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astralnymphh · 6 months

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fuck and pretend ౨ৎ

𖤐 .ellie williams with a breeding kink⊱.

౨ৎ "gon' make you a baby mama, hm?" 🌸

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

⋆' summary; bright blessings, aphrodite. hazy harbor of your lust, loose ribbons, and smooth touch. a strawberry sun kisses the earth with its sunset, a gradient so divinely captured above your picket fence visible from the kitchen window. a front row seat to dusk settling as you get fucked, the soppy wet clashing of your loins erupts. ellie, with her goddess given right, will knock you the hell up.

⋆' cw; dom!ellie, horndog!ellie, farm!ellie, breeding kink obv, depictions of cum + spit + nipple play + slight food play + spanking + fondiling + very slight lactation kink + rough mannerisms + dirty talk + rough talk + cum kink-ish + gentle dominance + cocktip teasing + strap sex + fingering (r, barely) + finger sucking + multiple positions (bent over, on the counter) , 'her cock' used more than 'strap', some plot + backstory, very detailed descriptions of fucking, smut heavy, reader has fem style/wears skirt, petnames; babe, baby, mama(kinda), slut, whore(not in dialogue), bitch(not in dialogue)

⋆' pairing; farm!ellie x housewife!reader

⋆' a/n; i'm horny. ⋆' wc: 6.7k ellie's masterlist 𖤐

a brilliant orb in the sky permeates a hot singe to your skin, making a day meant for mundane mutilation of vegetable roots drinking up the rich soil, dreadful. oh how you longed to be inside with your girlfriend, ellie, the rufescent headed mutt that pawed you to take a break, on the bed, in her lap. 'later, baby.', you just had to say that. but no, you just had to work, huh? the autumn sun bearing tidings of a good harvest just had to sing an enchanting tune, lulling you to the outdoors.

a heap of green already lines your wheelbarrow, a yelling chance to dip and jump into ellie's arms, who ensconces her bottom to the pleasures of a springy sofa in the family room, scribbling away matters that clot her noggin. oh, it would be so divine to just die of exhaustion in her grasp, straddling that tepid lap beckoning a cozy seat, melding your fingertips with the tense ache that mantles her neck, while she lewdly palpates the chub fat of your ass she deems 'a cute tush' with those strapping hands of hers.

"fuck it." the barrows handles drop to the grassy ground, giving the produce in the basin a bit of a bumpy ride.

the most salivating notion wins, food, fucking food. you burst into that kitchen with a sugar craving, a hellacious craving that puppeteers your fingers to fondle the beige flour into a meshy dough, powdering up your fingertips til it caked under your nail. eugh.

a strawberry and cream pastry of crispy golden beige delight is your end goal, pictured to be a celestial five star treat in your rather delusive fantasies. the butts of ruby strawberries stabbed through as you pull the stems out, gleaming juices of a translucent pink coating up your fingers so sweetly, you just had to pop them in your mouth. sucking all that flavor off, like a fuckin' lollipop.

you drift your finger out clean, a long smack squeaking from your lips, and then hum in rumination, "hmm, lemons– or no lemons? lemons.. or no lemons?" quietly spoken, tossing your eyes between a ripe lemon and the pulped strawberry.

"no lemons," ellie, bearing the element of surprise, intrudes on your introspection. speaking with a low, coarse timbre, pitch breathy, "hi babe." her body is then suddenly pressed into your backside, hand slithering down your hip and caressing your pantyhose– clad thigh gently.

"oh shit– ellie!" you yelp, instinctively pushing your rump back on her groin devoid of purpose, "ya' spooked me.." a throaty whine thrums from you.

"nah– u're just easily spooked." her brows pinch opposingly, slowly creeping her jaw in the cornered nook of your neck, parched lips nipping the flesh with summery hot licks.

"hehe– that tickles.." you jerk away slightly from her scruffy tuft of coppery hair like a plume stroking your skin.

a smile grows pliable against your skin, "good.." muffled ellie, wet smacks eliciting from her hungry latch.

"bored of ur' journal?"

"uh–huh.."

"or just happy that I'm here?"

"mhm.." she dozily agrees, slinking her head off your scruff, "missed you' out there."

"oh, i bet." you frolick kittenly, snatching up the same strawberry you pulped through earlier to cut it, "got fucking tired of hauling that barrow 'round anyway." you complain, speaking with discernable strain in your tune.

"hmm." she hums in consideration, worried about the amount of work you lug on your shoulder from a day–to–day basis, "l'mme help."

her fingers cottonly twine through yours, biceps hugging yours, chin perched softly upon your neck, taking both the strawberry and knife from you and cutting it deftly, chhp, chhhp, chop!– goes the sound of buttery slices.

you slump your head aside, just relishing the warmth for a moment, at genuine peace that your girlfriend was there. she was so soft with you, softer than petals, gently domineering at any split mention of fatigue. laying the midday away on the couch? joins you instantly, pressing and kneading the tender skin of your swollen feet while discussing more than humdrum topics. stomach rumbling loud enough to raise the dead? she immediately rounded the kitchen's trim to cook you a plethora of meals, taking every picky craving into heavy consideration. indecisive about your outfit? she would glide an oaken chair up to the dresser, plant you on her lap– in your undergarments, and choose what she personally fancies, sneaky hand groping your thigh.

"there you go." she mutters ardent to your shoulder with throaty rasp, knife clanking as she sets it aside.

"thanks baby.."

"n'problem.." her lips fumble the words, settling on bespattering the biome of your stretched neck with wet kisses– subtly hungry ones, and reposes her arms to slink over your hips, enticing them closer into her groin.

you scoop one pile of diced strawberries into the gullies of both palms, letting them plummet into a plastic green mixing bowl, plop.. plop, humming a tune, "hmmmm…hhmhmmm…"

you hear her chuckle, a small vibration amassing the length of your skin with an accompanied smile growing.

"you laughin' at my song?"

"mhh, that's not a song." she criticizes, lips pursing into a bud.

"hmph, rude." you circle your eyes in offense, faintly swaying your hips while you pestle the fruit into a sweet puree.

her hips react and ungulate a sluggish grind into your rump, acting impassive to it, "s'bored.." she croaks, clammy forehead sticking to your jaw.

"hmm?"

she doesn't clarify, instead, begins to nick your neck with pinched lips, letting the skin gingerly spring out each time. her hips, however, grow rough– wanton. little bounces of her humps smush your thighs into the counter, mind clearly anchored in her imagination.

"els?"

her relentless chafing continues, piling up the fabric of your skirt into a creased mess which only gets worse when her hand wedges between your bodies, palming her crotch with a few squeezes, "mhhn.."

your fingers nearly slip off the pestle, the stimuli of her humps withering away that poise calmness, "baby.." you whine.

"so, so– bored, baby." her grubby mitts fall and knead the shallow flesh of your hip bones, applying detectable pressure in the crevice beneath your hip bone. smutty, balmy prints sunk into your skin.

this fucking horndog, this auburn maned lovergirl could never let you rest on a busy afternoon like today. all the time, she was just pleading for pussy– pussywhipped, grinding her pelvis on your thigh amidst cuddling, to nudging your butt against her groin with both hands, whenever you bend over. you can hear the indecencies boiling on her wicked tongue right about now, pleading for a tryst.

a long suspire whorls from your nostrils as you turn in her embrace, nudging her fervid laps off.

she pouts a petulance, wet lips sheer in the frosty panes light, "why'd you move?"

"talk t'me," wisped sweet like honey, "what's on your mind?" you lace your fingers with hers, swinging your linked hands side to side playfully.

she pours a groan out, screwing her lids tight and throwing her head back, "baaabbee.." ellie was plagued, at minimum. lewdly plagued. a notion that topped her mind and wouldn't let go.

you thought it was, temptingly cute. the way she reels her head back down, jarring her weary eyes open to beadily gaze upon you, lips parting moistly.

"i have this.." a sharp gust waves off her throat, humbled to even say this, "dirty fuckin' idea.."

"enlighten me."

"i just think.." her eyes deviate from yours, staring at the cupboard, "you'd be really hot as a mama." a hint of smokiness grits in her voice, gazing at you with the most haunting bedroom eyes known to womankind.

"oh really? that's illuminating." you knit your brows, feigning marvel.

"tcch–" her textured lips creak into a cresten grin, hissing shortly, "like.." her fingers flee yours, drifting two brawny grips on your waistline, inching closer with each idea she lists, "i could take care of you, start baths for you, cook you meals and carry you to–"

you intervene gently, "you say it like you can get me pregnant." and laxly cross your arms.

her forehead creases in offense, "uh, i mean," and eyes barrel roll to the ceiling, then on you, chiseling a smirk opulent with smutty intention, "don't need a baby t'do.. whatever."

"whatever?" your tune curls.

"could just.." she pulls your groin snug to hers, pelvis protruding farther than her torso, thighs melding together, "fuck, and pretend."

you blush, mouth gaping in muted elation observing the way she pushes her crotch into you, "so foul.." you giggle.

"so?" a hand lifts from your hip, notching your chin firmly up to face her, "can i convince you?"

"how?"

an absolutely mischievous look casts over her features at that 'how?' , prominent dimples that plot her next words to flow out.

"here," she releases your chin and swipes a grip on your wrist, jerking you forward as she tugs that hand between her legs, "feel that, baby?" whispering a fingerbreadth away, toasty breath misting like perspiration on your earlobe.

you palpate the inseam, knobbing over a phallic bulge with her hand guiding you. oh my goddess, she's been wearing that shit all day.

"can i fuck y'with it, hmm?" she begs, voice drenched with silken clemency, and leathery callousness– control awaiting your word, lips of coquetry avid to your ear.

truth of the matter, at the back of her perv–diluted noggin, she knows she can't exactly get you pregnant. however, that's the hidden perk nobody talks about. play the part, make it feel real, and it still sticks the same. she can fuck you over, and over– and over again, sow her seed and never reap the physical consequences.

that girl can pretend well.

you feel the heat clump on your cheeks, turned on by her forthright request, "here?" you question foxily, feeling the excitement slowly trickle through your loins.

"yeah– right on this fuckin' counter." unfiltered and dirty, so suddenly, so tantalizing. her hands pitch up and draw upon your skin like a woven page, lurking the entire span of both arms around your hips.

"god, els.." you cling your arms around her nape, chest pressing firmly on hers, "i'd fucking love that."

her face lit up brighter than all the stars combined. reclining brows, smug–smothered eyes, and the most uneven smirk to ever jerk her lips. a brightness– so carnal.

"yes.." sounded so relieved in her breathy mutter, wetting her chapped lips before she slinks onto yours, dragging hers over the plush of your buds with a passion.

"mhh..mh.." you moan onto her lips, pushing with tantamount force to her hungry kisses.

a wet smack snaps the huddled space as she parts, "can taste those strawberries, ooh~" she huskily frisks with arching brows, returning to your lips with a pucker and slobber.

all during your tepid makeout eggs you both on, pink muscles entwining, mouths nearly trying to swallow each other up, bodies rocking like a ship riding the tide– her willowy digits tuck under the fat of your asscheeks, groping and pulling the two globes apart in rounded circles tight enough to cleft the chub with creases, frilly fabric of your skirt snagging on the ridge of her bouncing palms.

"love' this cute tush." she states with a satisfied scratch in her voice, a deep laugh gusting onto your lips.

"a fuckin' slut for it huh?"

"yeah baby!" she halfway hollers into your mouth, gripping your asscheeks like crab claws and giving a good shake– featherlike slap included.

you buck your ass out for her usage, urged to wave your hips in a figure eight motion, which she really likes, too much maybe. a booming smack! resounds the kitchen as her hand draws back to indulge a harsher slap, rubbing the red streak left in its path.

you yelp throatily, spitting from her avid lips, "fuck! ellie.."

"hey– c'm back here." her head follows your retreating one, plastering your mouth sealed and tongue–fucking you with that pushy muscle worming past your teeth.

her horny ass just kept spanking both cheeks, which triggered a proud "mmm.. mhm…" to intone on your lips as you jolt in reaction, caressing the flush heat gathered by each whack.

"more?"

"ghhnn– elli.."

"fuckin' take more." she veers that hand back and lands another blow, creeping over your shoulder to perv at the nylon–confined skin. right, your pantyhose.

you tuck and bat your lashes in the crook of her neck, whining right into the ears eager to hear you break.

but, she couldn't do that with all this fabric, could she now?

"nice.. but.." her grubby claws then prod the cloaked crack of your ass, a shrill ripping through the air as she tears a massive hole in your pantyhose– wholly for better access, now exposing your full behind.

you quench a lapse in your throat, "oh, my god." and peek over to eyeball the torn material, noticing how discolored your butt has become and poking your hip out.

"hurt too much?"

"n–no.." you swallow again, reverting your pupils to her, "hurts just right.."

she smirks merry to one cheek, hollowing an alto, "makes' you a dirty fucking slut, amiright?" spoken on a crescendo, second–guessing with her lips gravitating back to yours, but she pauses.

it dawned on her.

something even more impure tethers her attention, down– down, on that chest of yours.

the rustiling of fabric chafes as her hands slide from torturing that delicate rump further, then splutters, "take ur' fuckin' tits out, 'gunna suck on them." just straight up, stern edge like metal to her tone.

no hesitation hurdles your hands, straying from her neck you pleat your shirt over your head and stretch back to unclasp your bra with a pinch, letting it tumble off your chest and hit the ground with a padded thud. the gale of cold air hardens your nipples, perking up two nice targets for ellie to ogle– both in sight, and in taste.

a sweet– tart taste.

"hmm," ellie's pupils wander off your drooped chest and fixate on the separate dish of intact strawberries, glowing pink in the dying suns' radiance. her elbows straighten and forearm extends towards these gems of interest, scooping one up with her thumb, index and middle combined.

"what are you doing with my–"

"shh, just watch." her prudent fingers then toughen and squash the berry above your clavicle, letting the barmy pink liquids squeeze through her knuckles and drip onto your chest.

a gasp dries your throat, "ellie!"

a few mashed bits plunk down amongst the heavy fall of berry juices, managing to drizzle down the rise of your breast and split over your nipple. mission success? though now the victim strawberry– squelched to a gross chunk, makes a home chucked into the handy trash bin.

ellie licks her lips and stares dead straight on your hardened nipples. itching for a taste of that strawberry deluge.

"fuck.." her throat quivers, taking no time in searing the distance between her tongue and your breast promptly with a hunched back, bringing her heart–shaped pucker to the strawberry–saturated nub and locking on, sucking hard, making you jerk. ellie definitely has a thing for this.

"was wasting that strawberry– mhhf'– worth it?" you sport a quip quickly, the small vacuum sensation on your nipples only just starting to nip that pleasure kernel in your brain.

it definitely was. cause ellie had already vampire–suckled all the flavor off your bud, now snaking her tongue up the excess stream of juices and retreating back. those juice–coated lips squelch open, muttering, "so' fucking worth it."

so fucking worth the lady boner penned behind that zinc rivet.

her lips wrinkle around your other nipple, opening and closing her mouth around the bud with a slow nutate of her head. inside her mouth was so warm, so wet, and the fleshy texture of her lips felt fucking riveting. the stimulated twang of salacity brought in the form of sucks and licks has your pussy sappy and caked in precum, and ellie could tell how wet you've gotten by the yearning chafe of your thighs, so she forcefully wedges her knee there– making you grunt at the pressure, and her giggle at your response.

you card your fingers through her hairline, fondling her autumn tuft while she sucks that swelling nipple dry, causing an 'mmhhh.' to vibrate from the depths of her lungs, guttural on your boob. one of her hands rove up and cusps the same boob against the webbing of her thumb and pointer, squeezing the blubber of mass further into her wet rosy hole– like she's genuinely sucking something out of them– thirsty, her parched tongue laps a gloss of gleaming saliva over the bumpy node, determined to have you unravel.

"oh, els.. baby~" you tug on her hair, piqued by the blossoming ache in your clit raring for ellie to just get on with it.

"mhhpghmm.." her lips suction with a pop, roads of ruby red mottled on her cheeks from your angle. so eager to toy with that forming arousal, but with persuasive control. "s'this convincing enough?"

you toss your head back, extending the curved surface of your neck, "i'm already convinced.." you gasp for air, surfing a breathless moan behind the carry of your voice.

another pop sound has her lips wandering up from that sensitive bump and craning to your lips, taking advantage of the situation. her fantasies overrun that dirty mind of hers, aching mentally– and physically, to have that pussy engulfing her thickset cock. to fuck you raw. fortunate for her, you were already won over by the rough terrain of her tongue setting you over the edge.

"m'kay baby.." her humid syllables shudder over the span of your midface, promptly, churning into a demanding growl. "turn around, n' bend over the counter. doin' it right here, c'mon." her words usher you and fingers force you, contorting your hips with her steely grip without even giving you the chance to move yourself, other hand reaching over to knock the bowl of strawberries– now scattered across the tiles like the starry sky.

you wobble around on your ankles as she bucks you into the counters' rounded steel rim, laying her palm plumb between your shoulder blades and pinning you down, pitching a yelp from you when the cold surface practically freezes your nipples.

that's when you realized, she wasn't playing around.

ellie's spindly fingers pleat your skirt up with a swat, then drift down to catch and tuck in the lacy band of your panties and tug hard, pulling the thread to the point of frayed snapping– without giving you a wedgie– until she could remove it from your hips through the hole in your pantyhose, chucking it somewhere east of you. now she could gape at everything. the bare truth of your engorged pussy rearing for her, splayed out like a whore. nuder than an amaretto.

and it made her giggle in gratification, lugging that adams apple around with her wheezy laugh.

"look at 'chu bent over like this," she gruffily awes at your ass jacked to her hips, golfing up a 'hawwkkk' and a 'puh!' as she aims a spit down the crack of your ass.

it streamlines through the canyon of your backside 'til it mixes with the slick of your slit. can't let it go to waste, so– she jams the soapy spit into your hole, to which you clamp her in.

a jerky chuckle croaks from her chest, rustiling her mullet with each jounce, "sensitive now, are we?"

"ellie–"

"okay, okay– i'll stop." she slides her fingers out, popping them in her mouth while she observes you from this lewd position.

in the sorbet light, you were gorgeous. cunt dripping nectar like a waterfall to your thighs, ass hiked up and sloping into the plateau of your back. you looked so perfect. perfect for her hands to melt into. perfect for her cock to sheathe into. just divine. positively divine.

"alright.." her voice rattles deep, slightly muted in a gulp after tasting your cunt on her tongue, swishing her spit around to pick up every note of flavor.

moments later, you hear the metal clank of a buckle jingle from behind, the prongs strike the floor as her jeans clump up at the base of her ankles, blanketing her feet. then, a silicone tip slots it's bulbous nature between the top of your thighs, smacking up onto your slickened labia playfully.

"god– it's like a fuckin' waterpark back here babe."

her feet scoot closer, poking the chub of your globes with her jutting hip crests, enraptured in the pure way your folds already look like they want to swallow her up. they faintly part as the silicone cockhead smears your arousal from clit to hole, hole to clit. a half–moon smile dilates into the apples of her cheeks, prideful. a smirk you can hear loud and clear in her dirty, outrageous comment.

"gonna knock that pussy up, hmm? gonna fuck a pair of twins in you so good baby~" she coos, delirious seeing the head of her cock slosh around the fat lips of your pussy, grooving two concentrated lines between her brows and wagging her peachy muscle wedged in her lips. she was like a devil in heaven, and you an angel in heat. two strapping grips slap and clutch onto your ass, the fat bulging through each finger gap, calloused fingertips blending with the texture. her knees bend to crouch her hips slightly, dragging the hem of her brown button–down up by the protrusion of your ass as she aligns her frame level to your cunt. one hand drops down to catch hold of the faux cock and toys the rim of your gummy hole, sinking the head in just barely.

your sensitive entrances' involuntary answer to this scant plugging of your hole clenches the tip up fast, sucking it further in. ellie loved that. loved how your pussy was taking her without a halt. a love so dazing, she begins slipping and inserting the head only, eyeing the contracting hole gorging over the rotund spade each and every small thrust.

a whiny complaint trebles off your gullet, "are y'putting it in? baby.. please." but the petulance in your plea just rouses ellie up– excessively.

ignoring you, her focus tunnels solely on the tight hole kissing her cock in intervals, pleating up her earth brown shirt to eye her constricting muscles speckled in freckles, the pale blue–glossy v–line cadreing her hunter green cock that only deepened the lines in her abdomen with each pump. with her gaze aimed downwards, she speaks directly downwards, "be a good pussy and take my cock, yeah?"

that was her game. her conflicting game. the only words you heard before she fastens the dick bulky in her wrapped grip and lugs her entire length inside, blowing your vulva thin with how straining her size was. wow. a sight she froths over.

"mhm–" she continues, tensing her chords up to flow out a breathy, gritty, whisper, "take my cock like a good pussy."

you feel the force impact your cervix straightaway, globs of clear lubricant slip and pool through the slim opening her cock barely provides and drips onto your thigh, cold and sticky, marks like paint. "ellie– h'oh fuck!" you wail in the stinging sensation of sudden brimming, which only drives her to crack another slap blistering red on your ass, "eeah!" you squeak, tears scorching the shoreline of your blurred eyes.

she wanted a tear to slip out. she wanted a cohesive sign that her cock felt tight, warm, filling. a kind of filling that bumps your stomach, makes you feel pregnant. cause you would be, take my word for it.

ellie analyzes the new ring of creamy serum wrapping her base like a ribbon of white lace, milky delight. it fades as she drags her length out, and bubbles when she sheathes back in. nothing could stop her finger from sampling the slimy slick, but, no. not this time.

in her mind, that's her precum. her sperm. not a drop should be dripping out of you.

"g'nna fuck my seed– so, so.. deep."

and by her word, she knurls her torso into a convex bend as she swathes over you, cottony shirt to back, tickling your flesh. like a dog licking your ear, she mashes the lobe of your ear with her soaked lips. chanting a one–lined hymn in your ear as her cock skids along your ridged walls and returns with a pumping rhythm, keeping your pelvis steady in her slack grip.

"makin' you–" slap, slap, slap, "a mama'," plop, plop, plop, "with my c-cock.. no–one else's." her huffs fan the baby hairs near your ear, lips brushing so dearly on the conch. each sticky bop of your hips plays like a hand smacking water, bringing shame to the ears of every wall witnessing this dirtier–than–porn event.

your features tog up into a woozy countenance. lips wedged open like an orange slice, pupils reading your upper lashes like a string of musical notes, head jiggling with each lavish pump into your pretty little pussy. it feels so fucking good. spurts of pleasure that make you wish on every damnable star for her to actually get you pregnant. the way she fucks you like this, all pathetically horny with her own ass clenching into each thrust. you'd take her babies in a yoctosecond.

her bushy brows curl and furrow in enthrallment, enthralled by every honeyed whimper she pulls out of you with her dick. it fed her ego, the greedy ego telling her she is impregnating you. each vein, bumpy on the creasing skirt of your blushing hole shaped to fit her cock, felt so real– it hurts. ellies' had enough. she skims her palms just a hairbreadth down the planet of your ass to sink her talons in the supple crevice of your hip and thigh, held hard enough to move you. this meant only one thing.

ellie was tired of playing it safe.

her torso pastily unsticks from your back, casting a gray shadow with her hover, grunting, "listen– t'me," her hips sway and punch with heftier, vehement– stickier thrusts, the fat plastic cockhead sending a flux of pressure with each smash into the tacky wall of your vagina, "answer– d'ya think, mhh– our kids will have auburn hair, like me? frhm– freckles, like me? my eyes?"

the constant abuse to your cervix chokes up your throat, warbling and going "guh, guhp– unh! fhhummk.." with your flaccid lips damp in slob, like a filthy mess of a bitch.

wrong answer.

you should have just offered up her name in an exaggerated moan instead.

the extent of her hand extracts from your hips– not without her gift of nail–birthed sickles indenting your skin like scales, and coils back to whack your vainly treated glute. it makes your vision go white, tenderizes your skin and makes you scream.

"n–nnono, els–"

"so– no they won't look like me?" she laughs to herself, and it almost sounds– amusingly disappointed.

"n– yes, yes! they w–"

your throat then nearly guzzles her fingers base knuckles deep, muffled and choking on their stacked width.

"just shut up." ellie warns in a gruff. thing is, she knows that as long as her thickset tip keeps slamming into that assaulted cunt– she'll never hear the end of it. and that's the best part. confliction.

the counter was virtually warming up on your compressed cheek from how long you were in that position. slippery sweat dampened a puddle under your face in a thin pellucid coat. from your current view, you could only see her wrist pushing on your chin– cranking your jaw ajar, and her humping motions bleary in your peripherals. not like seeing her was necessary, you already felt her through and through.

ellie, with her hips strapping you down in prolonged rams that cause a sharp sear on the hind of your thighs, with the downright sedative pleasure brought by the bumping base to her neglected clit, finds herself earnestly thinking about how a family would look on this farm. her baby, growing in you. her kids, skipping through these rustic halls. her wife, devout enough to nurture them through childhood. but on the perverted hand, her cock fucking a future generation into you, 'her' pussy gluttonous enough to consume it up to the hilt, her whore, eager enough to be the cumbucket to breed as she pleases.

she's gonna breed you like the horndog she is.

but you want to be full of her offspring.

"baby–" a stiff moan pours from her lips, and she glides her cock and digits out. snow white cream follows in strings, strung to her shaft and springs out like paint splatter on the ground as her strap bounces down to a flaccid level. wow. she moans again, this time, breathlessly, "baabby.. get'on th' counter.."

"hmmuh?" flubbed you, barely able to see the picket fence outside the kitchen window through your graying haze– shapes blurred and melted into each other.

"said," the lone grip on your hip is replaced with the clammy bend of her elbow, tucking under your womb and flipping you around, "on' the counter." and lugs you hurriedly onto the sudor–coated surface with her grasp under your knees. her hands flatten on either side of your shaky thighs– vividly like jello– as her torso huddles close in your space. now that she could see your face, it was sexually comical.

doe–eyed and glossed, lids puffy and red. patterns of your own saliva glissade down your chin and gleam in the soft light behind you. so hot.

her teeth bear in a parted smirk and she drunkenly stumbles her face down. then, she notices something. a pearly strand of sleek cum trickling over your perineum. like a melted popsicle, you drip everywhere, all over that counter space.

ellie's tongue ticks on the roof of her mouth, sighing, "mmh' fuck, pussy dripping everywhere– clean this counter afterwards, won't you?" spoken like a silken demand, index pointing at the mess.

you keenly nod, squinting with those weepy eyes as you try to discern the moving colors of your girlfriend right as she heaved her fat cock right back inside. stars. stars heat you skin and strike your vision. a night of black spots burn through your eyes and caper around– obscuring ellie's blissed out face. you were already fucked out from the last position, so fucked, you nearly came at the meaty expansion of your aching hole.

ellie could tell, and that was her cue. her goddess given cue to bottom out. the friction of her girth akin to a fist stuffing you up was pushing up on your g–spot, and that knocked a tear out. the ones lashing at your ducts to release, finally did.

you couldn't feel anything else– anything, but her cock.

moist sloshes cram up the space between you too, smacking and dragging as before. faster, harder, her hips never lapse and pick up the speed. tapping you out like a nozzle draining syrup from a tree, gushing and coating her cock beautifully. smack– smack– smack– goes her groin deluged in your sweet sex juices connecting like webs with each bash of your hips.

on comes a dirty row of her impudent and vile comments– barely stable voice from how fast she pumped, all tepidly whispered on your neck.

"knockin' that fhckin' pussy up– huh?"

you can feel the warmth radiating off her face a breath away, a cheek–length strand of hair now sticks to the sweat veiling her hairline. pores beading with glassy perspiration. just as red as you. huff, huff, gasp.

"that pretty pussys' mine– mhh, all mine."

ellie's palms leave two clammy prints on the marble slab when her fingers pop off and clasp your pelvis. with this grip on you, she pushes your hips hard on her relentless pounds. no wall of your vagina lacks a thrashed kiss from her dick, your hole was just too tight for any air pockets. that tight. just pure ush–gush.

"god' m'sucha dirty slut for ur' pussy, such a fucking whor– ughhn!– wantin' to make you–a mama." grizzled her in a lower voice, but still so rough, sweating and huffing like a dog in heat.

the cupboards creak and squeak, scarcely bearing the racket she induced with her fucking into you.

the intensity marches on.

"els– els, I'm gonna cum.."

it was nice to hear, but she was infinitely more focused on cumming herself. she was close. very close. eyes screwed tight in the straps kickback digging her clit with firm pressure, knuckles flushed white as they bent and tried to carve into your hips. ellie couldn't get enough of you.

"yeah– me too, nghh~"

her own slick begins to lather up her crotch, sticking up that auburn bush, dripping off the strapbase and staining the crinkled jean pile directly underneath her.

the kitchen reeked of cunt– yours and hers. delicious sex miasma. the scent of raw arousal coats your nasal cavity, lulling you both to climax– two hearts on the same beat.

but there was one thing. one thing you could give her, that'd change your lives from there on out.

"baabe–" a shallow utter gusts from her lips, shuddering, "can' i fuck you– god, fuck you like this? mate you– make babies with you, more often?" her voice warbles, fighting back the breath that wanted to give away.

the plunging and swelling of her dick parting your walls made it potently harder to answer– but, you creak, taking all the breath she would give you, mouth to mouth.

"yes, ellie– i want to have them."

her eyes squinted ever so slightly, sharpening, pupils blown. a wicked, scantily–contained smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, a glint in her eye revealing the excitement she felt by your words. in a heartbeat, her lips met with yours– wisping and wetting each other up.

but it was no feat to the sudden acceleration of her pistoning hips.

ellie's lips withdraw, moaning rigidly with buffering pants, "gon' make you a baby m–mama' now– ooh fuck!" feeling the same rise to orgasm tighten her stomach.

"yes– yes! unh‐ uh fuck, ughh!"

the clanging cupboards bang and thud as they do, but your moans eventually clamor up over them. her cock, sought the last final blows to your gummy ring inside, gathering up all that viscous serum in strings stuck to her bulbous head. this was it. she was finally getting her reward– viscously.

"love you–"

it tightens.

"s'much–"

it pulls.

"thank y– unngghh!"

she snaps.

your thighs convulse and lock around her hips as she buries her dick deep inside, plugging that bruised–to–hell mucousy cervix up. a high so heavenly it curls your body up to hers, cumming all over that filthy fucking cock in clear spurts, plashing all over the veiny shaft that had you weeping moans.

ellie had came too, matter of fact, all over the floor.

a dense and husky moan grates from the lowest region of her diaphragm, "hhhggn– uhhugh– fuck, baby."

her eyes grew taut and scrunched in ecstasy, jutting her hips and clenching her ass to ride out the orgasm. a spew of her release taints the straps footing and leaks down her thigh, saturating in her skin. veins popped in her gripe, incisors bit her lip nearly hard enough to break skin, and eyes twitched back tenfold, casted heavenward.

a sunset clasps the shingle roof from above, depicted so innocently behind the pane, unknowing to what has come of you two.

the moment softens.

and you're left with two fatigued bodies.

her arms loosen and flop on your sprawled lap, and her head finds a collapsed purchase on your shoulder. ellie's chest rose, fell, and rose again, swallowing up all the air her lungs lost in the heat.

"think I just died," she dramatically heaves from her chest, gulping up the pooled spit in the trenches of her gums. a giggle shakes her, "hehe~ did you die?" she jests, nudging her limp hand to your shank.

the words carrying to your ears mish–mashed into an agglomeration of sounds strewn from her actual sentence, "there's n'pie in the oven.." you slur breathlessly, tongue nearly lifeless in the pit of your mouth.

ellie tries her darndest to compress the laugh grizzling from her throat, still winded, "w-what babe?" her head tilts to gawk at you.

"god i'm so dizzy.."

she blows a raspberry from her lips and knits her brows– amused. of course she's a tad worried your energy had been worn from the fucking, but, that's the funny part. she actually did that. her buzzy voice coaxes you back to animation, "want some'in to eat?"

wait.

that's literally what you came in here for.

wait.

you peek at the green dome next to you, toppled over with dotted strawberry wedges scattered all over the stony tile– and your strawberry jam. really ellie? a pout cockles your lips into a plumper shape, notching your head on a slope, "did'ju knock over.. all of my strawberries?"

she swings her head 'round, feigning innocence, "umm– nope, wasn't me." puffing up her cheeks.

"ellie."

she blows tersely, "i didn't!" and throws her hands up defensively– in playful spirit.

"and you ruined my panties!" you scold lightheartedly and jab your heel in the back of her thigh– a little bit of punishment.

"ow!"

a reaction spurns from your lips, replaced by a jaded expression of hushed brows and trying lips that curl your face into one of, content. ellie forced a few puffs to spill from her open oval lips, hereafter curling into that same shit–eating grin that knows she's guilty– chuffed by herself.

then it wanes. wanes like the moon bearing its shrouded cycle. she softens up, softer than the bunny hopping across thick green grass in the season of beltane. this felt more fundamental to her than you might think, but, caring for you was her duty of worship. ever since that day she met you– the evening plait with a crimson ember engulfing air at the center of an autumntime bonfire in jackson. cold perspiration stuck to the glass held in your hands, talking the very ears off every owl present to listen. you had shared, sung, flirted, and saved the kiss for later. a later spent in her bed, all night– rising at dayspring, where she asked you to be her girlfriend at the foot of her door, just as you took your leave.

every wound you tended to, she tended to yours, and led you here. on this farm. in your own realm of heaven.

"but seriously– do you want something to eat?"

"yeah, i'll um.." you shoo her away from her parked poise between your legs, sliding your weight off the counter with a heft of your forearms pushing you off, "clean the counter." your toes ease onto the floor with a shaky wobble, unable to even straighten your legs out at first. damn, ellie, what have you done.

"yeah, nuh–uh," she briskly bends at the torso and bars her robust arms underneath your mid–back and in the fold of your knee, sweeping you off your heels.

"els, what the f–"

she tousles her woody auburn mullet in a wag of her head, crunching you up closer with her biceps, "you, babe– are going to rest. i'll clean the counter." her brows raise at the end of her emphasized sentence, a silent 'capeesh?'.

her amenability never ceases to blossom those heartstrings of yours.

"yeah, yeah.." your eyes toss around the rim of your brow bone, and land back on her in time to spot a chuckle churn her watermelon pink lips.

those lips then settle and purse into a pucker, idly sidiling her face plumb to your forehead and peppering a moist kiss, pulling back slowly with unhindered affection tugging the corner of her lips into a satisfied smile.

"see? m'taking care of you. just as if–"

"if i was pregnant?"

"mhm.."

"you want it that badly?"

".."

"well– maybe.. jackson has some adoptable kids?"

now you're just feeding that fantasy of hers.

taglist; @whore4abby , @picklesarenice69 (im too dumb to know who wants 2 be on my permanent taglist so pls tell me directly if u ever wanna be tagged in all of my fic posts)

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #farm!ellie #horndog!ellie #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams concept #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #dom!ellie #breedingkink!ellie

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elizakai · 3 months

Text

I like thinking about their more canon adjacent dynamic (character wise)

MINI ANALYSIS TIME

Because while I love the soft interpretations, even WITH those let’s be real; that’s not how they’d act off the bat

Horror would be extremely judgmental (fair) and hate Dust for what he did. He’d despise him and probably be very passive aggressive. Making jabs and making his disdain apparent when they have to interact. I think getting a read on Dust is also difficult and would piss Horror off. Horror is unpredictable and has a sadistic streak, if he was mad or manic and had Dust in a corner he’d have no qualms about manhandling the guy. (And Dust probably wouldn’t do much to stop him.)

Meanwhile, Dusttale’s creator was asked once how Dust may feel if he met Horror, to which they said he feels bad for Horror. He likes him, sees him as someone who went through something horribly undeserved. In my mind Dust is somewhat protective of Horror.

I interpret these clashing of dynamics as Horror’s just utter disdain for this guy, and Dust’s resigned acceptance of Horror’s judgment. He’d agree with him if he were to judge himself, but I think a part of him wants Horror’s approval. He doesn’t EVER expect to get it, but Horror is….

While he’s seen hell, he’s almost a less tormented version of Dust himself. Deep down they are the same. Horror has suffered greatly, but even still hasn’t hit the deep end dust has, and I think he’d want to protect that sort of innocence he’s granted. One could think of it as him protecting a piece of himself he himself has already sacrificed. And wanting APPROVAL from him, wishing to be forgiven, craving that small piece of validation or understanding as he tries to reconcile with himself.

Horror’s formed opinion makes sense, he agrees with it, and simply wishes he disagreed, that he could have proof of himself being a FRACTION worthy of forgiveness or understanding.

The judge in both of them has both formed an opinion of the other, and they happen to differ greatly. Horror sees Dust as an abuser and Dust sees Horror as a victim.

I like to imagine that, while reluctantly thrown into the same general vicinity, Horror would grow to be more understanding (again if we are going with a PROGRESSIVE plot line) and come to understand that, yes, he wasn’t WRONG, but there is nuance to the situation. They both have a very grim understanding of what it’s like to be trapped. I think he has the capacity to understand Dust better if he was given time. His hands aren’t clean after all, and he knows what it’s like to be forced into a situation and to feel backed into a drastic decision. He knows what it’s like to lose your autonomy and to feel your mind break itself under pressure.

I think the simple fact that Dust wouldn’t TRY to change his mind or justify himself would be part of why Horror could come to understand him. He’s devestated by his actions, he is by no means a sadist.

Horror coming to understand Dust and sort of reconcile/forgive him I think would be rather BIG for Horror, especially if you factor in other situations he now has to consider. (For example, his Undyne and her drastic attempt at freeing the undergroud…) reconciling his OWN arguably cruel decisions he has made with pure intentions, when he feels there’s no other choice (like his Papyrus and tricking him into doing something so outside of his beliefs, to protect him)

It would also be healing for Dust to get that reconciliation with Horror because again…Horror’s opinion actually may MATTER.

And in the same way that Dust may see Horror as a sort of person to be protected from further harm, Horror would probably pick up on all of the VERY bad habits Dust has that (in my observation at least) are EXTREMELY similar to his own habits/past habits (isolation, obsession, deprivation, paranoia, bringing harm to self etc) and I could see him being sensitive towards those and trying to prevent it worsening (it’s a sore subject💔) Horror is shown to prioritize taking care of those he cares about, even when he’s a bit mad, and he has the capacity to grow an understanding for someone he doesn’t like initially :))

I think they have potential to be VERY good for one another, Horror (while being fucked up) encourages (and maybe forces) better habits and actually has an opinion that matters to Dust, and Dust is inclined to be VERY loyal (Horror needs someone to show him loyalty.) to anyone who cares to give him the time of day, as it’s far beyond what he’d expect, and he’s got the sympathy/protective streak towards Horror as an actual in character detail.

And from there it would be wonderful to explore their dynamic in whatever way you like to interpret it🤫💥

I could go on but I’ll stop here, if you read this all CONGRATS!!!

Share your thoughts I love it

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theblueflower05 · 1 year

Text

Just a Little Taste

A/N: Welp. Somehow my breeding/breastfeeding kinks manifested themselves into a story. I wrote this sky high on painkillers and I am a little in love with the whole premise. @tiredmamaissy -I hope more than anything that you enjoy this. You deserve all of the goodness on this site. Your Masterlist is my personal spank bank lol

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: This story is Filthy. Smut with very little plot. Breastfeeding. Pussy Eating. Slight mommy kink if you squint. Very pregnant reader getting pleasured, because pregnant beings can still be sexual. Aged up!Neteyam

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: You’re eight months pregnant with Neteyams child, and after a long day, you both need a little relief. Neteyam x Human! Reader

"Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea

Bumble-bee on the scene.

Yeah, I'd give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie"

- See You Again, Tyler the Creator ft Kali Uchis

Life in the village is always busy. Constantly bustling with life and movement as everyone; human scientist, Avatar and Na’vi alike, rush to keep things afloat.

High Camp is so different then Home Tree had been, the rage of war adding a constant edge to long days and restless nights. You miss the comfort of a slow life, of hazy days down in the jungle. The jagged cliffs of the Hallelujah Mountains still don’t quite feel like home to you.

Still, you go about your daily duties.

Being a Pandoran raised human had always given you a different insight, the two massively different cultures you we’re brought up in clashing and mending to create a skill set that was like no other- it had taken many years of painful trial and error to find your place within the Omiticaya, but healing had always come naturally.

Both holistic and surgical alike. You’d spent years shadowing Mo’at and learning the ancient herbal ways of the people, while well as taking advantage of the many PHD toting scientist back at Hell’s Gate. Medicine had no boundaries, was a way for you to feel close to both sides of yourself. To broach the gap between human and clansman.

You find your skills being needed more than ever. The ever constant raids against the RDA means your hands are rarely idle, forever in movement as you tend to the wounded. Some days you sit in the big Healers Tent with Mo’at and the other Taskarem, and others you’re in the makeshift Medi Bay, which is really more of an Avatar Pod Trailer turned OR, with the handful of human surgeons.

The long hours spent on your feet leave you sore and exhausted, but you have to pull your weight.

Even if said weight is far heavier than usual as of late-

“Y/N” you’re broken out of your thoughts by Max- as he enters the trailer with a holo-tab in hand and a concerned look in his dark eyes “What are you still doing here?”

“I was just finishing up inventory- our antibiotic stock is back way up. Jake was right, those helicopter raids were more than worth it” you’d sorted out the tiny vials of vital medicine by hand, not wanting any to be misplaced or mislabeled.

“You don't think maybe you should head home?” He continues and you sigh.

You miss your tent, and the soft bed of furs that lay inside the secure warm flaps. And the man that waits for you inside of the patchwork leather walls-

“I’m fine” you assure. And really, you are.

It's a fact you have to keep reminding people of.

Yes, you’re as big as a Strumbeast, but you are no less competent. No less able bodied.

Pregnancy is one of the most natural parts of life, a base staple in all’s existence. There are plenty of pregnant Omiticaya women who were expected to play their roles, even as the battle raged outside the safety of the mountain cave system.

It was the nature of your pregnancy that was more…fragile then average. Inside your womb grew a child that would be the first of it’s kind. A scientific mystery: no one had even known it was possible for Na’vi and humans to procreate.

And yet all of the evidence now lies under your shirt. Your stomach round and pronounced, full of growing life.

Full of the love between you and the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son.

Neteyam had left his permanent mark on you. Had part of himself growing inside of you. The thoughts we’re enough to make your knees buckle if you focused on them too hard.

“You’ve been here since 6am, you really should get some rest. Take one of the empty bunks if you want. Have you checked your blood pressure-”

You’re a grown woman. You’re not going to huff and puff and roll your eyes, but fuck, do you want to.

Everyone was so overbearing lately.

Norm and Max we’re constantly breathing down your neck; “The baby has a different growth rate then a human child, we need to monitor the way that your body is responding” Followed closely by Jake who watches you with sharp eagle like eyes and Neytiri, who used to all but ignore your presence, constantly checking in on you throughout the day. Mo’at’s always poking and prodigy, and Kiri almost always has her hands on you in some way shape or form.

You are glad for the support, happy that this baby would be so loved.

But really, you missed being treated like the competent, independent woman you knew you we’re.

“My blood pressure is fine. I thought since we ruled out preeclampsia we weren’t going to worry about it anymore” you know that it’s not going to silence his worry, but still. You can try.

Max goes on one of his science mambo jumbo spiels, and by the end of it you’re waddling out of the lab and back to your hut, annoyed as shit but placating your pseudo father figure all the same. Only a month and a half mor of this and then things could go back to normal.

Everything had just…changed so quickly.

You 're a caretaker by nature. Caring for others is easy, feels right. You’d tucked the much older scientists into bed when you we’re just a pre-teen. Made dinners. Looked out for Spider and the other Sully’s-

And the role reversal still didn't quite sit right with you. Your control freak ways didn't do well with not being the one in charge- you’d been stripped of your title so to speak. You we’re supposed to relax into your new role, enjoy being doted over before the nine month’s we’re over.

You and Neteyam’s shared tent is in the centered in the cave, close to his families, but standing on its own. As private as anyone could get in the busy, close quartered camp. The walls of the hut are familiar, adorned with your combined belongings. Cozy and familiar.

You shimmy free of your confining bra, step out of your cargo pants, then toe off your boots, releasing your swollen sock covered feet with a groan before collapsing into your well loved bed, the soft blankets and familiar scent of your mate lulling you into a deep state of peace.

It’s kind of wild how quickly you can fall asleep these days. Growing a little person from scratch tends to burn a lot of energy and the moment you relax, you’re out like a light.

You don't wake up, even when the horns are sounded for the return of the War Party.

Not when Neteyam makes his way through the camp and enters the tent. He’s wearty, grime covered and hunched over. He only softens when he sees you, tucked safely, into his bed. Your eyes still closed and face still scrunched up as he strips out of his battle band and shin covers. He’s quiet, washing off with the large freshwater basin in the corner before making his way over to his much-missed bed mat.

It isn't until he's crawled under the blankets and wiggled his way as close to you as possible that you begin to stir. His large cat like snout nuzzles into the vulnerable crevice of your neck, chuffing hot breaths against the smooth skin.

You’re not upset at him for waking you up, a drowsy half alert smile stretches over your lips as your hands run up his strong back. Gently working the tense muscles.

He gets so greedy when he comes back from the War runs. He needs to be comforted, to be held and you are all too willing to comply.

Everyone else infantiles you now, and yeah, Neteyam could get a little intense and overprotective, but your relationship had always worked because you were the one person in all of Pandora that babied the future chief.

He was such a sweet man, with so much responsibility on his plate. You loved nothing more than holding him in your arms. Letting him release any and all tension because you had him. You, a tiny soft skinned human, were the barrier between him and the ruthless world.

You’d be such a great mother to his children. His hind brain purrs at the thought. That even through all of the controversy, he knows he’d chosen the right mate. Little and fierce, he hopes the baby is just like you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tone hushed in the darkness of the tent. The only light coming from the small dying embers of the firepit in the center of the space. Hypnotic shadows dance along the canvas walls and Neteyam's breathing grows shallow as he sinks into it.

The way you smell. The way your heart beats, strong against his cheek. The way your plump body feels so good under his wandering hands. He hadn't been okay, just moments ago. He was delirious, so sick of the fighting that he felt ill with it.

But how could any of those bad feelings exist when he had you waiting for him? Ready to welcome him into your body, your heart, your mind. He doesn't think he could survive without knowing the solace of your love.

“I’m okay, narlor(beauty). Just missed you” he mutters, still trying to dig his face deeper into your skin. He wants to escape inside of you, you chuckle at his futile attempts to mend you both into one entity. His large palms rest against your bloated belly, tenderly and your heart flutters “Missed you both so much”

Being so loved is overwhelming.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

“I missed you, my sweet baby. I missed you all day” you assure him with the words you know he needs to hear. “Our son here thought it would be fun to jump on his sa’nok’s bladder all day. It was like was playing the wokau(pendulum drum) all day long- I spent hours in running back and forth to the bathroom”

Neteyam's laugh is deep and rich. Thoroughly pleased to listen to your stories of your day, eager to hear every minute detail. Desperate to drown out visions of blood and gun smoke with your voice.

“Ah, you have to be nice to your momma, little one” he chastises the bump, raising your shirt over your head, wanting that flimsy barrier gone. His lips trail over the tight skin of your bulging belly as he speaks to his child.

Your son, still safe inside your soft body, knows his fathers voice already. Recognizes that slightly accented cadence, and squirms inside of you happily.

Neteyam usually speaks strictly in Na’vi to your unborn child-

“He needs to know the language of our people, first and foremost”

-he’ll spend hours whispering his mother tongue into your flesh. It always leaves you boneless and shaking. Feeling so special and cared for. Na’vi, though your second language, is familiar to you. You’re fluent in the language- but fuck. The way your mate speaks it is the most beautiful thing. It’s musical, he tells sprawling stories with his colorful words.

There is one English he’s very fond of though. Every time it leaves his plush mouth it makes you grin, sharp. Knowingly.

“Are you gonna be nice to momma, Neteyam?” you question him after a while. His ears quirk, swiveling on his head and his tale flicks once, in obvious excitement.

You know what he’s wanted, ever since he woke you up by nuzzling at your chest. Ever since he peeled off your top and left your heavy breasts bare. Did he think you missed the way his golden gaze would flick to them, eyeing them hungrily.

He needs this as much as you do, but as usual, your sweet boy is too selfless to ask. Won't trouble you with his wants unless you bring it up first.

You reach for his big hand that rests on your belly, and drag it to where you need him. His palm enveloping your tits, the rough callus’s catching on your sensitive nipple just right-

Your pregnancy had been different than regular humanoid pregnancies. Your body worked hard, thrown into overdrive in an attempt to keep up with the fast growing fetus in your womb. You’d started lactating months ago, far earlier then normal. Your breasts firm, full with milk. Ready to feed the child that had not yet come into the world.

At first it had been both painful and embarrassing. You had no child to drink what you were producing and the other breastfeeding women in the tribe we’re hesitant to feed their babies your tawtute(human) milk. Already over emotional due to the hormone change, you’d wept at the fact that you had no one to give what your body readily made.

The fact that you couldn't be a bigger part of your community due to your human heritage, combined with the intense pain that came from having backed up ducts had been too much,

Eventually you’d turned to Neteyam, both your eyes and shirt soaking wet. Begged him to help you. And of course, as always, he did.

It should be awkward, or shameful- but connecting with him on any level is something you cherish. Why would this be any different?

“I’m always nice to you, aren't I, love?” Neteyam gruffs as he gently works at the breast in his hands. Its firm and full of milk, his mouth waters “Do they hurt again?”

“Mhmm” you whine pathetically, and you’re not lying. The skin of your chest is now marred by stretch marks and you’d had to stuff precious, hard to come by toilet paper down your bra all day to keep them from spilling over “They’re so full, Nete”

“Oh” He hums, thumbing at your nipple “Poor momma, I’ll help you. Don't worry” his lips are wet against your skin as he kisses his way to your breast, his tongue peeking out to circle your puffy nipple. A pearlescent drop of milk tops the rosy bud and he groans as it hits his taste buds.

He tells you that you taste good, often. The juices of your pussy, your spit soaked kisses. He’s always been greedy for it, his tongue bullying its way into your holes, desperate for your essence. Your milk is just as delicious as the rest of you.

It quickly goes from kitten licking, wide wet stripes against your pebbled nipple to sucking your big breast as far into his mouth as he could. Careful of his fangs as he gorges himself on your flesh.

He’s loudly appreciative as he suckles on your nipple. Grunting and humming and moaning at the flavor. Your arms come around him, cradling his head to your bosom because it feels so good. Having him this close, knowing that he'd do anything to take care of you. That he truly loved the way you tasted-

Many people thought you and Neteyam would never last. It was lust, they’d claim. Curiosity. A childhood friendship that would fizzle out eventually. Na’vi needed Tsaheylu, it was the lifeblood of all their relationships. Why would the much desired future Olo’eyktan stay with you if he couldn't even properly bond you?

While you couldn't deny that there we’re doubt filled moments that you yourself wondered why he’d chosen you and stayed so loyal to you…you still felt your own form of connection to him. While you’d love to make that sacred bond with him, you didn't feel any less close to your mate.

You never thought that you could be so intertwined with another being.

As Neteyam takes his fill from your breast, you massage the base of his Kuru, firm enough that it makes him hiss. You have no special braid of your own, but he’s always been very free with his when it comes to you.

You can do with as you please. Stroke it. Lick it. Massage it. Hell, he’d even let you touch glowing pink tendrils at the end of it before. Let you feel his exposed nerves, so vulnerable and raw in your hands that he had shed tears as you explored.

Nothing was taboo in your relationship. There was no space undiscovered between you.

Your bodies we’re so very different, and yet you knew his like the back of your hand. All of the strong muscles and hard sinew. The cobalt expanse of his skin didn't have one blemish that you haven't memorized. You could point out his striped pattern in a sea of other Na’vi.

And he knows you right back.

Loves to dig his fingers into your doughy hips, into your pillowy thighs. Your wide ass and ample chest. He loves your form, goes crazy for all of your alien curves. He never cared for your human modesty, he’d wanted to part your ass cheeks and stare at plump of your pussy for as long as he could remember. Wanted to strip you of all of those clothes and just stare.

The fact that he gets to do just that, for the rest of your lives, is his favorite, favorite thing.

You watch him eagerly as he slowly nurses. You can't get enough of the sight of him, his hollowed cheeks, the bob of his throat as he swallows your free flowing milk. He's so strong, his muscles flex in the dim light. All of that strength, and yet he’s so very gentle with you, his rough tongue laving at your sore buds every couple minutes. Soothing and tickling you all the same.

You giggle at a particularly quick swipe, letting out a small squeal as Neteyam’s tongue plays with the flesh in his mouth. His eyes peek open, glittering with mirth and low boiling heat as he meets your gaze. Whin his lips split into a smile, a dribble of translucent white milk escapes. Trickles down from the corners of his lips.

Heat pulses between your legs and you know he can smell how aroused you are.

Neteyam has always been able to turn you on without even trying. A well spoken word, or even a pointed look could get you running your thighs together. All desperate to get him alone and put your hands all over him.

You hate that you cant kiss him the way you want to, your Exo Mask, while necessary to your survival can be suck a fucking menace sometimes.

Your thumb traces his lips, the ones you want pressed against your own so bad. You rub the spilled milk from his chin. Cleaning him up in a way that's so simple, and so beyond erotic.

He breaks eye contact first, like he just can't look at you anymore. His brows all scrunched up, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He releases your sloppy nipple, completely covered in his saliva, and presses his face against the damp skin. Making a sound of distress.

Your fingernails skritch at his scalp, tangled in his many braids “What is it, baby?”

“I wanna fuck you so bad. Eywa, do you even smell yourself, Y/N? So good. I have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay” You nod, agreeing blindly. He can have whatever he wants.

“Fuck you hard, though. Gotta pound you. I know I shouldn't but it’ll be alright, huh? Won't hurt the baby?” his face is still buried in your skin, you cant even see his expression as he pleads for your pussy. It makes you so hot.

You push at his chest, needing him to get off of you for just a moment. He’s heavy as shit, a dead weight- doesn't really move until you're pouting and demanding for him to just give you a little space.

Enough that you can wiggle out of your panties and spread your thighs wide for him. Your swollen, sticky pussy on display for your mate.

His nostrils flare, and his thin tail whips wildly behind him.

When he swings your thick thighs up onto his broad shoulders, you let out a low, appreciative moan.

“Such a good boy for momma” you praise him the way the people praise the Great Mother. The cradle of your thighs a sanctuary where you both come to worship.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp, I should be finishing up Part Three of First Love/Late Spring or plotting out future installments of The Sweetest Sylaung, but here I am writing nursing filth. Lol I truly have zero regrets, this story was so very self fulfilling(even though it partially came from a request). I hope you guys enjoyed though

As mentioned many times before, requests are currently open. Please send in all that good shit. I could use a good distraction from real life!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam sully smut #aged up neteyam #Neteyam x pregnant reader

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the-doomed-witch · 8 months

Text

BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Yeah, she’s your ex. But can’t two people reconnect? // based on bad idea, right? by Olivia Rodrigo

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; MINORS + MEN DNI. exes with benefits?, very little to no plot, dom!reader sub!nat, oral (r giving), fingering (r giving), use of names (whore, angel), ig that’s all lmao

Author’s Note: well i wasn’t going to write this but i did it in like 30 minutes with no proof reading so if this is horrible kindly pardon 🙏

(gif credits to creator)

MASTERLIST // NAVIGATION // READ ON AO3 // REQUESTS CLOSED

— ✦ —

You stare blankly at the notification as soon as your phone lights up. Why are you smiling at it? You don’t even want Wanda to know about the reason. “Uh, Wanda, could you excuse me for a minute? I need to get this one.” You feel rude interrupting her, but maybe it’ll put you in the best place.

Leaving your friend perplexed at the table, you get up and walk to a corner of the café. Soon as privacy is ensured, you dial her number, “What’s up?”

“Fuck. Your voice, Y/N.”

“God, Natasha. Why are you like this?”

“Are we still meeting tonight?”

“You think I’ll not turn up? After the night on Tuesday, seriously?”

“That was so hot, I’ll have to admit.”

“Shut up. I’ll see you later, bye.” You hang up the call and immediately scurry back towards Wanda, face adorned by a radiance of excitement.

“Now, what’s that smile about?” She rests her chin on her right palm, “Something I should be knowing about? Or rather, someone?”

“Oh it’s nothing. I just, um, got some shit sorted out.”

“I think you’re hiding this person from me. Tell me about them.” She gives you a typical wink to accompany her curiosity. You couldn’t dare tell her about Natasha, Wanda would most certainly throw you into the lake without a second thought.

It felt bad, it really did, but Natasha was just so good. Who was to know about it anyway? There were no feelings left anymore, both of you knew that this arrangement was only meant for casual sex.

Your break up wasn’t amicable, and Wanda had to give whatnot to try to at least avoid violence of any kind. It was more tedious for her than the job usually would have been, because she decided not to exercise her powers. Of course, brainwashing and manipulating two people into breaking up nicely was obviously the easiest option, but not the most righteous one.

“Y/N I swear if it’s-”

“Stop! We just want to keep it a secret. Jeez, let me have some privacy!” you blurt out, face flustered at the thought of being caught. You lowkey regret it, knowing well that your words hurt Wanda.

“Fine. Do whatever the hell you want.”

— ✦ —

You ring the doorbell, waiting outside Natasha’s apartment. She doesn’t take more than a second to swing the door open and pull you inside. As soon as you’re inside, she pins your back against the door.

“You’re right on time, baby.” She says before clashing her lips against yours in the dense heat between you two. Suddenly, your entire body is on fire, and her hands are trying to tame it.

You’re quick to throw her t-shirt off to the floor, making yourself room to bite on her skin without a care.

Neither Nat, nor do you realise when the two of you are naked. Maybe it happened on the way to the bedroom, maybe inside it - you couldn’t care less. All your mind can think of is fucking the woman to soreness.

“Gonna be a whore for me tonight again, aren’t you?” You slowly trace your fingers down to her pelvic arch, practically combusting her insides.

“Yes. Yes I am. Fuck-”

“Mind your language. Or you know what punishment you get for that.”

She groans, writhing beneath you. Her body was worth worshipping, you could never admire Nat enough. The scars across her abs were even sexier. You start by gently tugging on her nipples, in awe of her perfect arch - the way her chest rose and fell, the sound of her hissing at your pinching.

“Y/N, please. Please, please, please.”

“Please, what? Use your words angel.”

Her thighs get into a tightening clasp against each other. There is no way she can hold herself back for another minute. “Please Y/N, touch me. Fuck, ruin me. I need you.”

“You are irresistible.”

Satisfied with her pleas, you decide to go down on her. Each of your hands spread her thighs apart, giving yourself complete access to taste her. Your tongue moves along her folds, often teasing her lightly.

Nat’s hands entwine themselves in your hair, pulling you as deep inside her as she could. A tiny breathy whisper against her cunt jerks her entire body, “So wet, so perfectly wet, baby.”

She moans your name over and over till it echoes inside your head. “Oh my God Y/N. There, ah- right there-” Her grip on your head intensifies. The pain is of no significance to you when you can wholly gorge yourself on her pussy.

It doesn’t take her long to get close to her climax. “Ca- can I come?” she asks you between heavy breaths and difficulty. You immediately pull yourself back, ceasing all your tongue movements. Her undeniably agonised scream makes you smirk. “You think you could get off so easily, angel?”

“B- but I-”

“B- but I-” you mockingly repeat her thwarted stammering. You softly push a tress of her fierce red hair from her neck and bend down to nibble on it. Her chest heaves against your own torso, so you place a hand on her to calm her down. Her heartbeat is almost in your hands, as you feel it against your palm.

Nat’s hips slowly buckle and she begins to rub her intimacy against your thigh between her legs to relieve the burning sensation inside of her.

“You’re so pretty when you’re needy. I love it.” You plant another kiss below her ear before stopping her hips in place. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, you penetrate her hole with your fingers. “Fuck. I love it when you’re so tight for me.”

Your fingers pump in and out of her quickly, as you feel her clench and get closer to an orgasm again.

You don’t let Natasha get a chance to ask for permission, her words are drunk down by you in another kiss.

A little more stimulation on her clitoris does it. She gushes white onto your palm, rolling her eyes with pleasure. You let her have some time to bring herself back to reality.

Her sweat is still fresh and her breath is still heavy when she says, “Tell me more of it Y/N.”

“More of what, angel?”

“What else that I do that you love.”

You meet her eyes for the first time in the past few hours. They’re greener, more vibrant than you’d last truly seen them. “I love it when you come, I love it when you lose your breath because of it. I love it when you beg for me. I love it when you repeat my name again and again and again. I love it when-”

“Fucking goodness.” she says before pulling you down for another kiss. A sigh is elicited from her when she tastes herself on your tongue, as your hand reaches down to grab her ass tightly.

“Let me return the favour, would you now?”

“You don’t really have to…”

She doesn’t listen.

— ✦ —

“Y/N, you fucking never listen!” Wanda screams at you when you reach back to your apartment the next morning. You give her a confused and perplexed expression, unsure of what she meant.

“Don’t give me that look, I know you slept with someone and it’s Natasha!”

“Dude, it’s like 8 in the morning, and I literally never even said whose bed I was in. Could you calm down?”

“It was her, wasn’t it?”

“What if I tell you it’s not her? Would you leave me the fuck alone? I want to sleep right now.”

Wanda gives up and sighs. It was never in her power to make you understand anyways. Was it really difficult for her to comprehend that two people can just reconnect?

Your phone lights up with another text message.

Are we seeing each other tonight?

You reply: Sounds like a bad idea, I’m in. You should probably not. But whatever, fuck it, it’s fine.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff smut #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow x y/n #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha x y/n #natasha smut

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picturejasper20 · 12 days

Note

Now had bad was DP’s production? what was he doing?

Based on John Fountain's wording and Steve Marmel's, Marmel today talked on twitter about how he wanted the series to be more serialized and become darker in tone overtime but it seems like this wasn't the direction that Butch Hartman wanted to take for Danny Phantom.

¨I’d have done what Marmel wanted and made it darker and given it a continuity. I’d have also used Steve Silver’s original designs, upped the stakes, made the action more intense and abandoned the clunky timing Butch always insisted on.¨ from John Fountain.

This was a response to a question ¨How would you directed Danny Phantom since Butch Hatman doesn't get his own shows?¨

Steve Marmel wanted the Danny and Valerie story to have more episodes/last longer. I wonder if this means that Valerie would have had more episodes after Flirting With Disaster or in Season 3, where she only has one episode that leaves with the cliffhanger of her learning about Vlad Masters' ghost identity, one of the biggest plots in the show and a huge change in status quo.

Another factors that apparently lead to Valerie not showing up much as she should have had to do with the series having to be episodic back then, forcing it to not change the status quo much. So it wasn't only Hartman being a limitation, it was a network limitation as well from what i understand.

However, one thing that raises many questions is why there was a sudden change in the main writers room for Season 3. Steve Marmel only wrote one episode in there (Eye for an Eye), and Sib Ventress wrote two episodes (Eye for an Eye and Torrent of Terror). The rest of the episodes were written by Butch Hartman himself and the new writers.

Why this sudden change of writers? Well, this is based on speculation but if one reads in between the lines, it wouldn't be out of place to say that there was clashing between Marmel, the writer team and Butch in the directions they wanted the series to take.

Hartman probably didn't like that Marmel and the others didn't agree with his vision so he looked for a new team of writers that could do what he wanted and with him having full control of the writing of some episodes.

The issue is that creators of animated shows more often than not let other people be in charge of writing the episodes of their show because they are busy checking everything else in the production. So i believe that Hartman trying to write the episodes on his own made things worse since he had to do multiple jobs at once now, messing up with the production.

In result we have the mess of Season 3 that is now, with lack of almost any proper continuation, half baked ideas, inconsistent characterization (Danny acting like he was on Season 1, Vlad changing goals every episode) and the clusterfuck of finale that is Phantom Planet.

As John Fountain said it Butch Hartman is Danny Phantom's ¨best villian¨, or in this case its worst enemy.

#danny phantom #butch hartman

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conundrumoftime · 8 months

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Fandom grandma tales: how I survived canon ruining two of the ships I liked.

(Written after a discussion with some of my TROP fan pals about how canon can break your heart re: shipping, and how fandom manages. There are spoilers here for the entire run of Babylon 5, and for one story JMS wrote after it. yes, that story. sorry.)

Babylon 5 was a sci-fi space opera show that ran from 1993 to 1998. It is sci-fi of the era of 22-episode seasons, of huge ensemble casts with characters who get their own B- and C-plots, with an effects and casting budget that doesn’t always match its ambition, and - something it was quite pioneering in, at the time - grand pre-planned story arcs.

It’s the first fandom that I was involved with in internet spaces as it was running, or at least when its final season was (there’s Discourse and drama from earlier years that I missed). Its showrunner, J. Michael Straczynski - ‘JMS’ - was very active in (non-fanfic) fan community spaces, and you always knew exactly what he was thinking about things because he was part of the discussion around them. There was also fanfic, which he didn’t stop but didn’t go near on the grounds of legal liability for story ideas.

Most of the fanfic in the early days as the show was airing was focused around two big ships, of which one was canon endgame (Delenn/Sheridan) and one was canon all-ends-in-despair (Marcus/Ivanova). I, as a teenager discovering a developing online fandom for the first time with all the overwhelm and excitement that causes (ask me anything about what reading fic was like before the days of tags/ratings/warnings!) got into Marcus/Ivanova and also into one of the minor ships, Delenn/Lennier.

Delenn/Lennier was never, ever going to happen in canon. This is obvious; it clashes with Delenn/Sheridan which was JMS’s baby darling OTP, the show’s big love story. Delenn is married for the later part of the show. Lennier is her diplomatic aide, is absolutely devoted to her, and they have a very intense mentor/student relationship, which it seems is kind of standard in their culture (when Delenn’s own mentor died she went briefly insane with grief and started a genocidal war over it) but is still Very Intense. He is canonically in love with her, but that’s as far as the explicit canon statements go.

However. HowEVER. Canon also gives us, for that relationship, some wonderful ship fuel. Lennier knows about every bad thing Delenn has done, including all the stuff she doesn’t/can’t tell her husband. He’s her link to her previous world and culture and stands by her even when they kick her out. She says at one point, “without him, I would stumble and fall and never get up again.”

And then… we had Season 5, the final season.

Season 5, for various complicated production reasons, was operating a little outside of pre-planned story arcs and in this season the Delenn/Lennier stuff ramped up about three gears in one go. It was still very obviously never, ever going to be canon, and was almost certainly not intended by the creator (who wrote most of the episodes himself) to look like there was even anything there. At this point Delenn is married; any relationship with her aide would not only be going against the show’s OTP, but going against it in the sense where she’s cheating on her husband, and there is Just No Way JMS would have gone there. And yet! Season 5 gave us:

A scene where Lennier says he can’t stay, it’s too painful to be around her now she’s married, and she’s devastated and has the following conversation with her husband about it:

S: I got your message about Lennier. Is there anything I can do?

D [snapping]: Almost certainly not.

S: Is it because of me?

D: In part, I think so.

S: Yeah, I was afraid of that. Well, as we say back on Earth, three’s a crowd.

D: On Minbar, three is sacred.

S [slightly uncomfortable laugh]: Well, I don’t think I’m ready to handle that one, Delenn.

Delenn then calling Lennier back to the station to do some secret mission thing for her, which involves her sneaking out of her bed while her husband sleeps to meet Lennier in a darkened alley behind a bar, where she tenderly strokes his face and they have a whole conversation about whether her husband understands her or not.

A scene where Lennier comes back from his secret mission to meet both Delenn and Sheridan, Delenn goes to greet him with a hug, and Lennier does this very pointed step back and nod in the direction of her husband, and she pulls back and just sort of pats him on the arms instead.

I MEAN.

But, the issue here is not what fans did about it but what canon did about it. Canon did the canon equivalent of dragging that ship outside and shooting it in the head.

In the final few episodes of the entire series, Lennier tries to kill Sheridan, runs away in shame, and then someone finds his diary in which he’d been writing for ages about what a bad decision he thought Delenn had made and how her whole marriage was an awful idea. Even to this day, it’s fun/awful watching people go through a first-time watch when they get to season 5 and hit that. ‘Character assassination in the form of a diary’ was a whole thing for a while. It’s been 20+ years and the actor who played Lennier is stilll mad about it (not because of shippy stuff, but because he - correctly! - thinks Lennier absolutely would not have done that).

What *fandom* did, on the other hand, was Fixed The Problem.

Delenn/Lennier was not at all a big ship when the series was airing, and for a few years after. Then the fandom dynamics started to change. With less pressure on what canon was going to do, it felt like fandom had more space to play around with things it didn’t do. Fanfic got less interested in trying to fit within the overall story being told and started spinning off in all its own directions. And *this* ship started getting bigger and bigger. People did really interesting things with it, canon divergence went in all directions, everyone wrote a fix-it story of some variety, some authors did a great series of connected stories based on an idea that Minbari have three genders, the quality of the writing has been brilliant. And I think without that absolute whiplash feeling of what happened in canon, there would never have been this feeling of “well I’m not having THAT” which led to all this.

We did not need canon! Canon had done its thing. And canon had broken our hearts enough ways with many of the other stories it told (entirely on purpose) and we weren’t just going to sit back and let it ruin us forever.

By comparison, the other ship I was into was Marcus/Ivanova. This is entirely doomed. Susan Ivanova’s love life is just perpetually doomed. The first partner of hers we meet is an ex who’s interested in getting back together, but then it turns out he’s just using her to infiltrate the station for the fascist terrorist group he’s secretly joined. Then she falls for an archrival of hers, Talia, who works for Psi Corps, the organisation she loathes most of all things - but it’s okay because it turns out Talia is starting to question them too! Maybe these crazy kids can make it work! They have one night together and then OOPS turns out Talia was being secretly controlled by a sleeper personality implanted in her by Psi Corps the whole time. Ivanova’s love life is doomed.

So for two seasons, she has this sort-of-flirty, sort-of-bickery, sort-of-friendship going with Marcus, who is on the surface of it very much “why not fall in love at first sight like a true romantic, YOLO!” but it turns out is actually deeply messed up himself and full of survivor’s guilt and pain and, you get the clear impression, would have died of shock if she’d actually called his bluff on the OTT flirting and said “yeah, let’s go for it”. And then he sacrifices himself to save her life. It is a very tragic ending, it is absolutely the way he would have wanted to go, she wakes up both furious and absolutely distraught, says that the last thing she heard was him saying “I love you”, says she wishes she’d at least slept with him once, and says that in a way all love is unrequited. PAIN.

So, lots of fix-it fanfic, lots of ‘Marcus comes back to life’, lots of canon divergence AUs where he doesn’t die and they live happily ever after and both get over their huge levels of unresolved pain. Pretty standard for that kind of pairing. And as a pairing it doesn’t get in the way of any big canon pairings, it doesn’t imply anything icky like mentor/student power imbalances or adultery. And JMS clearly quite liked it. So that’s better, right?

NO. It was WORSE.

JMS wrote an Marcus/Ivanova story himself, published in one of the sci-fi magazines, to try to give them a happy ending. This happy ending involves Marcus, many many years in the future, waking up from the cryogenic suspension he’s in (it’s sci-fi, keep up, keep up). Ivanova is long dead, but he isn’t about to let this get in the way, so what he does is to *create a new Ivanova* by getting some kind of DNA + computerised memory/personality bank thing, finding a doctor who will clone her, putting himself back into animated sleep until the clone reaches the age Ivanova was when she died, then - THEN, I’M STILL GOING - takes her to a distant planet where, with her memories wiped and their spaceship having deliberately been crashed BY HIM so there’s no way back, they live out their lives in peace.

WHAT.

That pairing still does okay in fandom but it’s not really taken on a post-show world of headcanons and riffing on other people’s ideas and tropes in the way that Delenn/Lennier has (and we all just pretend that story never existed).

So! This has been my experiences in the field of What We Do When The Show Has Thoughts On That Non-Endgame Ship We’re Into. Fandom manages. Fandom will see you through. And in the words of Susan Ivanova:

Babylon Five was the last of the Babylon stations; there would never be another. It changed the future, and it changed us. It taught us that we have to create the future, or others will do it for us. It showed us that we have to care for one another, for if we don’t, who will? And that true strength sometimes comes from the most unlikely places. Mostly though, I think it gave us hope that there can always be new beginnings - even for people like us.

#fandom grandma #fandom history #non-endgame ships #shipping #canon and non-canon ships #babylon 5 #delenn x lennier #marcus x ivanova #that story's not canon if I say it's not canon #b5 #what in the actual hell was that diary anyway #snarky bill mumy interview forever in our hearts #never have I seen a more perfect ot3 setup and YET

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bearhugsandshrugs · 11 days

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Tavtash Tag Game :3

I want to learn more about you and your Tavs! – tagged by the creator of this lovely game, @crystal-overdrive <3 thank you so much!

I've been so late to tag so idk who already has done this, but it was a great reason to go back through the Tavtash post and follow some people so I'm tagging a bit randomly @nusaran @littleplasticrat @dracolichbitch @defira85 @vela-ad-astra @lynmeril @camotherogue - and anyone else who wants to do it! Also @crystal-overdrive has anyone tagged you yet? if not I'm tagging you too!

Tell us a bit about your Tav!

Tav Ophal is a bard from a noble family in Amn, though she left her family when she came of age. She's determined, witty, soft hearted, and loyal. She's in her 30s, has a younger half-sister and is not on super good terms with her father, but adores her step-mother.

What alignment is your Tav? How does that align or clash with Gortash? Do they agree with him morally?

She's chaotic good, sometimes leaning towards neutral. Her personal freedom is massively important to her so she won't particularly care about the methods to achieve that (within certain limits), but she doesn't like suffering, for anyone. She also believes in the good of people, hoping to make the world a better place. Yes, she knows it's dumb, let her be. She's a silly little bean.

In the way to place her freedom very highly and being pragmatic about what's needed to be done to secure power, she's quite closely aligned with Enver. With the distinction that she deeply cares for at least some others.

What God does your Tav follow? Is Gortash's position as Bane's chosen an issue?

Tav's not very religious. She learned the hard way that she has to rely on herself first and foremost, so she wouldn't consider bowing to a god. She might drop a prayer here and there towards whatever god might be fitting a specific purpose, but nothing regular.

Gortash's position isn't so much an issue because he had to reject the Banites in order to rule with her. Ultimately she probably wouldn't even care that he worships Bane per se as it's a god that's frequently evoked from people craving discipline and rules. As long as he doesn't bring his tyrannical shit to her and make it her problem (or that of others, for that matter) – but then he had to start an insane plot to take over the world. Gdi, Enver.

What did your Tav think of Gortash when they first met?

"Great. Father would love him."

Did they take his offer of an alliance?

She initially did not take him up on the alliance but ended up as co-ruler anyway, for other reasons that had little to do with him.

How did Gortash and your Tav get together? What do they see in each other?

Uhhhh how they get together: Here is a whole fic on it. I think they both see each other for who they are. They peek behind each other's masks that they wear for almost everyone else. That's exciting, and unnerving, and there's plenty of denial initially because of that. And last but not least they just genuinely like the other, against their better judgment (and initial intentions).

What does the future hold for your Tav and Gortash? Are they in a relationship, a one time thing, are they going to rule the sword coast together or kill each other in a tragic showdown?

Hehe. Guess you have to read the fic to find out! :P

#enver gortash #oc: tav ophal #tavtash #gortash x tav

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shawty-writes-a-little · 5 months

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don’t ever let go

꒰ erik lensherr x fem!reader ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

.𖥔 ݁ 🪐˖ word count: 2.2k+

⌞ plot: sort of hurt comfort when erik finds his rather irritable posing s/o going through a nightmare ⌝

warnings: nightmares, angst sort of (fluff end dw)?

People with contradictory world view and general thinking are bound to be engaged in petty disagreements. As strongly opinionated as Erik was he never got along with one certain mutant. Erik and y/n, always fighting, at each other’s throats. Most times they were rather entertaining scene creators at the Xavier’s institute, clashes were famous with the most colourful language used amongst the students. However Charles grew tired of this, best minds he knew were always bickering and fighting. Petty fights and little grudges turn ugly if pit against each other on battleground. God forbid that situation ever arises but Charles bad seen enough falling apart within his own to know how much could go wrong.

So, to get them along he paired the two to gather intel on some government bills at the procession gala held at Berlin. He was persuasive but not god, after all it was the hardest task in the world to get erik and y/n sit for dinner at the same table let alone go halfway across the world and pose as a couple, stay in one place and not blow cover? Charles came with the most believable persuading story as he could, lied the Oval Office asked for the two to specifically attend the mission this and that and it was a long afternoon trying to convince the two but the professor won in the end.

That is how Erik and her ended up in Berlin, the moment they were alone, not posing anymore their smiles and in-love act completely dropped. Shutting the hotel door behind him Erik sighed. It was a whole week of these galas and charity events, back from their first one and y/n was already growing tired of Erik. “You know I kind of hated how you manhandled me back there.” She complained as she leaned on the wall for support and removed her heels.

“What?” He asked confused as he removed his blazer and draped it on the sofa chair “What are you talking about I did no such thing” he said not exactly recalling anything like that.

“You said something to that senator in French and then grabbed me close to you to kiss my forehead like I was on the run from you-who does that?” Y/n said, she didn’t speak French so she didn’t understand what the conversation was on about regardless the moment she recalled, she wasn’t even standing that far away for him for him to yank her close to him like that.

“A husband?” Erik said raising brows as he exaggerated in obviousness removing his cufflinks.

“With the grace of a woodcutter?” She scoffed as she rolled her eyes at him, it’s not like she minded that, the two posed like that the entire night at the event it’s just that erik would time and time loose his cool and she didn’t want any casualties further into these galas “it would look like I’m your hostage instead of wife can’t you try and look gentler somehow?”

“You just made that up.” Erik said as he shook his head disregarding her suggestion “The senator made a rather vulgar comment about you in French by the way, instead of adding to it I held you close. Would you rather I laugh along with him and appear rather crass?”

“you can try but you can’t really change what you are” Y/n mumbled with a stifled chuckle at her own jab as she stood by the dressing table mirror removing her jewellery.

“I heard that.” He responded giving her a disappointed look but she just laughed at it anyways. He changed out of his shirt as they’d conversed. Not engaging in silly debates anymore y/n went to the adjoining bathroom to change out of her dress.

Erik worked on gathering some background on the guests of the events they’d met and conversed with, information in context of intel they had so far whilst y/n updated Charles via a long email, two emails, one of the intel and other how much insufferable Erik was.

Their third day in Berlin went remotely same, night however was about to be different. Y/n was settling their bed, the first two nights they took turns on the sofa but it turned out to be very uncomfortable to sleep in so they decided to share the bed. Erik glanced up from his laptop as y/n was setting up a pillow wall on the bed “That is so childish.” He commented.

“Yeah yeah” y/n said as she rolled her eyes, making clear partition of the bed. “Do not invade my side alright?”

Erik couldn’t help but laugh at the use of ‘invade’ “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He said as he turned his attention back to the laptop. He decided to stay up rather late that night even after y/n retreated to bed. He would joke that it was easier to work after she was sleep and before she was awake as if he secretly didn’t hate the absence her ramblings brought.

An hour or so had passed, Y/n was sound asleep as he decided to wind up. He left to clean the desk, brush his teeth and wind down. When he came to bed he was met with y/n mumbling in her sleep, tossing and turning on her side of the bed.

His gaze softened when he realised she might be going through a nightmare. It seemed difficult, whatever she was seeing, he couldn’t understand her words but he caught a few pleading syllables here and there. “y/n…hey wake up” he cooed softly as he tried to wake her up, he gently placed his hands on her shoulder. “Hey-you’re just dreaming y/n…wake up.” He spoke and she got up almost instantly, breathing heavily.

She sat up trying to get used to the surroundings again, always the same thing. She hated when those dreams resurfaced revolving around her most despised horror. Erik had heard from Charles of what she’d been through when she was new, he didn’t know she was impacted to this scale. “Are you alright?” His voice arose another bad feeling inside of her. She didn’t want to be perceived as a weakling in front of him. When they’d argue he’d often call her that, not that she wouldn’t call him worse back but she would hate if he found out about this ordeal. She didn’t want to appear weak.

Getting out of the bed hurriedly she rushed to the table stand, feeling a bit dizzy after how fast she stood up and how fast she was trying to comprehend everything. She tried to pour herself a glass of water shakily. Her train of thoughts ran as she tried not to have a break down, her heart beat fast from the visuals of the nightmare still fresh in her mind. Erik was quick to pace up to her “Hey look at me” he spoke taking the jug of water out of her hands given she was struggling to pour it properly.

“Are you alright?” Erik repeated his question and he could note how she was still too shaken to answer correctly and fine enough.

“Y-yeah-“ she could muster out as she tried to level her breathing which didn’t seem to work apparently.

“Y/n.” He spoke leaning lower to meet her eyes since she avoided eye contact with him, “look at me” he spoke as he placed comforting hands by biceps to hold her upright. “Deep breaths with me, come on.” He spoke as he guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. He rubbed her back as she was still slightly trembling guiding her to breathe evenly.

After a few moments when she tried to fake the best proper composure she could she nodded, “I’m alright thanks” she said very softly afraid she might tear up any moment. Ever so tired and scared of her recurring nightmares, just when she thought it was getting better. Why would it not leave her alone? Why couldn’t she move past it?

Erik wasn’t a mind reader but the look on her face read enough for him at the moment, “y/n” he sighed “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I said it’s fine-“ she said with an exhale however her breaking voice and avoiding stare said something else. She couldn’t hold it back anymore as the brimming tears surfaced out of her eyes. She held her head in her hands weeping into them. Erik didn’t say anything as he wrapped his arm around her in a comforting manner, “I-I’m not this soft alright I’m not-I’m not weak” she told him like she had to justify her crying.

“Hey hey hey-“ he cooed as he pulled away just to see her face again, “who says you’re weak? This is completely alright.” He reasoned with her as she cried.

“No I—I just-“ she didn’t exactly know how well she could phrase this out for him. How much terrified she was of what she kept seeing in her dream, from her past, haunting her again and again and how much she didn’t want him to think she was this much of a mess.

“You are not weak, y/n. You are anything but weak. It’s difficult going through a nightmare but you’re really strong, you made out of it see” he talked to her patiently in a very encouraging manner as he wiped her tears with his sleeve.

“It felt so real-“ she choked up as she tried her best to stop crying, Erik took her into his arms, giving her a hug as he spoke sweet nothings to him.

She cried and trembled in his arms unable to speak coherently until she soothed her crying, he held her throughout it. “I am just so tried Erik…” she said as he pulled away to look at her face.

He removed the hair in front of her face, tucking it behind her ear, “is it always this bad?” He asked her, feeling really awful how much she’d had gone through already and even then in sleep she wasn’t left alone of it. Y/n nodded as she wiped the tears off her face, she wasn’t so phased by ‘this’ bad given she was used to them now.

“Is it frequent?” He asked, his softened gaze holding her trouble one.

“Not as frequent but-it comes and goes, I just can’t escape it.” She said with a dejected sigh. “I am used to it I just wish I was—properly used to it. I wish I wasn’t this affected…”

“Nobody should have to be used to this y/n it’s difficult, really difficult.” He told her as he held her hands in his softly. “It’s bound to affect you, in the worst way it’s made you…you. Surely doesn’t define you but it defines your strength, your courage. You are truly strong.”

“But I’m afraid Erik” she told him looking away, “I am exhausted of being this afraid.”

“And that’s fine.” He replied holding her hands in his a little tighter to impose the exaggeration of his words, “It takes strength to keep going, even more to be afraid and still keep going and you have done that job very well y/n.” He spoke as he kissed her forehead with a comforting smile adorning his face, reflecting how proud he was she made it through. “Let me help you?”

Y/n took a deep breath as she nodded, she felt rather safe in his help. In his presence and his touch, it was as comforting as it was safe. He helped her through that night, holding her close staying awake until she eventually fell asleep in his arms and he didn’t want to ever let go.

—

HIIII I hope you have a good day pls pls pls let me know if anyone wants to read more erik pieces! Requests are open too🕺

Feed back is desperately appreciated :)

Go drink water. Now. Or you will stub your toe in a corner in the next 10 seconds.

#erik lensherr x you #erik lensherr x reader #erik lensherr #magneto x reader #magneto #xmen fanfiction #erik lensherr imagine #xmen x reader

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arthenaa · 7 months

Text

Dark Red - Sebastian x gn!reader x Ominis

PLOT SUMMARY: while the world perceives the heavens and the underworld as realms clashing against one another in pursuit of building a world for their philosophies, the truth is that change is not so far beyond them. Especially when an angel and a demon begin competing against one another to pursue one of the overseers of purgatory: you.

WARNINGS: fluff, a bit of crack, reader is a heavenly figure, devil! seb, angel! ominis, sebastian and ominis r simps for you, ominis and sebastian are also dense af w each other, imagine not being aware that ur in love with the person u want to kill so bad, reader is both wingman, love interest, and just unbothered as fuck, ominis is referenced to be gabriel, modern setting, angels and demons are in an office setting its kinda funny, you're a tired girl boss just trying to make sense why these two idiots keep visiting you during work hours, God is kinda not happy w that, heavy christian ideologies and imagery, religious references, references to demons and the underworld, inaccurate and fictional connections of religious terms and biblical figure, norse terms cuz y not

TERMS: Highgard = Heaven, MidPath / Middle Path = Purgatory, Underworld = Hell, Fallen = devils / demons, Midgard = Earth

note: heya hihi <3 doing this in the midst of writing comms so that my head can get a break ueue. also a little celebration for my 20th bday and having 1M followers! tysm for enjoying my writing hehe. ive been thinking of this prompt for the past few days. anys enjoy <3 lmk if yall dig this kind of concept. did not proofread cuz im too lazy ig.

Whenever lost souls wander in the abyss, more often than not their questions pertain to one subject of interest.

What happens in purgatory?

It happens more than one can count—a series of experiences with those who have reached the end of the light, one can only deduce the general curiosity of humanity with the realm that keeps the heavens and the underworld in balance.

What is purgatory? While humans believe it to be a place of penance and purification, one would like to think of it as a place of sorting. A waiting room if one would find it amusing enough to resort in humor.

At least to Ominis anyway.

Ominis considers himself to be knowledgeable enough of the inner workings of the realms. He, after all, is one of the honored beings who got to work closely with the Lord. He proudly can say that he's done a lot for the glory of his creator to know things beyond what a normal being can perceive. He's a protector of the light and life that Yahweh brings.

However, there are still things he can't help but be curious about—like the cycle of good and evil with humans. Despite countless tries and efforts to save them from damnation, humanity still somehow finds itself on the brink of chaos. Despite that, their perceptions of the unknown continue to become more and more entertaining by the day.

Another is their perceptions of heaven and hell. Their enigmatic portraits and artistic interpretations fuel their imaginative ideals, influenced values, and understanding of the heavenly principles. While Ominis truly admires their dedication and faith in creating an ethereal image of the divine, the contrasting imagery of perception and reality somehow prompts a chuckle from this old man's lips.

If they knew the changes of the worlds beyond them, they might just have to change everything they know about it.

For starters, suits are mandatory. Everyone wears it here. It's become a staple for simplicity and formality. There are of course no limits to styling it but the suit and tie are a must.

Second, there are no conflicts between demons and angels. Well at least now. After coming to a proper agreement between the creator and the fallen, a civilized community has been built. Each is filled with roles and duties fit to serve the balance of the universe.

Third, it is exactly what you think it is. Desks filled to the brim with paperwork, scritching of pen against paper, and chattering of workers here and there. Highgard has become a modern-day office. Ominis hates the coffee on the 10th floor.

The archangel has already surrendered himself to normalcy, adapting to a new era of management and control. While this does seem to be more simpler and adept compared to the olden days, he does miss the times when he could feel the holy aura of his spear strike through a fallen's heart. In today's context, that's considered murder.

Now what does this relate to purgatory? As mentioned before Ominis still has a lot of things to be curious about and one of them are the things that happen within the walls of the Middle Path.

Specifically, the overseers.

While yes, he is considered to be at the top of the hierarchy. The overseers seem to nullify the authority of those at the top. Only the creator seems to have control over them, otherwise, they're at most the next level of superiority to him.

("The Horsemen of the Apocalypse," His brother, Nier, had mentioned as he leaned against the counter—stirring a cup of coffee with a wooden stick. "He placed them there to keep the balance. It's a land for neither the dead nor the living–a middle ground. They're natural seeds of chaos, of course. It's innate for them to destroy worlds with life and what better way to keep them at bay than to place them in the neutral zone?"

"I see," Ominis hums, fingers tapping at the desk as he leans back against his seat. Nier glances at him before throwing the wooden stirrer in the trash.

"What's got you interested in the overseers, Omi?" The nickname prompts a curl of his lips. Count Nier to be sentimental. The raven-haired man sips quietly as he awaits his response.

"Nothing," He replies. "It's just that out of all the realms, they seem to be less affected by the change."

Nier chuckles, taking a few steps forward to place a caring hand on his shoulder. "It's a place for judgment. We have too much love for humans while the fallen are too detached. The overseers are driven from humanity, they understand them better.")

The words of his brother ring within the depths of his mind, each making a resounding echo as he walks across the white halls.

To tell you the truth, this sudden interest in the middle path was formed not so long ago. A chain of events that prompted a burst of interest from this heavenly figure.

These series of events had formed a routine. There were 3 important things that you need to take note of in this scene.

One, the hallway Ominis is currently on is a bridge from Highgard to the gateway to the Middle Path. It's mostly known to be a connector and pathway for demons, angels, and any heavenly figure with the right permit.

Two, at the end of every hall, is a vending machine that serves coffee. Now, vending machines are not scarce in their company services. In fact, there are at least 5 machines stationed in every building. So, Ominis is quite sure that MidPath has more than enough vending machines to serve a batch of souls.

Third, at exactly 3 PM in Midgardian Time, there are approximately only two figures seen roaming about the halls of the connector.

One is Ominis himself and two, you guessed it.

An overseer.

Ominis walks toward the vending machine, slipping in a few coins before punching in his desired coffee. He takes a breath and takes a look at his watch. Just then, as the shorthand strikes the 15th, he hears the familiar click and clack of heels against the marble tiles.

They're here.

He hears them clear and perfect. The rustling of clothes against one another, the brush of their hands against the fabric, and that same walking rhythm.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Count Ominis to be a little obsessed but you really can't help but be interested in such a being. Neither angel nor demon—a seed of humanity so pure to the core that one horseman can produce an apocalypse.

An event personified.

It wasn't even God that made them but a natural occurence to life.

How interesting.

He hears the click of their shoes stop beside him, waiting for the brewing of his coffee. There were a few beats of silence, and the only thing Ominis could hear at that moment was the thumping of his heart.

"Gabriel," The overseer greets him, placing their hands behind the small of their back as they wait for their turn.

"Conquest." He greets back. The seed chuckles and heaves a sigh before silence ensues once more.

Same two words. Same format. Repeated for God knows how long he's been doing this. He punches in a latte, wishing the coffee would drip slower but heaven services always work out no matter what and so he gets his cup of coffee within 20 seconds.

He grabs the cup, sidesteps to the left, and takes a sip. The overseer steps forth, punching in their regular. Iced Caramel Macchiatto. The order takes the same time. 20 seconds.

They take the cup with swift movement before turning and making their way back to their department.

Once again, Ominis stands in the deserted hallways–a cup of coffee in his hands and another same old conclusive deduction of one of the horsemen of the apocalypse.

Coffee is an angel's desperation and fuel for conquest.

Ominis doesn't know what to feel about demons.

Beings natural to the abyss—they represent everything opposite to that of life. They thrive in the concepts of darkness, both figuratively and literally. Ominis is well aware of the millenniums he endured seeing the dust of broken horns and seething snakes crumble under his spear. He, after all, has seen everything from the moment the Lord has gathered his army to rule his rightful claim over his creations.

However, there are times like this when he decides it's okay. Demons are okay.

"I think there's a prejudice against smaller horns," Amit grumbles as he spreads a thin sheet of mayonnaise on his bread. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips formed into a pout. Ominis curls his lips at the tone of his voice. "Mine are perfectly well-sized! I-I don't see why this should be a problem at all."

"You're making it a problem, that's the issue," Ominis hears Poppy chime from his left. Amit glares at her response. Poppy's feathers ruffle as she stretches them out, flapping her wings gently to ease the tension on her shoulders.

The three of them were currently in the communal room. The day was slow and there were not many souls to be bustling and carrying on about. Ominis considers days like these a blessing and it was also partially because it was nearing Sunday.

Amit reaches his free hand and touches the spike of his horns. "My mother gave me these horns. I just think people are jealous."

"You're right," Poppy chimes as she tilts her head to give him a mocking smile. "Amit is always right. Can we talk about something else now?"

"You're too mean for a Principality."

"You're too much of a loser for a fallen," Poppy retorts with a nonchalance that almost prompts a chuckle out of Ominis. The demon gasps in shock which the angel giggles at.

"Just because we're on break and one of you is my superior-" Sharp glare comes from Poppy. "-doesn't mean I won't reprimand you two," Ominis cuts forth their humorous conversation with a stern approach. Poppy pouts while Amit grumbles. Then the blonde contorts his face into a wistful look. "However, I'm in a good mood so I'll let it be."

"Oho!" Poppy grins as she scoots her chair closer to him. "You do look even more dashing today, Ominis. What's got you in a good mood, hm? Perhaps, a promotion from upstairs?"

It was actually because he was able to, yet again, interact with the overseer but no one has to know about that.

Amit, ever the inquisitive being that he is, leans forward with raised eyebrows. "Are you in for a promotion to be in the middle order? I hear things start to get weird in that division."

"That's because most of the higher-ups don't look like us," Poppy responds with a bite of her sandwich. Ominis nods with his eyes closed. "At least in the middle and low. Both divisions were made to be accepting to the human eye, most specifically the low order. Ascending that high reveals true nature. The same goes for your monarchs."

Amit hums at the knowledge. While Ominis truly wants the opportunity to serve Adonai directly, he does feel worried about seeing his true self when ascending into a powerful duty. He supposes being an Archangel is too perfect of a role for him to let go of.

"Nah, I don't think I'm that holistic yet," Ominis responds with a shrug of his shoulders. "I still have a lot to do as Adonai's blade."

Just as the conversation resumed its course at the prompt of his response, a pair of cold hands makes its way to his shoulders—the tip of its finger brushing ever so softly against the skin of his neck. Ominis shivers but he does not let it affect him. Although his jaw clenches at the arrival of whoever this is.

"And what of Adonai's blade?" The voice asks, cunning and cool. "Does he perhaps fancy a cup of coffee?"

The arrival alerts the low-ranking figures beside him, pursing their lips in silence as they stare at the figure behind him.

"Leviathan," Ominis announces his presence. The brunette-headed monarch smiles at his true name.

"Mm," The demon hums. He taps his finger against the collar of Ominis's coat. "As much as I like hearing that name off of your lips, I prefer being called Sebastian."

Ah. Yes. This is what Ominis means when he says he's not okay with Demons. When he misses the feeling of his heavenly spear darting through the backs of the fallen.

No offense to Amit. He's too wonderful to be a spawn of a monarch but beings like Sebastian are what he means when he's overcome by a terrible urge to fulfill his original purpose.

He's fought him before. Countless times actually. In the Great Wars of Light and Dark—the famed descent of the Son of Man into the world is tainted with the hands of the fallen. They were carefree and manipulated life freely in their own hands as if it were toys.

Levia–Sebastian, rather, had always been a figure in both the underworld and highgard. A figure of snakes that classified demons as a whole. He was an icon to many and a formidable foe to most. He was surely one of Ominis's favorite things to drive a spear through.

Unfortunately for him, demons never die. They only go back to either hell or earth. A never-ending cycle of death. He supposes this is why the Lord has agreed in a civil approach with the beings of the dark.

"He's surely thinking of ways to murder me, no?" Sebastian sighs dreamily as he sits on the empty chair to his right. Poppy hesitantly laughs while Amit falls silent at his superior. Sebastian then turns to the two.

"Principality," He nods to Poppy, "Comrade" Amit. "If I may, can I please have a few minutes to talk to dearest Ominis? I just have a few things to discuss with him with regards to a war brewing up north in Midgard."

He beams, like the ever-so-manipulative nature of his character. The two sigh, gathering their food before moving to another table, a few meters away from them. It's better to just follow through with a monarch like Sebastian. He somehow has the irritable charm that allows him to get anything that he wants. Ominis is not surprised if he receives another harassment ticket for just existing.

"Was it so important for you to disrupt my leisure time?" Ominis grumbles at him. Sebastian chuckles, placing his elbows on the metal surface of the table. He intertwines his hands and perches his chin on top of it.

"And here I thought you loved that dear little humanity of yours."

"Please," Ominis scoffs, crossing his left knee over his right. He crosses his arms over his chest. "The last thing you'd do is be desperate enough to ask someone like me for help. Disasters are your expertise. What do you want?"

Just like that, Ominis has him cornered. Not that Sebastian would mind that since this is what he originally came for in the first place. Those ruby eyes that seem to never leave the Archangel pairs with a devilish smile before sighing. "Am I ever so deceitful that you think I'm asking for help with a catch?"

"Yes." Ominis answers plainly.

The demon rolls his eyes. "Right sure". There are a few beats of silence before Sebastian speaks once more. "I came here to confirm something with you."

Ominis hums, not bothered to direct his full attention towards Sebastian. He learned enough that wasting his time and attention in believing uncivilized monarchs like Sebastian is just a fiasco waiting to happen. He tries to take some of it in but never really injects full effort to do what they want. After all, his job only entailed in keeping peace and order within the flow of time in the human realm. What demons do is out of the question.

Sebastian hums beside him before speaking. "Do they like tea?"

Ominis stiffens in his seat. "What?"

The demon grins at finally grasping the old man's attention. "I said do they like tea?"

"Who likes what?" The angel is beyond confused. Who?

"Oh come on, Riel," The nickname pops a vein on his forehead. The demon leans close to whisper. "I mean that friend of yours in the gateway."

Ominis finally tenses at the revelation. How the fuck did this guy manage to find out about that?! He subtly turns his face towards the sound of his voice. He doesn't find it in him to reply as the demon prompts a few chuckles from his lips.

"I'm quite excited to be meeting them next time," Sebastian lets out a grunt as he stretches up from his seat and finally stands. He places his hands inside the pockets of his slacks, smiling down at the tense Archangel. "15th of the hour, right?"

"You're insufferable," Ominis grumbles under his breath as the man laughs at his demise.

"You're not the only one interested, Ominis." Sebastian smirks before turning and making way to the exit of the communal room. The clacking of his shoes do not produce the same satisfaction as the seed of Conquest.

He let's out a groan as he indefinitely will have to deal with Sebastian later on. His little interactions with them had been his highlights of the week. Not everyone can have the opportunity to come across a horseman of the apocalypse. Sebastian had to go ruin his little moments of peace.

How can his day get any better?

Ominis is exactly 10 mins earlier than the designated time.

The hallway is deserted and the air conditioning is functioning at its highest. It's safe to say that he's been paranoid ever since Sebastian had made his interest in one of the seeds of chaos. He doesn't know how exactly he knew but he wasn't going to take any chances in allowing him to steal his spot.

Even though the aftermath of 5 lattes a week proves to be quite detrimental to the linings of his stomach.

It's fine. He's immortal anyway.

He swings back and forth on his heels as he waits for the clock to strike the 3rd. He's not sure why he's more nervous today and only hopes that maybe it's because of the damn lemonades Amit brought this morning because her mother had made too much. Bless her soul.

He sees the shorthand of his watch finally strike the 15th hour of the day before he hears the same click-clacking of heels against the tile floor. At the prompt of their arrival, he immediately brings out a couple of his spare coins and begins punching in his latte. He waits, hands tucked in his slacks, at the familiar greeting of their voice.

However, things seems to be way different today.

"Ah, so it's more of your role to be the judge, right?" An all too familiar voice disrupts him off his reprieve. He tenses at the added presence. "Where to place the souls and all that."

"Yes," Conquest hums, a bit detached but their interest in the conversation is there. "I allow passage based on their time of living. The same goes for my siblings."

Ominis's jaw clenches as he hears the fake facade of gasps of interests and the unrhythmic pattern of another's footsteps. Sebastian.

"That's so interesting-!"

"What are you doing here, Sebastian?" Ominis grits under his breath as the pair finally reach his vicinity. Sebastian smirks at the presence of the Archangel.

"Ah, I just passed by Midpath to pass some documents and caught Y/N over here walking towards the gateway," Sebastian coolly responds as he glances at them with a smile. "It's not every day you'd get to talk to a seed outside of their workspace. Your department is the busiest after all."

If he hated Sebastian before, he hates him even more now.

"Ah yes, Leviathan was kind enough to keep me company," Conquest responds. If they were both alone right now, he would've collapsed. This is the most he's talked to them and he can't even handle it on his own. What a joke.

"Please! Just Sebastian is fine," The demon chimes in with a gleeful tone. "Are you well acquainted with Gabriel?"

Ominis is not sure what Sebastian is planning but the demon sure as hell is enjoying this little charade.

"Mhm," Ominis answers for them. "W-We always get coffee here."

"Ah," Sebastian nods. "How adorable. Must be honorable for you, hm? Keeping this little interaction for yourself."

There's something in his tone that seethes at him—buried under layers and layers of fake smiles and enthusiasm. Ominis wants to strangle him but he has to keep up with the expression. After all, despite ruining his moment, this is the most he's spoke to Y/N—he can call them Y/N right?

"Right," Sebastian seems to have read his thoughts. "This is Y/N. Have I mentioned that?"

"Clearly," Ominis grits his teeth. The seed of conquest, ignorant of the tension between two side steps to reach the vending machine. They notice the finished latte siting lonely, perched on top of its container.

"Ominis." They call for his attention. The blonde's breath shifts. Oh Heavens, they said my name. He knows he shouldn't panic or else that would look weird and so he awkwardly turns towards her with a tense look on his face.

Y/N only stares at him with vague interest before grabbing his hand and gently placing the cup of coffee in his grasp. "Your latte," They say.

"T-Thank you." He speaks as if that's the first time he's ever held hands with a handsome person. Y/N then turns to punch in their order, opting for a hot option instead of their usual cold beverage.

Without speaking the duo watch as they tilt their head back with mild interest, waiting for their coffee, hears the familiar ding of the machine, grab their order—gives not one of them a glance and only makes way back to their department.

There's a few beats of silence—the only background noise being the whirling of the air conditioner from the vents. They're both oddly entranced by what just happened.

Sebastian shifts in his position as he turns slowly towards Ominis with a slightly curled up smile.

"Is it normal to be this turned on?"

"You're fucking weird."

Ominis doesn't know what's happening.

There's this weird competitive aura between him and Sebastian ever since that altercation last week and it's as if who can interact the most with Y/N had been set as a competition between the two of them.

He's not really the one to complain since his pride enjoyed the stakes of a competition. However, his dignity has doubled down and screeched and clawed at his mind—begging for this to be done and over with.

He admits. He might have been a little too interested in the seed of conquest but that's what he wanted it to stay as! It was already good enough for him that he was able to interact with them on a weekly basis but now, he's not so sure if he can back out of this one.

Sebastian had been a bit too overwhelming in his efforts to gain their attention. From Underworld cuisine to Highgard flowers and even Midgardian music. He's done it all. The bastard is a monarch after all and so his pay is a little bit higher than his but who cares about that?! Ominis thinks he's utterly unfair in trying to squeeze his way through his and Y/N's leisure time of getting coffee.

He too... has tried several ways to... Y'know. To just keep with the nature of competition. He comes out of his breaks a little early so he can actually try and catch up with them for a walk. Made them sweets here and there. Made sure he was done with his work so he can assist in helping out with Y/N's paperwork. If it's not much obvious—Yes, Ominis is very competitive.

The unspoken attention war had stretched out over the course of the next few weeks. A few co-workers had begun to notice Ominis and Sebastian's odd behavior. It was odd enough that a monarch is lounging in Highgard departments but no one really gave a fuck enough to care.

(Unless it's Imelda, Poppy, and Amit.

"Is the coffee in the gateway really that great? Or do they just have a fucked up death wish of a diarrhea for ordering at least 10 cups of coffee a week?" Imelda grumbles from her spot at one of the tables in the communal room as the three had full-on front seats to Ominis and Sebastian pushing each other and racing for the double doors.

Poppy sighs beside her. The Principality had also noticed the suspiciously efficient work of Ominis. While the Archangel was organized and efficient enough to accomplish his work on time, the speed of doing such works even if it was weeks away on the assigned deadline was far too suspicious.

"They say they're pining over a married Dominions officer," Amit chimes in from his eating galore of glazed donuts. Imelda glances at her co-worker with a crunch of her nose.

"If you were human, that would've already killed you."

"I could possess one if you want?" Amit jokes to which the two angels snap their heads to glare at him. "Right, my bad.")

"They like tulips more than whatever that is." Sebastian grumbles as he assesses the disarray of sunflowers, roses, and whatever Ominis picked up from Midgard. The blonde rolls his eyes at his quips.

"As if giving them tea was enough," Ominis seethes. "I'd have you know that they actually dislikes tea—especially chamomile."

"You sure do know everything, huh?" Sebastian retorts as he takes a step forward. "If I remember correctly, It was because of me that you were given an opportunity to talk to them in the first place."

Ominis scoffs. "Oh, get off your high horse. I would've talked to them either way!"

"You'd take millennia to even do that," Sebastian chuckles, tone mocking and sarcastic.

"Says who?"

"Says me," Sebastian raises his eyebrows, taunting him. "You couldn't even put a spear through my heart if it hit you right in the face."

Ominis tenses. "What nonsense—!"

"Blah blah!" Sebastian taunts like a child. If anyone were to see both of them, they would surely have a field day in the office. A monarch and an Archangel fighting over someone. What a gossip. "I know you always miss the shot. Always a centimeter off, an inch short, a few limbs past—You're too soft. Even for someone like me."

Ominis breath hitches at the revelation. It's true that among all the Archangels, He was considered to be the most accurate out of all of them. That's why he preferred long-range fights, hitting enemies with his spear through a distance. But Sebastian is Ominis's first short-range duel and he's always been meant to fight Ominis after that. Somehow, he always manages to fail killing him, allowing a millennia's worth of suffering because of it.

His brothers would give him comfort and reassurance that someday, he'd be able to strike him off. However, despite countless opportunities, he's managed to fail every single one. He doesn't have the heart in him to admit that he's purposely missing the target because who would believe an Angel having mercy over a fallen?

He has too much pride to admit that.

Somehow over the long silence emitted from Ominis's lack of response, a cough alerts them of a new presence. The two turn around to meet Y/N, standing ever so casually behind them.

"Are you two done?" Y/N tilts their head, eyes half-lidded and a cigarette hanging off their lips. They take a short and swift inhale before pulling the stick from their lips and blowing it towards the two.

The smoke causes them to flinch back and cough. The seed of Conquest takes this opportunity to breeze through and punch in their order from the vending machine.

"Y'know, for a couple of idiots, you two sure are dense as hell," Y/N chuckles as they tilt their head to the side—glancing at them with a smile. They extend their hand holding the cigarette, tapping it towards the trash can situated near the machine. They eye him with vague interest. "A millennia. A fucking millennia—Not even one but a couple actually—" Y/N takes a hit of the cigarette. "That's amazing."

The seed of Conquest blows another whiff of the stick and this time, the duo are prepared at the scent of the chemicals.

"I-I'm sorry, what are you talking about?" Ominis asks, pressing his need for clarification. Sebastian remains silent beside him.

Y/N grins underneath the fingers that snugly carry the stick between their lips. "You two."

"Us?" Sebastian raises an eyebrow.

"You seriously never thought about this? Y/N raises an amused eyebrow. The silence after confirms their thought which prompts a gleeful giggle from their lips.

Sebastian and Ominis take a pause to revel in the beauty of their laughter.

The seed of conquest then takes a step forth and gingerly presses an index finger against Sebastian's chest, "You keep finding him," Then Ominis, "You keep avoiding the inevitable," They then take a step back, taking a whiff of the cigarette before exhaling. "Doesn't it ring a bell, hm?"

It takes at least 25 seconds for the two to come to a realization. Both take it quite differently. Ominis pales while Sebastian flushes. Y/N thinks the colors contrast quite beautifully.

"How adorable," They coo before the machine finally beeps. They take their coffee with ease and take a few steps towards the two fumbling idiots. They lean close, whispering into their ears in the space between them. "Next time you two try and disrupt my work hours, I'll have you know that I can purposefully trap you in a never-ending time loop of a prison. Got that?"

The two nod carefully at their words before Y/N smiles and pats their shoulders. They make quick steps back towards their department before suddenly pausing and turning quickly with a smile.

"Also, you're both wrong," Y/N sighs as they tuck their hands inside the pockets of their coat. "I prefer Baby's-breath and milktea is my preferred choice of drink. 50% sugar with boba."

The two gape at her information. They tilt their head with a smirk, strands of hair falling ever so perfectly against their face.

"Do it right and maybe I'll agree to be taken by the two of you on a date."

And just as she says it, she leaves with the elegance and swiftness of a heavenly figure. The two couldn't even sneak a word in with what just happened, only grasping their gifts apologetically within their hands. In just a matter of a few minutes, Y/N has yet again made them speechless.

Not that the two of them would complain. There's just something about them that just leaves a breath of awe whenever Ominis and Sebastian get a chance to interact with the seed of Conquest.

Sebastian turns toward the Ominis who licks his lips in thought. "They did just say both right?"'

"Yes, Sebastian. They did."

"Are you in love with me?"

"I—"

"I think I'm in love with you," Sebastian hums, thoughtfully as if he's taking a pick which menu he'll be eating for lunch today. "I think maybe I am."

It's times like this that Ominis thinks that demons are insufferable. But then that's their charm, no? Having the ability to continuously infuriate you despite the circumstance. Ominis thinks that maybe he can try to live with that. After all, a couple of millennia with Sebastian had already been proven to be quite a taxing experience—what more a couple more years could do?

If Ominis could answer the questions of the lost souls that venture their interests in the realms beyond them, there's one thing he could definitely answer.

That demons are pricks and also can be the love of your life (you just maybe haven't noticed it yet because you're too busy driving a spear through his heart!), there's a hot overseer he can't stop thinking of, and that angels can also have gay panics.

How livid would humans be when they find out about this?

Well, I guess we'll never know.

A/N: yieeee im 20 now!! HBD TO ME!! (my bday was on the 4th, I was just too busy to post this) I hope y'all enjoyed this! Will consider doing a part two for this baby (NSFW if it has good views teehee) lmk!! love y'all!

#arthenaa #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy x reader #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x reader x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader x ominis gaunt #reader was heavily inspired by makima mb #hogwarts legacy fluff #Spotify

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