The breath that fans across your face is hot like a roaring fire and reeks of sulfur and decay. You squint teary eyes against the heat and turn your face away from the rotten stench. Sharp, exposed finger bones prick the meat of your cheek to urge you back.
It chose this vessel too quickly, the body it uses unwilling to contain such terrible energy. The poor victim’s skin is already sloughing away. You spot white teeth peeking through disintegrating cheek muscle, and the eyes are jaundiced and brimming with bloody tears as internal organs fail.
“‘Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.’” Melting vocal cords strain to produce speech and you wince when the thing’s croaking, screeching voice mocks the words of your priest. It scoffs. “You should be insulted. To be compared to the thing in which insects breed and beasts wallow? Degrading.”
“Life grow there too,” you murmur defiantly, despite the thrumming of your heart.
Gurgling laughter bubbles up from a ruined throat alongside frothy, pink spit. Scarlet leaks freely down its face now as it leans in and brings with it the unbearable body heat, a blast furnace. Teeth clatter at your feet as a dripping tongue unfurls from the vessel’s bleeding maw.
When the slick muscle comes in contact with the cross painted on your forehead, it sizzles. The demons groans in what should be pain as it drags the tongue across your skin, licking away ash and leaving streaking red in its wake. The sigh it emits as it straightens is one of utter contentment.
Imagine an entire hive of yandere bee hybrids. Each one is possessive of you, wanting nothing more than to have you all to themselves…
But their very instincts get in the way.
All bees understand a simple fact, safety comes in numbers. Although they want you all to themselves, your safety will always come first.
They all hate each other, despising that another being gets to touch and dote on THEIR queen.
This results in a ton of fighting, and they all often compete for your attention and affection.
When it’s time to mate, they attempt to take up all of the time allotted with you, stuffing you full of THEIR eggs and hoping that theirs will be the ones that grow and incubate inside of you.
Your pussy, all warm and tight around them… they wish that they could be the only ones to experience how it feels to cum inside of your gummy walls. It’s just not fair, you belong to them!
Some of the bee hybrids have even been known to come into your room at night and press down on your belly, making eggs spill out of you so they’ll have a better chance when it’s time to mate.
You’re becoming more aware of your predicament by the day. They’re nearly falling over each other trying to please you, and it’s getting concerning!
It’s only a matter of time before something bad happens…
Hear me out: Malfunctioning Android, sent back to the factory by the previous owner who was utterly creeped out by his obsessive, invasive behavior, has now found a new home with a neurodivergent, lonely human; you.
You wake up, confused. The alarm didn't ring as usual, and the light outside is already bright. You rush to the kitchen, where you find the synthetic assistant preparing your breakfast.
"Why didn't you wake me up? I have so many things to do today," you reproach, taken aback by his unbothered smile.
"I took the liberty to empty your schedule, (Y/N). You seemed rather overwhelmed the previous evening; all the parameters I compiled were off.
Thus, I impersonated you - worry not, I used an algorithm based on your previous response pattern - and answered all calls, emails, and messages. Your social and administrative tasks have been cleared."
He observes your features carefully. Is he going to be shipped back again, having the same issues cited? Unfortunately, it's not something he can adjust or control: he simply cares for you to perhaps an unconventional degree.
You wipe a tear that threatens to spill from the corner of your eye.
"I-...Nobody has ever done something like this for me before."
With a sigh of relief, you take your seat and pick up your freshly prepared beverage. At last, someone to deal with it all.
"I was thinking you might enjoy your favorite movie later," the android says, joining you at the table, "and I would be more than glad to provide you with additional warmth."
König x female!reader, period sex, blood play, references to oral while on a period, one moment of licking blood/slick, still sweet how does he keep doing this
You whine and clutch at his shoulders as König works the last of your clothes off. Your shirt is in a puddle by the door, bra hanging off the bed, and your back arches as he finally gets your pants open and off. You're so turned on it hurts, an ache deep in your belly.
He moans with you as he slides his fingers against your pussy. "Scheiße, so wet," he moans, and slips his finger inside you. You are wet, already leaking around his hand, so slippery and sensitive... you frown and let go of his cock.
"König, wait," you say, and as he draws his hand back you look down and see bright crimson streaked all over his palm and fingers. Mortification floods you, and you clamp your thighs together, yelping when his fingers pinch you awkwardly. "Oh God, shit, I'm so sorry- it's early- I never would have if I knew, shit, fuck, fuck..." Tears spring to your eyes. You scramble for a sheet or towel, anything to mop up the red flow, but König stops you. His hand is still between your legs, and he gently strokes you, making you shiver with the sensitivity. He wipes a tear from your cheek.
"Ah, Libeling, do you think I'm afraid of a little blood? I will stop if you want, but I do not mind. You are so wet and soft for me like this." He kisses you, and slips his finger back in. The ache is still there, and now you can recognize it as period pains, but oh it feels so good when he touches you like this, clever fingers and thumb rubbing your clit, all the blood slicking you up and making your hips jerk. You're slipping out of embarrassment already, distracted with how your pussy clamps on his finger, begging for more. He kisses a whimper out of your mouth, sucking your lower lip. "So good, love, go on, give me a little one." He gets his head on your breasts, sucking at a nipple as you moan and grind. A second finger joins the first, the heel of his palm pressing to your clit, and you come in a little fluttery rush.
You can feel the extra wetness clearly, slick mixing with blood, and when König slips his hand out and shows you the thick strings connecting his fingers heat throbs in your pussy.
Then he fucking licks it, and your thighs spread on their own. It's so gross, so hot, so sexy and taboo to see him with your blood on his lips, and he groans, fisting his cock with his wet hand. "Delicious," he claims, and opens your thighs around him. "Next time I will eat it out of you," he promises, and then sheathes his cock inside in one thick, deep stretch. Your head falls back as you moan and lift your thigh, letting him hold you open as his cock splits you open over and over.
He's so big, he's bumping right up where it hurts, the cramping pains swiftly overshadowed by the pleasure. You can hear the wet sounds of his cock inside you, and he stares down at your pussy, captivated, watching the bloody mess smear over your thighs, around his groin and balls. You're so sensitive right now, clit all plumped up, he can't not thumb at it, rubbing back and forth as you keen and clutch the sheets. You're close to coming, pussy clamping down in waves, dragging at the fat head, and he sees it when you come, the thicker rush of blood around his cock.
König moans and keeps rubbing, fucking you harder, making your body slide against the bed; you're overstimulated and weak as heat blooms through your limbs, coming again. It's softer this time, and you moan and reach for him. He bends down to you, releasing your clit, and cups your face with his bloody hand when he kisses you, licking deep. You taste blood and slick on his tongue and feel his hips stutter, then press in and up; he comes deep inside you, a flood of come, adding to the mess between your legs. He stays deep, plugging you up until you wrench your face away with a gasp, panting for breath.
Your bodies are a nightmare, your thighs and lower belly marked where König fucked you so hard it splattered, and he's red from cock to navel. But you're thrumming with satisfaction, the pains resolved, and König kisses you so sweetly, bundling you up in his arms. You need showers, to do something about the sheets and mattress, but for the moment you can just enjoy the warm body pressed against yours.
You duck against the rotting cabin wall just as the couple outside walks past the windows. You hear muffled conversation, giggling, then wet smacks as they sloppily kiss. You roll your eyes. Just your luck.
Jason had been gone for several days. You’d been worried, had missed him, so you’d come down to Crystal Lake to surprise him, only to be surprised yourself. An entire group of people had set up camp on the grounds. Now, you understand his absence.
You’re about to crawl toward the exit and make a break for the trees when slow, steady footsteps reach your ears. Jason’s hulking frame appears in the doorway, gory machete clutched in his hand. In the low light you see darkness splattered across the front of him. Speak of the devil.
You give him a weak smile and wave timidly. He’s not going to be pleased to find you here. Even in the low light provided by the full moon outside, you can tell he’s fixed you with a stern stare.
‘Sorry, Jase. I just wanted to see you,’ you sign.
Gradually, he crosses the room, heavy boots thumping on ancient, creaking floorboards. He pauses to watch the couple sucking face outside the window, oblivious to the two of you. Then, he crouches, silently setting the machete on the ground next to him.
When he lifts his hands to sign, your eyes are drawn to his gloves, spots of blood drying on the fabric. You’re expecting a, ‘Go home,’ or a, ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ but what he signs instead has your jaw dropping open in shock.
‘Touch yourself for me.’ You blink, wondering if you really just saw what you think you saw. You’re about to speak, as shocked as you are, but he claps a metallic scented palm over your mouth and nods as if he’s saying, ‘Go on, do it.’
Your heart hammers in your chest. What’s gotten into him? You swallow when he kneels and sits back on his heels, hands coming to rest on his massive thighs, waiting. He’s ready for a show.
Biting your lip, glancing up at the window just above your head, you lean back and unbutton your jeans. Slowly, you spread your thighs as your hand sinks below the waistband, shaking fingers dipping under your panties to slip between your folds. The gathering wetness you find there gets you excited; you’re really going to do this, aren’t you? And you’re going to like it.
A tremulous exhale leaves your lips when your fingers swirl around your clit. Everything feels heightened, more intense with the threat of being caught, especially since you know what will happen to the couple outside should they stumble upon you and Jason Voorhees.
You grit your teeth, hips rolling up to meet your fingers as they circle faster. Warm need curls in your gut and soon the wet, slick sounds of your cunt are audible over your panting breaths. Unintentionally, a whimper spills past your lips and you clap a hand over your mouth, tensing when you hear the girl outside ask, “Did you hear that?”
Jason’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. He raises his hands again and signs, ‘You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.’ His signed words go straight between your legs and you feel your face heat up under your palm. Jason’s never spoken to you like this before. Something must have gotten him all riled up.
He reaches out and grips your ankles before pulling you across the dusty floor until he’s kneeling between your spread thighs. You choke on a moan when his hand grips your wrist and forces your fingers to move faster against your slippery cunt. He pauses to sign, ‘If you keep making those sounds, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.’
That does you in.
“P-Please,” you whisper and that’s all it takes to make him hook his fingers in your pants and drag them down your legs. When he flips you onto your stomach and hoists your hips in the air, you wonder how on Earth you’re going to stay quiet.
Summary: Your car breaks down along a deserted stretch of road. The man that stops to pick you up might be the best or worst thing to ever happen to you.
There is a disturbing lack of content for this man and I intend to remedy that.
Warnings: Dubcon, masochistic reader, mention of family death, knife play, blood play, fear play, fingering, slapping, violence, blood, creampie
~~
Smoke billows from under the hood of your 1999 Piece of Garbage Accord. You curse under your breath, hitting the steering wheel with your palms as though that will stop the inevitable death of the engine. With a final, guttering sigh, the car rolls to a stop along the endless stretch of New Mexican highway.
Stupid fucking car.
You’d done as the signs had instructed. You hadn’t run the air conditioning all day, instead leaving the windows down so miserably hot, desert air could blow your hair into a rat’s nest. Still, your shitty car had decided to die anyway.
After banging your head against the steering wheel for a solid minute, you pop the hood and slip out of the car. You stare at the innards of your smoking vehicle, wondering why the hell you’re even bothering. You know nothing about cars. You don’t even know what’s wrong let alone how to fix it.
Warnings: Violence, blood, gore, torture, mild suggestive language, foul language, minor character death, firearm use
~~
Fat raindrops from the recent storm drip from the open rear ambulance doors, pattering onto the bumper. A few find your head, wetting your hair and slipping down the back of your neck. They’re warm, as always. This is the muggiest damn planet you’ve ever visited.
Your hands are busy closing up supply bags and rearranging medications. Two, four, six—you count wraps, bandages, dressings. Up in the cab, Senaly—your partner for today’s shift—rests his long, curling limbs for the remainder of his break. Overhead, purple clouds roll and thunder rumbles, threatening more rain.
You’re about to close the doors when a sharp clack sounds to your left. Startled, you gasp and jump back, turning in time to see long, silver claws wrapping around the edge of the hatch. Shortly after, a shark-toothed, grinning face peers around the door at you.
Clutching your chest in relief, your breath leaves you in a hiss, “Fuck, Kaze, you scared the shit out of me.” Kaze merely chuckles in that dry, rasping hack you’ve come to understand as laughter.
“It’s alright Senaly,” you say, holding up your hand when your coworker unfurls from his seat, alarmed by your gasp. “I know him.” Senaly gives a trill of annoyance and falls back into his seat.
The rest of Kaze’s lanky form slinks from behind the door, all 6’5 of him. You guess he’d be nearly seven feet tall if he stood up straight. His gray skin is wet from the rain, taking on a sheen in the low, lavender light. As always, your eyes are automatically drawn to the thick, pale scar running from the crown of his head to just above his right eye. At his sides, long, lean arms and spindly fingers equipped with threatening three inch claws noisily click together as Kaze pops his knuckles.
When you finally meet his gaze, black eyes glinting with mirth, his face splits into a wider grin to reveal pointed black teeth. “My favorite human!” he exclaims, voice deep and impossibly gravelly as he slouches onto the bumper next to you. The dark spines curving along his back jut out further when he slumps. You count four with the tips broken off.
“How is it you always manage to find me when I’m working?” You cross your arms as you speak, leaning back against the opposite door.
“Just lucky,” he lies, flashing you a crooked smirk. The chunk missing from his top lip is more obvious at this angle. You respond with an unimpressed hum as your eyes rove over his form. You search for the wound. Kaze usually only finds you at work when he’s injured—
“Holy hell,” you murmur, finally noticing the blood pooling on the ground; black, like ichor. Kaze’s blood.
You rush forward, hands hovering as you hastily scan…. There, under his collarbone. His shirt is torn, the color of the fabric initially hiding his dark blood.
Gloves squeak as you pull them on before fiddling with the ties of his top. Kaze heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Fuckers ruined my shirt. Don’t they know I have to get these special ordered?” You shoot him an exasperated look but say nothing, focusing instead on your task.
You don’t know what Kaze does. You’re not sure you want to know. You guess it’s illegal as he never allows you to take him to the hospital.
Once, when he’d shown up drenched in blood that wasn’t his own, you’d considered notifying the authorities. Transmitter in hand, your trembling finger hovered over the button, brain screaming at you to push, he’s dangerous, he’s killed….
Yet, the urge had passed and you’d hung up the radio. Against your better judgement, you’d fixed him up as usual.
Kaze was from a Death World, like you. Class Six Planets—the Federation’s highest classification for hazardous worlds—are largely considered inhospitable, perilous, fit for only the most barbaric of beings. You think that’s why he’d approached you in the first place, and the same reason that stayed your hand. You understand each other on a level most beings cannot.
You peel away the torn half of Kaze’s top. The wide puncture wound in his chest bleeds freely, inky blood now starkly contrasted by the gray of his skin. You press a wad of dressings to the injury, holding pressure as you prepare the sterilizing solution.
Kaze quietly watches you work, pitch black eyes following every shift of expression. You pretend not to notice the way his lips twitch as he intently studies you. You tell yourself it’s not hunger in his gaze.
Ignorance is bliss, ignorance is bliss….
You don’t bother warning him when you dab the wound with antiseptic. He knows the drill well enough by now he doesn’t even flinch. Next come the sutures; you keep a kit or two hidden in the vehicle specifically for Kaze. His flesh requires a stronger thread than most beings you treat.
He breathes harshly though nostril slits when you push the needle through his skin. No anesthetic—he’d made that clear the first time you’d sewn him up. Apparently you also know the drill.
“Anywhere else?” you ask, snipping off the excess thread, gaze assessing his scarred skin. Kaze gives you a thoughtful hum and you raise your head to fix him with a questioning stare.
“I can think of a few places,” he murmurs, black tongue swiping across the sharp points of his teeth. Your eyes widen a fraction, throat suddenly too dry. Acute awareness of how close you are—your hips wedged between his thighs, the deep rumble of his voice felt in your own chest—hits you hard and your stomach drops, heart stuttering in your chest.
“Um—
It’s all you manage to push from your mouth before the echoing POP, POP, POP, POP interrupts you. Glass shatters, windows collapse around you in a flurry of shards and you’re rolling, tumbling sideways, bowled over by the protective cage of Kaze’s arms. He jerks you to the side, both of you crashing into the supply cabinets, and then he’s gone, leaping up off your stunned frame and disappearing around the battered ambulance door.
You move to sit up, but pain explodes along your side. With a cry, you fall back, gloved hands clutching your gut. They come away red as more nauseating agony stabs above your hip.
Bullet. It’s a bullet. You’ve been shot.
You tip your head back, searching for Senaly, the word ‘help’ on your lips. Your voice dies in your throat when you spot the damaged limbs of your partner lying eerily still. It’s a stillness reserved only for death, one you know well.
“Shit, shit—
You’re interrupted once more, this time by a rasping tune, crooned in time with slow footfalls and the harsh slide of fabric on hardened ground.
There’s a weird gurgle and a pathetic cry and Kaze appears once more, green gore splattered across his face. Behind him, he drags someone, and your eyes widen in horror when you realize Kaze’s massive claws pierce the being’s wide jaw, their hands scrabbling for purchase along Kaze’s wrist to ease the pressure.
Kaze spots you clutching your side, anguish twisting your features, and sighs irritably. “Look what you did,” he says to the being in his clutches, motioning to you. The victim emits another gurgle, the sound morphing into a wet scream when Kaze lifts, raising them clean off the ground until their limbs flail.
A shocked shriek tears from your throat when Kaze draws his free arm back and plunges his claws deep in the belly of the one you now understand to be the shooter. The muscles of Kaze’s arm pull taught and shift under his skin as he twists his wrist, the creature in his grip only able to drip and twitch.
“You messed up my favorite human,” Kaze explains calmly before ripping his hand free. Innards, green and slimy, follow quickly in its wake, slapping against the ground in a disgusting heap. You can’t look away, eyes wide, unblinking, stomach churning, heart hammering.
Dead…. They’re dead. Kaze just killed them right there in front of you like it was nothing.
A sharp crack and snap break the stunned silence as the being’s jaw rips away from their face, the weight of their body too great. They fall to the ground—squelch, thud—and you’re left staring at the exposed jawbone still impaled on dripping claws.
Face wrinkling in disgust, Kaze flicks the offending flesh away before stepping over the mangled corpse to approach. Hastily, you attempt to scoot away, but must freeze in place when stabbing pain wracks your body.
Kaze grins at the little hurt sound you emit. He reaches over top of you, digging around in a cabinet before producing a fresh bottle of antiseptic. Unceremoniously, he pops the top and dumps the liquid over his gory claws, leisurely cleaning each finger like he has all the time in the world.
“This the first time you’ve been shot?” he questions nonchalantly, surgical rag scrubbing his skin clean. Incredulously, you stare.
“Yes!” you spit, wincing with the effort. A raspy chortle is his only reply. Kaze examines his claws, twisting and turning them this way and that so they catch the light and gleam. Your lip curls, anger momentarily taking the place of fear.
“Are you going—agh—going to take me to a hospital or what?” you demand. He owes you this, at least, after everything you’ve done for him. You can feel your bloodied shirt sticking to your skin, the crimson puddle beneath you growing with every passing second.
“Lemme see,” he orders, smacking your hands aside to assess your wound. You try to push him away, but Kaze easily captures your wrists in one hand, effortlessly holding you in place as he lifts your shirt.
“Kaze, stop—
“Hmm, I don’t think it’s very deep. Must have ricocheted.” Is he talking to you or himself?
“T-That’s great. Can you please—
Kaze interrupts you yet again, lifting one, menacing claw to silence you. Black eyes flick to yours, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sly smirk when he meets your panicked gaze.
Once again, you realize how close he is; his legs are nestled between yours this time as he hovers over you. There’s fear in your chest, terror he’s going to sink that talon into your insides like he just did to that poor creature heaped on the ground. There are butterflies there too, awkward and warm despite your dire situation. That moment is fleeting, however, shy tension replaced by white hot agony when Kaze digs his claw into your wound.
Your scream rattles the interior of the ambulance. Desperately, you try to jerk your arms out of his iron grip, but it’s fruitless; he doesn’t even budge. His gaze is focused on your bleeding side, finger lazily rooting around in your gut as he searches for the slug.
“KAZE, KAZE STOP, PLEASE, STOP!” you wail, another wave of nausea and wretched anguish overtaking your senses. He says nothing, or nothing you can hear over your tortured cries.
Suddenly, your voice cuts out, vision blurring at the edges, thrashing legs dropping and stilling against the bumper. At the same moment, bloodied metal comes into your shrinking view, pinched between two claws.
“Found it—oh we’ve lost ‘em.” Kaze announces in feigned remorse as your head falls back onto the floor with a quiet thunk. Carefully, he pockets the bullet, then slips his arms under your unconscious form. Easily lifting you from the vehicle, Kaze steps over the shredded body once more before sauntering off down the street, humming a tune.
Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, implied age gap, biting, creampie
~~
Warmth seeps into your skin, lights up the room behind your eyelids. In your semi-conscious state, you think it feels natural, like sunlight. This is impossible, of course. No sunlight reaches your cell.
Yet, when you crack your eyes open, you must throw your arm over your face to block the piercing light. You sit up, scrunching your eyes shut. Where is it coming from?
Slowly, you adjust. You peel your lids open and realize you have no idea where you are. You’re sitting on a bed, a real bed, with an ornately carved oak headboard. You glance over the rest of the antique furniture, the hard wood floors, thick wool rugs, en suite bathroom, because your gaze is drawn to the windows.
Windows.
Windows with blue sky beyond.
Your bare feet meet hardwood and you stumble, catching yourself on the window sill. A shaky exhale leaves you, a single tear carving a path down your cheek. Sky, grass, sunlight, things you haven’t seen for the better part of a year.
You’re in a house, a home, nestled between two others, more across the street. Down on the sidewalk, a child rides by on a bike, helmet glinting in the morning sun. A car passes, driver waving to the neighbor as they retrieve the morning paper. Life all around you, continuing on as normal, as though you haven’t been missing for eight months, oblivious to the constriction in your chest, your quiet gasps, your panicked jubilation.
Summary: Your car breaks down along a deserted stretch of road. The man that stops to pick you up might be the best or worst thing to ever happen to you.
There is a disturbing lack of content for this man and I intend to remedy that.
Warnings: Dubcon, masochistic reader, mention of family death, knife play, blood play, fear play, fingering, slapping, violence, blood, creampie
~~
Smoke billows from under the hood of your 1999 Piece of Garbage Accord. You curse under your breath, hitting the steering wheel with your palms as though that will stop the inevitable death of the engine. With a final, guttering sigh, the car rolls to a stop along the endless stretch of New Mexican highway.
Stupid fucking car.
You’d done as the signs had instructed. You hadn’t run the air conditioning all day, instead leaving the windows down so miserably hot, desert air could blow your hair into a rat’s nest. Still, your shitty car had decided to die anyway.
After banging your head against the steering wheel for a solid minute, you pop the hood and slip out of the car. You stare at the innards of your smoking vehicle, wondering why the hell you’re even bothering. You know nothing about cars. You don’t even know what’s wrong let alone how to fix it.
(Random angst no comfort, mentions of death, some toxic elements, I just love angst don’t @ me)
—————————————————————————
Konigs love was not gentle.
His love was like a snake, constricting your breath and blood, giving only brief moments of respite when his grip loosened to let you be again. His fangs, laden with venom, always poised to strike the very artery that goes straight to your heart. Hissing disguised as loving words whispered in your ear, constraint masked as a lover’s embrace.
Konigs love was not gentle.
Truly a wolf, not even bothering to disguise himself as a sheep. His true nature was too brutal, too cruel. To even attempt to disguise himself would be profane. With his fangs bared, he took your hand in his mouth with the gentleness of a child. You were so entranced that you had no mind to cry wolf.
Konigs love was not gentle.
He asked you one day. “Would you die for me like I would for you?” What else could you say but yes? Any other answer would not be accepted. The venom pierced straight to your heart, your hand crushed in the wolf’s jaws, had you answered otherwise. Konig was satisfied.
But when he took a bullet for you, fulfilled his promise of dying for you, you didn’t know why he crawled out of the grave to drag you down with him. He died for you, now it was your turn to die for him. To die with him. To lay your life down beside the snake and the wolf and the man whose love was not gentle.
everyday while i fuck my holes and continue with my training i listen to these audios on repeat.
they allow me to turn my brain off completelyyyyy and leak any iq i have left out of my holes.
im sharing this so all stupid cunts can train ourselves better and more efficiently.
if you have any audio porn that makes you a better good girl, repost and add your audio link below so we can all fulfill our purpose to serve Men together 🥰✨
Hey how are you doing so imagine the butterfly bio female get into an intense heat one night, she can help but think about cell while touching herself but feels unsatisfied so decides to sneak outside her creators house to see him, and beg him to take her and her pheromones are strong enought to get him in the mood ?
Short answer? Her 'creator' ain't getting her back 😂
Longer, more satisfying answer:
Mother had warned you time and time again. That he was too dangerous, too unpredictable. Even if he had ultimately decided to spare this wretched planet a terrible fate, Perfect Cell was still not to be trusted.
Not like that would stop you tonight.
You were on fire. Burning from the tips of your butterfly wings to the biological core deep within, the one that separated you from all of Mother's other, clunky, mechanical creations. They had no soul, no heat. Not like you.
Now that same heat was consuming you in your own bed, more powerful than your programming could ever hope to override. And you knew exactly how to douse the flames. Drifting towards and through the open window, moonlight fills your iridescent wings like delicate stained glass. You knew that your body was not built with fragility in mind, but your heart had yet to be tested. Part of you hoped he might be gentle.
Another part didn't care.
~
"How did you manage to find me, little one?", Cell wonders, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. He almost seems impressed. "Why, I thought I had sufficiently suppressed my-"
"Pheromones." You answer simply, concisely, sounding every bit like Mother even if you have yet to realize it. "You and I both share entomological DNA, yes? Therefore, you release pheromones, just as I do. I do not need to detect energy signatures when I can simply smell you from miles away."
You found him standing sentinel atop the roof of the tallest skyscraper in West City. His eyes had been closed then, deep in thought. But now here you were, practically demanding his attention.
"Huh. And you were desperate enough to come all the way up here to see me? How cute..."
You can practically hear the glimmer of sharp, white teeth revealed by his grin as Cell snatches your tiny wrists and yanks you into his arms. You gasp softly, a mere fly in his web, your cheek pressed to his hard, armored chest. He's surprisingly warm, his low, deep voice rumbling from within.
"Mm. Now that you mention it...you do seem to carry a most delectable scent, my dear." The tips of Cell's claws trace up the length of your spine to the base of your wings. He chuckles quietly when you shiver in his tightening grasp.
"Do you think you can...assist me with my problem, Mr. Cell?", you ask timidly, your own words breathless and heavy with the weight of your need. He can feel the heat through your synthetic flesh, and it beckons him like nothing else.
"Look at me, pet." The android purrs, deftly slipping his other hand beneath your chin, arching your slender neck to meet his magenta gaze, "That's Mr. Perfect Cell to you...But if you really want to know what I think..."
He leans down then, tilting your head to the side to brush his impossibly smooth lips against the willowy antennae-like appendages that serve as your ears. Sound is not the only thing they're sensitive to- your body quivers like a lone leaf on a branch at Cell's touch, his long fingers seeking out the source of that ever-enticing aroma. A honeyed ambrosia that teases a hunger into his voice, so raw that you'd never expect it.
"I think," he growls, suddenly spinning around and dipping you back over the edge of the roof like a dancer, his movements graceful and swift. Pressing a deceptively chaste kiss to the hollow of your throat, he allows you to dangle above the city while his mouth lingers, savoring the taste of your skin. You fall silent with shock, staring up at the moon with stars in your eyes until terror screws them shut. Stimulates your vocal cords to cry out into the night.
