#even if it's just completely random bullshit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heeluvv · 1 month ago

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˗ˏˋ 01. NEW CONTENT DROPPED

warningsᝰ.ᐟ masturbation, unprotected sex, soft praise kink, noona kink, light crying, degradation kink, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 1/9 completed!

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro

──

you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until the number on the page blurs in front of your eyes. the red ink bleeds through the letter like it’s been branded there on purpose, like it’s taunting you. bold, underlined, and cruel: payment past due. the amount is higher than you thought. higher than last month. higher than what’s sitting in your checking account—and your savings? nonexistent. your fingers twitch around the edges of the paper, and you stare at it for a few seconds longer, as if maybe if you look hard enough, the numbers will shrink, change, disappear entirely.

but they don’t.

your hands move slowly, almost disconnected, as you place the letter down on the edge of the kitchen counter. the paper crinkles beneath your fingertips, the sound sharp in the quiet of the apartment. you rake your fingers through your hair, dragging your nails gently across your scalp, trying to ground yourself—trying not to panic. it’s not working.

you don’t have time for this. not now. not with finals looming, two shifts left this weekend, and rent due in five days.

the sound of approaching footsteps makes you flinch.

“everything okay?” nari’s voice is soft, cautious, like she already knows the answer. she probably does. she always does.

you don’t look at her. not yet. you feel her presence behind you, hovering by the counter, hesitating. she picks up the letter carefully, and you hear her breath catch as her eyes scan the contents. there’s a beat of silence before she speaks.

“it’s more than last month,” she says, barely above a whisper.

you nod, still not meeting her eyes. your throat feels dry, your heart pounding behind your ribs like it’s trying to escape. the shame tastes bitter in your mouth.

“i can’t pay it,” you finally say, voice flat. “i barely made it through last month’s bill. and now they’ve added more fees.”

it’s not new. this has been happening every few months. random charges. late penalties. service increases you never agreed to. and no matter how many hours you work or how much sleep you lose, it never seems to be enough. you thought you were managing. thought maybe you were finally getting ahead, even just a little. but here it is—proof that you’re still drowning.

nari places the letter back down and moves to stand beside you. she doesn’t speak right away. her eyes flick toward you, soft with concern. she’s been your roommate for over a year now—someone you met through a shared thread on social media venting about overpriced meal plans and the bullshit cost of dorm laundry. back then, you were both strangers trying to navigate the mess of college life with nothing but broken bank accounts and coffee-stained syllabi.

now, she feels like family.

you’ve always admired how gentle she is, how thoughtful. she worries without smothering, helps without asking, gives even when she barely has enough for herself. you hate how easily she sees through you.

“i’m so sorry, y/n,” she says gently. “let me help. i mean it. just this once.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. you’ve had this conversation before. more than once. every time the bills show up with too many zeroes or your bank app sends another low balance alert, she offers. she always offers. and you always refuse.

because this is your responsibility. your education. your choice.

you never wanted to drag her into the mess you made just trying to survive.

“nari, no. it’s fine,” you say, brushing it off the same way you always do, even though nothing about this feels fine. “i’ll figure it out. i’ll… find another job or something.”

another job. the words sound ridiculous even as they leave your mouth. you’re already balancing two. your body aches at the thought of adding a third, your schedule stretched so thin it feels like one missed alarm could unravel everything.

nari doesn’t argue. she just stands there, looking at you with wide, worried eyes that say more than her words ever could.

you turn away.

you don’t want to see that look. don’t want to see the guilt in her expression or the way her lips part like she’s about to say something she knows you won’t let her finish. instead, you press your palms flat to the cool countertop and try to slow your breathing.

you can’t keep doing this. living check to check. sacrificing sleep, time, your sanity—only to still come up short.

“let me help find you one, y/n. at least let me do that…” her voice was quiet but firm, laced with the kind of gentle urgency that made it hard to ignore. she pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down beside you, her knees bumping yours softly as she reached for your hands.

her fingers curled around yours without hesitation—warm, grounding, comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

“you’ll get out of this before you know it,” she said, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “just hang on a little longer.”

the words should’ve felt like encouragement. to someone else, maybe they would have. but to you, they barely registered. her voice echoed distantly in your ears, dulled by the weight pressing down on your shoulders. you wanted to believe her. you really did. but there was only so much hope could do when your brain felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

you were tired.

not just physically—though that part never seemed to go away—but mentally, emotionally, in a way that left you hollow at the edges. your thoughts were messy. loud. overwhelmed with numbers and due dates and rejection emails you didn’t have the energy to open.

you’d always wanted more for yourself. a degree. a real future. stability. success. the version of adulthood that didn’t involve counting coins at the bottom of your purse to buy groceries. being able to chase something you loved without sacrificing everything just to survive.

and yet… here you were. still stuck. still drowning.

“i’ll talk to my friends,” nari added, her voice picking up as she stood again. “i’ll ask around, see if any of their jobs are hiring. you don’t have to do this alone, okay?”

you blinked up at her, too tired to protest, too drained to offer anything back. you barely nodded.

she didn’t wait for an answer. instead, she gently tugged you to your feet and led you toward your room, her hands guiding you like muscle memory.

“just hurry,” she said over her shoulder, already halfway down the hall. “get ready before you’re late.”

you let the door close behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet space, and leaned back against it for a second too long—breathing in slow, like maybe it would help ease the burning behind your eyes.

but it didn’t.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you can’t hear yourself think anymore. the noise presses in from every direction—muffled conversation, the beep of the register, shoes skidding across tile, the mechanical whirring of the blender as it screams through another drink. the scent of syrup, espresso, and sweat mixes into something you’re far too familiar with by now. it clings to your clothes, seeps into your hair, follows you home every night and lingers even after you’ve scrubbed your skin raw.

your apron feels too tight around your waist. the name tag keeps flipping over, catching on your shirt. your hands ache from repetition. your back stings from bending, twisting, reaching for things without stopping. your legs burn, but you keep standing. because if you stop—just for a second—you don’t know if you’ll start again.

you’ve lost count of how many customers you’ve helped. they blur together—faces that don’t really look at you, names that repeat too often, voices that never say please. someone spilled a drink ten minutes ago and just stared at you like it was your fault. someone else snapped when you misunderstood their order and then smiled like it never happened. you’re used to it. too used to it.

the blender screams again, and you find yourself zoning out, eyes on the flashing light of the machine, ears ringing. you place a sweaty cup down on the counter just as your coworker brushes past you, muttering something, her voice barely registers.

“we’re out of cold brew, can you let the manager know?” she says, breathless.

you nod without thinking and duck into the back, weaving past crates of milk and mop buckets that haven’t been moved since your last shift. you find her—your manager—hovering near the inventory shelf, tablet in hand, expression unreadable. she looks up when she hears you but doesn’t say anything. just waits.

“we’re out of cold brew again,” you say softly.

her sigh is immediate. clipped. already annoyed. “i told the morning crew to prep more.”

“they didn’t,” you reply, just as soft.

she exhales again and gives you a glance that feels like a warning. “make a new batch. and try to keep the line moving—we’re backed up out there.”

you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot, unsure if now’s a good time. but you don’t have a choice. not really.

“hey,” you begin, voice lighter than you feel, “i was wondering… if you had any extra shifts next week? i could take one. or two. anything that opens up, i’ll take it.”

you see it the moment her expression changes. not enough to be obvious, but enough that you feel it in your gut. she blinks at you once, slow. “you already have four shifts on the schedule.”

“i know,” you say quickly. “i just… if anyone drops or calls out—”

“i’ll let you know if something comes up,” she interrupts, sharper now. “but we’re fully staffed right now. you’re already lucky to have the hours you do.”

lucky.

that one stings.

you nod like it doesn’t bother you. “okay. thanks anyway.”

you turn back toward the front before she can see the heat crawl up your neck. the shame, the frustration, the quiet burn of helplessness that never seems to leave you alone. it coils tight in your chest as you slide back behind the counter, the overwhelming noise greeting you like a wave to the face.

you move through the orders on autopilot—pour, cap, swipe, pass. your body knows the motions. it always does. even when your brain doesn’t catch up. your arms are heavy. your thoughts are too loud.

your phone buzzes in your apron pocket.

technically, you’re not supposed to check it during a shift. but you do anyway, slipping your hand inside just enough to pull it out, eyes flicking to the screen beneath the counter.

nari: i have something to tell you.

you pause.

your breath catches in your throat.

the message is short. way too short. there are no emojis, no dramatics, no little additions she usually throws in to make you laugh. it’s clean. intentional. unsettling.

you type back fast.

you okay? what’s up?

your fingers hover over the screen, waiting. no immediate reply. no typing bubbles. just silence.

you slip your phone back into your apron, heart racing now—not from caffeine or exhaustion but from something else. dread, maybe. anxiety. it curls low in your stomach and spreads like smoke, slow and sickly.

the hours bleed together until they don’t feel real anymore. it’s like you blinked and suddenly the sky was dark, the register was silent, and your shift was over. you don’t even remember clocking out. your body moves on instinct as you grab your things, slinging your bag over one shoulder, feet dragging slightly with every step. you’re too tired to even complain out loud. exhaustion sits heavy on your shoulders, weighing down every bone like bricks. every joint aches. your eyes sting from the fluorescent lights. your muscles are tight, sore, stretched too far. and the worst part is knowing you’ll have to do it all again tomorrow.

the walk home is a blur. you barely register the passing cars or the hum of traffic. your legs are on autopilot, your thoughts too noisy to settle into anything coherent. by the time you reach your building, your fingers fumble with the key from how badly they’re shaking—whether from fatigue or stress, you’re not sure.

the moment the front door swings open, you’re greeted by a sudden, high-pitched sound that makes you flinch.

“oh my god, y/n!”

nari’s voice rings out before you even step fully inside. she appears from around the corner, practically bouncing on her feet as she rushes toward you with wide eyes and a wild grin.

“i think i’ve secured something for you!” she announces proudly, reaching to help you with your things without waiting for permission. your bag slides off your shoulder with her help, and she carefully sets it down on the couch before turning to face you again.

you blink at her, too tired to match her energy, voice low and worn. “how so?”

the contrast between your tone and hers is stark—hers bright and excited, yours soft, raspy, touched with exhaustion that even you can hear.

“okay, so,” she starts, already walking toward the kitchen like she’s been waiting all day to spill this. “i was talking to one of my classmates earlier—casual stuff, whatever—and she would not shut up about this app she’s using and this guy she’s obsessed with on it.”

you follow her slowly, the smell of something warm and savory pulling you forward. dinner is already set out, steam curling up from the bowls on the counter. she’s cooked again. you don’t even have the energy to thank her properly, but it sits in your chest like a quiet comfort.

“she said it’s this platform where you can post content—videos, mostly—and people follow you, tip you, subscribe to see more. apparently, it’s easy money if you know how to catch attention,” nari continues, grabbing utensils and placing them gently next to your bowl.

you lean against the counter, brows slightly furrowed as you try to keep up.

“what kind of videos?” you ask slowly.

and that’s when she pauses.

her hands still for a second, and you notice the subtle way her eyes flick to the side—toward the fridge, the floor, anywhere but you. she busies herself wiping down a clean countertop, her mouth tight, like she’s carefully choosing what not to say.

the silence stretches just a little too long.

you narrow your eyes. “nari?”

she still doesn’t look at you, her fingers now fiddling with the corner of a napkin that doesn’t need adjusting.

and that’s when you know—whatever she’s about to suggest, it’s not exactly a regular part-time job.

you don’t say anything. not at first.

you just watch her fidget—her hands smoothing the same wrinkle over and over again, her mouth parting like she wants to say something but can’t figure out where to start. her excitement from earlier has dimmed slightly, not completely gone, just… more careful now. the shift is subtle but it’s there, and you feel it tighten something in your chest.

your voice is quieter this time. gentler. “what kind of videos, nari?”

she glances up at you for a split second, then looks away again, reaching to stir a pot that isn’t even on the stove. she’s stalling.

finally, she exhales, turning back to you with both palms pressed to the counter.

“okay, so… don’t freak out.”

you stare at her.

“it’s… kind of a subscription thing,” she says, slow and cautious. “like, you post content—just whatever you’re comfortable with—and people tip you for it. sometimes a lot.”

you don’t speak. not yet. you just let her keep going.

“my classmate told me she made almost five hundred dollars in one weekend. literally just from one post. and this guy she follows? apparently he makes thousands. like, thousands. maybe even millions.”

your mouth is dry.

“what kind of content?” you repeat, even though you already know the answer.

nari bites her lip. her eyes finally meet yours. “sexy stuff,” she admits. “but it doesn’t have to be all out. it can be suggestive. artistic. faceless, even.”

you blink at her. once. twice.

the silence between you stretches until it’s not silence anymore—it’s tension. thick and heavy, sitting right in the center of the kitchen with both of you tiptoeing around it.

“it’s not as intense as it sounds,” she adds quickly. “she said she started small. built her page up over time. and no one from school found out. not even her roommates.”you sink into one of the kitchen chairs, your arms resting limply in your lap. you don’t say anything yet. you’re not even sure what you feel.

nari’s eyes soften as she watches you. “i know it sounds… out there. but i just thought—i don’t know, maybe it’s something you could look into. just to hold you over until things get better.”

you nod, but it’s slow. not agreement—just acknowledgment.

you’re too tired to argue. too drained to pretend the idea isn’t already crawling under your skin, planting itself somewhere dangerous.

because the truth is, you’ve heard of it. everyone has. whispered about in late-night dorm conversations, on private stories, in anonymous confessions posted on spam accounts. girls making rent money in a weekend. boys going viral for being faceless and filthy and addictive.

you never imagined doing it yourself.

but then again… you never imagined being this broke, either.

you stare at your untouched bowl of food, heart thudding softly in your chest.

you’re not disgusted. not even shocked.

you’re just… thinking.

and that scares you more than anything else.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you tell yourself you’re just looking.

that’s it.

just a little more scrolling. just a few more profiles. you’re not doing anything. you haven’t made an account. you haven’t posted. you haven’t committed to anything except curiosity, and that—well, that’s harmless, right?

you open your laptop again. it’s sometime past midnight. your room is dim, the only light coming from your screen and the soft amber glow of the lamp tucked in the corner of your desk. it casts everything in that moody, late-night hue that makes the whole world feel quieter. heavier.

you pull your knees up to your chest, the blanket draped loosely over your shoulders as the homepage loads. it’s different now. you’re not looking aimlessly anymore. you know what to search for. you type top creators, and a list appears almost instantly.

you click one.

@heefreakshow. verified. 5.2 million subscribers.

his profile loads, and it’s exactly what you expect. polished, but not too polished. his display photo is somewhat dark and grainy, a half-lit frame of his bare chest, chin tilted up just enough to be teasing without giving anything away. the banner across the top reads: “i don’t just talk dirty. i make you feel it.”

his content is locked, but the previews aren’t.

you hover for a moment, your thumb pausing above one of the thumbnails before tapping it without thinking. the video opens in a small window, looped, muted at first, but it doesn’t matter—what pulls you in is the way he fills the frame. it starts with a soft hum of music, low and bassy, vibrating faintly through your speakers as the camera tilts upward from a dark-lit bed.

his chest appears first—broad, smooth, glowing faintly under the moody blue light. he’s shirtless, his skin flushed, breathing slow but deep. the camera dips, revealing his thighs spread wide and relaxed, and the hard, unmistakable bulge straining through his pants. your breath catches. the fabric looks tight—too tight—like it’s fighting to contain him. you can almost feel the pressure through the screen.

his hands trail over his torso, slow and lazy, fingers dragging along the curves of his stomach, tracing the line of muscle before resting on the waistband of his pants. his face isn’t fully visible—just the faintest shadow of his jaw, a teasing sliver of his bottom lip. the only thing clearly captured is his hair: pink, messy, soft-looking and slightly damp, like he’s just run his hands through it too many times.

and then he moves.

his fingers slip down, unbuttoning his pants with quick, practiced ease. the zipper lowers with a soft click, and he pushes the fabric down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard, tip flushed and leaking as it rests against his abdomen. his breath stutters slightly, chest rising as he wraps his hand around himself, stroking slow—deliberate, like he’s savoring it. he tilts his hips toward the camera, giving you a better view, and you swear he’s looking straight at you even though you can’t see his eyes.

his voice comes in a beat later—low, raspy, thick with arousal.

“i couldn’t help myself, baby…”

you feel something warm twist in your stomach. the words feel too direct, too personal. his pace quickens as precum beads at the tip, slicking over his fingers as he groans, deep and breathy, like it’s pulled straight from his chest.

his other hand rises, trailing over his stomach until it reaches his chest, fingers pinching at one nipple as his hips twitch upward. the reaction is instant—a quiet moan spilling from his mouth as his head tilts back slightly, lips parted in pleasure.

“fuck…” he breathes out, barely audible between sharp inhales. “i want you here with me, baby…”

you freeze, the weight of the moment crawling down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

you scroll down to the next name on the list.

@jayafterhours. verified. 5.3 million subscribers.

his banner is simple—black background, sharp white font. his bio reads: “don’t waste my time unless you can take it.”

you don’t hesitate. you click.

the video loads instantly, and the difference between him and the last profile is immediate. there’s nothing soft about it. no slow lighting, no teasing buildup. it opens straight into a scene already mid-motion—loud moans echoing through your speakers, fast and desperate, though none of them are coming from him.

the camera is perfectly framed, clearly placed on a desk, angled to capture everything without obstruction. a woman lies flat on her front, arms outstretched as her fingers curl over the edge of the wood. her legs tremble slightly, back arched, skin damp with sweat. behind her, jay moves with sharp, brutal rhythm—his hands gripping her hips like he owns them, fingers pressing deep into the flesh as he drives into her hard enough to rock the table beneath them.

“such a fucking slut, aren’t you?” he grits out, his voice low and full of gravel, each syllable landing like a slap.

his hand comes down suddenly to grip her ass, squeezing tight before delivering a sharp slap that makes her body jolt. the sound of skin meeting skin cracks through the room. she lets out a choked moan, broken and messy.

“d-don’t stop—j-jay!” she cries, voice high, shaking as her nails drag along the desk surface for something to hold on to.

but you barely register her.

your eyes stay on him.

he doesn’t look at the camera—not directly—but the angle captures enough. his head is tilted back slightly, the veins in his neck prominent, his jaw clenched. his lips are caught between his teeth, biting down like he’s holding something back. there’s a faint flush along his collarbone, sweat trailing down the side of his throat.

he isn’t shirtless.

somehow, that makes it worse.

he’s dressed in a crisp white button-down, slightly wrinkled now, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. a black tie hangs loosely around his neck, the knot crooked like it was tugged halfway through the scene. it swings gently with the movement of his hips, adding to the rhythm, the sound, the image of him fully in control without even needing to try.

there’s something terrifyingly composed about him. like he’s done this a thousand times. like nothing surprises him anymore. like the entire scene is unfolding exactly how he planned it.

and yet, despite the chaos, the noise, the cries echoing off the walls—you can’t stop looking at him.

you don’t hesitate when your eyes land on the next name.

@jakeoncam. verified. 5.5 million subscribers.

simple bio: “i like being watched.”

your heart skips slightly as you click on the preview, already familiar with the routine by now. and yet, nothing about this feels repetitive—each creator you've looked at so far has had their own way of pulling you in, but jake’s feels… different.

the screen fades in slowly, no music, no buildup. just the soft creak of bedsheets and the low, wet sound of friction. he’s fully on display, his body stretched across a dark comforter, shirtless, skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. the camera is placed at a low angle, perfectly capturing the curve of his back as he grinds down onto a pillow with messy, desperate rhythm.

his blonde hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, a few pieces plastered to his cheek. his eyes are shut tight, brows drawn in deep concentration, lips parted as he pants softly into the mattress. his hips roll in tight, fluid motions, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he presses himself down harder into the cushion.

“fuck… i’m gonna cum… fuck, baby…”

his voice is breathless—higher, whinier than the others—and it hits you unexpectedly. it’s not performance. it sounds real. wrecked. like he’s been holding back for too long and is just now letting go.

he gasps softly, his pace stuttering, body tensing as the pressure builds—but the clip cuts off just before the release, leaving you blinking at your screen with your chest tight and your legs shifting.

you don’t realize how long you’ve been holding your breath until it escapes you all at once.

and you don’t stop there.

you move onto the next one almost instinctively, driven more by something primal now. not even out of curiosity anymore—need. something about each of them feels increasingly personal, like they’re not just performers, but something else. something closer.

@hoononrepeat. verified. 5.3 million subscribers. “if it’s not messy, i don’t want it.”

you click, the motion smooth and practiced now. part of you knows you’re getting too deep, that this is becoming more than just research, but you don’t stop.

his video starts mid-motion.

the frame is tight, focused completely on him—sunghoon’s hand gripping his cock, already soaked and shining with cum, sliding along the length with slow, deliberate strokes. his chest is heaving, his abs flexing with each movement. the lighting is dark, moody, barely enough to cast definition over his frame, and yet it still highlights every shift of muscle.

a silhouette appears at the bottom of the screen—a woman, faceless, mouth parted and positioned perfectly beneath him. her head bobs forward as he pushes his cock into her mouth without hesitation.

he groans, long and drawn out, his voice rough like it’s scraped from the bottom of his throat.

“fucking hell…”

his hand buries in her hair, fingers curling tight as he guides her down, hips jerking forward sharply. the wet sound of it echoes faintly, almost drowned out by his ragged breathing. she gags softly, hands pressing at his thighs, but he doesn’t let up.

he’s focused. lost. unrelenting.

“take it,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “take all of it, princess…”

the words hit hard. not because of what he says, but how he says it—low, commanding, almost personal. like he knows you’re watching. like the words aren’t meant for her at all.

you feel your pulse thud somewhere low in your stomach. your fingers curl tighter around the edge of your laptop.

you should stop.

but you don’t.

@watchmesunoo. verified. 5.4 million subscribers.

his page is simple—light pastel banner, soft text, almost misleading at first glance. but when the preview loads, there’s nothing soft about it. it starts mid-action, no intro, no setup—just raw, unfiltered need. his body fills the screen, the lighting harsh enough to highlight the tension in his muscles, the sweat slicking down his chest in messy trails.

his hand holds a small vibrator—slim, silver, and humming at a steady pace as he presses it along the length of his cock. it’s already hard, flushed dark and leaking, twitching visibly each time the buzzing toy runs over his slit. he slides it slowly, teasingly, from the base to the tip, circling it around the head before dragging it back down again. his hips jerk, his thighs tightening under the pressure.

his face is in view. fully.

his cheeks are red, tear-streaked, lips trembling with every breath. wet hair clings to his forehead in dark strands, and his eyes are glassy—shiny with desperation, the kind that makes your chest tighten just watching. he looks completely wrecked. beautiful in a way that shouldn’t feel this intimate, like you’ve caught him in something far too private.

“fuck… noona…” he whines, voice high and broken as his fingers curl tight around the bed sheets. “let me cum… please—noona…”

his hand trembles slightly as he lowers the vibrator, pressing it to the base of his cock as his other hand slides upward, two fingers dragging through the mess that’s already smeared across the head. he rubs the tip quickly, desperately, almost like he’s punishing himself for how close he is. his back arches sharply, the line of his throat exposed, jaw slack as more tears spill freely down his cheeks.

“f-fuckkk—i’m cumming!” he cries out, voice cracking as his body jerks violently, hips lifting off the mattress.

you can’t look away.

his cock twitches hard in his hand, and a thick wave of cum spills over his fingers, dripping down in messy strands that coat his palm and smear over his abdomen. his chest heaves. his thighs shake. he doesn’t stop moving until his hand is completely soaked and his voice has faded into soft, hiccuping breaths.

you’re still staring, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly. the screen is glowing in the dark of your room, and all you can do is sit there, frozen, pulse pounding behind your ribs as the clip loops quietly again.

@wonsodirty. verified. 5.2 million subscribers.

his profile surprises you even more.

the name alone already catches your eye—bold, a little cheeky, a little misleading. you expect something bratty, maybe cocky, something playful or reckless. but when the preview loads, it’s none of that.

it’s quiet. intimate.

the camera is placed at a low angle, steady, fixed on soft bedsheets that shift with every subtle movement. the lighting is warm and dim, the kind that wraps everything in a golden hue and makes skin look like silk. there’s a soft rustling in the background, the sound of him breathing, uneven and slightly hitched.

he comes into frame slowly—first his legs, then his thighs, spread slightly apart as he settles against the headboard. he’s not doing much at first. just breathing. just existing. but even that feels heavy with tension, like something just below the surface is about to break.

he’s shirtless. not in a performative way. just bare. his chest rises and falls in shallow motions, skin flushed with heat, the faintest sheen of sweat glinting under the soft light. his hand moves slowly at first, fingers wrapped tight around the base of his cock, stroking with careful precision. it’s already hard, already leaking at the tip, the kind of arousal that’s been building for far too long.

you watch as he closes his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip, his brows knitting together like he’s trying not to fall apart too quickly.

then, he whispers something—so soft you almost miss it.

“feels so good…”

his voice is high, sweet, breathy in the most fragile way. and it’s real. not loud. not dirty. just pure and cracked with something raw.

his strokes stay slow, almost too slow, like he’s punishing himself for how sensitive he is. his hips twitch every time he passes over the tip, precum smearing down the shaft and making his hand glisten as he continues.

you can’t help but watch his face—how red his ears are, how hard he’s trying to keep his composure. you notice how his legs tense, thighs flexing every time he lets out one of those quiet, needy sounds.

his strokes get faster, hips starting to lift slightly off the bed, his thighs trembling beneath him. he looks like he’s trying to hold back. like he’s afraid of what’ll happen if he lets go too soon.

“i can’t… i c-can’t hold it, please…”

he cries out as his hand jerks up once, twice, and then his entire body stutters. his back arches just slightly, his mouth dropping open in a silent gasp as ropes of cum spill over his fist, painting across his stomach in messy spurts.

his breathing turns shaky. his head tilts back against the pillow, eyes fluttering, lips parted as a tiny, breathless whimper escapes him.

the clip ends with his fingers still curled tightly around himself, his chest rising fast, his body twitching as he comes down—wrecked and glowing and silent.

you move onto the last profile.

@nikiuncensored. verified. 5.6 million subscribers.

the name alone already tells you everything you need to know. it feels reckless. raw. unapologetically bold in a way that makes your pulse skip without warning. you hesitate only for a second before clicking on the preview.

the video starts without ceremony—no soft intro, no teasing buildup. just action. the camera is low, placed somewhere near the base of the woman’s stomach. you can’t see her face, not even her chest—just the lower curve of her abdomen rising and falling with every sharp breath she takes. her thighs tremble faintly at the edges of the frame, knees slightly parted, twitching every time his mouth presses in.

but she’s the background.

your eyes go straight to him.

ni-ki comes into view slowly—his shoulders first, broad and tense, then his head, tipped slightly as his mouth lowers between her legs. his tongue flicks upward in tight, rhythmic strokes, wet and steady, circling over the clit with agonizing precision. the movement is deliberate. practiced. his lips part to suck softly, then flatten again as he switches pace, building her up in waves.

his fingers move with the same energy—two of them disappearing inside her only to pull out again, slick and glistening before they’re thrust back in with a soft squelch that echoes in the low hum of the room. the air is heavy. the lighting is dim, warm enough to cast shadows over the sharp line of his jaw, the flushed curve of his cheeks.

“fuck…” he breathes, voice strained with something between amusement and awe, “you’re so fucking wet…”

he groans as he presses in harder, his mouth practically consuming her now, lips wrapped fully around her clit as he sucks with loud, messy slurps. the sound is obscene, echoing in the quiet room—wet and desperate and hungry.

his eyes flutter shut, like he’s savoring the taste. like he could stay there all night and never come up for air. his free hand curls around the outside of her thigh, gripping tight, keeping her in place as his tongue works mercilessly. her moans are loud, cracked and high-pitched, but you barely register them. all you can hear is him—groaning, gasping, devouring.

he moves his head side to side slightly, mouth still latched to her clit, and the slurping sound becomes louder, wetter. his fingers curl up inside her and she screams, hips jerking toward his face, but he doesn’t back off. if anything, he doubles down.

he growls, low in his throat, sending vibrations straight into her core as his grip tightens.

and you’re stuck there—watching the way his mouth works, the way his muscles flex with every movement, the way he loses himself in it like it’s the only thing that matters.

the preview cuts off just as his lips part again, tongue dragging in a long, slow lick up her slit like he’s far from done.

and god—you believe it.

you’re completely breathless.

your chest rises and falls in slow, uneven waves, lungs struggling to catch up with the flood of emotions coursing through your system. your skin is warm, flushed, your fingers twitching faintly from where they rest on your thighs. everything inside you feels electric. overstimulated. wired with something you can’t quite name—but it’s there.

now, finally, you understand.

you understand why this app—the one you opened on a whim—could stir something so heavy inside you. why it’s been sitting in the back of your mind like a spark waiting for oxygen. it’s not just sex. it’s not just content. it’s control. attention. power.

you shift slightly where you sit, the damp heat between your thighs impossible to ignore. your panties are soaked, your breath shallow, and despite the way your body aches, you force yourself to sit up straighter. you push the thoughts down, shake your head, blink yourself back into focus.

you’ve battled with yourself long enough.

without giving yourself the space to overthink it, your finger moves. you press the button—create account—and watch the screen change, your heart racing with each small confirmation box that pops up in front of you.

you type quickly. no hesitation now. @babydollxo.

the name feels soft. flirty. safe.

but the next part isn’t so easy.

you hesitate when it asks for a profile photo. you scroll through your gallery—old pictures, half-deleted mirror selfies, nothing that feels right. nothing that says what you want it to say. nothing that matches the version of yourself you’re about to become.

you toss your phone onto the bed and push off the covers, the sheets falling away from your legs in soft folds as you rise to your feet. your room is still quiet, dimly lit by the lamp in the corner, casting soft golden shadows across your walls.

you move quickly.

your drawer slides open with a soft clatter as you dig through the scattered mess inside—tangled bras, folded shorts, tucked-away lace. your fingers pause when they find it: a tiny, black thong. the skimpiest one you own. barely fabric at all.

you strip out of your shirt first, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. the cool air hits your bare chest, making your nipples pebble instantly. there’s no hesitation now. no shame. just movement.

you tug the thong on slowly, adjusting it at your hips, letting the waistband hug your curves as you step in front of the mirror.

you pose without overthinking it—back facing the mirror, head turned slightly over your shoulder, your front angled just enough to tease without revealing everything. the lighting does the rest. it casts your silhouette in soft shadows, highlighting the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your hips. everything else remains hidden—blurred in the low glow of the lamp.

it’s just enough to make someone want more.

you lift your phone, frame the shot, and for the first time in a long time…you feel powerful.

you set your phone carefully on the edge of your desk, adjusting the angle until it captures only what you want it to—the lower half of your body, your thighs parted slightly, your stomach rising with shallow breaths. your face is out of view. there’s no light beyond the soft glow of your desk lamp, and the shadows cast across your skin make everything look muted, quiet, secretive.

your thumb hovers over the record button, trembling slightly. you're not nervous because you don’t know what you’re doing. you’re nervous because you do.

your mind is cluttered with noise. doubt swims through you in thick waves, crashing hard against the edges of your resolve. your chest feels tight. you can feel the fear circling in your gut, whispering things like what if you regret it? what if someone finds out? what if you can't take it back?

but the fear isn't loud enough to drown out the truth.

you think of the letter on the counter, the rent due in less than a week, the account notifications warning you that your balance is low—too low. you think of the long shifts, the missed hours, the denial from your manager. you think about how you’re out of options.

and then you press the button.

the recording begins. the red icon glows faintly in the corner of your screen. it’s happening now. you’ve officially started.

your breath catches as your hands move instinctively, dragging down the curve of your stomach with a slow, deliberate rhythm. you let your fingers tease the hem of your thong, playing with the waistband, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back into place. you don’t say a word. there’s no script for this. you let the action speak for itself.

you shift in your seat, angling your body just enough for the camera to catch the soft curve of your ass, arching your back to deepen the shadow and leave the details to the imagination. it’s subtle. sensual. controlled.

then, after a pause that makes your heart pound harder, you bring your fingers to the front of your thong. with one smooth motion, you pull the fabric aside.

just enough to reveal yourself.

your folds glisten, slick already gathered between them from the buildup of watching, waiting, and wanting all night. you’d been trying to ignore it. trying to focus on the mechanics of the process. but your body never really forgot. not after what you’d seen. not after the way they sounded.

your fingers move without hesitation now, sliding between your folds and gathering the wetness. you exhale slowly, letting the feeling settle, letting the camera keep rolling. your touch is gentle at first—small, slow circles around your clit, nothing too fast. you don’t want to rush. you want it to look natural. sensual. you want it to feel good.

and it does.

your body shifts. your back arches slightly. your thighs tense. your fingers grow bolder, faster. not by much—just enough to feel it start to build. your breathing grows uneven. soft, audible. you hold back the sound in your throat, biting your lip hard enough to feel the pressure.

and then you think of them.

the teasing smirk from the one who never broke eye contact. the groans that scraped low and rough from behind clenched teeth. the soft, desperate whimpers that bled through clenched fists and sweat-slick sheets. the sharp snap of a hand against skin. the steady rhythm of fingers soaked to the knuckle.

you remember the flushed cheeks. the breathless pleas. the soaked mouth of someone who looked ruined just from giving. the thighs that trembled under the weight of restraint. the tongue that moved with unshakable precision, curling into someone’s heat like it was instinct—like it was art.

your fingers speed up.

your hips jerk slightly, your body reacting without permission. you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut as your clit pulses beneath your touch.

“fuck…”

the word leaves you in a low, broken whisper. it’s almost inaudible. almost too quiet to catch. but it’s there.

your chest rises with effort as you force yourself to stay quiet—to stay in control. nari is just a few feet away, asleep or scrolling in the room next door. you can’t let her hear. you can’t risk that. so you press your lips together tightly and breathe through your nose, letting your hand do the talking.

your fingers move in tighter circles. your stomach contracts. your legs pull in slightly as the pleasure curls deeper inside you, hot and electric. you don’t stop. you can’t stop. not now.

you don’t need to speak. the way your body moves is enough.

the video keeps recording, and for a second, everything else disappears—your exhaustion, your guilt, your fear. all of it fades into the rhythm of your own breathing, the slick sound of your fingers working between your thighs, and the realization that this isn’t just a performance.

it’s power.

and for the first time in a long time… it’s yours.

your fingers work faster now, soaked and steady, slipping in and out of your cunt with a rhythm that’s grown almost frantic. the sound of it—slick, wet, obscene—echoes low in the quiet room, barely masked by the rapid stutter of your breath. your body moves with instinct, hips rising to meet your hand, legs spread wide as you chase the heat that’s been coiling deep in your core since the moment the video started.

you start with two fingers, curling them up just right to press against the spot that makes your stomach tighten. your lips press into a thin, trembling line as you try to keep quiet, forcing yourself to muffle the moans that threaten to spill out with every thrust. your walls clench tightly around your fingers, greedy, hot, desperate for more.

and you give it to yourself.

you let out a ragged breath as you push in a third finger, the stretch making your thighs tremble. the pressure is overwhelming now—blinding, almost painful in the best possible way. you shift in your chair, back arching as you press your heels into the floor, legs falling open wider to give yourself more space. your body is flushed and burning, skin damp with sweat, nipples tight from the brush of cool air and lingering adrenaline.

your chest heaves as you move faster, harder, fingers curling deep into yourself as the pleasure builds fast and sharp like a scream stuck in your throat. your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut, and for a split second, you forget about the camera. you forget about the fear. you forget about everything but the feeling—

“fuck… oh my god…”

the words tear from your throat, broken and low, muffled by the force of your own clenched jaw. your legs start to shake, your body twitching with the effort to stay upright as your orgasm rushes up and crashes through you.

“fuckkk—i’m gonna cum… shit…”

your voice is higher now, cracked at the edges, as your hips jerk forward and your muscles seize. the pressure bursts all at once, your cunt clenching around your fingers as you gush hard, soaking your hand and the inside of your thighs. the release is hot, messy, completely overwhelming—wave after wave rolling through your body until you’re panting, twitching, slumped over the desk with your mouth open in a silent gasp.

your other hand scrambles toward your phone, shaking as you fumble to tap the screen. the camera is still recording—still capturing every shudder, every twitch, the flushed glow of your skin and the shine slicked over your thighs.

you end the video with one shaky movement, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath.

your hand is drenched. your skin is burning. your thoughts are scrambled.

and you don’t hesitate.

you upload it raw, unfiltered, untouched.

you don’t trim the edges. you don’t add a caption. you don’t even blink before pressing the button.

you want it to speak for itself.

you want them to wonder.

you watch the screen as the upload bar slowly completes, your profile still blank, still new, still waiting to be discovered.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

the soft chirp of birds cuts through the stillness of morning, gentle and rhythmic, floating in through the cracks of your half-open window. golden sunlight pours across your sheets, casting long shadows along your floor, warm and soft against your bare legs. your body is sprawled out lazily across the mattress, limbs tangled in the fabric as your eyes flutter open slowly, blinking away the blur of sleep.

your room is quiet except for the persistent buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand beside you. it hums every few seconds, faint but constant, like it's trying to get your attention. you glance at it, brows furrowing slightly, but you don’t reach for it. not yet. your body still feels heavy with sleep and something else—something deeper.

you push the covers off your legs, the cotton sheets rustling as you sit up and stretch, your spine arching with a soft crack. you move slowly, stepping onto the cool floorboards and making your way toward the bathroom, your legs stiff, your joints still waking up with you.

just as you reach the door, nari’s voice floats out from the hallway, warm and familiar.

“good morning, girl,” she calls casually, emerging from her room with a yawn, her hair tied up messily and hoodie falling off one shoulder. she looks at you for barely a second before launching into what’s clearly been sitting on her mind.

“so,” she says, tone direct, “are you planning on making an account?”

you pause.

the words land heavier than you expect, and for a second, the hallway feels too quiet—like her question has taken up all the space. the thought hadn’t left your mind, not really. it was still there, tucked into the corner of your chest like something that needed to be dealt with eventually. she had brought it up before. multiple times. her voice always hopeful. her offers always kind. and you always deflected.

your throat tightens. not painfully—but just enough to make you hesitate.

you turn to look at her, your expression unreadable. the memory of last night creeps back in, vivid and electric. the video. your fingers. the way your breath had caught in your throat when you hit upload. the warmth that still lingered between your thighs. the weight of what it meant.

“i’ll look into it,” you say, voice hoarse. “but i don’t know, nari… does it really even work?”

she crosses her arms gently, leaning her shoulder against the wall. her gaze softens as she watches you.

“i can’t really speak from experience,” she says slowly, “but from what i’ve heard… it’s definitely something you should consider. especially with how much you’ve been struggling. i know it’s not what you’re used to. i know it’s different. but y/n… it’s real money. quick money. and you wouldn’t have to break your back for it.”

her voice stays gentle, but her words hit hard. your shoulders drop slightly, and her eyes flick down to your expression, reading you the way only she can.

“just think about it, okay?” she continues, her tone still light. “i’m heading out in a bit, but whatever you decide, just let me know. i can look around for other stuff too, if you don’t want to go that route.”

your chest tightens again—this time from emotion.

you don’t say anything. you just step forward and wrap your arms around her, pulling her in tight. the words rise up in your throat before you can stop them.

“thank you so much, nari,” you whisper. “what the fuck would i have done without you…”

your voice cracks on the last word. you bury your face in her shoulder and hold her a little tighter, your body warm against hers.

you don’t thank her enough.

not for the rent reminders. not for the quiet way she pretends not to notice when you come home late and fall asleep in your work clothes. not for the soft leftovers she always leaves out with a sticky note. not for the way she never once judged you when you admitted you were coming up short again.

she just showed up. over and over.

and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“i’ll always be here for you, y/n,” she murmurs, her arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

when you finally pull back, there’s a single tear running down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly, hoping she doesn’t notice—but she does. she always does. she doesn’t say anything this time, just gives you a gentle look before stepping away.

you clear your throat, trying to shake the emotion from your voice.

“you can go ahead,” you tell her softly. “i… i just have something to check really quick.”

she nods, disappearing into her room.

you stand there for a moment, your feet unmoving, the silence returning like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. you exhale through your nose and turn around slowly, walking back into your room and closing the door behind you.

your phone is still buzzing on the nightstand.

and you’re finally ready to see what it has to say.

you close the door behind you and pause for a moment, letting your fingers linger against the wood. your room is quiet again, but it’s not the same kind of quiet as before. it’s weighted now—thicker, charged with something unspoken. your steps back to the bed feel heavier than they should. your body isn’t sore in the traditional sense, but there’s something beneath your skin that hasn’t left you since last night. like your muscles remember what you did. like your skin is still humming from the heat of it.

you sit on the edge of your bed, your blanket half-pulled down, the air cool against your bare legs. your phone is where you left it—face down on your nightstand, completely still. the buzzing that had filled the room earlier has stopped, like it’s holding its breath. waiting for you to be ready.

you reach for it slowly, with both hands, like you’re afraid you’ll drop it if you don’t steady yourself. the moment your fingertips brush across the screen, it lights up.

and everything changes.

1,462 new notifications. tips: +$1,951.76. new subscribers: +863.

you sit there, frozen, as the likes roll in by the second, stacking in waves across the screen. every few seconds, another tip comes in. ten dollars. twenty. fifty. a hundred. your balance is growing so fast it doesn’t feel real.

you open the comments, and the words hit you all at once.

“this is art. actual art.” “i’m obsessed.” “i came without even touching myself. that’s how real this felt.”

you read them with wide eyes, your thumb scrolling slowly, like dragging through honey. it’s too much to take in all at once. too many voices. too many people who’ve seen you now—really seen you—and want more.

you click over to your inbox. there are dozens of messages, all timestamped from the early hours of the morning. most of them are praises, offers, begging. a few are bold. graphic. unfiltered. and buried among them—at the very top, a verified profile—is the one that makes your entire body still.

@heefreakshow.

you’re completely taken off guard.

nothing could have prepared you for this—none of it. not the flood of attention. not the numbers still rising. and especially not him. not the quiet, effortless way one of the creators you watched last night—half in awe, half with your hand buried between your thighs—has now turned his gaze on you. messaged you. noticed you.

you stare at the notification like it might disappear. like maybe your phone glitched and it’s not really him. your thumb hovers just inches above the message, heartbeat loud in your ears, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on your chest.

and then—before you can overthink it—you press.

the message expands across your screen in one clean, perfect line.

god, you were so fucking hot. why don’t you let me see what more you’re capable of doing?

you go still.

your throat tightens. your lips part, but no sound comes out. your entire body feels like it’s pulsing—heat rising from your neck, crawling down your spine, settling low in your stomach. your eyes read the words once. then again. then again.

you’re speechless.

not because it’s crude—though it is. not because it’s confident—because of course it is. but because it’s him.

you sit there, phone trembling slightly in your grip, and all you can think about is how none of this would’ve happened if nari hadn’t pushed you. if she hadn’t looked you in the eyes and told you she believed in you. if she hadn’t said the words you were too afraid to say out loud.

you owe her everything.

because now? now you’re more than okay. you’re not just surviving—you’re starting. you’re in it.

and you have absolutely no plans of stopping.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ first episode is done! honestly i'm excited to see how this will play out because a lot more is coming, i hope you all enjoyed!

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livinghalfway · 30 days ago

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Cupid

DeadTired Prompt:

Danny had not planned to be kidnapped while out on a simple grocery run, but here he is! Tied up in a random warehouse as the bad guys work in a make-shift lab across the room.

While he would have gladly just phased through the ropes, and disappeared, that wasn’t really an option with the other hostages sitting right next to him.

The only thing he could do right now is wait, and hope one of the Gotham vigilantes comes before Danny has no choice but to intervene. He’s not going to let anyone in here get hurt on his watch.

So far the kidnappers have given no insight into what they're making, or planning to do with them. Which does surprise him since he thought that was a requirement to bring a villian.

Luckily, a vigilante, Red Robin, shows up before they can complete whatever they’re making. What’s not so lucky though is when Red Robin is fighting the bad guys one of them throws the liquid they were working on directly in the vigilante’s face.

Stumbling back Red puts a hand over his face in an effort to wipe the liquid away, and when he looks up makes direct eye contact with Danny. Even with the white lenses he can feel the eyes borrow into him.

By this time a few of the other vigilantes are here fighting the rest of the bad guys while Red Robin starts making his way towards Danny; never for a second looking away. Even ignoring the concerned calls from his teammates.

Red Robin is now standing directly in front of him, and almost seems to be holding himself back from reaching a hand out, “I’m in love you.”

And the only thing Danny can think to himself is that he did not sign up for some love potion bullshit.

#the batfam saw Tim get hit #and can put the pieces together on what’s going on #so when they try and take Tim away to fix this #he starts screaming in pain #and it only calms down #once he is in Danny’s presence #which means Danny gets kidnapped #for a second time today and taken to the cave #it takes some time for them to figure out how to reserve the potion #and in that time Danny has really started to like Tim #and that makes him feel so guilty because he knows it’s only the potion speaking #except the potion faded away maybe 2-3 days in #and everything after that has just been Tim flirting with Danny #so Tim feels guilty as well for taking advantage and keeping Danny around #under the guise of necessity #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #batfam #dc x dp prompt #dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp au #love potion #dead tired #DeadTired #danny x tim

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leafsheep · 1 year ago

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Some random thoughts about Gothamites and scenarios I’ve come up with.

Metropolis citizen: Yeah so my exams were cancelled bc some villain took over the city the week leading up to them so the school said not to worry about it.

Gothamite: Fr? Last time a villain took over our city he killed anyone who wasn’t smart and had us take extra exams.

Random Gotham kid: Hey teach, can I get an extension on my essay, my neighborhood was fear toxin-ed a few days ago and I’m just getting out of the hospital.

Standard Gotham High School Teacher: ohhh yeah…. Nooooo… sorry Jimmy but you know you had a week to do the assignment soo… you should’ve planned ahead.

Health/PE teacher: Yeah so I don’t really wanna teach y’all today so we’re gonna watch this top ten video of Riddler’s shittiest riddles.

Student: after can we watch this compilation I found of the murder Robin interacting with stray cats?

A Wayne kid just walking down the street

Gothamite: Can you give your dad this?

Wayne child: ??? This is a phone number.

Gothamite: Yeah, maybe you could talk me up too?

Wayne child: You’re MY age

Gothamite: Why does that matter?

Wayne Child: evident disgust

Gothamite: OH no, I want him to adopt me.

Gothamite: he’s our dad now.

Gothamite: Did you hear that bizarre theory about the Robins being clones of each other? I mean wasn’t one of them a girl? How would that even work??

Bernard Dowd (made said theory for shits and giggles, also knows it’s complete bullshit): Maybe that clone was trans! Are you being transphobic right now? God I can’t believe you-

Reporter: Video feed shows the infamous Red Hood standing bewildered next to his motorcycle at four am this morning, having apparently found it missing his tires. Eyewitnesses to the scene report Bludhaven Vigilante laughing outside of camera view.

#dc comics #batman #dc robin #batfamily #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #batfam #bruce wayne #bernard dowd #gotham #gothamites #gotham city

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littlelamy · 2 months ago

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Hey gorgeous!! I was thinking about Rafe having a yapper gf.. she talks about literally anything whenever because she can. And some ppl might find it annoying and everything but Rafe doesn't. And like one day they go to a party or sm and reader is rambling and some girls judge her about it, which is kinda sad cuz like reader thought about being friends w them.. maybe? And like that comment affects her more and like Rafe notices but doesn't say anything at first, but then it becomes concerning and he gets her to explain everything...

You dont have to write it if u don't want to! Luv u and ur work btw 💓

lamy notes: thank you so much baby!

rafe loves your voice. not just the sound of it, but the way you use it. constantly. like you don’t even think before letting the words spill out, like the world around you is just lucky enough to hear whatever is on your mind at any given moment.

sometimes it’s about your day, sometimes it’s about a random fact you read last night at two a.m., sometimes it’s completely pointless—like whether ducks know they’re ducks—but rafe never tells you to shut up. he just listens. sometimes he hums, sometimes he asks questions, sometimes he just watches you talk with that soft little smirk, like he could listen to you forever.

which is why it’s so weird when you stop.

it happens at a party. you’re talking—rambling—about a new tv show you just started watching, waving your hands around while rafe keeps his arm wrapped around your waist, nodding along, totally content.

but then, you catch it. a look.

two girls, standing by the kitchen, eyes flicking over to you. one of them whispers something to the other, and then—a laugh.

not with you. at you.

rafe doesn’t notice. he’s still looking at you. but something about their reaction, about knowing they think you’re annoying, makes your stomach clench.

so you stop talking.

just like that.

rafe doesn’t say anything at first, just gives you a look when you go quiet mid-sentence. but you just shake your head, wave it off, smile even though it feels wrong.

but as the night goes on, he notices more.

he notices the way you stop yourself every time you start rambling. the way you cut your own sentences short. the way you hesitate before saying something, like you’re thinking about whether or not it’s worth saying at all.

it makes something burn in his chest.

when you get back to his place, he doesn’t let you brush it off.

"what’s wrong with you?" he asks, shutting the door behind him, pulling his hat off.

you blink up at him. "what?"

"you’ve been weird all night."

"i’m fine, rafe—"

"bullshit."

your lips press together. you glance away.

he exhales sharply, stepping closer. softer, now.

"baby," he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "tell me."

you hesitate. but then, the words slip out before you can stop them.

"some girls at the party were laughing at me."

rafe’s entire demeanor shifts. his jaw tenses, his grip on your waist tightens, his eyes darken.

"who."

"it doesn’t matter." you shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "they just… they thought i was annoying."

rafe actually laughs, but it’s not amused. it’s incredulous.

"are you fucking serious?"

"rafe—"

"no, because that’s the dumbest fucking thing i’ve ever heard."

you don’t say anything. you just look at him, and his face softens, because he realizes—it got to you.

so he tugs you forward, presses you against him, one hand on the back of your head, the other gripping your hip.

"baby," he murmurs, voice so low, so sure, right against your temple. "i love when you talk."

your fingers tighten in his hoodie.

"i could listen to you all day."

your throat tightens.

"fuck those girls, okay?" he pulls back just enough to look at you, blue eyes steady, serious. "don’t ever let some stuck-up bitches make you feel like you need to be less."

and when he kisses you, slow and certain, you believe him.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry @lil-sparklqueen

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questions-about-blorbos · 7 months ago

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People in my inbox trying to accuse Khao Kheow zoo of abusing Moo Deng and acting like they are experts who can point fingers and say the zoo and Moo Deng’s Thai keeper are unfit to take care of Moo Deng are so silly.

I’m Thai and I live only an hour drive away from the zoo. I used to visit the zoo frequently when I was a kid, and I — as well as any other Thai people — know the zoo does NOT abuse animals. It’s actually the opposite when they rescue and take in injured animals or animals who they rescued from abusive backgrounds.

Please don’t act like you know better than locals, who are familiar with the zoo and how they treat and save animals, just because you saw one TikTok post where a white person with white savior complex said Moo Deng was abused because her caretaker patted her on her butt a little too hard when they played, or because he manhandled her playfully when she, just like any other kids, threw a tantrum and tried to squirm away— even though Moo Deng’s mom, who could literally be seen eating next to Moo Deng when her caretaker “abused” her in those videos, trusts the caretaker to take care and look after Moo Deng for her and are always unbothered by the way Moo Deng is treated. (Because she knows Moo Deng is fine.) Just like how he took care of her other kids, Moo Deng’s older siblings, for the past 8 years.

And did I mention that Moo Deng’s older siblings are literally so clingy that they always demand to be close to their human caretaker? HE MUST’VE BEEN SOOOOO ABUSIVE TO THEM THAT THEY LIKE HIM THIS MUCH 😡

LOOK AT THESE PHOTOS (and gif) OF ONE OF MOO DENG’S OLDER SIBLINGS WITH HER CARETAKER (the same man who takes care of Moo Deng) AND HOW “SCARED” SHE IS / sarcasm

Anyway, this post explains so absolutely well why the baseless claims, about the zoo being abusive, are complete bullshit.

My favorite quote from them: “Please don't trust random (may I add racist?) foreigners on the internet over locals who actually knows what they're talking about.”

As a local who’s familiar with the zoo and has visited the place many, many times, Khao Kheow zoo and the caretaker NEVER abuse Moo Deng or any of their animals. Thank you.

*Please also follow and support the amazing, hardworking caretaker of Moo Deng and her family over at khamoo.andthegang — gif and all photos above credit to him

— peace and love, mod 2

#khao kheow open zoo #moo deng #pygmy hippo #hippopotamus #animals #thailand

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tobesolnelyx · 22 days ago

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I was thinking about a oneshot for Natalie x reader in the wilderness. Like maybe they were both friends because they were both outcasts and Natalie always defended reader from anyone who tried to be mean. When the plane crashed, their dynamic didn't really change : they were still sticking together, looking for one another. At first, it was quiet, almost peaceful, despite the dread of the wilderness. But then winter came. Jackie died. Maybe reader refusing to eat her ?(because that was their team captain, how could she ever eat her ? Treat her body like it was only meat?). And she started to be quieter, refusing food portions, not doing anything except the chores. She even started to drift away from Natalie, which worried the girl. And Natalie tries her best to keep reader alive, because that's all that matters to her, but it's so hard especially when reader doesn't look at her anymore. And Natalie sees reader starting to fade away and it's driving her crazy because she doesn't know what to do and she is afraid that reader isn't going to survive, or worse, letting herself die. And everyone on the team is worried, everyone noticed but nobody knows what to do either. And if it's too uncomfortable for you, maybe reader (actively or passively, the choice remains yours) trying to kill herself. Then someone on the team finds her on the brink of death and calls everyone and Natalie is the first one to rush by your side. And when reader finally wakes up, Natalie is still by her side, she never left, watching every breath, even if subtle. And maybe Natalie refuses to ever leave reader's side again, except this time reader actually accepts the help and she gets better (as good as you can be in the wilderness)

So maybe fluff at the beginning/end, hurt/comfort and angst ? Thx anyway <3

— how much tragedy? || natalie scatorccio x reader 🎞️ (pre-crash/wilderness)

a/n: thanks for req! honestly big fan of the idea — always a sucker for hurt/comfort! hope you like it <3

summary: natalie will do anything to protect you. no matter what it takes. even if it means broken knuckles and shattered lies. || angst. hurt/comfort. fluff

warnings: standard yellowjackets warnings (cannibalism, gore etc…), mentions of suicide, attempt of suicide

word count: about 3k

Natalie simply loved being close to you. Not in an overbearing way—at least not when it was just the two of you—but it didn't take a genius to see that this girl had fallen for you. Completely. And maybe, for the first time in her life, Natalie didn't want to change that. She couldn't even entertain the thought of a world where your presence might be gone in any way. Natalie could push everyone else away just to draw you in, closer and closer with each day.

And sure, there were nights when her fingers itched to pick up some random payphone on the street just to tell you it was over—but she knew that by morning, she'd be crawling back on her knees, begging you to take her in like some stray dog.

It all started when you moved into the trailer park. Life had already dragged you through enough that relocating to some shithole town like Wiskayok in New Jersey, didn't exactly feel like rock bottom. Money was tight. Your parents weren't exactly winning medals in the "doing what they should" category.

Word got around fast. Kids from your neighborhood didn't have it easy at school, so it came as a shock when you found out about Natalie Scatorccio. Natalie, who had zero tolerance for the bullshit constantly thrown her way. Natalie, who was so effortlessly cool you couldn't tell if you wanted to be her or be with her. Natalie, who strutted through the school halls with her headphones on, untouchable, unreachable.

Natalie—who one day offered you a cigarette.

It was late. You'd slammed the door of your trailer behind you after yet another fight with your parents. Your hands were shaking with rage and frustration. You collapsed onto the front steps, trying to calm yourself before having to listen to your dad's endless ranting again.

Then Natalie appeared. Of course, headphones on, dressed in her soccer gear. She walked the length of the park with heavy steps, a gym bag slung over her shoulder, lazily smoking a cigarette.

She was smiling. That's what made you stare—that crooked smile.

Then Natalie's gaze—like she knew someone was watching—landed on you. Shit. You must've looked wrecked, because she came over. The smile vanished, but she didn't replace it with that distant, blank stare you knew so well. You couldn't read her at all.

Without a word, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and gave you a look. The kind of look someone gives when they know what it's like to have shitty parents. What it's like to feel like a screw-up since the day you learned to talk back.

You blinked. Once, twice. Then finally took the cigarette from her hand, and she pulled out a lighter.

Your hand trembled as you reached for it, but before you could grab it, Natalie was already leaning in, lighting the cigarette for you.

"Thanks," you mumbled. Natalie looked, for a second, like she was about to turn and pretend the whole thing never happened. But instead, she dropped down beside you on the concrete steps.

She stayed.

And maybe that's why you couldn't ever let her go.

The rest happened pretty naturally. Natalie just started hanging around. At first with a hint of hesitation, then not even bothering to hide the stupid grin on her face whenever she saw you.

You started smoking more around her. One time she even passed you a joint, and after a few hits, when you were completely high, Nat couldn't stop laughing.

"I'm gonna throw up," you groaned, lying limply on her bed. Something by Nirvana was playing in the background, and the air was so thick with smoke it felt suffocating. You wondered if the smell would ever leave your clothes. Maybe it would cling to you the same way it did to Natalie

"Bullshit," Nat grinned. "And if you do, make sure it's outside."

She handed you the joint again. You looked at her through bloodshot eyes, your expression twisted in mild disgust.

"I hate you," you mumbled — but still brought it to your lips.

"Sure you do," she replied, and took your hand like it already belonged to her. Only to intertwine her fingers with yours and press them to her chest. She didn't even look at you. And that's when you knew — you were both screwed.

Natalie could've won an official title as your guard dog. Every time someone bumped into you on purpose in the hallway or threw a stupid comment your way, she was there. As if she had a sixth sense for when someone was trying to bitch at you, even just a little.

"You need to learn to defend yourself," she once said, while you were painting her nails. You frowned, not quite understanding why. Aggression wasn't... your thing. You endured the jabs and teasing because no one had taught you any other way to cope. And besides, the thought of breaking someone's nose didn't exactly thrill you.

"I have you," you replied, looking her straight in the eyes. Even if it was selfish.

"I won't always be there," Natalie said, staring at you. Not because she didn't want to. If anything, she was just waiting for an excuse to be near you. But she knew she couldn't always be.

A moment of silence. A pause. And before you could think about why you probably shouldn't, your lips found hers — brief, sweet. Nat accidentally smudged black polish onto your shirt.

Neither of you ever brought it up. Maybe because you were both terrible at talking about feelings. Still — Natalie didn't push you away.

Oh, quite the opposite. From that moment on, she may as well have been chained to your side. She even begged you to join the Yellowjackets just so she could crack jokes during practice and hear the coach yell at you both to focus, for Christ's sake!

You spent every spare moment together — drinking, smoking. Sometimes just listening to music. Sometimes Nat would sneak kisses from your mouth, even though neither of you ever defined what this was. You got used to it. Maybe it wasn't part of friendship, but you weren't complaining. There was some unspoken rule that you didn't talk about it, but neither of you ever considered being with anyone else.

You won states. Nat even convinced the coach to let you room together at the hotel, despite being a complete pain in the ass most of the time. He probably suspected Natalie would sneak into your room after curfew anyway.

And honestly? She didn't need anyone else when she had you.

Then the plane crashed. In the middle of nowhere. And as if that wasn't enough — help never came.

At first, it wasn't so bad. Almost peaceful. Natalie was near, and you were far away from that New Jersey hellhole, from the annoying parents. From fights, school rumors, real life.

Nat learned how to hunt. She often went out with Travis for hours, but when she came back — whether she had food or not — she always made time for you. Sometimes she insisted on taking you along, even though you knew nothing about shooting animals and were more or less useless.

Sometimes Natalie picked flowers for you. Sometimes you'd end up in the wreckage of the plane, making out for long minutes until you had to go back. It wasn't paradise, it wasn't easy. But it could've been a lot worse.

The avalanche started with Laura Lee. When she was gone, hope began to flicker out. Something dimmed. Everyone's posture changed, like something inside had slumped.

Then came Doomcoming. You remembered little. You weren't even sure you wanted to remember. It was easier not to.

Natalie found you on the ground in front of the cabin. She was panting like she'd just run a marathon — maybe she had. You weren't sure. You stared at her, trying to figure out whether she was real or just another hallucination.

"Nat..." you started, but she just led you to the lake. Helped wash the blood (God knows whose) off your dress and the dirt from your hands. She cleaned your cuts while you stared blankly into the distance, rinsing yourself off without much thought.

Natalie should have known that's when it started. That moment, when your eyes went lifeless for just a second — that's when you began slipping out of her hands.

She never told you what really happened. Maybe that, too, was her weird way of taking care of you.

Shauna and Jackie had a fight. Jackie stormed out, and you wanted to go after her — tell her not to be stupid and just come back inside. But Nat grabbed your wrist.

Maybe Jackie wasn't the kindest to Nat, but she was never cruel to you the way the other popular girls were. Sure, she cared way too much about gossip, but she never asked where you lived, never cared that your parents weren't picture-perfect or that you couldn't afford better clothes.

"Let her go," Natalie pulled you back. "She'll be fine. It's just one night. Maybe she'll finally swallow her fucking pride."

You didn't quite understand. Jackie didn't deserve that.

But then morning came. Snow had fallen. And when you saw Jackie's lifeless body, Natalie's words started haunting you. You threw her a look from the cabin doorway, but her eyes were fixed on the corpse. That was the third time you'd seen Nat look truly terrified — once when you kissed her, once when the plane crashed. And now this.

Something inside you shattered. Whatever little hope you still carried scattered like dust, and you stopped believing her when she whispered above your head at night, "It's going to be okay."

Jackie was dead. Winter had come. No help in sight. It was hell. And suddenly, you'd rather be back home enduring another screaming match with your parents than lying curled up beside Natalie.

And just when you thought this nightmare couldn't get any worse, one night you heard knocking. Coach limped frantically back into the dark cabin, panic written all over him. But Natalie wasn't with him. No one else was.

So naturally, you went to look for her.

Natalie, who at that exact moment was tearing into a strip of meat—ripped from Jackie's leg.

Jackie, who not that long ago had helped you do your makeup for Doomcoming.

You vomited on the spot, even though there was nothing in your stomach to bring up. There hadn't been much food for days.

The next day, you found Natalie in pieces. Sitting in the snow, staring horrified at what was left of Jackie. And even though you had never cared about anyone more in your life — you couldn't bring yourself to comfort her. The words stuck in your throat.

You walked past her. Some grim compulsion driving you to see what was left of Jackie's skull.

"Wait—" Natalie scrambled to her feet and followed you, like she was trying to stop you. Like she wanted to shield you from seeing the truth. You turned around and found you could barely meet her eyes.

"Tell me you didn't..."

Even though you'd seen it. Even though it was burned into your memory. Maybe it was just another sick dream.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, trying to pull you into her arms. She was repulsed with herself. She looked like she might throw up right then and there. "I had to, okay? We're starving—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Nat," you cut her off. "I'm starving too, and I haven't eaten a fucking corpse!"

After that, everything started to unravel. At least for Natalie.

The others noticed, but either didn't want another problem on their hands or just didn't know how to deal with it. They sent you looks, tried to reach out. But you never answered the way they hoped.

You simply couldn't take it anymore.

And the truth was: you began to vanish before their eyes. A little more each day. Natalie grew desperate.

You barely spoke. Not many people felt like talking anymore, but you — you only spoke when you absolutely had to. You refused meals. Maybe because the image of Jackie being devoured had made it impossible to eat. Or maybe because at some point, you just stopped wanting to live. Maybe you didn't care whether help came or not. What was the point of eating if you might end up like Jackie anyway?

You still did your chores. Quietly. Carefully. But your body was starting to betray you.

Natalie went feral.

You pulled away from her, and she couldn't stand it. She clung to you with everything she had, terrified of what would happen if you slipped away. She couldn't even imagine it. It would break her in ways she wouldn't recover from. She started hunting more. When she brought back a rabbit or two, you refused your portion.

She begged. Got on her knees. Pleaded with you to eat, just a little, because your wrists were getting dangerously thin. Because she could see every bone. Because your skin had turned ghost-pale, and sometimes you froze mid-movement — your body simply giving out.

You wouldn't even look at her. You scooted away on the cabin floor, just far enough that it felt like a knife in her chest. Natalie had only felt this broken once before — when her father died. Maybe that had been easier. His death was sudden, quick. This? This was slow. Cruel. She was watching you fade. Watching the life leave you, and she was powerless to stop it.

No begging helped. No touch. No voice.

The worst part was — you didn't want to live anymore. Your eyes were completely empty. And this time, not even Natalie could save you.

She was at the edge.

One day, you just drifted away.

Your legs gave out. Your body — worn thin from hunger, cold, and the never-ending fight to survive — simply stopped working. You were supposed to bring water back to the cabin that day. At some point, you just collapsed into the snow. Everything went black.

Like you were meant to share Jackie's fate.

When Natalie returned from the hunt and you weren't there, the air was already heavy with tension. She knew. Deep down, she knew something was wrong. And there was no fucking way she was letting you go.

Someone said something — Natalie snapped. Furious at all of them for letting you go out alone in that condition.

Eventually, someone found you.

Natalie nearly twisted her ankle tearing through the snow to reach you. The last time she ran that fast was during the game that got them into Nationals.

She refused. Refused to accept the idea that she might lose you. Decided the wilderness could go to hell this time, because she was not agreeing to this.

She dragged you back. Screamed at Misty, voice cracking between sobs, telling her to finally make herself useful and help.

She didn't leave your side. Not for a second. She watched for every breath, every twitch of your fingers while you lay unconscious. She skipped hunts. Obsessively checked that you were bundled in as many blankets as they had. You were still cold — but not as frozen as when she found you. You were still breathing. That was enough. Lottie could shove her wilderness truths in her ass, really.

Natalie stayed awake for nights. Slept in short, shallow bursts in case you opened your eyes. Her head had just dipped when she felt a sudden movement beside her — stronger than before. The fire crackled in the dark.

And finally, finally, your eyes opened.

"Hey," Natalie was by your side in an instant, on her knees. Her fingers gently brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. "You're safe, I promise." She clutched your hand, trying to warm it with hers, desperation bleeding through her voice. "I'm here. I'm right here. I'm never leaving you again, I swear—"

She whispered in the dark until the words collapsed into silence. Then she pulled you into her arms. You didn't speak, but that didn't surprise her. What mattered was that you were alive. Natalie still had a chance to keep you breathing — and that was all that counted.

When you drifted off again — weak, after hours of being rocked gently in her arms, lulled by promises and shattered reassurances — Natalie made a decision. She would get food into you. Even if it meant forcing it.

But before she could figure out how to do that, they organized a hunt. You and Lottie were both too far gone to be aware of much. There was no time to plan.

The next thing you remembered was waking to find Natalie sitting beside you, just like always — except now she looked worse. Shaking. Her cheeks streaked with dried tears, her hair a mess. You furrowed your brows, trying to take in the scene.

Jackie's necklace was hanging from Natalie's neck.

You were about to ask what happened when she spoke first.

"Please," she whispered, voice hoarse and cracked.

Your gaze dropped to her hands — a bowl of warm meat cradled in her palms.

"Please," she repeated.

And this time — you agreed.

You trusted her. Didn't ask where the meat came from. Wanted to believe that maybe, somehow, she'd managed to catch something. That maybe things were turning.

Natalie felt the weight slip from her chest.

She helped you sit up, carefully propping you against her chest. Her hands trembled as she fed you, silently praying you wouldn't notice that Javi was nowhere to be seen in the cabin.

She hated lying to you. Hated it more than anything.

But the thought of losing you was way worse.

And you ate. You let her help. You accepted the food.

So Natalie told herself everything else could wait.

That night, she whispered it into your ear like a secret.

"I love you."

Natalie loved you so much that she could accept the possibility of you hating her, once you knew. As long as you were still alive.

#natalie scatorccio #natalie yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #yellowjackets x you #my writing

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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

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read between the lines - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's sister x hockey!rafe warnings: steamy, but no smut; yearning; friends to fwb (requested).

You were doing everything you could to pretend it never happened.

There was no way you had completely fallen apart on Rafe Cameron’s thigh, right there in a fucking hallway, you hadn’t let him talk you through it, moaned his name like a whore.

You hadn’t seen him since that night.

You caught glimpses—across the rink when Kelce asked you to drop your class notes in the locker room; in the dining hall; in passing on campus. You never let your eyes linger for longer than two seconds, afraid that looking would mean acknowledging, which would mean feeling.

And you could not afford that. So, you avoided.

You ignored his texts. The first few were easy—just casual shit, acting nothing had happened which just gave you even more whiplash.

Rafe: You coming to practice? Rafe: Why the fuck is Mac playing first line? He’s trash. Rafe: You got my charger?

Normal. Fine.But then—

Rafe: Are we okay? Rafe: You ignoring me? Rafe: Princess.

That was the one that had you turning your phone face down, staring at the wall, your stomach twisting into stupid little knots.

You had liked Rafe Cameron since you were twelve years old.

He was your childhood friend, your brother’s best friend, the one who tied your skates when you were too little to do it yourself. He gave you your first sip of beer even thought you’re practically the same age, let you cry into his hoodie when you bombed your first big test.

This wasn’t some random hook-up. It was him. You overthought it.

Kie was mid-sentence when you saw him from across the street, standing with a few of the guys from the team, laughing about something. Your brain should’ve gone straight to panic, to run, to hide, but all you could do was look.

His stupidly perfect face tilted slightly up, light eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. His smile, wide and easy, dimples popping, that natural, effortless charm radiating off him.

It wasn’t fair.

Why did he have to look like that? Why did he have to smile like that—like he didn’t have a single thought in his head, like he hadn’t completely wrecked you in the middle of a hallway and then proceeded to haunt you for four fucking days?

Then—

“Oh, look, it’s Rafe!” Kie said, already raising a hand like she was about to call him over.

Fuck.

You didn’t even think, your reflexes were fast.

Your hand flew out, clamping over her mouth before she could even think about calling him. She let out a muffled yelp, arms flailing, eyes going wide, but you were already dragging her the other way, you didn’t stop until you were out of sight. Only then did you finally release her, pressing yourself against the wall and trying to get your breathing under control.

Kie ripped your hand off her mouth, eyes bugging. “Girl, what the fuck was that?!”

You swallowed hard, your brain panicking— “Nothing,” you croaked.

Kie blinked. “Ohhh, no. No, no, no—that was not nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms.

“Did you fuck Rafe?”

Your soul left your body.

“What? No—Kie, what the hell—”

“Then what was that?” She gestured wildly back toward the street. “Why are you acting like he’s Michael Myers?” She squinted at you, analyzing you. “You saw him and ran like he was about to shank you.”

You hesitated. What were you supposed to say? Oh, yeah, I dry-humped my childhood friend in a hallway until I fucking came on his thigh and now I think I might be in love with him, but I can’t deal with that, so I’m just pretending he doesn’t exist?

No, absolutely not.

“I just—I don’t wanna deal with his bullshit today,” you said, forcing a scoff. “You know how he is.”

“Uh-huh. And what bullshit would that be?”

You scoffed. “The usual.”

She hummed, clearly suspicious, but after a moment, she just sighed, shaking her head, “I don’t even wanna know.”

Kie started walking again, and you followed, pretending everything was fine, your heart was still about to leap from your ass, from the fact that before you’d run—before the panic—You’d wanted to cross the street.

You were losing your mind. Every time your phone buzzed, your stomach clenched. If you saw a blond head in the crowd, you went into full fight-or-flight mode. Every time someone so much as mentioned his name, your brain died.

You missed him, which was fucking ridiculous.

You didn’t miss Rafe, your more or less missed the idea of Rafe. The way things used to be. How easy it was before—when he was just your brother’s best friend, your childhood friend, the hockey captain and campus menace who called you his girlfriend as a joke. Not someone who’d kissed you like he was starving or made you orgasm.

It didn’t matter, you weren’t thinking about it, it wasn’t real and it was never happening again.

You were so caught up in your downward spiral that you didn’t hear your brother speaking.

“Dude.”

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring at your phone for a solid minute without actually seeing anything.

“Huh?” you said, “What?”

Kelce raised an eyebrow, his mouth curling. “I haven’t seen you in like a week. You on some self-imposed exile or shit?”

He was so good at reading you. You were stuffing your face with food, “I’m busy, Kelce.”

“Sure, sure. Busy.” He grinned, “You’re too busy to talk to anyone, but not too busy to binge-watch trashy reality shows at 2 AM.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Must be some real important work going on.”

You could feel your face heat up, suppressing the urge to smack him upside the head like your mom used to. “Shut up. It’s not like I’m getting nothing done, okay?”

Kelce snorted, “Uh-huh. So you’re avoiding me and acting weird because of midterms, huh? Got it. You're pulling a full-on ghosting move on your older brother, huh? Can’t even get a text back. Nice.”

“Dude,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You know that’s not why.”

Kelce raised his eyebrows. “You just enjoy being super sketchy for fun now?” He tapped his chin like he was solving some big mystery.

You poked at your food like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

He took a bite of his sandwich, then casually said, “Oh, by the way, Cameron asked about you the other day.”

Your fork froze mid-air, and your stomach did that sudden flip like you’d been caught in a lie. You looked up at him with wide eyes, way too startled by the words.

“What?”

“He was asking if you were okay. ‘Is she alright? Been avoiding me.’” He mimicked Rafe’s voice in a perfect, exaggerated tone. “‘Is she mad at me?’”

Did he really ask about you?

You tried to keep your voice from shaking, “Why would he be asking about me?”

“You tell me.”

The big brother look. The “I know all your secrets and will drag them out of you by sheer force of will look.”

You played dumb.

“How the fuck would I know?” you said, stabbing at your food. “He’s just being weird.”

Kelce huffed out a laugh.

“Rafe Cameron, king of emotional repression, suddenly real concerned about your well-being for no reason.” He took another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Makes total sense.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe he just—”

Kelce cut you off. “Did something happen?”

You forced yourself to scoff. “No.”

He tilted his head. “You sure? Because, if something did happen, and you need me to handle it—”

Shit, the protective brother routine was worse than the interrogation. You could already picture it—Kelce storming across campus, making a scene. You had to shut this down immediately.

“No!” you blurted, probably too loud. “Kelce, Jesus. Nothing happened. I just—” You struggled for anything to say that would end this conversation. “I don’t know.

You shoved another bite of food into your mouth to avoid talking. His eyes narrowed, brow furrowing, you could see the exact moment the thought crossed his mind, the way his whole face changed—hell no.

You froze mid-chew.

“Oh hell no,” His voice dropped, like he was speaking something unspeakable. “Did you fuck Rafe?”

You choked, violently choked. Had to slam your fist against your chest to clear your airway while your brother just sat there, eyes wide, horrified.

“No!” you coughed out, reaching blindly for your drink. “What the fuck, Kelce?”

His whole body slumped in relief. “Okay. Good.” He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “I was about to throw up. Like, actually, right here, in front of God and everybody.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding. “You’re disgusting.”

“No, you’re disgusting for making me even think that was a possibility!” He shuddered dramatically. “Jesus Christ. I was gonna have to disown you. I can’t have my best friend and my sister—” He cut himself off, physically gagging. “No. Nope. I refuse, it’s bad enough that people already think you two are dating.”

You shoved another bite of food in your mouth so you wouldn’t have to respond. Because technically, you weren’t lying, it wasn’t sex-sex.

Your brother groaned. “Why do you look guilty? Why are you chewing like that? You’re chewing suspiciously.”

You glared. “How the fuck does someone chew suspiciously?”

“Like you have something to hide.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing further. “What. Happened.”

“Nothing!”

He did not look convinced.

“This is why I don’t talk to you.”

“This is why I question you,” he shot back. “Because you’re being sketchy as fuck.” He paused. “Wait.”

You braced yourself.

“You did do something.” His face twisted in agony. “Oh my God.”

“No, I didn’t—”

Kelce groaned so loud people actually turned to look as he ran both hands over his face, trying to erase the images his brain was conjuring.

“Nope. I don’t wanna know. I actually don’t wanna know.” He stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. “You’re on your own. Talk to him."

"What?"

"Talk. To. Him," he repeated, enunciating each word like he was speaking to an illiterate child. "He’s been playing like shit, and it's your fault."

Your jaw dropped. "My fault?"

Kelce threw his hands up. "I don’t even wanna know what you guys do—" He gagged slightly, "Just fix him. I don’t care how." Then he pointed at you again, eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the mental horror movie playing in his head. "As a matter of fact, don’t tell me."

You had spent all night hyping yourself up for this.

You had gone full motivational speaker in your dorm, pacing back and forth, rehearsed conversations in the mirror, mapped out every possible scenario, prepped yourself for all the ways this could go. You were not going to keep avoiding him.

You were going to be a normal, functioning adult, walk up to him, and say… something. What you were going to say was still up for debate, but you were hoping divine inspiration would strike when the time came.

So when Kelce asked you to drop off his car keys in the team's locker room the next day, you figured—okay, maybe this was fate, the universe was giving you a chance to finally stop being a coward.

The door swung shut behind you, the heavy scent of cologne and sweat filling the air, but then you heard the door open again. Except the sound wasn’t coming from where you just walked in, it was coming from the showers.

Which meant—

Fuck me sideways.

Rafe was fresh out of the steam, dripping wet, with nothing but a towel slung obscenely low on his hips. Water slid down the hard lines of his chest, down the ridges of his stomach, disappearing beneath the fabric, and—You had not rehearsed for this.

He froze mid-step, another towel in his hand, running the other through his damp hair. His gaze locked on you, and his brows furrowed, you stared at him, he stared at you.

Silence.

Open your mouth and say something, you freak.

You made a sound that was definitely not human, a squeak, maybe, because your brain was melting out of your ears.

Good start.

He took a step closer, his eyes dragging over you, making sure you were actually real.

"You—" He hesitated. "You’re here."

You swallowed hard, trying to remember how to function like a normal human being.

"Kelce’s keys," you blurted, holding them up like they were some kind of protective shield. "He—uh. He needed them. I was just—"

"You’ve been avoiding me."

He said it so bluntly, no lead-up, no pretense.

You swallowed again. "I—"

Rafe raised an eyebrow, then—deliberately—he reached up, stretching slightly as he dried his hair with the towel in his hand, every muscle in his torso flexing, his abs shifting—Oh my God.

You snapped your eyes to the ceiling, hoping that staring at the water stains above would somehow erase the image now burned into your brain. "Put some clothes on."

He laughed, deep, smug, the kind that made you want to launch the keys directly at his stupid perfect face.

"What? Thought you weren’t looking at me."

"I’m not."

"Really?" He took a step closer, and your entire nervous system short-circuited. "You do sound kinda flustered.”

You could not do this, not in a locker room while he was half-naked and wet and smiling like that. You inhaled sharply, shoved the keys against his stupid bare chest wondering when you got so close, and immediately turned to flee.

"Wait."

His hand wrapped around your wrist before you even processed that he’d moved, "Talk to me."

You yanked at your wrist, but he didn’t let go. Your pulse was a thunderstorm in your ears. “Rafe.”

He just shook his head, water droplets falling from his damp hair, sliding down his neck. His fingers flexed around your wrist, thumb brushing over the skin there.

"You have been avoiding me,” he murmured, tilting his head, waiting for you to lie.

You inhaled sharply, straightening your spine.

"No."

His lips twitched, you hated that he knew you were full of shit.

"Right." His voice was slow, “It was just a coincidence you suddenly stopped answering my texts? That you ran the second you saw me on the street? That you—” His voice dropped lower, taunting. “—look like you’re about to die just standing next to me?”

You clenched your jaw, even though you were one wrong look away from folding like a lawn chair. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Rafe’s lips parted, you thought he was gonna call you out again—but then, he hesitated, you were still close and neither of you were moving.

The stupid heat in the room was almost suffocating, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of the humid air clinging to his skin or the fact that you were losing a battle you swore you weren’t even fighting.

He exhaled through his nose, "Talk to me.”

That plea in his voice—you were going to jump him. How could you look him in the eye and tell him that he’d broken something open in you? That his hands on you had felt too good, that your name on his lips had made you want to do this every day? That you were terrified because this was Rafe, and it had never been like this before?

His body heat soaked into yours, you could smell the clean scent of his soap and the remnants of his cologne. Rafe could see it happening—your breathing, your eyes darting everywhere but at him, your lips parting like you wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You were freaking out.

His hands flexed at his sides, he wanted to touch you, but instead, he just said— “Nothing has to change, okay?”

Your breath caught.

“You don’t have to run from me,” he continued, “You don’t have to pretend like it didn’t happen, but—” His jaw tensed, struggling with his words. “If that’s what you need, I’ll do it.” He swallowed hard. “Just don’t—don’t shut me out, alrigh'?”

He was making it sound so easy.

It would be so simple to just nod, go along with it, pretend like nothing had changed between you, that things could go back to how they were before— you knew better. Because you’d felt it.

'Nothing has to change', liar, everything had already changed, and you both knew it.

You never felt so frustrated with yourself, with your inability to communicate what you were feeling.

“C’mere,” he murmured, hands around you before you even had the chance to breathe, before your mind could catch up to what your body already knew—you needed this.

You hadn't realized it until then, but you had tears of frustration in your eyes as his hand slide gently around the back of your head.

His thumb brushed over the nape of your neck, voice softer than it had been before, “What’s wrong?”

Your throat tightened, words failing you, because how were you supposed to explain this?

“I don’t know.”

You shouldn’t be here, letting him touch you like this.

“Princess,” he murmured.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” He was so close, his breath warm against your cheek. “Don’t touch you?” His fingers flexed, testing you, “Don’t look at you?” His free hand lifted, tracing the curve of your jaw, “Don’t tell you that you’ve been in my head every second since that night?”

He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I don’t know how to be normal about you.” His fingers tightened on your neck, “And I don’t fucking want to.”

Shit shit shit shit.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, “You’ve been avoiding me, but I can still feel you—” His lips ghosted over your temple, so light it made you shiver. “I can still hear you.”

Oh.

You clenched your fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms.

“I can’t sleep,” he admitted. “I close my eyes and I see you—” His breath hitched. “I see you like you were that night.”

Your thighs clenched, and Rafe caught it, his lips curving against your skin.

“You feel it too,” he murmured. “Don’t you?”

You wanted to say no, laugh, roll your eyes, but then—his lips brushed your jaw, and the sound you made was fucking embarrassing.

Rafe groaned, the sound deep, “Say the word and I’ll back off.”

Say it. Say it. Say it.

He tilted his head pressing his lips to your temple in the softest kiss.

“Just talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

You should have pulled away.

You should have said something, but instead, your body moved on instinct, your hands sliding up his stomach, feeling the skin beneath your fingertips. His abs tensed beneath your touch, the way his breath stuttered.

His fingers tightened in your neck.

“Careful,” he breathed, and it sounded like both a warning and a prayer.

You should’ve stopped, taken a step back and gotten your shit together, this wasn’t what you were here for. But when you finally looked up at him, when you saw the way his lips were parted, the way his eyes were so open and waiting for you to do something, you knew you were completely, utterly fucked.

“I don’t know what I need.”

Rafe’s eyes dropped to your lips. “No?”

You were so gone.

Your breath hitched as his thumb traced slow circles on your neck, you tried to think past the horniness, past the way his bare chest was so close you could feel the warmth.

“I—” Your voice wavered, cracking and Rafe, the smug asshole, just smirked.

“You don’t know what you need,” he repeated, savoring the words, rolling them over his tongue. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, feather-light, and your entire body tensed. “Let me help."

Your breath was shaky, your pulse pounding so hard you could feel it in your fingertips, "We s-shouldn't do this.”

Rafe inhaled sharply through his nose, "I know.”

Neither of you moved, your fingers still pressed against his stomach.

Your throat was dry. "So...?"

His lips parted, his gaze flickering to your mouth again, “So.”

Your heartbeat was so loud it was drowning out all rational thoughts, but for some godforsaken reason, you decided that now was the time to pretend like you weren’t one wrong move away from losing your mind.

“Uh,” You cleared your throat. “H-how was practice?”

Rafe blinked. “Good.” A beat. “Yeah. Good.”

You nodded. “That’s… good.”

Another beat.

"Did you, uh… did you lift today?" you asked, because apparently your last two brain cells had given up.

Rafe exhaled sharply, he couldn’t believe this was happening. "Yeah."

You nodded again, staring at the very obvious definition of his abs, the evidence, before dragging your eyes back up.

"Cool," you said, voice about an octave too high.

Another pause.

Rafe squinted at you. "Did you just—" He huffed a disbelieving laugh. "Are we seriously talking about my workout right now?"

You swallowed. "I mean, I was just—"

"Jesus," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

You were killing him, and yourself, and any chance of pretending like either of you had an ounce of self-control.

“Did you eat today?” you blurted, because you weren’t done being a fucking idiot.

You'd never felt this useless while talking to a man. Words usually came easy but now, when you needed them, they tangled on your tongue.

Men tripped over themselves for you, not the other way around.

Rafe let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, his hand dropping from his face as he looked at you like you were insane. “Are you—are you asking me about my meals?”

Your cheeks burned. “I just—I was making conversation.”

Rafe stared at you for half a second. Then he let out a low chuckle, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he was asking some higher power for strength, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

His laugh was wrecked, frustrated. He took a step forward before he even realized he was doing it, his body moving on pure fucking instinct.

“Like you’re two seconds away from letting me ruin you.”

His hand shot up, fingers threading through your shoulders, yanking your head back just enough for him to see it. That look, the fucking look in your eyes that said you were just as far gone, dazed beyond logical thinking.

Then he kissed you.

Your hands fisted into his damp skin, and he groaned into your mouth, swallowing the sound, pressing himself harder against you, until your back hit the lockers with a clang.

You gasped, and he took the opportunity, tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss, hands roaming, taking.

His body caged yours in completely, the smell of him, the absolute need pouring off of him like he was burning alive. When you shifted, pressing yourself against him, feeling just how fucking hard he was, Rafe swore.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gritted, forehead dropping against yours, his hands gripping your hips so hard he might leave bruises.

He moaned deep in his chest, vibrating through you, and when you tilted your head, letting him push deeper, letting him taste you properly, he swore again into your mouth. His hands gripped your waist, dragging you flush against him, until his rock-hard cock was pressing against your stomach through the towel barely hanging onto his hips.

You whimpered.

His tongue slid over yours, before pulling back just enough to let spit trail between your lips, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Then—he was right back in it, licking into your mouth like he needed to be inside you, his teeth scraping your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, making your head spin.

You were soaked and all he did was kiss you.

Your fingers dug into his bare shoulders, nails raking against his toned skin as he tilted your head back further, palm pressed to your cheek, taking control, deepening the kiss until you were moaning into it, until your thighs were clenching, squeezing, rubbing together for even the slightest bit of friction.

He pulled back just enough to let his forehead fall against yours, breathless, shaking.

“Again,” His fingers flexed against you, physically restraining himself from tearing you apart. “Kiss me again.”

You didn’t even realize you were moving until your lips were back on his, until his mouth was parting against yours like he’d been starving for it. If you weren't so fucking gone you’d find it funny.

His towel slipped lower on his hips.

You gasped, but Rafe didn’t let you go. He deepened the kiss hoping he could erase anything that wasn’t him. His hands dragged over your skin, searing hot even through your clothes, sliding lower—

“Wait,” you managed, your breath shaky as you pulled back, hardly resisting the gravitational force of his body.

Rafe made a sound that was borderline pained, his fingers tightening around your waist before he forced himself to loosen his grip. His lips were swollen, slick, “What?”

“What if someone comes in?”

His hands were under your thighs, lifting you, your back hitting the lockers again but all you could focus on was him—his body caging you in, his hands clutching your thighs, holding you up like you weighed nothing, once again.

“Couldn’t give less than a fuck.”

He shifted, pressing forward, and you felt him—Oh, you missed him.

A choked sound left your throat, and Rafe grinned, his lips dragging down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

“Yeah?” he murmured, rolling his hips against you again, slow, “That feel good, princess?”

You wanted to slap him or cry, but you also wanted to grind down and take more. Your nails raked down his back in response, and Rafe whined, the sound going straight between your legs.

Your breath hitched as his lips traced the line of your jaw, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. "Rafe—"

Your voice wavered, but he only hummed in response, his teeth grazing your pulse point before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there, pressing you harder against the locker.

You should stop.

"Fuck," you breathed, hating how weak you sounded.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, his lips swollen. His thumb dragged along your jaw before tilting your chin up, forcing your gaze to his.

"We’re okay?” When you didn't respond, his lips brushed yours, the barest hint of a kiss. He tilted his head, his thumb grazing the edge of your bottom lip, watching—waiting. “Tell me.”

A slow, shuddering breath left you. “We’re okay,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” His lips brushed yours, a teasing promise of more. “You’re not gonna run this time?”

You let out a shaky exhale, your hands moving on instinct—fingertips brushing his jaw, tracing the curve of his lips. Rafe’s breathing was uneven, his lips parting at your touch like he was barely holding himself together.

“Tell me.”

Your fingers curled against his jawline, nails scraping lightly against his stubble, “Not running.”

His forehead pressed against yours, and you swore you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your ribs.

“I’d find you anyway.”

Once again: What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

550 notes · View notes

xoxxbilliexoxx · 4 months ago

Text

I Can Help With That ;)

After months of no sex and a now insatiable hunger to get fucked, your best friend Billie offers to help you out.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

you were laying on billie’s couch, legs draped across her as you continued on listening to her crazy ass story of her most recent hookup. You two have a friendship that allows for nothing to be kept secret. Every thought, every memory, every story, and every moment is shared with each other. So, listening to her go on and on about how happy she was to be munching on some random models coochie is just another normal day for you.

The only difference is your mood. It seems as though you’ve been going through a dry spell, with no sex for too many months to count. You just got tired of the random hookups and messy situations it always leads to and stopped putting yourself out there. Within the last week, your craving to be pleased by someone other than yourself has become insatiable. Masterbating just isn’t doing it, you need to be properly fucked by someone again.

As you listened to your best friend paint the scene of her last sexscapade you felt a pit forming in your stomach. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop it. You felt so hungry for pleasure. It’s not her you were horny for necessarily, it’s just the image of fucking a girl again, of being messily wrapped around another body, laid out with sheets tangled between you and the sound of heavy breathing taking up the room.

You were completely zoned out, caught up in your own little erotic daydreaming before Billie snapped you out of it. “Y/n, hello? I asked you a question, did you hear me?” she laughed at your startled face, clearly having drawn you out of a deep thought too suddenly. “what the hell were you thinking about girl” “it’s nothing sorry,” you swallowed, “what was your question again?” you asked as you pulled all your attention back into the conversation. “I wanna know your last juicy hookup, you always pull bad bitches” She nudged your shoulder making you laugh as she said it.

“fuck, dude I am still in that fucking dry spell. I can’t even remember the last time I had sex it’s pathetic” you laughed as the sad confession came out. Billie laughed with you, slightly making fun of your situation before you kept going. “At first it wasn’t bad, I really didn’t care. I mean at first I was having fun making myself cum and not having to deal with other people’s bullshit” “HAAHAH so fucking fair” Billie interrupted you but you continued. “But now though, oh my god. Girl, in the last two weeks I cannot fucking curb this hunger. I am so horny nonstop like, I swear I get myself off and the second I catch my breath I’m horny again. It’s fucking ridiculous” you laughed out. “Like I’m starting to feel insane. I need to go get fucked cuz this horny fucking monster in my brain is not liking my rose toy or my fingers anymore” Billie laughed hard at your words, and you joined in with her.

“Get back on tinder girl, we gotta feed that nasty monster i’ve never seen you like this it’s scary” you pushed her shoulder and clicked your tongue at her dramatic response, which she of course said with a classic mischievous grin you’ve seen too often on her face. She’s always so proud of her stupid jokes.

“I just hate tinder dude. It’s always so awkward and half the time the sex is ass anyways” you paused as she nods in agreement before you kept going. “take me to one of your award shows and introduce me to some of these bad bitches you always end up going home with” you winked and she smiled again, this time a confident slightly devilish smirk showing the pride she has for all those “bad bitches” she does have many good memories with. “I do be pullin huh” you rolled your eyes and flipped her off “don’t make me jealous you idiot”

There was a short pause to the conversation, you could see Billie’s gears turning in her head before she turned to look back at you, eyebrows raised and lips turned upwards again. “I could always just fuck ya” as she said it she shrugged, so matter of fact and nonchalant with her bold statement. “eww billie shut up you weirdo you’re my best friend” “first off, how dare you say ew, bitch. Second off I'm your hot best friend so get that straight” You smiled at her with your eyebrows raised, amusement coating your face, keeping quiet to let her finish her clearly unfinished sentence. “It doesn’t have to mean anything obviously, You’re hot, I'm hot, we’re completely comfortable with each other, we love each other, even if it’s just as friends, and you’re in a messy predicament that I can easily get you out of. I mean, I got all these bad bitches moaning and cumming like crazy i’m just sayin” She grinned and giggled at the end, knowing her fuck boy statement was ridiculous.

You both went silent, laughter filling the void as you think. Billie’s own mind wandered to the thought of making you feel good, and she began to feel her own curious desire building. You couldn’t ignore the horny energy coursing through you, it was impossible to not feel. Before your brain could talk yourself out of it you move. You got yourself up and sit back down straddling her lap with a smile and half hooded eyes looking down at Billie. She gasped for a second, somewhat shocked you were actually going along with this, before she planted her hands down and grabbed a handful of your ass.

There was a moment when your eyes met and you both giggled, amused by what was unfolding, knowing you’re both going to laugh about it afterwards as if it’s just another dumb thing you do as best friends. But as that giggle faded it’s replaced with a hunger, a growing desire and increasing erotic tension. The eye contact stayed and the smiles disappeared and suddenly your lips were wrapped between each other.

It was gentle at first, timid almost, as you both let go of the brief awkwardness of making out with your best friend for the first time. But within seconds it became passionate, heated, sloppy. Her hands continued to grab and pull at your ass over your cheeky sweatshorts, before she built confidence and slipped her hands under, now feeling your hot skin against her fingertips.

When her hands pushed you tighter against her your hips grinded and the sudden sensation against your clit made you moan quietly into the kiss. Billie pulled away and looked at you, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth in her sexy smirk as she heard your moan, immediately needing to hear more of them. She grabbed your bottom and stood you both up before turning and laying you down. Now hovering over you, Billie’s hungry eyes found yours and you could see an expression you’d never seen on her before, a dominant aroused one that maked your heart stop and goosebumps erupt all across your skin.

The feeling of her plump wet lips on your neck, placing sloppy kisses on every sliver of your skin, sucking and biting occasionally, made you moan louder. You were slowly melting into her touch, into the way she was working you up more and more. The throbbing at your core became hard to ignore and you knew you were making such a mess of your underwear as she made you more and more wet.

Billie’s eager lips found your sweet spot, sucking on your skin just below your ear, and your sweet loud moan filled her living room. “Mmmm you sound so good like that baby, so sexy hearing you moan” Your hand landed on the back of her neck, pulling her closer to your skin, needing more of her, searching for anything. She sped up her pace, kissing all over your neck and collarbones before pulling you up to take off your shirt and bralette. As you landed back on the sofa your boobs moved up and down with the motion. Billie watched with wide eyes and a big smile, you knew she’s always wanted to see them, you have found her staring at them far too often.

She wasted no time, immediately pulling your nipple into her mouth and sucking before letting it go with a pop and moving onto your other boob. Her passionate and intense attack on your chest was a clear indication of her own arousal growing. This might have just been two friends helping each other out, but that doesn’t mean you both aren’t incredibly attracted to each other and currently incredibly horny for one another. The melodies of heavy breathing and sloppy kisses filled the room and made it all quite apparent.

Billie’s lips trailed down your stomach slowly. She stopped often to bite and suck on the skin beneath her, each time pulling sweet squeaks and moans from your lips. She was enamored, fully taken over by a need to satisfy you, to give you everything you’d been missing for too long. She was taking her time, winding you up and building your desire until it was so intense you might explode. She wanted you so sensitive by the time she gave you what you wanted, that it would take only seconds to bring you to the edge.

Just before she got to the waistline of your shorts she moved back up to you, causing you to let out a deep sigh. You weren’t aware of all the air you were holding in until she stopped her sloppy, intoxicating descent down your body. As her lips found your face again her hands landed on your waist. Squeezing you tightly, Billie moaned in your ear, low and sultry, and moving straight to your wet core. The sound maked your head feel dizzy, like your body was experiencing too much need and arousal and you might pass out if you didn’t get fucked soon. Her lips pulled away from yours after a deep kiss and she whispered into your ear, “Let’s move to my room, I wanna have you laid out across my bed for me”

With that she tapped the side of your butt twice and stood up. You began to follow after her, feeling eager but slightly exposed, the cold air on your naked chest coating you in goosebumps. Billie turned to look at you and was immediately mesmerized by your freed boobs swaying and jumping as you walked. When you got to her room you jumped on the bed, giggling slightly as you watched her pull off her own top and jump on with you. Her bralette was just slightly too small, leaving her huge boobs spilling out of each side and top. Billie crawled over to you, hovering above and smirking down at you. As she looked at your body laid out under her, her tongue pushed against the inside of her cheek.

“You are too much y/n. So fucking sexy its ridiculous” You blushed at her compliment and reached above you, grabbing her face with both of your hands and pulling her down to join with you again. Her lips found yours quickly, and your tongues met not long after. You both let out moans that vibrated into the kiss. Moving your hands to Billie’s back, you searched eagerly for the clasp of her bralette. As you pulled it apart and the back dropped down, Billie moved one arm at a time and finally fully freed her boobs. You gasped at the sight of her pink hard nipples and big ivory boobs lightly grazing against your own, admittedly also having been caught staring at them too many times in your friendship.

Your head lifted up as your hand grabbed her boob, guiding it between your lips. A gasp followed by a deep moan filled the room as you eagerly sucked and bit on her nipples. The sudden pleasure made Billie’s body give out slightly, landing her knee between your legs to catch herself. You moved yourself down a bit more to continue your affection on her boobs and as you did your clit grazed her knee, immediately making you gasp. Billie let out a mischievous giggle before pushing your hips down and pulling her knee up, intensifying the pressure and the pleasure right away.

She pulled her boobs away from you and you groaned, missing them in your mouth immediately. She filled the void with her lips on your neck and her hands pulled at your hips, forcing you to begin grinding against her knee. Your back arched up and as you grinded you felt the crotch of your baggy shorts slip to the side. Now, just your soaked panties laid between you and Billie’s thigh. As you continued your motion Billie felt your wetness slipping against her, causing her own panties to get soaked. The sudden evidence of your wet arousal made something snap in Billies mind, “I need to taste you, fuck you’re so wet for me” She moved down quickly, getting herself comfortable between your legs before slipping off your shorts and thong at the same time.

“Godddddd so fucking pretty” Billie moaned after loudly swallowing. Your dripping pussy clenched in front of her as reality hit that you are about to get eaten out, finally after too many long months. The sensation of Billie’s smooth wet tongue slowly slipping between your folds sent a shockwave through your body. The comforter rustled as your hands dug around, trying to grab hold, trying to ground yourself. Her tongue flattened out wide and continued licking from your leaking entrance all the way up to your clit, where she stopped briefly and added pressure. She’s too good, it was making you melt and you felt like you were floating, no longer on earth. Your head felt cloudier and cloudier as her pleasure became the only thing you could feel. Her tongue continued sloppily consuming you, slurping you up at each lick before moving up to your clit. She knew exactly what she was doing, her actions pulling you closer and closer to the edge already.

As your moans got louder and louder and the pleasure consumed you, Billie began moving her hands from around your thighs. One traveled up and landed on your boob, pinching and pulling at your nipple, turning your moans to sweet yelps and cries. You could feel her smile against your cunt as her other hand moved down to your center.

Your messy wetness allowed two of her fingers to slip inside you with ease, immediately curling them upwards and pumping in and out slowly and deliberately. She made her tongue flat and hard and pushed it up against your clit. Moving her head side to side, she could feel your swollen bud throbbing under her. The sensation of her fingers filling you perfectly and her tongue playing with your sensitive clit had you gasping. It wasn’t just that you haven’t felt this in awhile that was making things build so quickly. Billie was incredibly skilled, you were learning that quite quickly. You’ve never been eaten out so well. You’ve never been so close to cumming so quickly. It usually takes you a while and you have to focus to feel the pleasure. Not right now, not with Billie. All you could think about was pleasure, it was surrounding you, inside of you, swirling and filling the room. It was everywhere.

“Billie, right there, fuck” your words came out as pants, completely drunk off the way she was fucking you. “Oh god Billie, yessss” She hummed into you, showing how much she loved making you moan. Your walls began pulsing and clenching around her fingers and your thighs squeezed her head tighter as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge. “Mmmm you close mama, you gunna cum for me?” her sultry tone was laced with pride as she continued devouring you and watching you squirm in front of her. “Yes yes yes Billie fuck I’m gunna cum”

Just as the words left your lips Billie pulled away, a slight seductive giggle hit your ears. You gasped, completely shocked at her actions, and as you lifted your head to confront her you were met with a shit eating grin spread across her face. “awe, did I ruin your orgasm? im sorry” she sarcastically mocked you, the obnoxious smile never leaving her face. “I can’t even keep myself away for long enough to properly tease you, you taste so good, so fucking sweet baby”

her lips latched onto your clit, the warmth of her mouth against your now cold cunt sent shivers through you. You didn’t expect Billie to be treating you like this, you thought she’d give you the basic stuff and make you cum quickly to satiate the hunger in you, but now, now she’s making it grow even stronger.

It only took a few minutes of sloppy sucking and licking for your orgasm to rise again. Her fingers were moving faster and her lips were wrapped tight around ur clit, sucking and licking and sucking and licking. With your hands tangled in her hair and your legs spread as far as they could go, you pushed Billie as tight against your pussy as possible, trying hard to hold in the loud moans that we’re fighting to come out. “I’m gunna cum, I- I’m gunna cum, right there Billie” she listened close to your breathing, trying to take in all the noises you were making that were turning her on too much. As she heard your gasps becoming more and more erratic and chaotic she knew you were close again.

Within seconds her mouth was gone, placing light kisses on your inner thighs and laughing again at your groans. Her fingers were still inside of you but they were still, no longer moving in and out. She could feel the way your walls pulsed around her as she edged you out of your almost orgasm.

“Fuck, Billie, please let me cum, you’re killing me” you whined out, getting too heated and too needy now. “oh but edging you and hearing you beg is so much more fun” she paused to place another kiss on your thigh, this time so close to your pussy it made you gasp. she smiled against your skin before speaking again, “And it’ll feel sooooo much better when I finally let you cum, be patient for a little longer babygirl, it’ll be worth it.” Your stomach flipped at the nickname and your head began to feel fuzzy from the rollercoaster of pleasure she’s been making you feel.

Billie did it all over again, building you up higher and higher with her talented tongue and fingers. The room was filled with the sound of your wetness against her mouth, and your gasps and moans that you tried hard to hold it but couldn’t. You felt like you were becoming addicted to the way she was fucking you. It was better than anything you’re used to. You were beginning to realize all those stories of her making her partners cum over and over again, and the way she said she’d make them scream, none of it was exaggerated, she was just that good. You almost didn’t want to cum, didn’t want it to end. You knew you couldn’t have this again.

As the cues were showing Billie how close you were yet again, she stopped, yet again. This time, she pulled her fingers out of you, causing you to whine at the emptiness and at the feeling of your orgasm disappearing again. Your eyes opened to the sight of Billie right about you. “taste yourself babygirl, taste how delicious you are” Her fingers slid into your mouth and after a moment of swirling your tongue around her she pulled them away, replacing them with her lips. You kissed her passionately, showing your eager desire, needing her to know how fucking hungry you were after being edged too many times to count.

Your growing impatience filled your body, you felt overwhelmed by it and allowed it to fully take control. Your hand gripped her hair and you pulled her back down to where you needed her most, hard and only by her strands of black silk. She sucked in a breath and moaned at your needy and slightly dominant action before landing her lips back on your dripping pussy. She was moving faster than before, like she was a ravenous animal that’d been starved for days. When her fingers, now 3 deep, slipped back into your desperate hole, she moaned out with you, as if she was enjoying this as much as you were. Each of her movements were calculated and deliberate. She was using all her skills, all her tricks on you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, you were being suffocated by the almost unknown pleasure she was bringing you. Her tongue parted with you for just long enough to speak, “Did so good for me love, such a good girl letting me tease you like that. Go on and cum for me, cum all over my fingers and face. Need you to make a mess of me baby” Those words mixed with the return of her tongue sent you over the edge.

You were spiraling, dizzy and overwhelmed as your body erupted into sparks of pleasure. The sensations were almost too much as you screamed out her name over and over. Billie kept going, kept fucking into you, kept licking your clit, kept your orgasm flowing through your body. You knew more was coming, you could feel it. The one thing Billie didn’t know about you was that you could squirt. She was about to learn. It took one last flick of her fingers for the gates to open. You screamed, letting it all out at once as you squirted months of built up tension onto her fingers, her face, her boobs. It was everywhere and you felt like you were no longer on Earth, gasping for air as you began your descent back down.

Your eyes finally opened to see Billie’s bold eyes and big smile, she was still between your legs, still gazing at your fucked out pussy in front of her. “holy shit y/n, that was so fucking hot. I had no idea you could squirt” She was so turned on, she couldn’t stop thinking about how hot you were, how hot it was to watch you cum all over her. Her legs squeezed together unconsciously, but you picked up on it. You knew Billie didn’t start this with the intention of you fucking her but now you needed it.

As she came bakc up towards your face she kissed you on the forehead. You were still trying to catch your breath and stop your legs from continuing to shake with the aftershocks. You looked at her with a satisfied smile and a shaky laugh that came out with each of your breaths. Her face matched yours showing off her complete enjoyment from what just played out. After wiping your cum off of her face she finally broke the silence, “so, did we do it? Are you finally satisfied?” You began to nod, the laughter still coming out each time you breathed.

You flipped yourself on top of her catching her completely off guard before speaking, “I will be once I make you cum” as soon as the words slid off your tongue your lips were backing on hers, moaning at the taste of your own cum coating her mouth.

You both knew this could only be for one night, so you might as well make it a long night.

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