A/N: Predator x F!Reader. Breeding Kink. Painful smut. A lot of fluids. Over-stimulation. I’m running out of gifs.
Your fingers curl into the furs due to the immense pressure inside you. As T’atha’s claws rake the meat of your waist, he knocks you forward. You’ve hit your limit. Within his yurt, the air circulation has reached the consistency of honey. It steals every breath from your lungs and clogs your throat.
There are the rumbling grunts of your Yautja. He trills and clicks, too far gone to speak your language. He sheathes himself with a violent thrust, jerking a squeal off your tongue. Your elbows give out, your cheek crashing against the ground.
He wraps a muscular arm around your breasts, hauling you up so that he can glue his broad torso to your spine. He’s still rocking into you, his thick cock spearing you so deeply you can feel the head of it nudging your womb. He growls low, tusks scraping your shoulder as his abdominals bunch and flex with each sharp stroke.
Carefully, he eases his hand between your legs, using the pads of his fingers to tease the bud of your clit. The pleasure burns, coiling in the aching space of your core. He’s been going at it for hours - splitting you in every position imaginable.
“I can’t,” you sob as you slack in his grip, your nails biting into his forearm. “It’s-it’s too much.”
Your mate purrs - his chest vibrating against the crown of your skull. It soothes you, holding the same power as a lullaby. “You can, my little warrior. You’re doing so well.”
His enormous paw finds your hand, slowly lowering it to your cunt. He presses down - allowing you to feel how utterly stretched and full you are, his huge cock straining under the pillowy flesh of your mound. “Feel me? Your tiny sex is trying hard to keep me in there.”
Your other arm snakes up, fingers catching in the sensitive tubular dreads that sprout from his head. He snarls, quickening his pace to short, rough strokes. The small room echoes with the wet slap of his hips against your ass. Everything pulses like a heartbeat, spouting blood.
“How much seed have you been plowed with today?” He brushes his jaw across your cheek, stroking your belly. “It will take hold.” He rumbles, his length twitching in the fist of your cunt. He withdraws it all the way before driving forward, punching a gasp from your mouth. He is locked so deep that you don’t believe he can push further, yet he does centimeter by centimeter. There is not a breath between you. It is all tender and sticky. “I long to see you swell with my pups, mate.”
It is a rarity for a human to carry a Yautja baby, but he likes to pretend. In the heat of his rut, he will keep you splayed for him, pinned beneath his massive weight as he fucks you.
His hunting brothers are just outside - no doubt listening to their leader mount you repeatedly. They will tease you in the morning, sliding their hands across your stomach as they regard you knowingly. As much as they joke, it’s a double-edged sword. A Yautja fetus would suck you dry, perhaps break you on the way out. T’atha may fantasize and dream, but he has always made it clear that it would be risky if not potentially fatal.
“I’ve already sired many to assure my bloodline,” he said as he caressed your upper arm, claw tip tickling the soft flesh. “I would not risk you.”
Yet - he still enjoyed fucking for twenty-four hours pretending that he was pumping a baby into you.
“It is a Yautja custom,” he’d crooned as he slicked his cock against your opening in the early morning. You’d been half asleep; your thigh hitched over his waist. “Breed you until I have nothing more to give.” He cradled your face, mandibles clicking in the warm dark. “Only happens a few times a year. I can lock myself away if you do not wish it.”
Of course, you wouldn’t have locked him away. It was a heat that overwhelmed him; you wouldn’t leave him to suffer it alone or, God forbid, find someone else to help him.
Though he had ensured that you had come multiple times, you were at your limit.
You hadn’t realized that it would be hours of nonstop fucking. Not a single break or moment to breathe. You’re sticky with his spend, dripping in its warm fluid. Every drag of his cock, squishes through the several loads he’s already filled you with.
“Do not give out on me yet, mate,” he warns; the unforgiving length of his shaft twitches and throbs, practically keeping you upright.
As if to test the theory, he removes his arm, and you fall, collapsing face-first against his bedroll. He chuffs, apparently pleased that he’s thoroughly wrecked you. He nestles his cock in the crack of your ass, sliding it lazily so that you feel every ridge, vein, and how wet you have left him. As he lowers himself closer, he braces a hand above your head and clamps his other on your hip. His breath shifts your hair and beats down on your scalp. He nudges your thighs open with his leg, and the blunt head of his cock snags against your entrance. He is careful, entering you slowly so your aching flesh unfurls around his thickness. It hurts, but it also turns you on.
He is one perfect machine of evolution - powerful and dangerous and frantic for you.
Once he settles himself, you can feel the ridge of his pubic bone against your ass, his muscular thighs bracketing your own. He is rooted to the hilt, burrowing as far as possible. He draws out before shoving back in; every stroke is purposeful and meant to hit the center of your womb. As the heavy weight of his sack slaps the backs of your legs, it is accompanied by the slick noises of your cunt being pounded.
“Fuck,” you whimper; the only word you’ve been able to emit since this new round began.
His body goes rigid, each ragged breath reverberating into your lungs as his cock throbs inside you. You clench, lower muscles locking down as you rock back into him, and it’s just enough to make him come. He groans hoarsely before choking out a sound that could be human. The pleasure, desire, and outright primal nature of this sex have dragged him to the edge.
The hot gush of his finish blooms inside you, oozing out and wetting your inner thighs. It feels like there is no end to it as it seeps from the throbbing center of your pussy. Your Yautja growls in contentment before he eases himself out of your fucked out cunt. You try to lift yourself, but he stops you with a hand against your back.
Carefully, he reaches around to grip the front of your thighs, forcing your ass up so he can observe what he’s done to you. He shoves your knees apart, your cunt leaking as he holds you open in front of his face. You feel tentative fingers tracing the split flesh, gingerly pushing his seed back into your limp body.
He purrs again before you feel him nuzzle his mandible against your ass cheek. The room stinks of sex, and you smell only of him. He had told you how his previous mating went with other Yautja females. The violence of it - the difficulty in the act as he had to prove himself to breed.
You had freely given him what he asked, even though it had been painful. It has been endless, overwhelming, and wonderful, and you submitted to him because he had given you a choice. He wraps his arms around your waist, his rough palm soft against your belly. You understand the implication and fold your smaller hand over his. It’s likely not to happen, but you can pretend.
I saw Vol.333 of The Mandela Catalog, and I'm in panic!
I hope it doesn't end there but what is finished is Gabriel's drawing, it took me too long to procrastinate it the whole previous week, but finally I was able to finish the hair and some other details (/≧▽≦)/
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