sundown | mutant au

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)

Surprisingly, underneath the desperate need to fuck her, Cable does feel bad. It feels like he's reduced her to a fuck toy. Having her wet and interested isn't a necessity. And she was interested. Was. Until he got rough.

But they're far past that now, and the slapping of their skin drowns out his thoughts. He'll never see her again anyway. This is all the time he's got, he'll use it.

"There you go--" Cable praises her eagerly when she tilts her hips, it sends a current of arousal through him. He shifts a hand back, gripping her ass and spreading it so he can watch his cock move in and out of her.

"Such a good fucking girl." His hand buries into her hair, fingers sliding over her scalp from the back of her skull. He presses her cheek into the mattress, bearing down heavier on her and rutting deep into her.

The program doesn't have time to factor in feelings.

But oh, it feels so good. She didn't think it would feel like this. She expected the process to be inconvenient, uncomfortable. Not bad, not good.

This is different. This is sweeter than fucking her fingers into herself in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep. She understands now -- her body was made for his cock.

He amped her up so thoroughly, and now he's bent over her, praising her. Rutting against a certain point she wasn't aware existed, that feels insanely wonderful.

Her breaths stutter, fingers bunching into the sheets, anticipating. When she comes, it's with a sob of relief, hips rocking wildly beneath his.

Edited 2025-07-22 11:36 (UTC)

When she sobs and comes for him, he showers her shoulders, neck and head with kisses and murmurs words of encouragement through it. Reinforcing that she's a good girl, that she feels so good.

His arms wind around her and he pulls her up with him when he sits back on his heels. One arm wraps low on her waist and the other starts to squeeze her breast, pinching her nipple.

His hips move, but he's also sliding her up and down over his cock like she's his sleeve. He nips at her earlobes, huffing out pleased, hungry sounds. His hand dips lower, sliding his fingers and spreading her pussy open before drawing up to circle her clit.

"You like getting fucked don't you, pretty girl?"

His mouth hovers near her ear, breathing warm air onto it and nipping before he whispers.

"Nobody will ever make you come as much as I will. You'll always wish you were getting fucked by me again."

His question is answered by a groaning affirmative, her mind blank with pleasure. The aphrodisiacs are doing their job, on overtime really, but the filth spilling from his lips is truly the bullseye, combined with how he's learning and mastering her body. Her pleasure points, even ones she didn't know existed.

Her knees and palms dig into the cushion beneath, trying to find purchase as he uses her. The third is an even quicker build; she's almost doubtful that it's happening until her clit throbs under his thumb and she turns to pieces again, biting her lip so hard to keep from screaming that she draws blood.

Proving his point.

His arm is around her, but her body goes limp under his, folding forward into the bed and panting like she's run a marathon. Used up.

Cable allows Francesca to slump forward, guiding her back down to the mattress with his hands. He laughs under his breath, raking his fingers through her hair as he brushes it off her face.

He turns her to lie on her side, leaning down to kiss her affectionately. His hand slides between her thighs, pulling her top leg up as he starts to fuck her again. He starts slow, building to a pace that makes her limp body shake in time with his thrusts.

Her hair is long past disheveled, falling out of the immaculate braids of earlier. It was a silly thing, but she had wanted to be pretty for him. Whoever he was. It was her first time, even if it wasn't his.

That was significant, to her. Sentimental.

Her body is manipulated easily by Cable; she's practically dead weight, laying there, panting to regain air in her lungs. Her third orgasm created no small amount of extra lubrication for him to fuck her with.

When she can hear past her racing heartbeat, the sounds from his cock meeting her cunt border downright obscene. Mildly uncomfortable, but only when her sensitive clit is brushed against does she complain, her dazed eyes meeting his.

He looks like a hungry beast, focused singularly on his task. It's mesmerizing to watch: him, the muscles of his abdomen rippling, his cock disappearing into her. She bites her lip, unable to stop watching, arousal spiking again.

A comm buzzes on overhead, tinny. The speaker sounds annoyed.

"End this, Summers."

There's nothing humanising or special about what they're doing, really. For a moment, though, it feels like it is. They lock eyes for a long moment and he realises she's watching him. He's not forcing her to feel any particular way anymore, so her fascination is her own.

Briefly, he looks a little sheepish in response to the attention. But the pleasant feelings are jolted out of him by an irritating reminder that he's not here under his own power and neither is she. It's humiliating. And infuriating, actually. He feels genuine anger, knowing they feel entitled to time his pleasure.

"I'm not done."

He shoots back, venomous and almost growling. He only needs to shoot a pointed look to the speaker to crumple it like a paper bag. He could do it to a human, if he wanted. If they interrupted.

His attention turns back to her, crawling over the top of her and burying his face against the side of her head. His arms wind around her, as if to obscure her from the audience.

"I'm not done."

He repeats it softer, into her ear. His hand skims down her stomach, up between her thighs to rub her clit once more.

She hears the sound of something breaking, and her eyes shoot over just in time to watch it clatter to the ground. For the first time, she's not scared of the enormity of the power rolling off of him; no, the demonstration of it shoots a thrill through her.

Warms her, her fingers curling against his back as he settles over her, almost equally possessive as the voice in her ear.

This close, the long strides of his hips shorten and gentle themselves. Her head tips toward his face, her short nails digging into his flesh. She whines her disapproval when he starts to rub her clit, but instead of fighting him off, she moves her hand over his to tug his fingers from there, steering them up to entangle with hers.

Too sensitive. She assumes he'll hear her.

Edited 2025-07-24 05:29 (UTC)

"Fight it."

His voice is low but clear in her mind.

"This is the last time we'll fuck. I want you to remember me."

His hands run up her arms, guiding them up and pinning them above her. It only takes one of his hands, the other can duck down to cup her face and kiss her hungrily. He starts to rock his hips in short, shallow thrusts.

"You're going to be on my mind a long time, princess."

His hand releases hers, but she's still pinned in place. He ducks his fingers under her knees, hooking her legs upward until they frame her head. It makes her spread, lets his cock get deeper inside of her. He ducks his head down toward her. Not close enough for a kiss, but their noses brush sweetly together.

"Keep squeezing me like that and I'll drain myself in you."

Edited 2025-07-26 12:00 (UTC)

It's an exquisite feeling, being opened up like this, far more exposed than ever before. Splayed out for him. Her body, her mind.

Pleasure skates along her nerve endings. She tries to lift her chin enough to kiss him, but fails, resorting to sucking on her lip to quiet her moans.

Francesca doesn't want anybody else to overhear her -- just him.

How long?

With every rock, he rubs against her clit. She writhes, hips undulating, trying to match his thrusts. She wants to know what it'll feel like when he pours himself into her, every ounce.

He'll lays roots in her. Soon. She can feel how close he's getting.

I'll remember you, too. I know I will.

Until I die.

Dramatic? Yes. Honest? At this time, this deep in her and entangled with her, he believes it. Truly.

I'll see you like this.

He wants her to see herself from his eyes, so he projects what he sees into her mind. Her breasts heaving, her legs stretched up toward her head, how wet his cock is as it plunges in and out of her and the look of awe and desperation on her face. His hands push her legs that little bit deeper down and tilting her hips, stifling a sound by catching her lips and kissing her roughly.

He bucks his hips three times in rapid succession, burying himself impossibly deep on the third. His cock and balls twitch against her as he comes as far inside her as he can manage. He lets her legs drift back down, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pulling her into his chest. He'd absorb her if he could.

Do you feel it?

Afterward, she trembles, breaths shuddering out of her. All at once, the muscles in her legs and the space between her hips and her cunt ache. It's not a bad ache. She doesn't complain.

Now unpinned, her hands drape over his back, her face taking sanctuary in his chest. They're both damp with perspiration; she smells him, feels his hazy contentment.

What does he mean? What does he feel? The perimeters of her power reaches tendrils out, grasping along -- but what she feels ...

"I feel you."

Her voice is soft, affected. Drowsy and honest. She wants to stay here.

She can't.

They're afforded all of a couple of minutes, to regain their breath and soak in each other, before a door opens, then another.

"You will for a long time."

He's not sure it's necessarily a reassuring thought. His part ends here, even if she'll carry part of him for months.

When he splays his hand on her lower belly, he's very sure his job is already done.

This much is confirmed, just a few weeks after they part ways. He hasn't stopped thinking about her, as promised. He thinks of her voice and her face as much as he thinks about her body. He's not interested in anyone else, doesn't want to talk to anyone else. Just her. He wants her.

So he listens keenly whenever he hears mention of her, but it seems like the staff are aware of his interest in her. They want to manage it, but they can't. He can invite himself into their thoughts, hear what they aren't saying.

The breeding session was successful. F-167 is pregnant.

It's difficult to disguise that he has strong feelings, but he does. He's in the right places at the right times, listening. It's not hard to figure out where she is. What troubles him is that she won't be there much longer. When she's further along, they'll move her to another facility. Further away. He needs to see her before that happens.

It's also troubling to him that he easily breaks into the facility she lives at now. A dorm, of sorts. She must be very young, if she's still here. A scan of files confirms her age and room number, he has no lapse in judgement. No matter what her age, he needs to see her.

Which he gladly does, when he finds her bed. He drops to his knees beside her bed, lying his head on the mattress near her face.

Unable to resist, he fits their lips together softly.

The officials confirmations are unnecessary.

Even subtracting the other symptoms, she can sense something else within her -- something that feels like a growing seed, burrowed deep, integrated into her so deeply she begins to forget what it felt like before.

She's not lonely anymore. She was always so lonely, before he gave her this.

It won't take away the pain of how many people she's lost, how many brothers and sisters, but it will lessen the pain. It already has.

She thinks of him, too -- wonders if he will know. Probably, if he's interested enough to find out. She likes to think he is, even if his part is complete.

Her sleep is fitful, which is not out of the ordinary for Francesca, but for new reasons. Her body is adapting and the hormone-induced nausea doesn't relegate itself to mornings. She's increasingly sick, and increasingly tired. ( The medical team monitor her with interest. She catches snippets, how omega gestations are known to be draining on ordinary mutants. )

She doesn't wake to the kiss, exactly. She begins to rouse at being touched, and tries to turn onto her other side, grumbling displeasure in her half-sleep.

And then she feels him, a presence at her side, and her eyes fly open. For a split second, she's terrified -- launching herself out of bed, stumbling into a corner, her mind soaked with fear.

He probably should have anticipated her panic, but he didn't. All he could think about was how kissing her again would feel.

Even if she panics, it felt worth the risk.

He rises, but stays hunched over to try and be discreet. He presses his finger to his lips to hush her, which is not as reassuring as he thinks it is.

"You're alright." Allegedly. "Come back to bed."

He pats the mattress, crouching back down beside the bedframe.

"I know I shouldn't be here. I needed to see you."

Her heart is racing hard, too hard. The panic is short-lived, replaced by an enormous sense of relief when she recognizes his voice, his face in a shaft of moonlight cutting across the room.

Now it's her brain racing, and her stomach twisting with an inexplicable feeling, her eyes focused on him. Very quietly, she moves back to her bed, hesitating before she sits down. Her hands lay in her lap.

It's difficult to resist putting them over her stomach. She has the urge to show him: the hard knot where the seed he planted in her has bloomed into new life.

It takes a moment before she realizes she should speak. She's been staring at him in silence, half reveling in his company.

"What for?"

Edited 2025-07-29 08:14 (UTC)

"Because I wanted to."

He says it like it should be enough. Enough to break rules he's been diligently following since he was a boy. Do things he's never done before, because he feels things he's never felt before.

Now she's settled in front of him, he cups her face with his hand. Large enough to almost engulf her, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. Any lingering insecurity drifts away when he feels relief from her. The sense that his presence eases a burden instead of creating one makes his heart flutter.

"Did you miss me?"

She turns her face into his palm, taking his closeness as a balm. Her eyes flutter shut.

What an odd question. Slowly, after thinking on it, she nods. It hadn't occurred to her to miss him -- she was uncertain she would ever see him again, in the flesh.

She also knows who he is now. His rank.

With him here, listening to his voice when she's only been replaying it in her memory, she realizes she had. She did miss him.

"You shouldn't be here." Despite that, there's no chiding in her voice. To the contrary. She nuzzles into his hand, lifting her own to trace over his arms. He had been in uniform before -- he isn't now. He almost looks. Well, normal. As normal as mutants are capable of being.

Cable's heart feels like it could flutter out of his chest when she answers his question without using words. He feels it both in her touch and by the energy she emits when she thinks about it.

He's never felt this way about anyone before. Even after fucking them. Even after he knew they'd fallen pregnant and had his children. She's the first one to reach into him like this.

"I know."

He murmurs, guiding her face closer for a deep kiss. All the loneliness and uncertainty he's felt leaves him, feeling her lips fills him with warmth. He can't get enough of her.

This isn't her first kiss, but her experience remains slant. She lets him guide her as he did weeks ago, her tongue sliding under his. Pleasure coils through her veins -- she's not sure if it's only her own, or if it's his as well.

She whimpers against his mouth, her fingers kneading at his shoulders. A noise borne of pleasure tonight instead of the sickness that she's been enduring.

Strangely, she feels shy about the condition she's found herself in -- that he put her in. But she craves to know his thoughts on the matter. Craves his approval in a primal way.

Drawn back a fraction, one of her hands slips between them to her stomach. "It's still very small ... A blip, almost. I got to see the sonogram, if you'd like me to show you."

Edited 2025-08-02 19:59 (UTC)

The kiss both sates a hunger he's had for weeks and somehow makes it worse. He doesn't want to be apart from her, he wants to draw her and their baby in and absorb them forever.

He pulls back slowly from the kiss, drawing himself up onto the bed to half-curl around her. They are not beds made for adult men, which is immediately apparent to him. Makes him realise how small she really is.

Following that thought, he places his hand over hers on her stomach. It looks right to him. His skin prickles pleasantly, he wonders if the baby feels him. If it can feel him. It's very small.

"Yeah." A single word, heavy with sincere happiness. His smile is lopsided and almost boyish, this is all a novelty to him.

"I wanted to make sure you were well. Both of you."

She looks pale and a little meek to him. She's tired-- but why wouldn't she be?

He curls up around her. She is pale, thinner than he'd remember. Bones jutting where they hadn't. She reaches under his hand to draw her nightshirt up, freeing the small swell for him to feel. His one hand stretches over her abdomen.

Afterward, her mind opens to him; it feels like taking a lid off of a jar, letting him slip in, rather than the crawling through he had first done or the natural skimming he does without thinking. Goosebumps spill over her skin. The memory of the ultrasound is an easy one to recall, always sitting at the forefront of her mind since. Cherished.

There are other memories likely to tip through for him -- the constant illness, the exhaustion, and more warmly, the awareness of their creation growing inside.

"I can feel it," she says, a shade of awe in her voice. "It's strong. So strong. More like you than me."

It feels instinctive the way he gathers her toward him. He presses his forehead against her temple, just appreciating the proximity to her. Part of him feels irritated by the fact that she's lost weight. He questions whether she's really in good hands. Whether anyone could really take care of her as well as he could.

The thoughts fade briefly as he shares the memory with her. He's never experienced anything like the way he feels-- real and visceral. He feels her excitement and her joy-- but he feels his own too. He can feel what he sees in her memories under his hand as well. His eyes feel wet but he doesn't realise he's crying.

"She's so small." He remarks, which feels like a terribly stupid thing to say. He realises, gradually, that he's not just feeling Francesca's powers. It's something else. It makes his hairs stand on end, like a calling. But he's not sure what he's being told.

His brow furrows.

"She's ours." He can feel Francesca just as much as himself. But he can feel she's powerful, that she's draining her mother already.

"She needs me." He murmurs, pressing his head firmer against Francesca's temple. His arms wind around her.

"You need me."

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