“Fuck don’t stop.” You moaned, running your hands up the nape of Vi’s neck as sweat beads dripped from her brow to your chest.
“Your pussy feelsl s-so good baby.” Vi whined, looking down at the strapless strap burying itself between your folds. The sight of your wetness forming sticky stings between your clits almost made her pass out. “Made just for me.”
Vi reached over to the toy's remote, turning it up just one more setting, making you both whimper as Vi pulled your hips closer, thrusting deeper inside you. You could tell Vi was close as you pushed your breasts together, looking up in those sinful powder blue eyes.
“Shit shit shit.” Vi sobbed, watching your pretty tits bounce. “Cum with me, please cum with me.”
You wanted to, but you were too entranced watching her eyes roll back as her hips began thrusting uncontrollably. The tip of the silicone kissing your cervix as Vi rode out her orgasm.
You could watch Vi cum all day. The sounds she would make and the way she would cry out your name had you seeing stars. You bit your lip as she reached for the toy's remote before you snatched it away.
“W-what are you doing?” Vi gasped, eyes darting wildly between you and the remote. You turned the vibrations down, just by one setting, as you innocently blinked up at your girlfriend.
“All day you’ve been begging to fuck me.” You said, starting to grind down on the strap, in turn pushing it further into Vi.
“Please, sweetheart, I’ll make you feel soooo good. Going to fuck you till you drool all over yourself.” You said, mimicking her voice as she fell forward, bracing herself above you with whimpers falling out of her lips. You could not help but lean up and lick a slow swipe across her nipple.
“I know I know I will I just need- ah!” Vi pleaded as you wrapped your legs around her waist, pushing her deeper into you.
“C’mon baby, you can do it.” You cooed, tilting her chin up to look at you. “Make me cum all around your strap.”
Vi looked pathetic above you. Her eyes were half glazed over as the vibrations alone were already bringing her closer to another orgasm. And yet her hips began to roll slowly again.
“That’s it, good girl.” You encouraged, letting out a moan that made Vi bite her lip.
“I-it’s t-too much.” Vi cried as her thrust began to push harder against your hips
You cupped her cheek, making her look in your eyes as you praised her between whimpers.
“Making me feel so good for you, Vi.” You gasped as you turned the setting to the highest vibration once more. “Only you.”
Vi let out a sound you had never heard her make as she collapsed on top of you. She was a babbling mess, drool spilling across your nipples as her hips helplessly rammed into you.
“Just like that baby so fucking good for me.” You cried, clawing at her back pushing Vi over the edge again.
She wrapped a hand under your thigh, pulling your knee up to your chest as she tried to keep up her pace through her own orgasm. She looked up at you with tears shining in her eyes as her thighs were trembling, barely able to form words.
“F-fuck. P-please, pretty girl, cum for me.” Vi sobbed before burying her head in your neck, whining loudly enough that the neighbors could surely hear.
Something about how your oh-so-dominant girlfriend sounded so wrecked just for you made your orgasm crash over you as you held her hips still against you.
Feeling the vibration against her clit made Vi grip your thigh so hard you could feel the bruise forming. You were about to end her torture until she rolled you both over so you were on top of her.
“I’m sorry baby I’m sorry; you just feel too fucking good.” Vi cried before gripping your hips and fucking up into you.
You gasped, hands flying to your girlfriend's chest for stability, unintentionally squeezing her nipples to stay stable. Between the vibration, the view, and your hands, you saw Vi’s eyes go wide with panic before rolling back again as you felt a rush of liquid coating your thighs as Vi called out your name between sobs.
You watched her writhe under you, slack-jawed, as she went limp, grasping at the sheetings until her hands found the remote, turning the toy off.
You both sat as the room was only filled with the sound of you both attempting to catch your breath before you spoke again.
“I’ll give you five minutes to catch your breath, but after seeing that, there is no way I can be done with you yet.”
-------------------------------------------
I had an idea at work today....going to go charge my vibrator now. Happy Pride!
Can you make a fic about teenage reader and sevika (or young lovers) doing the Chapstick challenge?🥹 like if the reader put on a flavoured Chapstick Sevika would have to guess which one it is or the other way around !!
I love love love your work so much💗‼️
-🫀

Thank you so much! 🩷✨🫶🏻
(Y’all I’m so bad at dialogue, I’m trying to write more lately but damn I’m cringing)
Sevika x Reader - One More Game
Summary: A harmless Chapstick guessing game between young lovers quickly turns into Sevika finding excuses to kiss you far more times than necessary.
The challenge started because you were bored.
Which, according to Sevika, was always dangerous.
“You realise normal people just play cards when they’re bored?” she asked, sprawled across your bed.
You sat cross-legged opposite her, holding up a handful of flavoured Chapsticks you’d dug out from your drawer.
“Cards are boring.”
“They are not.”
“They absolutely are.”
Sevika snorted.
You grinned.
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
She eyed the collection suspiciously.
“What exactly am I agreeing to?”
“You put on a flavour. I kiss you and have to guess what it is.”
The second the words left your mouth, Sevika froze.
Then a slow grin spread across her face.
“That’s the game?”
“Yes.”
“Just making sure I heard correctly.”
Your face immediately warmed.
“Sevika-.”
“I’m in.”
“Of course you are.”
-
The first round was surprisingly difficult.
Sevika applied one while you looked away.
“Ready.”
You turned back around.
She was trying and failing to hide a smirk.
“You look way too pleased with yourself.”
“Guess.”
You leaned forward.
The kiss was quick.
Barely a second.
Still enough to make your stomach do embarrassing things.
You sat back.
“…Strawberry?”
“Nope.”
“Cherry?”
“Nope.”
“Hold on.”
You leaned in again and stole another quick kiss, trying to place the flavour.
“Raspberry?”
“Nope.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
Sevika burst out laughing.
“It was watermelon.”
“Watermelon? That tasted nothing like watermelon.”
“Sounds like a skill issue.”
You threw a pillow at her.
-
Your turn went much better.
Or so you thought.
You carefully applied vanilla.
A safe option.
An obvious option.
Sevika leaned in confidently.
The kiss lingered slightly longer than necessary.
You pretended not to notice.
She sat back.
“Easy. Cherry.”
“What?”
“Cherry.”
“It’s vanilla!”
Sevika blinked.
“No way.”
“It literally is.”
She grabbed the tube.
Read the label.
Stared.
“…Okay.”
You immediately started laughing.
“How did you get cherry from vanilla?”
“I don’t know!”
“You were so confident.”
“Shut up.”
-
By round six neither of you were taking the challenge seriously anymore.
“Orange.”
“No.”
“Mango.”
“No.”
“Passion fruit.”
“No.”
Sevika frowned.
“Kiss me again.”
“What?”
“Scientific purposes.”
You nearly choked.
“That’s not how science works.”
“It is now.”
You rolled your eyes but leaned forward anyway.
The second kiss was longer.
The third even more so.
By the fourth attempt you were struggling not to laugh.
Sevika sat back thoughtfully.
“Definitely peach.”
“There it is.”
“I knew it the whole time.”
“You absolutely did not.”
-
Eventually you noticed something.
“Wait.”
“Hm?”
“You keep getting them wrong.”
“So?”
“You’ve guessed wrong like ten times in a row.”
Sevika shrugged.
“Maybe I’m bad at this.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Sevika.”
“What?”
“Oh my god.”
The grin she gave you confirmed everything.
“You’ve been doing it on purpose!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You absolutely have.”
She laughed.
You shoved her shoulder.
“You cheater.”
“Worth it.”
Your face immediately heated up.
Sevika looked entirely too pleased about that.
-
The game ended with both of you collapsed against your pillows, surrounded by Chapsticks and half-finished guesses.
You’d long since stopped keeping score.
Neither of you could remember who was technically winning.
Not that it mattered.
Somewhere along the way, the challenge had stopped being about identifying flavours.
The Chapsticks sat forgotten across the blankets, neither of you making any effort to pick them back up.
The room had fallen into a comfortable quiet, broken only by occasional laughter and the rustle of sheets whenever one of you shifted closer.
You turned a Chapstick tube between your fingers before dropping it onto the bed beside you.
“So… what flavour was that last one supposed to be?”
Sevika glanced over.
“No idea.”
You stared at her.
“You don’t remember?”
A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Nope.”
A laugh escaped you.
The challenge had been your idea, but somewhere between the first few guesses and far too many stolen kisses, both of you had completely forgotten about it.
Honestly, neither of you seemed particularly bothered by that.
Especially when Sevika reached over, lacing her fingers through yours and pulling you a little closer.
Hey mama I LOVE your fan fics, they feed my soul!!!
Could I pretty please request sevika x reader but sevika is on her period and is all needy and stuff and reader has to comfort her?? Pretty please!! THANK YOUUUUU
🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶
Thank you!!! Ah I love writing reverse comfort, this was so fun! I adore sooky Sevika. Thank you for your request! 🩷🌷
Wife!Sevika x Reader - Soft Spot
Summary: Sevika comes home exhausted and clingy during her period, and you spend the night comforting and cuddling her through it.
Sevika was grumpy long before she admitted anything was wrong.
Not angry exactly, just… sharp around the edges. Spicy. She huffed when her cigarette wouldn’t light properly, glared at anyone who spoke too loudly in the bar, and spent the entire walk home muttering under her breath about how everyone in Zaun was apparently born without the ability to walk in a straight line.
You knew something was off the second she got through the door.
Usually she’d peel off her coat, toss it somewhere inconvenient, then immediately busy herself with something. A drink. A smoke. Cleaning her prosthetic. Anything.
Tonight, she just stood there.
Then she looked at you with the most exhausted expression you’d ever seen on her face.
“C’mere.”
You blinked. “That bad?”
“Mm.” She held one arm out toward you impatiently. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
You barely had time to laugh before she was pulling you against her, burying her face into your shoulder with a long groan.
“Oh, honey,” you said softly, instantly understanding. “Period?”
“Unfortunately.”
Her voice sounded muffled against your shirt. You felt her slump more of her weight onto you dramatically.
“Everything hurts,” she complained. “My back hurts, my stomach hurts, my head hurts. My tits hurt.” She paused. “Existing hurts.”
You snorted quietly, rubbing your hand up and down her back. “Poor baby.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You literally walked in here and collapsed onto me.”
“I did not collapse.”
“You absolutely collapsed.”
Sevika grumbled something unintelligible, but she made no effort to move away. If anything, she clung tighter.
That was the thing about her. Most people only saw the intimidating parts. The hard stare, the muscle, the temper.
But when she was with you, all those walls disappeared. Especially when she wasn’t feeling her best.
Suddenly she wanted your hands on her constantly.
She wanted your attention every second.
Wanted to be held like she’d melt apart otherwise.
By the time you got her settled on the couch, she was practically glued to your side, one leg thrown over yours while her head rested heavily in your lap.
“You need anything?” you asked, brushing your fingers through her hair.
“You.”
“I’m already here.”
“Closer.”
You laughed softly. “Sevika, there physically cannot be less space between us right now.”
“Figure it out.”
Despite her words, her eyes were already drifting shut while you played with her hair. Her face had softened completely, all the tension slowly leaving her body beneath your touch.
You leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She made a quiet noise and immediately reached for you again when you tried to pull away.
“Hey,” you murmured. “I was just kissing you.”
“Do it again.”
There was no attitude in it now. Just sleepy neediness.
Your heart practically melted.
So you kissed her forehead again. Then the corner of her mouth. Then her cheek until she finally cracked the tiniest smile.
“There she is,” you teased gently.
“Don’t start.”
“You’re cute when you’re clingy.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately. “I’m not clingy.”
The way her arms tightened around your waist the second you shifted said otherwise.
You raised an eyebrow.
“…Shut up.”
You grinned, leaning down to kiss her properly this time.
Sevika sighed into it like it relieved something aching inside her.
“Stay with me?” she asked quietly once you pulled back.
The softness in her voice caught you off guard. Sevika rarely asked for things so openly.
You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently. “Always.”
That seemed to ease something in her immediately.
A few minutes later, after you’d gotten a heating pad settled against her stomach and convinced her to drink some water, she ended up half sprawled across your chest in bed, utterly refusing to let go of you.
Every time you shifted even slightly, her arm tightened.
“You trying to fuse us together or something?” you mumbled affectionately, pressing a kiss to her head.
“Maybe.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
You smiled into her hair, wrapping your arms around her properly as she melted against you with a tired sigh.
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.”
summary: It’s summer, the music’s loud, and your frat’s throwing the pool party of the year. Sevika, older and quiet, clearly out of place, brought by a friend, doesn’t know anyone, keeps tugging at her clothes like she’s trying to disappear. Tall, strong, and a little awkward. Virgin. Nervous. But she can’t stop looking at you. And the end of the night, Sevika’s no longer the shy stranger in the corner anymore, she’s yours.
warnings: smut ;; public tension ;; size kink ;; alcohol ;; praise ;; degration ;; overstimulation ;; scissoring ;; strap ;; aftercare ;; sub!sevika ;; virginity loss ;; slight humiliation ;; slow burn ;; not proofread ;; modern au
a/n: hey everybody! just letting y’all know I’ll be pretty active starting from today, till Monday :( 🩵 some of your requests might be answered here!! (scroll all the way down), so happy we’re reaching 800 followers!
“Body rock
Girl, I can feel your body rock
Take a bow
You on the hottest ticket now” — beauty and a beat, Justin Bieber, Nicki Minaj
The party’s already full by the time you swagger out onto the patio, beer in hand and water still dripping off your calves. Bodies pack the backyard, girls in thongs clinging to floaties, guys roughhousing near the grill, someone already puking behind a hedge. Typical.
You’re also in your hottest bikini —black, tiny, snug in all the right places. Your hips are glistening with sunscreen, and your top doesn’t even pretend to keep your tits in line. You look like sin. And you know it.
That’s when you see her.
Not in the pool. Not dancing. Just… hovering near the edge. Towel clutched tight to her chest like armor, shoulders stiff, tank top damp and clinging to the swell of muscle underneath.
She’s not like the other party girls.
Tall. Built. Gorgeous. But shy as hell. Face all serious, eyes scanning the crowd like she’s waiting for someone to pull her into something she doesn’t understand.
You tilt your head. Someone way out of her element. Someone who doesn’t realise she’s attracting stares for all the right reasons. And she keeps looking at you.
You pretend not to notice at first. Let her have her moment. Let her stare at your tits and your tan and the little drops of water sliding down your abs. You even stretch a little, back arched, lip caught between your teeth, just to see if she flinches.
She does.
God, she’s cute. Like a big, awkward puppy who wandered into the wrong backyard and doesn’t know how to leave. Her grip on that towel tightens every time your bikini shifts when you move. She’s watching your mouth. Your hands. Your hips.
So you decide to give her something to really look at.
You wade back into the pool, eyes locked on hers, and climb onto a float like you don’t feel every man and woman watching you bounce with each step. You stretch again, this time way more deliberate. One arm overhead, bikini top riding just high enough.
When you glance her way, she’s still staring. So you call out.
“Hey. You gonna get in or just burn in that tank top?”
She jumps, literally jolts like a guilty dog. “What?”
You grin. “C’mon. It’s a pool party, not a funeral.” She hesitates.
You swim over, slowly and casually, until you’re leaning on the edge right in front of her. You look up, dripping wet, eyes twinkling. “Don’t make me beg,” you tease, voice low. “That water’s cold. I could use someone big to warm me up.”
Her mouth parts like she wants to say something, then shuts again. Her ears are pink. Her knuckles go white on the towel.
“uh. I didn’t bring a suit.”
“You don’t need one.” You smirk. “You’ve got a body. You’ve got clothes. That’s enough. Pool rules.”
“Just take off your shorts.”
A beat.
And then, maybe out of pride, or nerves, or because you’re smiling at her like you already own her, she actually steps out of her sandals, pulls the towel away, removes her shorts, and climbs into the pool.
You grin.
The tank top clings to her like sin. Her boxers go dark and heavy with water, plastered to her thighs, showing muscle it makes your mouth dry. She’s flushed, tense, clearly uncomfortable, but she’s here. With you.
You float closer.
You introduce yourself, licking water off your lips.
“…Sevika.” She whispers, completely in awe by your presence.
You murmur her name once, like a test. She shivers.
And that’s when you know.
She’s completely yours.
The sun’s gone, but the party hasn’t slowed. It became more intense — string lights glitter overhead like a lazy constellation, and the pool glows neon blue in the dark,half-full of drunk bodies and forgotten floaties. Somewhere, someone’s making out against the fence. Somewhere else, someone’s getting a lap dance to the beat of a speaker that’s probably about to blow.
But you? You’re pressed close to her.
Sevika.
Still soaking wet, still awkward, but softer now, looser. Her voice low and unsure when she talks to you. Her body lingering a little too close every time you drift near her in the water. You’ve been swimming together for a while, half-laps, playful splashes, teasing grins. She never quite touches you first, but she doesn’t pull away either. Not when your thigh brushes hers under the water. Not when your hand settles lightly on her waist, fingers slipping under the cling of her shirt. And especially not when you hook your arms over the edge of the pool and say, voice smooth and lazy, “Wanna go somewhere quieter?”
She hesitates.
Not because she doesn’t want to.
But because she does.
And she doesn’t know what to do with that.
You push a little more, just enough.
“My beer’s warm. My top’s loose. And I’m a little drunk.” You lean in, whispering now. “Could you… help my fix that? Please baby?”
Her jaw flexes. Her eyes flick to your mouth again. Then to your chest. Then to your mouth again.
She nods.
Not a word. Just a slow, reluctant nod, like she’s walking into something she’s not ready for but can’t say no to.
You grin, grab her hand, and pull her out of the pool.
Your fingers are sticky with chlorine, and hers are calloused, and hers are calloused, big palm, long fingers, twitchy grip. She holds your hand like it’s the first time she’s touched someone this way. Like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to squeeze. You don’t let go.
You walk her through the yard, past the drink table, past the couple hooking up behind the barbecue, past the stares. Everyone sees you leading this tall, wet, clearly overwhelmed girl through the chaos like she’s your next toy.
And maybe she is.
But you’re playing nice.
You climb the stairs to the second floor, barefoot, still dripping, your ass bouncing in that little black bikini. You know she’s watching. You don’t even have to look back to feel her eyes on you like they’re burning holes into your skin.
“Someone’s room?” Sevika murmurs, almost sheepish when you pause at the top of the landing.
“Someone’s mom’s room,” you correct with a grin. “They’re out of town. House is ours.”
You push open the door.
It’s quiet. Dimly lit by a single lamp on the dresser. Floral comforter on the queen bed. Carpet a little too clean for a college house. A half-empty wine bottle and two untouched solo cups on the nightstand, leftovers from someone’s earlier mistake.
You step inside.
Turn.
Look at her.
She’s standing just outside the doorway, dripping, uncomfortable, hands curled into fists at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them.
“You okay?” you ask, voice gentle now.
“…Yeah.”
“You can tell me if you’re not.”
Sevika swallows. Her throat bobs. “I just don’t…” she exhales, eyes flicking away, “…I’ve never done this before.”
You take a step closer. “Done what?”
She doesn’t answer. So you do it for her.
“Gone upstairs with someone? Let them touch you? Get touched back?”
Her ears turn red. Her face too.
You smile, soft this time. Less teasing.
“You wanna do it now?”
Still no answer. But her hand twitches toward you. Her breath comes shallow. “I won’t do anything you don’t want,” you promise, stepping even closer, brushing your fingertips along her wrist. “We can just lay down. Just… kiss. Whatever you need.”
“…I don’t know what I need.”
That breaks your heart a little.
You reach up, push her wet hair back from her face. She’s so warm under your fingers, tense and shaking slightly. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and she looks terrified. And desperate.
You lean in. Whisper against her mouth, “You wanna find out?”
this time, she kisses you.
Messy. Clumsy. Way too much teeth. But so eager.
And her hands? They don’t know what to do, one ends up cupping your back like she’s scared you’ll float away. The other just grips the edge of your bikini top like it’s anchoring her to the moment.
You don’t rush her. You pull her down with you onto the bed, letting her move slow, letting her hover over you like she’s afraid of crushing you—like she doesn’t realize you want to be crushed. You guide her fingers to your hip. To your thigh. To your ribs.
Her breath stutters.
Her eyes go wide.
And you say it gently, whisper soft:
“It’s okay. You can touch me. I want you to.”
She swallows. And touches you.
She’s trembling.
Not the kind of trembling that says no, but the kind that screams I want this so bad I can’t breathe.
You’ve got her under you now, mouth swollen from kissing, hands awkward on your waist like she doesn’t know where she’s allowed to touch. Her eyes flick from your chest, to your mouth, then down to where your bikini clings like a second skin.
“Take it off for me,” you whisper.
She hesitates.
You guide her, reach for her hand, place it at the knot of your top. She fumbles with it, lips parted, completely silent as it comes undone and falls to the floor. Her breath catches.
She stares.
Like she’s never seen tits before. Maybe she hasn’t, not this close. Not real, in her hands, hot and heavy from the pool. You smirk and arch just a little, inviting. She takes the bait.
Big palms cup you gently, then tighter, more sure. She’s biting her lip now, jaw locked, breathing heavy like just touching you is almost too much.
“Good girl,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down her arm. “You’ve got no idea how hot you are when you look at me like that.”
That earns a sound. A low, choked-off groan, like she’s trying not to whimper. You guide her lower. Down your stomach, across the curve of your hips. She pauses at the waistband of your bikini bottoms.
“You sure?” she rasps.
You nod.
“Sevika,” you say softly, legs spreading just slightly, “I want you to touch me.”
Her fingers curl under the wet fabric. Pulls. She gets it halfway down your thighs before they fall the rest of the way, and then she’s just… staring.
You’re bare.
Open.
Wet.
Dripping.
Under her.
And her breath shatters.
You hook one knee around her hip and kiss her again, deeper this time, hungrier, moaning against her mouth when her thigh accidentally slides between yours. You grind once. She freezes.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, like she just realised how wet you are.
“Keep going,” you whisper, breathless. “Touch me. Don’t be scared.”
Her fingers shake. But she listens. She cups you first, tentatively, like she’s scared she’ll break something. Her whole palm covers you, the heel of her hand pressing accidentally against your clit, and you whine.
Her breath stutters.
“Was that…was that good?”
You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Do that again.”
She does. Slow. Hesitant. But then you roll against her hand, and she starts figuring it out. How you like the pressure. Where to press harder. Where to be gentle. Then her fingers slide lower. You gasp.
“Holy shit,” she says, stunned, when she sinks one big, thick finger inside you. “You’re, damn, tight.”
“No, baby” you pant, grinding down on her hand, “you’re just big.”
“A-add another finger please.”
She shudders. Her jaw clenches. She adds another finger, slowly, carefully, and the stretch is insane.
“You okay?” she chokes.
You nod, legs trembling. “Don’t stop. God, Sevika, don’t you dare stop.”
She doesn’t.
She fucks you, slow at first, like she’s memorizing how you sound, how you squeeze around her. But her pace picks up when you moan louder, when your thighs twitch, when your fingers dig into the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping you from floating off. She’s watching you. Like she can’t believe she’s doing this. Making you fall apart.
You clench around her fingers, your breath catching, hips bucking wildly now.
“fuck, I’m gonna come! Sevikaaa ah!”
And Sevika… she just moans. Low and wrecked and full of disbelief, like it’s happening to her too.
You come.
Hard.
Grinding into her palm, legs wrapped tight around her hip, her fingers buried inside you to the knuckle. You whine her name, biting down on your own wrist to muffle the sound, and she just holds you through it, like she doesn’t know what else to do.
When it passes, you’re trembling.
But grinning.
Drunk on it. Drunk on her.
She pulls her fingers out carefully. They’re soaked.
She stares at them like she just won a gold medal.
“Holy fuck,” she mutters. “I just, did that?”
You chuckle, still breathless. “You did. And now…”
You crawl on top of her.
Kiss her throat.
Her cheek. Whisper against her ear,
“Now it’s your turn.”
Sevika’s eyes go wide.
“Wait what?”
“Lay back,” you purr. “Come on. You were such a good girl for me. Let me take care of you.”
She shakes her head. “I…no one’s ever—”
“I know,” you say, gentle again. “That’s why I’m gonna make it special.”
You kiss her neck as you straddle her hips. Her tank top’s still clinging to her skin, but you push it up, up, off, and toss it somewhere behind you. Her bra goes next, leaving her flushed and bare beneath you, tits heavy, nipples stiff in the cool air. You lick one of them, bite and suck. She groans. Her chest is heaving.
Then you kiss down, thighs between hers, hands firm on her waist. Her shorts are soaked, clinging tight. You unbutton them, tug them down, and Sevika just gasps like she can’t believe this is really happening.
You kiss her mound through the soaked cotton of her underwear.
She bucks.
“Oh, fuck!”
You smirk.
“Sensitive?” you tease.
She nods frantically, face on fire.
You pull her underwear down with a little more flair, kiss her thighs on the way. And then you settle between them, lips brushing over soft curls, tongue teasing near where she’s already soaking.
You feel her thighs twitch.
You look up, voice smug and sweet:
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t,” she begs, voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Please.”
And then you eat her out like you’ve been waiting to do it since the second you laid eyes on her.
She’s so wet. Sweet. Clit swollen, needy, untouched for way too long. You lick slow at first, mapping her, tongue flat against her until her hips rise, then faster—circling, flicking, teasing the edge of too much.
Her moans are raw. High. Shaky. Like she doesn’t know how to breathe.
“wait, wait, what, what’s happening? Oh gosh hah”
You feel it building before she does. You grip her hips harder, tongue flicking over her clit faster now, and she screams your name, back arched, hands gripping the headboard, and then it happens.
She squirts.
All over your mouth. Your chin, nose. The sheets.
She doesn’t stop.
It hits in waves, like her body’s been waiting years to be touched like this, to let go. She’s gasping, crying, stammering your name as you keep licking, riding it out, keeping her right on the edge of pain and pleasure until her thighs close around your head and you finally pull away.
She’s ruined. Absolutely wrecked. Chest heaving. Face red. Eyes glassy. You crawl up beside her, kiss her cheek, whisper against her lips,
“You’re fucking perfect.”
And Sevika, sweet, dumb, first-time Sevika, just clings to you.
Shes gasping, trembling, face buried in your neck like she’s trying to hide from what just happened.
You kiss her, slow and sweet at first, running your fingers through her damp hair, brushing her soaked curls back from her flushed face. But it doesn’t stay soft for long. Because she keeps looking at you like that. Like she’d let you ruin her again if you so much as asked.
So you kiss her harder.
Her lips are swollen, slick with sweat and your spit. Her hands grip your waist automatically when you climb back on top of her. She groans low when your tits press against hers, hot skin on skin, both of you soaked from the pool and sweat and everything in between.
You grind down. Accidentally. Both of you still bare.
Clits slick. Still swollen. Sensitive as fuck, the contact makes both of you jolt.
“Holy shit,” you gasp, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Did you feel that?”
Sevika swallows thickly. “Oh wow, fuck yes.”
You grind again, intentionally this time.
Slow, lazy. One perfect drag of your pussy against hers, the heat sparks like fire.
“Oh my god,” Sevika whispers, dazed.
You just smirk. “Feels good, huh?”
She nods. Jaw clenched. Hands gripping your hips like she’s barely holding on. You keep grinding, slow and smooth, wetness mixing, that swollen heat pressing just right, until she whimpers into your mouth and twitches underneath you.
It’s not enough to come again, but it’s close, close enough to make you greedy. You lean down, kiss her jaw, her throat, whisper filth like a prayer into her ear.
“Bet you’d let me do this all night. Just rub our messy little cunts together like dirty bitches until you cry again.”
She groans, deep and guttural.
“God, you’re so easy. So fucking wet. You’d let me ride your thigh if I asked nicely.”
She nods. Nods.
That’s when you spot it, under the bed, half-shoved under the mattress, poking out from a duffel bag some dude must’ve left behind. A harness. And a thick black strap.
You blink.
Pause.
Then grin.
“Sevika.”
She stares up at you, dazed. “Mm?”
“Ever used a strap before?”
Her eyes go wide.
“W-what? No… I don’t even know how to use it!”
“Perfect,” you hum. “You’re gonna learn tonight.”
She stiffens. “I don’t know how—”
“Shhh,” you whisper, sliding off her lap and reaching for it. You toss the harness beside her, then settle back on her thighs, wet and glowing in the lamplight. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll teach you how to fuck me.”
Sevika’s hands tremble as she picks it up. “How does it even?”
You pull the straps tight.
Guide her fingers where they need to be.
And when she finally sits back on her elbows, chest flushed, legs still shaky from her own orgasm, she’s wearing it.
Thick and heavy, hanging between her thighs like it belongs there.
You moan at the sight.
“Ohhh my god.” You crawl up into her lap again, grab the base, and grind the length slowly between your folds, not inside yet, just teasing. The ridged rubber slides hot through your soaked slit, brushing your clit just enough to make your hips jerk.
Sevika stares like she’s in a trance.
“You okay?” you whisper.
She nods, silent.
And you lean down and kiss her. Deep. Long. Tongue wet in her mouth, hands braced on her shoulders.
You grind again, up and down the shaft, and this time, she whines. She feels the contact of the harness against her clit too. She doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to move. Her breath is ragged and short and completely overwhelmed.
You lean back and look her dead in the eyes.
“Gonna teach you how to fuck properly, sweet girl.”
She groans. Clenches her jaw while she watches you line the strap up to your entrance. Slick with your cum already, twitching from just the idea of it.
She watches as you sink down. Slow. Inches at a time.
Her hands grip your waist tight and you whimper as the stretch hits.
“You’re so big,” you moan. “Fuckk! Sevika—you’re huge.”
She whines. “Am I? Is it too much?”
“No,” you hiss. “You’re perfect.”
Fully seated in her lap. That thick strap buried inside, the harness snug against her skin, your cunt squeezing tight and aching for more. She looks like she’s gonna pass out.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “You’re..you’re riding me.”
You smirk. “Yeah? You like that?”
She nods, mute.
You roll your hips. She groans like it’s happening to her.
You do it again. And again, And then,
“You’re fucking awful at this,” you moan, voice filthy. “Just sitting there? Letting me do all the work? What kinda top are you?”
Her breath catches. “S-sorry! I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Shhh. It’s okay. I didn’t expect much.”
You bounce once, harder this time. Your tits slap against your chest, your cunt clenches tight, and the rubber drags perfectly against your spot. Sevika moans.
“F-fuck!”
“You gonna cry again, baby?” you tease, grinding down, palms flat on her chest. “You can’t even fuck right. But that’s okay.”
You kiss her, bite her bottom lip. “I’ll make you good.”
She groans. Whimpers. Her hands find your waist again, and this time, she moves.
Not well. Not perfect. But she thrusts up once. Twice. Starts matching your pace, awkward, desperate, flushed with the effort.
You lose it.
“Oh my god, yesyesyes, there. Just like that Sevika!” She’s sweating. Breathing like she just ran a marathon. You lean in, kiss her open mouth, whisper filth into her lips,
“That’s it, baby. Fuck me. Harder.”
And she does. Even clumsy. Even shaking. Even new, she fucks you so good, you nearly cry again.
Youre still cocky, even with your thighs trembling around her waist, even with your cunt full, stretched, stuffed to the brim with that thick strap she’s finally learning how to use. Your body’s burning, flushed and sticky, cum smeared on your inner thighs from riding her too hard earlier.
But your mouth hasn’t stopped. “You fuck like a virgin,” you pant into her ear, even as your hips twitch with each desperate thrust. “God, so slow, like you’re scared you’ll break me.”
“I am a virgin,” Sevika growls, hips bucking up again.
You reach up. Grab her jaw. Squeeze.
“Then fuck me like you mean it, coward.”
Her breath catches. You smirk.
“Scared to hurt me? Or just too stupid to learn?”
That does it. Her eyes flash, sharp and glassy, and then she moves.
You barely register it.
One second you’re riding her like you own her, and the next, you’re on your back, pinned. Her hand is around your throat, not choking, just holding you still. Her other hand grabs your thigh and spreads you wide.
Her eyes are wild. “You want me to fuck you?” she snarls. “Then shut the fuck up and take it.”
She thrusts in one motion. Deep.
You scream.
“SEVIKA!”
It’s different like this, her over you, hips driving in with all that thick strap, every inch landing perfectly. The new angle sends shockwaves through you. Your back arches, legs jerking on either side of her body. She watches your face twist, jaw slack, mouth open, secretly folding hard on the inside.
“Still think I don’t know what I’m doing?” she growls, thrusting again, harder.
You moan. High. Wrecked.
“F— sevika sevvvvvikaaaa!”
She grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head. Holds you down. Owns you.
“That shut you up real quick,” she breathes.
Your body jerks. Your eyes are rolling now, lips parted in a helpless whimper.
She loves it. You’re not smirking anymore. Not taunting. Just crying. Shaking. Overwhelmed.
Sevika’s so gone.
She fucks you now, full, deep, her thrusts finally controlled. Your body takes it, clenches around her like you were made for it. Your clit’s throbbing. You’re soaked. Every inch of her sinks in and presses just right.
“Good girl,” she pants, voice wrecked. “That’s what you are. Just a loud-mouthed slut who wants to be put in her place.”
You wail. She leans in, grabs your thighs, folds you in deep, and fucks you so hard the headboard bangs. You’re shaking. Legs spread wide, body twitching with every thrust, toes curled, lips trembling.
“I can’t—”
“You can,” she growls. “Take it. You wanted it.”
“I’m gonna, gon—come again!”
“Then come, bitch. Fucking come on my strap. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”
You scream.
Head thrown back, body locked, eyes crossed as you gush around her. Your whole body seizes, orgasm ripping through you so hard, it sends your legs kicking and your arms flailing out of her grip.
But she doesn’t stop. Still thrusting. Still holding you open. Her name torn from your throat as overstimulation rips through you like fire.
“Too much, fuck, Sevika! Stop it stop!”
“You said I couldn’t fuck. You asked for this.”
You’re gone. Eyes rolling, tears streaking your face, drool at the corner of your mouth, your cunt is squeezing her strap like it doesn’t want to let go. She groans deep in her throat and buries the strap one final time, hips grinding down, letting the harness rub against her clit, losing it all over again. Her hands grip your thighs tight, and you swear she almost collapses on top of you.
You come again. Smaller. Messier.
Sobbing now, begging without words, fingers clawing her back.
She collapses on top of you, both of you sweaty, sticky, breathless. Her face is buried in your shoulder, your legs limp over her back.
You’re laid out like a crime scene. Sweaty, legs open, eyes a little unfocused. The sheets are bunched under your hips, and your bikini top is somewhere on the floor, long forgotten. Your body’s buzzing, twitching in aftershocks, still trying to process what just happened.
You can feel her cum still dripping out of you. Your lips are puffy from kissing, your throat raw from moaning, and your clit? Ruined.
And Sevika, That beast of a woman who just topped you into another dimension?
She’s… frozen.
Hovering next to you, strap still on but eyes wide like she broke something expensive. Her hand’s halfway to your waist but she’s hesitating. Like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to touch you now.
You blink at her.
She blinks back.
Then, you roll over. Just enough to whimper, “Bitch.”
She panics.
“What? Wait, what’d I? I didn’t ,shit,I thought you wanted—”
“I did,” you say, cutting her off, groaning as you bury your face in the pillow. “But you weren’t supposed to be that good at it.”
A pause.
And then her voice, tiny. “..oh.”
You glare over your shoulder at her. “You said you’ve never done that before.”
“I haven’t.”
“Then what the fuck was that?”
“I..uh I just… went with it?” she offers, voice cracking like she’s being questioned by the FBI. “You told me to. I kind of blacked out.”
You flop onto your back again, huffing, throwing a limp arm over your forehead. “You broke me,” you murmur. “My pussy’s gonna echo from that strap.”
Sevika groans and falls face-first into the mattress beside you.
“Oh my god. Don’t say stuff like that.”
You kick her gently in the thigh. “Why not? You earned it.”
She groans again, rolling onto her back, arm over her eyes. “I don’t feel like I earned it. I feel like I just got away with murder and the cops are gonna find the body under the bed.”
You laugh weakly, just a huff. But your smile fades, and you glance over at her. She’s still breathing fast, trying to hide it, trying not to freak out now that the post-sex haze has worn off.
You sit up slightly, wincing at the way your thighs still tremble.
“You okay?”
She peeks at you with one eye. “I should be asking you that.”
“You should,” you say. “But I’m still a little mad.”
She frowns. “About what?”
You narrow your eyes. “Now I’m gonna think about you every time someone else touches me. And they won’t measure up. So you better fuck me again.”
Her breath hitches.
You grin.
She swallows. “…You want me to?”
“I want you to learn,” you say, crawling closer, one hand bracing on her chest. “I want you to practice. Get cocky. Start walking around with that big-dick energy you deserve.”
She stares at you, lips parted.
“And you want me to degrade you some more while you figure it out?” you ask, dragging your fingers down her abs, slow.
She blushes.
You laugh. “God, you’re such a loser.”
“Hey—”
“A hot, loser,” you correct, nudging her side.
She rolls her eyes. “I just rearranged your guts and you’re back to calling me names?”
You hum.
“That’s how you know it’s love.”
She groans into the pillow. You lean down. Kiss her neck. Her jaw. Then press your forehead to hers.
Im working with some new brushes and lighting! Also working on learning eviromental light! If you have more ideas for more Sevika scenarios let me know >:)
you were dying.. slowly, cruelly. your body had turned against you in a way no one could undo. it was a quiet kind of betrayal, coded deep in your own cells, unfolding piece by piece as you faded. and sevika was dying too. just slower. just loud enough to scream every day and still be alive the next morning.
she had proposed to you three years ago, with trembling fingers and a heart too full to beat steady. those years that followed were the only ones she would ever call good. the world had collapsed to the size of your body in her arms. you were her home, her anchor, her peace. you were the only thing she had ever loved without fear, without restraint, without wondering if she was meant to.
she didn’t propose the way she’d first planned. the original idea had been… obscene. filthy, even. she had thought about slipping the ring into your mouth mid-rimming, letting you taste the weight of forever on her tongue before you ever saw it. she’d thought it was funny, honest. but she knew you. knew you would have killed her for ruining something sacred with something so vulgar. so instead, she swallowed the laugh, bent the knee, and offered you everything in the most clichéd way possible. it wasn’t what she wanted..
..but it made you say yes.
it was supposed to be your happy ending.
but six months ago, your body wrote its own ending instead.
your immune system began attacking you. your cells, the very things meant to protect you, no longer recognized you. they saw you as a threat. a stranger. an enemy. and so, they tore you apart. your liver was the first to go, eaten alive by the thing designed to save it. sevika—who’d once laughed in the face of fire, who’d spit blood and come out swinging—had no weapon for this. no fists could fix it.
because it was the cruelest thing she’d ever witnessed. and for the first time in her life, sevika knew that whatever was happening.. was bigger than her.
but if the sickness is bigger than her, then it isn’t for others who knew it. for doctors.
she poured every coin of brass she had into treatments, into comfort, into time. precious, dwindling time. but there was no cure. no relief. just the slow, suffocating reality of watching you slip through her fingers no matter how tightly she held on.
when science failed, she turned to violence. screamed at doctors until her throat bled. held every surgeon in zaun—and piltover—at gunpoint. demanded miracles, begged for anything that would buy her another day with you.
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the hospital smelled like bleach and blood and plastic. too clean. too fake. like they were trying to cover up the rot of truth with chemicals and clipped voices. it was the most luxurious and groundbreaking medical institution in all of topside.
so if this failed.. something would break even more in her.
sevika stormed through the hall like a storm on two legs.
nurses moved out of her way before she even raised her voice. one look at her—the trembling jaw, the too wild eyes, the blood on her knuckles—and they didn’t ask questions. they just vanished behind swinging doors and flimsy curtains.
she found the head surgeon near the nurse’s station. some older man with tired eyes and a clipboard. he turned, startled, when she grabbed him by the front of his white coat.
“you’re not doing enough.”
his mouth opened, but she didn’t give him time.
“you told me she had weeks. it’s been days. she’s in pain. she’s getting worse, not better. and you’re sitting here filling fucking paperwork?!”
“miss—sevika, please—you have to understand, this disease isn’t cu-“
“that doesn’t matter.” her voice cracked. she wasn’t yelling anymore. she was begging through her teeth. “fix her. i don’t care what it takes. tell me what you need. a new fucking liver? organs? just say it.”
he hesitated.
and she saw it.
the pause. the flicker of defeat in his eyes.
and something inside her snapped.
she shoved him hard against the wall, her forearm pressing into his throat, the other hand already reaching under her coat for the cold weight of the pistol she hadn’t carried in years. not since she’d left the undercity behind.
“you don’t get to give up,” she hissed. “not when she’s still breathing. not when she still opens her eyes and looks for me.”
“call the security-” he shouted at the nurses.
“let them come,” she growled. “i’ll kill everyone in this building if i have to. just to buy her another fucking hour.”
the silence was sharp. ugly. one of the nurses had started crying.
the surgeon didn’t move. didn’t fight back.
because what could he say? what could he offer?
there were no miracles here.
only machines. beeping. slowing.
sevika’s hand trembled. she slammed the gun to the wall beside his head, metal clattering to the floor. her breath hitched. once. twice. then broke apart completely.
“please,” she whispered, chest heaving. “i’ll bring you anything..”
“please.. she doesn’t deserve to die like this.”
the surgeon swallowed, gently easing her back. “i’m sorry,” he said softly. “we’re doing everything we can.”
but it wasn’t enough
and she was getting scared.
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the door slammed open.
sevika stumbled through, reeking of smoke and stale liquor, her steps uneven but somehow still deliberate. blood, dark and flaking, crusted her knuckles. her cloak hung crooked off one shoulder, dragging behind her like it had barely survived the night.
she kicked the door shut, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. her eyes swept the space. the couch, the kitchen, that corner where you sometimes curled beneath a blanket like a ghost too tired to move on.
“baby?” her voice cracked low, rough around the edges. shaky, like she wasn’t sure it still worked.
silence answered.
she stepped deeper inside. something cold and heavy coiled in her chest.
then, from the bedroom.. barely above a whisper
“sev..?”
she was already moving. “yeah. i’m here.”
you were sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, your hands trembling in your lap. but it was your eyes that stopped her in her tracks. wide. distant. not fixed on her.. but through her, like she wasn’t even there.
you blinked. once. twice. slow and uncertain, like you were trying to clear a fog that wouldn’t lift.
“i think.. i think something’s wrong,” you said, voice thin and distant, like it had wandered far from your body.
“everything’s dark.”
“what?”
you swallowed hard. “i can’t.. see.”
she crossed the room in two strides, dropping to her knees in front of you. her metal hand curled gently around your thigh while her other reached up to tilt your face toward her.
“baby,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “you’re lookin’ at me, right?”
a pause. “..no?”
her chest tightened. her hand shook as it traced your cheek, your jaw, then cradled the back of your head like you might shatter in her hands. “it’s okay,” she lied. her voice split open on the second word. “it’s just the meds. or your sugar. we’ll fix it. i swear.”
you didn’t even realize you were crying until your lips trembled and warm tears rolled soundlessly down your cheeks. “i don’t want to go blind, sev.”
she pulled you into her chest like she could hold your body together with pressure alone.
“you’re not,” she murmured into your hair. “you’re not. i won’t let it happen.”
“what if i-”
“don’t,” she cut in sharply. her voice fractured at the edges. “don’t you fuckin’ say it.”
she gripped you harder. her embrace was soft, too soft, meant for comfort— but her flesh hand was growing colder. colder than the metal one.
then she pulled back, just enough to take your hand and guide it to her face.
“memorize me.”
your heart clenched. your throat closed. you couldn’t even find the breath to speak.
“right now,” she whispered.
your fingertips brushed over her brow, slow and careful. down the slope of her cheek. across the scar that tugged her mouth into that permanent scowl. you touched her lips. she kissed your fingers as they passed, barely holding herself together.
“i got you,” she whispered. “i got you. i got you.”
over and over. like if she repeated it enough, the universe would have no choice but to obey.
and you believed her.
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a few days later, it was gone.
..no flicker behind your eyelids. no shape. no shadow. just… nothing. a still, heavy black. like sinking into an ocean without a bottom.
you heard sevika sitting beside you.
she hadn’t left the house since. no drinks. no visits to the knuckleheads. she hadn’t been out to the harbor. hadn’t seen silco in almost six days.
you didn’t speak for a long while. just breathed. counted her exhales when your own turned shaky. listened to the soft scrape of her thumb dragging across your wrist.
“still with me?” she asked quietly.
you gave a slow nod.
“good.” a pause followed. “let’s talk.”
you furrowed your brow. “talk?”
“yeah,” she said, gently. “i’m gonna tell you everything in the room. everything you can’t see. and tomorrow, i’ll tell you about tomorrow. and the day after that. and every day after that too.”
“okay,” you whispered.
she adjusted on the mattress. you felt the shift in weight, the warmth of her body beside you.
“there’s a mug on the windowsill. the one with the chip on the handle. you made me keep it after i said i’d throw it out.”
you smiled, barely.
“there’s sunlight on the floor. it’s yellow. looks like a ribbon.”
a long silence stretched out between you.
“the sheets are blue,” she added, her voice quieter now. “they smell like you.”
your hand twitched under the blanket. she reached for it and held it in hers.
“i feel like you’re tired,” you murmured. “you sound tired.”
“yeah,” she breathed. “i’ll live.”
her thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and steady.
“you know what else?” she asked, leaning closer, her voice husky and low beside your ear. “you’re still the prettiest thing in this whole fucking room.”
you let out a broken laugh. then cried a little.
not because you were afraid. but because she made it okay to be.
sevika held you through it. she kissed your temple and rubbed slow circles into your back while your shoulders trembled.
“my angel,” she whispered, “..sent down just to save me.”
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January Third.
the night was cold and quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against the windows and filled the corners of the room. shadows stretched long across the walls. outside, wind drifted slow over rooftops, soft and aimless.
you whispered her name.
“hold me.” your voice was faint, frayed at the edges, barely more than breath.
sevika stopped breathing. and not for just a second.
she knew then. in the weight of your whisper. in the silence that followed. it settled in her chest like a stone, that aching shift in gravity. like the world had tipped, like something irreversible had just happened and was still happening all at once.
she didn’t cry. didn’t scream. her body moved before her mind could catch up.
she gathered you into her lap with both arms, held you like a prayer, like something sacred. her forehead pressed against yours. she was trying to share breath, to push life back into your skin through closeness alone.
“you can rest.” she said.
the words tasted like blood. tar. poison.
it broke her, saying it. the hardest thing she ever let herself speak. a mercy, and a blade. but you needed it. needed to know it was safe to let go. that she would not hold it against you. that her love wouldn’t die with you, but stretch on, root deep, grow wild through every breath she took without you.
she didn’t know if you heard her.
but you smiled. Just barely.
you wanted to say thank you.
you wanted to tell her you loved her.
you wanted to promise that you’d find her again, in a gentler place. a softer world. one where you wouldn’t have to be sick. one where her hands could hold you without shaking.
but your body wouldn’t let you.
so instead, with the last ounce of strength left in you, you moved her hand from your cheek and brought it to your lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. It was soft. barely there. like something remembered more than felt.
you’d kissed her hand a thousand times. sometimes messy and loud, sometimes slow and reverent, but never like this. never like it was the last thing you had left to give. you always had more love in you. you always did.
but then you went still.
your chest stopped rising. your mouth didn’t move. your lashes didn’t flutter.
sevika didn’t understand, not at first. she sat there, still holding your body, still waiting for you to lift your head and say something sweet. some tired joke. some soft little, “i’m still here.”
but you didn’t.
the silence stretched. heavy. hollow.
“no.”
it came out low, rough.
he pressed her fingers to your wrist.
her other hand shook as she touched your throat.
“no.”
louder now. almost a snarl.
her hands moved—shaking, frantic, useless—as she cradled your face.
“don’t fuckin’ do this.”
she was supposed to be prepared for this. but something cracked. something she’d been holding in the whole time you were sick.
she pressed her forehead to yours. her voice cracked. her whole chest heaved like it was too full of something she couldn’t swallow down.
“don’t fuckin’ do this to me, baby.”
she rocked you. once. twice. like movement could restart you.
your mouth hung open a little. your eyes, still closed, like you were just asleep.
but you weren’t.
you weren’t.
“no. no, no—no!”
the sound that tore out of her didn’t sound human. it was broken glass, and gravel, and something wounded beyond repair.
she held you tighter. clawed you against her chest like she could keep you in her arms forever if she just didn’t let go. her lips smashed against your temple—again and again—as if kissing you hard enough would make you come back.
“i told you,” she whispered. her voice was soaked in grief, barely a breath. “i told you i’d take it. whatever it was. give it to me instead. why didn’t you—why the fuck didn’t you-”
her breath hitched. her hands slipped from your back.
she couldn’t finish the sentence. couldn’t find a version of this that didn’t end in her alone.
sevika held you until her arms went numb.
held you until the light outside changed.
held you until she felt the weight of you shift—not because you moved, but because something final had passed between you.
held you like she was trying to mold you into her. so that whatever took you from her.. would see her a part of you and take her with you as well.
she stayed like that for hours, cheek pressed to yours, whispering all the things she hadn’t said
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sevika stopped living.
she didn’t call it grief. it was something worse. something black and permanent. the people around her noticed. they moved out of her way, avoided her eyes, said her name like a warning.
she was colder now. less human. more monster. and she liked it that way.
she broke what didn’t need breaking. killed instead of capturing. drank until her throat was raw. slept on floors. woke up in alleyways.
and still, each morning, her chest split open all over again.
because you’d made her promise to keep living.
and she hated you for it.
really fucking hated you for it.
she wanted to take those words out of your mouth with her hands. crush them before they landed. pretend she’d never heard them. never nodded. never kissed your temple and said, “i will, baby. i promise.”
but here she was.
and sevika knew.. it was a matter of time before she breaks that promise.
April First.
she stumbled through the front door, half a bottle down and the other half clutched in her fist. her fingers were numb. her throat burned. her body ached with the kind of pain nothing could touch.
she didn’t plan to wake up again.
but she didn’t even make it to the couch.
she slid down the side of the kitchen counter. sat there, back against the cabinets. the cooler beside her was empty. always was.
and then the air changed.
warm. thick. familiar.
a smell.
soup.
yours.
her favorite.
the scent wound through the room like your arms used to. soft and quiet and filled with things she couldn’t name.
she didn’t breathe. didn’t blink.
not until she saw you.
at the stove.
stirring. humming.
healthy. not blind. and still the prettiest woman she has ever seen.
barefoot. in that stupid sweater she always said was too big. your hair pulled back. smiling to yourself like nothing in the world had ever hurt you.
and sevika didn’t hesitate.
she got up like it hurt.
walked straight to you like you were gravity.
her arms wrapped around your waist.
her face pressed into your neck.
and she breathed. for the first time in weeks, she breathed.
“hey,” you said softly.
your voice landed on her like mercy.
“don’t you think you drink too much-”
“no.” her voice cracked. “you shut up.”
her grip tightened.
“you shut your mouth and let me have this.”
you went quiet.
her hands slid under the hem of your sweater, palms flat against your stomach. just to feel. just to know.
and then her mouth was on your neck.
slow. starving.
a kiss, then another. then another.
down the column of your throat. up beneath your jaw.
she kissed you like she was trying to memorize you. like her mouth could map you back into existence.
“i love you,” she whispered against your skin.
one more kiss.
“i didn’t say it enough.”
another.
“i love you so much.”
you turned in her arms, soft hands cupping her face.
“i know,” you whispered, brushing your nose against hers. “i love you too.”
then you kissed her. gentle. warm. real.
and she whimpered. actually whimpered into your mouth.
because she missed this. missed you.
and she knew it couldn’t last.
you rested your forehead against hers.
“we need rosemary,” you said.
she smiled.
“yeah?”
“i wanted to make you rosemary bread,” you murmured, smiling. “it goes well with peach tea.”
and that’s when everything broke.
her dreams never remembered details like that.
not the bread, not the tea. not they your eyes shined with all the love in the world.
she opened her eyes.
you were gone.
the stove was still on.
the soup was still there.
the smell still clung to the air like your hands had clung to her face.
she moved. lifted the lid.
steam hit her cheeks.
it was hot.
it was real.
she dropped to her knees and ate straight from the pot, greedy and desperate. it burned her tongue. she didn’t care.
and when it was gone, when there was nothing left,
older!sevika x reader // fluff > smut > heavy angst . <16 dni
fanart by: @yumchxa
summary: you just wanted to pass chemistry right? instead you end up texting an older Indian woman living in canada across time zones, sending her selfies in your school uniform while she calls you kid and mails you vibrators disguised as assessment books. oh, and your family would actually kill you if they found out you were flirting with her at 3am under your blanket. totally normal tutoring experience.
warnings: slow burn ;; age gap ;; long distance relationship ;; homophobic family ;; secrecy themes ;; smut ;; sexting ;; mutual masturbation ;; praise & degradation ;; toys ;; aftercare ;; smoking & alcohol mentioned ;; emotional angst ;; punishment by parents :( ;; scolding ;; slightly abusive household ;; bad ending…- oneshot-
your mother never let you close your bedroom door.
it wasn’t a rule she’d ever said aloud, but the moment the wood clicked shut, she was there in the doorway, frowning like you’d just pulled a knife on her. what are you hiding? her eyes would ask. and you’d mumble some excuse — studying, resting, needing quiet. but in your house, privacy was a guilty thing. dangerous, even.
so you studied with your door open, sat at the dining table under your father’s sharp glances, and played the role of the good child. No parties, no secrets, no chance to ever let slip the one thing that would shatter their idea of you: that the thought of holding another girl’s hand made your heart race harder than any boy ever had.
That secret weighed heavy. especially in school, when you failed miserably at chemistry.
Your grades had been slipping for months, and your parents noticed. That was dangerous too — your father’s lectures were brutal, sharp, full of disappointment. So you did what you always did: you went online, desperate for help, scrolling forums and tutoring sites late at night when the house was quiet.
That’s when you found her.
The username was fixyrhands.
Her replies weren’t sweet or coddling like some teachers. they were blunt. To the point a little…older..?
You: hii do u tutor??
fixyrhands: Not really.
You: ohh ok sorry.. thx for answering anyway!
fixyrhands: Hold on. What subject.
You: chemistry 😭😭
fixyrhands: Send me the problem.
No emojis. No lowercase rambling. Just solid sentences, like she was writing you an email.
and she actually stuck around. answered every follow up you sent, sometimes with a dry little joke tucked in, but never brushing you off.
a week later, she offered —
fixyrhands: I get the feeling you don’t actually read your notes.
You: …yeah…
fixyrhands: Turn your camera on next time. I’ll walk you through it properly.
you almost didn’t. the thought of showing your messy room, your tired face, to a stranger online made your stomach flip. but you were failing. and something about her, steady, sharp, patient in a way that wasn’t soft but wasn’t cruel, made you curious.
so you did.
And the moment your camera turned on, her reaction was…not what you expected.
She froze. Just for a second.
Sevika wasn’t what you expected either. She was older, clearly — her hair tied back, dark circles under her eyes, a cigarette smoldering off to the side. Her shoulders were broad, the frame of the camera barely holding her in. she looked… hot. hot as fuck.
And when she leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk, her jaw set, her eyes cut into you like she could see right through your screen.
You thought she’d make a snide comment about your outfit, or your messy desk, but instead her lips pressed together like she had to catch herself before speaking.
“…Alright,” she said, voice low and gravelly. “Show me what you’ve got so far.”
Your throat went dry.
you fumbled through your notes, embarrassed. The words tripped over your tongue. you could feel your ears heating, aware of how she was watching you — not impatient, but focused, in a way that made your chest tight.
when you finally messed up for the third time, Sevika sighed and leaned back, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Kid, you’re not stupid. You just panic. Slow down.”
Her voice dropped lower, calmer, almost…gentler.
You nodded, chewing your lip, forcing yourself to meet her eyes through the screen.
And that’s when you caught it. A flicker of something, something that looked like she was just as thrown off as you were.
The call lasted an hour. She walked you through formulas, corrected your notes, made you laugh once with a sarcastic joke about your textbook looking like it’d been mauled by a dog.
By the end, you were smiling. You hadn’t realised how much.
“Not bad,” Sevika said, tapping ash into a tray. “You’re not hopeless. Just lazy.”
“I’m not lazy!” you blurted, too fast, too defensive.
One eyebrow arched. “Mm, we’ll see.”
Before you could stop yourself, words slipped out, half joke, half something you shouldn’t have said: “Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice again.”
The silence stretched.
Your heart thudded painfully, embarrassment flooding you. You wished for the wifi to crash, for the power to go out — anything
But Sevika’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. She let out a low laugh, shaking her head.
“Careful, kid. You say things like that, I might start believing you.”
And god, your cheeks burned so hot you had to look away.
After that first video call, it became a rhythm.
Sevika never called it “tutoring” anymore. She’d just say, “When are we meeting?” and you’d know she meant another late night with formulas, your tired giggles, and her gravelly voice steady in your ear.
Time zones were a curse. When you were in school, she was wrapping up her workday. When you finally crawled into bed, she was dragging herself out of hers. The overlap was tiny, but you squeezed every second out of it.
Classes turned into a game of risk. Your phone buzzed in your skirt pocket, and you’d slide it under your desk, praying your teacher’s back was turned.
Sevika 🖤: Pay attention.
You: im literally dying here 😔
Sevika 🖤: Not my fault you’re half awake.
You: ur fault actually. stop keeping me up till 3am.
Sevika 🖤: 3am for you, 3pm for me. don’t blame me for your timezone, kid.
Sometimes, she caught you.
Sevika 🖤: Is that you yawning in the middle of lecture?
You: HOW DO U KNOW
Sevika 🖤: You posted a photo of your notes. Can see the shadow under your eyes.
You: …ok mom 😒
Sevika 🖤: Don’t call me that.
You grinned into your sleeve at that one, hiding it from your classmates.
Then came the mirror selfies. Not your face, never your face — you weren’t stupid. But a shot of your uniform in the bathroom mirror before class, the hem of your skirt, your collarbone showing.
You: u like this uniform? ugly right
Sevika 🖤: …You really asking me that?
You: 🫦
Sevika 🖤: Don’t fish for compliments. Go study.
You: AWOOGAAA yes mami
Sevika 🖤: .
Still, she kept them. You could tell.
In return, Sevika sent you mirror shots after work. Not polished, not posed, her bathroom light harsh, her hair messy, sleeves rolled up to show the scars along her arm, the heavy line of her shoulders.
Your heart jumped every time.
You: ur scary looking
Sevika 🖤: good. maybe you’ll actually focus.
You: …but also kinda hot
Sevika 🖤: Careful, kid.
Nights belonged to her.
Sometimes she talked you through homework. Sometimes she just asked about your day in that low, rumbling voice, making you whisper and giggle into the darkness.
One night, when you were half asleep, she said it quietly, like it wasn’t meant to slip out:
“Wish I could see you without the damn screen between us.”
You froze, wide awake.
“…me too,” you whispered, softer than a prayer.
By now, Sevika had seen your handwriting, your messy desk, your uniform skirt in blurry bathroom mirrors. She’d seen your hands fidget with pens, your shadowy reflection in glass, little pieces of you, but never your face, well not your full face, and she hadn’t seen your face properly.
You, on the other hand, had seen hers.
Not just once, but often. She didn’t hide. She turned her camera on casually, sometimes forgetting, sometimes looking right into it when she wanted to make a point. Her face was tired, older than the people you usually knew, but every time she caught the corner of her lip with her teeth or brushed her silver streaked hair back with a calloused hand, you swore you could feel it in your chest.
And you couldn’t stop staring.
Your photos shifted slowly. No more uniform. Now it was home clothes — loose shorts, oversized shirts, the way your legs looked crossed on the bed, the dip of your collarbone when you stretched.
You cropped your face out, always, but Sevika didn’t complain.
You: ugly outfit but idc
Sevika 🖤: Doesn’t look ugly.
You: ur lyinggg
Sevika 🖤: Angel, I don’t waste my time lying.
You sat on your bed, staring at her text until your stomach flipped. Angel, really?? gosh you couldn’t even reply to that.
She didn’t send many pictures back, but when she did, you stared at them until your phone overheated. Her leaning against the bathroom sink, jaw tight, smoke curling from her lips. Her work shirt undone at the collar, veins standing out on her forearm. Sometimes just her desk, littered with tools, a pack of cigarettes, and her hand in the corner of the frame.
another night, past 3 a.m, you curled up in bed with your phone against your pillow. The house was silent, your parents asleep down the hall, the kind of silence where one wrong laugh could wake the whole house.
Sevika’s voice filled your ear, rough but soft at once. She wasn’t explaining formulas tonight. She was just…talking.
“Long day,” she muttered, twirling the cigarette between her fingers, eyes half lidded as she stared somewhere off screen. “Clients don’t know what the hell they’re asking for half the time. But hey, keeps me busy and i get money.”
You couldn’t answer at first. You were too busy looking.
The way the lighter glow kissed her jaw. The way she rolled the cigarette slow between her fingers, like she’d done it a thousand times. The line of her throat when she leaned back and exhaled smoke.
God. Was she gentle in bed? Or rough? Would those hands hold you steady, or press you down?
Your thighs pressed together under the blanket. Heat crawled over your face, your whole body buzzing with the kind of thoughts you weren’t supposed to have at all.
And then she looked at the camera.
Not at the screen. At you.
Her lips quirked into the faintest smirk, as if she could see the way you were squirming beneath the blanket. As if she knew exactly what you were thinking.
“baby,” she rumbled, voice low, “you’re awfully quiet.”
BABYY???!!! Your breath caught. “J-just listening!” you flinched.
She studied you through the lens, steady and patient. You knew she’d seen you before — seen your hands, your room, your homework — but now it felt different. Like she was really staring. Like she could take her time drinking you in, memorising every little thing about you.
And you couldn’t stop staring back.
“baby,” Sevika said again, eyes narrowing just a touch. “you’re awfully quiet. Didn’t think you were capable of shutting up.”
You swallowed hard, burrowing deeper into your blanket. “I-I’m just tired.”
Her smirk deepened, smoke curling from her lips. “Tired huh? or is it something else?”
Your breath hitched. She tilted the cigarette lazily between her fingers, gaze fixed on you like she already knew the answer.
“You ever use toys?” she asked, voice deceptively casual.
Your eyes went wide. “W-what no!” you hissed, clutching your phone closer as if the walls could hear. “My parents, if they found out, they’d kill me. They’d kill me just for talking to a —” you stopped yourself, heart hammering.
“to a what?” she pressed, leaning closer, smoke drifting past her face.
you wanted to say: a hot mami like you… but before that spilled out, your voice broke into a whisper. “…a girl.”
Silence. Long enough that your cheeks burned.
Then, low and dangerous, she asked:
“What about a woman like me?”
ohh fuckkkk, the words lodged in your throat. God, she knew exactly what she was doing.
Your mind spun, dirty thoughts rushing in before you could stop them. That voice?!! That jawline. Those hands twirling the cigarette so effortlessly. Gentle, rough, both, neither? you couldn’t decide which one scared you more.
You stammered, “…Th-that’s different.”
Her brow arched. “Different, huh?” She stubbed out her cigarette, dragging the lighter flame through the smoke until it died. Then she leaned back, arms folding across her chest, watching you squirm.
You thought she’d push further. That she’d make you admit something you weren’t ready to say. But instead, her lips curved into that half smile, sharp and unreadable.
“Well,” she murmured, voice steady as a heartbeat. “you should get some sleep. Big test tomorrow, right?”
Your stomach dropped. “Wha — now? But —”
“No buts, kid.” Her smirk widened, amused at your outrage. “You’re about two blinks away from passing out. And when you’re in this kind of mood…” she paused, eyes gleaming, “…i’d rather make you wait.”
Your breath caught. Heat flooded your chest.
“Goodnight,” Sevika added, voice firm and final. She didn’t give you the chance to beg. The call ended, her face vanishing into black.
And you were left staring at your reflection on the blank screen, heart racing, thighs pressed tight, every nerve screaming with the need she’d left simmering on purpose.
You didn’t sleep much after that call.
Every time you closed your eyes, it was there again — Sevika’s voice, low and steady, asking, “What about a woman like me?”
God. Your stomach flipped just remembering it. You buried your face in your pillow, muffling a groan, too warm under the blankets. It wasn’t fair, the way she twirled her cigarette like she had all the time in the world, the way her eyes pinned you down through a screen. She wasn’t even here, and yet she left you restless, needy, craving something you couldn’t name.
What would it be like, you wondered, if she were really in front of me..would she put that cigarette out and lean over me, all rough hands and sharp smirks? Or would she take it slow, gentle in ways that didn’t match her scarred, broad frame? You didn’t know which fantasy made your chest ache harder.
You checked your phone for the twentieth time.
You: ur evil. i couldnt sleep.
Sevika 🖤: Sleep is overrated.
You: wait i don’t understand .. anyways i was tossing and turning. do u know what u did to me??
Sevika 🖤: Yeah. And I’m glad.
You clutched your phone to your chest, kicking your legs in the air like a lovesick teenager. Which, you realised you kinda are.
Two days later, it happened.
You came home from school, sweaty from the walk, bag heavy with books, only to find your mother standing at the front door with a frown carved into her face.
she was holding a brown parcel. a shipping label stuck on the side.
Your heart stopped when you saw the stamp. Canada.
And under the return address, bold and black:
From: fixyrhands
Your blood went cold.
“Who’s this from?” your mother asked, turning the box in her hands. her brows furrowed deeper. “this name…‘fix your hands’? what is that supposed to mean? Sounds…strange. suspicious.”
she moved her thumb toward the seam, like she was about to pry it open.
“no!” the word flew out before you could stop it. You darted forward, snatching the package out of her grip. your pulse hammered so hard you could hear it.
Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding? Show me.”
“It’s just…assessment books,” you lied, hugging the box to your chest like it might disappear. “for chemistry. I ordered them. you want me to pass, right?”
Her gaze lingered, sharp, searching your face. for a terrifying second, you thought she’d call your bluff. that she’d demand you open it right there.
but then she sighed, shaking her head. “fine. but don’t waste money on things you don’t use.” She turned away, muttering under her breath, and disappeared into the kitchen.
you stood frozen, the package pressed so hard against you that your arms ached. only when the coast was clear did you bolt to your room, slam the door, and lock it — breaking your mother’s rule for the first time.
your hands trembled as you tore at the tape. inside, a neat row of textbooks sat on top, covers labeled with chemistry assessment guides and exam practice workbooks. If anyone peeked inside, that’s all they’d see.
but underneath, hidden between the spines and bubble wrap, were the real gifts.
first: a sleek black vibrator, smooth and discreet, the kind you’d only ever seen on shady websites you were too scared to click.
second: a fucking monster. a dildo so ridiculously huge that your face flamed just holding it. Your brain stuttered, trying to imagine Sevika’s smirk as she picked it out, mailed it, wrapped it in books like some dirty magician.
you totally did not expect those..
and at the bottom, tucked neatly against a bag of canadian maple cookies and a packet of ketchup flavoured chips, was a folded note.
Your breath caught as you unfolded it.
Kid,
Don’t make that face. I know exactly what you’re doing right now, sitting cross legged, wide eyed, acting like you’re scandalised. You’ll get over it.
You said you didn’t have anything, and I don’t like that. Figure it’s time you did. You don’t have to use them yet. Hell, you don’t even have to touch them until you’re ready. But they’re yours now. Hidden under those books no one will ever bother looking through.
And don’t think I didn’t throw in the snacks on purpose. Consider them a bribe. Eat something sweet while you think about me.
—fixyrhands
Your knees pressed together so tightly you thought they’d bruise. You dropped the note onto your desk, covering your face with your hands, muffling a squeal.
She knew. She knew exactly how flustered you’d be, how much you’d blush, how hard you’d clutch your blanket and kick your feet and bite your lip trying not to think about her.
You looked down at the toys again and your pulse quickened.
God. You weren’t ready. you weren’t! but you couldn’t stop imagining her voice guiding you, telling you what to do, reminding you of every word she’d said that night.
the house was quiet, too quiet.
you’d been lying awake in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, heart hammering as you thought about her gifts. your phone burned against your palm as you checked the time, 2:57 am. Close enough.
you grabbed the vibrator from where it was hidden in your desk drawer, wrapped in an old hoodie, and padded barefoot into the bathroom. the tiles were cold under your feet. You locked the door with shaking fingers, staring at yourself in the mirror. flushed cheeks. wide eyes. uniform t shirt wrinkled from sleep.
then your phone buzzed.
incoming call: sevika 🖤
your chest lurched.
you answered, biting your lip. the screen lit up with sevika’s face, dimly lit by her lamp, smoke curling lazily from the cigarette between her fingers.
“there’s my girl,” she rasped, voice still rough from being up late.
your throat closed up. god. even just hearing her say that made your knees weak.
“y-you’re awake,” you whispered.
she smirked. “for you? always.”
she leaned back, exhaling smoke, and her eyes flicked lower, like she knew what you were holding just out of frame.
“did you bring it?”
you swallowed. nodded. then realised she couldn’t hear a nod. “yeah.”
her smile widened, wolfish. “good, show me.”
hesitant, you angled the camera down, just enough to flash the black vibrator in your hand. you couldn’t bring yourself to lift the dildo, it felt like too much.
but she saw the hesitation, of course she did.
“ah,” sevika drawled, twirling the cigarette between her fingers. “shy now? don’t worry. we’ll save the big guy for later. baby steps.”
your face burned so hot you thought you might combust.
she leaned forward, bracing her mech arm on the desk, and her voice softened, low and coaxing. “listen to me. you’re gonna sit down on the floor. back against the wall okay? i want you comfortable.”
you obeyed instantly, sinking down until your spine pressed the cool tile, phone propped on your knee so she could see you.
“good girl.” the words landed heavy in your stomach, a rush of heat sparking between your thighs.
she took another drag, her eyes locked on yours through the screen. “ever touched yourself before?”
Your mouth opened, then closed. finally, you shook your head. “n-no.”
sevika’s smirk faltered into something gentler. “alright. first time for everything.”
she made you hold the vibrator up. “it’s simple. turn it on low, press it against yourself over your panties first, just so you get used to it.”
your hands shook as you followed her instructions, fabric damp already. the moment the toy buzzed against you, your body jolted. a sound slipped out, high and shocked.
“holy shit,” you whispered.
sevika’s chuckle crackled through the speaker, rough and warm. “yeah. that’s the idea.”
you pressed harder, chasing the feeling, breath coming faster.
“slow down, baby. don’t rush. let it work.”
her voice grounded you, made the heat coil tighter instead of spilling too fast. you tilted your head back, mouth falling open.
“ohh sevvv…”
the way you said her name, needy and helpless, had her shifting in her chair. you caught the faintest wince, the twitch of her jaw, like she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted you to think.
“good girl,” she praised again, voice rougher now. “god, look at you. you don’t even know how sweet you sound yet.”
you whimpered, thighs trembling. the buzzing felt unbearable, too much and not enough. “it it’s weird…feels like — ”
“like you’re gonna burst?” she supplied, eyes dark.
you nodded desperately.
“thaat’s it. don’t stop, let it happen.”
you bit your lip, pressing the toy harder, and suddenly everything inside you snapped. your back arched, a strangled cry escaping before you could smother it against your arm. waves crashed through you, sharp and hot and endless, until you collapsed back against the wall, gasping.
silence rang in your ears, broken only by the faint buzz of the toy still in your hand.
“fuck,” sevika muttered. it wasn’t a curse at you, it was wonder. disbelief. “you just came.”
your cheeks flamed. “i… i what?”
she laughed, low and husky, shaking her head. “oh, kid. you’ve got so much to learn.”
you hid your face in your hands, groaning. “ughhh sev —”
“no no,” she interrupted, firm but fond. “don’t be embarrassed. you were beautiful. fuck, i wish i could touch you myself.”
your heart thudded so hard it hurt.
and then, because she couldn’t resist, sevika smirked again, lifting the cigarette to her lips. “don’t think you’re off the hook though. that was just lesson one. we’ve still got that monster waiting for you.”
you squeaked, shaking your head violently. “sev!”
“not tonight,” she’d said.
and then she tilted her head, exhaled slow, and added —
“unless you’re brave enough.”
“go get it,” she rasped, voice firm. “the big one. now.”
you froze. every instinct screamed no way. but your body moved anyway, shaky legs carrying you out of the bathroom and down the hall like you were possessed.
you slipped into your room, quiet as possible, rifling under the hoodie in your drawer until your fingers brushed the obscene length of it. your face went nuclear hot.
you grabbed it, shoved it against your chest, and padded back to the bathroom, praying the floorboards didn’t creak.
sevika was waiting, tapping ash into a tray, eyes dark and sharp.
“show me.”
you held it up, wincing. the camera barely fit it in frame.
she grinned, slow and wicked. “look at you. clutching it like it’s contraband. relax, kid. we’re not gonna shove the whole thing in. not yet.”
your cheeks burned so bad you thought you’d catch fire. “i-it won’t fit…”
“it will,” she cut in smoothly. “because i’m gonna walk you through it. now sit down again, yes on the floor.”
you obeyed, knees knocking together, the heavy toy in your lap.
her voice dipped lower, almost gentle. “spit on your hand. get it nice and wet. mm good girl, now rub it down the length, yeaahh like that. don’t be shy.”
the sound alone had your head spinning.
“alright. press the tip against yourself. just the tip.”
you bit down on your lip, guiding the blunt head between your thighs. your body jerked, nerves firing wild.
“slow. breathe.”
it took a full minute just to ease the head past your entrance. your walls stretched around it, burning, pulling a choked gasp from your throat.
“fuck,” you whimpered.
“good girl,” sevika murmured, steady and calm even as her jaw flexed. “look at you taking it. don’t run from it.”
tears pricked your eyes. your legs trembled, thighs quivering as you worked down another inch.
her voice stayed in your ear, grounding you. “relax, i’ve got you”
by the time you managed half of it inside, your body was wrecked — sweat damp hair clinging to your forehead, mouth falling open around helpless sounds.
and then it hit you as you pumped it in, your eyes rolled back, a string of drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as your cunt clenched tight around the stretch.
“sevvv ohh sevikaaa” you slurred, head tipping back against the wall.
she groaned low and rough, raking a hand down her face. “jesus christ. you’re fucking drooling.”
you tried to cover your mouth with your hand, mortified, but she stopped you sharp.
“don’t hide. let me see. eyes crossed, mouth messy… fuck baby, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
you whimpered, pushing down another fraction of an inch. the toy felt endless, too much, but every time you wanted to stop, her voice pulled you deeper.
“you’re gonna remember this,” sevika rasped, cigarette forgotten between her fingers. “the first night you ever stretched yourself open…just because i told you to.”
your whole body shook. your stomach tightened, heat building too fast and unbearable.
“sevsevsev!! it’s— it’s!”
“let it happen, baby. come for me again.”
and you did, shattering, squeezing tight around the toy, eyes rolling back as another rush of wetness spilled down your thighs.
you collapsed, panting, forehead pressed to your arm. the demon was still half inside you, your body twitching around it.
sevika blew out a shaky breath on the other end, her voice hoarse. “good fucking girl.” oh and was she.. massaging her clit?
her eyes narrowed on the screen, cigarette forgotten, her metal hand flexing against her desk. “look at you. fucked dumb already. but you want more, don’t you?”
you swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. your body was screaming no more, but your hole was screaming yes. you wanted her proud. you wanted her hungry.
“… i wanna impress you,” you admitted, voice tiny.
sevika’s exhale crackled through the speaker, heavy. “fuck. you’re gonna kill me, kid.”
she leaned closer, her gaze pinning you. “alright. here’s what you’re gonna do. put your hands on the floor. plant your feet and bounce.”
your stomach flipped. “bounce?”
“yeah,” she rasped. “lift your hips. take it out an inch. then drop back down over and over. show me how bad you want it.”
your hands pressed flat to the tiles, sweat slick. you rocked your hips up, the stretch easing slightly, then slammed back down with a choked cry.
the sound echoed — wet, obscene.
“good girl,” sevika growled. “again.”
you bounced, messy and uneven, whimpering with every drop. the dildo dragged against places you didn’t even know existed, your legs shaking so violently you nearly toppled over.
“eyes on me,” sevika ordered.
you forced your gaze up, but it didn’t last long, your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open, drool slipping down your chin.
she groaned, low and guttural. “fuck. look at you, cross eyed little whore, dripping. you’re a goddamn mess.”
you tried to stammer something, but it came out broken, just noise. your thighs clapped wetly with each bounce, the pressure inside unbearable.
then, sudden and violent, your whole body seized up, and a gush of wetness sprayed out of you, splattering the floor, splashing your phone screen.
your eyes went wide. “s-sev! i — oh my god i peed…i’m sorry —”
her laugh was sharp and rough, not mocking but hungry. “that wasn’t piss, baby. that was you. you just squirted.”
“w-what?” you gasped, tears springing to your eyes, humiliated.
“shh.” her voice dropped, firm and soothing all at once. “don’t apologise. look at the mess you made for me. fuck i wish i was there to feel it on my hand, to taste it.”
you whimpered, still trembling, thighs soaked.
she dragged her metal hand slow across her palm on screen, like she could map your body from afar. “if i were there, i’d have you on my lap right now, teasing that pretty pussy until you begged me to stop.”
your hips twitched at the words, another whine escaping you.
“does it hurt?” she asked suddenly, voice softer.
“… n-no. just too much.”
“good. that’s how it’s supposed to feel.”
you watched, dazed, as she stubbed out her cigarette, leaned back, and fixed you with that heavy gaze. “you impressed me, sweetheart. more than you know.”
you wiped your soaked thighs with shaky hands, cheeks burning.
sevika smirked, slow and wicked. “and next time, you’re taking the whole thing.”
you stayed slumped against the wall, thighs trembling, breath still coming in short gasps. the dildo was heavy in your palm, slick and obscene, your body twitching around the ghost of its stretch.
your eyelids fluttered, and for a few minutes you just sat there in the mess, phone propped on your knee, sevika’s face filling the screen.
she didn’t say a word. didn’t rush you. just sat back in her chair, cigarette gone, her gaze steady and warm.
finally, she spoke, voice rough but gentle.
“you did so good, baby. so fucking good. first time and you already let go for me.”
your cheeks burned, and you half hid your face with your arm. “sevika…”
“no hiding,” she interrupted softly, smirk tugging at her mouth. “look at me.”
you peeked through your fingers, and her expression — god, it wasn’t mocking. it was proud. steady and gentle. like she could’ve reached through the screen and steadied your chin herself.
“if i were there,” she murmured, voice dropping, “i’d clean all this up for you. carry you to bed, tuck you under the blanket, let you sleep with your head on my chest.”
the words squeezed something in your chest. tender, aching. you wanted that more than anything.
instead, you nodded, holding the soaked toy loosely in one hand, too spent to move.
five minutes passed. your head tipped back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, the faint hum of the call the only sound in the bathroom.
then her voice broke through again — firm, but softer than you’d ever heard it.
“baby. you’ve gotta clean up now. don’t want your parents finding anything, do you?”
your stomach dropped, reality slamming back. you shook your head quickly.
“good girl. up you get.”
groaning, you shifted onto all fours, phone still propped against the sink so she could see. your body ached as you wiped up the wet mess with tissues, your hair falling in your face.
from the screen, sevika muttered a curse under her breath. “fuck. crawling around like that, do you have any idea what you look like right now?”
your cheeks flamed. “don’t say that vika… stop teasing,”
“not teasing,” she said, voice low. “just…christ, you’re something else.”
you finished cleaning, stuffed the tissues deep into the trash, and washed your hands before padding back to your room, shutting the door with a shaky breath.
you collapsed into bed, phone in your hands, face filling the screen with sevika’s again. she was leaning forward now, forearm braced on the desk, gaze softer than you’d ever seen.
“better?” she asked.
you nodded, curling up under the blanket, the hoodie over your lap. “mm tired.”
“good. that’s how i want you. worn out, safe, in bed.” her lips quirked. “now eat those snacks i sent, and then you can pass out.”
you giggled, sex dazed, muffling it into your pillow. “okay mom.”
her brow arched. “watch it, kid.”
but she was smiling, faint and warm, the kind that made your chest ache.
“good girl,” she said again, voice dipping softer. “sleep now. i’ll still be here when you wake up.”
you drifted off like that — phone screen glowing faintly in the dark, sevika’s gaze steady on you, her voice the last thing you heard before sleep took you.
you wake up with your phone beside your pillow, screen dim but the call timer running, hours long. sevika’s voice is the first thing you hear, low, gravelly, but softened by the early hour.
“morning, doll.”
you groan, half asleep, blanket tangled around your legs. you are trying to remember why you are sore and her chuckle rumbles through the speaker, god it makes your chest warm. she’s been awake longer, smoking again, the faint crackle of her lighter giving her away.
you sit up, hair a mess, cheeks still pink when the memories from last night hit. you don’t even need a mirror — you know you look wrecked. but sevika? she doesn’t tease this time. she just watches. she loves you messy.
“cute.” her voice dips. “you don’t even know how pretty you look right now, do you?”
you hide under your blanket, whining, but she coaxes you back out. she says she wanted to see your face when you wake up — because she promised she’d be there. and she is.
your stomach flips. you’ve never felt so seen before… so taken care of
and your fangirl brain? going wild. she’s just sitting there, leaning back with smoke curling past her lips, hair messy in the morning light, and somehow she’s the one calling you pretty. and the way she twirls the cigarette between her fingers, smooth, slow, you’re thinking about last night all over again.
and when you zone out staring at her mouth, her jawline, the curve of her throat…she notices.
“what’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
and you cannot say it. so you just shake your head, too shy, chewing your lip. she smirks like she knows.
but instead of pressing, she lets you ramble about school, breakfast, the weather — mundane little things. she listens like it’s gospel. every so often, her voice drops softer, reminding you she’s still here, even through the screen:
“eat something before class, yeah?”
“don’t fall asleep in lecture.”
“be good f’me.”
and it’s not until you hang up that you realise — this has become routine. sevika at night, sevika in the morning. your secret, your everything.
you’re dragging yourself back home after another long day, uniform collar tugging at your neck, phone burning in your pocket because you’re dying to check if sevika replied. it’s the same routine: class, pretending to listen and sneaking glances at her messages under the desk.
but today feels…off.
your mom’s waiting in the living room when you come in, arms crossed, lips pursed like she’s been sitting there thinking. and there on the table? ANOTHER parcel, unopened. your heart drops so hard you feel sick.
“who keeps sending you things from overseas?” her voice is sharp, probing. “you think i don’t notice? what are you hiding?”
your palms sweat. you grab at your bag straps, trying to look casual. “it’s just study guides. more chemistry practice okay? you always say i need more of that.”
she narrows her eyes, lifting the heavy box, flipping it over like she’s hoping something incriminating falls out. “then why does it say ‘fixyrhands’? hm? what kind of company name is that? looks fake.”
you lunge for it — too quick. she notices. her suspicion doubles.
later, in your room, door locked, you’re shaking as you fumble your phone open. sevika’s already sent a few texts,
sevika 🖤: You got my gift, baby?
sevika 🖤: Kid?
your thumbs fly:
you: my mom almost opened it!! she’s sus, she saw the box and i think she knows something’s up.
and after a pause, her reply comes, measured and careful, so her,
sevika 🖤: Breathe. Don’t panic. They do not know.
sevika 🖤: But maybe keep your head down for a while. Do not make her curious.
you stare at the screen, chewing your lip. keep your head down. easier said than done when every nerve in your body is wired to her.
when you call later that evening, sevika’s voice is steady, but there’s an edge. “listen, sweetheart. i don’t want you getting in trouble because of me. if they ever really find out…it won’t be good. you know that.”
the thought of losing her, of her pulling back, is enough to choke you. you promise — too fast, too desperate — “they won’t! i’ll be careful. i swear!”
and on the other end, you swear you can hear her exhale smoke, low and heavy. “careful, kid. that’s all i’m asking.”
the next night you’re supposed to “lay low.” you promised sevika you would.
but her name lights up your screen just past midnight, and you can’t resist.
sevika 🖤: Awake?
you: yeah. i missed u
sevika 🖤: Turn the camera on. Let me see you.
so you do. blanket over your head, whispering so soft it’s barely audible. sevika looks tired, hair loose, cigarette burning in her fingers. she smiles that half smile that always makes your chest ache. “shouldn’t you be sleeping, kid?”
“shouldn’t you be at work?” you tease, voice hushed.
it feels safe. it always does, even when you know it isn’t.
and then—
BANG.
your bedroom door slams open so violently the hinges rattle. your mom’s silhouette fills the doorway, eyes already blazing. your dad right behind her, face a storm.
“what are you fucking doing?!”
you freeze. the phone slips out of your trembling hands, landing face-up on the bed. sevika’s voice crackles faintly through the speaker, “sweetheart? what’s going on?”
your mom’s hand is on you before you can think. a sharp slap to your cheek, so loud it rings. heat blooms across your skin, tears springing instantly. she grabs your wrist, yanking you off the bed like you’re some criminal.
“talking to girls in the middle of the night? hiding things from us?!”
“i—it’s not!” your voice breaks, desperate.
behind you, the phone’s screen still glows. sevika’s watching, helpless, cigarette forgotten in the ashtray. her voice rises, panicked now: “hey! hey, leave her alone—”
but your mom doesn’t hear. doesn’t care.
your dad’s voice cuts in, low and venomous, “after everything we’ve done for you. sneaking around. disgracing us in our own house.”
you’re dragged into the hallway, feet stumbling, cheek burning, your throat choking on sobs you try to swallow. your mom’s nails dig into your arm as she hisses, “you think we raised you for this? you think you can shame us like this?”
and still, from your room, faint and distorted:
“kid? stay with me, don’t let them—”
then the door slams shut behind you, cutting sevika’s voice off.
she’s left staring at an empty room, your fallen phone, the faint sound of your cries muffled by distance and walls she can’t break through.
thirty minutes feels like thirty years.
when you finally stumble back into your room, you can barely see through the blur of tears. your nose is still bleeding, lips split, the salty taste of your tears on your tongue. your whole body trembles. the house feels like it’s pressing down on you, walls listening, shadows judging.
your phone screen is still glowing faintly on the bed. sevika never left.
“sweetheart?” her voice is sharp with panic, but low, controlled — the way only an older woman can manage even when her chest must be burning. “jesus christ…what did they do to you?”
your sobs hitch so violently you can’t even answer. you crawl onto the bed, clutching the phone like a lifeline, your tears dripping onto the screen.
“they — they hate me,” you choke out, your words fractured. “they said i’m disgusting. that you’re ruining me.”
silence. then a long, hard exhale of smoke on her end, like she’s holding herself back from smashing something. “listen to me. none of that’s true. not one damn word of it. you hear me?”
you nod furiously even though she can’t see through your trembling camera.
“they don’t know who you are,” you whisper, terrified. “they think you’re just… some bad girl. if they knew you were…older —” your voice cracks, a wave of shame crashing through you.
sevika leans forward in her chair, shadows cutting across her face, cigarette glowing like a warning. “don’t worry about that right now. all i care about is that you’re safe. can you lock your door?”
you shake your head, swallowing sobs. “they’re outside. they keep saying to bring the phone out. they’re waiting for me to hand you over.”
sevika’s jaw clenches. you can hear it in the way she breathes. “don’t. don’t give them this. not yet. stay with me as long as you can, okay baby?”
her voice steadies you, even as your chest heaves. you cling to it like the only solid thing left in the world.
time stretches. every tick of the clock feels like borrowed seconds. sevika keeps talking — low, soothing, words stitched together with desperation she doesn’t want you to hear.
“i should be there. i should be cleaning you up, not sitting behind a damn screen. if i could, i’d take you out of there tonight. you know that, right?”
you nod, crying harder. “please don’t go. please, just stay with me—”
and then, the doorknob rattles. heavy footsteps. your blood runs cold.
your mom’s voice, hard as stone, “enough hiding. give me that phone.”
your breath stutters, tears spilling faster. sevika hears it all. “kid, listen to me. don’t fight them. i need you safe. i’ll be here after. i swear.”
the door bursts open again. your parents storm inside, faces twisted in fury.
your dad’s hand reaches out, and this time, you can’t stop him. the phone is ripped from your grip, your last anchor gone.
the last thing sevika sees is your tear stained face, swollen lips, eyes wide with fear. the last thing she hears is your scream, raw and breaking, before the call cuts off.
the line goes dead.
and she’s left alone in her dark apartment, cigarette burning down to ash, staring at the empty screen where your face just was.
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