometimes not even sexually. Just... Playing with it like it's a fidget.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your belly, God, loves that belly. He likes how soft it is. He likes putting his palm against it and watching his fingers sink. He likes your chest. He likes anything that he can grab. He likes the top of your head. Occasionally, he'll wrap his arms around you, nuzzle into the top of your head, and inhale deeply. He likes to flush soft parts of your body, things he can grab and squeeze.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Beelzebub loves cum wearing it sharing it, squirting it, drinking it, smearing it, smelling it. Have your juices on his fingers and lick it up like sweet cream.

Have cum on his cock and demand you lick it up.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Beelzebub is an excellent chef, So good in fact that he can sneak his own cum inside of dishes he has prepared for you. He'll take any meal, stroke his cock till he explodes all over the dish, mix it in and watch you eat it. Sure, he could always ask you to suck his cock and swallow his cum, but He wants you to eat it when you don't know. No one except Amon knows what he puts in your dishes. He started doing this when he found out that you need to drink a certain human's cum to survive in Hell; maybe Beelzebub got a little jealous.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Besides Asmodeus, Beelzebub has the most experience out of the Seven Kings. However... His oral skills rival that of the King of Lust.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes to pick you up and press you against walls or counters. Tables are his favorite currently. Though his favorites tend to change about every week or so.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Yes, it's goofy and lots of talking. Most of the time, it's just chit-chat, not even dirty talk.

"Hey I know I'm deep inside you right now but... I watched this video about human game called-"

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Nah, Beelzebub doesn't grow much hair anyway, though he does try to groom when he remembers.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Beelzebub is a little less romantic, But he is very touchy in and out of the bedroom. He cannot keep his hands off you, always touching, groping, teasing, and toying. His hands go in places they really shouldn't, whether in private or public. He likes your personal space :)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Surprisingly, Beelzebub doesn't jerk off as often as most devils do (which is a lot). When he does, he always gets distracted and starts playing with things on his body. When he's with you, however... He's so touchy he'll be jacking you off. And he will be encouraging you to touch him, too. Though once His mind is obsessed with something sexual, He will be jerking off and rubbing against you like a cat in heat.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Beelzebub's favorite thing to do is press his face against your skin, your neck, and the top of your head.

He also likes to press and rut his dick against you dry humping until the both of you are caught and drenched in sweat.

Beelzebub absolutely loves tight spaces. He wants to be pressed right up against you. He wants to be overwhelmed by everything that is you.

Beelzebub wants to know how your flesh tastes :)

Beelzebub 🤝 Paimon

Little piranhas

Beelzebub will bite bite bite and suck until you're covered. He will bite and suck, aiming for places that are the most visible on your body too, and watch as other kings fucking explode when they see you with all those marks on your neck.

Beelzebub also loves to get high or drunk and fuck you. There is nothing like his body being on a high while he's deep inside you. Beelzebub well actually get offended if you don't like drunk or high sex. 'clearly you've never felt it before? How could anyone hate that feeling? '

DO NOT LET HIM PEER PRESSURE YOU. Because he will do it!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere is the location when your there.

When there's a hole there's a goal.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Perfume and cologne. As well as scented soaps and body wash. Anything floral and fruity drives him up the wall.

Also when he is drunk or high, Honestly under the influence of any kind of drug usually makes him want you more, He's giggly and dizzy self struggling to take off your clothes as you're trying to get him into bed. Beelzebub pouting because his dick is hard and he wants sex and you're not letting him :(

What do you mean you won't have sex with me under the influence :((( ? But that's the best kind of sex in Abyssos :(((((

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Beelzebub doesn't like to share his food, though there are some exceptions. If someone is not part of that exception, Beelzebub will grow and nash his teeth like a food-possessed dog.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

C.O.N.S.U.M.E

Like a starved man at a buffet he will eat you till there's nothing left to give. He will suck your balls dry until you're shooting blanks. He will eat your pussy raw. And even as you beg and plead that you have nothing more to give He will pout and whimper. "Please more... I need it... I need it I'm so hungry... I need more..."

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Deep rough fast, His thrusts are relentless going at the same brutal pace not resting for even a second. Fucking you as if he needs it to live.

And it's not enough, He needs more. And that usually ends up pulling you into overstimulation so fast you'll barely know what's happening. Using you and consuming you until there's nothing left.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies never become just quickies; if devils could lie, if he said he wanted a quickie, he would be fucking lying. Once he starts a 'quickie,' He's not stopping till you won't be able to walk. He will keep you for weeks if he is allowed to.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Beelzebub LIVES for the risk, there is nothing better than your heart beating with anticipation and that rush of from either new excitement or adrenaline. Beelzebub will eagerly try anything.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

With gluttony, Just one round isn't enough, He constantly needs more and more and more and more. It was short-lived satisfaction when he finally had his fill, and he'll definitely be returning. To satiate that hunger. Other than Asmodeus he definitely has the best stamina out of the Seven Kings.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Has a collection of toys that even makes Asmodeus impressed, knows way too much historical and "fun facts" about them.

Oh, And he knows how to use them like a five star chef with utensils. Once he brings out the toys you know you're fucked.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Beelzebub doesn't do well with teasing, when he wants something he wants it now and he will get it now. He'll do anything to get it So if you're teasing him Make sure you have a full thought out plan or else he will turn the situation on you quick and when he does...

Oh boy, Beel is a bastard when it comes to teasing. It won't just be sexual. He will degrade and mock you. Give you light threats of how good you taste if he just had one bite. Beelzebub LIVES to see every twitch whimper, plead beg, the furrowing of your brows either in fear or frustration. Beelzebub is a big bully.

"Heheh. You're screaming my name. Your cute little voice is squealing no, but you're not saying the word. My name is not a safe word."

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud and unapologetic. Grunts moans and growls, Even howls if in a certain mood.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I know it's a very uncommon fetish But I think Beelzebub would have a slight fetish for feederism. He's the sin of gluttony, And to him sharing food is super intimate, if you allow him he would be clinging to you and feeding you anything.

This is a personal opinion so feel free to not listen:

I feel like Beelzebub definitely appreciates people with a little more fat on them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Good girth and long a good curve and a very sensitive tip. And he knows how to use it too hitting all your deepest spots. A very pretty ass to

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

FATHER I HUNGER

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Nope, he takes a power nap every now and then. That is pretty rare. He is an energy-hungry mosquito.

[skzficdump]

Last Time

paring: bangchan x femreader

gender: angst, smut, ex!bangchan, he´s your ex but you´re still his

word count: 780

warnings: oral sex (fem reciving), sex without protecion, dirty talk, dominant/submissive dynamics, breeding kink, toxic relationship / exes, relationships marked by pain and desire, emotional exhaustion and sexual dependence

The storm outside raged as if it knew what was coming. As if the sky were about to break around you. You knocked on the door with trembling hands, soaked, repentant, furious with yourself for being there. For continuing to fall into it.

He opened the door without surprise on his face, but with something deeper in his eyes: rage, desire, and that bitter pain that came with pride.

"I didn't think you'd come back," Chan said, his voice low, almost grave.

"I didn't come for you," you lied. You both knew it.

He stepped aside. He let you in. Like he always did. He closed the door, and the click resonated like a gunshot.

"What do you want then? Another half-hearted goodbye? Another excuse to leave?"

"No. I just… I don't want to think," you said, and your eyes met his. Furious. Burning. Broken.

One step. Two. And now you had him in front of you. His hand moved up your neck, gentle but firm. He held you there, his gaze fixed on yours.

"I do think about you. Every damn day. And I hate you for it."

He kissed you without warning. Hard. Demanding. He pushed you against the wall, and your back hit with a thud. Chan's mouth was wild, and his hands moved down, anxious, as if he feared you'd faint if he didn't touch you quickly.

"This is what you want, huh?" he whispered against your lips as he lifted you off the floor, his hands under your thighs. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and he carried you to the bed, still kissing you as if it were the last thing he was going to do.

When he dropped you, his eyes roamed your body with hunger. He was no longer the sweet boy you dated. He was fire, rage, and pent-up lust.

He took off his shirt leisurely, revealing his taut, defined muscles. Then he pulled down your pants and underwear in one motion, his eyes fixed on your wet center.

"So wet for me… even though you say you don't love me. You're such a hypocrite."

He firmly opened your legs and positioned himself between them. His tongue descended where you needed it most, without warning, without mercy. Slow at first, then deep and precise, as if he knew it drove you crazy when he used only the tip and then his entire tongue flat on your clit.

"Chan…" you moaned, gripping his hair. "God, don't stop!"

"I'm not going to," he said with a crooked smile, his mouth wet for you. "Today you're mine. All of you. I'm going to make sure you can't walk tomorrow."

And he did.

He unbuttoned his pants, freeing himself with a throaty groan. His erection was hard, throbbing, and when he showed it to you, rubbing it against your entrance, your body arched in anticipation alone.

"Are you ready?" he asked, even though you were already dripping for him.

"Yes. Chan, please…"

He entered suddenly, with a firm, deep thrust, making a cry escape your lips. It was too much. Too perfect. Too wrong.

His thrusts were strong, rhythmic, his hands on your hips and his eyes fixed on your face.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, panting.

"Yes…"

"Good. I want you to remember that every time you're alone."

He pressed harder. He changed the angle. He made you see it, feel it, live it. Every movement was wilder. More desperate.

"I'm going to fill you," he whispered in your ear. "All the way. I'm going to leave you marked. As punishment. As a promise. Because even if you're not with me, you're going to take me inside you."

The knot in your belly exploded. You screamed his name as you came, shaking, trembling. And he didn't stop. He kept thrusting harder, with hoarse moans, until he came inside you with a brutal grunt, buried deep inside, releasing all his frustration.

"That's it…" he whispered, lowering his forehead to yours. "You're mine. Even if you don't love me. Even if you leave tomorrow. This body… belongs to me."

He held you for a moment. Tight. As if he didn't want to let go.

And then he pulled away. As if that were the hardest thing in the world.

"Go if you want. But don't come back. Not again."

You remained silent. He didn't look at you.

You dressed in the darkness. You still carried his essence inside you. His words. His damned love turned into hate, turned into desire.

You left without closing the door completely. Because a part of you knew that if you touched it again…

He would open it again.