#whirl breeding kink but in the most fucked up sort of way

[rawmeknockout]

Give me more CILF (Creator I'd like to fuck) writing! Please, I beg of you!

an assortment!

Rodimus is the young, hot, eager- to-please Captain that wants to spark you up soooo bad. There's just something so hot about the way you care so fiercely for your sparkling, it really gets his engine revving. He knows he's younger than you, but that doesn't make him any less of a mech! In fact, he's got all the energy and stamina a sire could need to look after any (potential) future sparklings you might have together. He's always looking to impress you, almost tripping over himself to prove he's the mech for you. Drift has heard enough of his delulu daydreams about how much he'd like to give you another. He's always been attracted to older mechs (hard not to be when your entire population is as long-lived as Cybertronians. He may be your boss, a headstrong and over-confident sort of guy, but he could be gentle if you wanted him to be! Let him show you!

Megatron is much quieter in his appreciation of you. It's not that the thought hasn't crossed his mind that you would look SO good carrying his sparkling, it's just that he's well aware how awful a decision that would be. Doesn't stop him from cranking his shaft to the idea. He's perfectly happy to look after the sparkling you already have when you need a break. Some might say he's the very last mech that should be in charge of looking after a sparkling, but he believes that some Autobots are far too self-sacrificing. Sure, he's now committed to the Autobots, but he still holds his personal belief that Cybertronians have value far greater than any self-perceived benefit to others. He will teach your sparkling that they exist first for themselves and for no other to take advantage of: be it a system or an individual. It just sort of helps that looking after your sparkling and ingratiating himself to them also puts him in closer proximity to you.

Ratchet won't ever admit it but the prospect of having a sparkling has always been so tempting for him. Of course, he was never in any position to have a sparkling of his own, first with his practice in Dead End and then the war, and now that he's quite a bit older the chances of that have gone down tremendously. In fact, he sees it as almost bordering on negligent to conceive one. But when he sees you with your sparkling his fantasies and daydreams of a domestic life come surging to the forefront of his processor. It's hard not to feel envy towards you, even if you're forced to care for your sparkling alone, but he tries to stamp out those feelings. You're not deserving of his resentment because he chose not to have bitlets. When he gets to know you better he feels all the worse for having been envious of you, and incredibly grateful that you would let him look after your sparkling. Even if the bitlet isn't his, Ratchet is attached to your offspring like no other and is always fussing after their (and your) care. If Drift notices a difference in Ratchet's demeanor, a certain wistfulness about him, he doesn't bring it up. He knows Ratchet would simply be reluctant to give himself what he wants, although Ratchet carrying the sparkling isn't the only option...

Whirl thinks it's hot. Okay, sure he thinks a lot of things are sexy that aren't supposed to be (that one time Brainstorm's optic was hanging from the socket, for example) but this one of normal! He insists. It's not everyday you meet a Cybertronian who has carried their own offspring. It's sort of an uncommon practice and definitely the most dangerous given the alternatives, but that's part of what makes it so sexy. Rung has informed him that is, actually, a little fucked up (not his words). Whirl would like to know what you looked like carrying. Not every carrier's frame will change drastically, in fact many don't if their armor is bulky enough, but maybe yours did. The fact your frame is so... powerful in a sense, resilient, and durable is kind of a turn on for him. But then again, Whirl gets heated if there's a gun pointed at him, so maybe it is fucked up. Your frame went through all the taxing processes of creating another Cybertronian, and you didn't die! What he wouldn't give to put your frame through it's paces again... Ultra Magnus has gently tried to convince you to get a restraining order against Whirl.

#whirl breeding kink but in the most fucked up sort of way #asks #txt #transformers #reader insert #reader imagine #transformers idw #tf idw #transformers mtmte #tf mtmte #valveplug #just in case #drift #rodimus prime #rodimus #whirl #megatron #ratchet #idw ratchet #idw drift #idw megatron #idw rodimus prime #idw rodimus #mtmte rodimus #mtmte rodimus prime #mtmte megatron #mtmte ratchet #mtmte drift #mtmte whirl

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ LENIENT

tw. tis incest as always i am not sorry, big bro nico, dom/sub, dubcon, breeding, rough, choking, kinda size kink-y wordcount. 4k

a/n. ♡ at first i wasn't going to write this bc i'm not sure if there's much interest for this manga bUT i needed iT I JUST NEEDED IT so please give it a chance even if you don't know this show/manga because nIICHAN NICO LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT FREEEeee and it probably won't be the last gangsta fic :>>

nicolas brown x fem!reader

Most parts of your personality are solidified early into your childhood, easy to get to, easy to ruin. That’s how you get manchildren, and arrogant pieces of shit, and know-it-alls. It’s how you get ruined adults.

It doesn’t take one fuckup, but a series of fucked up events to permanently mold adults into the shitty ones they are, and if nothing else, Nicolas is pretty sure he can pinpoint most of the rules that lead him to being the way he is. Truths ingrained into him from birth.

One. His purpose is to serve and protect; die for that cause when death comes for him. Two. He is, and will always be, an addict— a non negotiable truth of his existence, and well. He’s not exactly looking to change that; at least not anymore. Three. Whoever told him otherwise was a liar, and a bad one at that. There are other lessons too, less fundamental ones he learned early on. Warrick is the older brother he chose, but you’re the only family he was given.

You two have a different sort of meaning in his life.

Your sign language is too sloppy and rounded, this too is always true. He’s tried to tell you. But they remain too soft, much like you are, and at this point he can’t hold it against you anymore. He’s done plenty of that, and it never sticks. Can’t begrudgingly brush you off for being unreadable, because he knows without doubt that there’s goodness behind your actions. Of all these things, at least knowing that ‘you’re trying’ isn’t complicated.

And with that comes your talking. It seems to him like you’re always talking. He catches parts of your monologue each time you turn over your shoulder while hanging the laundry out of the chipped windows to dry. You place both hands on your hips as you tilt your head and whirl around a little too enthusiastically to face him. Brat, is the first thing he thinks, but in a soft, appreciative sort of way. His eyebrow raises a little, glancing between the magazine he has open against his propped up knees and you, until you lean in a little further and he can feel the heat climb up his neck to his ears.

He does his best to ignore you, until you’re basically halfway taking over his page with your face pulled in a half amused, half annoyed sneer. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he says, the signs long grown familiar. His mouth corners quirk up when you bristle, before smacking the back of your hand against his knee.

“Niichan~”

He can see how you drag out the word much longer than normal, how whiny you look when you tilt your head and pull up your lips into a little pout. You softly poke at his side, and it sets the hairs on his arms on end. “Slide over,” you ask. He tells you back that he doesn’t want to, and your face goes from surprised to disbelief. “You’re lying.” Then again you try, this time grabbing his sleeve as you plead. “Plea—se, Nic nii? Can I slide in?”

Really, he wants you to. You should’ve done it as soon as you came home, bless him with your closeness and your warmth before he has to head out for yet another mindless task good for nothing other than keeping the money coming in. He wants your body glued to his so he can be a big brother in peace; but any opportunity to tease you is a good one. Can’t help it— you just look so fucking cute begging him for stuff. When your thumb rubs over his wrist right under the end of his sleeve he obliges, though he makes it a bigger show than is necessary.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re the one person who already gives him all the attention he could ever ask for that makes him so bold, or the way you look up at him with those big, innocent eyes. He always wants more. The couch springs bend as the extra weight is added. It’s not big enough for two people, but you just about fit when you drape one leg over his hips to keep balance, placing your face on his chest. “You’re really clingy,” he tells you, and you look from his face to his neck in embarrassment.

Your breathing goes from short-short to long, long, long when you nuzzle into him for a few seconds, then shift your weight even more into him. He’d be lying if he said it was the most comfortable— but not in a bad way. The thoughts just get harder to ignore when your nose is buried in his chest. His hands slide down the length of your covered back, keeping you from skittering away from him again. You could fall asleep like this, he knows that.

He will have to wake you up if you do. He knows well enough you won’t wake up; and he’ll be trapped under you. So he tries to tell you this much, signing it with his hands on your back. But you don’t move, probably aren’t looking, so he taps your shoulder instead. This does stir you, though it seems to take too much effort to lift your head so he can talk to you; until he licks his lips and breathes out an impatient “Listen to me.” His voice feels extremely sore from the lack of usage, exhausting; and he’s sure his speech is about as sloppy as your signing is.

But that’s okay. Those understanding, soft eyes flick up to his, and cold crawls down his spine.

Your body wash or shampoo smells really good right about now, your hands playing gently up his sides. It’s cute and awfully distracting, you’re cute staring at him with the kind of patience he’s not really used to from you. It’s where you two differ. Nico could pretend that’s part of him, where he did a great job instilling morals and respect. But the truth is, you weren’t old enough to remember what it was like before, so you have no reason to have the same painfully trained patience he does.

And really, he’s happy about that miniscule change for the better. You’re a rambunctious brat, and you know how to play him and Warrick both. It’s how you’ve always been, and maybe it’s how you’ll always be. Best at looking a lot sweeter than your dirty mouth and brash personality. He’s the good listener, you’re the better talker— when you both want to be. Though your blond roommate would have you two both beat, he supposes.

Now he has your attention, he’s quick to explain before you get sleepier. “Warrick will be back before tonight, so you should eat with him.”

“But I wanna eat with you,” you yawn into the sentence, supplying the missing words with your soft, rounded signs for him to follow. You want to eat with him. Your chin rests back onto his chest, digging into the skin a little. He doesn’t reply back, just breathes in and out into the ever-present silence; and thinks. You want to eat with him, you want to lay with him, you want to sleep with him and help him out and cling to his side whenever you can— it’s true. Like a little puppy dog without an owner, you’re prone to just following him about because you can. It’s not really out of concern, or at least he doesn’t think it is. He takes care of himself nowadays.

But you two never grew out of the codependence you started with, clinging to his hand with those chubby, tiny fingers. You, placed on his one hip, a heavy duty weapon on the other. You always slept in the same bed out of necessity, so now that it no longer is one; you don’t have a good reason to stop. “Eat with Warrick,” he replies after a bit, “I’ll be out late.”

It’s not what you want to hear. Your eyes glide away from his to the dogtags resting between his pecs; between you and him too. And your mouth corners pull down, making you look so — fucking sad for a second, before it fades. You push yourself off of him, taking your warmth with you as you go.

He fights the very real urge to drag you back down with him for a little longer. Most of anything else, Nicolas can’t give you. Shouldn’t allow himself to long for where you’re concerned, but closeness… is the one thing he’s unable to fuck up with just actions. Your hand slips out of his when you get up from the couch, and the noiret doesn’t cling onto it enough. Regrets it, hates it. He hates the void a lot when you’re not there. But your mouth is moving again, and his eyes snap onto it like a lifeline. “Fine, I’ll make dinner. Yours will be in the fridge. ‘M gonna go take a shower.”

You run a hand along your hair to pull out your tie, before your pretty eyes flick back to meet his. “Don’t come.” It’s a warning if he’s ever seen one. But the draw is too much, and he sits up to put the magazine away. If he’s going to be leaving for the night, it won’t be like this. Not even to speak of the flares of jealousy that cross his mind at you being in Warrick’s presence, alone, at night. The guy still calls you ‘kid’, sure, but all three of you have seen that you’re no longer one.

A mean thought crosses his mind, one more selfish than concerned. He’d rather make you upset at his presence than lose you to another guy. Simple as that. And yet shame floods him from his toes to the top of his head as he watches you kick off your socks and toss your sweater aside. The line of your neck exposed to him, shorts slipping down your thighs. He sees the way you purse your lips and bite them, how one of your straps slips down your shoulder, deathly quiet in the doorway.

You’ve noticed him though, because you stop halfway to turn, arms wrapped around your chest and heat marking your neck and cheeks. You’re so fucking cute like this, he can’t help but think, filled with a messy mix of inappropriate emotions. He should get the Doc to check him out. Or Warrick, or fucking— someone. He knows full well the way he feels about you isn’t normal. “Go away, niichan,” you ask, sucking your lip between your teeth to bite at it. “You know you’re not supposed to be in here.”

However irrational it is, this ticks him off a little, brows furrowing. He steps closer, and you hide away more. “This is my bathroom.”

“Doesn’t matter, Rick nii says you’re not supposed to.” Warrick is right, a voice of reason in this dim, dark life; but the guy doesn’t understand you like he does. There’s things only you know— a one person encyclopedia about his every twitch, his every thought. So it doesn’t surprise him that you let him walk up to you anyway, not bothering to close the door as he takes your wrists and undoes them from around your body. It’s an egregious display of selfishness on his part, as your eyes flutter and your chest rises a little faster. “Nicolas… I- we’re…” You get so flustered that you start fidgeting with the tags dangling around his neck. “We can’t.”

Last time you got caught. Last time you were caught taking half of his cock down your throat when Warrick walked in, his hands in your hair and the drool and tears and the stuttered explanation wasn’t anywhere near enough to justify anything. There was a lecture that night, of sorts, about what was and wasn’t right— what wasn’t allowed to happen between a big brother and his little sister. No sucking your big brother’s dick into that gummy, little mouth. No kissing privates. Maybe you’d never been taught, maybe this was an overdue lesson you two had missed out on. It wouldn’t be the first. But even as he said it all, the blond didn’t seem to quite believe it. Not when it came to Nicolas and you.

And if even that guy could sense the difference in your relationship… we can’t isn’t the answer he can abide by. “We were meant to be with each other,” he tells you, and your eyes become glossy right away. Somehow, he always manages to get you to the point of tears. It’s not intentional. “We don’t have to do anything,” he says it more to himself than to you, convincing exactly no one, “just let me be close to you.” But you sniffle, and you give in, dropping your hands by your side as he noses at your temple and slips his thumbs under the edge of your panties to drop them down too.

Your nipples are peaked in the cold air, grabbing at his belt for some much needed support, or maybe to pull him closer. And he can’t help but smirk. “See? Little sister’s way~ clingy.” It’s effective immediately, having you glaring up at him and stepping out of reach to instead get into the shower. I was just joking, brat, he thinks, but it’s no use. You’ve already turned away. It doesn’t take too long to pull his shirt over his head and strip down naked like the day he was born to join you, trying to ignore his cock chubbing up.

The guise of innocence is stripped away with it as he slips into the stall after you, crowding close for warmth. You can’t ignore the press of his body against yours, shivering before him. So he hooks his chin over your shoulder to lean over you to talk. “You’re mine. Even if you don’t believe it. I’m yours and you are mine.” Water runs down his head, dripping from his lashes and chin, and along every curve. Hot, cold, everything in between travels his body as he presses a little closer into the embrace. “Have I been a bad brother to you?”

“No,” you instantly shake your head, eyebrows slanted in worry as you look back at him. “You’re mine too, niichan. And I… love you. But-” The shower drums on his skull with a rhythmic pattern that only makes him more anxious. For all you’ve been for him, all he’s done for you— it’s a very real possibility that he has been bad to you too often for you to forgive.

He’s been more than just selfish. He’s killed people who got too close to you, left them bleeding out in the street. Has sat you down and told you lies and half-truths, even when you found out, even after you stared up at him with tears in your eyes. Nicolas is nothing if not thorough, and he’s been with you for as long as you’ve lived.

He has also laid with you, too many times to count. Sometimes softly, letting you wrap your arms around his head to quiet the painful stabs of guilt. Kissing you under the covers, letting his hands roam over every dip, every hidden spot. Every curve. He still remembers the shivers, and the way you had looked at him so confused as he told you it would all be okay. Very far and few in between, you’d have fights under those same covers, push him away from you to cry your eyes out if he went and did something stupid again. Overdosed. Almost died.

You’ve been patient with him, and understanding. You’ve loved him down to the bone. “Warrick’s just…” you mumble, placing your hands on his neck, “Warrick says we shouldn't. It’s wrong to k-kiss and—”

“He says what he thinks he’s supposed to say,” Nic clenches his jaw, leaning in until you’re basically nose to nose. “You don’t actually believe that.” At least, he hopes you don’t. Your back arches when he leans in more, pressing your tits and cool skin against his much warmer body, letting him press a kiss on your lips. You swallow into it, let him grab your head and push you up against the wall so he can slip his tongue into your mouth. It’s not elegant, but you’re clinging harder, licking back into his mouth he greedily claims for himself. ‘It’s not wrong’ chants through his head, because if he thinks it hard enough, maybe one day he won’t feel so guilty and disgusting.

He taps your hips to let you hop up, catching you easily before going back to kissing. Your fingers thread through his wet hair, pulling hard enough to drive him crazy. Little minx. His hard cock bops between his thighs, rubbing pre cum all over your ass and cunny. An insidious curse he still can’t quite explain. He shouldn’t want you like this. Or bent over his lap, or on his tongue— he shouldn’t want you at all. “Tell me you want it, tell me how good I make you feel,” he asks you, and you throw your head back.

“Please, oniichan. My big brother’s cock feels the best. Want you to put it in and make it hurt, wan’it so bad.” Your hands are shaky behind his head as he lowers you enough for his flushed tip to kiss your sloppy, little entrance. You don’t believe it either. He smiles when you pull back for another kiss, letting you take what you need from his mouth. He lines you up, slowly lowers you onto his hard, heavy cock with a groan that escapes his throat— stretching a hole really not fit for him yet. Your tight-lipped expression, like you can’t really handle it, is too fucking cute.

He slides you down, warm, wet pocket clinging so tight to his cock where it twitches to get deeper into you, take more of that little cunny. He shivers as you mumble something against his temple, and though he can’t tell what— it’s safe to assume it’s an encouragement as he starts moving you up and down his cock in a slow, deep pace that has your thighs shaking around him. The curve of his cock hits that soft spot in your walls and has slick seeping out of you with each pump. A nipple is sucked into his mouth as he works your thighs open more, filling you up and up and up.

As your nails scratch down his back and you hold him like you’ll collapse without his help, he looks up to you again. And you smile, teary eyes and clumped lashes so pretty. “Wanna have Nic nii inside me forever. Have you fuck me full of your babies.” Fuck. You almost make him cum right there and then, his entire body clenching with the idea. As horrible as the thought is, it doesn’t leave him as soon as it comes to him. He should fuck you full of his babies, make you his permanently. You kiss him a few times as he holds you in place on his cock to rub your clit and flick your nipples.

“My baby sister’s cunt’s so tight and hot. Want to keep fucking.”

You moan, “no, s’too much,” before he can keep going, ignoring the way his eyebrows narrow.

“You can take too much.” Your little fingers are back to pulling at the shorter hair at the base of your skull as the loud paps of skin meeting skin must fill the bathroom, fill the house. And you whine and cry, as you always do— but you let your big brother take what he needs. Always. “Like niichan’s cock in you?”

“I love it- n-niisan! I love it! Don’t stop, please. Pl-please don’t stop.”

He loves you. And if it wasn’t for you, he might not ever have— you whine something into the kiss you lay on him, he can feel the vibrations of your throat through your tongue where you tangle it with his, your lips so sweet. His cock drives home each time he fills you up to the brim, balls hitting your ass and your thighs meeting his with hard pumps. The feeling is getting too much, the heavy, swirling feeling in his chest and stomach that has him feeling a bit woozy. Butterflies.

You give him fucking butterflies. What a sick joke the universe pulled on you two. He jerks back from your face to watch you pout and clack open your mouth, whining his name. One hand comes to hold your throat, and your pussy clenches hard around him. It almost keeps him there, basking in the heat of his little sister’s magical grasp, fucking open the walls of your needy cunt even harder. You’re bounced on him that way until you jut out your tongue to lick your lips and your thighs clamp around his hips tightly, hair a mess, lips glossy.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be when you’re in his arms, an insatiable feeling at the pit of his stomach turning and twisting. He groans again, bites his cheek as he taps your cheek with a little tap to have your teary eyes focus back on him. “Tell me you love me.” You’re too slow, the red-hot sensation of his thick cock sliding into your little cunt getting way too much in the hot steam of the shower, the thoughts in his head. You’re about to cum, he can tell when you can’t even give a single smart remark back. Rendered mute for a few seconds.

His other hand leaves your ass to let you clamp around him and keep yourself up against the wall, cock forced deeper into the good spot at the far end of your cunny. One hand on your throat, the other meanly pinching your nose closed as your eyes widen a little. “Tell me you love me,” he voices it out, letting the words taste sour and foreign on his tongue. Come on, his mind rings, just a little more. Just a little more for your big brother. He wishes you knew just how much you mean. How much he gains when you’re around. But you’ll never hear it from him.

“I lo- love~ you, niichan!” you mewl through the lack of air, looking so cute and dizzy and halfway to an orgasm of your own. He’ll let you get there, promise. “I love my niichan more than anyone.” The glow spreads through his body, everything tight.

Ready to fill you up with hot ropes of cum. He lets you down to turn you around instead, your knees wobbling as you find your balance. Then he slides back inside that hot clutch as his balls pull with a long grunt, entire body tight. His hand pushes between your legs, slippery because of the water, and rubs your clit hard and fast as you hang on. Mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back as the ruthless pace of his fingers is matched with his cock and he bumps against your cervix, pressing kisses along your neck.

It’s sensory overload, his head buzzing with static as he pulls you tight and fucks into you until his hips start stuttering. You dig your nails into the skin of his thigh as you cum too, matching him as he fills you up with hot, white and pulls your body so close you two could melt into each other. Shivering and shaking as the water doesn’t feel so hot anymore. Warrick will worry about the water bill. Nicolas cannot. Not when you’re panting and leaning back into him all spent, needing him to hold you up. He’s still hard even though the cum runs down your legs when he allows you to turn, before slipping right back into your overstimulated, little body.

“Ow, ow,” you whine, but lay a few kisses onto where his heart sits anyway. “Love you.” And look up at him with big, admiring eyes. He wonders what you see. If you see a monster too.

He should clean up this mess before the blond gets home, and get going. He should do many things, and none of them sound any more appealing than the last.

Your hands are colder than him when you reach up to his neck to undo the dog tag necklace, leaning into him even further when your wobbly legs are ready to give up on you. But you still make an effort to smile as you put the thing around your own neck, wrapping your arms around his body. You fit so well. And your eyes shine with genuine love when you nudge his chin with your nose, pressing a peck to his jaw. “Don’t run away from me anymore. Monster or no monster, Nic nii. I want to hear you say you love me too.”

#nicolas brown x reader #gangsta x reader #gangsta nicolas #gangsta smut #nicolas brown smut #tw.incest #tw.breeding #tw.dark content #🍯honey.pot