sundown | mutant au

Cable has, at times, witnessed a woman crying. He's never been able to offer them comfort. When he feels tears pooling against his fingers, he wants to comfort her. Badly.

He pulls his mouth back, pulling her so her back is flush with his chest. He winds his arm tightly around her middle and buries his face against her neck. He feels fear, he wants to soothe it. He also wants her to feel free to use her voice.

With focus, he creates a space of silence around them. It should stop the stirring of the other bodies in the room.

When her climax is over, he guides her back to her knees. He pushes his pants down his hips and pulls her back by the thighs. There's no warning. One second she's empty and the next she's stretching around his cock.

"Do you want to be my girl?"

She didn't return the declaration-- he doesn't expect it. He doesn't need it. For the first time, it's something he can give unconditionally.

But he does ache for her to want him too.

She makes a noise, one similar to the first breaching. But this time, she knows better, knows to wait it out. Wade past the original discomfort of being stretched open.

She can feel the hum of silence around them, plucking at the edges of her conscious. Tentatively, she feels her way at it, focusing on that as a distraction from the initial pain when he begins to roll his hips -- until she feels the itch to do the same, her body slicking for a better ease.

For a long while, there's no answer, save their shallow breathing and the noise of their bodies meeting. It's not very fair of him to ask her this when he's inside her, when her body and heart are in desperate agreement.

She yelps pleasure at a particular rut, her head bowing, and nods erratically. "But we can't -- it's not allowed --"

"We can." He says it like he knows. He doesn't. But he's optimistic. They both feel how powerful their girl is. If all of their children are like her, surely it serves to let them make more.

"We're a good match-- We'll make more mutants. Powerful ones."

He's breathless, even though his cock moves in long, slow rolls of his hips. Dragging against her, teasing the head against her hole and pressing back in until he's as deep as he can go.

"Maybe if I keep you pregnant they'll have nothing to complain about."

His hands push her shoulders down, a little forceful as he gives himself better access to her cunt. He starts moving faster, but not fast.

"I've never wanted anything as much as I want you."

It's a nice thought, a nice dream. Her heart and cunt flutter in unison, persuaded by the confidence imbued in his declarations and the sweetness of his confession.

Maybe they'll listen to him--maybe--

His hips buck into her and she drops to her elbows, keening pleasure. Her fingertips glide down her body, past the hem of her t-shirt, over her stomach. They brush against the pressure of his cock. Head bowed, she stares at the swell in her belly as he fucks her. In the next few seconds, she tenses, the sight causing her to shatter around him.

Cable watches her vigilantly, studying her hand as it disappears under her to cup her belly. He feels her clench and it surprises him that it comes so soon after her first.

His hand winds around her, enveloping her belly with his hand. It's both protective and possessive. The hand on her is gentle, his hips are not. His thighs smack against the backs of hers, making them both jiggle from the fast, erratic pace of his thrusts.

"That's my fucking girl." He hisses it at her. She never said it back. He desperately wants to hear it, but he'll reinforce it until she believes it. He knew fucking her once more was never going to be enough, he's going to need to service her far more.

"You'll never have a baby in your belly that's not mine." His free hand slides into her hair, taking a gentle fistful of it and pulling lightly on it.

"Soon you'll be in my bed-- never let you leave it."

This climax was a surprise to her as well. She has never brought herself to more than two in a row, but the way he pounds into her mercilessly feels so good, she thinks she can go again. If their first time was anything to go by.

She groans and whines and moans wildly, sounding far more like an animal in heat than anything else. If somebody caught her like this, she would surely die.

"Yes, yes, yes." Every one is exhaled at the end of a thrust, his thighs clapping against hers. Her eyes are all but rolling back into her head.

"I'll give you however many babies you want-- just don't stop!"

Somehow, Cable doesn't need to see her face to know the expression she's making. He bites down on his bottom lip, gripping her thighs tightly as he holds on. These moments will be rare, he's sure, he wants to get as much out of it as he can.

"Fuck-- you're a good girl." He sounds like he's in awe of her. He bucks his hips forward, making her fall forward on her front. It doesn't stop him, he hooks his hands around her hips and pulls her on and off his cock like a sleeve.

Cable falls silence, just breathing harshly and hissing through his teeth. His hands press her down onto his cock as he peaks, draining his cock into her. As he descends, his arms wind around her and he spreads his hand over her stomach.

"Your pussy's going to ruin me."

She doesn't come again, but that doesn't make it feel any less amazing, being fucked and filled like the good breeder she is. She's really grown into her role.

Her hips still roll beneath him, as if she can milk every last drop. Making good on that remark. Her mouth issues contented moans and sighs, her forehead pressed to the grooves of the floor. It was cold, but her hot skin has warmed it.

"That was ... " She really has no words for it, but she understands why he needed to see her. She needed that, too. She smiles. "Amazing."

Unable to articulate a compliment that sums it up any better, Cable hums. He rolls her into his arms and sits up, crosslegged with her in his lap. His fingers brush against her cheek before he cups her face. He draws her head closer, touching their foreheads together. A few focused thoughts and her nausea and discomfort will be resolved for days. He'll hold it for as long as he can.

As it happens, he has plenty of opportunity to refresh the psychic hold he has on her symptoms. He sees her almost every second day at this point. He's growing reckless and unconcerned.

They're muted by his powers, but through the gap in the curtain Francesca is visibly bent over her bed while Cable bounces against her backside and fucks her like nobody's watching. But they are.

The morning after his visit, her nausea and weakness are gone. Just like that. There's some idle curiosity, some latent disappointment. Speculation that the child isn't an omega after all. Nobody really says anything to her about it. Every viable pregnancy is a successful one.

Francesca keeps their time together to herself, knowing it's disallowed. Nathan visits her as often as he can. Sometimes, it's just in her mind, to check up on her, to make sure their baby is doing well. And she is. Growing, thriving.

At eight weeks, she's starting to show. Both her expanding stomach, and some manifesting side effects. Things begin to float away or disappear. She can hear voices -- thoughts that aren't her own. Her own powers sharpen and strengthen.

When he fucks her, it takes her mind off of everything. On her knees, face down in the bedding, she doesn't notice the pair of eyes on them. One of his hands presses her down at the top of her back, pinning her there. She's already peaked twice, once while he ate her out and the second when he fingered her before sliding in to fuck her properly. It's his turn.

So distracted, neither of them is aware of being found out by one of her peers, or of an authority figure being called upon to stop them, until the curtains are ripped away and her name is barked out.

Cable knows their baby is an omega. They're powerful. They already communicate. Simple exchanges, but she's developing impressively fast. He knows it drains Francesca. He does everything he can to give her relief.

For a time, he was worried by how slim she had become. Now she's keeping food down and filling out. He finds he likes it. Even though he can sense the life in her, having a hand on her belly while he fucks her makes him feel closer to them both.

This combination of the love he has for Francesca and the love he has for his baby seems to really peak his hormones. And yet. He struggles to satisfy himself. He can't even will himself to impregnate anyone else. Can't sustain interest in anything but her. Them.

It makes him irrational and irritable. So much so that the interruption angers him-- even when he knows he's been caught red-handed. It infuriates him, even though he's a traitor. His pants slide back up and Francesca is pulled behind his back.

"Leave."

Averse to confrontation, and summarily frightened to have been found out, she shrinks behind Nathan when he assumes the defense. The pleasure and joy to have him with her ripped out from beneath her, replaced by cold fear.

She had told him it was a bad idea. That they would be caught. And here they are.

She hides behind him anyways, ears pink, eyes down.

The headmistress is a formidable woman, coiled hair and appraising eyes. Her voice is smooth. She regards them with something dangerously close to disdain.

"I am afraid I cannot do that. You'll find Francesca is under my charge. Mm. So, no." Though she rose her voice to get their attention, she seems at ease now -- even facing down somebody as dangerous as Cable, who she undoubtedly recognizes. "I would say you are breaking roughly a dozen rules right now. Your superiors will be notified."

Francesca's fingers curl around his wrist, squeezing. Trying to keep him calm. Willing him to be calm, with her own power.

The headmistress is vaguely familiar to Cable. She's risen through the ranks in a way most mutants can't stomach. Granted, Cable has little interest in being the headmaster of a girl's school. Well. Not until recently.

His nose crinkles when he scowls, visibly disgusted by her. His anger starts to peak-- then it drops off distinctly. He feels the squeeze of her fingers on his wrist and shoots an irritated look at Francesca.

"Stop it."

But the calm and the distraction buy the guards accompanying Charlotte with the opportunity they need to snap a de-powering collar onto Nathan. He pulls away from Francesca, not by choice, but because his arms are being pulled behind his back. He's being restrained, which makes him furious. It makes him struggle, which makes the guards rougher when they start to lead him away.

She doesn't expect them to do that. She just doesn't want him to hurt anyone, least of all himself.

The last thing she ever wants is to see him hurt. When he's not with her, she spends much of her hours missing him and worrying about what he's doing, what could happen to him while he's away from her. It weighs heavily on her mind and nerves.

Francesca panics, trying to make a run for him, but being pulled back midway.

"Stop! Stop it, let him go, he didn't -- he didn't mean it. He came for me -- it's my fault --" The energy in the room begins to change, to almost ripple with something. Her distress bleeding out.

Initially, the guards ignore her. The nurses are trying to whisk her away to inspect her, sedate her. She's the most valuable thing in the room-- or at least, the mutant growing inside of her is.

Exemplified by the sudden display of powers. Immediately apparent that it isn't Francesca, some skepticism about whether it's from Nathan. Then a dawning realisation. Nathan's voice reaches their daughter, if Francesca hears it, she knows the message isn't for her.

"Stop."

Nathan stops fighting the guards, his hands drop obediently behind his back. He'll let himself be lead away.

She hears the command. Presumably, so does their baby. The pulsating ebbs away. The walls felt like they were closing in around them, the tension swelling in the room.

Everyone in the dormitory is awake now, disheveled with sleep. All eyes on the scene they're making.

The headmistress scrutinizes an anxious Francesca and turns to Cable with obvious pleasure. "Interesting. Very interesting." She snaps her fingers at the guards holding him at attention. "See that he's taken back to wherever it is they put grunts."

He's followed by brown eyes, dewy and sad, until she can no longer see him.

His punishment comes swiftly in the form of electroshock therapy-- one of the few things that really seems to get under his skin. It leaves him feeling too dull and too scattered to fight. It's the perfect time to reinforce the rhetoric. He's an important part in something bigger than him, this is about the survival of mutants and his compliance is important. He knows that. He should know that his fixation on Francesca could compromise his efforts so far-- and it will endanger her.

That doesn't sit well with him.

So it's a few weeks before he can't resist, but it's been a daily struggle that brings him to this point. He tries to fight the way he feels, tries to push her out of his mind. He's consumed by worry for her and their child, but he tries desperately to other himself from them. They're a mother and child. His involvement is unnecessary and he's certainly no father.

But the worry eats at him when he comes to find out that she's in a bad way. That there's talk of moving her to a different facility, because she's ill. He knows he'll never get to her now, but he has other options at his disposal.

It's after midnight, so he hopes she's somewhere private. He probes her mind gently before he announces herself, checking it's a good time without asking. When he's satisfied, he calls out to her in a gentle but concerned tone:

"Francesca?"

What Francesca comes to understand, over passing days and weeks, is that Cable wants nothing to do with her. Them.

Probably not of his own volition, at least at first. She knows the tryst for what it was -- an illegal arrangement. He could be discharged, were he not so valuable. But he is.

She had reached out to him, the next morning after his forced departure, across a mental pathway that he had first paved. Leaning forward, spanning miles to find him. Driven out of concern, an aching want to know that he's okay, even knowing it is wrong to even try to communicate with him.

She finds him -- or maybe it's the life inside her, gravitating to him like a moth to light.

But he doesn't see fit to answer. Not then, not the next day.

And then he's simply -- gone.

She's lonely, and then she's angry, so angry with him. Betrayed by a loss that wounds her so much more deeply than she thought it would.

Whatever he'd done, wherever he had gone, the results are swift. Without him to share it, her body and life force has to contend with the burden of the pregnancy alone. She becomes too ill to sustain anger, progressively worse and worse, until she is bed bound entirely. If there were doubts, they are gone. The clinicians worry whether she will be able to continue like this. They strap her to the bed, feed her fluids and sedatives.

He finds her in a different state than he left her.

She's deliriously tired when she hears it, a voice she can no longer recognize, one of so many these days. She struggles to sit upright, her mind pitching with fear as she scans her surroundings. An empty sick room, dimmed lights. Finding no one. Her eyes squeeze shut.

"No. No -- you aren't there. You aren't real."

Along with feeling tremendously guilty, he feels furious. When he projects into his mind, he can feel everything. He can feel the last few, lonely weeks in her memories.

Before he can agonise much, he has to contend with the fact that he feels furious as well. He's alone, but not really, because there are people stationed outside his room. It takes will power not to kill them-- though he wonders why he offers them grace.

He can't make things worse for her, that he knows.

Before he can assure her, the little life growing in her recognises him just as well. It sends feelings of relief and joy through her, identifying him with certainty.

He feels it too. Troubling, because he's desperate to feel her belly again.

"It's me. I'm here."

The feelings of joy are so immense. Blinding. Their daughter recognizes him before she does. It's enough to jolt Francesca out of her stupor.

"... Nathan?"

Gentle, hopeful. Afraid it's a mirage or delusion. Mentally, she focuses -- and feels his presence, like a weight in her head. Welcomed. The relief that cascades through her body and soul is potent.

"You came back. I thought --" She was afraid he wouldn't.

Edited 2025-10-02 09:08 (UTC)

"I thought I was doing you more harm than good."

He offers her an answer without making her seek it out. Bitterly, he thinks he was made to feel that way. His pride won't let him say that part out loud.

"I was wrong." Obviously.

He probes deeper, trying to offer something to soothe her.

"I love you." He adds, after mutual silence.

"Both of you."

She sits in quiet dread and desperation, hearing him out.

He doesn't say it, but she begins to infer that somebody else ingrained that train of thought into him. He'd never seemed to worry about his place with her -- with them before they were caught. He was very emphatic that he didn't care about the opinions of others to that end.

Francesca knows the punishment for disobedience and rebellion. It makes her angry. It makes her sad that he let himself believe it. The most powerful mutant she knows.

She doesn't breach that yet. Let's his admissions wash over her.

Finally, she acknowledges him.

"We know."

She sounds tired. And distrustful of what that love means. Because he's not here. Because they're both government property.

"She misses you. Terribly."

There are some caged bird metaphors that are extraordinarily relevant. If, in the metaphor, the bird could kill it's captors with it's mind. It just doesn't know it yet.

It's strange to him that Hope, draining her mother of her strength, shows him just a fraction of his potential. Maybe it's because he's never wanted anything as much as he's wanted a family. He's never been as close to it as he is now. The tangible reality of his dream makes him more inclined to push on things he would normally ignore.

It bleeds into Francesca's mind. His dreams and hers. He's growing tired of being a disconnected voice, so the foundations of a shared vision start to appear in Francesca's mind's eye.

"Close your eyes and pretend to sleep."

It makes it easier for him to slip into the driver's seat. When he reaches with his mind, she'll feel his hands on her forearms. When she opens her eyes, she'll see him.

He looks clean shaven and healthy, which is not an accurate portrayal. He's scraggly and weary outside of their minds, but this is their place. There's no reason to present as anything but happy.

When he realises it's working, his arms close around her. Pulling her into his chest, putting his hand on her head.

Things within her field of vision begin to bend and manipulative themselves. She can't be sure it's him, or if it's Hope. Her powers has been growing in leaps and bounds; it's a not insignificant part of why they have kept her sedated. She doesn't know that.

She's naive. Still. Even as jaded as she's becoming, she doesn't grasp quite the reasons behind why the people in charge want to restrict her movement.

They're both chained animals. Nathan is just more inclined to chew his leg off right now.

Trusting him -- choosing to trust him -- she closes her eyes. When she opens them, it's not the yellowing walls of the clinic. She's not in a sick bed.

And he's there. The pressure of his hands around her arms. Not simply a voice.

His name falls from her lips, an octave above a breath. Close to a prayer. Her forehead falls onto his chest, her eyes swimming with tears of a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

He looks well -- she does not, with a belly significantly grown from the last time they saw each other. It presses against his own, her arms looping around his neck.

"You're real?"

His fingers bury into her hair and grip at the fabric of her clothes. His chin drops so he can press his lips against the top of her head, smoothing his hand down her hair.

There's a strange warmth between them, so subtle he can't parse if it's just body heat, his mind filling blanks or Hope reaching out to both of them. He does know that it feels nice. It doesn't heal the ache, but it soothes it.

"That's complicated." Because it really depends on her interpretation of "real".

"But it's me-- I couldn't-- I can't stay away. I need to show them that you need me."

mutant au | cable

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