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prettyalexandra · 4 days ago

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beyond the breaking point (sevika x fem!reader)

Sevika has already shattered you, but that's not enough. She pulls you back from the brink, reigniting the fire in your veins and dragging you beyond your limits. Again.

cw: facesitting, rough oral sex (reader giving), fingering (reader receiving), overstimulation, light bondage (prosthetic restraint), explicit sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, light degradation. 18+ only!!!

Your body sinks into the mattress like molten metal fresh from the forge; every nerve and fiber sings with the echoes of the raw force Sevika has unleashed on you. Heat lingers between your splayed thighs, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. Sticky sweat coats and cools your humming skin, burning in patches where the memory of her grip still dwells.

You can't move a muscle, not even your eyelids. Your limbs refuse to cooperate as if your very bones had been unraveled and reassembled in Sevika’s hands, pulsing with exhaustion and ecstasy as your chest rises and falls in shallow, trembling gasps. The air you pump into your lungs is rich with the taste of cold cigar smoke and hot arousal.

Somewhere above you, Sevika’s low chuckle cuts through the haze, clouding your mind with thoughts too soft to grasp. "You're still alive down there?” A smirk softens the sharp steel of her voice. You don't need to see the smile to tell it's colored with the same filthy pride you picture twinkling in her eyes as she feasts them on your exposed and drained body.

The corners of your mouth twitch, but a breathless scoff, something between a grunt and a laugh, is all your mouth bothers to utter.

"I'll take that as a yes."

She moves—her weight and presence retreat from you like the passing tide from the shore. Your lashes flutter open, catching her movement as it drags your gaze like gravity.

Her hands reach for the harness weaving around her hips and thighs, unfastening the buckles with quick fingers. You hear the leather sighing a creak, and the metal of the hooks cling before the thick strap drops to the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes catch on the glistening mess your release left on the dildo’s surface, before Sevika shifts again, drawing your gaze upward.

“You look so messy and helpless,” she mutters in a smokey rasp that sends another shiver coursing down your spine. “I like that.”

Her gaze sweeps over you as she stretches, her powerful frame illuminated by the dim fog of amber seeping through the stained window. The sharp definition of her muscles streams along her arms, chest, and abdomen as she rolls her shoulders and tilts her head from side to side until her neck cracks. Her smooth brown skin glistens with sweat, accentuating the elaborate map of scars etched across her body—each one a silent witness to a life lived on the razor’s edge— gleaming with a muted glint of silvery blue and pale violet. It throbs lazily as though Sevika’s flesh remembers the contributions of alchemy that forged her.

The exposed mechanisms of the joints in her prosthetic arm catch your eyes as they spin in precise synchrony, every stir escorted by the soft whirr of energy cores glowing beneath the surface. A faint glow emanates through the joints, pulsing in time with her movements through the veins and tendrils of Zaunite tech woven into the sleek, matte metal and making the coils glisten. Smooth plating curves like armor over her forearm, its deep gunmetal finish marred by scratches, dents, and grooves. When she clenches her fist to stretch, the fingers curl with a hypnotic grace.

Sevika’s lips curl into a smirk as she notices your wandering gaze. “Enjoying the view?” she whispers, the words rolling from her tongue.

You swallow hard, your throat dry and hoarse from the screams she had coaxed—and demanded—from you, “Always,” you rasp, the word catching on the dry ache in your throat.

The answer earns you a low chuckle, rich and indulgent like she’s savoring the effect she has on you. Without breaking eye contact, she crawls over you, her knees bracketing your hips as she leans down. Her weight descends on you like the final blow of a hammer on an anvil, pressing you deeper.

Her muscles ripple as she moves, the edges of her prosthetic arm catching the dim light. The soft hum of its mechanisms syncs with her heavy breaths, rhythmic and commanding.

Her hands find yours—calloused skin on one side, cool metal on the other—and seize your wrists, setting every nerve alight.

Her prosthetic arm adjusts with a faint, mechanical whirr. It seals your wrists together, stretching your arms above your head. The metal rests firm against your pulse points, its energy coursing into your veins, electric and intoxicating.

“Perfect,” she mutters. “Show two fingers if it’s too much.”

Your hands clench into fists without missing a beat; she laughs, the vibrations rumbling through her chest.

“That’s my girl.”

She leans down. Her mouth claims yours, the press of her lips igniting a fire that burns through the exhaustion. You taste your own juices in her saliva—hidden behind the sultry caramel of cigars and sharp liquor—as her tongue meets yours, insistent and consuming. You suck on her bottom lip, arching into her body. Both of you moan, gasping for air as her body surges against yours, overwhelming and unrelenting.

Her free hand trails along your temple and jaw, following the line of your throat and across your collarbone.

Her fingers trace your skin—announcing every inch as hers. The calluses catch against the curve of your breast, lingering just long enough to leave your nerves aching for more. Her lips break from yours, breath fanning over you in shallow bursts as her gaze locks on her hand, squeezing your tit.

“Fuck!” you gust.

“You’re too damn addictive,” Her thumb brushes your nipple, light, and teasing, and the sound it compels from you is somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

She smirks, her fingers closing around your tit again—her grip firm and reassuring. The prosthetic hums faintly against your wrists, the glow pulsing in rhythm with the heat pooling in your belly, every adjustment of the metal sending sparks racing through your blood.

Her lips find your chest, hot and determined, as she trails open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck, following the path her fingers traced. She pauses, her breath ghosting over your skin, the heat of her presence teasing the hollow of your throat before she moves lower.

The soft scrape of her teeth grazes the swell of your breast—a sharp inhale cuts through your lungs.

Her tongue flicks over your nipple, a warm, wet stroke that ignites a new fire in your veins. You arch instinctively, your body offering itself to her, and Sevika takes the invitation without hesitation. Her mouth latches onto you, tongue circling, lips pulling, her suction strong enough to draw a sharp cry from your lips.

You writhe, wrists straining against her unyielding grip.

“Still got some fight in you, I see,” she murmurs, nibbling your nipple just enough to tease, to torment. She doesn’t bite, but the heat of her mouth is unbearable, stoking the embers she’s fanning back to life. “Go on, baby. Talk back. Amuse me.”

"Fight in me?" you gasp, the words ripping free between shallow breaths, edged with the fire she stirs, even when you're spent, wrecked, and pinned beneath her. "I could take you if I wanted."

Your words draw a sharp, delighted laugh. "You can’t even move right now. But go ahead—show me what you've got."

The hand at your breast tightens, her thumb flicking your nipple with maddening precision, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. You push into her, straining against the metal grip that keeps your wrists locked in place.

“I don’t need to move to get under your skin,” you bite out, a grin curling your lips even as your breath hitches. “You’ll come undone the second I scream your name.”

The spark of desire in Sevika’s eyes darkens, her pupils dilating. “You can scream all you want. Into my cunt when I ride your face.”

Sevika follows through before you can process her words.

Her scent hits you first—heady, musky, and raw. It fills your lungs, sharp and electric, igniting every nerve as her hips rise, hovering just over your face. The previous surge of defiance dissolves; anticipation coils in your gut, tightening with every torturous second she keeps you waiting.

The thick curls at her mound glisten, unapologetic, as she lowers herself slowly, torturously. You don’t think; you move, tilting your chin up, your tongue reaching instinctively, desperately.

“Not so fast,” she breathes, her voice dark silk. The glow from her arm reflects in her eyes—brilliant streaks of violet dancing in her pupils as she dares you. “Open wide. Let me see how hungry you are.”

You comply, your lips parting with a low, pleading moan, your tongue flicking out to taste the salty tang of her arousal. Her grip shifts, the cool, hard fingers of her prosthetic pressing harder against your pulse, reminding you that you are where you belong. Her free hand tangles behind your head, holding you where she wants you as she lowers herself the rest of the way.

The first press of her heat against your mouth is a command, not an appeal. Your tongue works feverishly, seeking every ridge, every fold, lapping at the slick evidence of her pleasure. Sevika groans above you, low and guttural, her hips grinding against your face with a rhythm that grows more erratic with every stroke of your tongue.

“That’s it,” she groans. The sound of her ragged breaths fills you with filthy pride. “Keep going. Don’t you dare stop.”

Her thighs clench around your head, her weight grounding you, her heat consuming you, leaving no room for anything but her. You moan into her, the vibrations drawing a shudder from her frame.

She releases your hair, reaching behind her, her rough fingertips snake down your body to your swollen, throbbing clit. And her name, you scream! Her cunt swallows the sound. Just like she prefigured.

Her fingers circle the sensitive bud with maddening precision and pressure. The sensation wracks through you, your hips bucking against her hand, even as you strain upward, desperate to please her.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” she murmurs, her words broken by gasps as she fucks herself on your tongue. “Such a filthy little slut... taking everything I give you.” Her fingers dip into your soaked folds, curling inside you with a possessive hunger. “I won’t stop until I’m dripping all over your face.”

Your muffled cries, your hands twitching against her hold, only spur her on. Your body screams at you to move, to do something, anything, but Sevika keeps you firmly in place. The weight of her presence—literal and figurative—pressing into every corner of your being. The overwhelming sensation, the taste of her, the sound of her moans, the relentless motion of her fingers pumping inside you—it’s too much and not enough.

Sevika’s movements grow erratic, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. Her hips grind harder against your mouth, her thighs quivering as she chases her release.

The tension in her body snaps, her release crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her thighs clamp around your head as she grinds through her orgasm, her juices soaking you, her cries echoing like a crescendo. She doesn’t let up, her fingers still moving inside you, dragging you along until your body arches beneath her, your climax tearing through you in surges that leave you breathless, burning, and limp.

Sevika collapses next to you, releasing you from her grip and catching her breath.

You both lie there gasping before she props herself up on the prosthetic elbow, trailing the fingers of her free hand across your doused face.

“Look at you,” she purrs, her voice soft and full of pride as she rakes her gaze over your body, wrecked by her for the second time tonight. Her hand lingers on your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip while you breathe through parted lips, eyes fluttering shut again. “Such a beautiful mess.”

Thank you for reading 'til the end! Sevika’s character has me utterly at her mercy, and I cope by making it a collective problem—especially for my fellow sapphics. I hope you enjoy this piece! Reblogs are encouraged and met with as much gratitude as comments and feedback (you probably make my day). I’d love to hear what you think—I'm curious!

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