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1feelp1nk · 16 days ago

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MY GOD????

──𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑;

(established!sevika x reader): you finally figure out what's been bothering your girlfriend and make all her dreams come true.

wc: 5.8k | cw: sub top!sevika, fingering, face-sitting, oral sex, voyeurism, strap-ons, praise kink, multiple orgasms, orgasm control, overstim, MINORS DNI.

note: just a little treat before i go out of town this weekend! i hope you enjoy :3

It is unlike Sevika to be nervous.

Correction: it's unlike Sevika to be nervous in a way that shows. She's a woman who keeps her cards close, who moves through the world like someone who has already calculated every possible outcome. A bit neurotic, all things considered.

But something's shifted lately, and you’ve started noticing the small things: the way she jumps a little when you speak suddenly, like she's been too far in her own head to hear you coming. The distant look in her eyes when she thinks you’re not watching, not pensive exactly but preoccupied, like there's a thought she keeps chewing on but hasn’t dared to spit out.

She still reaches for you, still holds your waist when you pass by and pulls you in for slow kisses on the couch, but there’s a tension behind it now, like she’s waiting for something. Bracing for it.

And then there’s the issue of your sex life. Or more accurately, the slow but undeniable decline of it.

In the beginning, Sevika couldn’t keep her hands off you. You’d barely make it through dinner without her getting that look in her eye, and next thing you knew, you were being hauled into the bedroom or pinned to the kitchen counter with barely enough time to gasp her name.

The sex had been ravenous, like she needed you to survive, like fucking you was the only way she knew how to breathe. And for a while, you thought that was just her baseline. That maybe she’d finally found someone who made her let go of whatever leash she kept on herself.

But now? You’re lucky to get a bit of half-hearted groping during your nightly wind-down, maybe something more if the stars align and she’s not distracted or tired or haunted by whatever's been eating at her. You try not to take it personally. Really, you do.

The easiest, most humiliating conclusion would be that she's just not that into you anymore. That maybe the shine wore off and she’s already got one foot out the door, even if she hasn’t said it out loud. But that theory doesn’t hold water when she still looks at you the way she always did—like you hung the damn moon.

She still cooks for you. Still listens when you ramble. Still runs her hand down your back when you’re falling asleep and tucks the blanket under your chin when she thinks you’re not awake to notice. She's still your Sevika. And so, you chalk it up to the relationship settling. No one stays in that honeymoon heat forever. You try to convince yourself that it’s not a problem. That not having sex every day isn’t a failing. That it doesn’t mean something’s broken.

And when you do have sex, it’s still good—god, it’s incredible—but there’s something in her that holds back now, something you haven’t been able to name, and you’ve been too scared to press for it.

So, you let it lie. You tell yourself that whatever it is, she’ll work it out. That if it’s important, she’ll come to you.

But it's Sevika, and you were always going to have to find out the hard way.

It’s a normal day when it happens. You’d made plans to grab lunch with a few friends and maybe catch a movie afterward if the timing worked out. Nothing special. Sevika had kissed your forehead as you got ready, told you to use her card to treat yourself—something she always insists on when you go out—and murmured for you to have a good time.

Lunch was a joy. There was something soothing about the low hum of conversation and the clatter of silverware, about the laughter echoing off the restaurant walls as you caught up with people you hadn’t seen in weeks. It wasn’t until you stepped outside that the three of you realized it was raining, and the plans begin to dissolve. The movie was quickly nixed in favor of warm homes and dry clothes, and you found yourself making the familiar drive back in the kind of light drizzle that turns roads slick and hypnotic.

Sevika texted while you were still en route. Just a simple raining. be safe. You didn’t respond right away—being a safe driver and all that jazz—but the quiet comfort of knowing she was thinking about you settled warm in your chest.

When you push through the door, Sevika isn't waiting for you like she normally is. She's not in her usual spot on the couch nor the kitchen; for a second you entertain the idea that maybe she's just gone out. Then, you hear muffled noise from your bedroom.

The closer you get, the more clarity you get. Ragged little gasps and choked-off whines, the wet slap of skin against skin in rhythm. You freeze for a moment because you're certain it must be Sevika, but you've never heard her sound like that in your life.

A part of you panics, for one blinding second. That sharp, sour bite of suspicion creeps in without warning. The kind that stems from some buried, ugly place inside you. The whisper that maybe she’s not alone in there.

But the thought fizzles as fast as it forms, burning out in the face of what you know about her, about the woman waiting on the other side of the door. And then, when you reach out and ease it open just a crack, just enough to look inside—you see her.

Alone. On the bed.

She’s splayed out across the sheets on her back. Her shirt is rucked up high on her ribs, revealing the slope of her stomach and the way her chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven gasps. Her sweatpants are halfway off, bunched awkwardly around one knee, and her legs are spread wide in a graceless sprawl. One arm is curled up, pressing something to her face, and when you squint, you recognize it. A flash of familiar color. A torn bit of lace. Your underwear—yesterday’s—held tightly to her nose in a truly shameless display.

You barely breathe. Can’t.

Her other hand is between her legs, fingers moving in a slick, relentless rhythm. She’s not playing. She’s fucking herself. Three fingers deep, fucking into herself with the kind of hunger you’ve never seen her give to herself. The kind of force she usually reserves for you. The kind that has her back arching and her thighs shaking and her heels digging into the mattress for leverage as her hips jerk to meet every thrust. She's wrecked. Her face is twisted with something halfway between ecstasy and frustration, brows furrowed so deeply it almost looks like she’s in pain. Her jaw trembles with every breath.

You should look away. You know that. But you're stuck there, shameless in the doorway, drinking her in with greedy, disbelieving eyes. Every part of her is trembling with effort, her breath coming in short, stuttering gasps.

Her hand is slick—dripping—and every time her fingers slide out, you can see the mess she’s making of herself. It’s obscene. And this is the same Sevika, who once told you she didn’t want the favor returned, that getting you off was enough. Sevika, who always made you come first, who always had that wolfish grin and strong hands and took what she wanted like she knew she deserved it.

But this isn’t that Sevika.

This is something else. This is need laid bare. Desperation, raw and unhidden, as if she’s cracked herself open on purpose and is holding the pieces out for someone to see. For you to see. And god, you see her. You see her so clearly you can hardly think around it.

And then, she speaks.

“Please,” she whimpers, barely more than a breath. “I’ll be good.”

The words slice right through you, clean and brutal. Your body reacts before your mind catches up, a jolt of heat racing straight down your spine. I’ll be good. Her hand slows for a second, stuttering mid-thrust like the sound of her own voice has startled her, and then she drives her fingers deeper, rougher, chasing the edge again like she can’t stand being without it. Like she's punishing herself for daring to ask.

“Let me come, please,” she moans, her voice breaking around the edges. “Tell me I’m good.”

There’s no one else in the room. No one for her to be putting this performance on for. Just her, trembling on her back, begging to be seen, to be allowed. Her face is flushed, her mouth slack, eyes squeezed shut like she can’t bear to look at herself this way. Like the shame is part of the pleasure. And all the while she keeps moving, fingers plunging in and out of herself with rhythmic urgency, the wet sound of it a low, relentless underscore to her pleas.

Tell me I’m good.

She says it like she’s starving for it. Like the words themselves might unravel her in just the right way. She wants you to say it. She needs you to say it because she doesn’t believe it unless it comes from you.

And then she says your name.

Once. Then again. And again. She chants it like a lifeline, like prayer turned desperate. She’s crying it now, wrecked and hoarse and slipping toward the edge with every syllable, like saying your name might summon you, might give her permission to let go.

Through the arousal clouding your thoughts and the flush of voyeuristic heat across your skin, it dawns on you with startling clarity: this is what’s been eating at her. This is the thing Sevika has been hiding, the thing she’s never given you, maybe never given anyone. And you know it’s not just the act. It’s what it means to her. What it costs her to want this, to need it.

And God, you want to give it to her.

You want to cross that threshold and press your body to hers, kiss her until she softens and give her exactly what she's begging for. You want to tell her there's nothing—nothing—she ever needs to hide from you. That she could give you every raw, tender, humiliated part of herself and you'd hold it with both hands.

But you know Sevika. You know how easily she spooks when she feels exposed, how quickly she’ll lock herself up tighter than a vault the second she thinks someone’s seen too much. If you walk in there now with eyes full of knowing and hands full of comfort, she’ll shut down. You’ll lose her. She’ll bolt behind her usual defenses, pretend it never happened, maybe even avoid you for days out of some twisted sense of shame.

She doesn’t do confrontation. She bulldozes through it, clumsy and bristling.

So you don’t call out to her. You don’t step inside and ask her why she didn’t tell you. You don’t throw open the door and offer her safety. You choose a tactful retreat for now.

You back away from the bedroom like a thief with a priceless secret, gently easing the door shut behind you as though you were never there at all. Then, on silent feet, you tiptoe to the front entrance, crack it open just enough to set the stage.

You wait a beat—long enough to let her think the noise is genuine—before slamming it shut, hard enough to echo through the apartment. The keys jingle as you toss them into the ceramic bowl by the door. You clear your throat. You even throw in a practiced sigh for good measure.

“Sev! I’m home,” you call, keeping your voice smooth, casual, just slightly above normal.

A few heartbeats pass before you hear her bare feet padding softly across the hardwood, the rustle of clothing, a door easing shut somewhere behind her. And then she’s there, walking down the hallway like nothing's amiss. Her hair’s a little mussed, but her smile is easy, practiced. “Welcome back, baby. How was your movie?”

You wonder how often she’s done this. How many times she’s waited until she was sure you were gone, then slipped into your shared bed with shaking fingers and bitten-back moans and your scent pressed to her face.

It makes your chest ache, but you keep it hidden behind a smile. You give her the line you’ve already rehearsed. “We decided to reschedule because of the rain. Lunch was good, though. We should go together sometime.”

“Sounds good,” she murmurs, and leans down to kiss you. Soft and warm and familiar; you return the kiss and it takes everything in power not to tackle her to the couch and have your filthy way with her. You manage, barely.

That night, you don’t push. You don’t say a word about what you saw, won't until you're sure of what exactly it is you plan to say.

You settle into the rhythm she knows best. The two of you curl up in bed (you note that she changed the sheets while you showered), limbs tangled and breath syncing in that quiet way you’ve always loved. She falls asleep with her arm around your waist, her head pressed into your shoulder. And you lie awake for a while, watching the rise and fall of her chest, letting everything settle.

Over the next few days, you start testing the waters.

You start taking a little more initiative in bed. Nothing extreme. Just a firmer grip on her hips when you pull her in, a hand to her throat—not squeezing, just holding. You tell her she’s beautiful when she gets a little vocal. You guide her mouth between your thighs and gently hold her there until you’re done, showering her in as much praise as you can choke out.

It all comes to a head a few nights later.

Sevika’s cooked for you. Something rich and hearty with roasted vegetables and crusty bread, the apartment filled with the warm smell of garlic and thyme. She’s wearing a black tank top and dark jeans, and her hair's freshly washed. There's a part of you that wants to forgo the entire meal in favor of just having her, but you know she's worked hard.

The two of you sit across from each other at the table, each with your own glass of wine. She’s leaning back in her chair, legs spread, eyes lazy as she watches you chew. You can see how proud she is of the meal, even if she won’t say it outright. She always likes feeding you.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you murmur, setting your fork down and reaching for your wine. “Seriously, this is amazing.”

She grunts, but her mouth quirks up. “Glad you like it.”

You swirl your glass, watching the wine catch the candlelight. Then you glance up. “Can I ask you something?”

She tenses. It’s so slight most people wouldn’t catch it. But you know her. You’ve learned how to read the micro-expressions, the shifts in her breathing.

“Sure,” she says, guarded.

You speak plainly, knowing that any hint of pity or hesitation would only serve to agitate her. “The other day. When I got home early, I was actually back a little earlier than I lead you to believe.”

Her expression freezes.

You keep your voice soft. “You were, uh, busy…in the bedroom.”

Her jaw ticks. She sets her glass down with a quiet clink. “You saw that?”

You nod.

Her eyes flick away. She shifts back, a muscle in her cheek twitching. “You gonna give me shit for it?”

And that breaks your heart a little. The idea that someone made her feel like that's anything to be ashamed, the fact that she expects it even from you.

“No,” you say, and the word is so fierce, so immediate, that her eyes flick back to you. You take a breath, steady your voice. “I wouldn't bring it up to make fun of you, Sev.”

She’s still watching you like she’s waiting for the trap to spring.

You lean forward slightly. “You know you don't have to be embarrassed, right?”

There’s a long pause.

And then she says, quietly, “I'm not embarrassed, baby.” Her mouth twists, like she’s trying to get the words right. “People take one look at me and they've got a whole lotta expectations. Stuff they think I am, stuff they want me to be. They find out I'm not really the domineering type and they're usually not happy about it. And you seem to like it when I'm in charge.”

She shrugs, but the movement is stiff. “Didn't wanna disappoint you, is all.”

You feel something hot burn behind your ribs. A kind of quiet fury. That anyone had the chance to be on the receiving end of Sevika’s surrender—to watch a woman that powerful offer herself up—and treated it like anything short of a god-given gift.

You shake your head, stunned. “Jesus, Sev. That’s…” You search for the words. “You didn't disappoint me. I gotta be honest, babe, that was, like, the hottest thing I've ever seen.”

She snorts, amusement breaking through the tense air. “That why you brought it up? Just to let me know it's okay?”

You meet her eyes, your own lips pulling into a little grin. “Would you want that with me? To submit like that?”

“Yes.”

You nod slowly, heart pounding.

You finish the last sip of your wine. Set the glass aside. Then you rise to your feet, smooth your hands down your thighs, and hold her gaze.

“Good,” you say, voice low and certain. “C'mon.”

Sevika doesn’t ask where. She doesn’t hesitate.

She stands without a word, places her empty glass on the table, and follows you with her hands tucked in her pockets.

Inside the bedroom, you stop near the foot of the bed and turn to her.

“Sit,” you say gently.

She obeys without question, sinking onto the edge of the mattress, legs parting just slightly as she settles. You step between them, resting your hands on her shoulders, watching how she instinctively reaches out. Her big palms slide immediately to your waist like they belong there. And when she looks up at you, something in your chest clenches. She looks so open like this. Unguarded. A quiet, private kind of softness that few people probably ever get to see.

She’s beautiful like this. Cute, even. Which should feel wrong, coming from someone so broad and blunt and vulgar, but somehow it doesn’t. It just makes you want to cup her jaw and hold her face in your hands and make her feel adored.

Your fingers move before your mind catches up, threading through the strands of her hair—slow and gentle, dragging along her scalp in a way that makes her eyelids flutter.

“Gonna tell me how you want this, Sev?” you ask, voice low but not demanding. An invitation.

She smiles, something shy tucked behind it, and it’s the freest you’ve seen her in days. Like letting the truth out at dinner shook something loose inside her. She takes her time, chewing on the inside of her cheek, clearly turning over her thoughts before she speaks.

“I like it when you tell me what to do,” she says slowly. “When you tell me I’m good.”

A pause.

“You can be mean, too,” she adds, voice a little rougher, like it costs her something to say. “I need it to behave, sometimes. I like being kept in line by a pretty thing like yourself.”

The words hit you like a pulse beneath your skin. Not just the meaning of them, but the vulnerability it takes to say them aloud. To admit that she wants control taken from her. That she craves not just praise, but discipline.

Your fingers are still buried in her hair, stroking. Calmer than you feel. “I can do that for you,” you murmur, leaning down to press your lips to hers. It’s not a heated kiss. Not yet. Just a promise, warm and sure.

You pull back just enough to meet her gaze. “Anything off the table?”

She tilts her head, amused, and that familiar smirk curls at the edge of her mouth. “Oh? Got something really fucked up you wanna do to me?”

You roll your eyes and swat her shoulder lightly. “No. I just don’t want you uncomfortable.”

She leans in again, slower this time, and brushes her lips along yours like she’s savoring it. “I trust you, baby,” she says softly. Her voice is close, and her eyes are steady. “I’ll tell you if I need to stop. Swear.”

You nod once, fingers tightening gently in her hair. “Good girl,” you murmur.

And the way she exhales, shaky and wrecked and already half-gone, tells you she’s yours.

“Take your clothes off,” you say, calm and clear.

Sevika blinks, then nods once, and rises to her feet. There’s no sarcasm in her smile now, no teasing in her movements. Just a quiet obedience as she sheds each piece, folding them roughly and dropping them onto the chair in the corner without ceremony. You drink in every inch of skin she reveals—broad shoulders, that scarred chest, the solid strength she carries in every line of her body—and it hits you again, how rare this must be for her. To bare herself like this. To offer herself.

When she’s fully nude, you nod toward the bed. “Up.”

She crawls backward onto the mattress, then scoots up until she’s resting against the pillows, legs slightly parted, gaze fixed on you.

You don’t undress. Not yet. Instead, you crawl up after her, settle into her lap with a shift of your hips. Her hands twitch on the comforter—like she wants to touch, to grab, to drag you in by the hips—but she doesn’t. She holds still. Her eyes dip to your mouth, and when she swallows, it’s audible.

“Who knew you could be so well behaved?” You murmur, palms smoothing up her shoulders as you lean in.

You kiss her before she can respond. It’s slow at first, but the second she starts to lean into it, you pull back, just enough to shift your focus lower. Your lips trail from the corner of her mouth to her below her ear, then lower still to her jaw. Then, to her throat. You bite, gentle at first, then harder, drawing a sound out of her that goes straight to your core.

Your mouth continues downward, to the side of her neck, where you suck a little harder. She shifts beneath you, hips twitching, and your hand finds her side, thumb dragging across her ribs in slow strokes.

You leave another mark. Then another. A messy little constellation along the side of her throat, scattered proof that she’s yours.

And she lets you. Chest rising faster now. Breath heavier.

Your hands slip down her torso, brushing the soft skin beneath her breasts before rising again, more purposeful this time. You cup them, thumbs brushing her nipples, and her back arches just slightly into your touch. An unconscious response, so telling.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, head tipping back against the pillows.

You smile, wicked and fond, and lean down to replace one of your hands with your mouth. You drag your tongue slowly over the stiff peak, then close your lips around it, sucking just enough to make her gasp. Your free hand tweaks the other, enjoying the way her whole body reacts: shoulders tightening, thighs shifting beneath you.

The little sound she makes—soft and needy, half-bitten off—is almost too much. You grind down without thinking, chasing a little friction, trying to soothe the ache building between your legs.

Her eyes snap to yours.

But she still doesn’t move. Her hands stay clenched in the sheets. And you know she wants to touch you. You can see it in the way her fingers curl, the way her knuckles go white. But she doesn’t. Because you haven’t told her she can.

You press your mouth to her chest again, more greedy this time, your hips rolling just a little against her lap as you murmur against her skin, “I like these new noises you're making. You don't have to hold back.”

"'Kay," she says, voice stretched thin.

You kiss a slow, teasing line down her stomach, savoring the way she trembles with every inch you travel lower. Her thighs part for you like second nature, wide and inviting, and you settle between them with reverence. Your hands settle on her hips, breath ghosting over her cunt.

You glance up.

Sevika’s watching you. Her chest is rising and falling like she’s already halfway gone, and you commit the sight to your memory. You duck your head and lick one slow, deliberate stripe through her folds, and the sound she makes—fuck. It’s guttural, pulled from somewhere deep. Her hips jerk despite herself.

You take your time. Parting those puffy lips with your tongue and drinking in the taste of her. And when your tongue finds her clit, you pause.

She’s so sensitive. You feel it in the way she twitches, how her thighs flex on either side of your head. And she’s big here, swollen and flushed, easy to wrap your lips around. So you do. Gently. Eagerly.

The reaction is immediate. She lets out a sound you’ve never heard from her before—high, needy, almost whimpering. Her hips roll without rhythm, trying to chase more friction, and you press your palms harder to her thighs to hold her still.

“Shit. Baby,” she gasps, voice already fraying at the edges. “I—fuck, you can’t just—”

But you can, and you do. You suck slow, then fast, then slow again. Teasing, tasting, keeping her just off balance enough that she doesn’t know whether to cry or come. She starts to babble, to beg. She’s never begged you like this before. Every word stumbles out half-formed, punctuated by desperate moans and broken gasps.

“Please. Please don’t stop, just—fuck, right there.”

You hum against her clit, letting the vibration do the rest. Her whole body tenses. You feel it building in her thighs, in her stomach, the way she tries to close her legs but can’t. Not with you holding her open like this, tongue relentless, lips locked around the part of her that seems to reduce her to a mess beneath your expertise.

And just as she tips over the edge—shuddering, breath hitching—her hand suddenly comes down, fingers curling tight against the back of your head.

You freeze.

Then, slowly, you lift your face from between her legs, mouth slick, lips kiss-swollen.

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me,” you say softly.

It takes a second for it to land. Her eyes are glazed, chest heaving, lips parted around a word she’s forgotten how to finish. But you see the flicker of realization in her expression—the way she blinks, processing. The way her hand drops from your hair like it’s been burned.

You don’t scold her. You don’t say another word.

You just rise to your feet, eyes never leaving hers, and step off the bed in search of something. Sevika lays there stunned, bliss-drunk, and suddenly very alert to what might come next.

You return with a familiar object in hand, something you forgot you even owned until just now—cheap, pink, and fuzzy, dangling from one finger like a taunt. You watch as Sevika’s eyes narrow.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, half-laughing, half-wary. “I'm under arrest now?”

You smile, all mock sympathy and wicked delight. “You broke the rules, baby. I’m just helping you behave.”

Sevika opens her mouth to argue: It was an accident. I barely touched you. But you just raise a brow, silencing her with the glint in your eye. She hesitates, then leans back against the pillows with a groan, stretching her arms above her head. A reluctant offering.

You cuff her wrists to the headboard.

They’re not tight. Not serious especially considering she can easily break them if she wants to. But the effect is instant: her whole body shudders at the shift in power. She’s at your mercy now, and she likes it.

Your clothes are quickly discarded atop Sevika's with considerably less order. You crawl up the bed and straddle her chest, not quite sitting yet. “Maybe if you’re good,” you murmur, trailing your fingers along the edge of her jaw, “I’ll let you fuck me later.”

That gets her attention. Her eyes darken, her tongue flicks across her lips, and she nods like she’s already planning her redemption arc.

But that’s not what this moment’s for.

You shift higher, settling over her face, bracing one hand against the headboard as the other guides her mouth exactly where you want it. “Open up,” you purr, and she obeys immediately—eager, hungry, already moaning before her tongue even touches you.

She wastes no time closing her mouth around you, tongue flicking out in the way she knows you go crazy for. Sevika always eats your pussy like she'll die without it. Her eyes flutter shut as she sets a steady pace, dragging her tongue through your slick and pushing her face as close as she can get it.

You grind down harder, throwing your head back with a drawn out moan.

She groans shamelessly with a mouthful of you, and then she’s doubling down. Her movements turn sloppy and focused and fucking needy, licking like she’s trying to earn your forgiveness. You keep your eyes on her, watching her strain against the cuffs, watching her fall apart under you.

“That’s it,” you breathe, rolling your hips slow over her tongue. “Just like that. Look at you. So desperate to make up for being bad.”

A noise escapes her, muffled and obscene. You feel it reverberate through your whole body.

You keep going, hips grinding, words getting filthier by the second. “You love this, don’t you? Getting used. Having me sit on your face like you’re just a toy to cum on. You want to be my good girl so bad.”

She’s moaning beneath you now, tongue working faster, almost frantic. You glance down, and that’s when you notice it: the way her body is tensing. The way her hips jerk against nothing. The tiny, helpless whimper she lets out.

She’s coming.

“Oh, Sev,” you say, laughing breathlessly as you reach a hand back, fingers slipping between her thighs. Her clit is soaked and swollen. You rub slow, lazy circles as you keep riding her face, and she just takes it—tied up, overstimulated, and practically vibrating with need.

“You came just from this? From eating me out?” You give her a few more strokes and she whines deep in her throat. “God, you’re such a mess. That tongue still working?”

It is. Barely. She sticks it out like she’s offering it to you, like she’ll keep going until she physically can’t anymore. And that’s exactly what she does. She lets you ride her face until you’re falling apart above her with a cry and grinding down harder to ride it out.

You don’t linger long.

You uncuff her wrists gently, and she immediately brings her hands down, arms shaky, fingertips brushing your thighs with a quiet sort of intimacy. You shift off her chest and lean down to kiss her.

“You okay?” you murmur between kisses, brushing your thumb along her cheek.

Sevika smiles like she just won the lottery. “You kidding?” she breathes. “I’m amazing.”

"Good. Me too." you say and you're both just smiling at each other like idiots for a while. "Anyways, about that fucking I was talking about."

It doesn't take much longer after that until you've got her strap-on securely on her hips. She helps as best she can, but she's too shaky for all the buckling and adjusting.

Still, there's something sweet in the effort she makes to keep her hands steady. You take over for her and, as soon as it’s secure, you crawl into her lap and line yourself up before sinking down with a sharp gasp.

“You can touch me now,” you whisper, bracing yourself against her shoulders. “Touch as much as you like. I think you've earned it.”

Her hands go immediately to your hips, grip firm, and she groans deep in her throat when you bottom out.

“Fuck,” she mutters, letting her head fall back for a second. “M'still so fucking sensitive…”

You lean in, pressing your forehead to hers, voice low and teasing. “You wanna be good for me?”

“Of course,” she says, instantly. And she's breathless, still wrecked, still eager.

“Then I don’t care if you’re sensitive,” you tell her, rocking your hips slowly to start, letting her feel every inch. “I want to come. So you’re gonna let me use you, aren’t you?”

The noise she makes is strangled, pulled from somewhere low and vulnerable. She nods helplessly, hips jerking up despite herself. You smirk down at her, not bothering to hide your satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”

She mutters something under her breath—creating a fucking monster, or something close enough—and it only makes you grin wider.

You ride her with purpose, grinding down hard with every bounce, angling your hips so that the base of the harness rubs just right against her clit with each thrust. It’s slow torture, and you know it. You feel it in the way her grip tightens, in the way her eyes flutter, in the little frustrated groans she lets out every time her body bucks up to meet you, desperate to take some semblance of control but holding back.

“Look at you,” you pant, fingers sliding through the hair at the back of her neck. “Trying so hard to be good.”

And she is. She is—trembling, sweating, falling apart beneath you. She tries to keep still, to let you have it the way you want, but the pressure is too much. Her hips start jerking up with every downward stroke, chasing something she can’t stop herself from needing. You don’t stop her.

When she comes again, it’s with a gasp and a full-body shudder, mouth slack, body tensing and then breaking into ripples beneath you. The desperate, quiet moan she lets out as she finishes nearly drags you under with her.

You follow not long after, riding her through it, coming with a cry as your body finally caves to everything she’s giving you. Everything she's letting you take.

You collapse against her chest, both of you panting, slick with sweat and shaking.

Eventually, Sevika’s arms wrap around you, warm and loose, and you stay there for a long moment—just breathing each other in.

“Was that everything you hoped?” you murmur into her neck.

“Better,” she says, lips brushing your temple. “Thank you.”

You just smile, lips brushing her throat. “Anything for my baby.”

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1feelp1nk · 19 days ago

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mechanic!perv!sevika x reader, 18+ only, men dni. pure smut ;; sexting ;; masturbation ;; degration ;; praising ;; nudes ;; video sex ;; modern au ;; scent kink ;; panty stealing ;; stress relief ;; age gap ;; light shame kink ;; obsessed pervy sevy yayyy masterlist credits to: @grotesquevi \\ . z_vika's file

You almost didn’t answer when the call came in.

It was late. Past midnight. You were curled up on your bed, half in a sleep shirt, half out of your damn mind from scrolling through your own messages with her, just waiting.

But there it was: “Vika.” on your screen.

No warning. No text. Just a video call.

You swiped to answer it, chest already tight.

“Hello?” you breathed, fixing your shirt just enough to hide the sheer top of your bralette. Not well, though. Not really.

“Camera’s on, huh?”

Her voice. Raspy. Tired. Goddamn strained. You could already hear the bite in it, like she’d been holding something in all day. Or longer.

You grinned, a little too proud. “Yeah. Figured you’d wanna see what you’re missing.”

“Shit,” Sevika muttered under her breath, the sound of her palm dragging over her face audible through the mic. “Always so fuckin’ cocky.”

You sat up a little straighter, legs crossed in front of the camera. “You’re not gonna turn yours on?” You could hear a low, wet noise on her end, like her hand moving against something. Then a shaky breath.

“No.”

One word. Firm. Final.

You pouted. “Why not?”

“Because if you saw me right now,” Sevika murmured, lower this time, rougher, “you’d stop runnin’ that bratty little mouth and start cryin’. And we both know I like hearin’ you talk.”

Your stomach dropped. Your thighs pressed together instantly.

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You looked straight into the camera. “Nothing special…”

“Liar.”

You smiled, letting your fingers trail just under the hem of your shirt, showing skin, not giving everything away. “Okay. You caught me.”

“Stand up.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Stand. Up.”

Her voice dropped an octave. “Let me see.”

You obeyed, already warm under your skin, heat rising to your face as you slowly stood back and let her look, well, imagine what’s underneath those clothes.

“That’s better.”

You could hear it now. The way her voice thickened. Her breathing got uneven. That wet sound again. She was already touching herself... Maybe from the second you answered.

“I’ve got something of yours, y’know,” Sevika said suddenly, her voice breathless, almost smug.

You tilted your head, breath catching. “What?”

A low chuckle crackled through the speaker. “Pink lace. Scented like heaven. Found it in my jacket pocket after you came by the shop last week.”

She groaned. “Been in my glove compartment since. Couldn’t take it out. Couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it and smellin it baby.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Oh Sevika..”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You sat back down slowly, knees pulled up, hand over your stomach like you could physically hold in the way she made it twist.

“You left that shit on purpose, didn’t you?”

You stayed quiet. Grinning like the tease you were, like she made you.

“Say it,” she growled.

“…Maybe.”

Another groan. You could hear it, the stretch of her leather chair, the slick drag of her fingers moving faster, sharper. Her breathing ragged. “I’m so fuckin’ stressed, baby,” she muttered. “Hands hurt from work. Mind won’t stop. You know what I need?”

You swallowed. “What?”

Her voice cracked,

“I need to hear you fuckin’ come for me. Loud. Right now.”

You shifted in front of the camera, cheeks burning, thighs squeezing. “Y-You want me to…”

“Don’t play dumb, baby,” she rasped, wet sounds still going strong through her speaker. “You’ve got that toy, right? The one you were telling me about last week. Show it to me.”

Your heart skipped. “You remember that?”

“You were whining about it on voice note like a fuckin’ brat. Of course I remember,” she bit, then chuckled darkly. “What color is it again? Purple?”

“…Yeah.”

“Then go get it.”

You didn’t even try to be slow. You leaned off-camera for two seconds, then held it up in front of your webcam with shaky fingers, just to show her, just to hear her groan.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” That groan came loud. She didn’t bother hiding it anymore.

“Now… pull those panties to the side. Let me hear how wet you are.”

You hesitated and then dragged your fingers down, breath trembling as you pressed them to your slit and slowly spread the slick. A wet schlick echoed softly through your laptop speakers.

Sevika growled, “Jesus fuck, you really are soaked. That f’me?”

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed, “Been waiting allll day sev,”

“Of course you have,” she cut you off. “Little tease like you, fuckin’ pathetic. Sitting pretty in your room like a good slut while I’m at the garage losing my goddamn mind.”

The toy buzzed to life in your hand. Low and teasing. You pressed it against your clit and gasped, head falling back.

“That’s it. Fuck, baby, that’s it. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. You were arching already, legs spread wide, trying to give her the best view even if her camera was still off. “I wanna see you,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Fuck, Sev, I wish you’d turn your cam on—”

“No,” she snapped, like it hurt to even consider it. “Not yet. Not until I see you fall apart. Not until I know you’re doing it for me.”

You whimpered.

She got even closer to her mic. Voice thicker. Sicker. “You want my fingers, don’t you?”

“Y-Yeah…yes I need it so so bad.”

“You want me to come home from work all filthy, hands covered in grease, and still fuck you full with these fingers?”

The moan that came out of your mouth wasn’t even human.

“God, yes yes fuck, Sevikaaa!”

“I’d ruin you,” she growled. “Wouldn’t even let you shower first. Want your scent all over me, want to taste how needy you are straight out the fuckin’ cab.”

Your legs were shaking. The toy buzzed harder as you turned it up, hips grinding, thighs twitching.

“You know what I’m doing right now?” she panted.

You shook your head, unable to form a word.

“I’m sniffing your fuckin’ panties. The ones you left behind. Haven’t even washed ‘em, can’t. They’re fuckin’ soaked. You know what that smell does to me?”

You whimpered.

“It makes me so fuckin’ hard, baby,�� she grunted. “Makes me stroke my cock so slow, just thinking about how you’d taste. How you’d ride it. How you’d beg me not to stop when I’m deep inside your guts, fuck!”

You cried out. Loud. High-pitched. The first wave of your orgasm started creeping, thighs locking around the toy as you clamped down, whole body trembling.

“Don’t come yet,” Sevika warned, voice lethal. “You better not fucking come yet, baby. That’s my call.”

“I can’t!”

“You can. Take your fingers, push them in. Right now.”

You obeyed blindly, vibrator on your clit, fingers pushing into your dripping hole as the pressure mounted. You were so close it hurt.

And then,

click.

Her camera turned on.

And there she was.

Sevika. In her chair, tank top soaked with sweat. Her muscular arm between her thighs, knuckles shining. And right there in her hand, your panties. Fisted against her face as she stared at the screen like you were prey.

“Now,” she growled. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

You screamed.

Body breaking. Muscles jerking. Legs shaking as the pleasure snapped and ripped through you like electricity. You didn’t even know you were sobbing until you heard her voice again.

“That’s it,” Sevika whispered, voice wrecked. “There’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

Her camera was still on.

Sevika’s tank top was halfway shoved under one heavy arm, the fabric dark with sweat, exposing the strong, tattooed curve of her stomach as she leaned back, legs wide, one hand buried between them.

You could see her now.

Not just hear the wetness or imagine how far her fingers were buried. You saw it. Clear and raw and messy. You could come on the spot again right there.

She was fucking herself with your scent in her hand. Grinding against her palm like she was drunk off it.

And her eyes? Locked on the screen. On you. “Don’t stop,” she growled when you let the vibrator slip away for a second, too dazed to keep going. “You don’t fucking stop ‘til I say so.”

You let out a wrecked sob. “I…I already came,”

“Did I ask?”

Sevika’s voice cracked. Low and full of strain. “I’ve been jerking off to the thought of this all week. You think I’m gonna let you tap out before I get what I need?”

She moaned suddenly, loud and breathless, like she just hit that right spot. Her fingers sped up under her waistband, hips rocking hard.

“God, your fuckin’ smell,” she groaned. “Been sleepin’ with these. Don’t even care how sick that sounds.” She shoved them into her face again, hard, breathing in like she’d die without it. “Smell like a fuckin’ dream, baby. I bet you taste even sweeter. Bet I could bury my whole face between your thighs and get high off your pussy.”

You sobbed. A wrecked little noise as you started rubbing again, vibrator circling your clit, fingers still wet and twitching between your folds.

“You like watching me fuck myself?” Sevika asked, panting. “Like watching how desperate you make me?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimpered, “fuck, yes, you’re so so, Sevika, you’re— fuck! That spot oh my!”

“Keep playing with it,” she snapped. “Let me hear how sloppy that cunt is.”

You were soaked. Beyond wet. Your pussy made filthy little noises every time your fingers flexed inside, and that only made Sevika worse.

Her whole body was tensed, covered in a sheen of sweat, brows furrowed, and her hips were snapping against her hand like she wanted to fuck her stress straight into her own palm. “You ever thought about it?” she slurred. “My pussy, baby. You ever think about makin’ me come?”

You nodded so fast you looked dizzy.

“I’d ride your face,” Sevika hissed, “slow at first, just let it smear across your mouth, let you taste how stressed out I am, how hard I get for you, and then I’d fuck it. I’d ride your face ‘til you’re choking on it.”

You moaned. Long and broken.

“Let me hear it, baby,” Sevika growled. “Come again. Let it all out for me.”

You were practically crying. The vibrator was too much, your thighs trembling, fingers stuck inside yourself like your body refused to stop even if you wanted to.

“S-Sevikaa oh my god.”

“There you go,” she gasped, face flushed as she finally threw her head back. “That’s it ahh fuck yes! I’m comin, baby.”

You came with her.

You fucking shattered.

Not just your body, your whole mind. Your legs kicked, your mouth dropped open, a sob ripping from your throat as you pulsed around your own fingers, slick soaking your palm and sheets and probably the floor.

Sevika bit down on your panties. Literally.

Teeth clenched into the lace like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart, her hand moving violently fast under her shorts as she bucked once and twice. Then howled. A real, guttural, animal sound from her chest, then she slumped back.

Panting. Muscles twitching. Hand still buried in her waistband, other hand now resting over her chest, knuckles smudged with her own slick.

She looked ruined, absolutely fucking wrecked. And she was smiling, just a little.

“…You still there, baby?”

You couldn’t answer. You were lying back, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, chest rising so fast you might’ve blacked out for a second.

“…Yeah.”

“Good.”

She reached off camera and grabbed a wrench or something stupid and heavy and so her and dropped it on the desk like she was reminding herself to get back to reality.

“…You coming over tomorrow?”

You blinked. “…What?”

“Need the real thing,” Sevika muttered, voice hoarse. “Can’t fuck my hand forever. Need that pussy wrapped around my fingers. That pretty little face under me.”

You whimpered.

“I’ll pick you up after my shift,” she said. “And I’m keeping these.”

She held your panties up to the camera again, sticky with both of you now.

“You got any more like this?”

“…A few.”

“Wear one tomorrow,” Sevika rasped, grinning lazily. “But don’t expect to get it back.”

↪️ reblogs are appreciated!!

a.n: this was rushed I’m sorry y’all. ambessa will be next! Comment to be tagged in hers

taglist: @sapphicstrawcore @shanesevikasfuckdoll @sevikas-whore @v1kastr4p @illbecanon @georgiahs-stuff @barelykiramman @amri0ram @womenlover360 @frejav6996 @madzorwhatever @possessedmagpie @mistershotz @cocopuff130 @cookiesandclaudia @ferxanda @velvetsserenity @koralinebox @giggleshitter161 @vikas-girlfriend

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