Work Text:
I
Undyne digs her nails harder into your back, hard enough to drive chevron-spiked glints of pain into your pleasure-addled brain and you start to rear back, start to tell her ouch that really hurt but she squirms under you, hand on her breast, nipple dark-blue from the constant pinching, angry white palmprint impressed into her flesh. She moans so lewdly that you twitch deep inside her and she bites her lip, tells you breathlessly to fuck her faster, she’s about to come. You slow to a crawl, run a finger lightly over her clit, see her legs twitch, see her fingers tighten again around her breast. Her eye cracks open, sliver of brilliant gold fixing on you threateningly.
“Fuck me, come on, why are you stopping?” she whines, and you tell her to ask you nicely. She grabs your hand, pops two fingers into her mouth. You feel her tongue flicking over them and she rolls her eyes in exaggerated pleasure, pretending it’s a cock. When she opens her mouth she mumbles in a breathless falsetto for you to please fuck her she wants to come she NEEDS to come, your cock feels so good buried so deep inside her~ and you pin her legs back the way she likes and thrust deep inside her, in and out, and you can feel the telltale quicksilver liquidity building inside her that signifies she’s about to come. Her eyes have rolled back and she has a fatlipped lazy grin plastered across her face. Her breath comes in little squeaks and finally her insides start to seize around your cock and the sensation is altogether too much for you and with a great lowing sound like a bull you plunge forward a few centimeters further, paint her insides white. Undyne feels it, squirms beneath you, bites her lip.
Once you’ve pulled out and the consequent orange-white flood of semen and roe has poured out of her (with almost as blissful an expression on Undyne’s face as it made her make going in), she reaches down, probes herself with a ginger finger, eyes locked on yours. She licks it, winks at you.
“You filled me up,” she breathes, and you can feel yourself getting harder as her hand traces down your thigh, cradles your exhausted balls.
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II
While he’s fucking me I like to look at his chest or his stomach or his arms. Or his legs I suppose if I can see them. But I never look at his face, not if I can help it, or if I do it’s only for a brief instant. When our eyes meet without fail I always get really selfconscious and embarrassed. I don’t know why, but either way it kind of takes me out of the mood. This particular time he’s hitting this one spot just right and I can feel myself about to come but the dork needs to go like a tiny bit faster. I tried to get myself there by playing with my breast but it doesn’t do that much, and I don’t dare play with my gills if he’s watching, then I’d really get embarrassed. I bite the bullet and tell him to fuck me faster, I’m about to come, in my growliest voice cause I know he likes that, and he slows down, runs his finger over my clit and it’s torture. If I wasn’t so winded I’d pounce on him, ride him until his hips are dust. I don’t think he realizes what a dangerous game he plays when he does this shit, but I like him so so far I’ve managed to rein myself in. I feel like I’d growl at him otherwise so I pop my fingers into my mouth like I used to when I was a little kid, but this time I do it real sexy (and I try hard not to feel like a dork while I’m doing it too), lick my fingers, pretend it’s his cock. I kind of wish it was, honestly, just so I’d have something to do with my mouth while he’s fucking me, and so I’d have an excuse not to make eye contact. One thing that dork’s started doing is fucking my throat real hard, which kind of turns me on to be honest, the idea of being used like that, and then when he comes it oozes out of my gills. It’s real hot for like a minute and then it’s just gross, but he likes it so I put up with it. That’s a relationship, right, give and take?
I take the fingers out of my mouth, letting a little string of saliva fall onto my breasts, and I ask him in my best daddy-please voice for him to please fuck me I want to come I NEED to come, your cock feels so good buried so deep inside me~ and he finally listens to reason, pins my legs back over my head, thrusts in deeper. I can feel it again, that sort of little bubbling sensation and I stop thinking
▪ ▪ ▪
When I blink the little black spots out of my eyes I feel so incredibly full that I look down and realize that he hasn’t actually pulled out yet. I can feel his penis like a plug, keeping everything inside. A little trickle of cum runs down my ass onto the bed and I’m already cringing at the amount of bleach we’re going to have to use. As he starts to pull out I am already starting to blush, or I would be if it didn’t feel so good…
and then he pulls out and I can feel his cum pouring out of me like watered-down syrup and I can feel the little beady clusters of my eggs, all the little rejects that’ll never be born, and it almost makes me come again. Either way my leg twitches and he puts a hand on it, holds me steady. He’s laying there trying to catch his breath next to me and I feel myself, pull my finger out covered in cum still, lick it clean. It tastes like salt and sugar, a little. I kind of like it but I’d never tell him, he’d get too smug. I tell him he filled me up, reach down, feel his balls, and then I fall asleep wondering if all my eggs made it out, but I guess I don’t care enough to check.
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III
You can hear a few ungainly plunks from the other room and you put your newspaper down. You run your head in a slow circle, coax a few cracks out of your neck, then call, “you okay in there?”
There’s a loud slam and a noise like an elephant inhaled an orchestra. Undyne’s just punched the piano. You rush in, find her curled on the bench, holding her pregnant belly in her arms. “What happened?” you ask. There’s a little dent in the side of the piano; she pulled her punch at the last instant, evidently.
“Nothing,” Undyne says glumly, not able to meet your eyes. You slide next to her, kiss the top of her stomach. She runs a hand through your hair, sighs long and hard.
“I can’t play the piano any more,” she says. “My belly is too big.”
“Oh, baby.”
Undyne rests her head on your shoulder, reaches up, runs a hand down your cheek. You look at her, really look at her; she’s kept herself pretty well-together for someone seven months in. She’s got bags under her eyes and her hair is messy, but those are because she insists on continuing to work out for as long as she’s able. You can still trace your finger up her ribs, let your hand fall into its customary space along her waist. The other night she woke you up, held your hand to her belly, smooth and slightly moist, like the back of a ray.
“Feel her,” she tells you. “She’s kicking.”
You hear a sniff next to you on the bench and you see Undyne wiping her eyes, looking over at you blearily. “I’m not cut out to be a mom,” she whispers, and you take her head in your hands, smooth her fins back.
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Listen –“ you begin, but Undyne shakes her head out of your grip, turns away from you.
“I don’t want to listen,” she says. “I’m tired of feeling dumb and being moody and feeling this thing kicking at me like it wants to tear me apart and get out. I want to go back to going to the gym every day and fucking you and not having to worry about this shit.”
“That’s the hormones talking,” you point out, and she rolls her eyes, leans back against you.
“Things are going to be different around here,” she says, looking around at the living room, all its sharp corners padded, everything dangerous up on high shelves. She shakes a little and digs backwards into your arms further, and you hold her tight like she wants you to. You kiss her on the neck, just above the gills, feel her smile a little. “Eh,” she growls, shrugging, and as she turns you can see from the deepgold shine in her eye and the curve of her spine that she’s resolved. “It’ll be okay,” she says, kissing your nose, your chin, your cheeks, before your lips meet and she nuzzles against you needily. “It’ll be okay,” she echoes as she pulls back, and for what feels like the first time in your long tired day, you let yourself smile.
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IV
Galene motors her chubby pale-blue legs into the kitchen, gawks around bright-eyed and beautiful, burbles a little from her gills, then overbalances, plops onto her well-padded behind. Undyne yelps, laughs, picks her back up. She kneels down in front of the little fish-girl, kisses her on the forehead. Undyne’s face is so bright, her eyes so alive and sparkling that it’s a miracle the sun hasn’t thrown in the towel, let her take over. Her body has snapped back like an overstretched rubber-band: mostly the same, but with cracks here and there. She has a little more fat over her slim fishscale belly now, a little pudge that she plucks and pinches at worriedly in bed with you until you take her hands away from her, put them on your cheeks, tell her that it’s okay, and then she sighs, rolls her eyes, kisses you. There are more wrinkles around her eyes now and her hair is a little duller, but the way she looks at you is still the same, the way she bumps you with her hip as she passes is still the same.
Galene has grabbed one of Undyne’s curls and is tugging at it. Undyne is laughing, big flashes of sharkteeth. Galene laughs too, a tiny little shout of joy. You can see her little teeth like pinpricks of white in her mouth. Undyne looks up, straight at you. “Are you getting all this?” she asks.
“Oh yeah,” you hear yourself say. Galene looks back at you, grins.
“Da,” she says, and as Undyne and you both gasp she calls from the other room. “Dad? Are you ready yet? It’s time to go.”
You snap the laptop closed, get up, get your jacket on. In the kitchen you find Undyne pinning Galene’s hair back in place, fussing over her as usual, You run a hand over her hair and Undyne looks back at you flashes a quick grin. “How does she look?”
As you try to stuff the lump back down your throat you look at your daughter, take in the maroon and white graduation robes. They go – decently with her pale blue skin but it’s her bright green eyes that really are the stunners. You tuck her cap over her head, maneuver the tassel into the correct postion.
“Looking good,” you tell her. “Nervous?”
Galene shrugs. “A little,” she says, tossing her head back – just like her mother, you think – and knocking the cap back onto the floor. As Undyne bends to get it you wink at Galene, tell her it’ll be fine, over before you know it, and she grins at you.
“Over before you know it,” you repeat in your head on the way to the graduation.