The Ring Placement Im Going To Scream At The Top Of My Lungs

everybody dies and when will iiiiiiiii?

eid mubarak to all the muslim baddies

flash us WHAT WHO SAID THAT

the diner moan will go down in history

holy fucking shit holy fucking shit

That moan is the hottest thing i’ve truly ever heard

rest in peace to these nails💔💔💔

do you guys like my nails

raw, next question.

mwah love you baby💝💝

your ugly as fuck you brown paki nigga

ouuu you see we aren’t doing this when you can’t say it to my face with chest🫶🏽

I LOVE THIS

You better lock your phone

and look at me when you're alone

Billie Eilish x reader

The low hum of your phone vibrates in your palm, thumb idly scrolling. Blue light flickers in the otherwise dim room, the only other glow coming from Billie’s screen across from you. She’s curled in her desk chair, legs pulled up loosely, chin tucked into her knee. But she’s not scrolling. Hasn’t been for minutes.

She’s watching you.

Her gaze is steady, almost too steady, quietly intense in the way only Billie can be. A slow, deliberate stare that feels like a hand around your throat even from across the room. You feel it before you see it, a shift in the air. A weight. Her silence speaks in volumes: look at me.

You don’t. You keep scrolling, pretending not to notice the simmering heat between you.

The chair creaks as she shifts. You glance up. Just for a second.

Her lips twitch in a barely-there smirk.

Then she gets up.

She walks slowly, barefoot on hardwood, her steps purposeful but casual. Her tank top hangs low, loose around her ribs, the thin strap threatening to slip off one shoulder. When she climbs into bed beside you, she doesn’t say a word. She just lets her fingers ghost along your arm, slow strokes up and down like she’s not doing anything at all.

Still, you don’t look up.

She leans in, close to your ear, her breath warm and sweet. “You better lock your phone…”

Her voice is honeyed sin, low and smooth, each word a drag. You shiver.

“…and look at me when you’re alone.”

Your screen goes dark.

She climbs over your lap, slow and deliberate, straddling your hips and pulling your phone from your hand, dropping it somewhere off the bed. You finally look up at her, and fuck—her pupils are blown, lips parted, cheeks flushed already from anticipation alone. Her arms drape over your shoulders, her body warm and soft against yours.

“You ignoring me?” she asks, like it’s not obvious what she’s doing, like her voice isn’t already fraying at the edges.

You lean back into the pillows, letting her settle fully on your lap, hands gripping her thighs. “Maybe.”

That’s when she really moves. She tilts your chin up, eyes locked with yours, and grinds, slow, deep, deliberate. You groan, head falling back, but she grabs your jaw, forces you to keep looking at her.

“No,” she whispers. “You watch.”

She rides your thigh lazily at first, just enough pressure to make her sigh, her body melting into yours. Your hands trail up her waist, her ribs, feeling her tremble. She kisses you slow, tasting like need and patience running out. Every time she moves her hips, you feel it in your whole body, heat pooling in your core like it’s yours, like you’re the one being touched.

She rolls her hips again, this time moaning into your mouth, and that’s it. You’re gone.

You push her back gently, let her fall into the pillows, and then you’re between her thighs. Her tank top rides up, panties already damp. You kiss up her thighs, slow, teasing, and she writhes beneath you, desperate. Her hands reach for your hair, guiding you closer.

“Please,” she whispers, and it’s breathless. Almost wrecked already.

You pull her panties to the side and bury your face between her legs.

She gasps, sharp, high-pitched, and you groan into her like you’ve been starving for this, like every soft whimper she makes is the only thing you’ll ever need again. Your tongue moves slow, languid, just how she likes it. You feel her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling, trembling, trying to ground herself.

She starts grinding up against your face, rhythm messy, and you let her. You want her to. You’re drunk on the way she tastes, the way she moans your name like she’s confessing something holy.

“Fuck, don’t stop...don’t stop, please—”

You don’t. You moan into her, let her come undone, your hands holding her thighs apart as she arches, writhes, loses control. Her voice is hoarse now, broken little cries that make your whole body throb. She comes hard, loud and shaking, and you don’t stop until she pushes at your head, overstimulated, twitching.

You kiss your way up her body, face flushed and soaked, eyes wild with hunger.

She looks at you like you just gave her the world.

And all you can do is smile, dazed and hungry, and say, “Next time, don’t make me wait so long to put my phone down.”

Incase anyone needs it 🤍