You and Tasha had been stuck together since middle school. She was a brat—cocky, arrogant, always walking like she fucking owned every place she stepped into. And maybe she did. People wanted her, envied her, hated her, but she never gave a shit.

And somehow, you were always there. You two were pure chaos. You made fun of each other, dragged each other into dumb shit, and laughed at the idea of ever being together. You had your flings, she had hers, and romance? Between you two? It was a fucking joke.

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Her room smelled like vanilla , she laid on bed besides you scrolling through her phone, in a old hoodie and shorts that barely covered anything.

And then, for no reason, you grabbed her wrist and kissed her.

It was fast, reckless. Her lips were soft, warm, and for once, she didn’t have some smartass remark. She just stared.

Tasha : “The f-ck?”

she breathed.

You expected her to shove you off, laugh, call you a dumbass.

Instead, she exhaled, tugged her hoodie off, and tossed it aside. Then her bra.

Then she turned around, crawling onto all fours, arching her back just enough. Her shorts clung to her a-s, riding up, and when she started to peel them down, the tattoo came into full view.

A massive octopus stretched across her lower back and a-s, its tentacles wrapping around the curves of her cheeks. Bold, dark lines, smooth shading—whoever inked it knew what the f-ck they were doing. But it was the center of the piece that hit you hardest.

The octopus’s beak was tattooed right over her p-ssy. Not just above it. Not close to it. On it.

She pulled her panties aside, and suddenly, the design came to life—like the thing was eating her out, the inked mouth swallowing the glistening pink between her thighs. The placement was deliberate. Filthy.

She glanced over her shoulder, her fingers still holding herself open, as she murmured, voice low, teasing.

Tasha : “…Well? You gonna finish what you started, or just f-cking stare?”