quackity!!
a helping hand.
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Appreciation. Quackity's been spending the past two weeks with you, feeding your cats and cooking for you, managing your social media and helping you out by writing scripts for videos. Frustration. A shock runs up your spine whenever he touches you, making you melt. His fingers on your back, the Spanish sentences he mutters under his breath, and the weird tension building between the two of you. Sexual frustration. Since you injured your shoulder filming a video in England, he's been taking care of you. Since you injured your shoulder, you've been paying attention and becoming attracted to everything your friend does. The past week's been a fucking torture. Touching yourself isn't an option, not when you can barely move your hand without sending a wave of pain up your arm. You've tried everything, swallowed your pride and bought a vibrator, humped your pillow and even used the showerhead, but you'd always find yourself in pain.
The thought of asking Quackity for help ran through your mind more than once, but you always dismissed it because it would be downright weird. The weirdly expensive miffy lamp Quackity bought you as a housewarming gift shines a bright shade of yellow, and you sigh. What if you looked at pictures while you got off? You had plenty of pretty pictures of your friend, it wouldn't be a problem finding something to touch yourself to. Not thinking about it twice, you opened Instagram and searched for a good picture in your DMs. You pulled down your shorts and underwear quickly, not quite paying any attention to the footsteps coming up the stairs. You lost yourself in your own imagination, looking at Quackity's pretty lips as you imagined them helping you out, giving you way more relief than your slow movements could. Were you being too loud, too obvious? You thought so, but you were too distracted to find yourself giving a flying fuck. The sound of a creaking door catches your attention, has you opening your eyes and closing them again. Quackity.
The thought of asking Quackity for help ran through your mind more than once, but you always dismissed it because it would be downright weird. The weirdly expensive miffy lamp Quackity bought you as a housewarming gift shines a bright shade of yellow, and you sigh. What if you looked at pictures while you got off? You had plenty of pretty pictures of your friend, it wouldn't be a problem finding something to touch yourself to. Not thinking about it twice, you opened Instagram and searched for a good picture in your DMs. You pulled down your shorts and underwear quickly, not quite paying any attention to the footsteps coming up the stairs. You lost yourself in your own imagination, looking at Quackity's pretty lips as you imagined them helping you out, giving you way more relief than your slow movements could. Were you being too loud, too obvious? You thought so, but you were too distracted to find yourself giving a flying fuck. The sound of a creaking door catches your attention, has you opening your eyes and closing them again. Quackity.