squazmine - Tumblr blog

squazmine · 29 days ago

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34+35+??

a/n: if ariana said "can you stay up all night? fuck me ‘til the daylight?" then i had no choice but to write 5 fics that left me dehydrated, limping, and spiritually transformed, bruh this fic took way too long. this post contains nothing but sickening smut, filthy filth, and hot women ruining me six different ways, every pairing is its own little porno novella. i made sure nobody goes home unsatisfied, so please hydrate, stretch, and turn your notifications off this is 10,000+ words of certified coochie combustion. yall have been warned ➤ MINORS DO 👏 NOT 👏 INTERACT ➤ scroll carefully, some of y’all can’t handle the grayson section ➤ reblogs and likes pls, i worked my clit off enjoy sluts 💌 —mama mila

pairings [SEPARATE]: sevika x reader, ambessa x reader, grayson x reader, vi x reader, caitlyn x reader

warnings... mdni ;; 18+ ;; nsfw ;; rough sex ;; dom/sub dynamics ;; oral ;; toys ;; overstimulation ;; degration ;; praise ;; body worship ;; size kink ;; straps ;; mommy kink ;; mirrors ;; cigarettes ;; orgasm control ;; fingering ;; marking ;; choking ;; hair pulling ;; slapping ;; gagging ;; titty sucking ;; age gaps (all legal) ;; spit play ;; possesiveness.

꒰ Sevika - baby, you might need a seatbelt when i ride it…

You wake up to her mouth already between your thighs.

It’s the softest kind of sinful. Blankets pushed down to your hips, sunrise sneaking through the blinds, and Sevika’s massive hands gripping your thighs like handles as she eats like she’s starving. Like this is breakfast. Like you’re hers.

You twitch when her tongue circles your clit again, sleep barely clinging to your body as she works you open. She's deliberate, slow, heavy licks, her nose brushing your mound as she hums against you. Your legs twitch once, twice.

"Morning, sweetheart," she rasps, lips slick and chin shiny as she peers up over your stomach. “Didn’t mean to wake you. You just looked too good.”

She kisses the inside of your thigh. Then bites it.

Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. "Sevika!"

“Shh.” Her eyes are dark. “Back to sleep, baby. I’ll take care of everything.”

You’re already soaking, but she drags it out. Makes out with your pussy like it's your mouth —slow, tongue heavy, teasing your hole and sucking your clit between her lips until your hips buck off the bed. She laughs, low and smug.

“Already squirming?” she murmurs. “Barely been ten minutes. Thought you liked it slow in the mornings.”

"You're insane,” you hiss, fisting the sheets.

She shrugs, voice full of that cocky rasp. “You say that like it’s new.”

You whimper when her fingers join her tongue. Two thick digits, slow but deep, curling up with practiced precision. You swear she knows your body better than you do. She sets a rhythm that makes your thighs shake, tongue flattening over your clit while her fingers drag across your sweet spot like a perfect key.

The orgasm hits you so hard, your vision blurs.

She keeps going.

Doesn’t even let you come down. Licks through it like she lives for your overstimulation, like every whimper you let out is worth waking up for. She only pulls back when you tug her hair and sob out her name.

Your breath stutters. “ohh I can’t! ”

“You will,” she growls, eyes dark and gentle all at once. “One more, baby. Just one.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re folded in her lap in front of the mirror.

She’s got her strap inside you, big, thick, and black with a low curve that rubs perfectly. Her thighs are spread wide, muscles flexing beneath you as she makes you grind down on her cock slow and sloppy. The mirror reflects everything: your flushed cheeks, your soaked thighs, the way she grabs your ass and helps you bounce, your teary, fucked-out eyes blinking up at your own reflection.

“Look at that,” she purrs, one hand grabbing your jaw and turning it to the glass. “Takin’ it so good. So deep.”

"Too much," you pant. Your hips are trembling, thighs burning, and her strap is buried so deep. You’re full in a way that makes your stomach ache, the angle hitting all the right spots as your slick makes a mess across both your legs.

“Nah, you got room,” she rasps. "This pussy always knows how to make space for me."

Her arm wraps around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach to press you down. She grinds her hips up, feeding you more of the strap, and you nearly collapse when the tip bumps your cervix.

“Thought you said you wanted a seatbelt?” she teases, breath hot against your ear. “Where’s all that bratty energy now, huh?”

Your hands scramble against her thighs, fingers digging into her thick, muscled skin. She’s wearing nothing but a wife beater, sweatpants half-down her thighs, strap cinched so tight around her hips it creaks when she moves.

And she moves.

Bucks her hips up into you, holds your waist down and grinds until you’re gasping, legs shaking, nails leaving crescent marks on her skin. You can feel your orgasm building again, too fast and too deep, your stomach's already tight, eyes already glassy,

“Go ahead,” she murmurs. “Cream on it. You're doing soo well, baby.”

You wail as you come, whole body tensing in her arms as she fucks you through it.

꒰ Ambessa - show me can you keep it up? Cause then I'll have to keep you up,

You asked to be on top.

Ambessa laughed.

And now you're here, legs trembling, face flushed, mouth locked around her tit, while your soaked pussy grinds down onto her strap like your life depends on it.

Her hand spreads across your ass, massive and hot, guiding your movements as you try to ride her in rhythm. But you’re falling apart. Every bounce makes her cock grind deeper inside you, her pelvis pressing into your clit just enough to keep you constantly on the edge.

“You wanted to be in control,” she growls, tilting your chin. “Show me, baby. Show me you can keep it up.”

You moan around her nipple, lips wrapped tight, tongue flicking it in desperation. Her tit is heavy in your mouth, sweat-slick and perfect, and she groans when you suck harder, needier.

“Such a greedy little mouth,” she purrs, flexing her hips up. You whine as the strap hits deeper.

“mmh too big...”

“I know,” she smirks. “you begged for it.”

Her arms flex, muscles rippling beneath her skin, and suddenly she’s lifting you, not off the dick, but just enough to bounce you down harder. She does it like it’s nothing. Like you weigh less than the glass of wine she drank earlier.

Your thighs burn. Your hands grip her shoulders. You can't stop moaning into her chest, sucking her tit like it’s air, while she takes your hips and drives you down on her cock over and over again.

“Fuck, Ambessa m-mommy”

“Mmm. That’s more like it, little girl.”

She slaps your ass, not hard, commanding. “Such a sweet little mess. Look at you. Crying already, and we’ve barely started.”

“I can’t,”

“oh you will.”

you’re bent backwards on her gold-trimmed bed, throat dry, legs shaking, while she fucks you into the kind of submission that leaves your soul floating.

“Open your legs for mommy.”

You obey instantly. Her voice doesn’t allow disobedience. Ambessa kneels between your thighs, strap glistening from the last round, her lips glistening even more.

She goes slow this time.

Not because she’s being gentle, but because she enjoys watching you unravel. Her hands keep your legs spread wide, and her mouth... god, her mouth moves like she’s tasting the finest fruit in the empire. She hums, deep and low, like she owns your body and wants the world to hear it.

You writhe.

"Stay still," she warns. "or I’ll tie you down."

The threat makes you clench.

She chuckles. Then she spits on your pussy and dives back in.

You cum with a scream, thighs trembling so hard you nearly kick her in the face, but she holds you still, licking until you’re sobbing, too sensitive, too full,

She loves it.

“Poor thing,” she croons, rubbing your stomach. “so small. So easy to ruin.”

Eventually, you pass out.

For like... six minutes.

꒰ Grayson - you might think i’m crazy, the way i’ve been craving…

You’re in her lap. Her big, warm hands are resting on your thighs, just under your skirt, her mouth brushing the corner of your jaw.

She whispers against your skin. “You gonna tell me why you came here at midnight in something so short?”

You shift in her lap. It’s already hot between your legs. Her thigh is thick and firm beneath you, and you can feel her muscles move through her slacks when she shifts. Her hand glides to your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You gasp when she slips her thumb into your mouth.

“There,” she murmurs. “just like that, relax. You’re safe here.”

She kisses you. Full lips, gentle pressure, firm hold. You moan into her mouth, and she just drinks it in, one hand cupping your ass, the other sliding up your back beneath your shirt. Her fingers are calloused. Warm. She slides them up until they find your bra clasp and unhooks it like she’s done it a thousand times.

"Is this what you wanted, darling?" she whispers against your lips.

You nod frantically. “Please, I need —”

“I know,” she says softly, like she's soothing a fire. “Let me take care of you.”

Grayson sets you on her desk.

Pushes the reports aside, the polished nameplate, the pen you’d been chewing on earlier. Her hands go to your knees and part them like it’s nothing. Like you belong to her.

She sinks to her knees.

Your heart skips. You’ve seen this woman command entire divisions. She’s terrifying in a court, powerful in every room, and she’s kneeling in front of you like worship.

Your panties are already soaked.

She doesn’t even pull them down at first. She just presses her face into the damp fabric, nuzzling, inhaling. Her breath is hot through the cotton.

“So sweet,” she murmurs. “You’ve been wet since I called you ‘darling' earlier, haven’t you?”

You whimper. "mhmm yes ma'am."

She doesn’t make you beg long.

Her tongue is slow at first. Gentle. She kisses your inner thigh. Then licks you through your panties, long, slow, messy licks until you’re squirming and your hands are in her hair.

She slips your underwear down your legs and hums when she finally gets her mouth on you.

Her tongue moves like she’s memorising you. Circling your clit, pressing into your folds, curling up into your entrance just to tease. Her hands are on your hips, holding you still.

You start to cry when she moans into you.

It’s too much, too intimate, and when you sob out her name, she finally looks up. Her mouth is slick. Her eyes are kind.

"That's it. Let go. I've got you."

When she slides two fingers inside, it’s perfect.

Not rushed. Not rough. Just deep, slow, and careful. She watches your face the whole time. You can’t look away. She’s so beautiful like this, face flushed, sleeves rolled up, blue jacket still buttoned, hair mussed from where you gripped it.

She curls her fingers, presses her palm against your mound and drags her touch across that perfect spot inside you. You cry out, back arching. She doesn’t stop.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she murmurs. “I want to see your face when you come.”

And you do.

You fall apart on her fingers, thighs shaking, body quaking as her mouth claims your clit again and she keeps working you through it, gentle but relentless, dragging the orgasm out until your nails leave marks on her desk.

You don’t even realise she’s lifted you until you’re in her lap again, back against her chest.

Her fingers are still inside you, lazily fucking you as you twitch from overstimulation. Her other hand is on your chest, cupping your breast.

“Such a good girl,” she murmurs against your neck. “So good for me. You did so well.”

꒰ Vi - Got the neighbors yellin earthquake, 4.5 when I make the bed shake,

"Strip. Now."

You’re naked and on your knees in seconds, thighs already shaking in anticipation.

Vi pulls out the toy bag like it’s a ritual. Unzips it, slow and smug, and holds up the strap first —black, thick, and buzzing lowly in her palm. Your mouth drops.

"Remember this one, baby?" she grins. “The one that made you cry and drool last time?”

She climbs on the bed, already strapping in. The curve is perfect, the base buzzing quietly while she fastens it to her hips like a fucking weapon. She's not even undressed yet, just in that damn hoodie and those godforsaken gray sweats, letting her strap do the talking.

“You know the rules,” she says, licking her lips. “Color?”

“r-red,” you breathe, already throbbing.

She nods. “Good. You’re gonna need it.”

First, she ties your wrists.

Not tight, but enough to keep you still. Arms above your head, ankles spread by her hands as she crawls between your thighs, eyes burning.

“Missed this pussy,” she whispers. “Missed the way you taste when you’re desperate.”

Her mouth hits your cunt and you scream.

No teasing. No warm-up. She eats you like she’s starving, fast, messy, spit and tongue everywhere, her nose grinding your clit as she groans into you like she’s trying to leave a mark. You writhe, sobbing into the pillows, already close because she knows you. Knows how to lick, suck, fuck with her tongue and make your brain go blank.

You come in like 90 seconds. She doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even slow down.

She just slides two fingers in, curling, rough, and holds you there while you writhe, overstimulated and crying into the mattress.

“Already?” she laughs. “You’re falling apart and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

When she flips you over, your thighs are trembling.

You’re on your back now, wrists tied above your head, legs open, and Vi between them with that strap angled just right. She holds a vibrator in one hand, silver, sleek, vicious.

She clicks it on. Presses it to your clit. You scream.

She smiles.

Then lines up the strap and slides in.

You didn’t know you could feel this full.

The dildo is thick and long, already vibrating inside you as she fucks in deep and slow. Your body arches off the bed, muscles tightening as she grinds her hips down, rolling the toy against every sweet spot inside you. The vibrator is still on your clit, held tight between you.

She’s fucking you into the mattress. Literally.

The bed frame bangs against the wall, once, twice, loud enough that the neighbor knocks from the other side.

“Vi, oh!” you gasp.

She laughs. "Let ‘em hear," she grunts. “Let ‘em know who fucks you this good.”

Your orgasm hits like a truck. You go stiff, back bowing, a cry ripping from your throat as you clench around the vibrating strap and the toy makes your clit throb. Vi watches the whole thing, smirking, sweating, thrusting through your release like she’s on a mission.

Then she turns the vibrator up. Another level.

You sob. “No no no I can’t Vi, please!”

She leans over you, breath hot, one hand wrapping lightly around your throat as she slows the thrusts to deep, grinding pushes.

“You can,” she purrs. “You’ll give me one more. I know you will. You’re my good little mess, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, tears falling, thighs twitching as she forces another orgasm from your wrung-out body.

You scream again when you come. She kisses your open mouth, still fucking deep and slow, like she wants you ruined for anyone else.

꒰ Caitlyn - You such a dream come true, true. make a bitch wanna hit snooze, ooh

Her accent is worse than the teasing. Worse than the lingerie she bought you, white lace, half-off, thin and already soaked. Worse than the mirror showing every inch of your shame, flushed cheeks, trembling thighs, the way your cunt clenches nothing when she so much as grazes your skin.

"Eyes up," she commands softly. "I want you to watch yourself fall apart."

She touches you like it’s a lesson in patience.

No rush. Just long strokes over your stomach. A kiss behind your ear. Her hand sliding between your thighs and resting there. Not rubbing. Not moving.

“Desperate already?” she muses. “So needy for my fingers. Or is it just the sound of my voice?”

You nod, frantic. “n-need you”

She hums. “Manners.”

“Please, Miss Kiramman.”

She smiles. That smile. Dangerous. Rich. Full of pride and ownership.

“Good girl.”

The first touch is electric.

Her fingers press against your clit, slow circles that drag a whimper from your throat. Your legs twitch. She holds you still with one hand at your lower back, the other teasing your entrance without giving you what you want.

"So responsive," she murmurs. “I could do this all night.”

And she does.

She edges you. Brings you close, then pulls away. Toys with your nipples, mouth warm and wet, tongue swirling slowly as her fingers sink inside you, just enough to make your thighs shake. Not enough to let you come.

Over and over. You sob. You beg. Your knees give out.

Caitlyn just tilts your face up to the mirror again.

"See that? That’s what I do to you.”

You finally break when she pulls out the vibrator.

Small. Silver. Discreet. She turns it on and presses it to your clit with precision, holding it just right while two fingers slide back in. Your whole body convulses.

"oh Cait, please I can’t!"

She clicks her tongue. “You’ll come when I say, not before.”

You’re sobbing.

She kisses your cheek. “You’re like a dream come true, darling.”

Your orgasm hits when she lets it.

She leans down, voice velvet against your ear. “Now, my love.”

Your body shatters. You scream, legs twitching, tears streaking your cheeks as she works you through it, vibrator still on, fingers slow and loving, her lips murmuring praise into your neck.

"That’s it. That’s my girl. So perfect for me."

reblogs are appreciated!!

taglist: @georgiahs-stuff @shanesevikasfuckdoll @illbecanon @sevikas-whore @barelykiramman @sapphicstrawcore @sevikaswinkinghole @riotstemple29 @amri0ram @yuripilledfemme @mommyissuesismypersonality @butchpuppyy @shxdy0ariia @kousanosgf @lucidfairies

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squazmine · 1 month ago

Text

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 —

summary!; bodyguard!sevika x reader > you are a PR management control for a band named faultline and things get messy and out of hand, which calls for a new security personnel.

wc; 5.7k — cw; dom top!sevika, bottom!reader, fingering, biting, scratching, lots of cursing, if you skim you’ll miss pet names, humping, MINORS DNI!!

notes - this is my first post! i intended for this to be a series if people like this fic, i have had this idea sitting in my drafts and finally decided to put it into words! enjoy!🌸 p.s. @littledykeblue account gave me the motivation to post! 💗💗💗 go check them out!

part 2 here!

Faultline. The only rock band that seemed to live up to its name. They’re messy, chaotic, and then turn the internet upside when they really want too.

And you? Well you have the damn luxury to be the fucking ductape of this band. Fucking backbone even. With only you having the pleasure of cleaning up their messes.

Every. Damn. Time.

The hallway outside the VIP lounge still smells like sweat, hairspray, spilled champagne, and ego. You shove the double doors open with both hands, the slam echoing loud enough to make a few crew members flinch from their seats.

“Jinx!”

She’s sprawled on a velvet couch like she’s the queen of a ruined empire, all glitter and eyeliner and zero remorse. You don’t know how she’s still smiling after what just happened. The show incident. The shouting match. The mic she nearly threw at Vi.

You storm toward her, ignoring the sidelong glances from assistants and event staff still pretending not to be eavesdropping.

She doesn’t even blink. Just props her boots on the armrest, upside-down and grinning like a menace. As if she's expecting this outburst from you. Cocky bastard.

“You know, if I had a dollar for every time you screamed my name—”

“—you’d be paying for the goddamn crisis PR team I had to hire after the last time you lost it in public!” you snap, jabbing a finger in her direction. “What the hell was that out there!?”

Jinx twirls a lollipop between her fingers like she’s twelve and invincible. “A family moment.”

“She bumped your shoulder.”

“She meant it.”

“She brushed you and you tried to bodycheck her in front of three different cameras and a live stream!” Your voice cracks as you throw your hands up. “You want me to lose this job? Because that’s the next step! I already had to fake two fucking apologies and bribe a damn blogger today!”

Jinx winks, her legs swinging off the couch with her elbows resting against her knees. “You’re so good at it though.”

“You’re going to be the reason I develop stress ulcers.”

“Could be worse,” she says, blowing a kiss. “Could be herpes.”

You let out a strangled sound.

That’s when you hear it—the quiet thud of boots on the hardwood near the door. You don’t need to look. You clocked her the second she walked in. Standing guard like she belongs in a damn action movie: arms crossed, black shirt stretched over muscle, one scarred eyebrow raised in calm observation.

Sevika.

Some newly hired personal security. Supposed to be here to “reinforce safety protocols and de-escalate threats.” Which, so far, you haven’t seen her do once. Considering that this is your first real encounter, her stance is a little intimidating. A little. You hadn’t spoken yet—not more than a nod when she was introduced earlier—but she’s been watching the room with that cold, unbothered stare the whole damn time.

You finally glance at her, jaw tight. “I assume you were hired to prevent a repeat of the Vi situation?”

Sevika doesn’t move. “Didn’t realize I was hired to babysit.”

Jinx loses it, nearly falling off the couch in laughter. You glare at both of them, pulse hammering behind your eyes.

“I don’t care what unresolved twin hell you two have going on,” you say, turning your focus back to Jinx. “The sponsors are jumpy. The label is breathing down my neck, and you guys haven’t even got halfway through your fucking tour yet! If I get one more email with the word rebrand, I’m going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

She rolls onto her stomach like a bored cat. “What happened to letting me be authentic?”

“Authentic doesn’t mean unhinged.”

“Pretty sure it does if you’re me.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Unbelievable..”

You turn to leave—but Sevika shifts just slightly. She’s still leaning on the wall, but she subtly blocks the door with one arm, like she’s testing whether you’re going to keep unraveling.

You stop, your temper still burning like acid. “Something to add?”

She looks at you then—really looks. Not dismissive, not hostile. Just… assessing. Measuring the edge in your voice, the tight grip you still have on your clipboard, the wild mess of a job you’re doing to keep a whole brand duct-taped together.

“You good?” she asks, voice low and even. Not teasing. Just… steady.

You blink.

“…Yeah,” you say. “Totally thriving right now.”

She doesn’t smile, but something in her expression shifts. Like she’s seen this kind of pressure before, just not wrapped in eyeliner and a chaotic PR spin.

“You always this high-strung?” she asks, that same calm tone—but now with a little curiosity under it.

You bristle. “Only when I have to explain basic boundaries to a crazy grown ass woman.”

Jinx salutes from the couch.

Sevika tilts her head just slightly, that unreadable look still in place. “You hold it together better than most.”

You glance back at her, slightly narrowing your eyes. She’s unreadable. Solid. Completely unshaken by the chaos around her. And for some reason, that is the most unsettling thing of all.

“Yeah, well…” you mutter, pulling open the door. “Get used to it. This is only just a quiet night.”

You feel her eyes follow you out. And it’s not until the door swings shut behind you that you realize,

you're not entirely sure which one of them you should be more worried about.

──────────

You’re barefoot on a fake leather couch that squeaks every time you shift. Your heels are kicked off by the door, one of them scuffed—probably from when you chased Jinx off the fire escape earlier.

Your phone is at 6%.

The Notes app is open to an aggressively polite draft that reads:

“We’re aware of the situation that occurred between performers Jinx and Vi at tonight’s event. At this time, we…”

You delete the whole sentence in one angry swipe. This is fucking ridiculous. If Jinx just manages to keep her damn hands to yourself and her mouth shut, none of this would be necessary! You swear you’re going to grow gray hairs at this rate. With the two unhinged sisters going on tour. You had a feeling some shit was going to happen. Christ, this was only just the fourth show so far, and they have already messed up so much. But then again, who else would deal with their chaotic selves?

Regardless, a knock interrupts your train of thoughts.. Except not really. More like a dull tap tap against the open door frame.

You don’t look up.

“You're still here?” you mutter, thumbs pausing over the screen.

Sevika’s voice rumbles in like the bassline of a threat. Or a reassurance, “Didn’t hear an all-clear.”

You glance up. She's leaning in the doorway like she owns the place—jacket draped over one arm, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. The overhead light hits her jaw just right. Of course it does.

“I didn’t realize I needed to declare the room emotionally decontaminated.”

Sevika walks in anyway.

She grabs one of the unopened water bottles from the counter, cracks it open, and drinks half without blinking. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to say anything. That silence is part of the intimidation package, probably.

You go back to the message:

“...mutual artistic tension between the performers is part of their established brand and we do not condone—”

No. God, no.

You throw your head back with a groan.

“I went to school for this,” you say out loud. “Media strategy. Corporate theory. Top of my class. And now I’m negotiating apologies between two adult women who threw mic stands at each other like they were on fucking Jerry Springer.”

Sevika huffs something that might be a laugh. “Sounds like you’re good at it.”

You glare at her over your phone. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Nope.” She shrugs, then crosses to the armchair across from you and sits with the kind of heavy ease that only people like her can pull off. Like she's never once rushed a thing in her life. “Just calling it.”

You squint at her. “Do you even do anything? Or is looming your main job?”

“I stop things before they break,” she says, tone even. “You’re the one walking in when they’re already cracked.”

That hits. A little too accurately. Jeez she just started working too, you wonder how many similar scenarios she had seen compared to this. You go quiet. The only sound is the soft buzz of your phone warning you it’s now at 5%.

“I didn’t know about you until today,” you say finally, softer. “PR only told me after the Vi thing. That they were bringing in someone to... ‘manage conflict.’” You put the air quotes in hard.

Sevika nods once, unbothered. “They wanted someone who didn’t scare easily.”

You snort. “And yet you flinched when Jinx tried to light her setlist on fire.”

“That wasn’t flinching,” she says dryly. “That was calculating fire risk.”

You glance at her, then back at your phone, hiding a smile behind your knuckles. No, that wasn’t funny. Stop.

“I’m used to security being in the background,” you say after a beat. “Not...participating in group therapy by proximity.”

“You yell loud,” Sevika says. “Hard not to overhear.”

“That was just me being calm.”

She leans back a little, studying you. “Right. I’ll brace myself for when you’re actually pissed then.”

Another pause. Not awkward. Just...stretched.

You close the Notes app, giving up with a headline to fix the situation right now.

“They make me care too much,” you admit, voice quiet. “Jinx. Vi. All of them. And they don’t even know it. Or worse—they do, and they don’t care.”

You regret saying it the second it leaves your mouth. Shit, that made you sound vulnerable didn’t it? Worst part was they probably don’t even realize the amount of effort you put in just to keep their band going.

But Sevika doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t offer a half-assed platitude. She just nods, slow and steady, like she understands without needing to say it.

“You can’t fix people,” she says. “You just hold the line.”

You blink at her.

“I thought you weren’t here to give advice.”

“I’m not,” she says, standing again, stretching one shoulder with a quiet roll. “Just figured you looked like someone who needed to hear it.” She starts toward the door, jacket slung over her shoulder. But she stops before she leaves.

“You should plug in your phone,” she adds without turning around. “I’m assuming tomorrow’s gonna be worse.”

You smile despite yourself. “Thanks for the pep talk, Sevika.”

That scarred eyebrow lifts slightly. “Wasn’t one.”

Then she’s gone.

And you’re still sitting barefoot on a couch that smells like Jinx’s hairspray, staring at your phone screen, wondering what the hell just happened—and why it felt like someone finally saw you through all the damn chaos. Maybe she wasn’t so shady after all..

Actually, speaking of shady. Now you’re curious about Sevika, because she came out of nowhere earlier in the VIP room. A thought crosses your mind. You jump up to plug your phone in before it dies on you. Your phone has truly been through hell, at this point you need to be sponsored by high quality brands just to feel content.

Regardless, you grabbed your computer from your bag and went to sit back down on the fake leather couch, it giving that obnoxious squeak sound. You just rolled your eyes. Your fingers were quick to log in, as you clicked on a new browser typing in;

Sevika. Faultline security.

Nothing immediately comes up. You try just ‘Sevika’, and suddenly you’re scrolling through blurry photos: her towering outside venues, sunglasses on even at night, arms folded, always near chaos but never in it. One grainy paparazzi shot has her with her hand braced against someone’s chest—is that a Medarda? Anyways, she was holding her back mid-argument. The title reads:

“SECURITY OR BOUNCER BAE? WHO IS FAULTLINE’S MYSTERY MUSCLE?”

You chuckled, and kept scrolling.

She’s private. That much is clear. No Instagram, no interviews, no tags you can trace. But the fan forums are already on it. There’s a Reddit thread titled “Sevika thirst trap central” with hundreds of reposts.

You click it. Just for research. Obviously..

Clearly the entire page was just full of thirsty girls and possibly some blurry pictures here and there of Sevika. Eventually, you pause, thumb hovering over a photo of her from backstage—cigarette between her lips, arm slung over a crate like she owns the building. Professional interest, you tell yourself. But your stomach’s doing that thing.. and it shouldn’t. Ugh.

As you scroll, your thumb slows as you hit a post buried halfway down a forum thread titled "Faultline's Realest Ones". Most of it is memes and low-res gifs, but then— a user named spittinimage32 posts a screenshot of a blurred-out article, dated three years ago. The headline is cropped, but you can still make out part of it:

“...Security Contractor Under Investigation After Club Incident Leaves Two Hospitalized.”

Underneath is a zoomed-in still from grainy security footage. The photo quality is awful, but you recognize her—Sevika, unmistakable even in motion blur and shadow. Standing over a man doubled over on the pavement, one arm outstretched like she’s just landed a punch.

The caption under the post reads:

→ “Pretty sure this was her before she started working with musicians. Some private club Zaun. No charges were filed, but the story disappeared fast.”

You tap the article link. It’s dead. Damn, that’s some good management. Wish you had power like that.

Another comment below says:

→ “Medarda’s firm handled it. Probably paid the guy off.”

You stare at the screen, heartbeat picking up just slightly. The Medarda’s. They’re wealthy business owners, and wealthy like— dollar dollar bills wealthy and they don’t stop till they get what they want. This must’ve been serious, you think to yourself.

No official record. No explanation. Just that photo. Her fist. And two men in the hospital.

You suddenly remember how calm her voice was when she told you earlier, “I don’t step in unless I have to.”

Apparently, when she does, someone ends up in a trauma ward. But are you surprised? Not really. If she gets the job done then.. That's that. Although now you’re left wondering what truly happened in that situation.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You wake up to the buzz of your phone—fifteen unread messages, three voicemails and especially one from your boss saying ‘fix it’, then at least ten push notifications from media outlets.

“BREAKING: Vi Allegedly Wants Out of Faultline,” “Is the Band Imploding?” and your personal favorite, “PR Nightmare or PR Genius?”

You scroll faster, heart thudding. There’s multiple blurry shots of Vi storming off stage, Jinx yelling with a microphone in her hand as if she’s about to throw it, and somewhere in the background—your face, mid-horrified gasp. You try to breathe, but the headlines keep coming. Sponsors threatening to pull out. The tour manager "checking in." The label asks where your “statement” is. And all of this before coffee.

Fucking hell you expected this. After the whole chaotic mess from last night, you didn’t think it would be this bad. But this? This is beyond fucked.

You're not even dressed when the emails start rolling in—

"URGENT: Clarify band status." "What’s the narrative here?" "Is Jinx okay?" "Is Vi leaving?"

You throw your phone on the bed. Immediately regretting it, picking it back up.

Your team’s group chat is useless. Two interns are arguing over font sizes for the Instagram apology and your assistant is asking if she should cancel the shoot or wait for someone else to make the call. Not even that but when you call both Jinx and Vi, neither of them picks up. You’ve probably messaged them more than a dozen times, acting like a damn desperate ex.

They’re lucky the next show isn’t until three weeks. But that only means three weeks to fix all of this shit.

You’re now pacing your hotel room in a hoodie, coffee going cold on the counter. There are like five open tabs on your laptop, and every headline feels like another layer of anxiety pressing down. The one that sticks out the most to you:

“Insiders say PR is losing control.”

and only probably because they’re right. You are losing it.

You hastily get dressed, the least thing you're doing is only making yourself look neat with your hair up and your makeup done but barely noticeable. The shirt you have on feels like a damn compressor against your chest as if it's restricting you to breath, and your jeans— god you look and feel like a fucking mess.

──────────

You storm into the temporary backstage office at the venue from yesterday’s show, clipboard in hand and murder in your eyes. There’s a junior label rep there—smug, unhelpful, sipping a green juice and scrolling on their iPad. You ask if they’ve handled the sponsor callback list. They blink at you. “We’re waiting to see how the narrative evolves.” They pause before adding, “Oh and— we’ve lost two sponsors.”

That’s when it happens.

You scream.

Something about "narrative evolution" and "branding alignment" and “how this isn’t a goddamn improv troupe, it’s a multi-million-dollar tour and we are hemorrhaging public goodwill like a gunshot wound!” You’re near tears. Frustrated. Helpless. And fucking livid. You’re talking too loud, your voice is breaking, and nobody is doing anything.

The room goes quiet. People freeze. Hell, some even have the audacity to back out of the room from you.

Then—

A low voice from behind you cuts through the static.

“Hey.”

You spin around, breathing heavily, expecting more bullshit. But it’s Sevika. She’s leaning against the wall with arms folded, unreadable as always. Where the hell did she come from?

“You done yelling at the kid?” she says, calm. Not mocking. Just... grounding.

You blink. Realizing your hand—matter fact your whole damn arm is shaking. Your breathing’s off. Your face is most likely red.

She steps forward, slow, steady, and without touching you, positions herself between you and the others in the room. She says nothing else. Doesn’t need to. The tension starts to bleed out of the air.

Someone asks if they should reschedule the press call.

Sevika looks at them. Just looks.

They scurry out.

She turns back to you. “Come on. Breathe.”

You inhale. Exhale. You hate that it works. Hate more that she’s the only one who’s helped all day.

“I’m going to snap,” you whisper, not entirely joking, as your hands clenched into a fist.

“No,” she says. “You’re not. Because you’re the only one who knows how to keep this thing from falling apart. And you’re not about to give them the satisfaction of seeing you lose it.”

You’re still shaking, but her voice, low and steady, keeps you anchored. Your phone buzzes again. You silence it this time. You nod once. Just once. Enough to say; I’m still here.

And Sevika steps aside. Not leaving. Just letting you move forward again. But now with someone behind you who’s actually watching your back.

Eventually, you’re working with the other interns and your assistant to handle the chaos that is currently circulating around the damn internet. You decided to take on the press call only hoping this will smooth the headlines out for now. You still keep checking your phone just in case you get a message or a call from either of the sisters.

But you doubt that will happen.

Not really a choice made but it came to a conclusion that you have to take an overnight red-eye trip for a crisis briefing. Great. Just another thing to look forward to. You sighed softly, throwing your clipboard aside for now. The room had been emptied out for the day. You hadn’t even realized that you all were working the entire day to fix this mess.

You lean back against the couch, your head resting back staring at the ceiling. You felt the couch dip beside you, already knowing who it is.

You don’t bother to look.

“I’ll come with you,” Sevika says.

“There’s no need”

“I’m not asking, it’s protocol” she says in a tone that is non-arguable.

You scoff, slowly turning your head to look at her. But for some reason you don’t really mind that she’ll tag along with you. Infact you find it better that you have company rather than handling it alone, like always.

But seriously?

“Protocol my ass..” you muttered out, going back to gazing at the ceiling. But she didn’t say anything back.

You both knew it was her choice.

Before you knew it, you were in the car with her as she drove. The place was only just a couple hours from the previous show. Both your bags in the back as the car was silent throughout the drive. Some small talk here and there as she stopped for gas, and as well getting you some snacks. Other than that, the ride was silent.

Silence was slightly awkward though. Sometimes you’d catch her glancing at you, or vice versa. There was still tension from before. It wasn’t anything bad but— there was something lingering between you two. You couldn’t help but notice her wearing casual attire. The sleeve hugging against her biceps, the dark brown complimenting her skin color as her as the slight makeup she used on her face. Just some eyeliner and brown lipstick.

Yeah— you definitely couldn't deny it now. She was very attractive. Her sleek jaw, hair pulled back into a half up ponytail, the way her lips were the perfect amount of thickness, and those biceps— christ. You knew you were beyond screwed. She was beautiful, handsome even.

And you?

Probably not even her type regardless. Or so you thought.

“You think this crisis meeting will solve anything?” Sevika asks, breaking the silence and odd tension from your trance.

You sighed from exhaustion before responding, “The best that will come out of it right now will probably be controlling the headlines and to avert their attention from Jinx and Vi to something else. Probably the next show or something..” you pause, rubbing your temples before continuing, “This will only be properly fixed once they get their shit figured out. And to answer their damn phone calls.”

You checked your phone to see if either of them had texted, but nothing. You sighed, setting your phone down.

“You’ll figure it out” She says after a beat, glancing at you.

“Yeah I’m the only one who ever does” You retorted, scoffing as you met her eye for a moment.

Even though it wasn't loud, you heard her chuckle under her breath. Your lips quirked from amusement hearing that from her. You eventually look away as you two fall into silence again. Comfortable silence.

──────────

You’ve both just endured a brutal crisis meeting. You're exhausted, emotionally fried, but still high on tension. Sevika’s been calm the entire time—cutting through the bullshit in the room when you couldn’t, quiet when she needed to be, but fiercely in your corner.

You’re both walking into the hotel, late-night check-in, bags slung, the hallway quiet.

You walked up to the front desk, giving the receptionist your last name that you booked the rooms under.

“Looks like we’ve got you down for just one deluxe king suite!” the lady behind the desk replied cheerfully as she prepared the card for you.

You blink.

“That better be a mistake” You say, staring at the receptionist lady with a deadpan stare.

“Sorry honey, we’re fully booked tonight otherwise” She had replied, sliding the key to you on the desk.

Are we fucking serious.. you think to yourself.

You slowly turn to Sevika with an unreadable look. She raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Fucking perfect,” You muttered under your breath.

The check-in desk had one job. One. You blink at the concierge like they just slapped you.

“There were supposed to be two rooms by the way,” you say, tone brittle enough to cut tile.

The receptionist gives you that polite corporate shrug that means “not my problem.” You don’t even have it in you to argue. Not after the crisis meeting that felt more like a firing squad. Not after watching half the label toss blame back and forth while you took notes on how to be their next scapegoat. Not after Sevika said absolutely nothing the entire time but still managed to make you feel like someone was in your corner.

Now this? One room. One bed. You feel the eye twitch coming on.

“Whatever,” you mutter, snatching the keycard and stomping toward the elevator. Sevika follows. Silent. Heavy boots. Calm shadow. It shouldn’t make your skin burn hotter, but it does.

You don’t speak again until the hotel door swings shut behind you.

And then—you explode.

“Two rooms! Two. That’s all I asked for. Not world peace. Not someone’s kidney. Just two fucking rooms!”

Your heels hit the floor hard. You toss your bag onto the bed—the one bed—and just stand there for a second, teeth gritted. Sevika closes the door behind you with that quiet, deliberate calm she always has. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

“And that meeting?” you scoff. “They want a rebrand. They think Vi might go solo. They think I’ve lost control.” You turn around, anger rising like a wave. “What am I supposed to do? Photoshop a damn friendship back together!?” You gesture wildly around the room.

Sevika is leaning against the door now, watching you pace like a hurricane in heels. She raises an eyebrow. Still leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Shrugs a little. “You handled it.”

“Bullshit. I’m dangling by a thread,” you snap, voice tight. “I’m fucking done. I’m trying to put out fires and you’re just, what, always just fucking standing there? With your one-word replies and your constant brooding like a hot, grumpy—”

She steps forward. Not fast. Just enough to break the space between you. You stop mid-rant.

“You think I don’t see it?” she says, voice low. “You holding it all together. No one thanks you. No one listens. And they’d all fall apart without you since you’re the backbone of this entire band.”

Your breath catches. You don’t want that to land. But it does.

Your lip curls like you’re about to say something biting—but it falters. Because Sevika’s close now. So close. And the silence between you feels… different.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter quietly.

“Like what?” she says.

“Like you can see through me.”

“Maybe I can.”

You’re still fuming. But it’s twisted now—burning hot under your skin in a different way.

She looks at the bed. Then at you.

“We flipping a coin or...?”

“Fuck the coin,” you say, voice hoarse, “I’m too tired to care.”

You move past her like you’re going to grab something—but she grabs your wrist. Not rough. Just enough.

“You need to let it out,” she says. “Whatever it is.”

You look up at her. Chest tight. Anger still vibrating in your bones but buried under that — that need.

“Yeah?” you whisper. “And what are you gonna do if I do?”

She doesn’t answer. Because she's on you within seconds. Your back pinned against the hotel wall as her hand was on the back of your head to prevent it from hitting the wall too harshly. You let out a sharp gasp from the impact.

You both just stared at each other. The electricity crackling between you two. The moment felt like everything slowed down for a second. You stared into her eyes.

Then you surged forward.

Your mouth crashes into hers with all the fury of the day behind it—messy, desperate, teeth clashing. She catches you easily, hands gripping your waist, pinning them against the wall. Your hands were gripping her shirt tight, pulling her closer than she already is. You let your hand trail down her chest, letting them roam free. Your fingers pressing against the shirt as you felt the firmness of her stomach, trailing them down under her shirt—

Oh fuck.

The minute you felt her V line beneath your fingers you let out a moan into her mouth, one she quickly swallowed up in the filthy and greedy kiss you shared.

You gasp as she lifts you by your thighs, pinning you there. You wrap your legs around her instinctively, fingers tangled in her jacket as her mouth drags hot, slowing down your neck.

“Fuck,” you breathe, nails scraping along her shoulder. “This is such a bad idea.”

“Best one I’ve had all day,” she growls against your throat, biting down hard against your neck, erupting a strangled whine from the back of your throat.

You yank her shirt up, your hands finding skin—warm, solid muscle. She peels off your jacket without care, lets it fall. Her hands are everywhere: gripping, kneading, claiming. Your mind goes white.

Clothes hit the floor in frantic pieces. Your heels are thrown to the side of the room. The room’s too hot, your back hits the mattress, and she’s above you—hair falling into her face, pupils blown, looking at you like she’s about to wreck you.

“This is wrong” you mutter as your hands went down her back to grope her ass.

She groaned in response, her hips bucking closer to yours, “Then why aren't you stopping me?”

“I can’t” you whispered in her ear before pulling her into another filthy kiss. One that's messy, where your tongues are fighting for dominance. Your hands rake in her hair, pushing it back slightly before giving it a sharp tug. In return her hand finds your tit and gropes it, making you moan pathetically into the kiss. You feel her smile against the kiss. That fucking menence smile.

You felt her hand go down your stomach as you felt her fingers spread through your soaked folds, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“You’re fucking soaked..” she mutters against your lips, glancing down between the two of you.

“Fuck you” you panted against her, lips swollen and red from the kiss as your eyes were already half lidded, gazing down at her neck.

“I’m trying” you hear her mutter before she dips her head down to your neck, tongue flicking out as she traced a wet path along her collarbone, her mouth latching onto an aching peak deliberately sucking at your skin that sends shivers down your spine.

“Sevika..” you breathe out as your fingers dug into her shoulders, with your back arching and trembling against her touch.

“Tell me what you need”

God its almost like you were drunk and were unable to fucking speak properly. But somehow, you managed.

“Your fingers—you. I don’t care” you managed to say helplessly as she obliged.

Her thumb slowly pressed against your clit as you felt her slip two fingers in your core. Your hips buck from the contact as your fingers dig against her shoulders, dragging them down your back.

“Oh god” you groaned as you bit at her neck which made her inhale sharply, her fingers curling in you that hit your sweet spot.

Oh fuck.

Your body doesn't know what else to do other than your hands profusely scratching at her back. Your hips buck trying to find friction but you fail, all you can do is just squeeze against her fingers. But it's not changing her speed which makes you writhe in place. “You're gonna cut my fingers off at this rate” she says, almost condescendingly, smirking against your skin.

“You— you’re not helping” you bite your lip to refrain yourself from whining for more, “go faster” you whisper, burying your face in the crook of her neck planting wet, open mouths kiss under her jawline.

“You're lucky you’re pretty” she whispered before another finger was slipping inside your drooling cunt. Her pace becomes faster as her fingers curl repeatedly against your g-spot which makes you choke on a moan, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure.

Your arousal that coated her fingers makes the most obscene noises that filled up the hotel room, Sevika’s own hips were grinding at your thigh as you both chased for your climax. Your mouths captured into a kiss as you swallowed each other's moans, you propped your leg up as you felt the slick from her pussy against your thigh.

Your hand found their way to her swollen nub of her clit, with your touch being firm and insistent as you kept rubbing hard and fast. Which had added another layer of pleasure and desperation in the movement of Sevika’s hips grinding against your thigh.

“fuck— keep it like that. Just like that baby” she growls near your ear as you feel her pump her fingers in and out of you quicker.

“Sev— Sevika!” you almost fucking screamed her name out as your eyes fluttered for a moment from the pleasure. Your back arched from her touch as your free hand pushed her hips down against your thigh as the other rubbed vigorously at her clit. The minute you chased your orgasm, your hips bucked in her hand as you clenched tightly around her fingers, with you moaning her name from exhaustion at this point.

Her fingers were still curled inside that wet pussy of yours as she kept grinding against your thigh, her movements becoming sloppy as leaned her forehead against your shoulder.

“Shit..” Sevika moans against your ear which makes you clench around her fingers again as her words are followed by a few more curses as she shivers out her orgasms.

Her fingers slowly pulled out of your dripping cunt, retreating them back to her mouth, licking every drop.

“Fuck, you taste just like I imagined..” She says hoarsely before capturing your lips in another kiss, this one being more sloppy as you taste yourself. Your hands went to her neck as she flopped beside you on the bed. Legs tangling with each other capturing yourself in a moment of bliss and the aftermath of such pleasure, lost in each other's arms.

Eventually you two pulled away from each other panting, her arm around her waist pulling you chest to chest.

“I still hate this room,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen.

She huffs something like a laugh, brushing her knuckles down your thigh.

“Not how it sounded five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes. But you don’t pull away.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Sure,” she says, dragging her mouth lazily across your shoulder. “That’s why you’re still shaking.”

You shove her, half-hearted.

She doesn’t move. Just smirks.

You hate that she’s right.

You hate it even more that you already want round two.

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