thehoneybeestings - Tumblr blog

thehoneybeestings · 5 days ago

Text

𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢

𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

୨ৎ 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢

‧₊˚── Synopsis: A small update on life in Lalaia with The Eagle Bearer and her two favorite girls.

Word Count: 1.6k Content/Warnings: sfw, slightly suggestive, kassandra gets hurt, (spoiler! canon divergence; kassandra isn't immortal for the sake of the story and also because why would they do that to her) but other than that, it's fluff all around! A/N: i honestly wasn't planning a pt. 2 to this headcanon, so it is on the shorter side (although pt. 1 was actually really long for a headcanon lol) but i was SO excited to get an anon request for another part! i love love love writing for kassandra, so please don't hesitate to send in more requests for her! i'm actually begging u. anyway! enjoy!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Three moons have passed since the day you left your father’s estate for good

୨ৎ The decision had cost you everything you owed to him; your riches, your status, your chances at marrying above your station

୨ৎ But your little house in Lalaia; that you owed to your mother, and that, she ensured was left to you, and you only

୨ৎ And even after an entire Spring, you still haven’t looked back

୨ৎ Not when Phoibe is thriving; learning how to read and write, how to hunt and fish, how to play Ephedrismos and Petteia with all of her new friends

୨ৎ Not when a certain Misthios has taken to spending most of her time at your little house in Lalaia, too

୨ৎ After all, you’d promised her that, here, she’d always have a place to call home

୨ৎ Kassandra still isn’t used to the domesticity you offer her, and she’s not sure she ever will be

୨ৎ She still isn’t used to the feeling of relief that washes over her as she approaches the house after a long day’s work

୨ৎ She isn’t used to the way Phoibe darts down the stairs, barreling toward her with outstretched arms as soon as “Kassandra’s home!”

୨ৎ She isn’t used to dinners at the kitchen table, or arguing with Phoibe about when bedtime is, or your embrace after bedtime…

୨ৎ She isn’t used to waking up and finding that you haven’t left; that you aren’t just a one-night stand, that you want more from her than her sword or her skill in bed

୨ৎ But worst of all, she never gets used to bidding the two of you farewell when it’s time to take a contract that puts her on the road for days at a time

୨ৎ Both you and the misthios know that the nature of her work isn’t quite conducive to domestic bliss; in fact, she’d warned you of this before moving in on a more official basis

୨ৎ But she promises to stay safe- promises that she knows she’s got her girls to make it home to- and you promise to trust that she will

୨ৎ So, when the inevitable happens- when she takes a risky contract, travels to dangerous parts, and is greeted by far more enemies than she was expecting- she figures that this is where her time in Lalaia ends

୨ৎ Figures that she’ll come home, cuts and bruises unhealed and ribs still sore, and you’ll decide it isn’t worth it; that she isn’t worth it

୨ৎ And for the first time, she approaches your little house in Lalaia, takes in the pink blossoms of the trees your mother had planted long ago and the setting sun's light bathing the old stone, and she doesn’t feel relieved

୨ৎ She feels afraid

୨ৎ Her stomach twists as Phoibe scampers over to greet her, and her face twists when small arms wrap around bruised ribs, squeezing as tightly as they can

୨ৎ She doesn’t correct or chide the girl; it’d been a week since she left, after all, and she knows Phoibe hates for her to be away for that long

୨ৎ But she knows you catch it; sees the way your brows pull together in concern as soon as she winces

୨ৎ You call out to Phoibe from where you’re leaning against the doorframe, instructing her to run down to the market for a fresh loaf of bread in preparation for dinner with a firmness that leaves no room for backtalk

୨ৎ And as soon as the girl obeys, skipping down the hill to the street, your hand is outstretched, beckoning Kassandra to come in and sit

୨ৎ Her appraising gaze never leaves your face as you deftly remove her armor, press lightly against her ribs, wipe away at cuts and smear honey onto scrapes

୨ৎ She’s confused; your touch is so gentle, your expression just as soft, just as kind

୨ৎ And when you place a cup of wine and some bread down in front of her before tucking a tendril of dark hair behind her ear, she looks at you like you’ve gone mad

୨ৎ “You okay?” You exhale, sitting down across from her

୨ৎ She doesn’t answer for a moment; just stares, still searching for the disappointment she was sure she’d find on your face upon her arrival in this state

୨ৎ “Agapi mou,” you urge, now getting worried that she’d hit her head, too

୨ৎ You reach across your quaint kitchen table to take her hand in your own, and she snaps herself from her trance with a few rapid blinks

୨ৎ When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, tentative

୨ৎ “You aren’t… You aren’t mad?”

୨ৎ You return her expression of confusion

୨ৎ “Mad? Why would I be mad? Should I be mad? Oh, Gods… what did you do? I told you, no more catching frogs with Phoibe and sending them to my pater’s estate-”

୨ৎ “No, no…” she interrupts with a chuckle and a wave of dismissal, “no more frogs, agapi. I haven’t broken that promise… yet.”

୨ৎ You scoff, standing up with a smirk and sitting back down on her lap, gentle as you settle in and wrap your arms around her shoulders

୨ৎ “Then what is it, if you’ve been good after all?” you smile down at her

୨ৎ Her arms snake around your waist, and her thumbs rub circles into your hips; a motion that you’ve come to learn is more for her own sake than yours

୨ৎ She sighs, shakes her head, looks up at you with wonder

୨ৎ “I just… I thought you’d change your mind.”

୨ৎ You tilt your head to the side, a silent request for an elaboration

୨ৎ “Look,” she sighs, sore shoulders slouching, “I know this- being with me- isn’t easy. I know it isn’t easy for you to be left behind for days, waiting for me to come back, knowing it might not always be in one piece, or worse…”

୨ৎ She can’t bring herself to say it

୨ৎ It might be the first time in a long time that she’s really let herself admit it; that she isn’t invincible, that she isn’t immortal

୨ৎ That if there had been one more man prepared to stand against her on this past trip, she might not have come back to you at all

୨ৎ She clenches her jaw as her stomach twists again; the same way it had when Phoibe had greeted her, and her first thought was that she hoped the girl wouldn't notice the purple bruise flowering across her cheekbone

୨ৎ And suddenly, she feels sick

୨ৎ Phoibe. She can’t do this Phoibe; can’t promise that she’ll always make it back home to catch frogs, knowing that promise is empty

୨ৎ She swallows against the lump in her throat, and blinks away at the hot tears pricking her eyes

୨ৎ “I know it isn’t easy. And I… I won’t hold it against you if you decide this isn’t what you want.”

୨ৎ A heavy silence settles over the room

୨ৎ And then, you cradle her face in both of your hands, guiding her to look at you, and the smile you bear is so sweet, so warm, she nearly has to look away because she doesn’t think she deserves it

୨ৎ “Kassandra,” you speak, low and steady, “I didn’t ask for easy. I asked for you.”

୨ৎ Your thumbs gingerly trace high cheekbones littered in scrapes as you let your words sink in

୨ৎ “I knew what I was getting into. You told me what I was getting into. You haven’t misled me, and I haven’t chosen anything I wasn’t prepared for.”

୨ৎ She exhales shakily

୨ৎ “You aren’t upset?” ୨ৎ “Only that you were hurt,” you assure with an apologetic smile. "But you’re here now. That’s all I want. You, here.”

୨ৎ It’s later that night when, for the first time, Kassandra shares a long-held dream

୨ৎ She’s already bare in bed, waiting underneath the covers as you oil your skin after a bath

୨ৎ “You know, every once in a while,” she begins, propping her head up with the palm of her hand, “I think it might be nice to open up a stall in the agora.”

୨ৎ You turn your head to her, but you don’t respond; not yet

୨ৎ Because Kassandra is no Sokrates; she doesn’t muse for the sake of musing, and certainly doesn’t speak for the sake of hearing her own voice

୨ৎ She may only be bringing this daydream up now, but knowing her, it’s something she’s been contemplating far more than she’s letting on

୨ৎ So, you give her a small smile and a nod, and let her share without interruption, knowing she’ll arrive at the conclusion she’s searching for in time

୨ৎ “Phoibe’s a damn good fisher, and I think she’d have fun learning to sail, too. We could go out on the water every weekend to stock up for a fish stall during the week. I think that might be nice… you know… putting the spear down for a change.”

୨ৎ And there it is

୨ৎ This isn’t about fishing, or sailing, or a stall in the agora

୨ৎ It’s about making a promise to her girls that she’ll always come home, and doing everything in her power to keep it, even if it means leaving the life she’s led for over a decade behind

୨ৎ Because this life- the life she has with you and Phoibe, the life she swore she couldn’t ever have- is worth settling down for

୨ৎ You are worth worth settling down for

୨ৎ And you’ve only ever made her feel like she's worth settling down for, too

୨ৎ So, she takes her chances; accepts one last contract and makes one last trip without you

୨ৎ And as she rides up to your little house in Lalaia when it's all said and done, she rummages through her bag one last time for the ring she’d bought on the way back

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

#kassandra x reader #kassandra imagine #kassandra x you #kassandra x y/n #kassandra ac odyssey #kassandra of sparta #kassandra #ac odyssey #ac odyssey imagine #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #kassandra headcanons #ac odyssey headcanons

25 notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 7 days ago

Note

Would you be willing to write an omegaverse sevika x reader fic where the reader has traumas from past heats and doesn’t want to be touched but sevika calms r! Down enough that they drop and can consensually take a knot

oooh yes i would love to! i feel like sevika would be so so sensitive to this and so patient with a partner who needed to take intimacy very slow; can't wait to flesh this out more!

ty so much for the the request <3

#sevika x reader #alpha!sevika #arcane omegaverse #omegaverse sevika

38 notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 8 days ago

Text

and when this game comes out... *insert maniacal laughter*

"Ciri and Kelpie." : The Witcher 4

#NEED THAT #and will be writing for that.

495 notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 9 days ago

Text

smoking

sevika’s sitting in the armchair like she owns the damn world.

legs wide. thighs spread. boots planted on either side of the rug. her coat’s slung open, tank tight across her chest, collarbones peeking out under the glow of a low red lamp. her mechanical arm is half-lit—reflecting sparks of purple shimmer. and you?

you’re in her lap. straddling her thick thighs, your knees barely bracketing her hips. her hand’s on your waist, blunt smoldering between her fingers, and her mouth?

god.

her mouth’s got your stomach twisting.

you watch her take a long drag. slow and deliberate, lips wrapped around the paper, cheeks hollowing just enough to make your thighs twitch around her.

“relax, doll,” she murmurs, smoke curling from her lips as she leans back. “you’re shaking.”

you’re not even high yet. you’re just already wrecked from being this close.

your palms are on her shoulders. she’s warm under the tank. solid. she smells like burnt sugar and smoke, a trace of whiskey under her collar. her jaw’s sharp beneath the overhead light, a line you want to trace with your mouth.

and then she looks at you.

“come here.”

her voice is low. soft. dangerous.

she takes another drag—long and deep—then curls her gloved hand around your jaw, thumb brushing your lips.

“open.”

your mouth parts before you even think. reflex. instinct. like you’re made for it.

and she leans in, eyes on yours the whole time.

then she blows.

hot smoke slips from her mouth into yours, thick and musky, and you inhale like it’s air, your chest rising, lungs filling with her.

it makes your head swim.

but before you can even exhale—

she kisses you.

hard.

it’s messy and deep, smoke still on her tongue, heat blooming from her mouth into yours. her hand doesn’t let go of your jaw. it guides you, tilts your face just how she wants it, mouth open for her, lips slick, tongues sliding together like you’ve already been doing this for hours.

you moan into her, helpless.

"fuck." her other hand drops the blunt into the tray, then grabs your waist to yank you tighter against her, grinding your center right onto the heat of her jeans. your hips buck. your hands clutch her shoulders tighter, digging into muscle, fingers trembling.

she’s everywhere.

teeth clack. lips drag. spit slips from your mouths, slicking your chin as she devours you like she’s starved for it—like the blunt was just the warm-up and you’re the real indulgence.

when she finally pulls back, you're dazed.

eyes glazed, lips swollen, chest heaving.

she licks her bottom lip, slow, savoring.

“good fucking girl,” she breathes, dragging her fingers down your throat. “now you’re starting to get it.”

your thighs twitch around her. your cunt clenches. you barely notice your hips still rolling against her thigh.

she grins, wolfish.

“tastes better when you’re obedient, huh?”

you whimper. nod. try to chase her mouth again.

but she just leans back with a smirk—grabs the blunt again.

“you want more,” she hums, eyes flicking up, “you beg for it next time.”

and fuck. you will.

#holy shit #bee's recs

529 notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 12 days ago

Note

BOOM SHAKALA YES GAAAWWWDDD SWEET AS HONEY PART TWO WAS BETTER THAN I IMAGINED YOU ARE SO TALENTED!!

They’re so cute I’d love to see the series continued/expanded 💞💞

and if i told you pt. 3 is already outlined... hehehe 🤭

anyhow, thank you so much for the love, darling!!! i'm so glad you're enjoying it <3

5 notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 12 days ago

Text

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢

𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

୨ৎ 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢

‧₊˚── Synopsis: A year of the baker by Sevika's side, but the baker still has no bite. This bodes questions from certain ill-intentioned alphas, and Sevika must decide if she's ready to answer them.

Word Count: 5.7k Content/Warnings: omegaverse! if it's not your thing don't read it; nsfw, top!sev, bottom!reader, soft dom!sev, reader is referred to w fem terms/pronouns, reader has female anatomy, sev has a dick, breeding kink, brat!reader if you squint, sub space if you squint, dom drop if you squint, blood, reader is harassed but nothing intense or explicit A/N: holy hell. note to self: do not write a fic you actually really like or you will drive yourself crazy trying to make it's sequel perfect. anyhow, here is said sequel after nearly two months! i'm so sorry this took so long, but i truly do love this series and care just as much about the character exploration as i do the smut, so i really hope the wait was worth it! thank you SO much for all of the love on pt. i, and as always, enjoy!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

Sevika slides into the booth tucked in the bar’s back corner.

In a practiced manner, her eyes scan the room. Over her shoulder to the stairs leading up to her apartment. To the wrought iron door at the front of the room. Left to the bar, right to the bathrooms.

She smirks in approval of The Last Drop’s Friday night debauchery, settling in like the foundations of a home well-loved. She reaches for the leather-bound cigar case you’d gifted her a few months back. She keeps the note that had accompanied it in her wallet; a folded piece of pink stationery scribbled in handwriting she’d learned so well after over a year of watching you furiously jot down recipes and grocery lists. “consider this a token of my gratitude and an apology for making you stay up until midnight to taste cupcakes… it most definitely will happen again. :) <3”

Her cigar teeters in her mouth as a wicked grin spreads across her lips. “You boys are so screwed,” she mumbles, lighting the cigar as she glances down at the game of blackjack in progress. “Whatever,” one of her future opponents jeers, “we’re just warming up. Waiting for your ass.” She chuckles through her nose, relishes in the smooth burn of smoke escaping with it.

“Yeah? Well, yours is about to get handed to you. Give ‘em here.”

Oxidised copper glints in neon green light as she reaches for the deck of cards to deal a new round, accompanied by the grumbles of her competition claiming she’s “just going to rig the game again.”

She chortles again, blows a ring of smoke out of her mouth, inhales, and, The smell of honeysuckle.

She turns back to face the stairs again, a nearly untraceable smile gracing her lips as she awaits your descent. A voice like honey to match as you round the corner, beaming when you finally catch sight of her. “She’s out like a light,” you declare, recalling the sight of the girl you'd just put to bed, all snuggled up and holding her favorite blanket as tight as she had been when Sevika found her. “She’s had a big day,” Sevika shrugs.

It had been a big day for the now six-year-old, what with all of the birthday celebrations that had ensued.

Just a few months ago, it dawned on Sevika that Isha had been around for over a year now, but that they’d never celebrated her birthday. It’s unbeknownst to most that tucked away beneath all of her brooding and brawn lies Sevika's firmly held belief that every birthday should be celebrated. She still tries to feign indifference to the occasion, but after a long night of experimenting with different buttercream frosting recipes and a few-too-many glasses of red wine, you’d learned that since her parents’ passing, Sevika always tries to do a little something to honor each of her years. She’d finish off a bottle of her father’s favorite whiskey in her darker days, or recreate her meal from her mother’s recipe book when things felt lighter.

More than anything, her birthdays were a chance to pay homage to her parents. An acknowledgment that not everyone gets the privilege of another year; a promise that she isn’t wasting the time she’s been gifted. That she's using each and every year she gets to make them proud.

This past year- and for the first time since she was 15- Sevika wasn’t alone for her birthday.

Instead, she pulls at the chain of the neon “Open” sign in your bakery’s window, switching it off as you lay eyes on your planner one last time.

You tsk, shaking your head and grabbing a pen to jot something down on the color-coded calendar. “I have to get powdered sugar tomorrow,” you muse, “don’t let me forget.”

“10-4,” she replies, sauntering over to you with an amused grin as she watches you chew your bottom lip; something you always do when you’re focused. She leans down to mirror your position, placing her elbows on the counter and her chin in her palm.

“Oh- and it’s Doris’s birthday on Sunday! I’ll swing by and drop something off for her… she really likes cinnamon rolls…”

You’re talking to yourself. Sevika still hangs onto every word. A smile stretches across her lips, slow and lazy. Her eyes follow your mindless ministrations; the way you twirl your pen with your dominant hand, the way the other taps rhythmically on the cool granite beneath it, the way you click the pen twice every few moments-

“When is your birthday?”

The question pulls her out of the trance she'd unwittingly fallen into. “Oh… uh…” She knows she’s about to get in trouble for not having told you. She also knows that following the trouble she’s about to get into, you’ll immediately make a fuss about making sure the day is properly celebrated, that she feels properly appreciated. The thought makes her heart ache. You already make her feel that way every day. She can’t stand to ask you for more. Alas, she knows better than to rob you of the opportunity to dote. She grabs your wrist- gentle and gingerly as always- and peers down at the watch face adorning it.

“Well, I was born at 7:02 p.m., so technically, it’s in… 42 minutes?” A bashful smile breaks out on her face, her hands coming up to cover it.

“Sevika!”

Her name on your lips. She’ll take it any way she can get it, even if it means you’re scolding her because now, you don’t have time to make her favorite dessert. So, she lets you fuss, lets you sing her happy birthday and demand that she make a wish before she blows her candle out, and ends up crying over a slice of carrot cake because it’s been over 20 years since someone cared about this day as much as she does. It wasn’t long after that night that Sevika had her realization about Isha’s own birthday. She spent the next few weeks searching high and low for a certificate of Isha’s birth, or even just information on where she came from; who her parents were, where they lived, and if they might have had relatives who might know about Isha and when she was born. You never had the heart to tell her that she was setting out on a mission made nearly impossible by Zaun’s lack of record-keeping; partially because you figured Sevika could use any and all slivers of hope when and wherever she could get them, and partially because you figured that deep down, she already knew it was a lost cause.

The two of you are folding laundry on a Sunday afternoon when she finally concedes that she may be out of luck. Her shoulders are slouched in defeat, and her lips are pursed in thought as she thumbs over the silk tag on Isha’s favorite blanket. I get why she does this, she thinks. It does feel nice.

Her gaze falls down to the silk tag between her thumb and pointer finger, and suddenly, she sits up straight.

Your anticipatory gaze is already on her when she speaks.

“She turns six next week.”

Your brows knit together in confusion.

“Are the prophetic visions new? Or…” Sevika doesn’t answer; just thrusts the blanket toward you, and lo and behold, there it is. Written in black ink on the butter-yellow baby blanket’s tag:

Isha

5-15-2019

The revelation unearths a side of Sevika you’ve never seen. By the time May 15th rolls around, her apartment is covered in confetti, balloons, and stuffed animals wearing party hats; all Sevika’s doing. But, naturally, a birthday party for Isha is nothing without a batch of her favorite blueberry muffins, and you’re more than happy to deliver.

The recent memory of wiping sugared blueberries from the corners of the girl’s mouth pops into your head, and a warm smile appears on your face.

“She sure did,” you agree with Sevika, placing a hand on her shoulder as you take your seat beside her. “I’m gonna get a drink in a second; do you-” Sevika’s eyes are still trained on her cards as she slides a vodka-cranberry over to you. “You take such good care of me,” you purr, and she glances over at you with a smirk and a cocked brow that says, ‘Careful.’

You know exactly what you’re doing. You know she gets off on taking care of you.

You innocently shrug your shoulders as you wrap your lips around the two tiny straws in your drink. She chuckles, as always, because, “you know those are for stirring, not for sipping, right?”

Tonight, she makes no comment, letting you sip through your too-small straws in peace in exchange for focusing on the cards in her mech hand and the grip the other has on your thigh.

The grip that tightens a few rounds later when the table’s sore loser is replaced by a newcomer.

He’s a patron she’s yet to come across. An alpha she's yet to come across. It's unusual. Unexpected. Sevika isn’t fond of the unexpected.

She’s less fond of the way his eyes seem to be drinking you in, and the way you seem to stiffen underneath his ogling.

“Mind if I join?” he queries.

She might have already slapped this man's cocky grin off of his face if you weren’t to her right, already noticing the clench of her jaw that he doesn’t yet know is a threat.

You wrap your arm around hers, thumb rubbing circles into the taut muscle of her forearm. ‘It’s okay,’ your touch says. ‘Calm down. I’m okay.’

You read her so well that, sometimes, she thinks you might be telepathic. She relaxes under your wordless comforts so quickly that you think the same of her.

All she offers the man is a grunt and a single nod toward the empty seat in front of him. Her eyes don’t leave him for a second as he sits. She’s determined to solve this man like her morning crossword, and you nearly mistake the soft whir of her prosthetic for the sound of wheels turning in her head.

She shuffles the cards, deals two to each player at the table, lights a new cigar. She doesn’t take her eyes off of him once. She’ll kick herself when she finally does, because as soon as her icy gaze relents, he’s got questions, and they aren’t about the rules of the game.

“She yours for the night?” He asks. He cocks his head toward you, but the inquiry is for Sevika; an inquiry that earns him a deep scowl.

“She’s not a whore. Walk down the street and hang a left for that.”

“You would know, huh?”

Strike one.

The look she gives him this time around is scarier. It isn’t one of annoyance, of being mildly agitated. It’s chiding. Stony. The look she gives Jinx and Isha when the answer is no, and you’d better not ask again.

The man raises his hands in surrender, leans back in his chair with a lazy grin, and says he’s sorry, but you both know he’s happy to be making trouble.

“Just play the damn game, man,” another player bemoans. The rest of the table’s occupants are just here for whiskey and a card game, not to see Sevika beat the shit out of some random prick; and they all know the latter is exactly where this interaction is headed.

Unfortunately, it seems that said prick wants to get the shit beat out of him more than everyone else wants their whiskey and a card game.

“She’s real pretty,” he drawls, looking down at his cards.

“She’s not interested.”

Sevika notes a second strike, huffing out a laugh as dry as your words.

“Mouthy, too, huh? Back in my day, they didn’t let whores talk this much.” Three strikes, and you’re out. Sevika leans back with an eerie calmness. The rest of the table has already begun rising from their seats.

“Honey?” she purrs, pinching her cigar between two fingers and placing it on the ashtray at the center of the table, “You wanna go get us another round?” Sure, you’ll make yourself busy doing that, but that isn’t what she’s really asking you.

What she really asks is: “Can I beat his ass yet?”

Your sweet hum of confirmation says, “Yes….”

The kiss you place on her cheek before you head to the bar adds, “...And don’t go easy on him.”

You’re not even two feet away before you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, his cries of protest as she grabs him by the collar of his leather jacket and drags him out to the dumpsters behind the building.

“New guys,” the bartender sighs, shaking their head as they get to work on a vodka-cran and whiskey served neat. “They never know when to stop.”

You’re already halfway through your drink when she returns, walking over to you. To the naked eye, she’s completely unassuming; you’d think she just went to take a piss. The splatter of blood on the collar of her shirt says otherwise, but it’s not like she’d let anyone but you get close enough to notice it.

The blood stain isn’t what grabs your attention, though. Instead, it’s the look in her eye, the furrow of her brow, the small frown pulling down at her dark lips.

Uncertainty.

Sevika is never uncertain after a fight.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask, your voice low and urgent.

She clenches her jaw, shakes her head, exhales sharply through her nose.

“Nothing. Just tired.”

Your eyes narrow.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night. I should probably stay at my place with the girls tonight. You know, make sure they get to Doris’s alright in the morning.”

You nod, letting her get away with thinking you take her words at face value, but the entire point of having Doris watch the kids was to spend time with each other; to be together, not apart. For all intents and purposes, Doris was like a mother to you, and for all intents and purposes, you’d become something like a mother to Jinx and Isha yourself, so Doris had offered to start keeping the girls every other weekend.“Let me watch the grandbabies,” she’d warmly insisted, “You two deserve the break every once in a while.”

That was the point. That the girls would go off to Doris’s for a few days, and you and Sevika would indulge in some much-needed alone time. But now, for the first time in over a year, Sevika’s asking to sleep alone.

You let her. You know better than to push too hard when she’s closing up.

But never, in her guardedness or uncertainty, does Sevika neglect to take care of you, and when she still insists on walking you home, a weak smile breaks out on your face.

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

You let Sevika sulk for two days before you show up at her doorstep with a slice of carrot cake and a stern request for an explanation.

You’re not ignorant of the drawbridge Sevika tends to raise when she feels powerless, but this is the longest you’ve ever waited for it to come back down, and you can’t help but worry that, maybe, you’ve done something wrong.

Her face falls when you admit this, and she knows it’s time to let you back in. You sit across from each other at her small kitchen table, her eyes downcast, but her hand still stretching across the unstained wood to grasp your own. You rub slow, firm circles into the back of her hand, the motion steady and reassuring. Exactly what you are to her.

“You remember that asshole at the bar the other night?” “Unfortunately,” you deadpan. “You fucked his shit up, right?” She snorts, her lip curling up into a smirk. She doesn’t need to tell you that of course she did.

Her smirk falters. There it is again; uncertainty.

“He just, uh… he said something that kind of got under my skin.”

He was already pinned up against the wall and his nose was already broken when he got these final words in:

“You fight like she belongs to you,” he'd jeered, “but I didn’t see a bite.”

To say this got under her skin was a massive understatement. It rocked her. So much so that she felt the ground underneath her feet quake, and the world she’d built around you fracture.

She realized in that moment that she holds you the way she does, so gentle and gingerly, because she’s afraid she’ll drop you and you’ll shatter. That everything you have will crumble, that she’ll realize none of this is real;

Because he was right. You don’t have her bite. You aren’t really hers.

“How so?” you ask, your voice so soft amidst the one she’d been chastising herself with for the past two days.

She rubs her temples, mulling over your question with a deep sigh.

“I don’t know… I mean, don’t you feel like we’re just playing house sometimes? I mean, don’t get me wrong, It’s not that I-” She interrupts herself with a huff, and you squeeze her calloused hand, encouraging her to continue.

“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to be with you; to be around you, and for you to be around the girls… but I just… I don’t know.” She does know. She’s just terrified to say it.

You give her a knowing smile.

But you don’t fill in the gaps; you don’t finish the sentence for her.

You’re going to make her say it.

And finally, she does.

“I want more.”

Your hand freezes, but your grip remains firm. Your eyes are glued to her own.

You’re still here. You’re still steady, still constant, but you need her to be sure.

“You want more?”

Her shoulders slouch as she sharply exhales, her brows knit together, and you swear you hear her whine.

“I don’t want to play pretend anymore. I want you to be mine.”

You nod, slow and knowing. A pregnant pause settles over the kitchen table until,

“Bite me, then.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but her pupils blow wide and her jaw ticks.

“If you want me to be yours, make me yours.”

Her voice is damn near an octive lower when she speaks again.

“And you know what you’re asking for?” “If I haven’t made it clear that I want a life with you, then I’m sorry for not being forward enough,” you chortle. “I want to be yours, Sevika. I want you. Now.”

She stands with a relieved chuckle. “Now?”

“Right now,” you repeat with a giggle, rising to meet her.

“Right now? Right here? And ruin my handmade kitchen table?”

She’s bending you over it anyway.

“You seem to have made up your mind already,” you challenge, pushing back against broad hips. She grabs at the flesh of your own, leaning down to place a kiss on your jaw before she mutters,

“I’ve had my mind made up since the day we met, sugar.” Her hands smooth over the swell of your ass, kneading at the juction of your thighs just below it before sliding the soft fabric of the white sundress she’d bought you up to pool around your waist.

And then, she’s kneeling before you; like you’re her altar, and she’s come to leave an offering.

She tugs your underwear down and tastes you like it’s worship.

Her hands find purchase wrapped around your legs, and her tongue works through dewy petals in slow, purposeful strokes, lapping up the nectar pooling at your core. She swirls her tongue around your clit like the cubes of ice she’d put in her vodka-cran earlier. She hates vodka-crans, but she missed you more, and when she tries hard enough, she can convince herself she’s tasting the too-sweet cocktail on your mouth instead.

But nothing makes her tispy quite like tasting you does, and she doesn’t stop until she’s drunk off of you.

You cry out, high-pitched and broken, and she pulls her mouth off of you with a pop.

She stands up, turns you around, looks down at you with lidded eyes and glossy lips tugging up into a smirk. “Why’d you stop?” You pant, brows pulling together.

“Missed your face,” and she’s so dizzy off of your pussy, she’s damn near slurring her words.

You scoff in amusement, pulling her in for a taste of your own arousal. “You’re such a lover boy,” you muse against her lips.

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” she replies.

“Is that right?”

She quirks a curious brow at the sound of your wicked purring.

“And if I want you to be inside of me?”

Darkened eyes peer down at you with a new hunger.

“What you say, goes, baby.”

She reaches down to tap the back of your thigh in a wordless command, and you wrap your legs around her waist. She buries her head in the crook of your neck, shamelessly inhaling the scent of honeysuckle and musk as she carries you to her bedroom and lays you out onto soft sheets and silk pillow cases.

“They’re so much better for your hair,” you’d excitedly explained as you shoved them into the cart.

“What you say, goes.”

She’d said it and meant it then, too.

Your hands are tugging at her belt now. You pull her in, muttering something about how much you missed her, how badly you want her.

She yanks it off in one quick, fluid motion. You make even quicker work of unbuttoning her pants, sliding them off of broad hips and long legs, and throwing them toward the pile of clothes already discarded on the floor.

When she sits back on her heels to take her shirt off, you do the same, reaching for the hem of your pretty white dress.

“Uh-uh,” she suddenly chimes, “leave that on.”

You chuckle, leaning back on your elbows as you watch her strip her last layers of clothes off.

She’s a bronze statue, sculpted by the Gods themselves, glimmering in the golden hour light spilling through her windows. Your jaw is slack, eyes heavy as you drink her in. They dart from feature to feature; the stray tendrils of thick, black hair falling around her strong jaw, the glittering scar spreading across her skin like lightning, the swell of her breasts and the cut of her waist, the dark trail of hair leading straight down to her length, hot and heavy, already weeping for you.

Your eyes snap up to meet her own, and when they do, she pounces.

Just as ready to ruin you as you are to be ruined.

You gasp into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. She only pulls away to breathe, dazed eyes drinking in your features.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty…”

She plants a kiss on your nose. “You know that?” Another on your cheek. “Such a pretty girl.” Chaste kisses trail across your jaw, teeth find the lobe of your ear, an open-mouthed kiss is pressed against your neck. “Can’t wait to watch you fall apart. So fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart.”

A broken whimper escapes you. You feel her smirk against your throat.

“Yeah?” She croons, tongue darting out to slide over your windpipe. “You want me to take you apart, baby?”

You whisper a “please,” subtle as the twitch of your hips.

It’s all the begging she’ll let you do for the rest of the night. Being loved by Sevika means wanting for nothing, and she’ll be damned if you ever have to beg for the pleasure she was put on this earth to give you.

She reaches over for the bottle of lubricant on the nightstand, and you’re already spreading your legs for her.

“Somebody’s eager,” She teases, stroking her erection and spreading the clear gel over its length.

“Just missed you,” you pant, all but drooling as you watch her prepare herself for you.

A pang of guilt shoots through her. She knows you don’t mean anything by it, knows you aren’t trying to make her feel bad for closing off, running away.

Still, she feels bad anyhow. Knows you didn’t deserve that. Props herself up with her free hand, lines up with the entrance of your heat, and vows to make it up to you.

She drives her hips forward, bottoming out inside of you. You both gasp, and she stills inside of you, gritting her teeth and trying her best to stay calm despite the rhythmic pulse of your walls around her cock begging her to ravage you.

She sure as hell could- and she sure as hell wants to- but just as always, she puts you first.

Your breath quickens as the sensation of being so full proves overwhelming, and her hand snakes up from your hip to splay across your chest.

“Breathe for me, sugar,” she lowly coos. “You’re okay.”

She gives you a soft smile and gentle praise when you obey, her palm warm against your skin as it trails up to cup your jaw. She leans down, body caging your own.

“You ready?” She asks, her mech hand reaching down to hook your leg up and around her waist.

The pulse of your heat around her speaks for you.

“Janna above,” she chortles, letting her head fall down to nestle into your shoulder, “I’m really trying to keep it together, here.”

You lace your fingers through the soft strands of hair at the nape of her neck and turn to place your lips on the shell of her ear. Then, you whisper, low and dangerous.

“I don’t want you to keep it together. Fuck me like you mean it.”

A growl against your neck, sharp canines scraping the skin, and the delicious pressure of the head of her dick against your cervix, all at once.

If this is how it starts, you can’t wait to see how it ends.

Your grip on her tresses tightens as she sets a punishing pace, snarling in your ear.

“You gonna tell me if it’s too much?”

“Uh-huh,” you manage through airy moans.

“Good. You gonna remember you asked for this when you can’t walk straight tomorrow?”

You giggle, dazed and blissed-out.

“Answer me, baby,” she warns, gripping your jaw like a vice, the metal cool against your flushed cheeks.

You bite your lip, bat your lashes, and nod with wide eyes, feigning innocence.

You’re being testy tonight. It isn’t the first time it’s happened.

Out in public, you’re the picture of patience. You never lash out, you never raise your voice, you’re never petty or passive-aggressive. Unyieldingly, frustratingly patient.

She quickly discovers why. Learns that it isn’t for your lack of a backbone, but because you’re patient enough to wait for moments like these, when all she wants is your surrender, your submission.

That’s when you bite back.

It’s not like she can blame you. She knows you're upset that she all but left you for almost three days, and knows this is your way of telling her.

And if you want your apology in the form of being fucked dumb, it’s not like she’s going to say no.

She chuckles back, grabs the back of both of your thighs, presses them to your chest, and pounds into you until you scream.

It isn’t long before you’re a mess underneath her. Legs trembling, eyes rolling back, blabbering. She watches you slip into euphoria, and quick strokes turn languid.

“Look at me, love,” she rasps, setting your calves on her shoulders; and when your eyes flutter open, you find her staring back with pure adoration.

“You okay?” She nods.

“I’m okay,” you nod back. “Love you s’much…”

And her heart nearly breaks.

She leans down, shushing you softly when you mewl at the feeling of her sinking even deeper into you.

She’s pressed right up against your womb. You can feel her twitching inside of you.

That’s when it happens. That’s when you picture her filling you up, being swollen with her seed, and then with her babies; and suddenly, you’re reaching down to rub at your own clit, fingers working frantically, hips bucking desperately.

And you’re pushing her head down into your shoulder.

“Use your words, honey,” she pants, rutting into you. “Not until you use your words.”

She doesn’t let you beg. Only makes you say it once.

“Bite me, Sevika.”

And what you say, goes.

Sharp canines sink into soft skin. Suddenly, you’re standing behind the counter, wiping flour-covered hands onto a blush-colored apron, letting her know that Isha’s safe. Then, you’re sitting on a barstool in your kitchen, sipping wine and writing down an updated recipe for your famous carrot cake, because she swore it was better with more cinnamon. Next, you’re giving her a slice of that same cake for her birthday, and then you’re doing laundry together, knocking over piles of folded clothes to make out like a couple of teenagers.

Finally, you’re curled in up in ball on your bed, surrounded by every pillow and blanket you could find, and the hand that rubs soothing circles in between your shoulders ends up pressing you down into the sheets as your velvet walls spasm around her length.

The flash of memories is so vivid, she nearly forgets that she’s seven inches and two canines deep inside of you, but the cry of her name from your lips sobers her like a splash of cold water in the face, and when she finds you just as inundated in an earth-shattering orgasm, her own is quick to follow.

She cums with her teeth still planted in your neck. Doesn’t pull away until both of you are boneless and breathless.

When she does, her eyes are glued to the mark she left. Droplets of dark red bead up on your skin in the shape of her bite. You don’t miss the way her eyes widen, the way her breath hitches, and when she brings her fingers up to her lips to feel for blood, you realize she’s afraid she’s hurt you.

“Hey, hey,” you quickly plead, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m okay, Sev. I’m not hurt. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You sure?” She exhales, eyes still locked onto the fresh wound as she lets you pull her in to lie on your chest.

“Look at me, angel,” you coo.

She tears her eyes away from the bite and cranes her head to look up at you with glassy eyes.

You’re not surprised that Sevika seems so overwhelmed; that she trembles in your arms, that her breath comes out shaky as it evens out. You’d always heard that giving a bite can be just as intense as getting one, so you went into this more than ready- more than willing- to walk Sevika through whatever that looked like for her.

You stroke her hair, trace the strong lines of her face, press your thumb into the tight muscle of her scarred shoulder.

“I’m sure,” you finally respond. “I promise.”

She finally relaxes in your hold. Settles in like the foundations of a home well-loved.

You fall asleep first. She’s careful as she stands to make her way to the bathroom, where she dampens a rag and grabs a first-aid kit. Her heart feels so big she’s afraid it’ll burst as she gently wipes away at the mess between your thighs and disinfects the bite on your neck.

She lies back down next to you, drapes an arm around your waist, and for the first time since she started taking them, she wearily eyes the bottle of suppressants on her nightstand.

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

The discovery of Isha’s 6th birthday meant the realization that it was time to send her to school. Sevika knows it’s a necessity, an important milestone, an inevitable part of life when you choose to raise a child.

That doesn’t make it any less difficult; doesn't change that tears prick her eyes as she walks out of Piltover Elementary, having just dropped the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed girl off for her first day of first grade.

“Don’t cry, mama,” you smile, squeezing her hand as she turns once more to look up at the opulent school building. It hadn’t been easy, deciding to enroll Isha in a school Topside, and Sevika would be lying if she said her ego hadn’t been a bit wounded for it. Still, she’d be damned if Isha didn’t have access to the best education there was in the safest place there was, and right now, that was Piltover Elementary.

You promised her it’d be just fine, that she’d be right across the street all day at the Council’s headquarters, and she promised herself to use all of that time fighting for better education in Zaun.

She knows it’s the right choice. Knows Isha will do great. But no one prepared her for how hard it’d be to have a piece of your heart walking around outside of your body.

She didn’t think she’d ever have that; didn’t even think she wanted it, but now, she’s watching a line of Pre-K students with bookbags too big for their tiny bodies trail up to the front doors of the school, and a smile is tugging at her lips.

You read her mind. Nudge her arm. When she looks over at you, you wear a knowing smile of your own.

“What?” She mutters, looking away bashfully.

“You want more babies, don’t you?”

She’s getting ready to scoff and brush off such a ridiculous assumption, but then, one of the kids figures out how to blow a raspberry, and a chorus of high-pitched giggles rings out.

She sighs in defeat.

“I want more babies.”

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

Taglist: @mewl3tte, @tsubiki, @lia-winther, @mommyissuesismypersonality, @hbwrelic, @ahintofchaos, @djstinkyfartz, @sevikaswifeomm, @rareanduselessbird, @livslifeonline, @sevikas-baby, @strawberrylipglossx, @sillylittlejellyfish, @sevikaovipositee

(i tagged everyone who expressed interested in pt. 1; if you'd like to be removed, just shoot me a comment or a message and i'm more than happy to do so, no hard feelings!)

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika imagine #sevika oneshot #sevika smut #alpha!sevika #arcane smut #arcane oneshot #arcane imagine #sapphic #lesbian #wlw #arcane #arcane au #sevika au #omegaverse #arcane omegaverse

655 notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 13 days ago

Text

if you're not obsessed with a fucked up female character i hope that changes for you soon. becoming obsessed with a genuinely deranged fictional woman will change your life.

#deimos!kassandra #save me #or ruin me?#whatever u want bby girl

35K notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 14 days ago

Note

so so grateful for all the interactions/love i do get, but damn if this isn't so true; and i only just joined the arcane fandom and started writing fics again in general.

it's esp disheartening that writing for kassandra, my favorite character, elicits the smallest amount of interaction. partially my bad for getting that attached to a character from a video game that's nearly 10 years old, but still, it makes me so sad!

long story short: when you see something you like, engage! retweet, comment, send an ask; it never gets old, and it means so much to authors. of course, i'm here to write for myself first and foremost, but art is hard to make, and even harder to share! love on it whenever you can!

(speaking of loving on art: everyone please be sure to go love on ro over on ao3 here! will miss seeing you here but am always so happy to see authors put themselves and their creative well-being first. <3)

Hello! I saw your post where you said you’ll be leaving </3 I’ll miss you and your blog but I completely understand your decision! Sorry to vent, but as a writer, one thing I’ve noticed is that on Tumblr people don’t care to read long, detailed fics with actual plots and emotion. This is no hate to other creators but I’ve noticed that Arcane blogs who post fics under 1,000 words get more interactions in comparison to a fic that has 5,000 words or more. It’s disappointing because I put so much effort into my writing and I feel like it’s under appreciated. I’m wondering if you’re in the same boat as me? I’m in the sapphic side of the Arcane and TLOU fandom but it appears that neither of them are interested in reading long fics. The Joel side of the fandom has an appreciation for lengthy, multi-chapter fics I’ve noticed, but unfortunately I’m not interested in writing for him.

I was thinking about joining the Twitter side of the Arcane fandom but I’m not sure how Twitter words in regards to its algorithm, and I’ve yet to find a “x reader” Arcane fic on there. AO3 seems like a good route to go except the interactions on AO3 have severely died down in this fandom since January. I feel lost, where can I post my art where it will be loved?

YUUUUPPPPP u said it bestie!!!! there is no place in this fandom for people who write longer stories with plots, even if there is smut. needless to say, i am in the exact same boat as you

i really would not recommend arcanetwt cause its even worse than tumblr in terms of toxicity. ao3 is the ideal place but, as you said, interaction has died down a lot.

fandom creatives are now obsolete in the wake of gen ai, so if we werent appreciated before, we sure as hell wont be now. but at least we have each other to vent to about it

god i miss the era of old fandom so fuckin bad

#bee buzzes #sevika x reader #kassandra x reader #arcane #ac odyssey

27 notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 16 days ago

Text

good smut is really a character study and that is final. i need it to be about vulnerability i need it to be about trust or lack thereof and most of all i need it to be emotional agony. thats what sex is for

#!!

21K notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 18 days ago

Text

MYYYYY BUTCH MY BUTCH MY BUTCH.

#jesus fuck #my life isn't real #never kys #sapphic #femme bait #femme4butch #bee buzzes

27 notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 21 days ago

Text

wow wow wow. SO GOOD.

AN AMOROUS KISS WITH THE ONCE-ENEMY.

day two of sevika week: first time

set in the universe of this fic.

contains: royalty!au, sevika and reader are part of enemy kingdoms and have been pushed into an arranged marriage with each other for the sake of peace, reader lives with a toxic family, smut (minors + ageless blogs dni), sevika has a dick, mentions of breeding and pregnancy, soft sex, praise, reader is called "wife" and "girl," reader's body is referred to with the terms: "pussy," "cunt," "clit," and "tits"

a/n: this is inspired by an m4f audio I came across on reddit, made by u/AugustInTheWinter -- I haven't listened to it in full, so I can't guarantee all the content in it, so please check his warnings and keep it all in mind.

dividers by: @/strangergraphics and @/anitalenia

The last thing you expected upon Sevika’s arrival was for her to cup your face and plant on you the most amorous kiss you’ve ever received.

She’s been gone for two incredibly long months on account of counseling she’s had to do in several different provinces for the sake of peacekeeping. Your family jumped at the opportunity to have you back home, and while the prospect at first seemed tempting, it took only five days of staying with them to remember why you had agreed to the marriage of allegiance with Sevika in the first place.

Everything feels… tighter around the throat. The rules that had governed you all throughout your childhood were now wound back around your neck, forcing every interaction to have controlled coldness and false niceties laced in. Prior to your marriage, this sort of life came naturally to you, like a sort of second skin you donned with ease every morning and tore off during the late hours.

But, after ten months of marriage to Sevika, living in her country and experiencing a whole new way of socializing, one that prizes bluntness and passion above all else, this world you once called home feels foreign now. You can already picture your wife’s – God, your wife – reaction had she been staying here with you. She would’ve barked out a crude laugh at your mother’s insistence on what subjects can and cannot be broached in a formal dinner. She would’ve kept you in her stare during balls no matter how impolite it was deemed for a woman to give her spouse the “sinful gaze,” as your aunt once hilariously put it.

But, oh, how that sinful gaze feels like Heaven after being tied to her for so long. At first, you viciously hated it. You thought the way she looked at your body was pure filth, and you tried hard to ignore the way it made arousal bloom between your thighs. You were also under the impression that twisted into that stare was contempt and pure arrogance at knowing you were putty under her hands. And in hindsight, you’re sure that was the case.

But, then, the two of you spent time together after the wedding night. You still cannot decipher if it was the most blessed or stupid decision you’ve ever made. The wedding night turned into an immediate argument in the morning. And that argument unfolded into weeks of bickering. Then, a vulnerable night where someone at a dinner party made a rude comment about your people made you struck with tears – and, shockingly enough, made your wife fist the table cloth and defend you.

A rare moment of kinship turned into shared smirks in the middle of shooting snarky remarks back and forth. It turned into her squeezing your hip during public outings and biting back a chuckle whenever you shot her a glare. It turned into her reading her book aloud to help you sleep during the anxious nights. It turned into you advocating for her when her father dismissed her. It turned into fights over you defending each other and the pride broken in doing so, ending with mumbled apologies and feeble attempts to grab one another’s hand.

Somewhere, tucked away deep in your soul, it turned into an actual marriage. It turned into that four letter word you still can’t manage to unleash from your throat when faced with her cocksureness.

You gasp as her lips move against you in the fluid dance that nights upon nights of intimacy, all done under the justification of needing to produce an heir, have trained you both in. Your fingers twist eagerly into the fabric of her vest, pulling her in so that your fronts are squished together. She’s so tall, so lovely, so fucking strong. So warm when she’s on top of you, so dependable during the nights you meekly turn into her side when a nightmare leaves you feeling like you’re plunged into cold water. So steady – firm in her stance, cold and rough around the edges, but an inside, so tender and soft. An inability to ever deny you the care you need. You both know that. But, not only you. You’ve seen her show that care for so many people, including the ones she holds dearest to her chest and the strangers who have nothing to give her in return. It makes your admiration of her swell tenfold.

When she grabs your ass, nails digging into the plush of it, your mouth opens in a choked gasp. You can feel the longing for her, the desperate need for skin-on-skin contact. And you’d be uttering a terrible lie if you say that you don’t feel the same way. These last two months have been downright torturous, your brain itching for her thoughts on what you read, your face aching for the grins she causes in her rare moments of awkwardness, your body yearning for her rough touch.

She pulls away from your mouth with a wet squelch, and through the heaving breaths, you finally take her in. Her hair has grown longer, black strands hanging in her eyes, and her eyes are shadowed with dark under eye circles. And yet, the light in those grey irises doesn’t falter even once, searing through your skin as her gaze shifts over your face. The sharp focus of the movement causes your stomach to flip. Did she miss you? Did she envision your face at night as much as you did hers?

Your mind barely has time to run through more questions before her hands lift to your face and she’s pulling you into another impassioned kiss, muttering, “You been sleeping well?”

The soft question nearly brings you to tears. Still passively hanging your mouth open, letting her tongue lick into the crevices of it, you shake your head from side to side. You had grown quite accustomed to having her nearby during the late hours.

Her kisses sloppily move to your cheek, her next words firm with determination. “You will tonight.”

When she loosens your robe, her eyes take you in, focused and half-lidded, hand rubbing at your tummy. “Fuck. Get on the bed now.”

You bite your lip in eagerness, arousal coursing through you. You’re already damp between the legs, your wetness smeared on your inner thighs. You know it’s probably a horrible idea to be doing it here, at your parents’ estate (you try to ignore just how touched it makes you to know she made a detour on her journey home just to visit your parents’ and ensure you make the rest of the trip together). But, there’s something tantalizing about it. This kingdom, so rigid, so seeped in structure and sense, totally demolished in this small way. In the tangle of limbs, the hot mix of breaths, the depraved claiming she always stakes on you.

When you get on all fours, anticipating that she’ll want it fast and hard after the time spent away, she chuckles softly.

When you feel the slippery softness of her lips upon your spine, you gasp. A surge of heat shoots through you as she murmurs, “Get up. I want to see your face.”

The request makes your stomach tighten up, a wave of tenderness rolling through you. God, you want to see her too. So badly. You’re almost seized with fear at the enormity of your want, at the vulnerability that’ll be tethering you two together through this round of lovemaking. Lovemaking. Before, it was just sex – something you convinced yourself was only done for the necessity of bearing her child. Now, it’s something completely different. It’s another way you two have learned to mold yourselves together and allow your souls to dance in companionship.

Her skin, set ablaze under the warm light of the fire, is toasty under your roaming hands. She sits up with her back leaning against the headboard, your body curled up in her lap. You’re gasping pitifully as her dick slides between your pussy’s soaked lips, the hot weight of it getting slick as she grips your hips and helps you rock back and forth. Nails digging into her broad shoulders, breasts crushed together, your moist breaths fan against her cheek as you press messy, mindless kisses to the corner of her mouth.

Mind softened and turned malleable from the feeling of her cock brushing against your stiffened clit, you breathe out, “I missed you.”

She makes a small noise in her throat, then mutters, “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft during my time away.”

The lack of reciprocation stings, and you immediately pause to pull back with a glare. “Will you not say it back?”

She levels you with a deadpan stare. “My dick is about an inch close to being inside you.”

You scoff, “Yes, and that’s how close you’ll get unless you tell me you missed me too. Or did you not?”

At the soft crack in your voice, one that has your face heating in embarrassment, Sevika’s eyes sharply flick to you. A moment later, she leans into you, grabbing the base of her dick and encouraging you to lift your hips. Mouth pressed to your jaw, almost as though she can’t bear to meet your gaze, she murmurs, “You think I would’ve added two days to my journey home unless I did?”

Your chest aches.

When she slowly splits you open on your dick, you immediately begin rutting desperately on her, the time apart feeling like an extended eternity.

She bites her lip, hard, the corner of it quirking up in clear amusement. “Needed it that bad, huh?”

Despite the taunt in her voice, you can hear the way it trembles, and you know it’s taking her every ounce of willpower not to thrust into you the way she desires.

You take advantage of the weak point, pressing your palms on her chest and swivelling your hips in circles, slow and measured. Her dick twists in you just right, and a low whine flows from your mouth.

Sevika grits her teeth from where she sits, the muscles of her chest flexing under your touch. “You’re so, fuck–”

She barely gets the sentence out before her thick arms wrap around your waist and she’s bending her knees to give herself the leverage she needs to begin pumping her hips up. You cry out in shock, a hand feebly pressing to the bed frame as her cock darts in and out of you without falter, your hole gushing with juices mixed in with her precum. One hand grips your ass, kneading and smacking, while the other is braced against your back, keeping you still as she pounds into you like her personal toy.

It’s pure ecstasy, rough and passion encapsulated in the quick, uncoordinated movements. But, what has your entire body eventually spiralling to orgasm is when she slows down. Continuing to hold you still, she rocks in and out patiently, leaning away from your shoulder to press her sweaty forehead into yours, the hairs plastered onto her skin making yours tickle and itch. Her eyes remain narrowed on how your mouth falls open in pleasure, utterly intent. You roll your hips to meet her thrusts, which are wet and loud with the cream you’re certain is coating her cock and your walls.

The forced eye contact has you crumbling from the inside out, feeling as though your insides are laid on display for her. And after so much time apart, basking in her desire and touch like this has you feeling like it’s the first time again.

The feeling is only exemplified by the praise she begins to grunt out, so different from her usual humiliation and teasing.

“Fuck, how did I stay away from you for so long?” she rasps, her voice rough like sandpaper. “This sweet little cunt, this pretty little face.”

A stuttering moan is racked from your throat, flutters twirling through your stomach. She thinks you pretty. God, she thinks you pretty. It feels silly to get so excited by such a revelation, considering she’s your wife, but you can’t help it. She makes you feel like everything is the first time, like she’s your first love. She isn’t, but when she looks at you like your body is a hidden gem found in a cave, when she mocks you and teases you and tentatively asks for your opinion as though you’re important, you can’t help it. She makes you feel wanted. And you want her just as badly, if not more.

Overwhelmed by the weight of your thoughts, you weakly utter, “I– don’t leave me again.”

The plea is more open than you had anticipated, brokenly uttered, honest to the core, and anxiety shoots in you as she slows down even more, her cock gently scraping against your walls.

“I won’t,” she says through her teeth, her voice hard. “I won’t leave you to the wolves.”

An instant need to defend your family rears its head, and you whisper, “I managed.”

“Just managing isn’t good enough for me.” She starts thrusting faster, holding the back of your head and keeping it still as she whispers, “You’re my wife. I’m gonna make sure you have better than that.”

Her words and movements make you sag into her, arms winding about her neck as you clutch on tightly. Her cock plunges in and out of you faster and you moan senselessly against her shoulder, lifting her hand from your waist to suck on her fingers.

“Messy girl,” she grumbles.

When she comes in you, your entire body is thrown into a fit of shivers, the thick strings of it bursting into your hole and filling you up delightfully. Keening, you press yourself down on her harder, trying to suck in every drop of her seed, downright greedy for it.

Deliriously, you pant, “More, more, more, give me it all, shove it in me. Please, please, breed me, get me pregnant.”

“Such a fucking needy girl,” she groans, continuing to thrust hard and deep into you, forcing her come into your hole as much as she can. “Take it, fucking take it.”

Moments later, the knot in your tummy releases, rolls of overbearing, heavy pleasure coursing through you as you bite into her shoulder, trying to muffle your noises. She hisses at the dig of your teeth, but you don’t care, wanting so badly to mark her up as your own. She’s no one else’s. She’s yours. Yours, yours, yours.

The words are right on the tip of your tongue, hanging precariously.

But, your adoration of her is triumphed by your fear of your rejection. So, you hold it in, content to keep her like this, her softening cock still inside you.

Her fingers smooth along the pimples of your back, ghosting over your skin and making you squirm.

When you clench onto her tighter, she sucks in a small breath, muttering, “Already needing round two?”

You weakly smack her bicep. “Shut up. I can’t help it.”

The rest of her arm wraps around you and you nuzzle further into her. It feels familiarly like a hug, and your chest throbs at the affection. Because, truly? As much as you relish in the sex, the aftermath, the excuse to hold each other without undergoing the intimacy of asking for it and making your needs evident, is just as fulfilling.

Wanting to linger in the moment, you ask quietly, “How was the trip?”

“Tiring.”

“Thank you for the details.”

She huffs. “I’ll give them to you tomorrow.”

After a pause, she asks, “How has the homeland been?”

You know her well enough by now to recognize the veiled message. Do you miss it here? Do you wish you hadn’t married me?

You press your nose into her collarbone. “Tiring.”

Her hold tightens. “I’m here now.”

And just like that, you hold on tighter, melting into the deep timbre of her voice, the words no longer a threat of dread and anger, but one of hope and comfort.

#bee's recs

873 notes · View notes