sykokittyy

[sykokittyy]

Experiment ♡

Featuring 🌷: rhea ripley + female!reader

Warning ☁️: praise kink, dirty talk, pet names (use of the name, “sweet girl”), fingering, cunnilingus, scissoring, 18+ Minors, please don't interact. Thanks! ୨୧

Word Count 🌷: 1.1k

Scenario ☁️: besties do everything together, right?

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“Oh my gosh- I remember!” Rhea laughs, playfully hitting you.

Rhea’s finally home from her hectic work schedule and decided to catch up with her childhood best friend. The two of you sat cross-legged, nestled amidst the tufted sofa cushions, each holding a glass of your favorite wine. Laughter bubbles up effortlessly, echoing off the walls.

“Ugh! It’s been such a long time since we’ve hung out. I’ve missed you so much,”

“Cheers to friendship!” You say, clinking your wine glass with Rhea’s.

As the girls sipped their drinks, they reminisced about old memories and shared hopes and dreams for the future. The room is filled with the sweet aroma of a scented candle, adding to the enchanting atmosphere. Time seems to stand still as they lose themselves in each other's company, it felt just like the old times.

You’ve always enjoyed Rhea’s presence. As a child, you wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. Y’all were always inseparable but the problem was, you’d soon realize that you were drawn to women, but you’ve never realized that you were drawn to one specific woman. Rhea. You’ve tried and failed with men, and didn’t want to date any woman if it wasn’t Rhea.

“Okay, I have an idea!”

Rhea took a slow sip of her wine, savoring the rich flavor as she watched you, “Hmm?” A grin quickly wiped across your face as you turned to face Rhea, “Let’s bump!”

“Let’s what?”

“Y’know like…scissoring? We’re besties! ‘S nothing wrong with us experimenting on each other!” You exclaimed as her cheeks flushed with excitement. “You’re out of your bloody mind,” Rhea snorted, laughing until she saw her friend’s smile fade.

“I’m serious,” You whispered, nibbling on your bottom lip. You were nervous to confess your true feelings to Rhea, who wouldn’t be? The whole ‘Mami’ persona was super attractive. Rhea exudes strap energy, without even trying.

But Rhea didn’t turn a blind eye to your demeanor. She noticed that at first, you exude confidence, your posture tall. Every movement is deliberate, every glance a flirtatious invitation, as if you’ve been planning on having Rhea in this moment. But then you flipped like a switch, the playful, flirty twinkle in your eyes dimmed, replaced by a nervous flutter as if you’re suddenly unsure of your proposal. Just as Rhea has been throughout her entire life, as displayed in her wrestling career, she loved a challenge. She decided to see what you had up your sleeve,

“I’m in,” Rhea smirked before kissing her teeth.

Flashing her with a soft smile that betrayed none of your inner turmoil, you leaned forward, and with a tender hesitation, Rhea closed the distance. Her lips, soft as petals, brushed against yours in a tantalizing tease. In attempts to weaken her, you began straddling her lap, with her hands fondling your hips, fingers carefully caressing the dips of them.

As the kiss began to get more heated, Rhea hastily took off your shirt. Thankfully, you weren’t wearing a bra and Rhea’s manicured hands massaged your breasts. The cold rings on her finger caused you to moan softly. Breaking the kiss, you moved your head to her neck sucking on it, you could hear Rhea’s breathing picking up.

“Don’t think you’re in control,” Rhea moaned.

She moved her neck from your lips and looked into your eyes as she lowered her face down to your breasts. She flicked her tongue ring over your nipples before sucking on them. Flustered whimpers escaped your parted lips,

“Oh..”

Shutting you up, she lightly bit down on your nipples causing you to gasp, “Gonna take good care of you, bestie,” she purred before easing you off of her lap.

“What are you doing?..”

Completely ignoring your question, she tapped your thigh before ordering you to take off your skirt before walking away. As you slip out of your skirt and panties, you see Rhea return. “W-where’d you g-“

Aggressively kissing you, she slid an ice cube in your mouth, “Hold this for me, will ya?” She leaned down, pulling your legs and dragging you to the edge of the chair. Using her fingertips, she traced your slick pussy, gliding them on your clit. Your hips slightly shuttered at the movement as she continued to softly play with you.

“Mmm,” You muffled, still holding the ice cube in between your teeth.

She crawled back up towards you as her curled fingers started to slide in and out of you with ease. She took the ice cube from your lips with her free hand, but the feeling didn’t last for too long. You groaned from the loss of feeling as her fingers left your wet hole.

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on your navel, her voice was a low whisper. “What’s the matter, sweet girl?”

Taking the ice cube, she ran it along your stomach and inner thighs. You instantly shivered, aroused by her warm mouth and the cold ice,

“How is it, love? Feel good?” She asked, soothingly rubbing your thighs.

“Yes!”

“Mmm, I bet.” Rhea moaned, taking the tiny ice cube and swirling it in her mouth.

She took her cold tongue and slowly flicked it over your clit before gently sucking on it. The slow pace was torture to you as your head tilted back, “Ahhh,”

As she feasted on your sopping pussy, you felt your stomach flutter. Grabbing onto her hair with trembling hands, you began to cry out,

“R-Rhea! ‘M gonna cum!”

Holding your legs in place, she buried her face into you. Ravenously eating you, licking up every drop. Your vision went white as you reached your peak, cumming hard onto her tongue. Licking her lips, she rose up taking in your dazed appearance.

“Attagirl,” She praised, “You did so good.”

Giving you a comforting kiss, she began to undress. Your eyes instantly locked on her pierced nipples, you’d completely forgotten about them. You dared her to pierce her nipples and she dared you to get a tramp stamp during your college years.

“I didn’t forget about you wanting to, what was that word,” Rhea taunted, “bump.”

She grinned as she laid beside you on the chair, interlocking your legs together. It was your first time doing it, but porn was a hell of a teacher. That confidence from earlier came back as you began to grind against her. Soon enough, you two eventually met each other's paces causing Rhea to bite her lip,

“This is what you wanted, huh?”

You nodded as a loud moan escaped your mouth, you had Rhea exactly where you wanted her as you began to grind harder against her. The room was filled with moans and skin against skin, both of you were getting closer to your climax.

You began to cover your mouth as you felt yourself unraveling, Rhea noticed, “Don’t do that, let me hear you.”

“I-I’m close-“ You whined as your hips involuntarily bucked into hers. Cumming in unison, the chair rocked as both of you shook violently. It felt like forever before you came back to Earth.

"Thank you b-bestie,” you said in between pants.

“Anything for you, sweet girl.”

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Thanks for reading babe ☁️🌷

・❥ ・@kumapassion @bloodripleygal @cyberdejos2 @pittieprincess22 @romanreignsbae

[sykokittyy]

If you feel like you are a burden to your friends, your family or your partner because you feel down, sad or depressed, I just want you to know that you are worth their worries, their care and their help. You are not wasting their time. You are not dragging them down. You are not being dramatic. Your loved ones really do want to help you and they do not view you as weak, my love. They want you to be okay and for them being there for you in your bad times is not an obligation but a privilege. You deserve their love. Please do not let your mind trick you into thinking that you do not deserve any kind of support because you are hard to handle etc. You are not. You are not. You are not. You are so worth it, darling.

[sykokittyy]

All of these artworks are available on my print shop now! 🖤viklooud.etsy.com

[sykokittyy]

sometimes it's OK to skip a song you like when u don't feel like it at that moment. u r not hurting its feelings

[sykokittyy]

“I missed you” hits different when it’s being moaned in your ear

[sykokittyy]

not naming names but some of you are genuinely really good people and i hope that you get everything your heart wants and needs

[sykokittyy]

dont retreat emotionally. people like you and want you around. they like to talk to you, and you genuinely matter. you have to trust this through the hard times so you can get to the better times without sabotaging yourself. you are worth loving

[sykokittyy]

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ “It’s just a ride, babe.” (Sevika x you)

—Final girl pt2 ! (pt1)

synopsis: highschool au ! Halloween night. The air smells like cotton candy and fake blood, and your girlfriend looks criminal in a crimson leather jacket under flickering orange lights. The amusement park is packed, loud, and just spooky enough to make your heart race—for more reasons than one. You’ve been together for a few weeks now, and Sevika’s still everything: steady, smug, a little too hot for someone who isn’t even scared in haunted houses. But if you’re scared ? Sevika is there to help you forget about it.

girls kissing :: fluff :: she loves your butt :: teenagers being in love and horny

⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ The second Sevika parks, you’re already unbuckling. You shove the door open, boots hitting pavement with a loud clack clack clack as you sprint around the front of the car like it’s a race.

Your high-heeled thigh boots were definitely not made for running, but who cares—it’s Halloween night, you’re finally here, and the air smells like caramel apples and cheap fog machine chemicals.

“Janna,” Sevika mutters behind the windshield as you fling open her door. She’s still sitting there, one hand on the steering wheel, the other caught mid-reach—your body half-blocking hers, eyes already lit up with excitement.

You grin at her, breathless. “Let’s go!”

She lifts an eyebrow, chuckling low in her throat. “What, you gonna drag me through the gates?”

You trap her hand between both of yours and pull gently. “Maybe.”

Another scream cuts through the air—not like someone’s hurt, but like they think they are. Terrified. Somewhere inside the park, a chainsaw revs and fake thunder rolls across the sky. You both glance toward the massive, glowing archway that reads ZAUN: NIGHT OF TERROR, ringed in flickering orange bulbs and fog pouring from beneath it. Shadows of moving figures flicker against the light—some masked, some running, some chasing.

You beam.

Sevika snorts, finally stepping out of the car. Her crimson leather jacket creaks as she adjusts it, one hand going instinctively to the cigarette tucked behind her ear. She looks down at you—your smoky eye makeup, your black mesh sleeves, the heels she definitely made fun of earlier—and hums.

“You’re gonna fall in those boots,” she says, but she’s smiling, just a little, in that way that makes your stomach flip. Her eyes were not on your boots. More on your ass looking really good in this short dress.

You lace your fingers through hers, cheeks warm of excitement and something else you won’t name. “Then catch me. And I know your eyes are not on my shoes.”

She huffs a laugh, already letting you pull her toward the entrance.

Behind you, another scream echoes through the night.

Perfect.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ You don’t let go of Sevika’s hand.

Not when the first fog machine hisses past your legs. Not when a stilt-walker in a bloody clown costume lurches through the crowd. Not when someone in a plague doctor mask jumps out of a dark corner, shrieking. Not even when you trip a little on uneven pavement—but you recover like a champ, playing it off with a breathless laugh.

Not even when you nearly trip over a hay bale someone dumped in the middle of the path for aesthetic.

She doesn’t let go either.

She’s not saying much—just walking beside you like she always does, tall and grounded and somehow completely unfazed by the chaos of chainsaws and fake corpses all around. Her hand is warm and steady in yours, callused at the knuckles, her thumb occasionally grazing your palm.

You’re buzzing.

The park’s loud and chaotic and full of orange lights and screams echoing from every direction. Your favorite night of the year, and Sevika’s next to you in that damn leather jacket like she was built for this. Half the girls in the park probably stared when you walked in. Good.

You tug her forward, too hyped to stand still. “C’mon, we have to do the coffin drop ride before the line’s insane—”

You walk ahead just a step too fast, laughing as you go, but then—

—just as you take another too-fast step—she lets go of your hand.

Smack!

Your gasp echoes louder than it should. Not painful, but firm. Possessive. Enough to make your cheeks burn instantly.

You feel it jiggle under her palm. And so does she.

You spin around so fast your heel nearly catches. “Sevika!”

Shes grinning now, not even trying to hide it. One brow raised, hands in her jacket pockets now, completely unbothered. Leather jacket open just enough to flash the edge of her black tank top, hair tucked behind one ear, and that same cigarette still perched there like it belongs.

“Where do you think you’re going, babe?” she says, calm as anything. “You’re practically running.”

You narrow your eyes, pressing your lips together to hide the way you’re definitely smiling. “I was excited.”

“Mm.” She takes a step forward, tilting her head like she’s sizing you up. “Looked more like you were running from me.”

You stare at her. “That is not what that was.”

“Mm.” she steps just a bit closer, “ you complaining ?”

Your brain short-circuits just a little, but you manage a roll of your eyes, nose scrunching as you turn away.

“I hate when you do that.”

“No you don’t.”

She’s right.

After a beat, she adds, “You’re looking for it.”

She’s even more right.

Because you’re still smiling when you walk ahead again, cheeks hot, ears burning—and she’s still behind you, hand brushing yours, smirk like she knows she’ll do it again the second she feels like it.

And just to tease you, she slaps your ass again but more gently this time, making you laugh and try to run away in your high thigh boots and your short dress riding up just enough, your hot girlfriend running after you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ You’re laughing before you even step inside.

It’s dim. Cold. Lit only by flickering green and purple LED strips lining the floor and ceiling. The entrance door shuts behind you with a click, and instantly you’re surrounded—mirrors in every direction, all warped just enough to feel off.

You take one step forward and immediately flinch—face to face with yourself. Again. And again. And behind you? Sevika. In four different places at once.

“Okay, this is—this is so dumb,” you giggle, holding out a hand like it’ll help. “Who even builds these things?”

Sevika snorts behind you. “Sadists.”

You spin around—and bump into her chest.

Not her reflection. Her. Real, warm, solid Sevika.

You squeak as her hands come up instinctively to catch your waist. She’s laughing too now, low and steady, that gravelly kind of laugh that always makes your stomach dip.

“I thought you were over there,” you breathe, pointing to one of the many Sevika-shaped reflections to your right.

She shrugs, trying really hard not to laugh. “Guess I’m everywhere.”

You groan dramatically and push at her chest, but she doesn’t budge. Her fingers tighten on your waist for just a second, enough to make your pulse spike. It’s dark enough that you know she sees the heat in your face—but you keep walking anyway.

“Okay, okay, we gotta get out of here. This was your idea.”

“It was yours.”

Liar.

You turn a corner—and immediately bonk your head gently against a mirror. “Ow!”

Sevika barks out a laugh behind you. “Babe. Come on.”

“I swear this thing is cursed.”

“I swear you have no sense of direction.”

You shoot her a glare through the nearest mirror, only it’s not her—it’s you, scowling at your own reflection. You whirl around, eyes wide, already disoriented again.

“Wait. Sev—?”

“Here.” Her voice echoes from somewhere to the left.

You spin again, only to catch her reflection—then a second later, her hand finds yours. Real. Warm. Confident fingers lacing between yours like she’s done this before.

“How do you even know where we’re going?” you mutter, tugging her close so you don’t lose her again.

She smirks, brushing her shoulder against yours. “I don’t.” You shoot her a look.

“…But you panic cute.”

You smack her arm. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet—” she tugs you slightly forward, pulling you closer as another dead-end mirror looms in front of you “—here you are, willingly trapped with me.”

The laughter doesn’t stop as you stumble into another wrong turn and crash together again—your back hitting her chest, her arms looping around you instinctively, like it’s not even a thought.

The mirrors around you feel closer now, trapping you in this warped little world of flickering lights and too many reflections. All of them showing the same thing: you and Sevika, pressed too close, shadows and smirks, her eyes sharp and knowing, yours wide and unsure if you should look at her or the mirror—or maybe just close your eyes entirely.

“Pretty sure this maze is just an excuse to make out in the dark,” you say breathlessly.

Sevika tilts her head. Her grip at your waist doesn’t change, but something in her gaze sharpens—like she’s seeing through the joke for what it really is.

She raises a brow.

“Wanna try?” she asks, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Your stomach drops and flips all at once. You blink up at her—lips already parted like your brain can’t decide what to do with itself. Her smirk widens, but it’s not cocky this time. It’s warm. Patient. Teasing in the best, loving way.

You try to scoff. You try to act normal. “You’re ridiculous.”

Sevika leans in, slow and smooth, voice low like it’s meant just for you—even if ten other fake versions of her are saying it all around you in reflection.

“But you’re thinking about it.”

God, you are.

You glance sideways. A hundred mirrors show you the same moment: her mouth close to yours, her hand at your waist, your hand still clutching hers like you’re scared to let go and get lost again.

Your smile falters for a second. The nerves spike.

“It’s just a maze,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

“Exactly.” Her thumb grazes your hipbone, slow and grounding. “No one’s watching.”

You look back at her—really look—and you know what she’s doing. She’s giving you the chance to back out. That same quiet, practiced confidence, but never pushy. Never rushing you. She knows you haven’t done this before. Not like this. Not with a girl like her.

But God, you want to.

So you nod, almost shyly. “Okay.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

Sevika’s hand lifts from your hip to cradle your jaw, fingers warm against your cheek. Her lips find yours in one smooth, confident motion, like she’s done this before—because of course she has—but she still kisses you like it matters. Like she wants it to matter.

And everything else—the mirrors, the stupid maze, the faint sounds of screams echoing from some distant haunted house—fades.

It’s just her.

And her mouth is soft but sure, her thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone, your body relaxing slowly into hers like it belongs there. The kiss deepens, just slightly at first—enough to make your knees weak and your heart race in that dizzy, fluttery way that feels brand new.

You barely realize your arms have looped around her shoulders until she smiles into your mouth.

You’re both breathing a little bit harder, but you don’t stop the kiss. If anything, she press her body to yours even more.

You feel one of her hand go down slowly, controlled, until she’s squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs through the fabric of your thin dress, playing with the hem of it with one of her fingers.

She’s teasing, playing.

And you’re falling for it.

Your cheeks are burning. Your breath comes fast. And your reflection in the mirror?

Yeah. You’re absolutely wrecked in the best way.

When she finally pulls back, it’s slow. Deliberate. Like she knows you’ll chase after her lips if she gives you the chance.

Sevika’s close, forehead brushing yours, eyes half-lidded and voice low. “Still think this maze is dumb?”

You let out a laugh—breathy, giddy, a little dazed. “Okay… Best attraction here, actually.”

Her grin returns, wide and wolfish. “Told you.”

You smack her shoulder weakly, but you’re still smiling too hard to make it count.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ You finally find the exit to the mirror maze—only after a solid ten more minutes of kissing behind glass corners, accidentally scaring yourselves with your own reflections, and laughing so hard you nearly collapse against each other.

You’re flushed. Dizzy. Maybe a little kiss-drunk. Maybe damp down there, and Sevika hasn’t let go of your hand since.

The second the cool outside air hits your face, you’re gasping like you’ve just come up for air. The fog machines around the park spit out fresh plumes of thick mist, the shrieks of other thrillseekers cutting through the music that pulses from distant speakers.

You barely have time to recover before Sevika stops short, tugging your hand gently to pull you beside her.

She’s staring straight ahead—eyes lit up, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “Hell yeah.” She looks at you, tugging your hand again. “Come on.”

You follow her gaze—and your stomach plummets.

Towering above the entire park, lit with flickering orange and red lights, is the biggest roller coaster you’ve ever seen. It rises like some demonic steel serpent into the sky, curves at an angle no sane person should survive, and disappears into a cave structure surrounded by grotesque demon statues, glowing red eyes and all. Above the queue entrance, in bright flashing letters, it reads: a few threats of death.

It’s ridiculous, it shouldn’t be that scary.

But does it work ? Yes.

Yes, it works. You’re scared.

You blink. And then again.

“Absolutely not.”

Sevika laughs—cackles, actually. “Oh, we’re doing that.”

Your grip on her hand tightens like it’ll anchor you to the earth. “That thing looks like it’s possessed.”

“Probably is.”

You glare at her. “Stop that. There are literally demons guarding the entrance.”

“Yeah, they’re hot.”

You slap her arm.

The closer you get, the worse it looks. Fake flames shoot up from the entrance. The costumed staff aren’t even trying to be welcoming—they’re dressed like tired corpse-faced executioners. The biggest grotesque demon guarding the entrance is saying in a deep robotic voice things like “YOU WON’T MAKE IT OUT ALIVE” and “SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR SOULS.”

Sevika looks absolutely delighted.

You stop dead in your tracks. “Sev. No.”

She finally looks at you—smirking, but not teasing. At least not only teasing. “Don’t be scared, baby. You told me you liked roller coasters.”

You sighs and play with her fingers in your hand like it will make you less anxious. It doesn’t work. “I do. But this is all very scary. You know— everything.”

“Hey.” Her voice drops a little as she steps in front of you, blocking your view of the terrifying gates of doom. “You really that scared?”

You scowl, which is 80% covering up panic. “Obviously.”

Her eyes flick over your face, lips twitching—not mocking, but softening. She leans in slightly, brushing her nose against yours, voice quieter. “I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”

You exhale. “Yeah, I know…”

“Good.”

She kiss your lips for half a second before pulling back with a shit-eating grin and jerking her head toward the entrance.

“Let’s go, babe. Death’s waiting.”

“Stop saying things like that!”

She’s already pulling you forward, laughing under her breath. You go. Of course you go. Because you’re in deep now—and not just with the haunted rollercoaster.

The line moves slow.

Which should be a good thing—more time to breathe, to calm down, to mentally prepare.

Instead, every few steps forward, you get a better view of the ride.

The screams. The drop. The way the cars disappear into total blackness and don’t come out again for a full ten seconds.

You press closer to Sevika, trying not to look like you’re hiding even though you absolutely are. Her hoodie smells like smoke and blueberry gum, and you tuck your face into her chest like that’ll block out the sound of the girl in front of you shrieking “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

“Babe,” you mumble into the soft fabric. “This was a mistake.”

“Nah,” Sevika says lazily, totally unbothered, hugging you just like you’re hugging her —or hiding in her—. “We haven’t even gotten on yet.”

“That’s the problem.”

She snorts. Her arms are around you, keeping you pressed to her like she’s already claimed you as hers, no take-backs.

You try to slow your breathing. You try to focus on the fact that people survive this every day. You try not to think about your funeral playlist.

Then—you feel it.

Her hands going lower.

Until you feel a light pat on your ass. Then another. And another. Rhythmic.

You freeze.

“Sevika,” you mutter, muffled against her hoodie, “are you playing the drums on my ass right now?”

“Yup.”

You lean back to look at her, and she’s got the most infuriating little smirk on her face. Like she’s fully enjoying herself. Like she knows what she’s doing and is thriving off your reaction.

She shrugs, totally unbothered. “You looked tense. Music helps.”

“Oh my God.”

You try to glare at her, but she just drums a little faster, making an actual melody and grinning like a menace.

“Stop that,” you hiss, glancing around. “Someone’s gonna see.”

“It’s dark,” she says. “Foggy. Nobody’s looking.”

“I’m looking!”

“Then you’re welcome.”

You smack her chest lightly, face burning, but you don’t move away. Because her arm feels good around you. Because her teasing is actually helping, somehow. Because she’s acting like this is fun, and that energy’s infectious.

You settle back into her chest with a sigh.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, lips brushing your temple. “But it helps you relax.”

The line shuffles forward again, closer to the front. You can see the coaster now—almost time. Your stomach flips.

But Sevika’s still there, arms around you and both hands casually drumming a lazy beat on your ass like the most relaxed, annoying, hot girlfriend in the world.

And weirdly?

You’re starting to feel okay.

When it’s finally your turn, your legs feel like jelly. You walk toward the ride like you’re marching to your death—and it looks like it, too. The carts are all black with red claw marks painted on the sides, the kind that glow under the UV lights. The staff members stand waiting, dressed like demonic priests in long robes and blackened eyes, and the closer you get, the worse it gets.

“Keep your hands and legs inside the cart at all times…” one of them says, voice low and raspy.

“Unless you want them ripped off,” another adds with a manic grin.

You shoot them a look.

“Please don’t do that,” you mutter, climbing into the seat, still clinging to Sevika’s hand. “Just be normal. Why can’t anyone here be normal?”

The last staff member pulls the bar down with a loud click, leans down to double-check your seatbelt, and murmurs:

“Don’t forget to pray.”

You stare at him, deadpan. Your eyes almost in furry.

“Fuck off.”

Sevika loses it.

Her laugh is loud, warm, and entirely too delighted. She’s sitting beside you, already settling in like this is the best night of her life.

“Janna,” she says, still chuckling. “You’re such a menace when you’re scared.”

“You brought me here.”

“Hell yeah. And it’s worth it. You look like you’re about to cut someone’s throat.”

You barely have time to respond before the cart jerks forward. Your heart stutters—and then the dreaded clack-clack-clack begins.

The climb.

It’s steeper than you thought. Way steeper. You lean back into the seat, clutching the safety bar like it’s a lifeline, your whole body tense. The higher you go, the more the park falls away beneath you. Lights blur. Screams echo somewhere behind. And the wind picks up, cold and sharp against your face.

Sevika, of course, is chill as hell.

She’s got one arm stretched along the back of your seat, legs wide, like this is just another lazy Friday night. She glances over at you once, takes in your death grip on the bar, and raises an eyebrow.

“You breathing?”

“No.”

She grins.

“Want me to distract you?”

Your eyes dart to her. “How the fuck—”

Before you can finish, she leans in and kisses you. Just like that. Slow and sure, mouth warm against yours, like she’s got all the time in the world.

The coaster hasn’t even crested the top yet.

Your brain short-circuits. You melt into it without meaning to—half from nerves, half from how casually she just does it. Like kissing you at the edge of death is the most normal thing in the world.

When she pulls back, you’re breathless.

“Don’t look down.” she says, smirking.

“What ?”

Because you’ve just reached the top.

And there’s a full second of silence, suspended in the air, Sevika’s hand still brushing your thigh.

And then—

the drop.

You don’t even have time to scream at first. Your stomach flies up into your throat and your soul definitely tries to escape your body. It’s like falling into a black hole—your vision blurs, wind slaps your face, and Sevika is yelling something next to you that you cannot hear over the way your own voice finally rips out of your chest.

You scream so loud you don’t even recognize your own voice.

The cart whips around a corner. You slam into Sevika, who barely budges, one hand gripping the bar, the other still casually around your shoulders like she isn’t about to be launched into hell.

She throws her head back, laughing.

“YOU GOOD, BABY?!”

“NO!”

Another twist. You scream again. The cart drops out from under you in a sudden dip and shoots back up before you can even process it.

Another twist. You scream again. The cart drops out from under you in a sudden dip and shoots back up before you can even process it.

“I HATE YOU,” you yell, eyes squeezed shut.

“YOU’RE HAVING FUN!”

You open your eyes just long enough to see a loop coming—and immediately regret it.

“SEVIKA—“

“I GOT YOU!”

You don’t know what she means by that, but a second later, your body flips upside down, the world spins, and you swear you see your life flash before your eyes.

Then it’s over. Just that part.

The coaster doesn’t stop. It never stops. Another turn, another drop, and you’re halfway in Sevika’s lap at this point, your hand clawing at her thigh like you can anchor yourself there.

She just laughs again, breathless and thrilled.

“You’re insane!” you scream.

She looks over, wind tossing her hair, cheeks flushed, grinning like a devil. “So are you!”

Somewhere in the chaos, she leans in and presses a quick, open-mouthed kiss to your cheek.

“You’re doing so good, baby—” another sharp twist—“you’re not even crying!”

You punch her arm mid-turn.

“I WILL IF THIS THING DOESN’T END—”

You can barely breathe. Your throat is raw. Your heart’s sprinting. Sevika’s laughing like she’s drunk on adrenaline and the sound of your terrified shrieking. And weirdly?

You kind of love it.

The ride finally starts to slow—braking hard, jerking you both forward. Your head whips back against the seat, and your hair’s probably a disaster, but you made it.

You slump against Sevika, chest heaving, body still buzzing with panic and… okay, fine, maybe a tiny bit of exhilaration.

Your eyes are wet and you feel a tear running down your cheek but you don’t sob. It’s just the shock.

Beside you, Sevika exhales a deep breath—satisfied, like she just got laid. She stretches her arms out over her head, grinning wide, thriving.

Then she looks over. And sees you.

The only thing she can do at the moment is laughing.

She reaches over, gentle now, brushing her thumb under your eye to catch a stray tear. Then she leans down, presses her lips to your temple, and grins.

“Wanna go again?”

You groan.

“Only if I get to scream into your mouth this time.”

She laughs so hard the guy in the next row stares.

As silly as it can seem, it’s already too much for me to write sexual tension lmao. I kinda feel naked and exposed. Probably won’t write more than girls kissing and curious hands 💔 I LOVE my teasing sev headcanon though, it was so fun writing her playing with reader’s ass like that😔 most probably because I love doing that too ngl

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @sevikasswifee @ahintofchaos @blessupblessup @riotstemple29 @lia-winther @shxdy0ariia

[sykokittyy]

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ Final Girl ! (Sevika x you) highschool au

Synopsis: Friday night. It’s your first official date with the girl you had a massive crush on at school— Sevika: the gym-rat with a mean stare, a leather jacket, her mech arm and a cigarette tucked behind her ear like a threat. And somehow, against all odds, she’s your girlfriend now. You’re just two eighteen-year-olds at the local cinema after class, going to watch a gory 80s slasher flick.

Mentions of violence in the movie, girls making-out, tooth-rotting fluff teenage love

words: 2.7k

Masterlist ᰔ PART TWO

“She’s seen a hundred horror movies. But watching you squirm? That’s her favorite.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ You never expected her to look twice at you. Sevika—eighteen, leather-clad, built like a sinner’s dream and cool as hell. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t flinch during horror movies, doesn’t ask before she lights a cigarette, and definitely doesn’t get nervous around girls.

But she asked you out. Just like that. Sevika, the cool, confident girl who clocked you as a babygay from a mile away and decided “Yeah. That one.”

You check the mirror again. For the third time. Maybe fourth. Whatever. You touch up the gloss on your lips even though it’s already perfect and push a loose strand of hair back like it might suddenly change the entire outcome of the night. It doesn’t. You still look like someone trying really hard not to look like they’re trying too hard.

The butterflies in your stomach have fully evolved into bats. Flapping, frantic. You smooth down your shirt, then second-guess your choice. Is it too much? Not enough? She said “casual,” but what the hell does “casual” mean when your new girlfriend looks like she walked out of a lesbian leather-jacketed fever dream?

And then—you hear it.

The rumble of a car engine outside, low and familiar. Sevika told you she’d borrow her dad’s old car. Said it like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she didn’t spend two weeks making sure it didn’t smell like motor oil and cigarettes (even though it still kind of does, since Sevika smells herself of cigarette). The sound cuts through the quiet like a countdown. She’s here.

You catch the low rumble of the engine again—closer this time—and peek out the window. Sure enough, Sevika’s car rolls up to the curb, headlights cutting through the dusk. She doesn’t honk. Of course not. She just leans back in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel like she’s got all the time in the world.

You stare for a second too long. Janna, but she looks really good.

Leather jacket, dark jeans, a grey tee that clings in the way teenage girls with crushes should not be subjected to. Her hair’s pulled back, loose and lazy, and she’s got this relaxed posture like she owns the street. Like she’s done this a hundred times before. Like she’s not your first girlfriend and this isn’t your first date with a girl ever.

You grab your bag, step outside, and try to act like your legs aren’t shaking a little.

She sees you and straightens up, slow and deliberate. Her eyes do a sweep—up, down, back up—and when they settle on your face, she gives you this half-smile. Not wide. Not flashy. Just confident. Like she knows you look good and she wants you to know she knows.

“Hey,” she says, nodding toward the passenger door as she walks around to open it for you. “You look nice.”

You blink. “Thanks. So do you.”

So do you?? Really? That’s the best you could come up with? Oh, fuck me. That’s embarrassing.

But Sevika just chuckles under her breath and closes the door once you’re in. She rounds the car again, takes her place behind the wheel, and starts driving like it’s the most casual thing in the world to pick up a girl for a date.

You sit there in silence for a few seconds. It’s short, but in your head, it’s so long. The radio hums something synthy and distant. Her fingers tap the steering wheel—

“So,” she says, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, “you gonna scream in my ear the whole movie, or just during the murders?”

You groan and shove her arm. “Shut up, I told you I scare easy.”

“Exactly why I picked it,” she grins, eyes on the road, looking way too pleased with herself.

You roll your eyes, but the smile slips out anyway. She’s got that effect—annoying and charming in the same breath. The kind of teasing that makes your stomach flip, not your eyes water.

“You’re evil,” you mutter, turning toward the window to hide the heat crawling up your cheeks. You hear the engine and she starts to drive with ease.

“Mm, I’ve been called worse,” she says casually, shifting gears with one hand. The other stays on the wheel, her knuckles flexing every time she makes a turn. “I mean. Evil’s kinda sexy don’t you think?”

You look at her. She glances back just long enough to catch your expression, and there it is again—that smirk, that quiet, knowing curve of her lips. God, she’s so annoying.

And somehow, it makes your nerves ease up. Just a little, but it works. Like she’s letting you in on something—not laughing at you, but inviting you to laugh with her. It’s comforting, in its own weird way.

After a short moment, her voice drops just a little, not teasing now—just warmer. “Hey. You nervous?”

You hesitate. Then nod. Barely. “A little.”

“That’s okay,” she says, and she’s serious now, steady. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, t’s just a first date.”

You don’t say anything at first. Just look out the window, smiling so much your cheeks hurt. Then: “You’re kinda good at this.”

Sevika snorts. “Yeah, don’t tell anyone. Ruins my image.” And all you can do is laugh softly, still looking at the window, a smile on your lips.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ The theater glows like a time capsule—neon reds and blues buzzing above the ticket booth, faded movie posters in glass frames, and the lingering scent of buttery popcorn and floor cleaner. People are milling around in denim jackets and graphic tees, talking too loud, laughing too hard. It’s alive in the way only a Friday night at the movies can be.

You and Sevika step into line, the buzz of the place settling in your chest like a second heartbeat. She’s standing close—not too close, but enough that her arm brushes yours now and then, and you can feel her heat even through her jacket. She’s looking around, casual, hands in her pockets like this is no big deal. You try to match her energy— You fail.

“So,” she says, leaning toward you just a little, “do I need to buy you earplugs for this, or are you gonna be brave?”

You elbow her. “I’m not that bad.”

She grins. “We’ll see.”

You’re about to snap back with something clever when she nods toward the candy counter. “I’m grabbing popcorn. You want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” you say, watching her go. She disappears into the short line at the snack bar, and you catch yourself staring. She’s got this easy way of moving—shoulders back, weight in her hips, like she owns the damn floor tiles. She chats briefly with the guy behind the counter, pays in cash, and returns with a bucket of popcorn tucked under one arm, two sodas in the other hand like it’s nothing.

And something about it—just that, her walking back to you like this is normal, like she’s yours and this is just what you do together—it makes your heart flip.

So you do something really stupid.

You step forward. Quickly. Before your brain can catch up to your body.

You rise onto your tiptoes, grab the edge of her jacket, and peck her lips.

Just a blink. Barely a second.

But it’s soft. Warm. Real.

Then your body catches up, and you pull back like you’ve just touched a flame. Your face burns hot, your stomach drops straight through your shoes, and you say the first thing that comes to mind.

Sevika blinks. And then— She smirks.

Not wide. Not cruel. Just that subtle, cocky little smile like she’s watching you squirm and liking it.

“Don’t be,” she says, shifting the popcorn into one hand so she can gently tug you back toward her by the sleeve of your shirt. Her voice is low, close. “You should do that more often.”

Your brain short-circuits. You stare up at her like an idiot, lips parted, no thoughts—just heat and the sound of your heart trying to hammer its way out of your chest. And Sevika? She just hands you your soda like nothing happened.

“C’mon,” she says, nodding toward the ticket guy. “Let’s go scream together.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ You follow her down the dark carpeted aisle, the smell of butter and fake cheese thick in the air. The screen glows dim and red with previews, flickering shadows dancing across rows of velvet seats. Sevika leads without asking, heading straight for the back—the back.

The last row.

Your heart does a little spin.

Everyone knows what the back row is for. It’s where couples sit when they don’t really care about the movie. Where the lighting is just dim enough to hide a kiss or a hand creeping over a thigh. You hesitate for half a second, but Sevika doesn’t. She settles into the seat like she owns it, legs spread a little, shoulders loose, and sets the popcorn between you like it’s just another Friday night. How can she be so confident ?

You sit down slowly, knees brushing. The cup holder’s already full with your drink, so your soda ends up wedged between your thighs. Great. Very sexy. Totally natural.

She shifts beside you, reaches over with one long arm to drop her soda into the shared holder, and then just… leaves her arm there.

Resting behind you.

Not touching yet. Just hovering, like a promise.

You try not to combust. You’re going crazy deep inside but nothings shows in real life. Or at least that’s what you think.

The lights dim more. The studio logos start flashing. And that’s when it happens—smooth and casual, like she’s done it a hundred times -which, to be honest, doesn’t make you indifferent-, Sevika lifts her arm and slides it around your shoulders.

Not possessive. Not awkward.

Just warm. Secure.

You stiffen for a second, eyes wide, then melt into it before your brain can protest. Her fingers rest lightly on your arm, thumb brushing once. Absentminded. Or maybe not.

You glance at her.

She’s watching the screen, eyes half-lidded, mouth curled in the faintest smile.

Like she knows.

Of course she knows.

You lean just a little closer. You don’t say anything, but inside, you’re a mess. A screaming mess.

Then, after a short moment— too short— “You’re regretting it,” Sevika murmurs, low against your ear. It’s not a question.

You don’t even turn your head, and answer way too fast. “No.”

She’s already smirking.

Not the dramatic kind—just that small, dangerous curve of her lips like she knew exactly what you were going to say and said it for you. Her arm stays firm around your shoulders, and her thumb brushes the outside of your arm like she’s trying to reassure you. Or tease you. Or both.

“Mm-hm,” she hums, eyes back on the screen. “Sure.”

You cross your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the way your body’s buzzing from how close she is. “I’m not.”

She snorts softly. “‘Think you will be.” And then the movie starts.

It wastes no time—no slow build, no gentle intro. Just a woman running through the woods, screams echoing through the surround sound, a knife gleaming in the dark.

You jump. Sevika doesn’t. You’re feeling ridiculous.

She calmly tosses a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth like she’s watching a cooking show and not a murder on screen. You hear a muffled laugh in her throat when you flinch again at a sudden violin sting.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

“Whatever you say, pretty girl,” she says, offering you the popcorn with zero remorse.

You take it, mostly to give your hands something to do besides grabbing onto her shirt every five seconds. The screen flashes again—another scream, another blood spray—and this time, your body reacts before your brain can.

You shift closer.

Your arm brushes hers. Your thigh bumps against her leg. And her hand—like it was already waiting—slides down from your shoulder to the curve of your waist. Gentle. Steady.

You don’t look at her. Can’t. You’ll melt. You just sit there, trying to focus on the screen while her fingers tap slow, lazy patterns against your side like she’s drawing invisible hearts you’ll never recover from.

A brutal kill scene starts up—loud, chaotic, bone-crunching—and your whole body jerks.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand grabs hers. She just shifts her hand, twines her fingers through yours, and squeezes once. Firm. Warm. Assuring. But she loves it. She’s taking much more pleasure than she should, watching you squirm and being scared for any detail appearing on the big screen. It’s very entertaining.

During the movie, you try to anticipate the next jump-scare. You see it coming sometimes—the camera lingers too long on an empty hallway, the music dips into silence, and you know something is about to lunge out.

You brace. You fail.

A screech rips through the speakers and something grotesque flings itself across the screen. You physically jerk in your seat, nearly knocking over your soda between your knees. Sevika’s grip on your hand tightens instinctively, and you make a small, pathetic sound you will deny for the rest of your life.

Her quiet, fond but almost cruel chuckle vibrates against your side, warm and smug and unfairly hot. But thankfully, the movie dips into a lull—characters regrouping, plotting in a dimly lit cabin, no blood for at least the next five minutes. Your heart slows to something close to human.

You let out a long breath and shift again, resting your head on her shoulder. She doesn’t move. Just lets you be there.

Her shoulder is solid, warm through the leather jacket, and smells faintly like cigarette smoke and mint gum and something distinctly her. Your eyes flutter closed for a second. Just a second.

Then, slowly, Sevika turns her head. Her cheek brushes your temple, and before your nerves can catch fire again, you feel her lips—soft and slow—press against yours.

It’s the kind of kiss that feels like it was meant to happen in the back row of a theater, while a slasher plays and your soda goes warm between your knees. It’s just enough pressure to steal your breath, just enough care to ground you again.

Then you kiss, again. And again. And again. The kisses growing maybe a bit more heated, more adventurous and deep— until you’re almost making-out just like the two -possibly- horny teenagers you are.

When she pulls back, she doesn’t say anything. Just nudges your nose gently with hers. Your breath is a bit harsher for the both of you, and you smile.

Because somehow, that stupid little make-out session makes the monsters on screen seem a lot less scary.

You turn back to the movie. Your head stays on her shoulder. Her fingers play with yours absently, and you realize you don’t regret it. Not at all.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ At the end of the movie, the credits roll over a bloody title card and one last scream that makes half the audience laugh nervously. The lights come up too bright, too suddenly, washing the room in gold and making everyone blink like they’ve just come out of a dream.

You sit up slowly, reluctantly peeling yourself off Sevika’s shoulder, cheeks warm and lips still tingling.

“Still alive,” you mutter, stretching your legs.

“Barely,” she smirks, grabbing the now half-empty bucket of popcorn. “You flinched so hard you almost headbutted me.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong…” you say, but it’s breathless, too soft to sting.

You both shuffle out with the crowd, shoulders brushing, the air outside cooler now, heavy with summer-night warmth and the buzz of other teens loudly rating the kills. The parking lot glows under flickering streetlamps. Sevika walks a step ahead, swinging the car keys around her finger, always a little cooler than you can handle.

She glances over her shoulder at you as you approach her dad’s beat-up old car. Leans back against the door, arms crossed, eyes on you like she knows she’s got you.

“So,” she says, voice low, casual, almost lazy. “Wanna come over?”

Your heart skips. You look at her, eyes wide.

She shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like she’s not suddenly turning your whole body to static. “We can make fun of the kills. Watch something stupid. You don’t have to go home yet, do you?”

You hesitate. Just a second. Then: “No. I mean—yeah. I wanna come.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t say anything.”

Sevika laughs. Really laughs this time. Low and warm and full.

Once in the parking lot, she opens the passenger door for you, like a gentleman and a menace rolled into one, and says, “C’mon, scaredy cat. I’ll keep the lights on for you.”

You slide in, heart pounding, stomach flipping, trying not to grin like a total idiot. Your cheeks are warm and your hands just a little bit sweaty.

And yeah—maybe horror movies aren’t so bad after all.

She’s going to make you forget about all the jump-scares anyway.

I’m realizing I have the power of writing good smut… but still won’t, heh. There’s so many good smut writers here. Just wanted to write a fic abt my love for slashers and make it cute, really cliché teenage movie date until I realized it could be a really good smut fic tbh— but anyway!

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @riotstemple29 @blessupblessup @sevikasswifee

[sykokittyy]

when ur listening to ur fave music and u start rockin out

[sykokittyy]

y’all remind yourselves your account is your space. you’re not a performance. you’re not annoying by being yourself. if people aren’t into it they can leave. you’re not obligated to please anyone, especially at the cost of your personal expression. the worst thing you can do for your online enjoyment is to filter or censor yourself.

[sykokittyy]

Why people in survival often crave love the most

Based on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, we seek love only after safety and survival are met. But people in survival still crave love deeply, even more I would argue, as love is craved most intensely during times of instability in our lives

Why?

Because love feels like safety

When someone is in survival mode, they will reach for love not as a luxury, but as a lifeline. The nervous system seeks regulation. Being seen, held, or cared for can signal to the brain that you are safe

This is why people with the most chaos in their lives tend to become the most desperate for love. And we’re taught to associate those feelings with romantic relationships. They’re not weak, they’re human beings wired for connection. And when survival needs are unmet, people will chase love to escape pain, not build connection (subconsciously or not). Unfortunately, this leads to trauma bonds, dependency, or chasing unsafe love, because the need is real even if the relationship isn’t healthy

So maybe it’s not that love comes after survival. Maybe love is survival. Connection is a core human need, but if it’s rooted in fear, not healing, it can hurt more than help

[sykokittyy]

[sykokittyy]

The bath was over. Your skin was pink, your limbs jelly. You were freshly cleaned, warm and wobbly, and Sevika carried you straight out of the tub, towel-dried your body like you were helpless, and now you were lying facedown on the bed.

Naked. Wet hair. Whimpering into the pillow.

“Mmhm,” Sevika murmured, climbing up behind you. “So now you’re quiet?”

You huffed. “I’m recovering. You fucked the hell outta me.”

“You’re still dramatic.”

“And you’re still not sorry.”

She snorted. “I literally carried you out the tub like a princess.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I have spaghetti legs from all the orgasms you forced outta me.”

“That’s not how forcing works, baby.”

You grumbled. She laughed.

And then, click.

You lifted your head. “What was that?”

“don’t tell me you’re putting on a strap now..” you added

She held up a lotion bottle. Smirked. “Turn over.”

“…Why.”

“I’m moisturizing you.”

You blinked. “That’s intimate.”

“Shut up and roll over.”

You did. Dramatically.

And then gasped when her cold hands met your thighs.

“hey, it’s cold!”

“Quit whining.”

Her hands slid up, smoothing lotion over your legs, then your hips, slow and firm. She knew exactly where to press, massaging in with her thumbs, strong fingers digging just enough to make your muscles melt. Up your sides, across your belly, over your arms.

She was careful with your small tits, brushed her knuckles along them teasingly, grinning when you arched up into the touch like a spoiled little brat.

“You’re so needy,” she muttered.

“You like it.”

“eh, I do.”

When she was done, she helped you up, kissed your cheek, and handed you one of her old tank tops. faded dark navy. A little stretched out. Stolen from her old drawer.

she pulled it over your head and,

damn

It was tight.

Like… skin-tight.

It clung to your tits like they were trying to bust out of it, your hard nipples clearly visible through the soft fabric. The hem barely covered your ribs.

“Sevika,” you whispered. “This is so small.”

“Yeah,” she said, staring openly. “I was sixteen. That thing’s vintage.”

“I look like a slut.”

“You look like a problem.”

You looked behind and said, “Omg.. this is strangling my tits.”

“…what tits?” she chuckled.

you gave her the NASTIEST side eye ever. “you are a bitch!!”

then she sat back after you flipped her off, lips parted, watching you adjust the fabric over your chest. Her eyes dropped lower. You hadn’t put on shorts.

Just lace panties.

Black. Thin. A little sheer. Framing your soft thighs and still-flushed skin like a gift.

Sevika’s jaw tensed.

You blinked innocently. “What?”

She dragged a hand down her face. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I’m literally recovering from trauma.”

She gave you a look. “Trauma.”

“hey, your tits traumatised me.” (u were just suckin on them 😇)

“I will bite you.”

You giggled, crawling into her lap, legs straddling her hips, your tiny tank top bunching at your waist. Your small tits brushed against her chest and you grinned smugly when her breath hitched.

“Am I forgiven yet?” you whispered, arms wrapping around her neck. “You got to punish me, make me cum, bathe me, lotion me up… all that’s missing is praise.”

Her hands gripped your waist.

Her eyes? Dark.

“You want praise now?” she murmured, low and dangerous. “After all that?”

You nodded slowly. “Just a little.”

Her lips brushed your neck.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered. “Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

You shivered.

“Look so fucking good in my shirt,” she added, voice deepening. “You think you’re teasing me. But you’re driving me insane.”

You smiled against her mouth.

“Mm. Then let me be your problem.”

this might be the sequel to this fic 🤭🤭

↪️ reblogs are appreciated!!

masterlist check this out??

taglist: @amri0ram @thehoneybeestings @georgiahs-stuff @mistershotz @mommyissuesismypersonality @sapphicstrawcore @sevikaswinkinghole @shanesevikasfuckdoll @sevikas-whore @shxdy0ariia @illbecanon

[sykokittyy]

I hope the second half of this year is yours. Fully. Freely. Finally.

[sykokittyy]

also, let it be known that I once struggled so much in school that I got a 0% on a math test in high school (I was behind by literal months), had to retake an entire year and went from the highest national education level to a lower one. I remember thinking that was it for me and I'd ruined my life. I was a seventeen-year-old child. That's the thing about failing: you can do it again and again and again, and things can still be okay. You'll be in the greatest depths you have ever known, and still be able to rise to new heights. The scary thing, and simultaneously the best thing, is that you just never know.

[sykokittyy]

“Happiness will come to you when you let go of the hurt that is holding you back.”

— Unknown