sundown | mutant au

A 'Grade A' breeder. That is what she hears the clinicians label her, without so much as attempting to include her in the conversation. Francesca had quickly put the pieces together. Nobody had to spell it out for her.

She was the ideal candidate for the program. The Mutant Repopulation Initiative. MPA for short. A suitable womb, she had thought with some trepidation. It becomes a simple fact of life for her, or she has chosen to approach it as such.

There is naught to be gained from trying to get out of it. She's the product of a prolific family, and she just happens to be a mutant.

She is needed. She has a purpose to serve, and she truly does want to be helpful.

Babies are so sweet, after all. She's always wanted one.

The process will be unsavory. That seems to just be a commonplace truth. The nurses poke and prod at her -- check to make sure everything is up to speed. And then they assign her to a male.

They don't bother to tell her his name. Simply his government number. Francesca hopes he is handsome -- she's not sure how she will cope if he is old or unattractive or ...

The day of, she grows more and more nervous as the hours tick by. Her handler looks at her with something akin to pity, diluted by routine, but that does little to reassure her. The shot had nauseated her, put her on edge.

Once through the last door, she senses him before she sees him, the dark-haired man, the only other body in the quarters. She'd know it was him even without any identification.

He's older than her; that is unsettling. Attractive, but there is an edge to it, brittle and rugged.

And powerful. It rolls off of him, prickling up her spine. A threat.

She stiffens like a caged animal well before he starts his approach, freezing where she stands. She fights to contain her instincts, with difficulty.

A few moments awkwardly pass. Finally, in a voice mere octaves above a whisper:

"Yes."

Upon stepping closer into her radius, Cable notices an apprehensive feeling rising in him. Unusual, since he's been doing this far too long to feel any kind of uncertainty about what it's like.

He's also well aware that he holds the power here. If he wants to get the job done, he will. She wouldn't be able to stop him. He could also fold this entire facility like a napkin, but rebellion never occurs to him. He'd rather do his duty.

She's not the first young or nervous partner he's had-- but she's the most attractive by far. Something about the innocence of her reminds him of his first time, with a woman who was far older and with no warmth. She rode him to completion and left.

While he's positive he'll never be particularly good at offering warmth or comfort, he'd like it to be better for her. He feels compelled to soothe her. It's probably because she's got a pretty face and he'd like to remember it nicely.

He reaches out, gently brushing the backs of his flesh fingers over her cheek.

"You're very beautiful." He assures her, unaware that she's probably not overly concerned with that fact. Her skin is so soft and he feels his own flesh prickle in response. He wants this to go slow, he wants to savour her.

"What's your name?"

She lets him get close. She doesn't want to, but she permits it all the same -- even if she hadn't, he would be more than capable of defying her. She can feel the weight of his power against hers, heavy, oppressively so.

It's unnerving.

He speaks to her like a stranger might a small child. Francesca registers this. She instinctively doubts its authenticity, this concern, but she can feel his curiosity -- his interest.

She trembles when he touches her, not solely from fear. There is a creeping heat working its way through her veins. This is the first time a man has really touched her.

"Thank you."

Polite. She has no false bravado to put on, the way she had planned initially. Instead, visibly frightened, unable to make eye contact for more than a fleeting moment. Her fingers are folding into the hem of her shirt.

"F-167." It's an automatic response, clinical, she doesn't realize that's not what he's asking for until a moment later. Too late to correct herself. It's not like they need names. Right?

She shuffles a step back, and another. There's a bed, even throw pillows, some bastardized attempt at recreating a real bedroom.

It's absurd.

Her fingers circle one of the bed posts, grounding herself. Risking a glance at him. She takes a breath.

"You're an Omega. Aren't you?"

He feels it. The tremble and the heat building in her, it's like fire and ice. She's very frightened-- and she should be, really. But he wishes she wasn't.

His brow furrows at her name, which is not the one he asked for. It's also not something he always asks, but when he asks a question he wants an answer. He could trawl through her mind and find it, but he wants it from her mouth.

"Yes." He answers, coolly. Both aware of the weight of the title and not interested in the gravitas. He keeps stepping into her space, until they're both on either side of the bed post.

"Look at me." He slides one hand over hers, using the metal one to turn her chin and make her look at him.

"Tell me your name."

He confirms. She shifts her weight, uncomfortable, but at least her suspicions were correct.

He leaves her little time to process that. He's back in her space. Again touching, again asking. Her heart beats in her stomach.

Her brow furrows back, wondering why it's so important. She has half a thought, ever so fleeting, to say nothing, knowing it for a demand.

She forfeits the challenge before it begins. Francesca is not usually one for timidity; her nature is reserved, not weak, but she does have a very healthy ( perhaps unhealthy ) respect for authority.

Her mind and body respond to the implicit order, angling toward, up to him. His eyes are darker than her own.

Her mouth is cotton and her voice is soft, a breath tilted up at him.

"Francesca."

"Good girl." He praises her without an ounce of irony. It's sincere, he strokes his thumb over her cheek.

"That's a pretty name." He repeats it to himself. He'll remember it for a long time, he's very sure. He'll wonder about his Francesca when they take her away.

"If I could give you some advice, Francesca?" He's already impossibly close, but somehow he's closer now. Their bodies are nearly pressed together.

"You don't get a choice about whether or not I fuck you. That's done." Despite the vulgarity, his tone is even and he seems composed. His lips brush against her cheek as he pulls close, murmuring in her ear.

"You can choose to let yourself enjoy it. If you let me show you."

He pulls away, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He pats the space next to him, looking expectant.

"Get on the bed."

Goosebumps rush down her arms when he closes the space between them, when his body is a finger span away. When he talks to her so frankly, tells her she has no choice here. He gets to fuck her whether she wants him to or not.

She's known what was meant to happen for a long time.

And she should be angry. She should be disgusted. She should do something in defiance for the way he speaks to her.

She does none of those things. Her cunt spasms, her breaths alter. She looks at him with shock and equal curiosity.

A long moment follows; it's less an unwillingness to sit than that she needs some time to think.

She does sit, of course, what else is she to do. She sits rather close, where he patted. There's color in her cheeks. She tucks a stray hair behind her ear; her bangs feather over her eyes when she murmurs back.

"You have a name, too, I take it."

The gravity of what they're about to do is on her. She's never been fucked before. And she wants to enjoy it.

Often Cable can sense arousal before it's expressed to him. It shouldn't surprise him to feel it from her, but the intensity of it does surprise him. She's a funny little thing, he's decided. Surely she has some sort of cognitive powers, but he can't feel her trying to do anything deliberately. Perhaps they're innate.

He could ask, he supposes, but unlike her name he's not sure he cares to know.

When she sits beside him, his excitement builds. It takes discipline not to mount her the way the aphrodisiacs want him to. His mind wants to savour the experience.

He rests a hand on her thigh, squeezing softly. His lips find her neck, starting to kiss up the sweeping line of it and up her jaw. She smells incredible, he's trying not to salivate thinking about how wet she is.

"It's Nathan." He offers, because she asked. It forms an innocent distraction while his hand delves deeper between her thighs. He rubs slow circles with his thumb and hand until he's cupping it over her pussy.

"Don't jerk around too much-- you'll make me react."

He thinks it's a helpful warning, but she likely has no idea what he means.

This is developing much faster than she anticipated it would, once he sauntered into the room. Before then, she'd expected the entire transaction to be fairly short -- maybe ten, fifteen minutes.

She was being practical. She had been told, overheard men were fast. She didn't expect romancing out of it, not in the least.

Quick or not, her body is reactive to his exploration. The hands in her lap move to her sides, unsure of what to do, if she should touch or kiss him in return. But her thighs part like the Red Sea, opening for him, so that his hand slots over her cunt. She's heat and wetness through her cute overalls, underwear deliberately omitted.

"Oh--" She lifts her hips, the warning going over her head. It's not an ideal time for thinking. Not when she's clenching around nothing.

He strokes her through the rough material, until she's wet through, the denim against her clit a fine source of friction.

"Nathan..." She tests the name out, much the way he did hers. From her lips it comes as a sigh, verging a moan. Somewhere in her memories, she knows that name, but those are thoughts for another time. "That's... nice."

She surprises him with her receptiveness, making him chuckle against her neck.

"Your skin is so soft." He murmurs, warmly. There seems to be some genuine fascination with her. His eyes still rake over her.

He's terribly curious about how wet she is, he can feel the heat through his fingers. Tantalising him. He wants to know if he can make her wetter, if he can take some credit for it.

Repositioning, he runs his eyes up to her pullover as if looking to figure out how it works. He unhooks the strap, letting it fall open. As if reflexive, his hand reaches out to grab a handful of her breast, squeezing curiously.

His breath shudders, he likes it.

Edited 2025-07-16 09:59 (UTC)

The chuckle fanning over her skin earns him a squirm. She's damningly wet, sticky with it.

Feels like she's in the grips of a fever.

He studies her shoulder straps without her prompting. She arches up after one falls, her naked breast encompassed by his palm. His moan does something to her. A reminder of how far they are going, and how new she is to any of it.

Again, nerves jitter through her.

"I've ... I've never been kissed before," she blurts out, without warning, cursing herself once she does. It's out now, and she can't take it back, and her chastity is certainly not doing her any favors now. She has no idea what to do.

Since she's not stopping him, he keeps squeezing. He pinches her nipple lightly, rolling it over his thumb and finger. He rarely has the opportunity to explore like this, he's sure that his observers know he's deliberately dawdling.

At her declaration, he seems briefly confused about why she'd tell him that. It then seems clear to him that she's asking for his kiss, which thrills him. More than he would have expected it to.

He leans in without warning, catching her lips and kissing her deeply. It feels electric immediately, unlike any other kiss he's had before. Her lips are soft, they taste sweet. His tongue pushes into her mouth as he bears down on her, starting to push her back onto the mattress.]

He kisses her with skill she does not possess. It's deep, backed by shared desire. She's inexperienced, but inspired, moaning at the tongue that breaches into her mouth.

A prequel to what is to come.

Her back presses into the mattress and her legs fall to the wayside, allowing him to slip between them, his weight pressing her into it. She touches him in kind now -- feels like she has been given implicit permission -- by wrapping her arms around his back, running up and into his hair.

Her hips rock up involuntarily, and bump against him -- against the bulge of him. Alarmed, she pulls back to scan the space between them, to note his erection. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, flush with want.

It excites him to be touched by her. He lets himself believe that what he's doing is working, that she's comfortable and eager and not led by impulses. His tongue chases hers in her mouth, invading all of her space.

His hand starts to skim down her front, down the lower half of her outfit to stroke his fingers over her. No underwear. He lets himself believe she chose that, too. Runs his fingers over the lips of her pussy, imagines stretching her around him.

Her hips rock upward and she surprises herself, he's not sure why from his vantage point. The sudden movement makes him push down heavier on her, but she's not squirming away. He paws at her overalls, gripping either side of them and yanking them down her legs to expose her.

He's never done it before but from smell alone he's overcome by his impulses. He tosses her overalls aside, gripping her legs and yanking her closer. He hums low in his throat, almost a growl as he bows his head and slots it between her legs. He laps at her cunt, messy and hungry, sucking her clit and dragging his tongue over it. This won't get her pregnant, but it's what he wants.

Of all the things she expected, this wasn't one of them. Call her naive -- she wasn't even aware this factored into sex. Stunned into silence, his hunger is soon rewarded with a yelp of surprise.

The sensation is strange, his tongue and lips upon her cunt and clit. Strange, but nice.

Oh, very nice.

Whimpers claw up her throat. She resists crying out too loudly, suddenly conscious of their audience, an arm thrown over her eyes.

He devours her. There is no other word for it.

Her fingers twist the blanket up in them for something to hold onto, her teeth sinking into the plush of her arm. She's vaguely aware her own power is emanating off of her, into the room, into him. Arousal and pleasure, tenfold.

It is satisfying for him to hear her whimper. She does get wetter-- and he feels it. Not his arousal. Hers. It's different. His goes straight to his cock. He feels hers in his stomach, like pooling heat. Like he drank something warm. It makes him shudder, exhaling desperately against her cunt.

His fingers squeeze her thighs, holding her legs up and open. He likely doesn't need any enhanced strength to hold her in place as firmly as he does, but the threat is always there.

"You taste good." He whispers, but no breath leaves her. He's speaking straight into her mind while his mouth is busy. His eyes do glance up at her, dark and intense.

"I can't wait to break you in. Bet you're tight."

Francesca hears him, at first she thinks she must be mistaken, but his voice wraps her up like a warm bath. Encased in velvet, his eyes liquid.

He's not the first telepath she's met. Just the first to have his tongue inside her.

Her legs shake, trying to kick out but his hands are restraints. A fresh wave of wetness greets his mouth for the lewd promise made. She teeters, close to climax, yet still not quite reaching that elusive destination she's only ever found at midnight with her fingers.

It's so different with his hot breath on her, the muscle of his tongue worming into her. She has a momentary fear she won't be able to climax at all.

"Please!" Begging. She wants to be broken in.

Edited 2025-07-17 10:02 (UTC)

As they start to melt into one another, his hands slide up her wrists and he interlocks their fingers. It makes his heart flutter, which makes him double down on pleasing her. His tongue flutters against her clit, then pushes against her hole.

The privacy of their conversation makes him feel comfortable pushing against the regime. He's known her a minute and he already wants to break every rule to fuck her again and again.

"I'm gonna send you out of here pregnant." He promises, warmly. "Hope they send you back to me again and again."

He's not holding back-- but she is. He can feel her teetering and talking herself out of it-- nerves.

"Let go." His teeth graze lightly over her clit, stubble rubbing against her thighs.

"Let me hear you."

She's read pamphlets and attended all manner of lectures about the breeding program; it was very nearly her sole purpose as a young mutant woman of childbearing age.

And so, she knows no two mutants are ever reassigned to each other. She knows he's making promises he can't keep.

Or maybe he can -- the power roiling off of him, the inherent authority is as intoxicating as it is intimidating. It's startling how much she wants to submit to it, wishing to please him. Wanting to be a good little breeder for him, to fuck and swell with his seed.

Again and again.

With that, her climax crushes over her, her thighs caging him in, the muscles tensing. Her mouth flutters with her gasps and soft moans. She doesn't protest if he climbs over her; instead she rolls her head, seeking his lips.

He can see her thoughts so clearly, it almost feels like she wants him to. He sees her pregnant, he sees his own hands cupping over her belly. He knows that's not possible, but seeing her pregnant gives him a powerful sense of longing.

It is extremely satisfying to feel her thighs tighten around his head. It feels like he belongs here, so he lingers. He pulls up, looking down at her with a self-satisfied expression. He's far too hot, he peels the top half of his outfit off and tosses it aside. He pushes his pants down his thighs, he wants her to see his cock before it goes in her. He doubts she's had anything close to this size inside of her before.

That she wants his kiss is not lost on him, but it's not what he wants. He's focused on hilting his cock against the wet hole of her cunt and feeding it into her. Then he dips his head down so he can sate her with a deep kiss, letting her taste herself on him.

Despite the warm up, it's a tight squeeze, he can barely get himself halfway inside her. He feels her clench and resist before he needs to whisper to her.

"Relax."

Which is as much warning as she gets before he bucks his hips and forces the rest of himself inside of her. Now they're flush together, he grinds himself unrelentingly inside her.

Edited 2025-07-21 06:06 (UTC)

His cock bobs out when he pushes his pants down. She knows what a penis is meant to look like, mostly erect. She's a little stupefied at the width and length presented to her. Presumably, it's different up close.

She dismisses that it must be normal -- but then the head of his cock fits against her opening and presses inward, to be greeted by a flash of fire, heat and pain. She hangs onto his lip, trembling with the stretch. A strangled cry erupting from her throat when he seats deep inside her.

The pain is worse than the instruments they use during checkups.

"No," she chokes, her back arching and twisting, trying to force him off. No regard for anything but ending it. "It hurts--"

Edited 2025-07-21 06:09 (UTC)

There's a part of Cable that truly feels guilty. She's a virgin-- she's also very petite. Especially compared to him. The sounds of agony aren't pleasant and they cut deep.

But they're overridden by a more powerful instinct. She's pulling away-- and his dick needs to be in her. He needs to fuck her, finish in her. The way she flinches and writhes makes him defensive of his duty.

Without warning, he withdraws. He flips her onto her stomach, he only needs one hand to push her into the mattress. The other is between her legs, hilting his cock into her. He pulls her hips back, sliding down to meet her until they're flush.]

You were begging for it a second ago.

[He murmurs, frustrated. His hand winds into her hair, gripping at the base of her skull.]

Stay still and let me break you in.

Forced down, the cry turns to a muffled sob, her hands pushing into the mattress -- jerking against his hand in her hair, his cock pressing against her walls.

The air becomes heavy, constricting. That's all the warning he gets before her power manifests, energy shifting around her. Trying to buck him off of her.

Cable feels it. All the fear and helplessness and a clawing desperation to run. Briefly, it threatens his arousal-- but the aphrodisiacs are stronger. He squeezes his eyes shut, like he's coping with critical brain freeze. But he can shake it off, and he does.

"I told you. No sudden movements."

His hand shifts, gripping the back of her head. Firm, but not tight.

"I told you-- you don't have a choice."

Neither of them do, actually. But in his position, he's enjoying himself much more. By now he's figured out the parameters of her powers, so it's easy enough to return the favour and use them against her. He pushes her fear down in her mind, replacing it with insatiable lust. He targets her pleasure receptors, making every sensation feel incredible. Making her sensitive, making her body tremble.

He can feel it work quickly. Her cunt relaxes, becoming slick once more for him. He can start to move his hips with ease, sliding his cock in and out of her.

"Better?"

The pleasure electrifies her body. She feels it, feels him, swimming inside her head, inside her veins.

What arguments she has start to slide quickly one after the other out of her head. She was only disobedient and trying to prematurely end the engagement because of pain. She was sure she could not take him. He makes quick work of that. Cheats, skipping the line of acclimation and landing her right back in the pool of pleasure.

It's a little infuriating. She thinks to say that wasn't fair of him, but the rest of her is receptive to the drag of his cock, filling her.

She buries her face into the sheets, muffling a groan. Her hips tilt, her impotent anger thwarted. Asking for more.

Edited 2025-07-22 07:11 (UTC)

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