Tumblr Chats Novels & Stories

Hands accustomed to labor would inevitably bear the marks of hard work, and beauty also required sacrifices. After ordering, the private room fell silent. Rebecca didn't know what to say, and Caleb had a cool temperament, which meant he would not initiate conversations. The same went for Daniel and David. Helplessly, she lowered her head and scrolled through her phone. She was trying to escape reality. The group chat she joined a couple of days ago still had frequent messages. There were too many messages, so she turned off the notification reminders, and she only checked on the messages when she felt like it. The primary topic in the group was CalX winning the championship.

But swears, we can do a whole week of dates when I come back. I smile to myself, sending her a reply. We go back and forth with our messages, discussing our childhood. Tamina said it was healthy to talk about our past selves, hence the topic. When she sends a 'Text you later,' I delete our entire conversation, but not before backing up the conversation to the cloud. Just then, Adrian busts into my room, opening the door like he owns the place which he does. The door closes behind him and I turn to look at him, my jaw somewhere on the floor.

Tapping on the first notification, Snarlchat opens and I smile as I see his first message. Uriel: Hey werebear. Uriel: That was my stupid way of trying to make you remember me. Uriel: Why can’t I unsend messages here? Uriel: You would think Snarlchat would understand that sometimes, we need to texts. Uriel: Can I get my messages to disappear after I send them like the Snarls do? Uriel: Let me try again. Uriel: Hey! I was thinking about you. Uriel: LAME. That’s how that sounded. Let me try one more time.

Queenie knew that and smiled. “For my regulars who know the rules, you can do two things. The peasants can collectively file for taxes and tip my jar. Each jar tipped is fifty millilitres of fake semen pumped into my holy temple. If you wish to see a waterfall, you know what to do. For my knights, I’ll be looking at super chats to give you the benefit of selecting both. Thanks to the wonderful programming team with Wanda's Love Accessories Incorporation, we found a way to code super chats to trigger two shots worth of cum and a minute-long override for the fuck speed to insane. In other words, the stream will run as long as super chats continue to come in even after thirty minutes.”

I just tapped on my tablet and opened F******k. I was greeted with a barrage of Notifications, Friend Requests and Messages. Flood everything. It's because I can't accept FR anymore. I already have too many friends if I'm an add. Just follow because there is really no space. I smiled when I read the chats of my friends when I was F-FC. They all say hello. I replied and had a conversation. Vincent's chat popped up for me.. I looked around before I replied..

I look like the discount version of myself. Perfect for tonight. My thumb hovers over the one chat icon that matters most. Bogotá & the Idiots. Their profile picture is pure nepotism energy: Isabella in red lipstick, Tessa with tear-streaked cheeks, Emmett behind them flipping off the camera. Accurate. My last message is still from yesterday. KR: [still alive. stop planning my funeral.] Their replies sit underneath it, lined up like a coordinated attack. ISABELLA: [YOU’RE INSANE]

I also told my mom to lock the door for me. I quickly searched for our messages with Meli. When I found them, I typed right away. To Melilabs: Hey, Melilabs. Are you still awake? It’s still early. I’m setting up a chat group; is that okay? Melilabs: Yes, biatch? It’s still early. Sure, that’s fine. I can contact you easily. Just us girls, okay? Don’t add any guys; they’re not as entertaining as us. ‘Sure thing, hahaha. Exclusively for girls only.’

I hit Go Live. The chat pops up instantly, usernames scrolling like ticker tape. BigDaddy69: finally DarkHorseX: there she is TipMaster420: been waiting all day “Hey there, Big Daddy,” I purr, leaning forward just enough to let the neckline dip. “Miss me?” A few coins clink in—$5, $3, $7. I smile, slow and lazy, and hook a thumb under the hem of my tank. “Hi, Dark Horse. You been good while I was gone?”

“It’s time to get up.” Gustaf groans and flips around, hiding his face in the pillows. “Five more minutes...” I snort and am about to put down his phone, but something compels me to press on the messenger bubble. It leads to a group conversation called, “My slut of a wife—VIP subscribers chat,” and I can feel the oxygen leaving my lungs. What the fuck is this? As my eyes scan the contents of the chat, I finally realize what I am looking at.

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