A small deadpool fanfic cause Im bored and sitting in a car
"Can you believe that theres people that just learn Para Para just like that?" You snap your fingers and ask as your friend restarts the video.
"I knooooow. Its so haaard" She whines, watching the screen. Her bracelets jingling as she moves her arms with the video. You try to copy her and end up wacking her in the face. She holds her nose, laughing hysterically.
"IM SO SORRY. OH MY GOD" You laugh out, grabbing her face to see if shes okay. She swats your hands away.
"WATCH THE MAKE UP. THE MAKE UP (Y/N)!!" She screams. A loud thunk behind you guys causes both of you to jump. You both turn around slowly.
"You guys are clearly doing it wrong" The man clad in red and black says.
"Oh jesus christ dp. Scare the shit out of us, why dont ya" Christine says, rushing over and jumping on Wade's shoulders. You watch as his masks eyes roll, trying to hold up chrissy.
"Hey! Thats my man!" You say as you start running over to him too. He turns just in time for you to latch onto him, pushing all 3 of you to the ground.
"Oh yeah? Why don't you show us your ways, oh powerful Para Para god" You say through laughing. Christine sits up and rubs at her back.
"Dude my dia belt just stabbed the shit out of my back. You can't just jump at people (Y/n)" She scolds.
"You did the exact same thing bitch. Try again" You said, pushing her face away from yours.
"I'll show you what a powerful Para Para god can do. Once my back heals back into place" Wade jokes out from under you two. You stand up and help chrissy off the ground. You stare down at dp as he slowly sits up, shaking his head.
"Come on wade. Show us how its done" Chrissy says as she holds out her absolutely bedazzled phone. Dp watches as the video plays.
Im so intelligent. Just thought to download a fake texting app to put funny quotes my bf's (who has D.I.D) alters say. Idk its like a funny keep sake thing ig. Get to make them cursed "contacts"
" wait, what's that sound?! " males of dispatch x gn! afab! reader because i dislike the use of gendered nicknames ♡ || robert, royd, punch up, waterboy x gn! afab! reader
cw: nsfw & 18+ content ahead, of course fem anatomy used, breeding kink ofc, established relationship, implied virgin! reader, lowkey talks about kids in robert's part LOL you can see it as adoption instead as well :3,
synopsis. "taking it raw for the first time" w/ dispatch guys :)
wc: ~6k ; not proofread, might be ooc! also mostly err fluffy lil intros -> rough sx... can you tell i got tired of writing escalation to sex after a while HAHA
?! robert traced his nose down your collarbone from behind you, strong arms start to wrap around your waist whilst you cooked your usual breakfast before heading back to bed.
i mean, today was a weekend, there was nothing better than to just go back and cuddle with your husband,
beef always nudging your feet everywhere now and them while waiting for his own food, barking almost in a hushed tone.
"you two both seem pretty hungry, hm?" you let out a chuckle as you reached over for one of the snacks off the desk, "catch, beefy!" tossing it into the air at the dog proudly biting onto it, happily walking off to the living room.
"you and your son have so much in common." "you mean our son? of course he'd take after his father."
you feel a chin settle on your shoulder, and a head fit into the empty space beside your nap, "yes, mr. robertson?" "please, don't call me that, angel." you let out a small laugh before asking something out of the blue—
"rob, have you ever thought what our kids would look like?" you gaze at your side, looking at him expectantly; tilting as you watch him cough in surprise.
"s-sorry, what baby?" "like .. do you think our features match well enough?"
he stared at you like you just admitted to a war crime as he took a breather at the table, and it's not because he hasn't thought about it, it's because he didn't know how to bring it up.
after a while in silence, you placed his meal in front of him, "you wanna try?"
you don't know what you were thinking when you said that, but you couldn't say much anyway, not when you were bent over the dining table, his hand was already dug into the strands of your scalp; pushing your pretty little face right onto the table.
"wahh—nnghh, hah, mmf! h-harder pleasef-" you whine out as his cock kisses your insides, making obscene sounds neighbors would complain about. your entrance squelched loudly every thrust that slapped against your ass. literally hissing at the burn of how far his cock stretched you out.
"o-ohh, fuck—yeah, you really... haahfuck, want my kids in you, yeah?" throwing his head back promptly, he felt so insanely turned on by how hard your tight pussy was clenching onto his dick, it felt like it was about to snap off of him.
"nngh, hah... r—rob, f—uuck! s'good...!" you moaned loudly into the surface of the table; you shut your eyes close, your words fumble as your cheeks indent into the counter, your shorts pooled at your ankles. hands grasping at the fat of your hips, continuing with merciless pistons of his hips into yours.
his smile grows into a smirk, watching your hole let his cock sink into you; your entrance shudders around him, making him twitch in return; your hands grip at the wood of the table, barely holding onto to it,
"f—fuck, i'm gonna... gonna fuck a kid into you." you gasped, lip quivering as you shudder under the pressure building up in your stomach. "they're gonna be so fuckin' adorable, jus'—haah, imagine... their cute lil' faces.."
his hand adjusts its grasp in your hair, lifting you up so he could see your face better, "jus' look at th—eir beautiful fuc-fucking parent they're g—haah-gonna have... y-your eyes... and my head of hair."
"fuuuck, you feel th—aat? all for you, angel." he cooed into your ear, his finger tracing your jaw gently as you continue to whine in pleasure. the helpless rolls of his hips into yours spiked euphoria up into you, "ahhn- rob, w—what would you w-wanna name her i-if she were a girl."
a hard thrust spears right through you, "roxanne sounds good, don't you think?" he smirks, pulling your head up by your hair; one arm now holding you up as he continues to hit your insides up. "god i'm gonna be very... hah.. confused if you don't get pregnant, mmm—by t-tonight."
you didn't know if you felt overwhelmed or not, but god were you crying so fucking happily; you haven't had anyone fuck you at all, not anyone good at least. "e—every other guy that's fucked you never got you this pleased, mmm?" letting out a huff through ragged words, he was so in love with you.
"fuck, i needed this. needed you." he mumbled into your skin, your skin scattered with bites of love blessed your shoulders and collarbones, your legs were already quivering, twitching even; his pace was one you weren't even aware about.
he grinned at how helpless you were, god was he just loving this, no matter how little sleep he got last night; this fully woke him up, of course it would. he hadn't heard you moan like this since the first time you two got to make out, and that was a while ago. you two never thought of having kids... well, until you brought it up. which would be now—two weeks after your wedding.
"holy shiiit, god you feel so fuckin' good, baby—mmmfuck! hold it right there, angel, right there." he could tell with the way you were being pushed to your climax, that's when you would clench around him hard, although it already was a tight fit on your own. his voice was like a growl of that an animal, animalistic and sharp thrusts that made you shiver.
"nnh, ahhh— fuck i-i think i will, rob, mmn please!" you whimper, he loved to hear the desperation in your voice grow. "i'm gonna breed you, im gonna fucking breed you, fuckfuckfuck—"
his arms surround your waist before you felt your climax strike in unison with spurts of come that touched your womb, making your eyes roll back into your skull, you both moan loudly in unison,
juices mixed with both yours and his drip to the floor, you lean backwards, your head landing onto one of his broad shoulders, his muscley arms keep you in place. "fuck, you did good, angel. so, so proud of you."
you smile weakly before giving a shy kiss onto his lips, your hand on the back of his head. "love you so much rob."
...
"BEEF DON'T DRINK THAT—"
cw: used hawaiian nickname/s ive heard from tv shows :sob:
royd was directly behind you, helping with dishes, you wash the dirt off, he scrubs the soap on, and you place them into the plate dryer, it was the life... except you felt like something was missing...
"thanks for helping baby." you reached up to kiss him as you take your dish gloves off, taking a seat on a kitchen counter nearby. swinging your legs as you smile at your husband.
"no problem, m'lady. anything else?" ... "would you be down to breed me?"
his eyes widen for a moment, showing his clear surprise until it fades into a smile; "y-you what, my love?" his glance moved over to the sink, cleaning the dirt built at the bottom to avoid looking you straight in the eye, "where are you looking, roy? come on! i wanna know if you've been thinking what i have recently!"
"i have been thinking.... ever since we got married, but ehh... i din know if ya wanted 'em too." he sighed, rubbing the back of his nape, you laugh a little at his response,
"don't worry, it's just a question. but i... i want you to feel good too." and there you go, he couldn't even stop you because god he's been wanting a few for a long, long time. but why would he ever force you?
"sorry, i'm just— i know it might... it might hurt, but i'm willing to take you." "keep talking, and i think i might."
you were already bent over the kitchen counter, his cock lined up right between your thighs, touching the very surface of your clit, but only merely using your thighs for friction and pleasure. "fuck, y—you feel amazin' ipo... haah."
you whined at the way he easily manhandled your thighs, your cunt getting wetter by the second; sadly only to be pleased by rubbing against your folds, and not actually inside you...
"i... i'll let ya think about dis, first, 'kay? i'mma fuck your thighs first..." his voice was soft, but god was his cock absolutely monster sized, your thighs could barely cover half of it, "nnh, but i wan' it now..." whining with plead so dearly, he usually wouldn't be able to resist, but he wanted you to be able to back out whenever you wanted,
after all it was your first time. he didn't want you to feel anything you didn't.
your clothes were somewhere over there, your legs were twitching around him making him groan with volume. you squeezed your thighs together on impulse whilst he slowly moved your lower body in and out the friction.
you felt your juices slowly dripping onto your inner thighs as well, his big mushroom tip pushing through the cleavage of your skin making you cry in waves of pleasure as he continued to over, and over again.
"you make it hard, hard n—not to thrust i-into you..." he coos into your ear, you could only get off to the rub you got from his shaft; "mmfuck, please, royd, i wan' it...!" you cried out, you don't know if this was his way of teasing,
he suddenly removed himself, and flipped you over to lay on your back. "oh my—fuck!" and there it was, barely an inch in and you could feel a singing burn, god did he stretch you out so, so badly. and you loved it so much; when the hell did he get tattoos on his cock?!
you could see his inked up shaft slowly enter inside you as you let out one long, loud mouthful cry of pleasure.
"do ya like it? cause sshit, you right.. you do feel nice..."
thirty minutes later, he had your legs up on his large shoulders, your body sloped up slightly, a very, very clear belly bulge was in your stomach, which only turned the both of you on all the more. "nghh—f-uuuckk, royd so good... mmn- sshit, so good!" you exclaimed, lust filling your entire body; his cock felt fucking amazing going up into your tight pussy,
"s-so fucking good for me, ipo..." he whispered into your ear, bending your body into a tight mating press, your face was clear with corruption as your eyes were consistently rolled back into your skull, back arching every thrust he gave you. loud squelches bounce off all the interior.
cw: brief usage of a foreign petname!
punch up, aka colm's hands were strong, you loved the way he could pick you up, and throw you around without any difficulty, which could probably be said about right now.
"ooh- nghh, f—uuck! colm, r-right there..." his arms lifted you up and down so so so easily, you swear you felt you were being split in half the way he had almost no doubt whilst fucking you up and down onto his cock.
only a mere mirror as his reference to see your expression, your body, and how your body reacted to his. watching the milky ring on the base of his cock grow in unison with his smirk, "y-yeah, y'like it, mo chride?" you moaned at the sudden use of the petname, and god did you love hearing his accent.
it was the first time you two got to fuck in a while, work taking up 3/4 his schedule; and now here he was, fucking his pretty little partner on the edge of the bed while he lifted them up and down, controlling the pace of how often his tip gets to hit your sweet, spongy core.
water droplets of sweat fell off your body, off your forehead, your arms, everywhere, you had just come out the shower, and he couldn't wait any longer to take you now. steam fogged up the reflective surface, yet he could still make out your figure through all of it. your bath towel was thrown to the side,
the air conditioner was loud with cool gliding over your body, making you shiver as you continue to ride him. gummy walls closed in around his cock, making him groan loudly as well, his shaft covered in your juices and his.
you shut your eyes close in euphoria, feeling him bulge into your tummy oh-so well. despite any rumor that he has a small dick, it could not be further from the truth.
"fuck, 'm g'na cum in ya, sshit!"
waterboy, also known as your herman, was shriveled up and submitting to your touch as you pulled on his tie. slightly choking him as you dipped your entrance on his cock once more; "ffuck, baby... s—so good... nnnh!" he whimpered underneath you, face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure.
his eyebrows knit together in pleasure, raising his face to look up at you with your finger, "look at me, herm, please? need to see your face when you cum inside me, 'kay?"
your voice was soft, and caring, just like the one he fell in love with, and god he wanted you even more whenever you treated him like this. pathetic when your warm cunt takes all of his big, nerdy dick inside you. watching it enter you was what turned you on even more than the praise you give him,
"f—uuuck! so.. good, mmf..." his voice cracked, he was so in love with how you control whatever happened right now, even as you placed his palms over your ass, and your hands land on his shoulders. " hold onto me, maybe you'll fall apart earlier than usual." ah, there was that adorable giggle, he was just eating what-fucking-ever you gave him,
"mmmn, fuck, i could do this for hours, k—keep mumbling like that and i might actually."
it was the first time you got to take your herman raw, usually he'd want to be safe, but per request, he wanted to take all of you on him, and he was happy he was the cause of that gorgeous bulge in your stomach.
"can see those hearts in your eyes, baby, you really like when i ride you, don't you?" you tease into his ear, playing with his hair gently, unlike the rhythm of your hips sinking onto his.
In which you jump out of a moving car to spite Boyfriend!Sukuna
“—because he was just making conversation!”
Sukuna scoffs, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Bullshit. That guy wanted to fuck you.”
“Oh my god. So what!” you yell. “It’s not like I was gonna fucking let him!”
“Coulda fooled me.”
Just like that, your angry face, which matches his, warps into one of calm decision. With speed he doesn’t see coming, you unbuckle your seatbelt, push open the passenger door and jump out of the moving car into the dead of night.
The car screeches to a halt not even a second later.
You’re pushing yourself up and testing the soreness in your ankle when a car door slams shut and Sukuna comes marching over to you. “You crazy, fucking bitch!” he snaps. Sukuna grabs your face, growling when you try to pull away. He inspects every inch of you, brows furrowed, and piercings glinting under the streetlights. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“I got a bitch ass boyfriend, that’s what’s wrong with me,” you grumble.
He ignores that. “You break anything? Wrist? Ankle? Dislocated your shoulder?” You shake your head. “Well, that’s a fucking shame.” Though as he says that, he can’t quite hide the tremors in his hands. Quieter now, he mutters with a tight frown, “Scratched your pretty face up. Fuck. Lost your one redeeming quality.”
“Okay, so I’m gonna walk home,” you say, deadpan. “I’ll see you around, asshole.”
Sukuna runs a hand through his hair with a frustrated noise. Then he smacks his lips against yours before you can actually start walking away (not that he’d let you get very far). “Alright, alright. You fucking win. Congrats. Christ. Get back in the car — we’re going to the hospital to get you checked out. Fucking dumbass.”
A hospital visit later, you’re in bed with him, cuddled up like nothing happened. It’s how arguments with him tend to go; neither of you really hold grudges against each other. Not when you’ve fucked any grievances out after. The last mention of today’s incident, however, comes in his sleepy mumble against the top of your head: “push me out instead.”
“Hmm?”
Sukuna’s hold around your body tightens, threatening to suffocate you with his hard chest. “Don’t jump out of the car. It’s stupid. Your body’s weak. Skin bruises easily. Cuts easily too. Just kick me out instead. I deserve it, I know... bonus points if it's into oncoming traffic.”
"Y/n, look honey you're doing it wrong THIS CAN'T GO ON LIKE THIS!!!" Wade shouted right next to you while you covered your ears, hissing angrily at him. "Wade I'm not deaf I can hear you!" you yelled back, giving him a sharp glare.
He grabbed your cheeks tightly as you looked up. "Even though I warned you, you kept doing it wrong. For a moment I doubted your hearing maybe but..."
"Wade..."
He squeezed your cheeks even tighter between his hands. "You know sometimes I get a little too excited, and so do you. Though that's not relevant to our conversation, my sweetie pie,"
"Wa-"
"Shhh I know you're tired and stressed. I am too. But I’m still less tired than you, believe me. Anyway, you shouldn't stress yourself too much, maybe your milk supply might decrease because of it later. We wouldn't want a baby born in the 21st century to make history by starving in prosperity-"
You brought your hands tightly to his masked ears and pinched them hard. "Wade Wilson! Stop interrupting me when I'm talking to you! My god, the baby hasn't even arrived yet but you're already making all this noise!" You pulled Wade towards you, still holding his ears tightly. Wade stared at you with wide, bulging eyes. "When the doctor said I needed to rest, meant my mind believe me! And this child..." You glanced sideways at the dummy baby and the diapers you bought for learning purposes behind you. "Anyway since I...I'm doing it wrong my love..." You released his ears and gently cupped his cheeks. "Then good luck cleaning up poop in 5 months." You kissed him through his mask and stood up. Since he was whining about you doing it wrong and wanted to take matters into his own hands, you had to give him what he wanted. Before leaving him alone in the room with a strange sense of triumph, you slapped your surprised husband's butt.
Prompt: He doesn’t want to wake you up for such an unnecessary thing, but his dick making it impossible for him to be able to sleep. He has work tomorrow for fucks sake.
Pairing: Robert Robertson (Mecha Man) x reader
Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, consensual somnophilia, dirty talk, praising, vaginal sex, creampie, this man just needed a good nut
A/N: first time writing for this munch, might be a bit ooc, this scenario has been swimming on my mind for the past couple of days, don’t judge me too hard 😭😭
Masterlist
He drags a palm over his chest, then back down his stomach, like he’s trying to manually reboot his entire reproductive system. Nothing. His dick is still there, still throbbing like it’s trying to send an SOS signal through the sheets. At this point he’s convinced the universe is laughing at him.
He tries the responsible adult thing: deep breaths, unclenching his jaw, thinking about taxes, spreadsheets, that one coworker who microwaves fish at lunch. Nothing helps. In fact, he somehow gets harder, which should be physically illegal.
Robert presses the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing his brain to shut up and his dick to give up. No dice. The damn thing twitches in his boxers like it’s mocking him.
He grits out a sigh that feels like it’s shaved five years off his life.
“For the love of—go. down.”
His cock remains in full rebellion mode.
He stares over at you again. Peaceful. Cozy. Curled into the blankets like some mythical sleep creature who doesn’t suffer from nighttime biohazards. You look so soft. So warm. So absolutely not something he should be waking up for this bullshit.
But the longer he looks, the worse the problem gets. His body is basically going, Oh, look, comfort and love and safety? Cool, let’s funnel all blood resources to the dick immediately. Idiot.
Robert drops back against the pillow with another pathetic groan. His eyes are half-lidded, exhausted, begging for mercy. “You gotta be kidding me,” he mutters to the ceiling, which does nothing but stare back like it’s judging him.
It doesn’t help that his hips keep trying to move. Little, desperate shifts like he’s subconsciously grinding for friction. It’s humiliating. He feels like he’s trapped in some low-budget late-night infomercial titled Man Fights God for Right to Sleep, Loses.
He grunts through his teeth, fed up but not beaten, and drags a shaky hand down his stomach. He’s so wrung out he can barely keep his eyes open, but he wraps his fingers around his cock anyway, desperate enough to try again even though he already knows how this ends.
He should’ve asked his therapist for those insomnia meds. Should’ve swallowed his pride and admitted he can’t sleep for shit. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t be lying here at two-something in the damn morning with a hard-on that refuses to clock out.
His grip tightens as he pumps his cock, slow at first, then faster when his hips start twitching up to meet his hand on their own. He groans low, biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t wake you. Precum slicks his palm instantly, letting him stroke up and down without resistance. The wet slide only makes him shiver harder.
Please, he thinks, almost praying at this point. Please just work. I’m begging you.
His muscles tighten. Heat coils low in his stomach again, creeping up his spine like a fuse burning fast. He pants quietly, breath stuttering with every upward jerk of his hips. He can feel it—his high gathering, swelling, seconds from breaking.
It’s right there. Right there.
Why can’t he just fall over the edge?
His thighs tense. His balls pull tight. His back arches off the mattress.
Then his body seizes up.
The pleasure spikes—then stalls. Locks. Refuses.
He chokes on a groan, frustration tearing through him like fire.
“Fuck!” he snarls under his breath, voice raw, letting go of his twitching length because touching it hurts now. “Fuck…”
His dick jerks against his stomach, angry, swollen, and absolutely no closer to giving him the one thing he needs to sleep.
He’s exhausted. He’s furious. And he’s no closer to relief than when he started.
He closes his eyes, just for a second, letting exhaustion drag through him like static. When he turns toward you, it’s instinct, gravity, something primal pulling him in. His arm slips around your waist, and the moment his skin meets yours—warm, bare, soft in all the places he’s craving—his whole body prickles with goosebumps.
Your naked body molded against him is torture. Sweet, perfect torture.
He presses his forehead to your shoulder and breathes in, shaking. The soft kiss he places there is barely a kiss at all, more like a plea disguised as affection. You shift in your sleep, barely conscious, instinctively pressing your body back into his like you’re made to fit there.
Your ass brushes his cock.
He hisses like he’s been burned, hips jerking forward before he can stop himself.
“Babe…” he whispers, voice cracking as he tries to keep it quiet. He’s out of options. Out of sanity. “Fuck, baby, I need you…”
You let out a soft, sleepy sound, something warm and unintelligible. His heart slams into his ribs.
“Baby,” he tries again, breath hot against your skin. “Fuck, can I fuck you?” The desperation bleeds through every word. He’s begging, actually begging.
You sigh, eyes barely fluttering, and give a slow, easy nod before melting right back into sleep, like he just asked you to pass the salt instead of ruin him.
“Shit…” The apology dies on his tongue as his hand moves on its own. He grips your thigh, warm and soft, and lifts it up, opening you for him. Your legs fall into place with the kind of trust that makes his chest ache.
And there you are.
Wet. Glowing in the low light. Ready for him without even waking up.
“Thank you…” he whispers against your shoulder, stunned, reverent, starving. You’re already drifting in dreamland again, completely unaware of how close he is to breaking apart.
He lines himself up, breath hitching as the head of his cock presses against your heat. Then slowly—so slowly it kills him—he pushes in.
Your warmth wraps around him like a blessing. Like salvation. Like every answer he’s been denied for the past hour.
He shudders, eyes rolling back.
Thanking every star in the sky for this. For you. For the relief hitting him like a wave as he finally—finally—sinks into you.
He doesn’t move at first. He can’t. Not when you’re wrapped around him like this—tight, warm, soft in a way that makes every nerve in his body light up. He holds himself there, buried deep, jaw locked as he forces his breathing to stay quiet so he doesn’t wake you.
When he finally pulls back, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s afraid to lose the feeling of your heat around him. Then he pushes back in, just as slowly, letting his hips settle into a rhythm that gives him friction without disturbing your sleep.
It’s heaven. It’s torture. It’s exactly what he needed.
His mind starts to haze over, his thoughts dissolving into the steady pulse of your body clenching around him. Words start spilling from his lips before he even realizes he’s saying them.
“Shit… so pretty…” he pants quietly, eyes fixed on where your bodies meet. “Taking me so pretty… so wet.”
Another slow, deep thrust. The kind that makes his thighs tremble.
“Just drooling all over me, yeah?” he whispers, breath hitching as your warmth sucks him in again.
His tip grazes your cervix. You tighten around him on instinct, a sleepy, unconscious reaction that nearly sends him collapsing.
“Ugh—fuck…” he chokes out, shivering. “You trynna break me apart, ain’t you, pretty?”
His voice drops lower, rougher, words slurring as they tumble out. He keeps thrusting into you with that same slow, needy rhythm, each push dragging more filth out of him.
“You feel unreal.”
“Fuck, baby, you’re hugging me so tight…”
“So warm… so wet… fuck…”
“You’re gonna make me lose my mind…”
“You’re perfect—god, you’re perfect…”
“Gonna make me fill you up if you keep squeezing me like that…”
He doesn’t even know if he’s talking to you or your pussy anymore. Probably both. Definitely both. The filth gets worse the longer he moves inside you, his voice soft and broken, like he’s confessing every dirty thought he’s ever had straight into your skin.
And you’re just sleeping through it, gripping him like you were built for him.
It’s driving him insane.
He grunts low in his throat when that familiar burn coils tight in his gut again, hotter this time, sharper, like his body finally decided to cooperate. He forces his eyes open. He needs to see it—his hips snapping gently against yours, the soft bounce of your ass meeting every thrust. It’s almost hypnotic, the way you take him without even waking up.
“So close…” he mumbles, voice ragged. “Gonna make a right mess outta you, girly… want you dripping…”
He bites back a moan as he picks up the pace—still quiet, still controlled, but deeper, more desperate. Each thrust sinks him a little harder into your warmth, each push dragging another pulse out of you. Your pussy keeps clenching around him, little fluttering squeezes that make his head spin… until one sudden, tight grip nearly knocks the breath out of him.
His hips stutter. His heartbeat jumps.
“Hah… fuck…” he pants, thrusting through it, barely holding on. “Made you feel good, yeah?” His voice breaks at the end. “Made you cum all over my dick?”
He can’t keep the rhythm anymore. His thrusts go sloppy, shaky, frantic—his whole body trembling as the pressure snaps inside him with a violent rush.
He stills, buried flush against you, and spills into you hard.
Hot. Deep. Endless.
“Fuck…” he groans, forehead falling to your shoulder as release rips through him. “Take it all, pretty… drink in my cum…”
More filth follows, unfiltered and breathless, tumbling out between shaky exhales.
“Shit… so thirsty for it…”
“That’s it… that’s my girl… milking me so good…”
“Fuck, you’re perfect… perfect…”
His cock twitches inside you, pushing the last few pulses of cum into your already-full cunt. When the high finally begins to ebb, he slumps against you, boneless and bliss-struck, panting quietly against your skin.
He buries himself deeper, like he wants to seal his cum inside you. Then he wraps his arm around your waist again, pulling you close, tucking himself against your back like you’re the world’s softest pillow.
His breathing evens out.
He’s out cold within minutes.
Finally—finally—ready for the best damn sleep of his life before he has to drag himself out of bed tomorrow and pretend he’s a fully functional adult.
Pronouns: He/Him, and the reader is referred to as a man.
Physical Sex: Penis
How far are things going?: mewhehe
Warnings: use of real bat mating habits and I randomly decided to make it a little angsty
Outline: Sonar won the contest and gets to spend his lunch with you! Things are going well until the power goes out at his place.
Other: Honestly, I won't get all sappy, but thank you all so much for the love for my work! When I posted the original, I was in such a rut that I am clawing my way out of (seeing as this took me so long to post…), and to get so many likes on something I nearly just drafted means the world to me. Thank you to that anon who encouraged me lol! Anyway, no more sap here, men touching each other
Tag list: @thecringes2000 @thekit-katkairi @jojoreference23 @mixplara @vamptrzz @tbh-i-dont-know-what-to-put-here @lemon--shark @sunnsparkk @slimemakermas @smokeycitadel @screeching-from-pa @slasherslittlesimp @dessaydoo @me-when-life @mello-life25 @stazwich @unsolvetheheckoutofit @finnxxtt @evilscientistwithevilintentions @sleepdeprivedautism @laffytaffyspoon @orangestraberries @rohlercoaster @obeymeenjoyer8 @antiduduck @boopxboop @copious-zygomaticus @pandagyaru @mr-mcgiggles @crueltyincups @tomurderornottomurder @takottai @soupbabe @mrnoodle69 @eatfeet69 @diamondnightsky23 @jupiterslastdance @casuallybeez @palecherryblossomsuit @rosasandroses @meowowow2s @jellyslimesofficial @zeeballz @boneszombies
Your hand finally stopped, and out you pulled a dark gray ticket: “Sonar!” you declared, and you began to clap along with Waterboy, Robert, and Malevola.
“Congratulations, dude.” Malevola nudged his shoulder, A big grin spreading across her face as she gave him a knowing look. The others on the Z team congratulated Sonar after rolling their eyes, as you expected.
"What even made him win?” Invisigal asked as she fiddled with her inhaler. Her eyes looked disappointed, but she was getting better at accepting a loss.
“Well,” you started and began to check your clipboard, “a few people in Human Resources tracked the financial advice he gave those interns, and for every percentage the stocks he recommended went up, it was a ticket towards him.” Though disappointed, Invisigal nodded thoughtfully.
Suddenly, the groomy gray color that had overtaken the jar made sense to everyone.
"Well, uh, just don’t recheck it,” Sonar mumbled as he tucked his phone away into his pocket.
Classic rug pull.
"Well, thank you all for participating! There will still be a small party for everyone, but that’s on Friday. So bring your appetites then!” You picked up the glass jar and hugged it close to your chest.
“Sonar, if you wouldn’t mind following me.” Nodding toward your office, you walked away. There were a few “ooo’s” and firm pats on Sonar's shoulder. He panicked and checked his reflection in the microwave, inspecting his fur and straightening himself out. Following you to your office, each step carried a sense of excitement.
"So, where did you want to eat? Don’t worry about prices,” you started to slip off your jacket, turning your back to Sonar. “It’s on the company card so that we can go somewhere a little fancy." You chuckled and pulled on your nice jacket. Sonar's white eyes widened as he watched you intently. The way your back moved, lightly adjusting your jacket.
His nose twitched slightly, holding back a screech he couldn’t seem to control.
“Maybe that pizza place down on Hawthorn?" Sonar shook his head and did his best to speak clearly. You adjusted the jacket to sit properly across your shoulders and nodded.
“Sure, I don’t think I’ve tried that place before. I’ll drive, come on.” You began to lead the way out of the building, but Sonar hung back for just a moment to take a deep breath. The air in your office was soothing as it entered his lungs, but a small part of it made him giddy, like he wanted to jump around. Was this the way you were feeling?
The day had quickly become gloomy and cold as the wind picked up. The ride shouldn't have been long, but the silence still felt daunting. It suddenly dawned on Sonar that he was treating this like a date when in reality it was only a lunch with a co-worker. A co-worker he had been somewhat enamored of for a time, a coworker whom multiple people fought for his attention and affections. And one who, by a sheer stroke of luck, he now gets to spend alone time with, while everyone else huffs back in the office, upset.
It was doing wonders for his ego, making him feel bigger than he was, but acknowledging that this was an ego thing didn't make it feel any less potent to breathe in.
Your car was nice and comfortable, if only a little cold at your insistence on keeping the windows cracked, making a joke that you didn't want to suffocate him. But he wouldn't have minded.
"You ever seen The Wolf of Wall Street?" Sonar asked as he tapped his thigh; he didn’t want this entire lunch to be in silence. You glanced at Sonar and tried to remember.
"What year did it come out again?" You turned down the road and waited for an answer. Slipping his phone from his pocket, Sonar quickly typed before answering, "December 2013." Your fingers tapped your steering wheel as you hummed for a moment.
"Nope, I went and watched Her that year." Sonar sputtered at your answer, which was frankly a level of nonchalant that he couldn't comprehend.
"What? You went to watch 'Her'? You only watched one movie a month?" Sonar stumbled over his words as you were stopped at a red light.
" 'course not, I watched Prisoners that year as well." Sonar groaned and rubbed his eyes.
"Okay, well, I gotta show you the movie now. it's only like 3 hours—"
"Three hours? That goes over the entire lunch break unless we get the food to go." Your voice was nervous as the proposition hung in the air.
"Oh, please, can we?" Sonar's already large white eyes seemed to grow even larger as he asked, his big ears twitching.
"My apartment is like, two minutes away from here!" Sonar begged and pointed in the vague direction of his place.
You mulled it over, the special lunches in the past would go over the time now and then. Plus, Sonar had won and done very well in terms of numbers… "Sure, but I need to text Robert and someone down at HR that we might not make it back in time."
Sonar cheered as the car was put into park and the two of you got out to order.
The one for the restaurant's lobby soothed your bodies, but it was only a short walk from your car. It was obvious that storm clouds were forming; the wind was picking up, and the bite of the cold was a welcome relief. Sonar looked over the menu and hummed to himself, trying to think of what he could order. He almost considered taking it as a challenge and getting the most expensive thing he could possibly come up with.
But then you began to huddle close to reading the menu for yourself, and his thoughts of “sticking it to the Man” went away. He tried to subtly admire your face, the color of your skin, the length of your eyelashes, and the depths of your eyes. He'd never been so close to you before he wasn't sure anyone had been in a very long time. Everything about you made him feel special; a flutter began in his stomach, and he felt like a teenager with his first girlfriend. If his first girlfriend was a middle-aged man, but who was he to deny a good thing?
“You forgot your earpiece." Sonar flinched, looking around frantically as Robert's voice echoed from the earpiece. Sonar peaked one of the security cameras now facing the two of you. "Robert, don't intrude on my lunch, man!" Sonar responded without thinking, and your face showed confusion.
"Robert?" you asked curiously, tilting your head to look around. Sonar reached for the earpiece and showed you. "Ohh! Hello, Robert!" you leaned in to the earpiece and could hear Robert's voice faintly.
"Hi (Name), I got your text, so all is good over here." You nodded and gave a nearby security camera a thumbs-up. Sonar felt a slight jealous pang. Robert already got some of your time, damn it!
"Yeah, okay, bye, Bob. See you later!" Sonar quickly spoke the words and slipped the small white device into his pocket.
“Hello, how are you doing today?” A waiter approached, smiling as he prepared to take your order at the lobby counter.
“I’m good, how are you?” You both exchanged pleasantries, but Sonar couldn’t focus. Your hair was just slightly out of place; having the windows open on the ride over made it tousle a bit.
The urge to fix your hair was very strong; he couldn't pinpoint why he needed to fix it, just that he did. He reached and fixed your hair subtly, licking his fingers, and fixing a few pieces to be back where they should be.
You turned to face Sonar with a smile, and it took a second for him to realize it wasn't some intimate moment between lovers when it was, in fact, just his turn to order.
“I’ll take the meat lover's pizza.” The waiter nodded, entered the order, and told you your total. One that you quickly paid. The waiter walked away with the order, and now it was just the two of you again.
His scent now being in your hair made him twitch. “So, how has Hero work been treating you, Sonar?” You rubbed your hands to warm them and leaned against the counter.
Sonar hesitated for a moment, “You think I’m a hero?” You looked at Sonar like he had two heads.
“Of course, I think you’re a hero! I mean, what else do you call someone who goes out and saves people every day?” You, of course, were being genuine; Sonar could feel that in the air, and something began to bubble.
“It's nice to see that long after I’ve retired being a hero, those at the ‘bottom’,” you did an air quote with your fingers. An annoyed look on your face that there even was a hero ranking, “Are some of the hardest working people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” You quickly added, “Plus, if I’m being honest, I prefer you and your team over the downtown LA team.”
The pot was boiling over, his own feelings being amplified by the literal physical effect you were having, and he couldn’t stop himself.
He honked.
Not very loud, but loud enough to turn the air filled with genuine admiration into one of shock, quickly becoming joyful even though you tried to hold in a laugh. Trying to hide his embarrassment, Sonar coughed, trying to play off the sound as anything but a honk.
“That's not your usual screams. Are you okay?” Your eyes crinkle at the edge as you reach for his back. Smoothing down the fur on his neck with your hand, not exactly touching him by any means, but he could feel the radiation of your concern and delight at the sound he made.
“Yeah! I’m good! I mean, they happen all the time.” Your power washed away his nervousness. Making his skin buzz as you pulled your hand away with a worried look.
“Ah! Sorry. I keep touching people. I need to stop doing that.” Your hand twitched away, and you cast your gaze downwards, missing as Sonar whispered a ‘noooo…’ as your hand entirely left his space.
“Here's your order, thank you for coming!" You thanked the waiter and hesitated before stepping out. A light rain began to fall, and with how cold the weather was, you didn't want the Sonar or the food to get wet.
"Wait here, okay? I'll pull the car around so you won't get wet." Sonar nodded and watched you take a deep breath, opening the large glass door. The rain was picking up slightly as you walked out.
The sound of the rain was quickly snuffed out as the door shut behind you. Sonar tightly held the bag of food. Watching you reach your car and climb in.
It was a warmth he noticed always seemed to surround you, but now it seemed to settle deep in his bones, even when you weren't around, like warm water down an aching back.
Your willingness to do things for other people's joy. That was your job, and you were amazing at it.
Your car pulled up to the front of the restaurant, and Sonar made his way in. The cold air nipped at his hands as he sighed in relief at the car's heater blowing on his face.
Sonar kept the food safe between his legs as he pointed to his apartment.
“Oh, hey, what's that smell?” You were looking around the car, sniffing the air with a determined look on your face.
“The food, no? They have fancy garlic butter right here.” Sonar pointed to the side of the bag where a small container was pressed against the plastic.
But you shook your head, “Hm… no, it's something else.” Your nose crinkled adorably as you leaned over the center console. “Whoa, it's you! How did I not smell your cologne before?” You moved back to your side of the car.
“You gotta tell me what you use Sonar, you smell so nice.” You sighed, wishfully taking in another smell. The compliment made his body tingle in an animalistic way.
You like his smell, his pheromones, you want him. You were accepting him as a mate. Surely that is what this all means!
“What can I say? That's uniquely me, Eau de Sonar,” you laughed and started to move away. Sonar had to stop rubbing his head against your face. The bat half never wanted to rear its head like this more than right now. The rain gently sprinkled over the windshield. Making the silence a lot more comfortable.
"This one yours?" You slowed into a parking spot as Sonar nodded. You reached an arm to the back seats, feeling around before letting out an "Ah-ha!"
A small black umbrella sat in your hands. "I knew I kept this in here for a reason." You cheered and shut off your car. Before Sonar could ask anything, you ducked out of the car and opened the umbrella to shield yourself from the rain.
Watching you walk around your car and opening the passenger door for him made a warmth sprout across his face. He was glad you couldn't see it because he was sure it would have been much more obvious if he had a human face, just how flustered your gentleman like attention was getting to him.
He was more than ready to run in the rain, like a man. But you had left him speechless, an embarrassing feeling. One he wanted to squirm away from, but now you were holding the umbrella for him as he walked to his apartment. Up only one flight of stairs before you saw his welcome mat. Well, not really.
It says 'go away' and has burn marks on the edges from Flambae landing without fully going out. Sonar unlocked the door, and your hand guided him inside by pressing the small of his back.
Sonar's mind began to fuzz up. Your power is slowly leaking out, making him feel even more grateful than he already is. The fact that you were such a prince, and he just lay back and took it. Sonar tried to think of any way he could turn this around.
He had you in his apartment! Ready to eat and watch a movie. He actually wants you to watch this movie, but if your hands travled. Well…
Unpacking the food on his coffee table, Sonar didn't see as you admired the apartment. It was very well decorated, and the lights had a softer yellow hue that made the room glow. There were a few things on the walls—a couple of photos and a framed movie poster.
"Oh, you really like this movie." Your voice dropped in surprise as you realized the movie poster was for The Wolf of Wall Street and 'vintage,' which made you sick to think something from 2013 could be considered vintage.
"Yeah, dude, it's like the best movie ever," Sonar repeated as he sat on the couch with a huff.
You joined him on the couch and slipped off your gloves. Opening the plastic container, you sighed with relief at the pleasant smell of your food. Sonar turned on the large TV and scrolled through all the apps.
"Fucking streaming services. I can't remember which one has what," he grumbled and started searching through them one by one. You began to eat, letting your body relax into the soft cushions. Sonar finally found the movie, and as soon as he clicked it, it started buffering.
An embarrassed heat began to rise, but he took a deep breath and grabbed his own food. It's not like the two of you were going anywhere, so there was no harm in waiting for something to load. “I remember seeing you on the news, you know,” you said with a playful grin at the memory. Sonar felt his chest puff up. He had been on the news quite a few times while at Harvard, whether for the awards he won or for achievements that broke records and earned him recognition. He remembered being interviewed after a competition and having his segment aired in the morning, giving him endless praise as a successful young entrepreneur. Before he could start bragging about his accolades, in his restless attempts to impress you, you spoke again. “Watching the news at work and imagine my shock when I see the same handsome young man who had just sent me a message on LinkedIn the day before, getting arrested for white-collar crimes.” You were laughing as you retold the story. One that you and Blazer had a good laugh about when you hired Sonar.
“You think I’m handsome?” Sonar looked away from the still-buffering movie, watching your body language. He didn't want to be the first to admit attraction. He's read *The Game*; he knows that if you let your feelings come first, he's in control.
Or was that for interrogation techniques?
“I thought you'd focus more on the ‘I was almost a victim of one of your scams’ thing.” You shook your head, and your laughter faded comfortably. Hope flared in Sonar's stomach.
Did you really mean that? Not just trying to be friendly—did you genuinely mean it? Of COURSE you did. Sonar glanced back at the TV. Still buffering.
“Yes, you are handsome. I think you are a good-looking man.” You relaxed, your nerves thickening the air, but his milky white eyes surveyed your entire body. You put down your food as your attention was on him fully. This amount of praise made him twitch. Dancing around and being attracted to each other was driving him crazy.
But you admitted it first. He won this mental dick-measuring contest. Whatever he said from now on was fair game.
“I-”
Darkness.
Complete and total darkness.
The only sound was the harsh wind outside and raindrops pattering on the windows. A blackout due to rain wasn’t uncommon; in all fairness, the two of you should’ve expected it. The sudden darkness swallowed so suddenly you couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ah, well, we’ve still got two hours!” You tried to cheer up Sonar, but he could see your nervous smile as your eyes adjusted to the dark.
His hand moved on its own; it rested on your thigh. Your skin is warm, so warm. And he watches you get shy under his touch.
Your hand hesitates before reaching for his face. Brushing his fur with your hand, so gentle, like he hasn’t taken a beating many times before.
“It’s not fair that you can see me.” His ears twitched as you cupped his face. You weren’t touching his skin yet, but the flutter in his stomach felt so intense. You bit back a laugh as he slowly stalked over your body, not sitting on your lap or touching you, and just hovering and waiting. His free hand slid up your body, pulling your head up to look at him. Your hands cradled his head, breathing hard as you stared into the darkness, right into his eyes. Even though the two of you had already crossed a line, you were nervous to kiss on the lips, hesitating slightly.
And Sonar took notice, so he leaned in. Your breath hitched. He leaned in just a little more, and your eyes fluttered shut. And once he closed the gap, it was like fireworks went off in his stomach.
It felt like his entire body was right on the edge, embarrassingly so. He tried to think of something else, something to gross himself out, not cuming in his pants after a bit of grinding. But any thought of gross things was stomped out when your tongue poked his lips.
A soft flick that sent him reeling when he let him lick into his mouth. Your spit was unlike anything he'd ever tasted before. The ache in his knees disappeared, like your spit was some sort of restorative liquid. His tongue licked deeper into your mouth. With each lick, it cured every ache and pain from working the job he did. It made the heat in his stomach burn hotter.
He wanted nothing more than to drink you in as his ears twitched.
His hands were hot as he held your jaw, pressing further into your body in every way. His hips sputtering, his mouth sucking your tongue, fingers almost digging into your face.
“Wait, Sonar—” your hand shot out, pushing him away. Sonar sighed shakily from the contact but moved back anyway. “I can’t do this.”
The couch dipped as he regained his balance. “Is it the couch? It's sorta small…" Your vision started to adjust to the darkness.
“That and, I can’t ruin sex for you.” You couldn't stand to look Sonar in the eyes as you mindlessly played with his shirt button to calm your anxiety. But you didn’t want him completely away either. Your eyes were finally adjusting to the dark.
“Ruin sex for me? I don’t know, dude, I think sex with you would be pretty awesome.” Sonar's voice wavered slightly, a level of desperation washing over him. His body wanted you to keep touching him, but his mind was worried about how you were feeling
Your free hand caressed his face, smoothing the fur down; the compliment made your body ache. You're struggling to word your concerns; had this been anyone else, Sonar would assume a massive ego was at play. But imagining your bare hands, blood pumping with desire, feeling up his body, making him feel what you felt— yeah, it could pose a problem.
“I changed my number almost 20 times when my divorce was finalized because my ex wouldn’t stop trying to get me to agree to ‘break-up sex,” you admitted, feeling ashamed at the sudden weight of baggage you were dropping. But the relief of finally letting it out made you feel weightless.
Sonar stared as you laughed breathlessly, which made him breathless too. "I've never told anyone that!" you said, laughing even harder, and held Sonar’s face close to yours. Sonar’s own laughter started, mostly because your fingers sank into his fur and finally touched his skin. "I don't even know if I'm good at sex! It's hard not to make someone cum with this power!" You were slightly hysterical as you flopped back on the couch, pulling Sonar with you.
The feeling of your legs coming up around his hips was intoxicating.
"I've never had boring sex! And I'm complaining? I have the best chance to break a very, very long dry spell with a cute guy, and I’m thinking of pushing him away!" Your eyes flicked down to his lips. A desperate look took over your face. “I just can’t do this to you; this entire thing isn't even appropriate.”
Your legs fell from his hips as you started to stand. Sonar's heart sank as you gathered your things.
“No, hey (name), come on.” He reached for your hand, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, and he groaned. His stomach instantly felt like a pit had formed in that exact moment. Regret and sadness made him nauseous as he let go of your hand, instinctively, Sonar's hands held his stomach in pain.
The power flicked on just for a moment to let the two of you see each other properly. Sonar leaned over in pain, and your realization that it was you who made him feel this way.
The power flicked off again.
“I’m sorry, Victor.”
He hardly saw you as the work week went on. You were now almost constantly running around and planning events.
It was now a rare sight to see your lights on and your curtains open, letting people know you were in the office. Of course, he heard from others about you. Blazer saying you were stuck in a seminar for the next few hours, Chase mentioning that the free sandwiches in the lunch room were dropped off by you before you disappeared into the stairwell.
But no sight of you. And he was really starting to miss you. Your presence. You didn’t have to touch him again; he just wanted to hear your voice.
“Has anyone seen (Name)? Seems like he’s been avoiding being in the office recently.” Robert asked as he yawned. Early shifts sucked, especially when your positive radiation wasn’t lingering in the air.
“Why don’t you ask the flying rat? He was the last one to be alone with him.” Flambae’s snide remark was nothing new, but it made Sonar panic.
“What? No, we were having fun! Just–” just that he had probably pushed things a bit too far.
“I mean that party he promised is this afternoon, I’m sure he’ll be there.” Malevola interrupted, she'd heard all about what happened and for days has been trying to make Sonar feel better and convince him everything that happened isn’t his fault.
“Yeah! This afternoon.” Sonar knew it might be his only chance to talk to you. Or to just see you again.
summary: It's Sonar's birthday and what does he love more than anything in the world? Boobs. Needless to say, you make sure he has the best birthday possible till midnight.
pairing: Sonar x Cupid!Reader | NSFW
[Reader is Fem-Bodied and goes by She/Her a lot in this fic, however the others also change from that to they/he as you're generally genderfluid as a Cupid. There IS a scene as masc with a cawk at some points in the story. Anyway, I've always described Cupids as entities that just don't gaf about gender or sexuality; or at least in a way that humans have. I mean, why would they? they're cupids, they're contradictions, they're beautiful. Maybe we're all just cupids]
tags: Coworkers/Friends to Lovers (you and Sonar), reader is a literal cupid, Smut, Birthday Sex, Whiny Sonar, Nudes, Multiple Orgasms, Tit Fuck, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Anal/First Time Bottoming(Sonar), Shapeshifting, Bloodplay (or is it Vamprisim? just a little bit though), biting, marking, Substance Use Reference, Blood High, Is that a thing? idk, Hurt/Comfort, Caught Feelings, Power Dynamics, Size Difference (but not focused), Wing Kink, Ear Kink (like stimulation not… the other one), Overstimulation, Marathon Sex, Dirty Talk, But not as much bc I honestly held back lol--I was going to be more lewd but I got shy... I didn't get to write the masc!reader x Sonar scenes as much as I wanted because of how shitty I set that up so I am sad about that...
author's note: I have this HC that is used in this fic of Sonar having sharp nails even as a humanoid (like he's still somewhat struggling to contain his true self)… also there's a bit more fur, not anything crazy just def a happy trail (or would it be a happy road?) I honestly dk how to feel about this fic. But I couldn't just leave it in the dust. I usually flesh out intimate scenes more but because this was lowkey just back to back sex scenes I had struggled. Might delete later. Who knows.
rq open // want to be on tg for specific character content? feel free to ask! (I.e. tagged for every sonar fic I release in the future.) Also dw I see y'alls requests I just take a moment to write stuff up!
[wrds: 18,188 | chrs: 107,855]
[NOT BETA READ] (burn me at the stake)
Read on Ao3
Today was rather mundane. Other than it being Sonar’s birthday—which he had pointedly told everyone about at least several times (even though they already knew and even gave him well wishes + promises to celebrate) all while he wore his birthday hat…
But again, everything was generally… normal. But, oh, of course that isn’t allowed to stay that way because this is SDN and this team in particular are anything but normal.
The SCREECH was sudden, inhuman, pitched, something that made your teeth ache and ears scream in agony. Especially as the audio emits a sort of pitched feedback thanks to the frequency echoing through all their ears. Several voices overlapped through it, pained yelps, creative combinations of curses, or just their own screams of agony at the torturous sound being forcefully bestowed on their persons.
"JESUS FUCKING—"
"MY EARS—"
“WHAT THE FUCKKKK!”
Then Sonar’s voice cuts through—properly, not via screeching—strained and reverent in a way that made Robert’s eye twitch.
“LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO, BOOBS!”
The words come out strangled, reverent, followed by more incomprehensible sounds that might have once been words but have devolved into pure noise. It was like a man—or rather a bat—was having a religious experience in real-time. Squeaking. Chittering. The distinct underlying sound of something—no, someone—hyperventilating.
“BOOBS! It’s BOOBS!”
“PERFECT BOOBS!” Sonar’s voice emits across the comms, each word dripping with an almost religious fervor that made Robert's professional composure crack just slightly.
“and-and the-the—boooooooooooooooooooooooobbbbbbbbbsssssssss!” Sonar’s voice emits across the comms, his voice cracking on the last word. Ascending into registers that shouldn’t be possible for anything with a larynx. Followed by gasps and… sobs? It’s getting really difficult to understand what’s going on.
Robert winched, pressing his headset tighter to his skull in hope no one was able to hear the obscene sounds happening thanks to the volume Sonar is emitting. “Sonar—Sonar!” He hissed, shoulders hunching as he kept close to his monitor. As if to shield it from view… not like there is anything to shield from view but you get the point. “Please don’t tell me you’re watching porn on the job—” his voice carrying that particular blend of exhaustion and annoyance-resignation that came from managing a team of reformed criminals with supernatural abilities and absolutely zero sense of workplace professionalism.
"What?! No. What am I? A gooner?" Sonar's indignation came through crystal clear, though the slight defensive pitch suggested he'd been called worse.
"Uh, yes?" That was Golem, wondering if it was a trick question.
"Absolutely yes," Invisigal confirmed.
"Without question," Coupé added, her tone dry.
"I—" Sonar sputtered. "That's—I'm a HARVARD GRADUATE—"
"Who goons," Malevola finished cheerfully.
"Fuck you, guys. I have class—" Sonar's rebuttal cut off abruptly. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Another one—dude-dude. Dude-” followed by another sound. Something that starts low and builds, something that sounds obscenely like a moan, breathy and broken and altogether far too intimate to be broadcast over a team-wide comm channel. Robert’s eye twitches more visibly now, his jaw clenching as he stares at the screen like it’s personally offended him. Or like he could just pull Sonar out and shut him up himself.
More than one Z-Team member grimaces with confused noises.
“Would you shut up! What the fuck is happening right now??” Flambae demands.
“Cupid…. Cupid’s perfect boobies… pictures of Cupid’s perfect boobies…” Sonar whispers, feeling far too close in everyone's ears right now.
Now the pause is directed toward you…
“I… may have… sent him photos as his birthday gift…?” Your voice piped up, almost questioning yourself, tinged with that particular innocent uncertainty that Robert was rapidly learning was absolutely, definitively a front. “He didn’t put anything else when he gave me his wishlist.”
Of-fucking-course it’s a front Robert. Cupid is still a criminal, albeit more with misdemeanors than felony shit—it doesn't matter, still a criminal!
"And it's PERFECT! Thank you! Thank you thank you!" Sonar's voice pitched higher, and he sounds close to tears. Happy tears. Grateful tears. The kind of tears that make everyone else on the line deeply uncomfortable. “This is the best gift anyone's ever given me. Ever. In my entire life. Better than my Harvard degree. Better than—”
“She sent you a nude? Let me see-” Invisigal pipped up, followed by a squeak—Sonar startled at her sudden appearance.
"No! no! Mine! Mine!!!" Sonar hissed, the sound distinctly animalistic, possessive in a way that sent his bat-like nature into sharp relief. "This is MINE." And he distinctively looks like Gollum and the One Ring to those witnessing his current state in person. The words dripped with a territorial aggression that would've been threatening if it wasn't about a goddamn nude photo.
"Dude. C'mon—" Invisigal argued, and Robert could hear the grin in her voice, enjoying this entirely too much.
"Absolutely fucking not. This is a gift. A personal, intimate, perfect gift and you can get your own damn nudes from your own Cupid! A different Cupid preferably—"
Some more scuffling, a squeak-screech.
Those two going at it. Invisigal mostly doing it just to harass Sonar.
“What kind of picture causes the bat-man to make such—odd noises?” Phenomaman’s voice questions, having remained quiet while he was dealing with thugs. Who were currently looking at him as they dangle by their shirts with confusion. There is no judgment in his tone, as usual—just curiosity. “Is he in distress? Does he require medical assistance?”
“Oh, he requires some assistance, alright.” Malevola murmurs, resulting into some chuckles from the others and Robert banging his head on his desk.
“Have you not been listening?” Punch Up questions Phenomaman. “Cupid sent Sonar a nude. Specifically of her, y’know—” most wouldn’t see it but you could just tell he was gesturing toward his chest in emphasis, “breasts. Respectfully.”
“Tits,” someone corrects helpfully and Robert is too deep in wanting to die to process who that was.
“Ah. Do you mean their mammary glands?” Phenomaman asks, earning startled looks from the helpless criminals. Slightly terrified. Why is this dude talking about boobs while handling them like this?!
“‘Boobs, tits, knockers, best things in the world.’ Not mammary glands, don’t call no lady’s girls that. That’s weird, P.” Prism’s voice is warm with amusement but firm in her correction. "It’s offense to the ladies… Anyway, can we see your nudes too, Cupid-Baby? I wanna see what’s got batboy squealing like that.”
You took a moment to reply but when you did, “Huh? Oh. Yeah! Okay!” Your acceptance layers over the comms, not hesitant so much as distracted, your attention clearly split.
“You heard the lady, show me those titties!”
Followed by more sounds of roughhousing—hands scrambling for a phone, Sonar’s distressed bat noises rising in pitch and frequency as he’s jumped by women.
"Batboy, I swear to fuck, if you don't—" Invisigal's threat cut off with an 'oof' of impact.
"Mine! These perfect, gorgeous, heart-nippled tits are MINE!" Another screech. "I will bite! I have rabies!"
"You don't have rabies," Malevola's voice cut through, dry as bone. "We literally just got your shots updated last week."
"I'll GET rabies! Specifically for this!"
“That’s not how that—” Robert begins, only to groan in his hands as he’s drowned out.
-
Twenty minutes later, the chaos has mostly died down. Most of the team is back actually working and answering calls they were dispatched to, the comms settling into something resembling professional as everyone returns to their respective duties. Robert's fingers fly across his keyboard, pulling up dispatch logs and monitoring active calls with practiced efficiency.
Then Sonar's voice cuts through again.
"Robby. Robertson… Bobby McSon. The man, my man, the myth, the legend—RobBobSon, my favorite dispatcher—”
Robert’s eye was going to get stuck in that twitch. “I’m your only dispatcher.”
“—I need like a 10 minute break, Boss." Sonar's voice had dropped an octave, rough and strained in a way that made Robert's fingers freeze over his keyboard.
"Sonar—" Robert started, already knowing where this was going and desperately wanting to head it off.
"Please, dude." There's something almost desperate in the bat-man's voice now. "Or else I'm going to end up busting in my pants—"
"TMI."
"—and that would be really embarrassing for everyone involved."
Robert pinches the bridge of his nose. "Why are you like this?"
"It's not my fault!" Sonar protests. "Blame Cupid for being perfect!"
Invisigal’s voice pipes up, “Cupid totally promised to give him a handy, y’know that, right?” Her voice carried that knowing, teasing lilt that made Robert want to throw his headset across the room.
"Please focus on work..." Robert managed, running a hand down his face, feeling the stubble that had accumulated over the shift.
Yet—and he'd examine why later, probably never—he didn't send you or Sonar out for a call.
The mission board blinked with three low-priority incidents. A noise complaint in the warehouse district. Possible vandalism near the old theater. Suspicious activity at a convenience store—probably just teenagers.
Any of them would've been perfect for Sonar's current position. Get him moving, burn off that energy, distract him from whatever was happening in his pants.
Robert's mouse hovered over the assignment button.
Didn't press it.
He told himself it was because the incidents were too minor. Because splitting the team's attention wasn't tactically sound. Because Sonar's abilities weren't needed for such basic calls.
Not because some part of him—the part that hadn't gotten laid in fucking years, the part that was apparently capable of being curious despite his better judgment—wanted to see what would happen.
Definitely not that.
"Bobby, you still there?" Sonar's voice crackled through, slightly breathless.
"Unfortunately," Robert muttered, then cleared his throat, shifting back to his professional dispatcher tone. "Yes. What do you need, Sonar?"
"Just... confirming that break? Please? I'm begging you, man. As a birthday gift?"
"…You have fifteen minutes," Robert heard himself say, voice clipped. "After that, I'm assigning you to the warehouse district call whether you're... composed... or not."
"You're the best, Bobby! The fucking best! Harvard's got nothing on your management skills—"
"Fourteen minutes now," Robert interrupted, cutting off what was clearly going to become an embarrassing ramble.
"Right! Yes! Going dark!" The comm clicked off, Sonar's channel going silent.
Robert sat there in the relative quiet of the dispatch center. The other channels still carried ambient noise—Malevola's dark chuckle, Prism commenting on something, the crackle of Flambae's flames in the background.
He should've been reviewing the mission parameters. Checking in with the other team members. Coordinating with the main SDN office on the ongoing Phoenix Program evaluations.
Instead, he found himself staring at, wondering—
No.
Nope.
Not going there.
He forced his attention to the monitor, pulling up security camera feeds from around the city, determinedly not thinking about what was happening in whatever secluded corner Sonar had found. Or who might be joining him there.
The cameras flickered between views. Street corners, building entrances, the designated patrol zones.
Definitely not thinking about you.
About Cupid.
About the alleged "sweetest and most innocent" member of the Z-Team who apparently sent nude photos as birthday gifts and—according to Invisigal's absolutely unnecessary commentary—was currently providing hands-on celebration.
Robert's fingers drummed against his desk, a restless rhythm that betrayed his carefully maintained composure.
Twelve minutes left on Sonar's break.
"What is a ‘handy?’ Is that a type of fruit basket?" Phenomaman asks, because of course he does.
"It's when—" Punch Up starts, clearly ready to launch into an explanation.
"Don't explain to him what that is, please." Robert's groan is audible even through the static of the comms. "I'm begging you."
"The guy is curious," Invisigal argues. "We’re doing a favor educating him, aren't we? Cultural exchange.”
"You're really not."
"A 'handy' is short for 'hand job,'" Malevola explains, ignoring Robert entirely. "It's when someone manually stimulates another person's genitals to orgasm."
"Oh." Phenomaman sounds genuinely interested. "Is this a common human mating ritual?"
"It's not a mating ritual, it's just—" Robert starts.
"Can we please stop having this conversation?" Robert's voice has taken on a slightly hysterical edge.
"Why? Is talk of sexual acts uncomfortable for you?" Phenomaman asks with that earnest, completely guileless tone that makes it impossible to tell if he's being genuine or subtly fucking with everyone.
"Yes! Very!"
"Fascinating. On my planet, we discuss such matters openly. There is no shame in—"
The supply closet on the second floor, near the entrance Sonar utilized as Mega Bat of the SDN building was, objectively, not designed for what it is currently being used for. Cleaning supplies lined metal shelving units. Boxes of printer paper stacked in corners. The faint chemical smell of industrial cleaner mixing with dust. All while the single bare bulb lays off from above… after all, why shower this perfect moment in unflattering light if he has great vision in the dark? You easily accommodate to the shadows too.
You knew better than to just take Sonar in that little nook he uses when returning to work via Mega Bat. He’s just too vocal for that. (Or at least you presumed he was and hell, good on you for that.) For It’d be way too obvious and you truly didn’t want anyone bothering you in the middle of the birthday gift. Plus, despite what others may think, you do have decorum.
In the end, none of it mattered to Sonar; his back pressed to the wall, white eyes wide as he stared down at you. His fur bristling just so as his hands hover, fingers twitching. His nails have grown out, more claw-like (or perhaps talon) as his excitement made it harder to control his other. Something that would def not fit in this cramped space.
"Oh, fuck. Oh fuck—This is actually perfect—" Sonar whispered, his voice carrying that particular reverence usually reserved for religious experiences or successful stock market manipulations. You stood there, top and bra pushed up to rest against your collarbone; exposing yourself to the startling clear vision of Sonar’s eyes. Your wings — soft, downy things in the shades of white and palest pink located at your lower back — were half-folded behind you, rustling with each of your own excited breaths.
“Oh my god.” His palms press against the swells with gentleness that contrasts sharply with the desperation in his voice. He whimpers, fanged jaw agape as he stares at his hands—HIS hands—touching such warm, soft perfection. It's so unfair! People just get to have these things for free? 24/7? You have these 24/7? Oh, it’s so unfair. So selfish to keep these away for so long.
"You really like boobs that much, huh?" You question despite already knowing the answer, smiling as you let him continue his exploration. Your fangs—small, delicate things so different from his sharp bat's teeth—peeked out as you grinned before catching your bottom lip. The expression was fond, indulgent even.
"Yes.” He replies without pause. “But these—these are fucking masterpieces." Sonar's bat-nose twitched, he was leaning in now. Breathing you in.
Or rather, very intently sniffing as he fondled. Each inhale was deliberate, his entire face practically buried between your breasts as he committed your scent to memory.
The sensation felt… interesting, to say the least.
The warm breath brushing-blowing against your skin. The slight tickle of fur from his face. The tickle of his snout. Paired with the careful, almost reverent way his clawed fingers kneaded and explored, tracing the curves, testing the weight, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You weren’t sure if it was thanks to your Cupid biology that had him practically intoxicated on your scent—for yes, there’s some specific expelling you do naturally—or it was just him being half-bat…
Actually, it likely both given his amplified senses. Some people just get hit harder being with you, enhanced especially.
"The hearts—" Sonar's voice cracked slightly. "Your areolas are actually shaped like hearts. That's not—that wasn't a trick of the photo lighting—"
"Cupid anatomy," you confirmed, still smiling. "Cute, aren’t they?”
"It's perfect. You're perfect. This is—" Sonar cut himself off, white eyes flicking up to meet yours. Wider. Almost vibrant even in the darkness. "Please tell me I can put these perfect things in my mouth.” He’ll likely wail and drop and roll in agony if you say no. Begging and clinging to your legs like a mournful soaking bat till you give him sympathy.
You laughed then, head falling back, the sound bright and clear in the small space. He definitely did not, not want to bite that perfect throat. Your wings fluttered, feathers rustling as you look forward. Already nodding before the word forms on your lips, "Yes—"
Sonar audibly groaned like a man dying of thirst finally finding water, then he was diving in.
Hot. Wet. Desperate.
Your back arched lightly at first contact, followed by further—pressing firmly into his mouth as he sealed his mouth around your nipple, tongue—god, that tongue—working against the peak while his other hand continued kneading your other breast. The wet heat of his mouth contrasted with the cool air of the closet on your exposed skin.
Soft gasps escaped you, audible exhales punctuated by the flutter of your wings responding to the stimulation. Your hands slide up, scratching gently then gripping the fur at the back of his neck. Finding purchase in the surprisingly soft coat, careful to avoid those ears.
He groans at the sensation, pressing against you in turn. His hands stablize you even as he pushes you forward—or rather back—so he can pin you instead. Rather mindful of your wings even in his consumed state.
Oh, fuck.
Your head falls to the side, leg shifting to hook at his waist. He moves even closer, invading that newly open space.
"Fuck, you're into this," he mumbled against your skin. "Can smell how wet you are."
“I can't help it.” You reply breathlessly, eyes falling shut briefly. “You feel so good.” And that’s encouragement enough.
It takes a moment for him to finally unlatch himself from your tit, having been on a mission to practically give the whole thing a hickey. A string of saliva stretches as he does—connecting from your nipple to his mouth. It breaks, leaving a faint trail in his fur and on that pink muzzle. But he didn't mind. Of course he doesn’t.
His tongue laps, swiping, savoring. It resembled a dog drowning in the delight of peanut butter; but rather it's a bat-man and he's being coated with the sappiness delight of Cupid’s flesh.
“Fuck, you taste—" His voice rough, vaguely slurred. Very recked. "Sweet. Literally sweet. Is that—?"
"Cupid thing," you managed, the chill hitting your saliva-slick breasts. "We taste like... honey? Nectar? Depends on the person."
“Taste’s fucking delicious,” he concluded simply, diving in to give the same undivided attention as its companion.
His enthusiasm evident in every lick, suck, gentle bite—
Your breath hitched as his fangs grazed your skin, not quite breaking through but leaving faint indentations. Marking in its own way. As well as leaving the hint of danger, of his predatory nature barely restrained—being tested by your very existence, sent heat pooling low in your belly.
His fangs press slightly harder then—
You moan, a sudden sound that filled the small space. He'd definitely left marks this time. Small idents from his fangs decorating your breasts, around the heart-shaped areolas, across the swells of flesh.
"Mine," Sonar muttered against your skin, voice possessive and rough. "Mine, mine, mine—"
His hands squeezed, mapping every inch while his mouth worked, alternating between gentle worship and sharp claiming bites. Within minutes, you were overheated, marked, slick with his saliva as he drowned in your breasts.
“Sonar—”You whimpered at one point, and his name on your lips made him whimper.
“Mm-” he hums around your nipple. “Yeah? Yeah?” His words muffled against your skin, reluctant to pull away.
“Can I touch you?”
He nearly came there.
His hips doing an abortive thrust as his fingers press into your sides.
"Fuck. Yes. Please," he breathed, the word somewhere between prayer and demand. "Please, please. Please touch me—I need—you're so perfect, I'm so hard, please—"
He stumbles as you push him back, his body hitting a shelf as he submits under the switch. The bulge in his pants is obscene, delightfully obscene in a way that makes your walls squeeze around nothing. The way he's desperately trying to get his belt undone only makes it better.
You eventually manage to get the light on, wanting to see it proper. The sudden flash causes you both to wince but the task at hand is too much of importance to care about temporary blindness.
Your hands join his then, helping work his belt that—it singing as the metal hits together. “Oh fuck—” Sonar whispers breathlessly as you’re lowering yourself. Settling on your knees. You’re surprised at the fur you find initially when undoing the button and unzip. But it leads to a happy meal so—
His cock is freed, springing out hard as a rock. Flushed, leaking, practically pulsing with desperate need that makes you salivate.
"What do you want?" you asked, wrapping one hand around his shaft, giving an experimental stroke that made him whimper.
"Your tits," Sonar gasped out. "Please, fuck, your perfect tits. Want to—want to fuck them, please—"
You smiled, that same indulgent expression.
Leaning forward and pressing your breasts together around his cock.
Sonar's resulting moan was obscene.
His head fell back, hands curling at the metal shelving ledge behind him for support. The shelf creaked ominously but held. Before he looked down, nearly busting at the sight of you.
The alleged sweetest and most innocent member of the team, kneeling in a supply closet, getting him off with those perfect—now shining with his saliva and marked with his fangs—tits out.
Your breasts create a soft, warm channel for his cock. The heart-shaped areolas framed the view obscenely, his shaft hugged between the valley of flesh with each small thrust of his hips.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—" Sonar's vocabulary had apparently reduced to two words and desperate whimpers.
You squeezed them together firmer for him, providing more pressure, and his hips jerked involuntarily, fucking into the soft heat.
"That's it," you encouraged, voice low and sweet. "Take what you need. It's your birthday."
My birthday.
Yes.
It’s my birthday.
Sonar's hands released the shelf, moving to cover yours, pressing against your hands and supporting them as he began to properly fuck your breasts. His clawed fingers overlapped yours, careful not to scratch, as he set a rhythm. Fighting between hunching over for a better mount to being pulled back enough so he can watch the beautiful sight.
Thrust.
Retreat.
Thrust.
The head of his cock emerging from between your breasts, flushed and dripping, before disappearing again.
You tilted your head down, tongue hitting the tip each time he thrusts forward.
But you did it again. And again. Each thrust punctuated by your tongue catching the head of his cock, tasting the precum that leaked steadily, creating a lewd mixture with your saliva.
Saliva stretched between your tongue and his cock, breaking, then forming again with the next thrust. A mirror of how he was with your tits. The wet sounds filled the small closet, slick, slick, slcik, mixing with Sonar's ragged breathing and muttered curses.
"So good," Sonar babbled, losing coherence. "Perfect tits, perfect mouth, perfect Cupid, so fucking sweet, gonna—fuck—Harvard never taught me—oh god—"
His thrusts become erratic, losing rhythm as he chases his release. The head of his cock bumps more insistently against your mouth now, and you open up just slightly, letting him feel the heat of your breath, the wet promise of your tongue.
You kept your tongue out, kept that sweet expression even as saliva dripped down your chin, even as his precum mixed with the wetness. Your wings rustled with each impact, feathers trembling at being used. The way he was losing himself, how he started to unravel and that meant harder. Faster. More. More, more…
"Close, ngh-" Sonar gasped, balls drawing tight. "Fuck, I'm close, so close, so fuckin’ close, gonna cum.”
You whimper at that, lashes fluttering. “Fuck—Victor,” Oh fuck. His perked ears swivel toward you. Oh you used his name. Oh my god you’re just so perfect. So fucking perfect when you say that. You’re soaked all from him. No one else. He's going insane. Going completely insane.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—" His voice breaks on a high keen as he comes, his cock jerking between your breasts as the first rope of cum shoots across your collarbones.
He hears your gasp of surprise as he suddenly pulls away. He’s fumbling, stance adjusting, one hand bracing on the wall behind you while the other fisted his cock frantically. Painting you with thick streaks of white.
It splatters across your breasts, drips down the curve of them, pools in the valley between, between those gentle fingers. He's trembling, shaking as he has the best orgasm of his life.
"Ah—ah—ah—" Each sound is punched out of him, raw and overwhelmed. He’s had crazy orgasms before, but never one that has him so eagerly milking himself just so he can cover you in cum.
Finally, finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He slumps back against the wall, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes are glazed, unfocused, and when he looks down at you—kneeling there, covered in his cum, your tits marked and claimed—the sound he makes is almost pained.
You're a mess.
Cum drips down your chest, cooling on your skin, streaking across your breasts in thick, creamy lines. There's some on your chin, your neck, even a bit that somehow made it to your shoulder. You look absolutely debauched, and from the way Sonar's looking at you, that's exactly how he wants you.
Carefully, curiously, you swipe a finger through one of the streaks and bring it to your mouth. The taste is salty-bitter-musk, distinctly him, and you hum contentedly as your wings flutter just so, feathers rustling with satisfaction.
"Holy shit," Sonar breathes, watching you with heavy eyes.
It’s almost audible—or is visible?—when he has a lightbulb moment.
"Wait—wait, don't move—"
He's fumbling for his phone, his hands still shaking slightly as he pulls it from his pocket. The screen illuminates his face.
"Can I—" He swallows hard. "Can I take a picture? Please?"
You laugh, shifting slightly to give him a better angle. "Of course."
The camera clicks once. Twice. Three times. Four. He's taking photos from different angles, capturing the way the dim light catches on the mess he's made, the way your skin glistens, the way you're smiling up at him like you're perfectly content to be covered in his cum. There’s even some he takes with the light off, doing flash photography.
"Perfect," he whispers, more to himself than to you. "Fucking perfect. These are going to be my most prized possessions."
"Just those?" You tease. "Not the original picture?"
"These are better." He's still taking photos, seemingly unable to stop. "You're here. You're mine. You're—" His voice cracks slightly. "You're covered in me and you look so fucking happy about it."
You stand finally, stretching slightly in the confined space.
“Here let me-”
“I can help-”
The two of you pause in reaching to help each other. Followed by gentle laughter. Laughter that brings the two of you closer as it ebbs. You helping with his boxers and pants as he’s more than content to lap up the cum from your skin. Enjoying your soft hums and sighs with his occasional nibble to suck. It was both erotic and comforting.
“You’re so perfect,” he whispers, pressing himself to your shoulder, just where it meets your neck, deeply inhaling. “Really. You're amazing, [Name].”
Your smile warms, the want from earlier turning gentle as you loop his belt into the hoops. “Flattery will get you everywhere, pretty.” Pretty. Not handsome—which he is, but pretty. And pretty makes him feel even more than handsome ever has. Whether it be because it’s coming from you or because that’s the first time he’s ever been complimented so sincerely, so warmly, especially regarding his appearance… He couldn’t care. He’s just happy.
He leans into your touch as you scratch his chin, his ears drooping just so. Such a cute thing.
"Good birthday gift?" You ask, brushing at some of his fur.
"The greatest..." he whispers, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. He hesitates, then, fingers twitching against your sides.
Eventually, he softly asks, almost afraid of the answer: "...again, maybe? later?"
"Of course," you say without pause, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a whimper and a moan. "It's your birthday till midnight, after all."
For a moment, he just stares at you, those white eyes wide and disbelieving. Then he's moving, pulling you into a kiss that tastes like desperation and gratitude and something else you can't quite name. When he pulls back, he's grinning—actually grinning, fangs on full display.
"Best birthday ever," he declares. "Officially. Nothing will ever top this."
You laugh, finishing your cleanup and pulling your top back on. "You say that now, but wait till you see what else I have planned."
The noise he makes is inhuman.
The rest of the afternoon passed in relative calm. It wasn't until lunch actually that something… also happened. Robert was focused down in the workshop with Royd so…
Prism was holding court at a table in the breakroom, regaling Punch Up with some story about her latest Instagram drama while he was doing something that might have been eating but looked more like inhaling an entire pizza in three bites. Malevola was leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, watching the room with those unsettling yellow eyes.
And Sonar? Sonar couldn't stop staring at you.
He sat at the same table, but chose to sit across from you rather than by you (because he wouldn't be able to get his hands off you), close enough to be in your orbit but not so close as to be obvious. Or so he believes. His own lunch sat mostly untouched as his white eyes tracked your every movement.
The way you brought the fork to your lips. The delicate way you chewed. The slight flutter of your wings when you shifted position.
Every movement was torture. Because now he knew.
Knew how your skin tasted. How your breasts felt in his hands, in his mouth. How you looked covered in his cum, smiling up at him like you'd given him the world instead of just the best orgasm of his life. How amazing you felt in his arms. How you welcomed him and his oddities without freaking out or making a big deal about it.
Yes, you’re different yourself but—I don’t know. He doesn’t know. He does know his dress pants were already getting tight again just from the memories.
"You're staring," Invisigal's voice appeared next to his ear, making him jump.
She dropped in the chair beside him, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Or in this case, the invisible woman who caught the bat-man being a disaster.
"Fuck off, Visi," Sonar muttered, finally tearing his eyes away from you to glare at his teammate.
"Ooh, touchy. Still worked up?" She leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Was the supply closet not enough? Need round two?"
"I will literally throw you out a window."
"You'd have to catch me first," Invisigal countered, but she leaned back, giving him space. Her grin didn't fade. "Seriously though, you've got it bad."
"It's my birthday," Sonar defended, knowing it was weak but unable to come up with anything better.
"Uh huh. And tomorrow? Next week?"
Sonar didn't have an answer for that.
Across the room, Flambae entered, and immediately the temperature rose several degrees. His flames flickered along his shoulders, dancing in patterns that suggested irritation. He’s honestly been in a mood, started randomly earlier today. No one really knew why and Prism didn’t push it.
"Great, grumpy's here," Invisigal muttered, crossing her arms.
Flambae grabbed something from the fridge—didn't even look at what it was—and slammed the door with more force than necessary. The whole room paused, attention shifting to him.
"Problem?" Malevola asked casually, yet her tone carried an edge.
"No," Flambae bit out, his accent thickening with annoyance. He stalked to an empty table, dropping into a chair hard enough to make it screech against the floor.
The room returned to its previous activities, but the tension lingered. Flambae radiated irritation like heat waves, his flames crackling audibly in the relative quiet.
You glanced over at him, expression shifting from serene to concerned. "Are you okay?" you asked, voice gentle.
"Fine," Flambae snapped, not looking at you.
"You seem upset—"
"I said I'm fine."
You frowned, setting down your fruit cup. Your wings rustled, a sign of agitation that Sonar had learned to recognize. "If something's wrong—"
"Not everything needs your fucking sunshine and rainbows approach, Cupid." Flambae's voice dripped with sarcasm on your designation. "Some of us are trying to actually be heroes instead of playing office bitch for birthday boy over there."
The room went dead silent.
Sonar's chair screeched as he stood. "What the fuck did you just say?"
"You heard me," Flambae shot back, flames intensifying. "It's pathetic. We're supposed to be reforming, becoming better, and meanwhile batboy is getting his dick sucked in supply closets like this is some kind of porn set instead of actual hero work—"
"That's enough," Malevola cut in, her voice dropping to that dangerous register that made smart people back off.
Flambae wasn't being smart.
"Is it? Because I'm pretty sure I'm the only one here taking this seriously. The rest of you are treating this like summer camp with benefits—"
"Flambae." Your voice cut across his rant, and there was something different in it now. An edge that hadn't been there before. "That's enough."
"Or what? You gonna blow me too if I apologize? That how you keep team morale up?"
You stood.
The change was immediate and dramatic.
Your form shifted, the soft feminine curves melting into harder, more masculine lines. Height increased, shoulders broadening. Your chest flattened while your hips narrowed. This wasn’t the form you usually took when presenting masculine, but it was the one that felt right in the moment.
Larger, bigger, stronger.
And no one could question why you wore what you did now because, hell, any other clothes and Little Cupid (but they sure as hell could see that is not ‘little’) would’ve been out. Not the first time they’ve seen a dick out on the job but it probably would’ve been startling nevertheless.
Your wings spread wide, each one easily double the size theh were before, filling the space behind you. Accommodating your larger size for possible flight. The soft downy feathers from before had been replaced by something more aggressive—longer flight feathers with dark tips rather than soft pink, reminiscent of a bird of prey. They ruffled, bristling with clear agitation.
Your eyes—usually soft and inviting—had gone hard. The pink pupils that Sonar had seen flash earlier now glowed steadily, a warning light in the irises.
When you spoke, your voice had dropped an octave.
"I am many things," you said, each word precisely enunciated. "Sweet, yes. Accommodating, absolutely. But I am not—and have never been—a pushover."
You took a step toward Flambae, and despite his flames, despite his confidence, he leaned back in his chair.
"So let me be clear, Flambae,” Another step. Your wings spread wider, casting shadows across the room. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again. And don’t ever—call me a bitch again. Do you understand me?”
Flambae's flames flickered, uncertain now. "I—"
You loomed over him now, and Flambae—who stood at a respectable 6'2"—had to crane his neck back to maintain eye contact.
"Because the next time you do—I’ll make sure everyone knows who’s the real bitch is around here.”
There was a choke of surprise from behind—paired with rough pats on the back of someone attempting another from choking in shock.
Flambae swallowed hard. The flames along his shoulders nonexistent as he stared up at you wide eyed.
"Now," you said, voice dropping even lower. “Apologize.”
"I—" Flambae started, stopped, tried again. "I'm sorry. That was—I was out of line. I'm sorry."
You held his gaze for another long moment, wings still spread, presence filling the room with barely contained power.
Then you stepped back.
The tension broke like a snapped wire.
Your form shifted again, flowing back to the feminine presentation from before. Wings folded neatly, shrinking back to their softer, smaller size. Your expression returned to its usual gentle serenity.
"Apology accepted," you said, voice back to its normal sweet register. You returned to your seat, picking up your fruit cup like nothing had happened. "I hope the rest of your lunch is better, Flambae."
The room remained silent for a beat longer.
Then, quietly, from Invisigal: "That was hot."
Flambae chose to largely remain silent.
But even he—like Sonar—couldnt disagree.
Sonar thought you were attractive before—gorgeous, even, with those perfect tits and sweet smile. (And obviously, you were just really sweet on him)
But seeing you like that? Powerful and commanding, wings spread and voice resonating with divine authority, cock on full display (mostly because he was staring at it) as you towered over Flambae?
Sonar was pretty sure he'd just discovered several new kinks.
He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself as subtly as possible. His pants were definitely tighter now.
Across the room, Malevola caught his eye and smirked, clearly aware of his predicament.
Sonar flipped her off.
You continued eating your fruit cup, peaceful and serene, like you hadn't just dominated their teammate and awakened something in at least half the room.
Yeah.
Sonar was absolutely getting another round before the day was over.
And maybe—if he was very lucky and played his cards right—he'd get to experience that version of you too.
The masculine form. The commanding presence. That cock that had been clearly visible even through your pants.
His own cock twitched at the thought and Invisigal couldn't help but snort. “Hornbat,” she coughed into her fist.
The sun had long settled, Torrance coming to life with street lights and the night sky.
Sonar had been particularly anxious—or excited? He wasn't sure anymore. He just knows he was all over the place than feeling all—bleh. Or ehh. Then, yay! But... Now, he felt like he couldn't keep still as he stood in his apartment. His hands getting uncharacteristically clammy as he stuck himself in front of the mirror again, grooming his fur. Brushing it back, only to grumble, doing it another way, then another—followed by returning to his pacing.
The Harvard graduate—man who'd orchestrated some of Silicon Valley's most effective investment frauds—was reduced to checking his reflection every thirty seconds like some nervous teenager. His white eyes caught his own gaze in the mirror. The bat-like features that usually gave him an air of menace now just looked... anxious. The fur was immaculate, then ruffled, then smoothed again.
Sonar adjusted his tie for the fifth time. Navy blue against the crisp white shirt. Then he yanked it off entirely. Too formal. This wasn't a business meeting.
This was... what was this exactly?
His phone sat on the coffee table, screen dark. You'd texted twenty minutes ago that you were on your way. Twenty minutes. Traffic in Torrance on a Friday night, that could mean another ten minutes, could mean you were already downstairs. Maybe you flew here instead—no. You mentioned how when it’s too cold it can be difficult on your wings. That's the last thing he wants, you flying here even when the chill would make you ache.
He moved to the window, peering through the blinds at the street below.
A few cars passed.
None stopped.
He pulled away, resumed pacing. His apartment was clean—cleaner than it had been in months. He'd actually tidied up, which said something about his mental state. The business textbooks were stacked neatly on the shelf instead of scattered across every surface. While his… drugs, well he had practically begged Malevola to take them. Keep them away from him and make sure no one gives him anything. And under no circumstances, even let him near them again tonight.
Even the couch cushions were arranged properly. He'd even lit a candle, then immediately blown it out because it felt too presumptuous. What was he, setting a mood? This was just... a follow-up to earlier. To those photos he'd received that had derailed his entire afternoon. To the supply closet. To the confrontation with Flambae that had you using your passive in such a way.
His cock twitched at the memory.
Those heart-shaped areolas.
The soft curve of breasts he'd gotten to touch, to taste, to fuck in that cramped closet with his cum painting that perfect skin.
The flare of power when you looked over Flambae.
knock knock
Sonar jumped, actually jumped, like some kind of prey animal instead of the predator his species suggested. He smoothed down his shirt—he'd kept the shirt, just the shirt and slacks—and moved to the door. His hand hesitated on the handle.
Get it together. You've negotiated with venture capitalists. You've talked your way out of federal charges. You can open a door for someone you already half-fucked today.
He pulled it open.
You stood there in the hallway, changed from your work clothes into something simpler—mostly bundled in a coat that made you so edible. The peak of your wings at the hem. Your smile was knowing, like you could read every thought that had been cycling through his head for the past hour.
"Hey," you said.
Sonar's mouth went dry. "Hey. I—come in. Obviously. That's why you're here. To come in. Not that—I mean—" He stepped back, gesturing.
You walked past him, and the scent of you hit him immediately. That sweet but not cloying, mixed with the underlying warmth of your skin. You'd showered since work. He could smell it from the faint cling of water on you and the muted whisper of his saliva and cum.
The thought of water running over your body—of your body washing clean of his claim—made his fangs ache.
"Nice place," you said, glancing around. Your tone was casual, but your eyes tracked back to him with clear intent. "Very... clean."
"I tidied up." The admission came out before he could stop it.
"For me?"
"I..." Sonar closed the door, locked it. The click seemed loud. "Yes."
You turned to face him fully, and the look in your eyes made his breath catch. "That's sweet."
"I'm not typically... sweet."
"No?" You took a step closer. "What are you typically?"
His brain, his clever Harvard-educated brain, chose that moment to provide absolutely nothing useful. "I'm... I'm a high-ranking Vanderstenker."
You laughed, and the sound wrapped around him like silk. "Are you networking with me right now, Victor?"
His real name in your mouth. You were one of the few people who knew it, who used it. Something about that felt intimate in a way that was separate from the physical.
"Maybe," he managed. "I can never have too many soft skills."
"No, you can’t." You were close enough now that he could feel the warmth radiating from you. Warmth that enticed your scent to simply rush as he takes an unconscious deep sniff—which brings back the taste of you on his tongue at an alarming level of clarity.
Oh god, he's so fucked.
"Now, what do you want?" you ask, inching closer. "You've got me until midnight. After that, I go back to being your teammate instead of your birthday gift. So tell me—what do you want?"
Time is ticking, Victor.
Sonar swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. "Everything," he whispered. "I want everything."
Your smile warms, hands undoing the ties of the coat. Till you revealed that you didn’t quite wear anything ‘normal’ underneath. An ensemble of colors that favored your completion decorated your skin in a pretty present of unravel.
“Visi’s idea.” You shrug off the coat properly, letting it fall to the ground and your wings to flare then resettle. Slightly around you, slightly shy even. “I thought it was a bit much–”
“It’s perfect.”
Sonar’s hands were on you then, pulling you close. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that was more enthusiasm than technique but no less effective for it. His fangs clicked against yours, tongues meeting, and yes—you did taste sweet. Like honey and nectar and something divine that made Sonar moan into your mouth. Without being cramped in that room, without the underlying smell of dust and whatever the fuck was on the shelves, everything was amplified. Or perhaps that’s just how Sonar felt. No restriction, no worries, no simple rush of excitement that means a quickie and done.
You made a sound against his lips—surprise morphing into enthusiasm—and your arms came up around his neck. Your fingers found the sensitive spot at the base of his skull, threading through the fur there, and he groaned into your mouth.
He leaned closer, deepening the kiss, and your wings instinctively responded. They spread wider, then began to curl forward, half-cocooning around the two of you. The feathers brushed against his arms, his back, creating an intimate space that shut out the rest of the world.
It was intimate. Far too intimate to be something just for one night.
The thought pierced through the haze of arousal like a shard of ice. This felt like more than casual. More than just scratching an itch. The way you held him, the way your wings wrapped around him protectively, the way you kissed him like you were trying to memorize the taste of him—it all spoke of something deeper.
But he chose to ignore that thought.
To simply drown and worry about oxygen later.
Your bodies stumbled through the apartment, you following his blind lead toward the bedroom. He walked backwards, pulling you with him, his hands roaming over your body—your waist, your hips, sliding up your back to feel where your wings connected to lower back.
"Can't believe—" he gasped between kisses, breaking away only to immediately seek your mouth again, "—can't believe you're real—can't believe this is happening—"
The walls of his apartment blurred past. He knocked into the edge of his coffee table, nearly sent the stack of business journals tumbling, but he didn't care. His hands were on you, your hands were on him, and nothing else mattered.
"Very real," you assured him, your voice breathless but amused. Your fingers began to work on the buttons of his shirt, deft and purposeful. Feathers teasingly brushed against his arms as you moved. Light touches that felt overwhelming and simply not enough at the same time.
He could feel your warmth even through the layers of clothing. Your palms, soft despite the whispers of callouses that spoke of labor. Of what? He wasn't sure. Field work? Training? Something that built strength without destroying the softness underneath?
He just hoped it was kind work. That whatever had put those slight roughness there hadn't hurt you. He wasn't sure why he thought of that exactly—just—it mattered. You mattered.
"Beautiful," you whispered, hands sliding down his chest once you'd gotten his shirt unbuttoned. Your fingers splayed over the fur there, feeling the soft texture give way to skin underneath. The fur was thicker over his collar and arms, sparser over his abdomen and other parts of his torso. It was so interesting, seeing how man met bat.
"I know, right?" He preened, his natural arrogance surfacing even in the midst of desire. He was a Harvard graduate. He'd built empires. Of course he was beautiful.
Then, he faltered, second-guessing. The confidence cracked slightly, showing the vulnerability underneath. "Do you—" he cleared his throat, his white eyes flickering away briefly before forcing themselves back to meet your gaze. "Do you mean that? Or—is it just..."
He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't want to voice the fear that you were just saying what you thought he wanted to hear. That this was just about his species, the novelty of fucking a bat-hybrid. That tomorrow you'd realize you'd made a mistake. Even cupids—or especially Cupids—should have standards, right?
You stopped your exploration of his body, your hands stilling on his chest. Your expression softened, something tender crossing your features.
"I mean it, Victor."
He trembled.
"You're beautiful."
The words were simple, but the sincerity in them hit him harder than any elaborate compliment could have. You meant it. You actually meant it.
He leaned in as you reached up, your hand cupping the side of his face. Your touch was gentle, almost reverent, as you began caressing—or perhaps petting was more appropriate. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw where fur met skin, then moved higher.
His chin did a slight lift as you stroked over one of his large ears, an instinctive response. The ear flattened under your palm, the sensation sending pleasure rippling through him, before shooting back up to its alert position as your hand moved away.
"Sensitive," you observed, your lips quirking into a smile.
"Very," he managed, his voice rough.
"Good to know." Your smile turned wicked. "Now, what does Batsy want first?"
His eyes followed as your hand trailed down from his face, ghosting over his neck, his chest, his abdomen. You lifted your hand slightly, switching from palm to fingertips, then letting your nails drag lightly as the fur returned under his belly button. That fluffy happy trail that led down to where his cock was still restricted by his slacks, hard and straining against the fabric.
"You—" His voice came out strangled. Then he was stepping closer again, crowding into your space, his hands on your hips guiding you backward. "Want to taste you. All of you. Been thinking about eating you out all day. Please—"
The desperation in that last word—the please—made it clear this wasn't just dirty talk. He genuinely needed this. Needed to taste you, to have his mouth on you, to make you fall apart on his tongue.
Your wings fluttered at his words, the feathers rustling in response to your arousal. For just a moment, your pupils changed—the hearts that marked you as a Cupid flashing briefly before returning to normal. Your breath hitched.
"Get to eating then."
His mouth was on yours again immediately, the kiss bruising in its intensity. You let yourself be guided backward, trusting him to lead you even as your eyes fell shut. Your hands fisted in his shirt, then slid up to his shoulders, pulling him closer.
The back of your legs hit the bed—silky and soft, expensive sheets that were surprising for someone in the Phoenix Program. But it made sense, really. Sonar had money, or at least he had when he'd been running his investment frauds. And he had to take care of his fur, after all. Cheap, scratchy sheets wouldn't do.
You fell back onto the mattress, and he followed you down. His body covered yours, one hand braced by your head while the other roamed. His mouth never left yours, kissing you like he was trying to consume you. And maybe he was.
Finally, he pulled back, both of you breathing hard. He looked down at you—hair mussed, lips swollen from kissing, eyes dark with want—and something in his chest tightened.
"Too many clothes," he growled, his hands already working your latex—or something akin to such—top. You sat up enough to help him pull it over your head, his strength helping with the stupid thing being tossed aside.
The sight of your bare breasts made his mouth water. Those distinctive heart-shaped areolas returned to his vision, already peaked with arousal and still delightfully marked from his excitement in the supply closet.
His mouth descended on them immediately, unable to resist. He'd gotten to taste them earlier but it hadn't been enough. Would never be enough.
His tongue circled one nipple before taking it into his mouth, sucking hard. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, pressing more firmly into his mouth. Your hands threaded into the fur on his head, not pulling but holding him in place.
He lavished attention on your breasts, moving between them, his hands kneading what his mouth wasn't currently worshiping. His fangs grazed the sensitive skin carefully, never hard enough to break but enough to send shivers through you.
"Victor," you gasped, and the sound of his name in that breathy, desperate tone made his cock throb.
He worked his way down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your sternum, your ribs, your stomach. His hands explored as he went, squeezing your flesh, mapping every curve and plane. He pressed closer, inhaling deeply between lapping licks and gentle nips.
Your scent was stronger now, arousal mixing with the underlying sweetness that seemed inherent to Cupids. It made something primal in him roar to life, that predator instinct that his hybrid nature gave him.
His own blood roared through his ears, pounding with want and need. There was an itch under his skin, urging him to let go, to lose more control than was safe. To transform fully, to take you with the strength and power of his monster form.
But he held that down. Kept the transformation at bay through sheer will.
This isn't going anywhere... at least, not until midnight, he reminded himself. Then his birthday would be over and this would just be... what? A memory? A one-time thing?
He shoved those thoughts away. Focused instead on the soft sounds you were making—more panting and gasps rather than performative pitches that sometimes could hurt his sensitive ears. These sounds were real, honest reactions to his touch, and they had him harder than he'd ever been.
His claws—talons now really, sharper and curved—made quick work of your bottoms. He tugged the fabric down your legs and you lifted your hips to help. He swiftly pulled them off completely, tossing them aside.
You had opted to wear panties under the strangling fabric, it honestly was uncomfortable and weird otherwise. Especially given how it took you a moment to get here. Not like Sonar’d complaining, not when his eyes locked on the damp spot that had formed there. He could smell your arousal even more strongly now, and his mouth watered.
Those panties would definitely be pocketed later. He was already cataloguing where he set them so he could treasure them for the nights he expected to spend alone, missing this, missing you.
His fingers hooked in the waistband, and he looked up at you. Your pupils were blown wide, your chest heaving with each breath. You nodded—permission and encouragement all at once.
He pulled them down slowly, revealing you to him inch by inch. The fabric clung to your wet folds briefly before releasing, and then you were bare before him.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, you're perfect."
He spread your legs wider, settling between them, his eyes fixed on your pussy. You were glistening with arousal, slick and swollen and so fucking inviting.
"You smell—" He leaned closer, inhaling deeply, and the scent was even more intense this close. Rich and musky and uniquely you. "—you smell so good—"
Not some Cupid magic or pheromone bullshit either. This was just... fuck, it was amazing. It was you, your natural scent (something that's often made him dizzy during work hours) mixed with arousal, and it was driving him insane.
His hands gripped your thighs, and he felt his talons extending slightly with his excitement. Sharp points pressed against your skin, and he immediately forced them to retract. He couldn't risk hurting you, couldn't let his control slip that much. The talons slid back, leaving only the pads of his fingers against your flesh.
He glanced up at you, checking that you were okay, and found you watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. Your wings were spread across his bed, feathers rustling with each breath you took.
Then he lowered his head and tasted you for the first time.
Your hips gave a slight tilt at that first contact, a small arch that pressed your pussy more firmly against his mouth. His thumbs spread your lips, opening you to him, and a sound rolled in the back of his throat—something between a groan and a growl.
Before he could second-guess himself, he dove into his meal.
Hot warmth pressed against your cunt, his tongue flat and broad, lapping upward from your entrance to your clit. He was familiarizing himself with this new terrain, mapping every fold and ridge, and his taste buds were melting in delight.
You tasted incredible. Better than he'd imagined, and he'd imagined this a lot over the past few weeks. Sweet and tangy and slightly salty, with an underlying complexity that he couldn't quite describe. Like your blood would probably taste if he bit you—though that was a fantasy for later, if there was a later.
He groaned against your pussy, the vibration making you gasp. You moaned at the sensation, your thighs trembling around his head.
His tongue worked through your folds, gathering your wetness, exploring every part of you. He found your entrance and pushed inside, fucking you with shallow thrusts of his tongue before dragging back up to circle your clit.
Your clit was swollen and sensitive, and when he focused his attention there—flicking his tongue against it rapidly—your whole body jerked.
"Oh fuck," you gasped, your hands flying to his head. Your fingers tangled in the fur there, gripping but not pulling. "Victor, that's—don't stop—"
He had no intention of stopping. He sealed his mouth around your clit and sucked, his tongue continuing to work against the bundle of nerves, and your hips bucked up against his face.
It wasn't long until he found the rhythm that had you rocking against him. Moving your hips in time with his tongue, essentially riding his face, using him for your pleasure. And fuck, he loved it. He was buzzing with excitement, his cock so hard it was almost painful where it pressed against his slacks. Began grinding against the bed as he got off at your pleasure, at being between your legs.
Yes, yes, grind on his face, use him for your pleasure, keep making those noises for him, keep feeding him with your juices.
His hands gripped your thighs harder, holding you open and in place. His talons wanted to extend again with his mounting arousal, but he kept them retracted through sheer force of will. He focused that energy into his mouth instead, eating you out like a man possessed.
One of his hands released your thigh, sliding up your body to find your breast. He squeezed it, thumb brushing over that heart-shaped areola, adding another layer of stimulation.
Your responses were everything. The way your thighs trembled, the way your breath came in short gasps, the way you kept saying his name like a prayer—"Victor, Victor, fuck Victor"—it all drove him higher.
A punched out groan from him as your fingers tangle in his crown, the other pressed against his hand at your breast. This was amazing. This was fucking perfect. A thought that cycled in his brain as he worked a finger in your pussy, giving it something to clench around. Your wings flapped slightly at the intrusion, surprise then pleasure as it got used to him.
One becoming two.
Steadily fucking you on his fingers.
Until he could feel you getting close. Your pussy was clenching around him, more wetness flooding his fingers and tongue, your movements becoming more erratic. Those wings fully flapping against the bed, feathers rustling and spreading.
"I'm—fuck—I'm gonna—" You couldn't finish the sentence, too overwhelmed.
He doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit while his tongue flicked rapidly against it.
The combination of his mouth on your clit and his fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars—it was too much.
You breathing sped up, hitching with every gasp.
Then, your head tossed back with a silent cry as you came, your whole body going taut. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers like a vice, pulsing rhythmically with your orgasm. Your thighs tried to close around his head, but he kept them open, kept working you through it.
More wetness flooded his mouth, and he lapped it up greedily, not wanting to miss a single drop. You tasted even better like this, and the fact that he'd made you come—that he'd made you lose control—sent a surge of pride and possessiveness through him.
The audible moans as you found oxygen utterly wrecked.
He only pulled back when you started to squirm from oversensitivity, your hands pushing weakly at his head. His face was wet with you, and he didn't bother wiping it away. Instead, he looked up the length of your body, meeting your glazed eyes.
"Fuck," you panted, your chest heaving. "That was—fuck—"
"Good?" he asked, though the smug satisfaction in his voice made it clear he already knew the answer.
"Understatement," you managed.
Needless to say, he did it again. Having moved up the length of your body, making out to sucking and kicking your neck to your tits as he fingered you again. Wanting to milk at least another orgasm out of you—prep you properly, more like—and also just hear more of your sounds. Just close up this time.
It wasn't until you were a real mess that he settled his weight over you.
His still clothed erection pressed against your bare pussy, and you both groaned at the contact.
Your hands went to his slacks, fumbling with the belt. "Fuck—These need to come off already."
He didn't argue. He pulled back just enough to help, both of you working together to get his belt undone, the button and zipper open. He shoved his slacks and underwear down his hips, kicking them off awkwardly, and then he was finally naked.
His cock sprang free, hard and leaking. The head was flushed dark, precum beading at the tip, and you reached down to wrap your hand around him.
"Fuck," he hissed at the contact. Your grip was firm and confident, stroking him from base to tip, your thumb swiping over the head to spread the precum.
"You're so hard," you murmured, your eyes dark with renewed arousal as you watched your hand work his cock. "Have you been like this all night?"
"Since you walked in," he admitted, his hips jerking involuntarily, fucking into your fist. "Since before that. Since you sent those fucking pictures."
You smiled, something wicked and pleased. "Good."
You guided him to your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your pussy. You were so wet, so ready, and the heat of you was incredible even with just that small contact.
"Please," you breathed. "Victor, please—"
He didn't make you wait. He pushed forward slowly, watching as his cock disappeared inside you inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming—tight and hot and wet and perfect. Your inner walls gripped him, fluttering slightly as they adjusted to the intrusion.
"Oh fuck," he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. "Oh fuck, you feel—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. There were no words adequate to describe how good you felt wrapped around his cock. Despite your welcoming heat, he still took it steady. Sinking in ever so slowly that has you both panting.
Then, he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, fully seated inside you.
You made a sound—pleasure mixed with the slight edge of being filled so completely. Your legs came up to wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, keeping him close.
"Move," you demand after a moment. "Victor, please move—"
He started to thrust, pulling out slowly before pushing back in. The drag of his cock against your walls sent sparks of pleasure up his spine. He built up a steady rhythm, not too fast yet, letting you both adjust and savor the sensation.
Your hands roamed over his body—his back, his shoulders, threading into his fur, careful around his sensitive ears. Your wings had wrapped around both of you again, creating that intimate cocoon that shut out the world. The feathers rustled with each thrust, creating a sound like whispered secrets.
"You feel so good," you panted, your voice breaking on the last word as he hit a particularly deep angle. "So fucking good inside me—"
The praise sent a thrill through him, lighting up every nerve ending. His ego—always so carefully constructed—craved your words like a drug. He picked up the pace, thrusting harder, faster, determined to earn more of those breathy compliments.
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with your combined moans and gasps. The bed creaked rhythmically beneath you, the headboard starting to tap against the wall. His expensive sheets were definitely going to need washing, already damp with sweat and the evidence of your earlier activities.
He was practically drooling against your shoulder now, his mouth hanging open as he panted. Hot breath fanned across your already overheated skin, making you shiver despite the warmth. His fangs—long and sharp, a constant presence in his mouth—grazed your skin with each breath. The occasional jab of the points drew your pleasured attention there, making you gasp and clench around him.
Your nails dragged up his back, not quite breaking skin but close. The sensation was perfect—that edge of pain that heightened everything else. Your hands found his skull, gripping the fur there, then pressing firmly against the bone underneath.
"You can bite me, baby," you breathlessly whispered directly into his ear. The endearment made something in his chest clench. "Take a little drink."
He pulled back abruptly, his rhythm faltering. His hips did a particularly hard thrust almost involuntarily—his body continuing the motion even as his mind tried to process your words. The deep penetration squeezed a sound from your throat, something between a moan and a whimper.
"What—wh—" Sonar panted, his white eyes wide as he stared down at you. His cock was still buried inside you, twitching with need, but confusion warred with arousal on his bat-like features. "You want me to—"
"Bite," you confirmed, already pulling him back down, guiding his face to the junction of your neck and shoulder. Your hands were firm, confident, no hesitation in the gesture. "Just a little. To soothe the ache." Your fingers curled into his fur, grounding and encouraging at once. "Go ahead. I don't mind."
You punctuated your words by grinding up into him, rolling your hips to take him even deeper. The movement reminded both of you of your very eager predicament—his cock hard and leaking inside you, your pussy clenching rhythmically around him, both of you so close to the edge it was almost painful.
"Are you sure?" His voice was strained, the words barely intelligible. His fangs were—have been—aching, the urge to bite nearly overwhelming. "I don't want to hurt—"
"You won't," you assured him, your voice dropping into that lower register that made his cock throb. "I'm offering. I want you to."
That was all the permission he needed.
Sonar resumed his thrusting, finding that hard, fast rhythm again. His mouth found your neck, lips and tongue exploring the skin there first. He could feel your pulse under his tongue, rapid and strong, your blood pumping just beneath the surface.
He licked over the spot he'd chosen—where your neck met your shoulder, a place that would be easily hidden by clothing but was sensitive enough to make you gasp. His saliva would help numb it slightly.
Then his fangs sank in.
The resistance of your skin gave way, and the rich, sweet taste of your blood flooded his mouth immediately. It was nothing like the small taste he'd gotten from biting his own lip earlier, nothing like anything he'd experienced before.
Your blood was extraordinary.
Sweet like honey but with an underlying complexity—notes of something floral, something bright and effervescent, something that tasted like pure concentrated emotion. It sparkled on his tongue, almost fizzy, and warmth began to spread through his body from the point of contact.
"Fuck," you moaned, your back arching off the bed. Your pussy clenched around him hard, and he realized the bite had sent pleasure shooting through you. "Yes, Victor, yes—"
He groaned against your neck, the vibration traveling through where his mouth sealed against your skin. He began to drink, taking small pulls of your blood, each swallow sending that incredible taste cascading down his throat.
His hips never stopped moving, fucking into you with renewed vigor. The combination of sensations—your tight heat around his cock, your blood in his mouth, your nails digging into his back—was overwhelming.
The Cupid blood began to affect him almost immediately.
It started as warmth in his chest, then spread outward like liquid fire through his veins. But it wasn't painful—it was euphoric. Every nerve ending came alive, hypersensitive. The feeling of your pussy around him intensified until he could feel every ridge, every flutter, every clench with crystal clarity.
Colors seemed brighter behind his closed eyelids. Sounds became richer—he could hear the individual rustles of your feathers, the specific pitch of your moans, the wet sounds of his cock driving into you. Even the scent of sex in the room became more complex, layered.
It was like the best high he'd ever experienced, but cleaner. Brighter. There was no fog, no dulling of his senses—just pure amplification of everything.
"Oh fuck," he gasped, pulling back from your neck. Blood stained his fangs, his lips, and he licked them automatically, chasing every drop of that incredible taste. "Oh fuck, that's—what is that—"
"Cupid blood," you panted, your pupils blown so wide your eyes looked black. The hearts were visible now, pulsing with each rapid beat of your heart. "Hits different, doesn't it?"
"Different" was an understatement. He felt invincible, powerful, alive in a way he'd never experienced. Every thrust into you felt like the first time and the thousandth time all at once. He could feel your pleasure mixing with his own, some kind of feedback loop created by the blood connection.
He could almost taste your emotions—desire, affection, something deeper that neither of you had named yet.
His rhythm became almost frantic, chasing the building pleasure. The high from your blood amplified everything, made his approaching orgasm feel like it might actually destroy him in the best possible way.
"Not gonna last," he warned, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, I'm—"
"Me too," you gasped. Your legs tightened around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, forcing him deeper. "Come with me, Victor. Want to feel you—" your hand found your clit, rubbing frantically, and that was all it took. You came with an immediate moan this time, your whole body seizing, your pussy clamping down on him like it was trying to pull him deeper, to keep him inside forever.
The sensation of you coming—intensified by the blood high—shattered his control completely. He buried himself as deep as possible (even though he probably should've pulled out) and let go, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside you. The sensation making him press deep. Inside, fuck yes, inside.
But this orgasm was different than the one he achieved at work. Enhanced by your blood, it felt like it went on forever, wave after wave of pleasure that bordered on painful in its intensity. He could feel it in every cell of his body, could feel you everywhere, could feel the connection between you like a physical thing.
He roared against your neck, the sound inhuman, his body trembling with the force of his release.
When it finally subsided, he collapsed onto you, unable to hold himself up anymore. His cock was still inside you, both of you too sensitive and too exhausted to move. Your blood hummed through his system, that warm, bright high settling into a pleasant buzz.
"Holy shit," he mumbled against your neck, where the bite marks were already starting to close. Cupid healing, probably. "That was—I've never—"
"I know," you said softly, your hand stroking through his fur gently. Your other wing had come around to cover both of you more fully, a protective gesture that made his chest tight. "Cupid blood is... intense."
"That's putting it mildly." He managed to lift his head, looking down at you. Your face was flushed, hair plastered to your forehead with sweat, lips swollen from kissing. You looked thoroughly debauched and absolutely beautiful. "Are you okay? Did I take too much?"
"I'm fine," you assured him, one hand coming up to cup his face. Your thumb stroked over his snout gently. "You were careful. Just enough to feel good for both of us."
He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your palm. The gesture felt intimate in a way that went beyond the physical intimacy you'd just shared. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For trusting me with that."
"Of course." Your expression was soft, open in a way that made his heart stutter. "I trust you, Victor."
The words settled over him like a blanket. Trust. Such a simple word, but it meant everything. You trusted him—Victor, the con man, the addict, the man who'd built empires on lies. You saw all of that and still chose to trust him.
He kissed you then, slow and deep, tasting himself and you and the lingering sweetness of your blood. Your arms came around him, holding him close, and neither of you seemed in a hurry to break apart.
Finally, he had to pull out, both of you wincing at the sensitivity. He rolled to the side, taking you with him so you were pressed against his chest. Your wings adjusted, one tucking against your back while the other draped over both of you.
"I can still feel it," he murmured, his hand stroking absently along your spine. "Your blood. It's like... everything is brighter."
"It'll fade in an hour or two," you told him, your voice already drowsy. "Enjoy it while it lasts."
He planned to. The high was already starting to mellow into something more sustainable—still heightened senses and that pleasant warmth, but less overwhelming. It felt good. Really good.
So after a breather and cuddle, along with refresher of some water. Sex happened again.
A blur of positions and pleasure through the night. Sucking his cock while he ate you out, he cumming down your throat as you gushed against his snout; you bent over the bed or better yet, angled proper so the two of you could watch your reflections as you fucked. More biting, of course. Not too much blood taking, maybe just licking what did happen but no actual sips.
At some point, his hands found your wings, and when he gripped them—
—your entire body arched like you'd been struck by lightning, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat that might have been his name or might have been a prayer.
"Fuck—" Sonar's grip on your wings tightened instinctively, and the sensation shot straight down your spine to your core, making you clench around nothing. "Did you just—did I hurt you—"
"No—" You were panting, trembling, your wings fluttering spastically in his grip. "No, that's—that's really good, actually. Fuck.” A whimper. “Wings— sensitive. Really sensitive."
His white eyes seemed to go dark with understanding, with renewed hunger. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," you breathed, and when he gave an experimental tug—gentle but firm—you moaned outright, head falling back.
"Oh, this is dangerous," he murmured, fascinated, using your wings as leverage to pull you closer, to adjust the angle as you rode him. "This is—fuck, you feel so good, clenching like that—"
Each touch to your wings sent sparks of pleasure through your nervous system, made you tighten around his cock buried deep inside you. The combination was intoxicating—the stretch and fullness of him inside you, the electric sensation of his hands on your wings, the way he was looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Vic—" His name was a plea, a warning, and he understood immediately.
"Yeah, me too—come on, angel, cum for me—want to feel you—"
His thumb found where your wing met your back, pressing down on a cluster of nerves there, and that was it. You came with a cry-almost-sob, wings spreading wide involuntarily, feathers catching the lamplight as your body seized with pleasure. The sight of you—wings spread, head thrown back, body trembling—sent Sonar over the edge right after, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and filled you.
You collapsed against his chest afterward, both of you sweaty and panting and utterly spent. His arms came around you—careful of your wings now that he knew how sensitive they were—and for a long moment you just breathed together.
“That was… so hot.”
You giggled against his chest. “Yeah. It was.”
You weren’t sure what time it was or how many rounds you've went by the time you pulled yourself up. Hand caressing Sonar who still looked like he was riding some high, whether it be from the sex or the lingering effect of your blood you were sure.
“Wanna try something else?” You tilt your head toward your shoulder while looking down at him.
“Is that a trick question?”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
The air around you shimmered, and your form began to change. Your breasts flattened, chest broadening. Your hips narrowed, shoulders widening. Your features sharpened, becoming more angular, more masculine. And between your legs, a cock emerged, growing until it stood proud and hard against your abdomen.
"Oh fuck yes," Sonar breathed, staring at your erection like it was the second coming. Despite the exhaustion of the entire night, he definitely could find the energy for more. “I've been thinking about this since lunch. Since you got all commanding and powerful with Flambae. This cock, these wings, you being all dominant and—"
"Sonar," you interrupted, amused. "You're rambling." But hey, now you know he was actually interested in it before this specific moment. It made some anxiety ease in your gut. It’s rare that you get to embrace this side of yourself. It’s nice. Especially when it’s Sonar you’re doing it with.
"Sorry, I just—" He looked up at you, white eyes wide and honest. "Can I suck it? Please? I've never—I mean, I've thought about it, but never actually—"
Sonar descended on your cock with the same enthusiasm he'd shown your breasts and pussy earlier. He started with his hand, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and stroking experimentally. Your cock was thick, warm, the skin velvety soft over the hardness beneath. Precum beaded at the tip, and he leaned down to lick it off.
The taste was different from your slick—more neutral, slightly salty—but still undeniably you. Always you. He swirled his tongue around the head, mapping the shape of it, before taking you into his mouth.
His technique was unpracticed, but what he lacked in experience he made up for in sheer eagerness. He took you deeper, tongue working against the underside, fangs carefully avoiding contact as he bobbed his head. The stretch of his jaw was unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and the weight of you on his tongue was grounding.
You gasped above him, wings spreading wider across his bed, feathers rustling. Your hand found his head, fingers tangling in his fur, not directing but encouraging
"That's it," you murmured. "Just like that. You're doing so good."
The praise made Sonar moan around your cock, the vibration sending a visible shudder through your body. He took you deeper, testing his limits, gagging slightly before adjusting and trying again. He wanted to take all of you, wanted to prove he could.
Your hips rocked in small movements, fucking his mouth gently, letting him set the pace. His hands gripped your thighs, claws pricking skin and neither of you minded him breaking skin, holding you in place as he worked. Drool began to leak from the corners of his mouth, making everything sloppier, wetter.
"Fuck, your mouth," you groaned. "So eager, such a good slut.”
That had Sonar nearly cumming. Yep, he's a slut and he sure as hell likes being called one.
He let out a whine when you pulled him off minutes later, “None of that.” You laugh as you easily began to pull him. “Don’t want to cum down your throat. Not yet.”
And he whimpered at that thought.
"Tonight is about you," you murmured. "What do you want?” Echoing the same question that began this night.
Sonar's mind was hazy as his chest heaved. "I want—" He swallowed hard, the mixture of saliva and precum working down his throat. “I want you to fuck me. Please."
You pulled back to meet his eyes, searching. "You've done this before?"
"No." The admission felt vulnerable. "But I want to. With you. Tonight."
You cupped his face gently, thumb brushing over his cheek. "We'll take it slow."
You flipped your positions in one smooth movement, pressing Sonar into the mattress. Your wings spread wide, creating a canopy over both of you, blocking out the rest of the world. It felt intimate, protected, like nothing existed beyond this bed.
"Easy, pet," you cooed, kissing his snout. "I have to make sure you're prepared."
“Do you though?” He grumbled and you simply chuckled, working a pillow under his hips.
“Yes. Now behave or get nothing.”
He was smart to listen this time.
Sonar heard the snap of a bottle cap— had you gotten the lube from his nightstand? Or did you bring it yourself—and then slick fingers were trailing down his spine, over the curve of his ass. You took your time, massaging the muscle there, helping him relax.
When your finger first circled his hole, he tensed instinctively. You paused, your other hand stroking soothing patterns on his lower back. "Relax," you instructed softly. "I've got you."
He forced himself to relax, focusing on his breathing. Your finger pressed in slowly, just the tip at first, and the sensation was strange—not quite uncomfortable but definitely foreign. You worked it gradually, letting him adjust to each new increment.
"Ngh—ugh—" His abdomen tensed as he curled before his head fell back, hand gripping at your shoulder.
"There you go," your voice lathered his ears, a frequency he found himself zeroing in on. "Just breathe."
He clenched briefly around your finger as your other hand reached for his cock. Fingers wrapping around the length and steadily stroking him. The dual sensation—the intrusion and the pleasure—helped distract his focus from the new experience.
You worked him open with patient precision, adding more lube when needed, not rushing. One finger became two, stretching him wider, finding angles that made him gasp. You crooked your fingers, searching, and when you found his prostate he nearly came off the bed.
"Fuck!" The pleasure was intense, radiating from that spot throughout his entire body. "What—"
"That's your prostate," you explained, stroking over it again and making him moan. "Feels good?"
"Yes—fuck yes—don't stop—"
But you did slow down when you added a third finger, giving him time to adjust to the increased stretch. It burned slightly, but you were generous with the lube and your other hand never stopped stroking his cock, keeping him aroused and distracted.
Time became fluid. You worked him open thoroughly, refusing to rush despite his increasing desperation. Your fingers thrust into him steadily, spreading occasionally, making sure he was truly ready. The sight of him, folded open and drunk on a new level of pleasure made your cock practically ooze with precum.
"'Stop—stop! Stop—" he finally gasped.
You immediately froze, your fingers going still. Concern colored your voice as you asked, "What's wrong? Are you hurt—?"
"No, no." He shook his head, chest heaving. "I was about to cum." He turned his head to look back at you, white eyes meeting yours with raw honesty.
“I want to cum on your cock, not your fingers. That's why I told you to stop."
Your expression shifted from concern to dark hunger. You withdrew your fingers fully now, carefully, and he felt the immediate emptiness. He heard you slicking up your cock and then the blunt head was pressing against his entrance.
"Ready?" you asked, one hand steady on his hip.
"Yes," Sonar breathed. "Please—"
You pushed in slowly, and even with all the preparation, the stretch was intense. Your cock was thicker than your fingers, and the burn made him gasp. You paused when just the head was inside, giving him time to adjust.
"Breathe," you reminded him, your hand stroking his flank. "You’re doing amazing. Taking me so perfectly.”
Sonar forced himself to relax, to breathe through it. The burn gradually faded into something else—fullness, pressure, the overwhelming awareness of being penetrated.
"More," he managed. "I can take more."
You obliged, pushing deeper with careful control. Inch by inch, you filled him, pausing whenever he tensed, not moving forward until he'd relaxed again. It felt like it took forever, but finally your hips were flush against his ass, your cock fully seated inside him.
"Ohhh, fuck!" Sonar gasped. He felt impossibly full, stretched around you, and when you shifted slightly it sent sparks up his spine. "Oh fuck, oh fuck— fuck.”
"I'm gonna move now," you warned.
You pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, before pushing back in. The drag of your cock against his inner walls was overwhelming. You knew it would be so you set a gentle rhythm, letting him get used to the sensation.
But Sonar didn't want gentle.
He'd never wanted gentle. Not right now, at least.
He pushed against you, trying to get you deeper, harder. "More," he demanded. "Fuck me properly. I can take it."
You didn't need to be told twice. Your knees adjusted, hands gripped his hips as you picked up the pace, thrusting harder. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixing with his increasingly desperate moans.
"Yes—yes—fuck—" He couldn't form coherent sentences anymore. Every thrust hit that spot inside him that made his vision white out. His cock was leaking steadily onto his stomach, bouncing untouched, and he'd never been this turned on in his life.
Your wings mantled over both of you, feathers brushing his skin with each thrust.
"Your ass was made for my cock. So tight, so perfect. Taking it like a good cocksleeve,” you growled, your voice rough with exertion and pleasure.
Sonar could only moan in response, completely lost in sensation. Every nerve ending felt electrified. Your cock stretched him so perfectly, filled him so completely. He'd never felt anything like this—never felt so utterly claimed, so thoroughly used.
You leaned forward, adjusting his legs—mindful of how flexible he is and isn’t, but enough is enough and you manage to press deeper. Enticing a moan from his unique chords.
You release one of his legs, letting it rest against your chest as you reached, finally wrapping around his aching cock. The moment you touched him, he was gone.
His orgasm hit like a freight train, his whole body convulsing as he came harder than he ever had in his life. His ass clenched rhythmically around your cock, his own cock pulsing in your hand as he painted the sheets beneath him. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on painful, wringing him out completely.
You fucked him through it, your thrusts becoming erratic as his tightening walls pushed you over the edge. You buried yourself deep, your cock throbbing as you filled him with your cum. The feeling of being filled in both ways—your cock and your cum inside him—made him whimper with oversensitivity.
You collapsed forward, careful to catch yourself on your hands so you didn't crush him. Both of you were panting, covered in sweat, thoroughly spent. Slowly, carefully, you pulled out, and he winced at the drag. He could feel your cum starting to leak out of him, and the filthiness of it made his spent cock give a weak twitch.
"One more—" Sonar murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, body aching in ways that should probably concern him but don't. Every muscle feels used, stretched, pleasantly destroyed. His ass is sore, his jaw aches from earlier, and there are bite marks scattered across his body that sting when he moves. He doesn't want it to end. Even after hours and hours of this, especially after your shift. He doesn't want this birthday to end. Not if it means the gift stops.
"Victor—" you softly start, fond yet concerned. You can feel his exhaustion through the connection your wings create, wrapped as they are around both of you. "We've been at it for hours. You—"
"I can handle it." He argues, but he doesn't even have the strength to look over his shoulder. His white eyes are half-lidded, his breathing still uneven from the last round. "I can." Softer, he adds—or perhaps pleads, like it truly is that meaningful—"One more."
You lay there, staring at his back. The fur is matted with sweat in places, and you can see the marks you've left on him. Scratches from your claws when you'd lost control. Bite marks on his shoulders. Bruises on his hips from gripping him too hard. Your feathers bristle as you pick up on the emotions, the turmoil, things overlaying each other that make you confused as you process them.
In a way, you had assumed he would take it casually. Take this, casually.
Not like you minded it being something else but... it’s confusing, I guess. You don't know.
Cupids do a lot of things, but you can't say that you are as sexually active as others. Or at least your relationships are more emotional and complicated than most Cupids you've encountered. It was difficult for you to be as open as they were. Sex was easy for most of your kind—a tool, a pleasure, something freely given and taken without attachment. Because love can be like that, love can be many things and when you’re kin that is both love and war—contradictions are expected. Even if it sometimes you’re confused even with your own nature.
But just like any individual that is distinctively not human, partners who focused on what you are and only engaged with you because of it is just tiring. The fetishization gets old fast. People want to fuck a Cupid, want to experience the mythological being, but they don't want you. They don't see past the wings and the transformations and the supernatural allure.
Maybe that's sort of how it started with the two of you today—or rather yesterday, you realize, noting the early morning light starting to creep through his blinds. Casual. Friends doing it because fuck it, who cares. The Z-Team dosen’t. Neither of you expecting it to change until it did.
Maybe it was in the closet, when the two of you had engaged in helping each other rather than doing your individual cleanups. He'd groomed you—a gesture far more intimate than you initially thought it to be, his tongue lapping up his mess and simply soothing your skin with a reverence that made your chest tight in memory of it now. While you had carefully got him redressed, did his pants, his belt, fixed his tie, smoothing down his fur and clothes alike; both of you moving in synchronicity like you'd done this a hundred times before.
Or maybe it started forming long before that and you jumping the ship and actually sending him pics of your tits was just the thing that finally kicked it in motion. The culmination of weeks of tension, of lingering looks during dispatch calls, of inside jokes that only the two of you understood.
Or... that's all just projection on your part. Wishful thinking.
You aren't as keen as you thought you were on matters of love. Reading others' emotions, facilitating their connections—that's easy. Your own? A fucking mess.
Sonar snaps you out of your thoughts, his name on his lips, questioning and oh so vulnerable.
"Okay," you whisper.
You see and feel him relax. Feel the way his body eases, melts even, as you settle closer. The relief that radiates from him is palpable, and it does something to your heart that you're not sure how to approach.
This time you simply keep to the spooning position instead of doing something grand. Your masculine form is still active, your cock already hardening again despite the marathon you've both been through. You're running on supernatural stamina at this point, but even that has its limits.
Your hand is gentle as you adjust him and he lets you. Trusting and pliant in your control as you hook his leg forward slightly, opening him up. Your right arm tucks under his neck, adjusting a bit to find a comfortable position before relaxing. His own arm bends, his hand managing to find your fingers. It's a hold first, his claws grasping at your digits in a clasp.
"You sure?" you ask, seeking confirmation one more time. Because consent matters, even in the haze of exhaustion and desperate need.
"...If it's okay."
And you softly exhale.
"Of course it's okay."
Your other hand carefully guided yourself back in, treating it like the first time despite the multiple rounds declaring otherwise. He's looser now, as expected. His body having adjusted, but you're still careful. Slow. Your cock slides in easier this time, his hole still slick with lube and cum from before.
Sonar makes a small sound—not quite pain, not quite pleasure, something in between. His hand tightens around yours as you bottom out, your hips flush against his ass.
This time, it's slower. Your hips rolling to work in and out, a gentle rhythm that's more about connection than pleasure. Fingers interlacing with his as your other hand settles on his thigh, feeling the muscle there trembling with fatigue.
Your lips press to his shoulder, eyes shut as you focus on the moment rather than the rush of adrenaline or eagerness to please. This is probably the quietest the both of you have been since starting. Not to say neither of you were enjoying it. Just the focus was different. That's all.
The room is filled with soft sounds—the rustle of feathers, the quiet gasps and sighs, the gentle slap of skin on skin. Your cock drags against his inner walls with each slow thrust, and you can feel him clenching around you occasionally, like his body doesn't want to let you go.
"Feel good?" you murmur against his shoulder, against fur and flesh.
"Mm-hmm." He can't seem to form words anymore, reduced to small sounds of contentment. His eyes are closed, long ears relaxed rather than alert.
You fuck him like this for a long time, slow and steady and intimate. There's no urgency now, no desperate race to orgasm. Just the two of you, connected in the most primal way, your wings creating a cocoon that shuts out the rest of the world.
When you finally cum, it's gentle. A slow build rather than an explosive finish. Your cock pulses inside him, adding to the mess already there, and he makes a satisfied sound.
"Together," he mumbles, and you realize he's coming too, his cock untouched but leaking onto the sheets beneath him. His ass tightens rhythmically around you, milking the last of your release.
You stay like that for a while, still buried inside him, both of you catching your breath. Your supernatural form is starting to flicker at the edges—a sign that even your stamina has limits.
“Best… birthday… ever.”
“So you’ve told me.” But amusement is laced on your tongue.
His white eyes are glazed with exhaustion and satisfaction, a dopey smile on his bat-like face. "Love you," he mumbles, then immediately seems to realize what he said.
His eyes widen slightly. "I —"
"Shh." You give his hand a gentle squeeze, readjusting so the arms could rest in a comfortable position. Your other hand tucking across his chest. "Sleep first. Talk later."
He nods, relief evident, and his eyes start to drift closed.
But even in his exhausted state, his hand finds yours, fingers interlacing. And that simple gesture feels more intimate than everything that came before it.
You watch him fall asleep, his breathing evening out, his body finally relaxing completely. The marks on his body are extensive—you've really marked him up. Bite marks on his shoulders and neck, scratches down his back, bruises on his hips and thighs. He's going to be sore for days.
But he looks happy. Content in a way you've never seen him during work hours, when he's all sharp intelligence and business acumen and barely controlled addiction issues.
You should sleep too. You're exhausted, your body aching in unfamiliar ways. But you stay awake a while longer, watching him, your wings tucked close to conserve warmth.
Eventually, sleep claims you too.
Of course, later, you’d force yourself to stir. Making every moment and step a second of taxing existence, as the additional exertion of simply being awake (even worse, moving) after finally being lulled to rest is its own kind of torture.
It took a minute to find the necessary items, sliding the sheet inward. There you had filled Sonar ever gently to his side, cleaned him gently with a soaked towel, removed the other half of the sheet then did the reverse movement with the new one. He listened so well, even in his exhausted state. Let you give him some water and carefully help him in boxers at the very least. By then, you truly were faltering. But hey, despite the very deep exhaustion you couldn't be mad. That's as good as you’re getting right now…
Hours pass, as they do. The sun has rose fully, bright morning light eventually giving way to afternoon. Neither of you stir, too deeply exhausted to notice the passage of time.
The door to the apartment clicks open sometime around 2:45 PM. Footsteps, quiet but deliberate, move through the living room. A tall figure appears in the doorway to Sonar's bedroom, surveying the scene with amusement.
Malevola leans against the doorframe. Her yellow pupilless eyes take in the chaos: clothes scattered everywhere, the smell of sex heavy in the air, the two thoroughly debauched figures passed out in bed.
She moves closer, noting with professional concern the extent of the marks on both of you. Nothing that looks dangerous, but definitely thorough. Her prehensile tail swishes behind her as she approaches Sonar's side of the bed.
The cup of ice water in her hand hovers over his face. Till she lovers it, pressing it directly against that sensitive pink snout.
A groan fell from his lips, nose twitching as the chill pressed against the sensitive flesh. The cold makes his face scrunch up, snout twitching in dismay as he turns away, protecting himself from the attack.
"Morning you wild animal. Or afternoon, I guess," Malevola says cheerfully. Her tail comes up, delivering a gentle but firm smack to his groin.
Sonar squeaks—actually squeaks—and shoots upright. The motion brings him forward then back down in his collapse, hands protective over his crotch. "Ow! What the—"
"Mav?" He blearily frog blinks, processing the familiar figure looming over his bedside. "What... what are you doing here?"
"Making sure you aren't dead." Malevola smiles, hand resting on her hip. The cup of ice water settles on the bedside table, courtesy of her prehensile tail. "Seems like the two of you went all out. Don't think those are going to disappear anytime soon."
She nods toward the bed, drawing his eyes over.
You.
You're here.
You're still here.
The anxiety he woke up with—something unexplainable, that cold dread that you'd have left, that it was just casual, that he'd read everything wrong—immediately disappears.
You're lying on your stomach, one wing tucked against you for extra warmth as the other is askew across his legs. Still nude, and now the marks from last night—his bites, his fangs, his hickies, the occasional clawing—are artfully displayed under the teasing afternoon sun streaming through the partially open blinds.
Your a mess even after the bath he vaguely remembers sharing with you, there's a particularly prominent bite mark on your shoulder that's going to bruise spectacularly, and there are scratches down your back where his claws had dug in during one particularly intense round.
His own body bears similar marks, badges of honor that buzz ever so delightfully under his skin. He can feel every one of them, the pleasant ache that speaks of a night well spent.
"Uuugh," Sonar turns his head away from the sight of you—because looking at you is making his body respond in ways it absolutely cannot handle right now—staring at the ceiling instead. "I'm hard again..." A sound that is both pained and pleasured. "...it hurts."
Malevola's chuckle can be heard as she stalks away from the bedside, moving around the room but keeping away from any possibly... questionable spaces. She's careful not to touch anything that might be bodily fluid adjacent, her tail flicking away from a particularly suspicious wet spot on the floor.
"What time is it?" Sonar asks, his voice rough from use—probably from all the moaning and the enthusiastic blowjob.
"Just turned 3 PM."
"Ah shit..." He processes this. "Blazer is going to kill me."
"Don't worry," Malevola reassures, moving to Sonar's closet and pulling it open. "C got you both covered. Told Blazer you wouldn't be in today just before leaving yesterday."
That catches Sonar's attention. His head turns, white eyes focusing on her with sudden focus. "What?"
The half-demon shrugs, but a smile plays on her lips—the kind that knows something good. "Guess he knew to play it smart. Can't really be helpful if you're limping everywhere like you got fucked in the ass."
Sonar seems fit to argue. The words are right there, his rain ready to formulate a rebuttal about his pain tolerance and professional capabilities or more importantly, how he’s never been with a man (because that had always been an initial statement). It doesn't happen though, especially as he feels just how sore his body is as he ever so slowly peels himself upright to sitting.
Every muscle protests. His ass is on fire—not in the fun way anymore, just in the deeply used way. His jaw aches. His hips hurt. There are twinges in places he didn't even know could get sore.
"I did get fucked in the ass," he states matter-of-factly, with the dignity of a man who's made peace with his choices. "And it was awesome."
Malevola's brows raise, surprised, followed by a huff of genuine amusement. "Good on you." She selects a graphic tee from his closet—one of his Vanderstenk merch shirts despite the dudes recent divorce with his wife. “Really, man."
"Despite the... clawing and looking like you got mauled and manhandled by a badger—" she glances at him again, her assessment more thorough, "—you look good. Or well, happy. Beyond just 'sex happy.'"
There's a knowing quality to her tone. Malevola's been his sponsor for a while now, then of course, a great friend—helped him through some of his darkest moments. She knows what his face looks like when he's just chasing the next high, the next rush, the next thing to make him feel something other than empty.
This isn't that.
"I get it." Sonar reassures, his voice softer. More honest. "I am. Happy..." He pauses, looking back at your sleeping form. A genuine smile crosses his bat features. "Thanks."
Malevola simply hums in acknowledgment before she tosses the shirt. It sails through the air, landing perfectly draped over his fuzzy head. "Don't mention it. Now get your angel dressed. Brought food for you two."
The shirt slides down his face as he pulls it off, looking at her with surprise. "You brought food?"
"You think I'm gonna let you two starve after fucking for—" she checks her phone, "—what, eight hours? Nine? The timeline's unclear but the results are obvious." She heads toward the bedroom door. "I got Thai. Your favorite place. It's in the kitchen. Whenever you two are... mobile."
"Mav?"
She pauses, looking back.
"Seriously. Thank you."
Her expression softens. "That's what friends are for, Victor. Making sure you don't die in stupid ways. Though I gotta say, 'death by birthday sex' would be a new one."
She leaves, pulling the door mostly closed behind her to give you both privacy but not completely—probably in case one of you actually does need help getting to the bathroom.
Sonar sits there for a moment, shirt in his hands, staring at your sleeping form. You're still out cold, exhausted in ways that speak to just how thoroughly you both wore each other out.
Slowly, carefully—because everything hurts—he shifts. His body stretches, causing his face to twist in soreness before relaxing as he’s brought himself closer to you. Resting on an arm, his other reached out, gently brushing along your wing. He’s learned that while its edges are delicate still, it isn’t as sensitive as other zones—allowing him to expose your face to the open.
To him.
Even in sleep, you're beautiful. Both forms, all forms, everything about you.
"Love you," he whispers, quieter this time. Meaning it even more than when he'd accidentally blurted it out before. "Not just the sex. Just... you."
You don't wake, but you make a small content sound and shift slightly closer to his touch.
Sonar allows himself a few more minutes of watching you sleep, memorizing this moment. He’ll just bring you food in bed. No need for both of you to suffer shuffling about. So, with a groan that would make an old man proud, he forces himself to stand.
His legs immediately protest. His ass screams at him. He actually has to grab the nightstand for balance.
"Worth it," he mutters to himself, and begins the arduous process of finding some pants that aren't going to rub against all his new sensitive areas.
This is going to be an interesting conversation when you wake up. But right now? Right now he's just grateful you stayed.
And later, with the rather helpful Mal, the two of you would soak in the bathtub (after she practically sprayed you two down like she just found out the two of you had fleas) while lazily eating Thai. It’s a surprise that half of it even got in your mouths but hey, a win is a win. But you do wince when Sonar accidentally kicks the hell out of you in the dick—he’ll eventually be mindful of the cargo.
Because it’ll become obvious just how much he loves bragging about you.
“My partner actually said—”
“You’re just jealous that my boyfriend—”
“Guys, my girlfriend—”
It’s like his Harvard rambling. Just cuter but also worse at the same time. In the end, he loves you and that’s all that matters. But you probably have to teach him not to talk about your personal time with the team.
“…Sonar, you have to stop talking to people about my dick like it’s a crypto investment.”
“I wasn’t. I was just saying—wait.” A pause that had made you shut your eyes and simply regret speaking. “We could totally make that into a coin—”
Author's Note: This was lowkey supposed to have an Alt. with Flambae (which would've been entirety masc!reader) and an Alt. w/ Robert (just bc it happened to happen.) I might still do the Flambae route because that one was more emotionally connected to the reader (difficulty with like shit they gone through and gender dysphoria) and the both of them dealing with their insecurities and whatnot. If you think this is a mess though y'all should've seen how it looked initially, there was like every damn thing going around left and right and had to be removed and put elsewhere because it just would've been a multi-fic instead of Sonar focused.
(it’s that time of the month 🩸/slight dysphoria) Yeah listen guys, the seasonal depression is hitting hard. But this’ll try to be for everyone pre t or not, but in this story u don’t have bottom surgery. Yk I feel like that’s obvious, congrats if u do got tho! But menstrual cycles are the topic.
You had been really busy on missions today, barely time to rest as much. Normally the extra work is not a problem, since Robert would half the time send you off to non emergencies.
But today, most of the emergencies consisted of fighting villains. Again. Not a problem. But for you, it was a huge inconvenience. You had your period. All day the cramps were consistent, off and on due to running across everywhere at once.
You were paired up with Flambae and got sent out together to take down this really big villian that was spot wrecking things across the town. Everyone else was too busy to take the mission with you, so you got stuck with him.
You usually kept to yourself away from Flambae, out of most of the guys on team Z. Reasoning? Well all the other male dispatch members were cisgendered. You weren’t. It was hard to figure out if you could trust the team, despite realizing everyone was mostly nice and didn’t care.
Reason you didn’t tell certain members before, is just because you weren’t sure what reactions to expect yet. But Chad, you definitely hadn’t been planning to tell him.
He was just really obnoxiously self-centered, and had a lot more pride than you. But in a lot of ways you found traits of him that were likeable, to you at least from observation. But you never thought he would like you as a person.
A few times he would say something to you that sounded like he was trying to be nice, but other times it felt like more of a backhanded compliment, or maybe he thought you would be another person to bully easily. You brushed him off half the time though.
Maybe he knew, that you weren’t a boy. Or just didn’t see you as one, and wanted to take advantage of making you feel crap about it. In the back of your head, you could admit to yourself he was attractive. But Chad was gay. You were a guy, but you knew you wouldn’t ever be one to him. Not one enough for him to like you either, or tolerate you.
You were doing fine while fighting, until you could feel just below your stomach throbbing repetitively. Flambae was shooting fire at the villian until he got swatted away like a bug.
This villian was a some big inhuman made of metal. So it was fire resistant, and it charged straight at you. You dodged, still having adrenaline enough to ignore the stomach pain.
You jumped, throwing yourself at him about to strike him in the back. Until he spun around, punching you right in where it hurt.
You went flying across the air, bouncing off someone’s car and crashing into the road, breaking it. You didn’t have a scratch at all on you. But the cramps in your stomach intensified. The running, the fighting, and getting punched in the stomach made it impossible for you to focus on anything else but the pain.
You pulled yourself up and took off while you were holding your stomach with the other hand. “Fuck- that. That was it. I’m done Robert! I quit for today. I’m sorry” You spoke out loud as you left the scene.
Flambae was now fighting the villain that punched you. But when he heard you over the dispatch, ultimately giving up and ditching him in the process.
You brought yourself back immediately to the SDN. You were hunched over and stumbled through the office, your arm was fully holding your stomach.
“Y/N, you okay? What happened to you out there?” Robert was still on his computer and glanced from his screen to you. Normally you wouldn’t quit over something so small or look like you were injured easily.
“I really don’t feel good. I’m sorry. I’ll stay in the building if I feel better again to go back out, but it’s too much for me right now, man. I’m sorry. Just let me lay down in the break room for a few.”
You looked over at him in hopes he could understand and not ask any more. Which Robert nodded in response. “Just take the day off if you need. That was all my fault. Flambae also pulled out just now too, but we got it covered.”
You changed out of your hero suit, into a t shirt and sweatpants. Once you were at the break room, you went over to the booth chair at the back of the room. Wincing as you bent and laid down, and curling your legs to your aching stomach.
“Just let it pass.” You kept saying in your head, rubbing below your stomach to try and soothe yourself. But every time you felt the pain become nearly invisible, you felt the stong jab in your stomach. And then everything would ache again.
It only felt like it got worse as the minutes passed. The pain was so unbearable this time than most. The aching sensation spread from your lower stomach, to your lower back, and thighs.
It made everything hurt more than just the soreness from moving across the city. You kept eyes shut tightly, trying to get over the pain and maybe sleep it off.
Your eyes welled up as every muscle you moved, sent shockwaves of pain into your body. You hated it, wishing something would make it stop. Somebody if they physically had the power to do so.
“So you left me to go nap? Pretty fuckin’ dramatic. Get the fuck up.” Your eyes snapped open again to see Flambae walking towards you glaring. “The fuck is wrong with you?! Acting like you can’t take a-...punch.”
He stood right in front of you, where you laid at the edge of the seat. Looking down at you, with one eyebrow raised. He always looks angry to you, so you couldn’t tell if he was still pissed off, or confused now. “…-You cryin’ man?”
Staring back up at him, you had heavy tears rolling down your cheeks. So you couldn’t lie about that. You tried to answer, but you hissed instead. Feeling a long sharp pain stabbing you. You hugged your stomach again hard with both arms.
“It won’t- stop. Just go away please!” You raised your voice and rolled onto your other side, facing away from Chad. But then you heard him scoff. “Okay. Stop being a faker. I seen you take harder punches.”
Faker? Seriously?! While you were in pain.
“NO! I have cramps, and I can’t help it! They keep coming and going, so leave me the fuck alone!” You shouted, with your head buried into the seat cushion.
You choked back a sob, and groaned out loudly as you clutched your stomach. “I don’t want to feel like this! It’s all the time every fucking month!” You shut your eyes tightly again. “I tried! I tried to come in and ignore it but nothing I took is helping!”
The throbbing continued below your stomach like it had its own heartbeat. All the sudden, you felt your own hand being pulled away from your stomach. Only to be replaced with a hand that wasn’t yours. You looked down with tears blurring your eyes, seeing Chad’s left hand.
He had his hand laid out flat on your stomach, before slipping it into your pants. You jolted in confusion and quickly turned your body to sit up, only to get pushed to lay back down.
“They say if men had periods, they would be whining and bitching nonstop. God. They were right.” He smiled while holding you down with his right hand weighing down on your shoulder, despite only having 3 fingers on that one.
The throbbing vanished when Chad put firm pressure onto your lower stomach with his left hand, as you looked back up to face him with realization.
It was kind of awkward, because he had his hand down your pants. He wasn’t moving any lower or touching you weirdly, but at this point it was so obvious you didn’t have a dick. But he still made sure that his hand wasn’t hot enough to burn you, or set your clothes on fire.
You could feel the heat radiate onto your lower half, on the spot that ached and soothed your pain. He actually was trying to help you feel better, by using heat compression from his own powers. Your gaze softened from relief, realizing that it didn’t matter. In his eyes you really were just like other men to him.
Flambae loomed over your body, staring at where his hand was. Until he looked back at you and leaned in closer to your face. “Are you gonna stop crying for me now, tough guy?”
You immediately nodded, but you couldn’t stop yourself from sniffling and trying to blink the tears away. He smiled watching you try to stop yourself before he leaned in, lightly pecking you on the lips.
And then it actually hit. You were more than just ‘other men’ to him. Chad actually did like you. That’s what made you different compared. It had nothing to do with how you were born. He saw you, and he liked you.
The rest of the day you ended up clinging hard onto Flambae, as he was now your human heating pad. He would cuddle and wrap his arms around your stomach as it’s cramping.
You forced him to carry you around with your legs wrapped around him too. You betted on that he couldn’t lift you, just to make him do it. His whole body just felt like a warm blanket, that you couldn’t resist it now.
Lol why did I pick this GIF for the thumbnail for the story bro
‘ size difference sex with Arataki Itto ft fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, oral male receiving, some clothes ripping, 1.4k babey ’ taglist
something you got to realize through your relationship with Itto, was that the man never explicitly asked for intimacy.
sure, he got all coy and found any possible excuse to start physical contact, like now, argumenting how ‘movies were boring without cuddles’
and you could never refuse a little chance to tease him, “awhn, my baby wants cuddles?” with a little exagerated pout you turn to face him, playful smile and quick hands sliding to rub his scalp, right around the sensitive skin at the base of his horns.
he shudders almost instantly, a little moan bubbling from the depth of his chest, cheeks turning just slightly pink and diamond shaped pupils dilating, “hey! that’s not playing fair, you’re… evil!” yet his actions were contradicting by how he got closer, head bigger than yours hiding into the crook of your neck, lazily curling around your smaller body as if the picture of a huge oni curling to fit against you wasn’t amusing.
”do you like that, baby?” without waiting for a response you continue, ”of course you do, i can feel you purring”
again, he doesn’t respond, instead he just squeezes you tighter, almost crushing you down against the couch so you huff a little at the sudden weight and warmth.
”ah, sorry, baby… i forgot how small you are” now rolling to hover you and get comfortable between your thighs with a matching teasing smirk, payback.
almost on reflex your eyes flick down at whatever is poking you on the thigh, ”and you’re hard”
red with shame, Itto flicks his eyes down as well, right on the straining bulge under those loose pants he always wore, ”i-it’s not my fault, it’s you rubbing my horns knowing they are sensitive!” ”and besides… you can’t blame an Oni for getting hard when his perfect girlfriends is giving him the best pampering” he sounds and looks both pouty and embarrassed to be caught, still lowers enough to gently brush his lips against yours.
but you smirk in rerurn, leaving a long lick across his lips, ”do you want me to pamper you down there too?”
“evil, evil woman” voice low like a whisper as he bends down to kiss you on the mouth, tongue seeking for yours hungrily, barely doing anything to muffle the deep, throaty groan leaving at the feeling of your hand cupping the huge, tenting bulge.
“fuck, i’m going crazy” Itto murmurs low, just gently sliding his sharp nails across your scalp before tugging a little on your hair to break the kiss, eyes glossy when looking how his free thumb ran across your bottom lip, “can i...?”
“what?” you pant, “fuck my mouth?”
and with a cracking voice he nods, “yeah, i want to feel this pretty little mouth first...”
“careful with the—” words cutting short when your boyfriend so hastily rips the front of your top, making your tits bounce freely against the air.
“sorry, baby… but it was not that cute either way” keeping a hand on your hair, the other slides down to tug his pants down, kicking them somewhere around the room while at the same time crawling over you, slowly, making sure not to accidentally crush you with his thighs now atop your chest.
with a soft movement to free his cock, now dangerously looming over your face, thick, heavy, veiny and swollen from the need to stuff any of your holes full.
“open up” he hisses loudly feeling your warm breath against the tip, and an even louder groan comes next when your pretty tongue wraps around the head, thighs almost shaking at the time the hand at the base guides more into your waiting mouth, “fuck, baby... ah fuck, your mouth is so... warm, ugh...”
instinctively, he snap forward just a little, guided by sheer lust and the way his tummy burns whenever you make a squeaky sound around the girth, or when you so sloppily drool down your tits, “don’t stop baby, don’t stop”
“hmphh!” you moan around his cock when a pair of fingers come to rub the mess of precum and saliva over one of your nipples, giving it a little pinch that has your hips bucking against nothing and mouth suck harder, already squirmy and utterly soaked just from sucking your oni boyfriend’s huge cock, slurping with obscene “mngh, guh”
tip threatening to hit the back of your throat and he grunts, “fuck, fuck baby, just like— ah, that!, fuck, you’ll make me cum...” and as lovely as that would be, your sweet pussy was begging to be fucked too.
so quickly yet gently, he pulls out of your dripping mouth, cock still connected to your lips through thick webs of saliva and precum.
“you’re so beautiful like that...” his hands shake, coming to cradle your face and ‘wipe’ —which just turns into smear— the fluids coating your chin and lips, “so beautiful... but i need to...” in a single flick, you’re on your belly, barely having enough time to grip a pillow as his hands tug on your shorts and panties, the fabric ripping in some of the seams before he’s sinking deep into you.
even though you have sex quite often, taking all of him was still a struggle, a slight ache covering you from head to toe while his immensely huge height covered your back, chin resting at the top of your head and balls snug against your clit.
“that’s it... ah..., you take me all, like a good girl...” his palms, rough and big rubbing up your sides and thighs, the touch worshipping, barely using strength to pull your hips up a little so you rest on your knees instead of completely flat, “move back against me when you’re ready” knowing you were just barely holding up.
although you were slightly dizzy drom being full of cock, still managed a little breathy “alright...” in an agreement, hands digging on the sheets to start bucking back, purposely fucking yourself on his cock, “oh, ngh...!”
the push has his cock reaching deeper in a shared whine, Itto’s eyes almost rolling to the back of his head at the way your walls squeeze him so tight.
“a-archons, fuck...” he sounds rougher, wrecked and just a little whiny, “just like th-at” with teeth clenched and hands shaking on your hips while now fucking you with purpose, deep, yet still making sure you stay in pleasure and not pain grounds.
knowing just how to move, you moan like crazy, “ahh, o-oh ah, ah, ah” a mess with each rub of those pulsing veins against your needy cunt.
“t-those... moans ugh, you make me... so hard...” and like on a command his cock twitches listening to your sounds, hips thrusting harder, lips moving to rest on your neck while keeping you pinned down with his huge chest, “that’s it, that’s it, yeah”
“s-shit—” suddenly you’re falling face first onto the pillow, lacking strength and muffling your moans onto it so now the sound of hips smacking your ass and balls slapping your clit are so deliciously loud and messy, aiming for the spot that has you seeing stars.
a deep, loud groan, almost animal like rips from his throat at the deepest angle, hips smacking lewdly and your cunt clamping like a vice, “a-ah, oh, i’m gonna..., you look so- perfect, fuck! s-squeezing me... i’m gonna cum inside if you keep squeezing, c-can ah... can i...?”
there is no way for you to speak, so you only nod and arch enough to have your ass even higher, now sobbing in bliss, leaking like a fucking faucet.
he feels your juices gushing and so, gently digs his nails on your ass cheeks to spread you open, deeper, pussy swollen around the huge girth, “oh fuuuck” he can’t stop staring, guiding a hand to your lower belly, “can you feel me inside...? archons, i’m so deep inside you” he grunts, fucking like a beast and pressing on your skin.
the motion sends you screaming and squirting with a “haaah aangh, Itto!”
and he cums immediately after, the sensation of your messy cunt gushing and tight as hell was enough for his hips to lose the rhythm and the first wave of cum flood your insides, “s-shit! take it all, baby, oh fuck... you’ll drain me like this” he sounds wrecked against your shoulder where he leaves a little nip, still pumping his hips and load deeper with tiny thrusts.
“s-so good” you babble drunkly, pussy still sucking him for every drop.
with a long and satisfied grunt he slumps sideways, keeping his cock inside while your pussy still sucked him, hips shaking slightly and rubbing your side up and down with a kiss on your nape, “you are the best” another kiss and his arms squeezing around your middle to give you the rest you needed, although, and he won’t admit it, but he also needed it since his legs were shaking like a leaf.
