#my brain is wired in the wrong ways me thinks

[onyxluvjiro]

PLRASE PLEASE PLEASR PLEAE PLEASE PLEASR PLEAE PLEASE PLEASR PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MORE MAC SMUT HEADCANNONS AND MAYBE A TOUCH OF DIALOGUE THANK YOU SO MUCH UR WRITING IS PEAK 🥺🥺🥺🥺✌️✌️

shout out to @veryfruitywriting they wrote a headcannon on mac and the online underwear scene cause, it’s got me thinkin real hard, and i wanna delve down into it.

and i KNOW mac has a thing for lingerie, i know it. And their a pantie sniffer, i KNOW it.

reader is afab/has female genitalia !!

—

You had a plan, it could go completely wrong or, perfectly right. You wanted to show off that sexy pair of panties to Mac, tease them a little bit, with how much the two of you flirt back and forth, you were sure it would go perfectly as planned.

Starting a casual conversation with mac was an easy enough task, step one of your plan, done. And as you talk, you uncross your legs, spreading them, ever so slightly, making Mac’s eyes frantically glance up and down.

You were sure their cpu was starting to overheat, a flush crossing their face, but you were far from finished. Pretending to glance back at what you were doing earlier, you “accidentally” lift your skirt further, finally revealing the red lacy fabric adorning your body.

You could hear a choked noise come from Mac, their eyes burning holes into the fabric adorning your most private parts. Your eyes dart to Mac’s face, an immediate satisfaction crossing your face as you practically see them malfunction for a moment.

It takes a second for Mac to realize that you were in fact showing off that pretty pair of panties that you had bought, on purpose, the same ones Mac had complemented you about. And now they were seeing it, on your body.

You could hear the crackle of their brain frying. They of course teased you the other day about it, but never did they think, their human would be so bold.

“Oh my goodness. I was right, they look stunning on you.”

They manage to say after a few moments of silence.

“want to see them closer?”

—

And that’s how you ended up standing in front of mac, their fingers pressed against the fabric, teasingly tracing up and down the folds of your pussy through the fabric, ever so lightly, watching your facial expressions with innate satisfaction. They pull their fingers away from the fabric for a moment, only to look at their fingers in fascination.

A string of slick, your arousal coating the tip of their fingers. They glance from you and to their fingers, back up at you, a silent ask for permission. With a nod of your head their hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you in closer.

Mac is a certified panties sniffer cause once they get a wiff of your cunt, they can’t get enough. mouth latching to the fabric resting right where your clit is, sucking on the fabric and what’s underneath.

Once they finally get their lips on you , oh it’s over for them. A new addiction started as they lap at you through the fabric, the stimulation almost too much, the combination of mac’s soft and hot tongue versus the rough fabric against your skin has you reeling. Hands tangled in their hair, keeping them there, exactly where Mac wants to be.

It’s not until you feel a cord wrap around your thighs do you really realize how deep mac is into it, and how far gone they are. You squirm, but the cord holds you in place along with Mac’s hands.

It wasn’t until your first orgasm did mac pull your panties to the side, the excuse of getting closer, to taste more slipping from their mouth as they latch back onto your clit. they bully their tongue deep into your cunt, a wire finding its way to rub against your sensitive bud.

You realize how fucked you are, but at the same time you’re just as into it as mac is, you don’t want to stop just as much as mac doesn’t either. Not until they’ve had their fill. And maybe, just maybe, mac pocketed those panties for a little while. And maybe, you let it happen.

—

Mac i am just a dog WOOF WOOF

also to the person i @ ed, if you want me to take you off/take down the post cause i wrote smth similar to your post, i will! I want everyone to be comfortable with my posts 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[orgasmic-rock]

The way people are just... genuinely perplexed when someone prefers Draco over Harry will never make sense to me. Like... do these people get how the human brain works? What makes it tick? Do they even go here?

(I'm not gonna talk about Ron because I've put enough effort into this and I just don't care about him like that)

So moving on, of course many people will be drawn to Draco over Harry. Personally I find Draco to be a much more sympathetic and therefore compelling character than Harry. Draco always faces consequences for his actions (sometimes unfairly so). He keeps getting beat up by others but always comes right back up. He tries. He makes mistakes, he fucks up, he has faults, sometimes he has moments where he's weak or vulnerable. The narrative is built against him and it's funny that JKR keeps showing him in a light that she thinks will make him unlikable while in reality it has the opposite effect because it humanises him. Truly, that woman's brain seems to be wired ass-backwards when it comes to, well, everything. Ultimately, Draco goes through heavy trauma and comes out a changed man, and isn't that attractive all on its own? For a human and a fictional character.

Now Harry on the other hand, has narrative protection. He's the ultimate Good Guy ™, the Chosen One, the Protagonist, JKR's self-insert. He gets to have his cake and eat it too. He never has to change in a major way because apparently he doesn't need to; it's the others who are at fault and have to come around to his own way of thinking and doing things. When he's majorly wrong about something, there's a disclaimer, a little loophole. The narrative never paints him as weak or vulnerable which I feel puts up a wall between him and the reader. Even though he goes through some heavily traumatic stuff for a very long period of time, I can't seem to find it in me to care that much other than intellectually recognising that yes, that boy has gone through horrific abuse his whole life. Basically he loses humanising points, so it's hard to relate to him in that most intrinsic way. Sometimes the narration gets so preachy when it comes to him and certain other characters that back when I read the books it completely took me out of the story (though you can certainly apply watsonian logic to this).

tl;dr: Draco is relatable, Harry isn't.

So anyway, yeah, I wonder why that Draco character is so appealing to so many people 🧐

Now I'd go on a rant about the second part of your post (because I agree with it obviously) but trying to put my thoughts in some semblance of order has wiped me out so I'll just add that I recently found your blog and I just keep nodding along to so many of the things you write. It's always a pleasure to find other like-minded people around. See ya!

I can't believe that in 2025, I still see posts questioning why Draco is more popular than Ron or Harry. If they're so against his growing popularity, instead of blaming the people who like him, why not blame jkr for giving him his own arc instead of keeping him as a minor character whose only purpose is to get in Harry's way?

At this point, it feels like these people only hate Draco because of his growing popularity, and most of it comes from envy that their favorite character didn’t achieve the same level of fame. It's funny how the ones who hate Draco end up acting just like him in the first five books.

The worst part is that some people who call themselves Drarry fans agree with this mindset because, in their eyes, Draco will always be beneath Harry, and they will never be equals. To them, Harry is someone unreachable for Draco, and it's only because of Harry's kindness that he "accepts" Draco as his partner.

And with Draco's growing popularity, there will inevitably be people who favor him over Harry, which they cannot accept. So, they keep bringing up all the bad things he did as a child while purposely ignoring the fact that canon clearly shows Draco has moved past that phase and is no longer the same person he was back then.

[vampenguln]

[skibasyndrome]

.

[cq-studios]

Wake up. Missing Link was never cancelled. This last month was all just a bad dream.

It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't-

[cavswife]

My brain's all fuzzy and warm thanks to my workout and cool down stretching, now my mind won't stop thinking about being in the same position but with Warden here...exchanging thinly veiled flirtatious jokes between heavy breaths and wiping sweat away, playfully leaning against each-other and feeling up the wonderfully soft muscles of the other. There's nothing sexual to it ( though neither would mind if it lead there, hehe ), we're simply admiring the other and experiencing the endorphin release a good workout gives together <3 Maybe after some tired canoodling on the floor we'd drag ourselves to the bathroom for a nice shower or bath together, or maybe we'd just stay there on the floor - not caring about how sweaty and messy we might be, all that matters is we've got the other firmly against us, we could stay like that forever if possible <:,)c

[donothing-nothingworks]

god gives his scariest dreams to his soldiers just about to wake up

[ssahotchnerr]

New request brewed in my brain this morning, so what if like the reader got taken by a unsub and the team found them and Hotch is with the reader and they were drugged is is just very out of it and is falling asleep and Hotch is saying things “sorry sweetheart I need to stay up” or like “I know your tired love but you have to wait” and is just being very supportive and lovey dovey like.

weightless and wanting

he's the sweetest 🥺🤕 cw; fem bau!reader, reader is drugged - only their induced state is described: this just consists of aaron comforting them, mutual pining, sooo much fluff, aaron blames himself - are we surprised? wc; 1k

The fear that took hold of Aaron during the time you were unaccounted for was something he’d remember for a long time.

Despite several eyes, constant surveillance, or being tapped into a wire, undercover work was risky. One untallied thing could slip right by and unravel everything in an instant.

One moment, you were at the bar, conversing with the suspect. And the next, you were gone.

Aaron's heart had stopped, his eyes shifting as he observed all cams frantically. Maybe you had moved locations. Maybe you changed positions, your back facing rather than the front.

Nothing. No sight of you.

He could barely recall jumping into action, alerting the team that you had to be found - now. And it hadn't taken long. Only you were found on the ground, helpless. Completely at the unsub's mercy.

At the sudden intrusion of agents, the unsub made his getaway, fleeing down the alley as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Morgan!" Aaron snapped as panic surged through him, freezing his blood cold.

"We got him!" Morgan sounded off, gun raised as he and JJ dashed after the guy.

"Hey." Aaron crouched next to you as he holstered his gun, hands outstretched and gingerly reaching for you. You hummed gently at his touch, coming to. "Hey hey hey, are you alright?"

"Yeah, 'm fine." You confirmed as you immediately slumped into him, swallowing thickly. It took you a second, in attempt to gather your incoherent thoughts, clearly fighting against your induced, quickening state. The world was dizzying. "But I-think... he.."

"He drugged you," Aaron confirmed, scanning your person quickly. Your slurring words, blanching skin, your half-lidded eyes - all unmistakable indicators you'd been slipped something. Fuck.

You relaxed at the shared understanding; finally free to succumb to the overwhelming sluggishness with the confirmation someone knew. The team was here. Aaron was here.

Aaron could take care of things now, something for which you were grateful because you were so tired.

His head shot to the side as your eyes fluttered shut, his own filled with hardened urgency. "Reid."

"Ambulance is on the way."

"You hear that?" Aaron turned back to you, speaking calmly, but beneath it ran a current of barely restrained fear. You were caged in his arms, allowing him to hold you upright. His arm wrapped around the crook of your neck, safely keeping you against him, your cheek against his chest. "Help's on the way. I just need you to stay awake for me."

Forcing your eyes open, you nodded drowsily as you gripped onto his forearm, your fingernails digging into his skin as you fought to remain alert. Only, it weakened, the sting dwindling as the seconds passed.

Blinking up at him, your sorrowful, dazed eyes ached his heart in a way he never knew possible, "I'm sorry Aaron."

"Don't be, you didn't do anything wrong," he reassured, his tone insistent yet matching your soft whisper. Your referring to him as 'Aaron' instead of 'Hotch' only served to make him feel exponentially worse. You've called him by some form of his last name since the day you’d met him. And considering what he kept hidden, he would've welcomed the more personal feeling that his first name brought.

But tonight, it hit too close. Hearing his given name reminded him this was his fault. He should never have let you go undercover, should never have allowed your assurances that everything would be okay to sway him into agreeing.

But it had just been too perfect. You were the unsub’s ideal victim. Given the opportunity, he would have no choice but to pursue you. Whether Aaron liked it or not, you were the key in catching him.

He’d had a gut feeling this was a bad idea before you even got dressed to go to the bar, or when Dave suggested it, or before Dave suggested it. Aaron knew that telltale look on his face - the one that held a perfectly arranged ploy despite the dangers it consisted of.

And while strictly strategic, it still didn't deny the jealousy that caused his jaw to clench as the unsub flirted with you. To ensure you'd gotten the correct guy, you had to flirt back; flash him your beautiful smile, lay a hand on his arm.

Acting or not, Aaron hadn't wanted to sit there and watch it play out. He ardently longed for you and you didn't even know it.

"We got him. We know who he is. You did your job well."

"But I..." you protested, your nose scrunching in disapproval in the silent certainty you'd let him down. It was getting harder to form thoughts now - everything felt distant, slower, as if your brain lagged behind reality.

"The only thing you need to worry about is keeping your eyes open." At that, your eyes lifted back to his, softening at the sight of his sweet, sweet brown eyes.

You tried to focus on his gaze, but it swam in and out of clarity. When you could, it wasn't panicked, there was no pressure, just need. A soft kind of desperation.

"It's okay. I'm going to take care of you," he consoled. "Jus' stay awake for me baby."

You wanted to, for him, but your breathing grew deeper regardless. Your eyes - along with your limbs - felt detrimentally heavier than before. Despite trying your hardest, you couldn’t keep them from closing. Letting all your worries slip away along with the surrounding noise.

Besides, you were safe - tucked in Aaron's arms. Nothing bad could happen to you now, and he'd be right there when you awoke later. You knew he would be, he always was.

Aaron pressed his lips to the top of your head. The last thing you heard before succumbing to the darkness:

"Relax, I've got you."

[refusetobesilent]

It's very very unfortunate that I never had friends growing up. And when I say I had no friends, I mean from the day I was born until I was 17, already moved out, I did not have a single friend in my life. Some people have said that it's because of autism, which has since been ruled out, but I think it's because I grew up in a very isolated family - deeply religious immigrants.

Anyway, that's not the point here. The point here is that first friend I ever had in my life, when I was 17, moved to the East Coast shortly after coming out, all alone in a completely unfamiliar place where I knew no one. A trans woman who was nearly a decade older than me, who decided that she wanted a relationship. I wasn't willing to give her that because first, I wasn't attracted to her, and second, she was just too old for me. I was a teenager, and she was almost 30.

But still, I wanted to be nice, and kind, and I did want a friend. So I talked to her and she became my first friend. And there's a lot of things that she did during that time that are extremely messed up, none of which I'm prepared to share with anyone, especially not in a public place like this.

But here's one thing she did. She taught me what friendship looks like, what you're supposed to do as a friend. She was, after all, my first friend. But she was a dangerous person, a manipulative one that didn't have my best interests in mind. Only hers.

So I learned that friendship means doing whatever you're told, unquestioningly. Just like church! And when your friend isn't talking to you, it's not because she's busy. She's mad and you should be terrified of what's coming for you later. And similarly, if you're busy (if you're in class, for example) and you don't respond to her texts, you have to apologize and beg for forgiveness because you made her think something was wrong.

Now eventually I dragged myself away from her, but those lessons are still there. I don't know what's correct and what's her trying to hurt me, I have no other frame of reference. I try to make new friends, but whatever social anxiety I had before is so much worse now because everything, to me, seems like a warning sign. Everything makes my brain scream that something's wrong and I will suffer for it. I don't want to burden more people with what I know is just leftover trauma from my first 19 years of life, but one of these days I will have to learn properly how friendship is meant to work.

[rafesbimbo]

I've been seeing other works with sexist!rafe, can you do your own version of him?

- 🐾 anon

pairing: sexist!rafe cameron x crybaby!reader

warnings: degradation, power imbalance, condescending dirty talk, crying kink, dumbification, dubcon vibes, unprotected sex

a/n: this is fantasy!! dont take this the wrong way!! and i think @cameronsbabydoll came up with the concept!! (lmk if u want me to remove this!!)

you were crying again. of course you were.

rafe barely looked up from the engine he was working on, his voice dripping with irritation masked as amusement. “you seriously fucked with the wires?”

“i—I thought i could help,” you whimpered from the garage doorway, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of your little cardigan. “you said you wanted it done by today and i just—”

he stood up, slow and deliberate, wiping his greasy hands on a rag as he turned toward you. you flinched under the weight of his stare, even as your breath caught in your throat.

“you thought,” he repeated flatly. “now that’s your first problem, baby. thinking.”

the smirk on his face was infuriating, all cocky and cruel. he walked toward you, each step loud against the concrete floor. you instinctively stepped back, but he caught you by the jaw, fingers digging in just a little too hard.

“you don’t think. that’s not what you’re here for.” he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“you’re here to smile and look pretty and sit your sweet little ass on the hood while i do the work. that’s all you’re good for.”

your eyes welled up again, bottom lip trembling like a kicked puppy. he loved it. ate it up like candy.

“aw, don’t cry now,” he cooed mockingly, rubbing his thumb over your cheek like he gave a damn. “this is why girls like you don’t belong in a garage. or a boardroom. or a toolbox, for that matter. your brain’s full of fluff and lip gloss.”

you choked on a sob, and he laughed—really laughed, the sound was rich and mean. “god, look at you. can’t even take a little criticism without falling apart. what’re you gonna do, cry all over my dick too?”

your thighs pressed together instinctively, and his eyes dropped immediately, catching the motion.

“yeah… that’s more like it,” he muttered, yanking you by the sweater until your chest bumped his. “why don’t you make yourself useful now, sweetheart?”

he didn’t wait for an answer. his hands were on your hips, spinning you around and bending you over the workbench in one fluid motion. you gasped, trying to catch your balance, but he was already yanking your shorts down, panties twisted halfway to your knees before you could say a word.

“please, rafe—”

“i said don’t think,” he growled, slapping the inside of your thigh hard enough to make you jolt. “not a single fucking thought in that head of yours. just feel, cry, and cum. that’s your job now.”

you sobbed again—whether from the sting, the shame, or the heat pooling in your belly, you didn’t know. maybe it was all three.

he didn’t bother with prep. just spat in his hand, rubbed himself once, and pushed in slow, mean, deliberate.

your body seized up, the stretch sudden and too much, too fast.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, holding your hips in place while he bottomed out. “guess your dumb little pussy knows its place better than your brain does.”

you were already crying in earnest, bottom lip quivering and mascara streaking down your cheeks. but your hips rocked back into him anyway—stupid, needy, desperate.

“that’s it. knew you were just a little doll deep down,” he rasped, picking up the pace. each thrust sent your body jolting forward, your hands scrabbling for purchase. “all that whining, and now you’re drippin' my cock like a bitch in heat.”

“rafe—” you cried out, voice high and cracking. “please, i can’t—”

“can’t what? handle getting fucked? you wanted to be useful, right?” he leaned over you, pressing his chest to your back, one hand gripping your throat, the other reaching around to rub your clit in rough, practiced circles. “cry harder. let me feel how sorry you are.”

you came like that—helpless and humiliated, gasping his name like it was a prayer and a curse all at once. your body clenched down around him, and he hissed, fucking you through it with ruthless strokes.

“fucking pathetic,” he groaned, snapping his hips forward until he bottomed out again, holding there, deep and unrelenting. “crying all over my cock and still cumming like a needy little toy.”

he didn’t pull out.

you gasped when you felt it, the warm rush of him spilling inside you, thick and messy.

rafe chuckled darkly, grabbing your jaw and tilting your tear-streaked face back to look at him.

“now that’s what i call helping.”

[astrolook]

⚡Natal Aspects Observations⚡

Note: These are all based on my personal observations and patterns I’ve noticed over the years. Western astrology based. Let me know in the comments if any of this hits home for you! And feel free to leave what doesn’t resonate.

Moon square Pluto - You wear your heart on your sleeve, but...it's a sleeve made of barbed wire. Your emotions are intense like an overcharged battery and when you feel threatened, you would go nuclear. Tests people to see whether they will stay through your bad times. Can be a control freak, in some cases.

Venus conjunct Ascendant - People feel your vibe before they see you like a song they recognize but can't name. Keeps part of yourself hidden. Both magnetic and invisible at the same time. Love in silence or from a distance where you can't be fully known. On the flip side, you're the one they dream about but you're out of their reach.

Sun trine Moon - Emotionally stable but secretly tired. Your head and heart usually agree. People assume you’re chill because you don’t scream in public, but they miss the eye twitches. The world would be burning and you would still stay calm and composed. A functional person.

Sun square Pluto - It is like trying to live your life with a volcano constantly humming under your skin. By age 25, you have already buried 5 versions of yourself for the better. Might intimidate people. Self-protection level 999.

Moon opposition Mars - You react fast, feel hard, and cool down way later than you’d like to admit. You hate being told to “calm down” because it makes you ten times louder. You want closeness, but the second something feels off, you're snapping or shutting down. Holds grudges and waits for the right time to show it. Expressive face.

Venus trine Uranus - Sometimes you’re a mystery, sometimes you’re the life of the party. You’re drawn to unconventional love and beauty, and you’re the type who’ll fall for someone who’s “different” in all the right (or wrong) ways. Gets bored fast. You probably have a thing for experimenting with style or constantly shifting your vibe/style.

Uranus trine Ascendant - Basically your “I was born this way” energy on steroids. You don't follow trends. You always think one step ahead of us. You’re a bit of a wildcard, but you don’t make a show of it. Leader, not a follower unless it's a dark place.

Moon square Neptune - You can sense everyone’s moods but have trouble deciphering your own. You’re looking for magic in a world that’s mostly mundane. Sleeps too much when depressed.

North Node conjunct Mercury Rx - It is like being handed a map and told to navigate, but the map is upside down and missing half the directions. Communication feels like a game of broken telephone; you’ll get the message, just not without the detours and delays. Your ideas are constantly evolving. Repeats the same old mistakes 10 times until reality checks in.

North Node conjunct Lilith - You're meant to own your badass side in this lifetime even if the society tells you to tone it down. Might raise a few eyebrows along the way but some rules are meant to be broken.

Venus square Saturn - Your heart wants to give, but your brain keeps reminding you about all the reasons why it’s a bad idea. Wants intimacy but build walls like a maze. An underrated or underappreciated person.

Mars trine Jupiter - You have a built-in engine that just never runs out of steam. Your laugh is contagious probably. When things get tough, you bounce back faster than most as you're not the type to sulk for long. You might occasionally bite off more than you can chew.

Wanna go deeper into the layers of your placements? DM me for a complete astrology reading or a 5 year/8 year marriage report or synastry reading🌙💬 and check out my pinned post for pricing + details 💫💸

Let’s decode your cosmic chaos together ⭐

[averycutesalamander]

ok SOMEBODY at hoyo knew what they were doing with that encounter in the new event right

reader + boothill are already in a relationship. gn reader. nsft / 18+ content. extremely poor hardware etiquette in the form of wire play. you know how it goes. also on ao3

For a split second, when Boothill pulls you into that alley hours after dark, you're certain that you're about to have to beat some mugger's ass for daring to lay hands on you. But as you whip around, you see familiar eyes – so you suppose you should spare him the pain.

"What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?" you scold, swatting him away; you hiss when your knuckles smack right into his metal.

"What, ain't ya happy to see me, sugar?" he bemoans, and you frown when you hear his voice. The normally subtle static that's beneath it has multiplied several times over, crackling like he's speaking over an old radio.

"I'd be a lot happier if you didn't scare the shit out of me," you mutter dryly. "What's up with your voice?"

He sighs in a way that seems genuinely weary, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, that's why I pulled ya in here." He raps his knuckles on his abdomen, and something about the hollow sound feels exceptionally humorous right now. "Somethin' went all fudgin' screwy, n' now I'm havin' all sorts a' problems. Vision's shortin' out, mostly. Sensitivity settings are all forked up, too."

You frown, now genuinely concerned. "Are you alright, honeybee? Any pain?"

His lip quirks a little fondly. "Nah. Just a pain in the ash, if ya feel me. Real issue is that I can't reach the damn panel that's causin' problems."

"…So why don't you go to the mechanic?"

"Well, I would, but there's nobody safe in this city, n' I've got a target lurkin' around here somewhere." He scratches his cheek, looking particularly annoyed. "Don't wanna leave n' let the bastard slip while I'm gone, but if I go for him now, my eyes might go out at a bad time."

You nod slowly. "So you need me to give you a hand, huh?"

"If it ain't too much trouble," he drawls, as if he doesn't love to pester you at every possible opportunity.

Slowly, you smirk, leaning against the wall of the alley. "I think you're forgetting something."

For a moment, he blinks at you cluelessly. You can practically see the gears churning in his brain. When it finally clicks, he rolls his eyes and sighs like you've just sentenced him to death, although he can't quite contain the little quirk of his lip.

"Please, sweetpea?" he whines.

"You can do better than that," you tut, waggling your finger at him dramatically.

He sighs even harder than the last time, and suddenly, he has you on the back-foot, because he steps close and leans toward you, one hand braced on the wall next to you. Your heart stutters in your chest when he hooks a finger under your chin, his mouth twisting into a victorious grin.

"Pretty please, angel? Won't ya give your poor ol' lover a hand?" he purrs, the heat of his breath washing over your lips. "I'll be good for you, honey. Promise. I can reward ya, too, if that's what you're after."

You blink at him, your brain completely empty. "I– Um…"

He leans just a bit closer, so close to your lips that you can almost feel the warmth of him, and you make a strangled noise when he suddenly freezes, scowling heartily. "Eyes just went out again," he grumbles, pulling away. You're immediately dissatisfied with the distance. "Can't even see the look on your face now."

God, he is such a bastard. "Alright, alright. Let's get on with it." Then, you grin wickedly. "Pants off."

He gapes at you. "What the fork did you just say?"

You bark out a laugh. Worth it. "Well, I don't know where the panel is. Could be in your ass, for all I know."

He guffaws, shaking his head fondly. "It's on my back."

"Close enough."

He grumbles something under his breath, then turns around.

"Right, uh…" There's a faint click, a whirr, and a hiss, and suddenly, one of the plates near the center of his back pops open ever-so-slightly. "See the plate above the chargin' port? The one that just came loose? Should be a lil' button ya can push behind the dip at the top. Uh… Press twice."

You hum as you lean closer, following his direction. Your touch is gentle, but he shivers anyway as you find the button. You press it twice in rapid succession, jumping a little as the plate pops out even further, sliding up and out of the way – but you're even more startled by the way he hisses, hunching against the wall.

"Son of a–" he grits out.

Your heart jumps with alarm. "You okay, bee?"

"Yeah, j– just… Sensitivity's all over the place right now," he says, sounding strained.

Damn. This must be worse than you thought. Now you're sort of regretting teasing him. "Right. I'll be careful."

You kneel down behind him, fumbling to grab your phone and turn on the light. Now that you can actually see, you more carefully examine the structure within. The titanium structure of his spine is blocking most of your view, but you'll have enough space to stick your hand in around it. It's a surprisingly organized nest of wires, but damn are there a lot.

"Uh… circuit board near the top left," he says, a subtle shake to his voice. "Should be some loose wires in there, if I'm right."

You squint, having to kneel a little further to get a glimpse of it. You angle your phone light, and sure enough, you can see the one he's talking about. There's a kaleidoscope of colored wires attached, but two of them are dangling and disconnected.

"Yeah, I see them. There's a black one and a green one, and a red one that looks kinda loose."

He sighs with some measure of relief, his voice crackling with static. "Plug those back in, n' it should be good. Ports should be labelled."

Carefully, you reach in, fixing your fingers around the black wire. But the moment you line up the connector and start to fit it into the corresponding port, he gasps raggedly. You freeze, your eyes darting up in concern. You can see his fingers digging into the brick beside him, shaking subtly.

"Are you alright?" you ask, genuinely worried.

He makes a strangled noise in reply, and the moment you pull the wire away, he slumps like a puppet with cut strings. You can hear his whole body rattling, the metal plates clinking against each other in a way that might've been comical if you weren't so concerned.

You can hear the audible noise of him swallowing. "I– I'm fine. Just…"

Suddenly, it hits you.

You've helped him with issues like this before, and you know what he sounds like when he's in pain. This is very decidedly not like that. If anything, it sounds a lot like…

"Oh my god," you blurt before you can stop yourself. "Are you– Is this–"

"Shut your damn mouth," he whines, and in a blink, the entire situation flips on its head.

You grin, wide and devious. "Baby's feeling a little sensitive, huh?" you croon.

"I said, shut your damn– Ah!"

He gasps when you press the connector against the port again, just barely fitting it in; you can see the plastic clips meant to lock it bending, ready to snap into place, but you're hovering just millimeters too far for it to be fully seated. You sit there, waiting as you watch him shake, oh-so quietly whimpering under his breath.

"Just– P– Please, just…" he whines, tight and desperate, and it goes right down your spine and settles in your gut. Fuck, it should be a crime to sound that pretty. He's so unfair.

Finally, you click it into place, and his whole body shudders like you just took the head of his cock into your mouth.

Oh, you can't believe you've never done something like this before. It's so hard to wreck a man that can literally numb his nerves at a moment's notice, but right now, he's utterly at your mercy.

"This don't even… I– I shouldn't be– be able to feel that," he pants.

You hum in consideration. "Are any of these wires connected to anything essential?"

He laughs in a way that's almost comically nervous. "W– What? I… No, but–"

You grab the blue wire on the left, pinch the clips locking it into the port, and pull.

His voice crackles with static as he moans, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. You don't relent, though, because you press it right back in, jamming it into place mercilessly. His hips actually buck at that, and that plants a very, very devious thought in your mind.

Without pushing the clips in to unlock it, you grab the wire by the connector and slowly tug on it, applying pressure as his voice breaks.

"B– Baby, oh, you can't– I–"

Without letting go, you get to your feet, pressing as close to his back as you can. You fumble to turn off your phone light, then shove it carelessly in your pocket. With your newly freed hand, you reach around toward his front, resting your fingers on his belt and leaning in close to his ear.

"Take your cock out, bee," you purr, slowly beginning to slide the leather out of the loop. You can see him shiver at the sound of your voice so close.

"You're c– crazy," he hisses, then gasps as you reverse the pressure on the wire, now pushing inward against the circuit board. He doesn't stop you as you undo his belt, though, tugging it to release the buckle and letting it fall away.

"Yeah," you croon, your fingers seeking out the button on his jeans. "And you like it, don't you?"

You don't give him a chance to reply, because you suddenly switch over to the black wire again, going by touch as you pinch the clips and pull it back out. He makes a strangled noise, bucking his hips again as you lower his zipper.

You're proven right when you hear the subtle whirr of machinery, of his plates rearranging as he takes out his cock from its internal compartment. You grin wickedly, rewarding him by clicking the wire back into place. He moans, long and ragged into the palm of his hand, but he's so loud that it doesn't do much to muffle it.

"Careful, baby. Don't wanna get too loud, do you?" Without giving him time to recover, you swap over to where you think the red wire is, gradually beginning to rock it against the port but not letting it snap into place. "It'd be a shame if someone saw you like this, moaning like a little whore for me. Or maybe you'd enjoy that, huh?"

His hips jolt again, and you're certain that he's already dripping with precome. "T– That's not… You–"

You cut him off by grasping his tip, snickering quietly at the wetness you find there. So easy. He damn near wails at the pressure, his whole body shaking as he tries to strangle the sounds you're prying out of him. You're relentless, though, slowly pumping your fist down his shaft and smearing the lubricant under your touch.

"No? You wouldn't?" you hum. You lean closer, so close that your lips graze his ear. "You're such a liar. You're dripping, honey."

He shakes his head, but he can't deny the way that he shudders with the next pass of your hand. "'S not– Mm! N– Not fair–"

"Yeah, it isn't, huh?" You pinch the clips to prevent the wire from locking, then press it all the way in. "I could do anything to you right now, baby. And you probably wouldn't even be able to stop me."

Slowly, you start to rock the connector in and out, even and steady in the same rhythm you'd fuck him with. He pants into his palm, whimpering with every pass.

"Oh, but let's be honest… You wouldn't stop me anyway, would you?" you croon, grinning deviously. "You like this, don't you? You like being at my mercy?"

He doesn't reply, occupied as he is. He starts to buck his hips in time with the movement of the wire, fucking your fist with a desperation that has your mouth watering. You still your hand, forcing him to take initiative. He takes up the task in your stead without a breath of complaint, rocking into your grip desperately.

Slowly, you start to lightly twist the connector, feeling the resistance of the port as you ease the pressure on.

"Answer me, bee."

"Yes!" he gasps, and you smile, rewarding him for his honesty by releasing the wire. You go to a new one you haven't fiddled with yet, then pull it out without ceremony just to hear him whine.

"Good boy," you purr, and you can actually feel his cock twitch against your palm, his hips stuttering. God, that never gets old.

You slow down the pace you're moving the wire with, and a thrill runs up your spine when his hips instinctively follow your guidance. You tighten your grip around his cock just a little, listening to his breath hitch. You can hear the slick noise of him fucking into your fist, the sound of his precome smearing obscenely along the length of him. Part of you mourns the fact that you can't suck him off in this position, but the way he's shivering under your touch is too perfect.

"F– Faster, please– Oh! Please, sugar…"

The confirmation that he's following your pace is fucking intoxicating. There's something absolutely euphoric about having a man this powerful quaking under your touch, begging you for permission.

"Yeah? Greedy boy wants more?" you hum, nibbling at his ear just to feel him jump. Cruelly, you slow the pace of the wire even further, grinning when he whines in open frustration. Despite that, though, he follows your lead, slowing down to a crawl as his cock twitches under your fingers.

"Please. Need more. I'll– I'll do anything, baby, please," he whimpers, hunching even further against the wall.

A tempting offer, admittedly… But you have something planned already, so you'll let it slide for now.

You click the red wire back into place, then grasp onto the green. He takes a ragged breath when you slide it in, pinching the clips yet again to grant you free movement. Then, you start to rock it into him, just like before, gradually speeding up the pace. He moans brokenly into his palm, thrusting into your fist with a desperation that feels almost animalistic in its intensity. He chokes when you start to move your hand with him, his hips stuttering frantically as his cock twitches.

He gasps with the next pass, his whole body rattling. "I'm– Oh, honey, I'm–"

"Don't come yet," you murmur. "I'm not done."

He's shaking so hard that it might've been a little concerning if you weren't so busy savoring it. There's something so exceptional about wrecking him like this, about ruining him like this. With his plates open, you can hear the quiet hiss of his hydraulics tightening, shivering in preparation for a devastating orgasm. You can feel his internals heating up, the air around your hand steadily warming as his body fights to dispel the building heat.

He bows his head, his voice crackling as he groans. He's nearly unintelligible when he stutters, "I– I can't–"

"What, can't help yourself? Gonna come?" you croon, your voice tilting with mockery. "Go on, pretty boy. See what happens. Just don't be mad at me when you pay the price."

Eager to torture him, you speed up just a little more, tightening your fingers around his length as he struggles. His head shakes frantically, and he starts to babble; his voice is beginning to go out, rendering his words completely incomprehensible. You swear you can feel his heartbeat echoing through his entire body, rapid and thunderous. His fist is balled up tight, pressing hard against the wall as if the tension can save him. But he's the one fucking into your hand like a dog; he's the one moaning like a whore into his palm; he's the one tightening like a spring, ready to burst at a moment's notice.

With a whisper, you break him. "Come."

You can feel the moment he snaps like a bowstring.

He cries out your name as he reaches his peak, so loud that it makes your heart jump before his voice shorts out entirely. His cock jumps and twitches in your palm as come spills out of him, hitting the brick below in thick ropes. It'd feel like a waste if he didn't sound so fucking incredible right now. You follow his pace as his hips jerk, chasing the stimulation, dragging out his high for as long as possible.

It's almost a pity that his voice went out. He always sounds so fucking pretty, all broken and needy in a way that makes you hungry.

Gradually, he slows, his breath hitching uncontrollably as he bucks shallowly into your grasp. With a final whimper as you click the wire into place once more, he falls limply against the wall, still rattling with the aftershocks as he pants.

You really wish you could see him. The face he makes after he comes is always stunning.

…That'll have to wait, though – because you have unfinished business.

Without warning, you ruthlessly yank out one of the wires, smiling as a startled moan tears from his throat. It gets even louder when you rub your thumb tauntingly across his tip, cruelly grinding the pad of your finger into the very end of his head. Then, you start to stroke his cock again in earnest. Your grin widens when he jolts, struggling against your grasp as if he couldn't overpower you in the blink of an eye.

"B– Baby, wait, wait, I can't–" he pants, his voice straining, then breaking as you pull another wire.

"I told you you'd pay for it," you sing. "Don't act surprised."

You speed up, stroking his cock even faster as he twitches and squirms. You pull another, savoring the ragged moan that tears out of him.

"Mercy– Oh! Mercy, baby, please–"

You pull another. His hips jolt involuntarily into your fist.

"That's not the safe word," you coo.

You can't remember the last time you heard him this wrecked. It's glorious. He pants and whines, his back arching when you swipe your thumb across his head again.

"I'm–"

His voice cuts out entirely when you pull the next one.

You don't feel bad about it. If he really wanted you to stop, all he'd have to do it reach down and grab your wrist, or even just tap you twice. He's not going to, though.

You know very well that he loves this just as much as you do.

Which is why you don't feel guilty about pulling another wire, then another, then another, steadily speeding up the pace of your hand. With his voice cut off, the only noise is the sound of his heavy breathing, the obscene noise of you stroking his cock, the click of wires being disconnected, and the quiet hum of machinery that always radiates from him – though the latter is exceptionally loud right now. You can feel his body shuddering again, already forced back to the brink.

"Go on, bee," you purr. "Go ahead. One more time for me, sweet boy."

You plug in the cord connected to his voice just in time to hear the broken wail that wrenches from his throat. It's loud, and if nobody heard the two of you before, they probably have now – but frankly, you don't give a damn when he sounds that fucking pretty, that fucking perfect. You work him through it, remaining steady while he shakes and shivers under your grasp. Another load spills against the wall, though plenty of it leaks onto your hand this time, smearing under your fingers, thick and creamy and damn, you really want to taste him.

His comedown is much faster this time around, and it feels a bit like he crashes back into reality. The moment his whimpering changes, edged with genuine discomfort, you let him go. All at once, he slumps down into the wall, panting raggedly.

His breath hitches when you take your hand off his cock. You don't even think twice before laving your tongue across your palm, swiping up the mess he left there. It's as mild as usual, musky and tangy and a little salty, but it's the gesture that has your heart skipping more than anything.

When you get the worst of it off, you unceremoniously wipe your hand on your pant leg. No need for modesty at this point. "Want me to reconnect everything, honeybee?"

Wordlessly, he nods, moving with the sort of mellow lethargy that usually arrives on the coattails of orgasms. Your lips quirk, but, true to your word, you get back onto your knees to peer back into his internals.

You quickly switch on your phone light again (and make a mental promise that you'll clean it later), then get to work fitting everything back in their proper places. He shudders and whines with every click, but you don't tease him any further, certain that he's probably worn out by now. You make short work of the rest, and when you settle the final one into place, he sighs and somehow slumps even further into the wall.

With your phone returned to your pocket, you get back to your feet, watching with no small amount of interest as the plate on his back withdraws and clicks back into place. His body is so damn fascinating. You've got to ask him to give you a full tour, one of these days.

Now, though, you lean up and curl your arms around his waist, molding tightly to his back. He's warm, still dispelling the heat he'd built up, and you're shameless about basking in it. Although…

You can't help yourself. Smugly, you begin, "So, that–"

"Not a word," he growls, though you're somewhat relieved to note that his voice is back to normal.

You can't bite back a snicker. "Look, if I knew you were this into wire play, I would've–"

Your heart leaps into your throat when he whirls around, grabbing you by the throat and surging forward to press you against the opposite wall, though he's careful to shield your head from the brick with his other palm.

"You just don't know when to quit, do ya?" he rumbles, low and smoky. "Always runnin' your mouth like I can't make ya pay for it."

You freeze like a prey animal that's just realized it's been cornered. Your heart pounds in your chest, strong and fast. For a long, silent moment, he observes you with that glint in his eyes – that look that tells you that he's plotting.

Uh oh.

"Y'know, my joints are feelin' a lil' dry," he says carefully, his eyes burning into you. "I could probably use a lil' lubrication."

Uh oh.

He releases your throat and presses his hand on your shoulder, then slowly, steadily pushes you to your knees. Your eyes immediately gravitate toward his cock, and you swallow dryly at the sight; a heavy line of come is dripping from his head, tempting your lips, your tongue. He's so close that you would only need to lean forward just a bit to lick it away.

Your heart stutters when he grasps your jaw, forcing you to crane your neck up at him. His eyes glint red in the dark, and his grin is as sharp as his teeth.

"You'll help me out, won't ya, sugar?"

Oh, you're in trouble.

(How lucky for you that trouble with him is always fun.)

tag list ♥

@opheliaflavoredinstantnoodles @ikeagroceries @shadowstadium @theswashbucklingspy @cosmo112 @fxngtasy @rinzis 

[cup1drul3z]

★ — It was a bad idea

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4 : ᴜɴᴅɪᴅ ᴍʏ ʙʀᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ʙꜱꜰꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ!ꜱᴇᴠɪ��ᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 7.8ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : hatefucking, sexual objectification of lesbianism, height difference, porn with plot, dub con, drunk sex, messy, angst, A LOT OF SMUT, strap-on, fingering, oral, depression, abortion, pregnancy

A/N : happy saturday

Summary : You avoid her, but she keeps showing up—at the diner, in your head, in the heat of your skin. One impulsive moment brings it all back, but Riley’s discovery threatens to expose everything you’ve kept hidden.

You didn’t say another word.

Riley’s eyes were glassy, but she blinked fast and refused to let anything fall. She shook her head once—sharp, final—then turned on her heel and walked out of your room, slamming the door behind her so hard your mirror rattled against the wall.

You stood frozen for a beat, hands curled into fists at your sides.

And then you bolted to the door.

You flung it open just in time to hear her feet pounding down the stairs. You followed, halfway to the top of the landing, when you caught her voice—

"—we’re leaving."

Her mom was by the door, purse in hand, giving hugs and whispered reassurances to yours, who looked dazed, mascara smudged from the last few days of barely functioning.

Sevika stood nearby, one hand braced on the doorframe, talking quietly to Luca, who clutched a LEGO ship like a life raft.

The second Riley hit the last stair, Sevika turned, picking up instantly on her sister’s energy.

“Riley,” she signed slowly, her expression shifting. “What’s wrong?”

Riley didn’t answer at first. She brushed right past her and grabbed the car keys off the hook.

“Let’s go,” she signed to her mom, forcing a smile.

Sevika stepped into her path. “Did something happen?”

Riley’s jaw clenched.

“Nope,” she signed, not even trying to make it believable. “Everything’s great.”

She shoved the door open and walked out.

Sevika didn’t follow right away. She just stood there, blinking like her brain hadn’t caught up yet. But she knew. You could see it in the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her hand flexed at her side.

You backed away from the railing and ran upstairs.

Your phone was still on your nightstand. You snatched it up, breath catching in your throat as you opened your texts and started typing.

hey

sevika

shit riley knows

i didnt mean for it to come out like that

im sorry

Not Delivered.

Not Delivered.

Not Delivered.

No read receipts.

You checked your service. Two bars.

You stared at your screen, heart pounding as your thumb hovered.

The front door shut with a hollow thud, and Sevika stood there in the entryway for a moment, fingers twitching at her sides.

Something was wrong.

Riley’s energy hadn’t just been off — it had been electric. Buzzing. Like a wire about to snap.

Their mom, unaware as always, offered a soft pat to Sevika’s shoulder before heading upstairs to say goodbye to Beth. “Come up in a few minutes and help me carry the casserole dish back,” she signed with a tired smile.

Sevika nodded automatically.

But the second she turned toward the stairs, Riley’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“I know about you and Y/N.”

Sevika froze.

She didn’t turn around at first. Just stared at the banister, chest tightening.

“What?” she asked flatly.

“I know,” Riley said again, stepping forward, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was bracing herself. “I know what you’ve been doing. Sneaking around. Fucking my best friend.”

Sevika slowly turned to face her. “You went through my sketchbook.”

Riley didn’t deny it. “You left it in the couch, dumbass.”

The silence stretched. Sevika’s jaw ticked.

“You don’t know anything,” she said carefully.

“I know enough.”

Riley’s voice was shaking now, but not from fear — from fury. From betrayal. “You’re a fucking creep, Sev. You’re disgusting. She’s my best friend.”

Sevika narrowed her eyes. “You think I planned this? You think I wanted this to happen?”

“You didn’t even tell me,” Riley snapped. “You let me sit there like an idiot, asking why you were being weird while you were drawing pornographic fucking art of my best friend in secret—”

“Shut up,” Sevika growled.

“No! No, you don’t get to shut me up this time. You don’t get to stomp around and play the ‘cool older sister’ while you lie to everyone.”

Sevika took a step forward. “You think this is about you? You make everything about you.”

Riley’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“You do,” Sevika said, bitter heat rising. “Every time. Every room you walk into, it’s like your own personal stage. Even this—me and Y/N? You somehow made it about you.”

“That’s rich coming from the family fuck-up,” Riley snapped, voice cracking.

Sevika blinked.

“I mean, Jesus, Sev,” she laughed bitterly. “You dropped out of college, and you’ve been pretending to visit like some kind of washed-up guest star. You think you’re better than us because you can roll a joint and tattoo skulls? You’re not mysterious. You’re just a loser.”

Sevika’s blood ran cold.

“How do you know I dropped out?” she asked slowly, carefully.

Riley looked at her, smirk curling. “Jayce got drunk at the beach party. Told me everything.”

The world blurred at the edges. Sevika stepped closer. “You don’t get to say that shit to me.”

“Why?” Riley hissed. “Because it’s true?”

And that was it.

Something snapped.

They lunged.

Riley shoved her with both hands, but Sevika barely moved. Then Riley jumped, arms clawing around Sevika’s back, trying to drag her down. Sevika stumbled, but caught herself, grabbing her sister’s arms and twisting — not hard enough to hurt, just to stop her from falling.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Sevika barked.

“You ruined everything!” Riley screamed.

Their dad’s voice suddenly bellowed from the hallway. “Girls?!”

He burst into the room a second later, eyes wide, and yanked Riley off Sevika with one arm, holding her back as she thrashed. Sevika stood there, breathing hard, a red mark on her collarbone where Riley’s nail had caught her — barely a scratch.

Riley was panting, mascara streaked under her eyes. Her hair was wild, one strap of her tank top slipping off her shoulder.

Their dad looked between them. “What the hell is going on?!”

Sevika didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Because she could already see it in Riley’s face — the decision.

The gleam of something cruel.

Riley wiped her mouth, took a step back, and looked their dad square in the eyes.

“Sevika dropped out.”

Silence.

Then: “She’s been lying about college for months. She lives here now.”

Their dad turned to Sevika, slow, unreadable.

Sevika opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

The silence that followed Riley’s words felt infinite.

Their dad didn’t explode. He didn’t ask questions. He just looked at Sevika — long and heavy, like he was trying to solve a riddle with no answer — and then signed tightly, “Go sit down.”

Riley stood there, still breathing like she’d run a marathon, but their dad didn’t even glance at her. He pointed toward the stairs. “Now.”

She hesitated, eyes flicking between them.

Then left.

Sevika heard her stomp upstairs without an ounce of guilt. Without regret.

She stood in the middle of the living room like it was a spotlight, her arms limp at her sides, pulse echoing in her ears.

Her dad gestured toward the couch again. “Sit.”

She moved slowly, every step heavier than the last.

They sat across from each other. The clock on the wall ticked. Someone’s lawn mower started in the distance.

And then he asked, quiet as anything: “Is it true?”

Sevika swallowed hard and nodded.

“I dropped out in January.”

Her dad looked away for a second. He didn’t sigh. Didn’t shake his head.

Just… blinked.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Sevika picked at her cuticle, something sharp and restless in her chest. “Because I didn’t want to hear the disappointment in your voice.”

“I’m not disappointed.”

She looked up fast.

He signed again, slowly. “I’m angry that you lied. Not because you dropped out. That’s your decision. But you lied to all of us.”

“I know.”

“You let your mom cook for you, let us plan visits, ask about classes you weren’t taking. Sevika—” He cut himself off, then leaned forward. “What the hell happened?”

She looked down at her hands. “I didn’t want to be there anymore. I hated it. I was failing every class. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t fit in. Every day I felt like I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t, and I just—” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t do it anymore.”

He was quiet for a moment, then signed: “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“I didn’t think I deserved it.”

Her dad let out a long breath through his nose and leaned back. He didn’t say anything for a while. Just stared out the window, his jaw working.

“I got an apartment,” she added softly. “I paid first and last month. It’s not far.”

“You planning to tell your mom?”

She nodded. “Today. That was the plan.”

They sat there again in silence.

Then he looked at her again. Softer now.

“What do you want, Sev?”

The question hit her like a punch.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just want to be somewhere that feels like mine.”

He nodded once.

And stood up.

“Come on,” he signed. “Help me load the truck. If you’re moving, you’re not doing it alone.”

Her throat tightened.

“…Okay.”

You were upside down on your bed, legs hooked over the headboard, hair brushing the floor, blood pooling in your face as you stared at your phone with blurry, desperate eyes.

Not delivered.

Again.

And again.

You groaned, letting your arm fall dramatically off the side, your phone slipping from your fingers and landing on your chest. You felt like one of those fainting girls in vintage paintings — tragic, wilting, unloved.

You waited another beat.

Still nothing.

“Ughhh,” you groaned louder, flipping yourself fully off the bed in a mess of tangled limbs and blanket static, landing on your knees with a thump. You sat there on the floor, blinking at the ceiling.

Everything felt too quiet. Too still.

You climbed back onto your feet and grabbed your phone off the mattress, switching to your playlist and hitting shuffle. A low, slow indie track filled the room — something breathy and angsty that matched the hollowness in your chest.

You tossed your phone onto your bed like it had personally wronged you and crawled across your room toward your closet. Halfway there, your oversized sweatshirt fell off one shoulder, and you didn’t bother fixing it.

Inside the closet, the air was dusty and full of the scent of high school perfume and forgotten secrets.

You reached into the back, shoved aside an old shoebox of dance recital ribbons, a half-deflated balloon tied with a note from your freshman year crush, and finally found it.

The teddy bear.

Fuzzy, beige, with one eye a little loose and the nose chewed off — your childhood version of security. You flipped it over and saw the stitching at the bottom, crooked and tight.

You grinned.

“Still got it.”

You grabbed your fabric scissors off your art bin and cut a clean line through the stitches. The old cotton stuffing spilled a little, but right in the center, where you’d wedged it years ago, was a plastic bag.

You pulled it free. Inside — a perfect little stash of joints.

“God bless my teenage paranoia,” you whispered.

You plucked one out and crawled over to your window, propping it open just enough to let the breeze in. You lit it with the cheap pink lighter you kept hidden in your pencil case and took a slow inhale.

Your head tipped back.

The smoke curled around the crown of your head, wrapping the room in something warm and quiet. Not comfort, not exactly. Just numbness.

And numbness would have to do.

You took another hit, blowing it out slowly as the music shifted songs behind you, the lyrics echoing the exact ache you couldn’t name.

You didn’t know what was going on at Sevika’s house. Or why she wasn’t answering.

But as you took a third drag and felt your limbs grow soft and weightless, you whispered to the smoke:

“…You better still want me.”

You were halfway into your third hit, lashes heavy as the smoke pooled on your tongue, when a sound behind you made you freeze.

A footstep.

From inside the room.

You turned, already reaching to hide the joint, when—

“Jesus,” you whispered, breath catching in your throat.

There she was.

Sevika.

She was crouched on the inside of your open window, her hoodie half-zipped and her hair a mess of loose strands and night wind. Her boots were muddy from the climb up, and her expression was unreadable—something between exhausted and determined, like she hadn’t stopped moving since everything fell apart.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “You could’ve knocked.”

“You left the window open.”

“So that’s an invitation now?”

“It is when I’m climbing a roof for you.”

You grinned despite yourself and sat up straighter, the joint still dangling between your fingers. Sevika stepped fully into your room, letting the curtain fall shut behind her. She dusted off her hands and walked over, slowly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be here.

You didn’t stop her.

You held the joint out in offering.

She took it, slid to the floor next to you, and took a drag like she’d been dying for it all day. Her shoulder bumped yours, but neither of you pulled away.

“So?” you asked, voice soft. “What happened?”

She exhaled slowly. The smoke curled toward the ceiling like a ghost.

“My whole life exploded,” she muttered.

You waited.

“My dad knows I dropped out. Riley told him. There was yelling. Crying. More yelling. I think I gave my mom a stress migraine.”

She looked over at you, eyes a little red at the corners. “I wasn’t ignoring you. My phone got taken away during the fight and then I just— I didn’t know what to say.”

Your chest ached. You leaned your head against her shoulder.

“You got an apartment now?” you mumbled, voice playful even through the tired haze.

Sevika let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah. It’s shitty and small. But it’s mine.”

You smiled. “You could’ve just said that earlier. I would’ve started planning a sleepover.”

She snorted, passed the joint back to you. “You’re ridiculous.”

You grinned harder. “Speaking of ridiculous…”

You got up from the floor, stretching dramatically before turning to face her. “So. The sketchbook.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Riley told you.”

“Yup.”

“Shit.”

You smirked, not even a little bit mad. “I’m flattered, honestly. You’ve got some serious talent. Very… detailed.”

She groaned, leaning back on her elbows as you turned toward the mirror and started doing a series of ridiculous poses — one leg popped, one hand on your hip, chin tilted like a model from a perfume ad. Then you turned around slowly and struck a dramatic lounge on your bed, one arm stretched above your head.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” you said in your worst fake accent, biting your lip.

Sevika narrowed her eyes. “Have you even seen that movie?”

“I know the important part.”

She laughed. Like, really laughed. The sound rumbled in her chest, low and warm, and you felt it more than heard it.

You sat back down beside her, calmer now, the laughter fading into something quieter. She reached for your hand. Laced your fingers together.

Neither of you said anything for a moment.

The joint burned down to the end between her fingers.

You leaned your head on her shoulder again and whispered, “You didn’t have to climb the roof, you know.”

Sevika looked down at you.

“I know,” she said. “But I wanted to.”

Your fingers still loosely tangled with hers, you shifted slightly in your seat, legs brushing hers, chest just barely grazing her shoulder as you breathed in the faint scent of smoke and hoodie fabric and Sevika herself — familiar and dangerous.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

So you did.

You let go of her hand and slowly, deliberately, turned to face her where she sat leaned back against your bed frame. One knee on the mattress, then the other — until you were straddling her lap, settling your thighs on either side of her hips.

Her breath hitched.

“What are you doing,” she murmured, voice low, hands hovering like she didn’t know where to touch.

“I’m sitting,” you said simply, but your tone was anything but innocent.

She looked up at you, her jaw tight, eyes dark. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You smiled, fingers tracing the collar of her hoodie. “I think I already lost.”

Her hands finally settled — one on your hip, the other on your thigh, slow and steady, grounding you there. The warmth of her palms burned through the thin cotton of your shorts.

“I missed you,” you said, almost without meaning to.

Sevika’s gaze softened, just for a second.

Then sharpened again.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” she said, voice nearly a whisper now. “Even when you were ghosting me. Especially then.”

You bit your lip.

Her hand slid up your back.

“Say the word,” she murmured, forehead against yours.

You didn’t say anything — you just leaned in and kissed her, slow and full of heat, your fingers fisting the front of her hoodie as your body arched into hers like you’d been aching for this since the last time.

Her mouth opened against yours with a low, hungry sound, and that was it—like a dam broke.

She pulled you tighter into her lap, hands sliding beneath your sweatshirt, palms hot against your bare back. You gasped, hips grinding instinctively against her thighs, the friction making you whimper into her mouth. Sevika swallowed it like a secret, like a dare, kissing you deeper—rougher—until your whole body was trembling.

You reached down blindly, tugging at the hem of her hoodie. She lifted her arms without breaking the kiss, letting you pull it off her, revealing the snug black tank underneath—shoulders broad, arms inked, skin warm and tense beneath your hands.

“God,” you whispered, eyes roaming over her like you hadn’t already memorized every inch of her in the dark. “You’re so—”

“Don’t,” Sevika murmured, brushing her mouth against your jaw. “If you say something sweet, I’m gonna forget how to take this slow.”

You smirked, hooking your arms around her neck. “Who said I wanted you to?”

That broke something.

Her hands dropped to your thighs, gripped hard, and then she shifted—lifting you just enough to flip you back onto the bed in one swift move. You landed on your back with a breathless laugh, but it vanished fast as Sevika climbed over you, settling between your legs.

“You think I don’t dream about this?” she said roughly, dragging her hands up your sides. “You think I didn’t stare at your goddamn number on my screen every night?”

You arched into her touch, eyes fluttering.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. “Tell me to stop.”

You shook your head.

“Say it,” she breathed.

“I don’t want you to.”

That was enough.

She pulled your shorts down slow, underwear along with them, exposing your thighs, your hips, the mess between your legs. Her breath hitched—just barely—but you caught it. You always caught it with her.

Sevika leaned down, mouth brushing just above your navel. Her voice was like smoke, low and frayed.

“Mine.”

You whimpered.

Her mouth dragged lower. Kisses—slow, deliberate—down your stomach. Then your hipbone. Then the inside of your thigh.

“Sevika—”

She didn’t make you beg. Not this time.

Her tongue met your heat and your whole body jolted. Your hand flew to her hair, fisting tight, your back arching as she moaned against you like she’d been starving for it. She licked slow at first, deliberate, teasing—but the second she felt your legs tense around her shoulders, she doubled down, sucking hard on your clit like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

You cried out, one hand over your mouth, the other still gripping her hair.

“Fuck, I missed you like this,” she growled into you, her voice wet and filthy and full of need. “So fucking sweet. I should’ve made you come the first night. Should’ve had you shaking for me.”

“Then do it,” you gasped, eyes glassy.

Her fingers slid into you without warning—two, thick and slow—and you nearly came on the spot.

She curled them just right, mouth never leaving your clit, and your hips bucked hard. You couldn’t even think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only fall apart under her, thighs trembling as the pressure built and built and built—

Then shattered.

You came with a broken sob, thighs squeezing tight around her head as your whole body pulsed. Sevika didn’t stop—not until you were twitching from the overstimulation, whining her name, tugging at her hair to pull her up.

She crawled over you slowly, licking her fingers clean like she was showing off. Her eyes were blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips glistening.

You didn’t think.

You pulled her into a kiss—hungry, messy, open-mouthed.

She groaned against you, grinding her hips down, and you felt how hard she was under her jeans.

“Take it out,” you whispered against her lips.

Sevika froze for half a second. Then leaned back just enough to tug her belt open, unzipping her jeans, revealing the strap underneath—already dark at the tip from where she’d been grinding against it.

You reached between you, wrapped your hand around it, and Sevika cursed low.

“You’re gonna kill me,” she muttered.

“Then die like this.”

She didn’t laugh this time.

She pushed in slow—so slow—letting you adjust as you stretched around her. You gasped, nails digging into her back, and Sevika dropped her forehead to your shoulder, breathing ragged.

“You feel so good,” she whispered. “Fuck. I’ve thought about this every night.”

You clenched around her.

She groaned deep in her chest and started to move—slow, deep thrusts that had your whole body rocking against the mattress. You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her deeper, letting her fill every inch of you.

“Look at me,” she said, voice wrecked.

You did.

She kissed you hard, fucked you harder.

And when you came again—this time with your name on her tongue and her hand tangled in your hair—you swore you’d never let her go.

The room felt warmer now.

Not just from your skin or the sweat cooling along your collarbones—but from the weight of her. The way Sevika curled around you like you were something worth protecting. Worth keeping.

Her chest rose and fell against your back, slow and steady, grounding you as the aftershocks faded.

You were still breathing fast.

Still trembling just a little.

She noticed.

Her arm wrapped tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against her, and she pressed a kiss to your shoulder—barely there, more breath than touch. You melted.

“Too much?” she murmured, voice rough with concern.

You shook your head. “No. Just…”

You swallowed.

“…A lot.”

She didn’t take that as a bad thing. Just nodded, forehead resting against the back of your neck, her thumb stroking a soft line up your side, over the curve of your ribs, then back down again.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”

And maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was clingy. Maybe it was risky after everything that had happened today.

But you turned in her arms anyway, pressing your face into her chest and curling your fingers into the edge of her tank top like you were afraid she’d vanish if you didn’t hold on tight.

She let you.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t move.

Just tucked her chin on top of your head and breathed with you until your heart started to settle.

You could still taste her in the air—smoke and sweat and something warm that made your chest ache. You weren’t sure what to call it yet.

She shifted just enough to pull the blanket up over your hips. Her hand found the small of your back and stayed there, fingers splayed, palm heavy and comforting.

You could feel her heartbeat against your cheek.

“You didn’t have to come back,” you mumbled.

“I know,” she said.

“I’m glad you did.”

Her fingers brushed your hair back from your forehead.

“You scared me,” she said quietly, like it hurt to admit.

Your breath caught. “You weren’t answering—”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” she cut in softly. “I was losing everything at once. I didn’t know how to reach for you without dragging you into it.”

You looked up at her.

Her eyes were so tired. So open. So unguarded in a way that broke something tender in you.

“You can drag me,” you said. “If you need to.”

She didn’t respond right away.

Just leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Okay.”

You drifted for a while after that.

Not asleep—just quiet. Pressed together in the stillness, tangled legs and tangled breath, neither of you saying much. The playlist kept looping softly in the background, a slow acoustic hum like a lullaby. One of your arms was pinned beneath her, the other draped lazily across her stomach. Her fingers traced patterns on your thigh until they slowed to a stop.

“Stay,” you whispered.

“I wasn’t planning to leave,” she murmured into your skin.

You smiled and closed your eyes.

AUGUST

It had been weeks.

Weeks since the fight. Since the slammed door. Since Riley looked at you like she didn’t even know who you were.

You hadn’t spoken since.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even a text.

And you felt it in your whole body—tight in your chest, raw in your throat, like the silence had claws. Like it was crawling under your skin and sinking in.

You were face down on your bed now, scream-muffled by your pillow as you kicked your feet like a child mid-tantrum.

“Fuck!” you shouted into the fabric. “Fuckfuckfuck—ugh!”

You flipped onto your back, groaning dramatically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes out of sheer frustration. Your bedroom was a mess—clothes half-folded, your sketchbook closed angrily on the floor, Spotify looping the same sad playlist you'd forgotten to turn off.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Sevika: she’s still not talking to me either she won’t even sit at the table it’s just… silent i think she hates me

You stared at the screen, your chest aching in that familiar way.

You: screamed into my pillow so hard i almost passed out i cant take this

You sat there for a beat.

Then sighed, grabbed your keys, and swung your legs over the side of the bed. You were already barefoot, still in your oversized hoodie from this morning and a pair of sleep shorts, but you didn’t care.

You needed out.

Out of this room. Out of this house. Out of your own fucking head.

The hallway creaked as you stomped down it. Your mom shouted something about dinner from the kitchen, but you ignored her, barely slowing down as you grabbed your bag off the bannister and shoved your feet into the first pair of shoes you could find.

The front door slammed behind you with a sharp bang that echoed across the porch.

You didn’t look back.

You just kept walking—down the driveway, past the lawn, into the thick heat of early evening—heart pounding like it was trying to break free from your ribs.

You didn’t know where you were going yet.

But you were done waiting. Done tiptoeing. Done pretending like your whole world hadn’t gone sideways the second you fell for Sevika.

The street was almost empty by the time you reached the corner where Sevika’s shop sat tucked between an old laundromat and a boarded-up vape store. The windows were dark, neon sign flipped off, the CLOSED placard hanging slightly crooked in the glass.

But the door was unlocked.

You pushed it open without knocking.

A bell chimed overhead, soft and eerie in the stillness.

Inside, the air was thick with ink, old music, and that faint metallic tang that always clung to tattoo shops. The buzzing machines were silent. Most of the chairs were covered, lights dimmed except for the small one above the front desk.

Sevika was there.

Sitting on the stool behind the counter, one boot braced on the lower rung, a pencil in her hand and a sketchpad balanced against her thigh. She didn’t look up right away—just exhaled sharply through her nose.

“We’re closed—”

Then her eyes met yours.

“Are you?” you cut in, breathless, your hoodie sleeves pushed up to your elbows.

A pause.

Then Sevika smirked. “Well. Look who finally snapped.”

You stepped further inside, letting the door shut behind you. Your voice was steadier than you felt.

“I want a tattoo.”

She blinked once. “What?”

“I want you to tattoo me.”

Her smile faded just slightly—brows drawing together as she tilted her head, studying your face.

“Don’t fuck with me right now,” she said quietly.

You didn’t blink.

“I’m not.”

The sketchpad in her lap slipped sideways, forgotten.

Sevika stood slowly, her eyes scanning you. “You’re serious.”

You nodded.

“What brought this on?” she asked, voice low and unreadable.

You crossed your arms, weight shifting.

“I need to feel something that isn’t this.”

That shut her up.

She looked at you for a long beat—long enough that your pulse started to climb. Then she stepped out from behind the counter, silent, walking past you and flipping the lock on the front door. The bolt slid home with a soft, final click.

Then she turned the sign.

CLOSED.

Her gaze met yours again. “Come on.”

The back room smelled like antiseptic, vinyl, and Sevika.

You laid down on your side as instructed, hoodie pushed up and shorts pulled down just enough to bare the curve of your upper thigh. The leather of the tattoo chair was cold against your skin, and the paper crinkled beneath you as you shifted.

Sevika rolled her stool into place beside you, gloves already on, her jaw tight as she prepped the machine.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Just the soft click of bottles, the snap of the glove around her wrist, the faint rattle of the cap as she poured ink into the tiny wells. Everything was quiet. Controlled.

Except for the way your pulse beat hard in your neck.

“You sure about this?” she asked, eyes flicking to yours as she cleaned the spot on your thigh with a swipe of cool antiseptic. “This isn’t like…” She hesitated. “This won’t go away.”

You held her gaze.

“I know.”

A beat.

She looked back down, drying the skin with a gentle touch. “Why a shark?”

You shrugged against the chair. “They never stop moving. If they do, they die.”

Her hands paused.

She glanced back up, slower this time, her voice softer. “Is that how you feel?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

She didn’t push.

The buzz of the machine filled the room a moment later, sharp and electric. You exhaled through your nose and let your fingers curl into the edge of the chair.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” she murmured.

And then she started.

The first sting of the needle made your breath catch, but you didn’t flinch. Sevika’s hand was steady, her grip firm but careful, anchoring you as the needle dipped and swept and dragged. The pain was sharp—biting—but beneath it was something steadier. Almost comforting.

She leaned in close, her breath warm against the back of your knee as she worked.

“You’re doing good,” she murmured, voice low, nearly lost under the hum. “Almost like you want me to hurt you.”

You smiled through clenched teeth. “Maybe I do.”

She chuckled under her breath, and her free hand slid up, steadying your hip. Her thumb rubbed a slow circle into your skin, grounding you.

“You’re insane,” she whispered.

“So are you,” you whispered back.

The needle buzzed on.

You stared at the ceiling, eyes fluttering every time she dragged a line up toward your hip. Her touch was so precise. So deliberate. You could feel her—really feel her—everywhere. In the burn, in the way her thigh brushed the edge of the chair, in the steady way she exhaled each time the line met skin.

“Gonna look hot,” she said after a while, like she was trying to stay casual.

You let your head roll to the side, watching her profile. “You gonna stare at it every time I wear shorts?”

She glanced up from her work, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You think I wasn’t already?”

You flushed, biting your lip.

The machine paused.

She sat back for a second, checking the stencil, wiping gently with a cloth. Her eyes flicked up again—softer this time. Brow creased.

“Why’d you really come here tonight?”

You swallowed.

“Because Riley hates me. Because I miss you. Because nothing feels okay anymore and I needed something that does.”

Sevika’s jaw ticked.

She set the machine down and reached up, brushing a thumb along the outside of your thigh. Not wiping—just touching. Just feeling you there, warm and real under her hands.

“You could’ve just asked me to hold you,” she said quietly.

Your throat closed.

“Would you have said yes?”

Her eyes softened.

“Yeah,” she said. “I would’ve.”

You looked away—just for a second—blinking hard.

The machine started again, softer now. Slower.

And when she leaned back in, closer this time, you felt her breath near your hip as she whispered:

“I’ll finish this… then I’ll hold you.”

The machine finally fell silent.

Just a soft click as Sevika switched it off and set it aside. You exhaled, eyes fluttering open like you’d forgotten you’d even closed them. The room felt different now—dim and warm and heavy with everything unspoken.

“Done,” Sevika murmured, her voice thick with something that wasn’t just concentration.

You blinked at her. “How’s it look?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just stared at your skin—at the fresh black lines of the shark now etched into the side of your thigh, the way it curved along the muscle like it belonged there.

Like you belonged here.

Her gloved fingers ghosted over the ink, featherlight.

“Fucking perfect,” she said quietly.

You felt your breath catch.

She peeled off the gloves, tossing them into the bin, and grabbed a clean cloth. Her hands were bare now, and when she dabbed at the tattoo with a cool solution, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Still okay?” she asked.

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

She gave a small smile but didn’t speak. Just kept working—slow, methodical, the way she always did when she was trying not to feel too much. She wiped around the edges, careful not to drag the raw skin, then pulled gauze from the cabinet behind her and gently smoothed it into place. You hissed softly as the tape pressed into your thigh.

“Sorry,” she said.

You shook your head. “Don’t be.”

When she finished, she didn’t move away.

She just stood there, looking down at you, hand still resting on your bare leg. You were still lying sideways, your hoodie rumpled and your shorts askew, one leg bent just enough to expose the soft curve of your ass, your back rising and falling slowly as your heart calmed down.

Or tried to.

“You should sit up,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

You shifted, starting to rise, but her hands were already there—firm at your waist, pulling you gently until you were in her lap. One thigh between your legs, your arms instinctively wrapping around her neck.

She settled back onto the stool with you curled on top of her.

“You good?” she asked again, her voice low against your ear.

You nodded into her shoulder. “Yeah. Just… don’t let go yet.”

Her arms wrapped around you tighter.

You stayed like that for a long moment, legs tucked around her waist, your cheek pressed to her collarbone. The buzz of the machine still echoed faintly in your bones, but now it was fading, replaced by the heat of her body under yours and the steady thud of her heart.

Her hand rubbed slow circles on your back. Her other slid under the hem of your hoodie, fingers grazing the waistband of your shorts.

“You really let me mark you,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Can’t stop thinking about that.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Her mouth brushed your jaw. “Feels like you’re mine now.”

You shivered, thighs tightening around her.

Her grip on your hips firmed. “Say it.”

You exhaled, voice wrecked. “I’m yours.”

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face. Then, slowly, she leaned in and kissed you—deep, slow, like she had all the time in the world to ruin you.

And she did.

Her hands dragged your hoodie up over your head, fingertips trailing fire across your ribs as you squirmed in her lap. Her mouth followed, hot and open against your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your breast as you arched into her.

“Say it again,” she growled, breathless now, lips dragging over your skin.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, fingers tangling in her hair. “I’ve always been yours.”

Sevika’s breath hitched at your words.

Her hands were already on your hips, sliding down over the soft stretch of your thighs, fingertips grazing just below the edge of your shorts. She kissed you again, slower this time—like she was trying to memorize your mouth, like she didn’t want to forget the way you melted for her.

You rolled your hips against hers, needing friction—needing her—and she groaned low in her chest, hands tightening.

“Fuck,” she muttered against your lips. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You rocked again, more deliberately now, your cunt dragging against the firm muscle of her thigh. Her hand slid between your bodies, slipping under the elastic waistband of your shorts and underwear in one move. You gasped at the contact—her fingers brushing through the wetness already pooled there.

“So wet for me,” she growled, voice rough, eyes locked on your face. “That from the tattoo, or me?”

You moaned, not even trying to hide it. “You.”

“Good,” she muttered, and then pushed two fingers into you in one smooth thrust.

Your head dropped to her shoulder, a breathy cry escaping your lips as she filled you—deep and slow and so damn perfect. Her palm pressed snug against you, thumb finding your clit like she knew exactly where your nerves sat waiting to unravel.

She fucked you like that—lazy and deep—her free hand braced on your back, keeping you pressed to her chest as you rocked together. Her thigh flexed under you every time you moved, sending sparks up your spine, your hips stuttering as the pleasure started to blur your thoughts.

“Ride it,” she whispered, voice dark. “C’mon, baby. Take what you want.”

You obeyed without thinking—grinding down on her hand, fucking yourself on her fingers, breath coming in short, ragged moans against her throat.

Her mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing where your bra strap had fallen down. “You feel that?” she murmured. “How tight you are around me? Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Your fingers clawed at her shoulders, holding on like you might float away. Her name left your lips again and again, breathless and ruined, until the sound dissolved into broken whimpers.

“I’m gonna—fuck, Sev—”

“Let go,” she ordered softly. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

That did it.

Your whole body arched, thighs trembling as your orgasm hit—slow at first, then hard, all-consuming. You gasped, grinding through it, buried in her neck as she held you through the waves.

She didn’t stop right away.

Kept her fingers moving, working you through every twitch, every breathless cry, until you were squirming in her lap, too sensitive, gasping her name again but this time almost begging.

Then finally—finally—she withdrew, her hand soaked, her arm still holding you tight.

You slumped against her, legs shaking, heart pounding.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

Sevika chuckled, low and smug, her lips brushing your temple. “I should tattoo you more often.”

You smacked her shoulder, but you were smiling.

Still dazed. Still hers.

And she knew it.

It was nearly sunset when the knock came.

Not a polite tap.

A pound.

You were still in the hoodie from last night—still aching, still soft in the legs, Sevika’s mark bandaged under gauze and your skin humming from everything she'd said. Everything she’d done.

The knock came again—harder.

You flinched.

And then the front door flew open.

“Riley?” your mom called from the kitchen. “Honey—wait—”

But she was already stomping down the hall.

You barely had time to sit up before she stormed into your room, chest heaving, eyes wild.

“You fucking bitch.”

The words slapped the air like a gunshot.

You blinked. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, don’t act confused,” Riley spat. Her hands were shaking. “You went crawling back to her, didn’t you?”

You stood up, instantly defensive. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“No? After you’ve been fucking my sister behind my back for God knows how long?”

“We weren’t—”

“Don’t lie to me!”

She was shouting now—full volume, no filter, face twisted in a way you’d never seen before. Betrayal, anger, humiliation—it was all there, boiling out of her as she shoved her fists into her sides.

“You let me cry to you about her. You knew I was spiraling over it and you just—what? Kept letting me walk around like an idiot while you were sneaking into her bed?”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Riley—”

“Bullshit!”

You flinched.

Riley stepped closer, voice trembling. “I told you things I’ve never told anyone. I let you into my family. And you—what? You let her draw you while I was downstairs?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god,” she laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “You probably fucking liked it, huh? Getting off on being the little secret. Letting her sneak around like a creep—”

“Don’t call her that,” you snapped.

“Why not?” Riley hissed. “It’s what she is.”

“She’s not—fuck you! You think you get to act like you’re the only one who’s hurt? You hit her. You went through her stuff. You outed her to your dad—”

“Because she lied to us!”

“Yeah, well guess what?” your voice cracked. “So did you.”

Riley’s face faltered.

“All those times you acted like I mattered—like I was part of your family—was that real?” You stepped closer. “Or was I just your emotional support pet until you got bored?”

Her jaw dropped. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you treating me like a villain for falling for someone who actually saw me.”

“Oh my god,” Riley said, voice rising again. “You seriously think this is a love story?”

You bit your lip.

“I think it’s mine. Whether you like it or not.”

Riley blinked rapidly, jaw tight. “You’re gonna lose everyone.”

You stared at her. “I already did.”

That shut her up.

The room went silent except for both of your breathing—heavy, fast, like the yelling had knocked the wind out of you.

Riley’s arms dropped to her sides, expression wrecked. She looked at you for one long, agonizing moment—eyes shining, mouth twitching like she still had more to say but couldn’t find the words.

Then she turned.

And walked out without another word.

The door slammed so hard, your window rattled.

And you stood there shaking.

Alone. Again.

The weeks that followed didn’t come in days.

They came in hours. Then minutes. Then seconds that didn’t seem to stop.

You stopped texting Sevika.

Stopped answering her calls.

But some nights—always too late to be normal, too early to be safe—you’d show up at her door. Hood up. Eyes red. Saying nothing. Kissing her like you were starving. Fucking like you were trying to outrun something.

Then leaving before the sun could rise.

She didn’t ask, not at first.

But one night, after your third visit in six days, she caught your wrist as you pulled your shorts back on and said softly, “You don’t have to keep doing this just to be near me.”

You didn’t reply.

You just kissed her harder.

And she let you.

The court date came and went like a wound no one acknowledged.

Your mother sat silent, composed, shoulders tight and face blank.

Your father sat across the aisle with his lawyer and his new wife. Your half-brother clutched a toy truck and kicked the seat in front of him.

You were there. But it didn’t feel like it.

Until your dad opened his mouth and said, “She’s eighteen. She’s not my responsibility anymore.”

The lawyer asked a follow-up question.

And your father smiled—smiled—as he said, “Honestly, I was only really fighting for the boy.”

“I never connected with her.”

Your mom flinched like she'd been hit.

You just stared at him. The buzzing in your ears louder than the courtroom air conditioner.

Something in your chest folded in on itself. Quietly. Permanently.

Riley didn’t speak to you.

Didn’t look at you. Didn’t respond to the apology you’d typed and deleted and typed again and finally sent.

On Instagram, she laughed loud with new people.

You heard her once in the background of a video caitlyn sent you.

“She’s just pathetic now,” she said. “Always hiding. Always acting like the world owes her something.”

It echoed in your ears for days.

Sevika tried.

She texted. Called. Even stopped by your house once, when your mom said you were “sleeping.”

You weren’t. You were awake. Curled in the corner of your bed, eyes open, phone face down, feeling like your bones weighed too much to move.

She sent you a voice memo once, late at night:

“I don’t know what’s going on with you. But I want more than this. I want… more than sneaking around and pretending it doesn’t matter. Because it does. You matter.”

You didn’t respond.

You wanted to.

But the silence felt safer.

The days stopped making sense.

Morning was just more light in your room. Night was just heavier silence.

Sometimes you’d shower. Sometimes you wouldn’t.

Your phone lit up like a lifeline on your nightstand, but you ignored every name that wasn’t hers. And even when it was hers… you still didn’t answer.

Your mom came in once and tried to make you eat.

You stared past her, eyes glassy.

She cried. Quietly. In the hallway, after.

You lost time.

An entire week passed without you realizing.

The tattoo on your thigh faded from fire to memory. The bandage came off. The skin healed.

But the pain didn’t.

Not even close.

And one night—wrapped in the same hoodie, lights off, phone still untouched—you whispered into your pillow:

“…I can’t do this anymore.”

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[luveline]

Hi lovely!

Can you please do one where Hotch and Reader are in a fight and it gets heated and he maybe raises his hand just because he’s shouting and she flinches?

He would be prepared to FIGHT whoever made his honey feel that way 🗣️🗣️

💘

for you my sweetheart. fem, 1k

cw implied past domestic violence 

“It was right,” you're saying, on the defensive, your voice molten, “it was the thing to do!” 

“It wasn't.” Hotch closes the door. “It wasn't the right thing to do, it wasn't even close.” 

You realise, under everything, that he's right, but you couldn't help yourself, you had to try and save the day, had to swerve the SUV. Plus, he's done it himself, and you both know that. “If Monikie got out of that exit we never would've seen her again.” 

“There were roadblocks on the I–46, and I don't think I have to tell you that you could've gotten a lot of people seriously hurt–” 

“You've done worse,” you deny.

His expression, broadly furious, narrows into something sharper, “And that is my decision to make, but you report to me.” 

“You can't seriously want to act like a boss now,” you say. 

The room isn't overly large, and so you stand close to one another with no need for shouting, but your voices begin to overlap. Hotch is so angry. It isn't like him to yell at you, his voice strained. 

“You can't truly think that the decision you made today was the right one. You need to calm down, and you need to listen to me when I tell you that this was the wrong move. We'll talk about it more tomorrow.” 

“You're shrugging me off?” You could laugh. “You can't be serious. Every member of this team has done the same, or worse–” 

“But they're not you!” His voice peeks, his hand jolting out in front of his chest, flat-palmed in incredulity. 

You're really quite close to each other. 

It's not his fault. 

You step back, desperate to be away from the movement, the hand, because it doesn't register as his hand, only there's a chair behind you and a table behind that and you bump into the plastic with a creak and screech. You're righting yourself as quickly as you're tripping but Hotch is already moving away. Three steps that feel like a gorge. 

Your heartbeat soars. 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. 

“Of course.” You breathe out funny. It's not his fault, but there's something wired in your brain now, and it knows that the first strike isn't the last. Your hand shakes as you brush at an itch under your eyes. 

“I'm not mad,” he says. 

“You sounded pretty mad."

“I've changed my mind.” He gives you a long hard look, and then he moves to the office door to open it before returning to his initial position. He's given you an exit route. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he says. 

You put your hands on your hips and bend at the waist, breathing out hard. “Fuck, I know that."

“You thought I might.” 

“So profile me,” you say, panicking still, face hot and itchy all over. “Tell me why.” 

“Someone's hit you before. Enough to anticipate the second blow.” 

“But you knew that already, didn't you?” 

Your ears get cloudy like there's water in them and you can't stand the feeling of Hotch's gaze on the back of your head. You force yourself into a standing position and try to ignore what happened. 

“You're unfairly angry with me,” you say. 

Hotch just shakes his head at you. 

“It's… It's not a big deal,” you say, quieter. He already knew because of course he did, every member of the team gets checked. You have records, and he's in a position of power unlike most, he could've read them like the morning paper. 

“Why would you say that?” 

“I can still do my job.” 

“I wasn't going to suggest you couldn't.” 

Then why… why is he looking at you like that? You're humiliated enough, and his gaze is so… so soft. So sorry. Tears gather warm behind your eyes and your chest aches like you've been holding your breath. You frown, eyebrows lifting at the starts, not knowing if you should beg him to forget the whole thing or finally give in. 

“Come here,” he says gently. Completely optional, his fingertips twitching but stationery at his side. 

You stare resolutely at your shoes. 

“I'm sorry I scared you, it wasn't my intention. I can imagine how it feels. I'm not mad, honey,” he says. His voice drops to a murmur, “Come here,” he pleads. 

You take a clumsy handful of steps and he meets you in the middle, arms going carefully over your shoulders. You'd feel condescended by it if it weren't shockingly nice to be considered in such a way, or if the solid mass of his arms around you didn't soothe. You feel protected rather than boxed in, held, and not restrained. 

His hand slides open down the length of your back.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” he repeats, for your ears alone. 

“It's not like it was really you that scared me.” 

The memory scared you. The flinch was instinctive, less to do with Hotch and more to do with the connection between a moving hand and stinging pain. 

He hangs his head by your ear until his nose touches your shoulder, and for a few seconds, it's just you and him together, no fighting, and no fast-approaching hands. 

“You didn't scare me,” you mumble, hiding your face in his shoulder instead, forcing him to stand tall. 

Incoming footsteps cut your embrace short, but he doesn't pull away too swiftly. His hands grave the lengths of your arms, and he gives you a long, loaded look. Before you can calibrate the action to the man, he's chucking you under the chin, a stroke of his index knuckle, a promise of more to say. 

He catches Morgan before he can enter the room and directs him back out. “Take a minute,” he advises you. 

You sit in a chair and do as he's offered. Memory is a tricky thing. 

[devinescribe]

The Kind of Guy To…

Snotlout Jorgenson

He's been one of my childhood crushes for forever (I literally was able to go to the first movie in theaters) it has been my favorite franchise and the live action did him so good :((( my babyyyyy

- He’s flirty to everyone, you might say, but when he falls, he actually falls and pays attention to you and only you.

- When you get together, he’s so scared of messing up, literally terrified.

- He’s an acts of service giver, but in a way that’s kind of scary. He thinks that to earn your love he has to do things for you and EARN your affection. His dad messed him up. In his life affection has never been given freely.

- Always offers to carry your stuff, even when you can handle it. Often picks you up as well because his “loving future wife shouldn’t have to be on her feet all day”

- Give him praise and he will melt. He’s never been praised, so when you say things like “you’re so strong!” Or “wow that was so cool!” Or “Thanks… I appreciate you.” He’s literally melting like a puppy for you.

- If you told him to kneel at your feet he would. When he’s with someone, I feel he’s devoted to the point of forgetting his pride a little bit. Legitimately thinks ‘pride be damned I love her…” Just don’t do it in public. He’d still do it… just maybe a lil embarrassed

- Kept confessing to you, and you through it was a joke until he finally asks you, “Why don’t you like me back?” You’re shocked. But it showed you he was serious.

- His type is badass women warriors with strength and courage, especially those with leadership capabilities. Don’t get him wrong, he loves being in charge, but he doesn’t mind when his woman is the one bossing him around… Also, as a strong, Norse Viking man… oh there’s nothing more he loves than a girl that’s on the plus sized side. You’re so plush, and so soft and so cute and hot and he can pick you up like a ragdoll and oh- . He loves it. He says that stretch marks “are something only FOOLS would call imperfections.”

- When you first start dating he’s scared to even hold your hand for fear of being too rough, too clingy, too much and too little at the same time. He seems like a prideful and scary guy, but when you get to know him, he’s scared and a little damaged.

- Often times, when Spitelout is involved, he just… keeps his head down, doesn’t really talk back and agrees… but when you defend him???? Oh boy, he is like yep this is the one.

- On that note, he won’t talk back against Spitelout UNLESS he’s talking badly about you. Then he goes against everything his mind is telling him and protects you, defends you, against anything his dad is saying.

- Not super big on physical touch. Sure he’s touchy, but it’s not his preferred way to feel loved or give it.

- At the edge, he often says that you two should have just had one singular home, because you have your own space, but you’re always in his anyway.

- Uhm the monstrous nightmare is the most heavy metal Viking proving dragon right? Yeah thats his dragon. He has to be one hell of a dragon rider, brave too. Hookfang and him have their moments but at the end of the day, they love each other like no other.

- Speaking of Hookfang is always so nice to you. The first time you were trying to decide who to ride with for something (you didn’t have your own dragon yet) you were scared Hookfang wouldn’t like you. Snotlout thinks you didn’t hear him when he said “He’ll care about you because you’re important to me…”

But you did.

- Always trying to be useful in one way or another. Like I said, he’s damaged from years of Spitelout on the brain, that you have to re-wire him into believing he’s worthy of love, and that he doesn’t have to earn it or pay you back.

“I just… I have to be useful I-i have to prove I’m worth your attention and your love and-“

“Snotlout… you don’t have to prove anything… you’ve already got me…”

“But I want to keep you… I-i don’t wanna mess up.”

- Late night flights, because then you’re both alone and he can be mushy and not think his pride is at stake. Yes, he still has that.

- Nicknames he calls you include: Babe, love, future wife, N/N, my heart.

- Knows absolutely everything about you, likes dislikes, even down to every mark on your body, he knows you like a map I swear to the gods-

- Whenever he sees you wearing something of his he has to take a deep breath and just “Odin give me strength to continue my task and not drag her back in there-“

- Mmm jealous? Looks like it. Internally? Scared you’ll find “better”.

“Dearest, no one is better for me than you…”

“B-but there is I’m sure of it I mean look at me I-i don’t… I don’t deserve someone as amazing as you.”

(Give him a kiss and say you love him and that changes to)

“Of course you’re with me , I mean I am great I’m… I’m… so… you should kiss me again.”

- Uh certified crashout, anyone talks bad about you, threatens you, hurts you? Oh boy…

- Always wants your attention, often doing stupid and dangerous things to get it. This goes from the Trial of Fire to… now. For Thor’s sake, he nearly got Deadly Nadder spikes in his brain for trying to impress you during a dragon raid.

- Speaking of, going back to HTTYD 1, he definitely tries his hardest to show you he actually cares. One time your house was amongst the first to catch fire, and he had come in to help you and your family out. Of course, at the time, you thought he was just helping and trying to seem heroic, not because he loved you more than his own life.

- Oh yeah, risks his life for yours. All the time. You get captured? He is telling Hiccup and the gang that they need to go get you now! This is of utter importance! He would barter his life for your own, and if he were Orpheus and you Eurydice, he would have traveled to Helheim and back to get you by his side.

(And yes. He would turn around. Because he loves you. And to show love is to turn around. To check that they are still with you, to protect. And Snotlout, above all, is a man who protects who and what he loves.)

[apomaro-mellow]

Steve gets the wrong number and starts texting an interesting guy. Steddie, modern au, no upside down

Steve had been feeling pretty good. He’d gone out, had a nice conversation with a girl at the bar and gotten her number. He didn’t feel sparks but she was nice and cute. They didn’t talk about anything too deep but when Steve had asked for her number she put it in and then left with her friends.

He tried not to be too desperate. But he wanted to let her know he was serious and that he would (eventually) be good boyfriend material. So a little before midnight, he shot a text to her to make sure she was alright.

[11:47] Hey this is Steve just making sure you got home okay 🙂

He had debated on the emoji but figured it was harmless and innocent in the end. He put his phone down and got ready for bed, expecting her to text back after a couple of minutes. Unless she didn’t get home safely. Steve tried not to think about that.

After changing his clothes and brushing his teeth he checked his phone. He lit up when he saw that Misty had replied.

(11:52) Sure did Steve-o (11:53) Thanks for your concern 🫡

Misty texted a little different from the way she talked. A bit more…well he wasn’t sure how to describe it. Misty seemed like a really straight-laced woman. She was in the process of getting her education degree.

Steve shot back another message, saying that he had a good time tonight and he really hoped to see her again. There it was. A clear intention. If she responded positively, he’d ask her out right then. But the reply didn’t come as quick as he wanted. When it got around 12:30, Steve finally called it a night. Misty had probably gone to sleep as well.

-------------------------------------------

[11:47] Hey this is Steve just making sure you got home okay 🙂

Eddie stared at the text he just received. He racked his brain for whoever Steve must be and what he had done all day today, wondering if he met someone but their name just slipped his mind.

But nope. He had spent this lovely Saturday at home, lounging around in his apartment on his day off. He hadn’t gone out. And he hadn’t met anyone named Steve. The message came when he was in the middle of making his near-midnight dinner of mac and cheese. Whoever this guy was, he was clearly checking in on someone.

Eddie looked at his surroundings. Decent place, a bit cramped but big enough for just him and for anyone who needed to crash on his couch. He had popped out earlier to get some cigs and he had in fact made it back safely.

(11:52) Sure did Steve-o (11:53) Thanks for your concern 🫡

And who said he didn’t have impulse control? He thought about it for at least two minutes before sending the message.

[11:55] I had a nice time tonight. Hope to see you again.

Eddie looked at the new text, his chewing slowing to a stop. This Steve guy had met someone, spent some time with them, and was now trying to set up another date. There were a few ways to go about this. For just a moment he considered what a rational person would do, just a moment though.

A rational person might’ve said right away ‘wrong number’ or ‘wires crossed’. But Eddie’s brain didn’t function on rationality. So even though Steve clearly meant to text someone else, Eddie thought of the best way to reply. It did take him a bit to send it, the macaroni was calling to him. But by 1, Eddie had sent something back.

(1:07) You saw me?  (1:09) From my apartment?  (1:10) Creepy

He went to bed, thinking he’d wake up to a very confused man and when morning came he wasn’t disappointed.

[8:13] What are you talking about? It’s Steve? From the bar?

Eddie checked his clock. It was ten in the morning. Who got up at eight on a Sunday? Eddie’s first thought was a church-goer. Those folks were early risers. But they didn’t frequent bars too much.

(10:29) Sorry man (10:30) I think you got the wrong number (10:30) I didn’t go to a bar last night.

Once he sent it, Eddie belatedly hoped the words weren’t too blunt. It couldn’t feel nice, getting a number error. But after a moment of thinking, he started coming around to the idea that maybe Steve wasn’t such a catch. People didn’t give wrong numbers after a good time. Maybe he actually was a creep.

[10:36] Oh. Well, I’m sorry to bother you.

Eddie rolled from his back onto his stomach. Curse his soft heart. He didn’t know anything about this man and somehow he felt sorry for him. But he wasn’t about to go gushing to a stranger. Who knows what kind of interactions Steve had with this mystery number? So instead, he went the typical Eddie route and tried to lighten the mood.

(10:38) Probably dodged a bullet (10:38) They could’ve been a serial killer (10:39) Or worse someone who jogs in the morning

He put that little dig there just to feel out Steve. If he wasn’t at church, maybe he was the kind to go and workout in the morning. In the middle of making his coffee, Eddie realized he was trying to learn about the dude and thought he might be courting danger. Then he heard a ‘ping!’ and any ideas of caution were thrown to the wind.

Leaning against the counter, the only sound was the percolating as he read what Steve had said.

[10:46] Okay confession. I did actually go for a jog this morning. Is that weird?

Eddie started to visualize this man and another alarm went off in his mind that he promptly shooed away.

(10:47) No not weird at all (10:47) It’s perfectly natural for an insane person (10:48) Didn’t you go drinking last night? (10:48) And then you went for a jog this morning? (10:49) You might just be more scary than a murderer (10:50) Scratch that (10:50) This seems like text book serial killer behavior (10:51) Bet this is how you scope out your targets

The coffee finished brewing and Eddie starting pouring it and it was only then he realized the wall he’d sent Steve accusing him of being a killer. It looked like texts from a crazy person. He looked crazy. His friends had complained more than once about him sending these streams of texts instead of keeping it all in one response. Steve was going to see that and leave him on read, or just block his number.

[10:57] Damn guess I better come up with a new tactic.

Eddie didn’t realize how hard he was smiling until he tried to drink and spilled hot coffee on himself. Alarms were ringing in his head again but he might as well be deaf.

Part 2