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stormxpadme · 1 year

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A little thing for @sneakymystique's birthday. Hope you enjoy it <3.

Thank you dear @effervescentdragon for last minute betaing even when I'm entirely incapable of doing something in time for once. Love ya lots!

"Hey, furball, thought we agreed about the off-limit parts of the house." When Scott spotted a sinewy, four-legged shape pass by his Honda, its stripe-shades blurring with the colors of his glasses which revealed which one of the two cats living at the Mutant High right now it was, he seriously considered for a moment if the interruption was even worth it, lifting his overtired body from that damn creeper.

Morpheus was probably just chasing some rodent anyway and would vanish in the stable again before Scott could even get to him. But sadly that little shit could never be trusted with not licking or chewing something definitely not meant for feline stomachs, and the last thing Katja needed right now was worrying about a family member ending up in the sick bay. Besides, the animal had stopped somewhere by the cars, hissing at something loudly, so the feeble attempt of at least an hour of undisturbed, dull work in silence could be filed as another failure.

"Alright, fleabag, that's e…" But then Scott forgot what he'd been about to say because when he straightened up from under his bike, turning to the vehicle in question, there was a woman lounging on the BMW's hood with crossed legs, far too scantily clad for a December night, chest thrown out, a playful smile on full lips that half a year or so ago, he might actually have fallen for.

"Have you tried talking meow?" By now, fortunately, Scott had more than enough experience with a certain hostile among his enemies posing as people close to him to not even need Morpheus' very clear warning – cats tended to have finer noses even than Logan, and Scott had never heard that damn pet hiss at Katja ever before. Not even the tired realization that for all her skill, such a broad Bavarian accent as in his partner's voice, Mystique still had problems copying a hundred percent. There was also the sober fact that the last time Katja had looked at him like that, with intentions in mind not exactly hard to guess, had also been months ago.

Which this woman should actually know best, thinking about it. Fortunately, she was wise enough not to try and provoke him any further when he raised his hand to his glasses, unfazed, more than ready to sacrifice his current favorite ride if it also stopped that fucking bitch from entering his home like she had a right. She quickly raised both hands, already changing back to her true, scaly, nude shape, as some kind of peace offering probably. Which after recent events felt cynical enough to get nauseous. "Easy there, One-Eye. I'm just here to talk. Not like I could have knocked, is it?" No, it wasn't. And there was also no way Mystique had come here in the shape of one of them, not with recent security updates aimed exactly at this woman's powerful mutation, including daily alternating voice verification at all gates.

But Scott decided he could look into that new defense gap once he'd gotten rid of his enemy, and preferably without the pupils realizing there was trouble in here again. "Full lockdown. Cat: Danger Room, now. Team: Garage." Ignoring Mystique's ridiculous claim, he tried to call the others in with the help of his watch but was faced only with a hectically blinking flash of error signals.

"Don’t bother. Jammer." Mystique casually tapped her wrist where there was a small bulge showing under flesh and skin, making it very clear that no help was coming for the moment unless Charles decided to actually open his nonstop-busy mind to his people again for a change, enough to get a mental distress call through to him.

Not that Scott would have minded on principal shooting right through that hand mockingly waving at him there but experience had taught him painfully enough how tedious and risky every attempt at close combat with this woman was. Not to mention that this bitch wasn’t worth it, making a mess of one of his favorite places in this house and the expensive things stored therein if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Listening to her bullshit for a minute would probably leave less of a headache. "We've got nothing to talk about unless you guys all spontaneously decided to turn yourselves in for various crimes against humanity."

Mystique's amused grin only grew. "So they can take us to whatever prison needs a facelift this time? Eventually, they'll run out of facilities. Sit. None of us is interested in fighting you guys right now."

"Could have fooled me." Scott crossed his arms in front of his body, with his fingertips never far from the edge of his glasses, shuddering demonstratively when Mystique nodded down on the hood next to her. "And no, thanks. I'll be busy enough sanitizing and recoating that E38 as it is, once you got your ugly backside off it."

"You weren’t so picky about my ass a couple of weeks ago," Mystique shot back but showed another peacemaking gesture at the dangerous flash behind his glasses; this time, it looked almost sincere. "Right. Things didn’t go so well in November. That's why I'm here. Magneto feels he owes you one after what happened. He's come up with something that will help remedy something from your past."

"I'm pretty sure the remains of your last attempt of this kind are still drying in a certain maintenance room in the sewers," Scott replied harshly, the temptation to lower his glasses just enough to leave a very lasting impression at least for a day or so on that woman's body growing by the second. "I think I've had my fill."

Whatever Magneto had sent her really for, now Mystique's willingness to play along nice was rapidly waning as well. "As much as I enjoy taking credit for disaster: Anderson was your fuck-up, Summers."

"And you people stuck a key in his back, wound him up, and gave him a stage, so maybe find something else but that high horse of yours to get your ass out of here." Which, preferably, should happen before he'd reach the end of consideration with regard to the pupils' night sleep and a few luxury vehicles.

"Not yet. I told you, Magneto is good at apologizing when he wants to." Under his only tenser gaze, Mystique turned another small swelling on her bare body, around her navel, into a hidden pouch and got out half a dozen identical devices hardly bigger than a coin, kindly wrapped in sterile plastic, that she put down next to her on the car. "Magneto reduced the effects of his reversal weapon to a low, constant setting and compressed it into these. They got an off-switch. You wear one of these, you can keep your quartz shields open until you actually need your blasts."

"I told your lover before, Darkholme, I don’t need his help." The growing headache throbbing behind his eyes didn’t exactly agree with Scott's instinctive refusal of something entirely out of the question, but that might more come from the fact that this woman was still sitting here, talking to him as if she hadn’t had an executive hand in almost getting his partner killed a few weeks ago. He'd seen the kind of partnerships the Brotherhood liked to enter from up close too often to even take a look at anything that would have put him within debt's reach of someone like Magneto of all people. "Besides, if you've got something to sell, I think Charles is still in his office. Lehnsherr hasn’t suddenly discovered charity ambitions. So why don’t you tell me what you really want from me so I can say no and blast you back to where you came from?"

"So rude …" Mystique finally got off the car, never giving that bag another look, and approached him with swinging hips, that ice-cold, unimpressed smile on her lips, as if he didn’t need to lower his glasses only an inch to rip that current shape of hers to pieces. By now he knew this woman's speed and agility well enough to know that wouldn’t have been as easy as she was trying to make it look; but if she was betting on some nebulous code of honor of Scott's kind preventing such a first attack on his part, she underestimated a lot what it could do to someone, being too late to protect a loved one. "It's not terribly complicated, Summers. We're only asking that we all put down our weapons for a while. Recent events showed that both sides can only lose if we don’t resolve that little disagreement of ours. Why don’t you take a couple of weeks off? From how your little sidekick looks, you two can use it. Enjoy that little gift of ours, take care of your family affairs, and keep your nose out of our business for a while. I promise you by the time you're back, you'll like this world a lot better."

"Get the fuck out of my house." It was an insultingly primitive deception, and if he'd had any more physical or mental energy reserves, Scott thought he might have tried harder to look behind it. But more strength than to get all his jobs at Mutant High done had been notoriously absent from his life ever since November. He simply couldn’t be bothered to care about the Brotherhood's delusional warmongering when his private life had just fallen to pieces around him. "I assume you'll find the way. If not Logan will be happy to show you."

"Oh, you two are on a talking basis again?" Mystique's bright eyes promptly lit up in sadistic delight. "What does Xavier have on the guy to still be able to keep him around? Or is it just that people around you have a habit of dying that makes life here so attractive for the feral? Maybe you'll actually find a way to relieve that rabid animal from its existence next ..."

"I'm gonna have to disappoint you on that, Darkholme," Scott answered tonelessly, the slight but undeniable shaking of his hand at this point no longer coming from that constant readiness to free his mutation from its cage. If that woman had learned anything about him in the last ten years, she should know that now was a really good time to shut her dirty mouth. "Unlike you people, we don’t kill for sports. But I can still make this a really unpleasant evening for you if you insist."

"Let's save it for next time you're being a pain in our ass." Faster than Scott could realize that there had been something else in that damn flesh pouch, his enemy jumped from his sight with a weightless spin, right hand aimed his way, a hated, well-known stinging sensation hitting him straight in the chest before he could make his shot, and the lights went out.

*****

Raven comfortably landed on all fours, a night-grey feline shape as easily having crossed the Institute wall as she'd climbed it to get in, and turned her body back into human shape, stretching her limbs with a little grimace, shaking a hint of fatigue from it. Compressing her silhouette into something that small and foreign in proportion and motion was a little more challenging than impersonating people even for her gift, but just for those few minutes of seeing one of her most enemies in such a miserable condition, the little trip had been worth it. "Lockdown is controllable by the mobile device they all got on them," she explained shortly after sitting down in the car Erik was waiting for her in around the corner. "Voice command. Shouldn’t be a problem. Team dynamics are even more fucked up than at Alkali Lake. And they think we're still after the blood source. They have no idea what's coming." Which didn’t mean those people wouldn’t be a problem once Erik and she launched the final phase of their current plans but they would be considerably easier to deal with than in the past. For that, in spite of all that psychopath had done, they almost had to be thankful to Anderson.

"We will see." Erik didn’t come up with optimism regarding his former people easily these days anymore either. All the more outrageous it was that he still was unwilling to give up on those halfwits. "Did you leave them the reversal chips?"

"Waste of good titanium and processing power," Raven growled, resting her feet on the dash to kick at it impatiently. "The boy's gonna blast them to pieces the moment he wakes up. You need to say goodbye to the idea that these people will ever be on our team."

"Not on our team, no." His thin lips tight, Magneto threw a quick glance back through the mirror at that mansion he'd said goodbye to all these decades ago but never really left. "But they will be part of that world we are creating, Raven. And in this world, we will not turn our back on any mutant, no matter how hostile. No more sacrifices."

Raven preferred to keep her mouth shut at that because Erik knew, this was a promise she couldn’t give anyway, not when her team and the X-Men would meet in battle again doubtlessly soon. But while she had never thought a lot of atonement herself: After the events last month, she was at least willing to give these people a little bit of a break until that happened.

#x men #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #x men original timeline movies #fanfiction #stormys fanfics #mystique #probably taking place at some point in the future of the main verse #shut up it's past midnight here #time zones are made up anyway #Scott Summers #Cyclops

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shotmrmiller · 26 days

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johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

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