Summary: Your favorite shop regular, Scott Summers, asks you to come with him to a mutant charity event at Xavier’s. You both get more than you bargained for - oh, and coffee. You both get coffee.
Pairing: Scott Summers x f!Reader
Content: MDNI, grumpy!Scott and sunshine!reader, fluff, slowish burn, coffeeshopowner!reader, friends to lovers, Jean Grey does not exist AU, shy!Scott, X-Men guest appearances, alcohol consumption, tipsy s (both consenting), oral (fem rec), fíngeríng, slight sub!Scott, yea he whímpers and begs, creampíes, pússydrúnk!Scott, P in V, swearing
A/N: this one’s for you, my fellow Scott lovers. FIRSSST fic I’ve ever put online omg, pls be kind it’s my first time (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)
The coffee shop door chimes as it opens, your head whipping up from the book you were engrossed in at the register. You scramble to close the pages of the ungodly fantasy smut on the counter in front of you, shoving the book back into your bag at your feet with a nervous, lopsided smile.
Your regular customer, Scott, ambles into the shop, hands in his pockets and his signature RBF scowl on his face. He always sorta seems like he has just learned something incredibly disappointing, his lips permanently downturned in what looks like a little pout.
He adjusts his ruby quartz glasses, his scrutinizing gaze flicking over the seasonal drink menu you spent hours making - rulers, chalk markers, tracing and drawing carefully while sitting on the floor of your shop long after closing time last night to make sure it was perfect.
He is eerily quiet, as always. You are used to indulging in your shared desire for silence this early in the morning, not bothering to greet him with a cheerful “good morning!” after being on the receiving end of his sleepy glower one too many times.
Constantly the first customer in at 5:30 AM on the dot, Scott likes to keep his meticulous routine - if it changes in the slightest, he feels like pulling his hair out.
You are cleaning the already spotless countertop with a damp cloth when he finally makes a sound, a little hum of thought from the back of his throat, eyes narrowing slightly behind his red glasses.
“I’ll just get the usual.” He remarks offhandedly, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and opening it up to grab some cash. You rush back to the register, tapping on the touchscreen to ring in a 16oz quad Americano. It’s slightly surprising that his heart hasn’t exploded, given that you know this is definitely not the only caffeine he is consuming in a day - maybe has something to do with the mutant DNA, who knows.
You take the cash offered, always too much for one drink, always told to keep the change in a soft murmur from him. The leftover cash is handed back to him anyway, where he proceeds to stuff it into the tip jar - a familiar song and dance you two engage in every morning.
Behind the espresso machine, you work your magic, pulling two perfect shots and filling the rest of the to-go cup with hot water. He sits at the bar top, fingers brushing against yours when you hand the cup over to him carefully. You lean against the counter, arms crossed as you pin him with a playful glare.
“You didn’t want to try the lavender honey oat milk iced latte? I put that on the menu just for you.” You simper, pouting teasingly as his jaw ticks in feigned irritation.
He huffs an indignant sound, rolling his eyes. “No,” he begins in an exasperated voice, “that’s a sugar bomb. No way.” You can’t help but laugh at the familiar ruffled feathers, how easy it is to annoy a man who seems so unmovable. You know enough about him, things that everyone knows about him - leader of the X-Men, optic blasts, Charles Xavier’s own protégé.
But for you, there’s more.
Personal anecdotes dropped over a shared pastry, smiles squeezed out of him with your relentless jokes, slow mornings spent rationing out childhood memories and daily annoyances, complaining for the sake of complaining (one of your favorite hobbies).
You, owner of his favorite coffee shop, know more about his personal life than likely anyone else near to him. Months and months of mornings together have allowed you to slowly put together the puzzle that he is. You might be one of the closest things Scott Summers has ever had to a friend, the few people given the chance to know him as he really is.
It took months to get Scott to say a single word to you. At first it was just you constantly yapping - complaining about annoying customers or musing about a new drink or fawning about an upcoming event you were nervous about. You had pretended to learn his name by asking for “a name for the order” (he had been the only person in the shop at the time, not necessary at all).
Of course, you already knew his damn name, he was on your TV screen every night, being praised for saving the city once again with the other X-Men or vilified for campaigning for mutant rights. Seeing him on the news was a bit jarring, given that he seemed like an entirely different man than he was when you interacted with him every morning.
After a couple months, Scott finally offered one simple sentence, one little slip that gave a glimpse into his complex self when you had demanded he pick something for free from the pastry case for his loyalty to your shop each morning:
“I don’t mind, I’ll eat anything sweet.”
You had smiled ear to ear, insisting that he try one of your muffins, or perhaps a slice of pumpkin bread, and ooo, had you tried a chocolate croissant before? Something about the stomach is the way to a man’s heart, right?
From that moment, he was your assigned guinea pig, trying and rating each pastry you would bake, determining whether they were worth selling or not - according to Scott, everything is worth selling and everything is delicious. Each new pastry baked and tested earns a pleased groan of gratification from him and a giddy grin and applause from you as you bounce on your tiptoes excitedly.
“Did you get that part fixed on your motorcycle?” You ask distractedly, using tongs to pick up a muffin from the pastry case by the register, their enticing presence meant to allure customers into purchasing them right before they check out. The plate is ceremoniously placed in the microwave, your gaze turning back to Scott where he offers another sulky look.
“Backordered for three months,” he offers tiredly, shaking his head in disappointment and earning a little murmur of despondency from you in agreement.
“So, guess I’m not getting that ride anytime soon, huh?” You lament with a soft exhale of a laugh, eyes flicking over to the microwave as it beeps incessantly. He snorts out an amused sound, crimson eyes squinting slightly. He takes a long sip of his Americano before giving a reply.
“Doesn’t look like it. At least not on the motorcycle.” he mutters, corners of his mouth rising, eyes pinned to the chocolate chip muffin in your hands.
You figure that he probably is alluding to a ride in his Porsche instead if not the motorcycle, not really catching his meaning in your little oblivious, naive brain. You plop the plate on the bar top in front of him with a clink, pulling up a stool to sit across from him and giving you each a fork.
Sitting across from him now, you both poke at the muffin in relatively peaceful silence, the only sound the cutlery clinking against the saucer. You lift a brow, suddenly remembering something he had mentioned the other day.
“Do you still have that charity thing this weekend at Xavier’s?” You inquire, glancing up at him. His permanently clenched jaw offers a twitch, his eyes unreadable behind the glasses as he takes just slightly too long to answer the question.
When he does, it is a straight and unemotional “yup.” You exhale out a mirthful sound, watching his throat bob as he swallows nervously. You simply stare at him, only serving to make him more nervous, a flush creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears.
“What? You don’t want to go?” You press, determined to coax an answer out of the anxiety-riddled mutant in front of you. Annoyed, his hands clench into fists in his lap, an exaggerated sigh leaving him when he realizes you will never let this go.
“I don’t want to go alone.” He admits hurriedly, his eyes widening as if he is surprised at his own confession, crimson gaze flicking up to you shyly. You can’t help but find his sheepishness insanely adorable, pretending to be engrossed in eating this muffin so you don’t start laughing. You’re betrayed by the way your lips turn up and the way you bite the inside of your cheek to stop from giggling. He reads you like a damn book, his brows knitting together as he waits for the inevitable.
“Scott, you do everything alone,” you state matter-of-factly, your honeyed grin punctuating it, “why is this any different?” He gives a derisive tch, forehead creasing helplessly as he scrambles to organize his thoughts.
“Remy is going with Anna Marie, Ororo is taking Logan, Alex is bringing Lorna, and-“ he is cut off by your hand held up between the two of you, your brow lifted at his urgency and fretfulness over this.
“I get your point. You don’t want to go alone.” You interject, nodding slowly with a lopsided grin on your face, watching him exhale shakily. You don’t know that you’ve ever seen him so miserable and uneasy; somehow, it’s sickeningly cute to see him such a mess.
There is a long period of strained silence before the words spill out of his mouth, his hands wringing in his lap: “You could just come with me.”
You almost choke on your coffee, brows shooting up at his unusual request, eyes pinning him with a stare of disbelief.
To go to a charity event.
You laugh right in his face, earning a flaming blush over his pale skin, his eyes wide behind his ruby quartz glasses and his breath catching.
You shake your head at his obvious fear, continuing to giggle uncontrollably despite his discomfort and the way he shifts on the barstool.
“Sorry, I- ha…” You snicker, waving your hands innocently before him, watching him shove another bite of muffin into his mouth and direct his eyes to the counter instead of at you.
“Scott! You’re serious? You want me to go? Are you sure?” You inquire curiously, wheezing out a breathless laugh at his expense. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, shoulders shrugging up to his ears as he nods coyly.
“Y-Yeah, I thought maybe, um…” he stammers apprehensively, crimson eyes slightly hopeful but prepared for rejection and the inevitable hurt that always seems to find him, “Maybe you’d have a good time, y’know? And it would be nice to have… a date? Like everyone else?”
You, infinitely less nervous than him, prop your chin in your hands and elbows on the counter and give a smile of burgeoning excitement. He huffs sharply, brow furrowed in confusion, unsure if the words from your pretty lips are about to make his day or ruin his life.
“Scott Summers, are you asking me on a date?”
“Wait, so you, like… live at Xavier’s, too? Isn’t it kinda weird to live and work in the same place?” You ask absentmindedly from the bathroom, carefully lining your lips.
It’s 6:30 PM on Saturday, the party starts in thirty minutes. You have picked out a one-shoulder chiffon maxi dress with a light floral pattern, given that Scott told you this event will be outside in the gardens. It should be uncomfortable, having your cute regular from work in your apartment, but it doesn’t really bother you - after all, you’ve had much worse guys in here and done much worse things with them.
Scott, however, is bothered. He sits on your couch in the living room, locked in a staring contest with your cat, Charlie. Charlie’s big pale yellow eyes squint just a little, as if he is attempting to communicate his contempt to Scott telepathically. Scott clears his throat, earning a dramatic puffed tail and blown pupils from your orange tabby at the foreign sound.
Scott glances around at items of interest - a handmade, rudimentary drawing framed on the wall from your niece, a photo of you and your best friend at college graduation with your arms slung around each other, a felt banner with pastel colored flags of various colors that hangs lazily over a doorframe, a stack of to be read books on the coffee table.
“Uh, no. It’s not weird. Pretty normal.” Scott returns in a level tone, schooling his voice to sound calm and collected.
You give a quiet hum of thought from the bathroom, the sound making him shift on the couch cushion with unease. Your soft voice, the way you laugh, the way you smile, those little hums and sighs you give to fill the silence…
Shit, he’s already half hard in his dress pants. Looking down at his lap and noting this development, Scott stands with a furious blush on his face, determined to make this little problem go away as fast as possible. He walks a couple laps around the kitchen island and around the coffee table with his hands in his pockets, eyes squeezed shut as he murmurs to himself under his breath a barely audible fuckfuckfuckfuck and tries to think of anything but you beneath him.
You amble into the living room and find him in this state, your brow furrowing with confusion and curiosity. You give a long-suffering sigh.
“Did Charlie bite you? I probably should have told you not to pet him, he hates men.” You comment dryly, turning to check your lipstick in the mirror by the door. Scott shakes his head way too quickly, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor in an attempt to look aloof.
“No, nope, he was on his best behavior.” Scott replies sanguinely, grinning lightly at you. You catch his gaze in the reflection, his sculpted cheeks burning hot as he stares at you, running a hand through his already messy hair.
You let yourself indulge for just a brief moment, your eyes lingering on the way the sleeves of his crisp white button up shirt are rolled just a little up his forearms, his hair is perfectly mussed, and goddamn, have his thighs always been that muscular? Your lips twitch, enough to show that you’re amused at his hint of shyness, your head tilting just a bit to emphasize the smugness.
“Charlie is a good boy, he’s just misunderstood.” You bemoan with a pout, bending over to pet your cat where he rubs against your legs and purrs.
Charlie emits a mrow of agreement, bonking his head against your calf again. You straighten, raising your eyebrows at Scott while he does his best to act like a normal fuckin’ human being for once, watching him shoot you a much too confident smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
You offer a hand, which he eagerly takes, his blush never wavering.
“Born ready, Scotty Boy.”
The Xavier Mansion’s gardens are bustling with people, string lights zigzagging between the trees and cloth canopies above your heads. You are overwhelmed with sights and sounds - mutants with powers and appearances you’ve never seen before, classical music being played somewhere nearby by a live troupe, laughter and chatter everywhere, drink glasses clinking together. You keep your arm dutifully linked in Scott’s, wide eyes glimmering as they take in everything.
Scott glances down at you, chuckling to himself at your awestruck expression. “Never been to a party before?” He inquires playfully, leading you to an open bar (thank god).
You exhale a sharp sound of opposition at his joke, prodding your fingers into his side and earning a little yelp from him. “Yes, you idiot, I have been to a party. Just… maybe not as swanky as this. And this isn’t really a party, for the record. It’s for charity.” You correct, chin tilted up to pin him with a spirited glare.
The first shot of liquor goes down easily for you, but causes Scott to give a hiss through his teeth at the burn. He hasn’t stopped grinning like a maniac since you two walked in here - he never really loses that stupid, lopsided grin when you’re nearby and the alcohol in his system isn’t helping.
Remy LeBeau is the first to notice. Peering over his whiskey glass with Anna Marie on his arm, his eyes narrow suspiciously when he takes note of Scott helping you down the marble staircase to the gardens so you don’t fall, one hand holding yours and the other on the small of your back to steady you.
Rogue presses her lips together and makes a hmm sound, one Gambit recognizes as meaning “would you look at that?”. As Scott approaches with you, Remy and Anna Marie share a smirk. Remy lifts his glass in a cheers gesture, which the two of you return with your own glasses.
“Didn’t know you knew such pretty ladies, Cyclops.” He comments slyly, earning a smile from you, but a sulky, jealous frown from Scott.
“Cyclops ain’t exactly a ladies man, right, chere?” Remy nudges Anna Marie, the woman rolling her eyes playfully and pushing him back, turning her attention to Scott.
“Aww, hun, he’s just jokin’. He just likes to pick at you, you know that.” She assures Scott, giving Remy a tsk. You can’t help but exhale a soft laugh, your hand moving to rub a circle on Scott’s back in a soothing way, a mindless action.
“He’s sensitive,” you offer humorously, finally turning his frown into a more neutral expression. He scoffs, muttering a little “No, I’m not”, but the corner of his lips twitch upward anyway.
Two martinis later, you’re laughing like a giddy idiot as Scott (poorly) attempts to keep in step while dancing with you. His laugh is one of the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard, rough and uninhibited like it’s been worn from years of disuse.
Your whole body feels about ten degrees hotter, the vodka from your martini warming your tummy. Scott put on a brave face through at least a couple glasses of whiskey (which he hates, but he desperately wanted to look cool), putting him at about the same level of tipsy as you now.
For the leader of the X-Men and such a standoffish guy, he’s definitely clingy when he’s drinking. His large hands splay over your lower back, your waist, your shoulders, not caring where they land and just wanting to touch you.
More than wanting to touch you, wanting to show every person here that you’re his. Your voice in his ear makes his muscles stiffen, his breath catch in his throat. The warmth of your proximity is driving him genuinely insane.
“You seem much less nervous now. I thought you might have a stroke earlier.” You comment, hand on his arm as you peer up at him with glassy eyes and that infuriating smirk.
Scott scoffs in an amused way, glancing down at you and making your tummy burn just a little bit differently than the alcohol is doing already.
His crimson eyes are weighted on you, every part of you, like a predator that has finally caught its prey in its jaws. He smiles - holy shit, he’s smiling - and you find that you’re just staring at him with wide-eyed shock.
“It’s getting late, y’know. Want me to take you home?” Scott inquires gently, probably taking note of the slack-jawed, alcohol induced expression on your face and determining that you’ve had too much. You whine, a gorgeously erotic sound that makes him want to bend you over the nearest counter, his jaw clenching with the thoughts that invade his mind.
You shake your head, brow furrowing in weak protest. “You can’t drive.” you point out the obvious, gesturing to him, “Sorta my fault for getting the DD drunk. Sorry. I can Uber home, it’s really no big-“
His head is already shaking furiously, his eyes widened as he stares down at you with a pleading expression. “No, no, no way. You’re not taking an Uber.” He commands, causing you to lift your eyebrows in question at his thought process here.
“Uh… okay. I’ll walk home then?” You offer with a scrunch of your nose, earning an amused exhale from Scott and a flash of his teeth.
“No, you can just stay here tonight. There’s plenty of room and we have everything you need, it’s just… easier that way, right?” He questions, tilting his head like a curious dog with its ears at attention. He looks at you like he is begging you to agree with this statement.
“But, um… if you want to get an Uber and go home I totally understand and I don’t want to keep you here if you’re not comfortable and I’ll pay for the Uber and everything just as long as you’re happy and we don’t have to sleep in the same bed or anything if that’s totally weird.” He spouts out hurriedly, his words spilling from his lips with no pauses. He smiles again nervously, crooked and drunken, running a hand through his hair.
You’ve never seen such a captivating image in your whole existence. Scott sits in a plush armchair in his room - manspreading, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened and askew, brown hair tousled, his head tilted back and the neck exposed, and eyes fluttered shut where he is slumped in the chair. You’re nursing a bottle of water, taking frequent sips in hopes to sober yourself up.
Leaning against the wall, you simply stare at him, taking in everything you can while he isn’t looking. There’s a tipsy flush to his cheeks, and as you’re staring, he peeks an eye open and smiles a shit eating grin at you.
“I had a good time.” He states plainly, not bothering to elaborate as he sits up just a bit. He props his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to look at you. That dark look in his eyes returns - hungry, starving even, as he waits for you to affirm that you enjoyed tonight too.
He exhales a sigh from his nose, as if he knows he will regret what he is about to say or do. He pats his thigh, lifting his chin at you, words slurred.
You don’t really question how you ended up in Scott Summers’s lap, giggling along with him as he spills gossipy secrets about the mutants you met this evening. His arm keeps you locked against him, his lips brushing against your ear from where he rests his head on yours. His nose bumps against your neck, your head tilting back on instinct and earning a soft groan of pleasure from the back of his throat.
The words between you two dwindle, his touches becoming well received by you, each new one making you melt just a little bit more.
“Well, no, I don’t think my brother and Lorna will work out.” He drawls lazily, offering a hesitant kiss to the spot right under your ear, his heavy breaths warm against your skin. “They’re always fighting. They break up once a week, probably.”
You offer a soft laugh, brow furrowing at his insistence. “Oh, and you’re the one who should be giving relationship advice, Scott? You haven’t talked about a girl the whole time I’ve known you. Maybe Remy is right, you are not much of a ladies man.”
Scott tenses just a little under you. He swallows harshly, throat bobbing with the effort as he pulls back and looks up at you. He tries not to look hurt, but his expression betrays him.
“Yeah, well. Dating just… isn’t my thing. I’ve told you that.” He replies sharply, jaw ticking with his irritation.
You pause, hand reaching out hesitantly like you’re trying to coax a feral animal, brushing a thumb over his warm cheek. “But why not?” You inquire softly, a question that earns you a sardonic laugh from him, a roll of his eyes.
“You’re kidding, right? I can’t date anyone. I’m a fuckin’ mess.” He quips back quietly, the sound less angry and more sad now. “I’m not normal. I’ll never be normal. I couldn’t ever expect anyone to bother with someone like me.”
You shake your head, ready to defend his honor, but he continues to berate himself. “I always care more about something, someone. More than they could ever care about me. I always get myself hurt.”
Your gaze lingers on him, his crimson eyes half lidded and tired. You’re no telepath, but it’s not hard to know what he’s thinking, not when it’s written all over his face. When you brush some hair out of his face, he subconsciously leans into the touch, desperate for more of you.
“Why would you ever want to be normal?” You ask quietly, your touch the gentlest graze over his skin, his eyes softening at your words.
It only takes you about ten seconds to lean into and kiss him.
Scott isn’t as gentle as you. He’s desperate and eager with a desire to please. He finds himself clawing at your dress, fingers gripping handfuls of the fabric at your hips, drawing you impossibly closer as his lips lazily meet yours again and again.
He gives a hum of contentment against your mouth, eyes closed even after you pull away, a loopy smile on his face as he whines at the loss of your touch.
“You’re good at that.” He affirms, blinking his red eyes at you and shifting his glasses back up his nose carefully. You grin ear to ear, enamored by his absolute loser-ness. You run a hand over his hair, leaning into to give him another quick kiss. He doesn’t like the idea of it ending so soon, his hands reaching up to rest on either side of your face, keeping you there so he can get more of that.
He moans against your lips when you shift in his lap a little, his hips rolling up against your ass without him thinking. The friction between you two has his cock hardening in his pants, but he doesn’t want to stop it this time.
He pants out a breath when you pull away, another when you down briefly between the two of you and then back at his face. Your lips trail down to his jaw and then to his neck, canine teeth brushing against his skin and making him jolt a little.
You are thinking that he could probably cum in his pants right now with the way he’s reacting. He is thinking that he might if you keep doing that.
“We don’t have to do anything, not if you don’t want to.” He breathes out, voice whiny and quiet as he looks at you with those desperate eyes. “We’ve both been drinking, and I wouldn’t ever want to make you uncomfortable, so just…”
He trails off when your fingers trace his waistband, swallowing thickly at the feeling. His aching cock is straining against his boxers at this point, making him squirm uncomfortably. His hands wander over you, wanting to feel every inch of you under his palms, his movements jerky and unsure.
You smile, that same predatory smile he gave you earlier - predator becomes prey oh so easily, he didn’t even see it coming.
“I want to, Scott. Do you?”
His pretty lips part, hips jerking again, his voice strained like he could cry. He squeezes his eyes shut when your palm runs over his clothed length, feeling every inch of him through his pants.
“Yes, he pleads, “god, yes I want to.” His eyes flutter open, looking you over in his lap hungrily, patting your thigh eagerly to urge you up.
Scott is on his knees in front of you in a flash, shoving your dress up to your waist in a hurried fashion. He looks feral - his gaze is dark, his hands are fast, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as you assist him with pulling your dress up. He is quick to wrap his arms around your thighs, tugging you to the very edge of the chair and drawing a squeal from you.
He smiles against your skin, peppering kisses up the inside of your thigh. His free hand reaches down to touch himself over his pants, sloppily rutting his length against his palm as he gives a soft groan. He looks up at you from his spot on the floor between your legs, begging desperately. “Please, let me eat your pussy?”
The moment you nod, Scott is whimpering against your clothed heat, tongue flattened against the wet patch on your panties as he strains for just a taste of you. His fingers lace into the waistband of your panties and he slips them down your legs and over your ankles, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder and onto the floor.
He practically chokes back a sob when he gets to see your core, glistening and puffy, so perfect and just for him. He feels like he just discovered porn for the first time all over again, taking deep breaths to keep himself from finishing in his khakis right now.
He leans in, taking a languid lick allll the way through your folds, nose bumping against your clit. He pulls back for just a moment to admire you one more time, spreading you open with his fingers to get a good look at everything he is about to devour. He smiles like a damn idiot, drunk on you with just one taste.
Scott returns to eating you out, like a man repenting while he kneels at the altar, begging for mercy from a god he cannot see. Each sound you make is like electricity in his body, this is a slice of heaven that only you can provide for him.
“You just looked so pretty tonight,” he mumbles against your core, his voice making you writhe, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you would taste like.”
Your sweet little pants and moans only urge him on, his lips wrapping around your clit between hard laps, just enough pressure to spur you along to your impending orgasm. Your hips lift off the edge of the chair, only to be pushed right down and pinned by a large palm splayed over your lower belly.
“S-Scott, no, I can’t, I’m…” You stammer, breathing heavily as his tongue fucks into your tight hole, quickly replaced with a finger, then two. You’re seeing stars by now, the way he is moaning against your pussy and humping against nothing making your orgasm barrel towards you.
“You can do it,” he promises in a comforting voice that breaks a little when he looks up at your blissful expression, curling his two fingers up to your G-spot, “you can cum for me, sweet girl. Please?”
The wet sounds of his fingers pushing into your pussy greedily are obscene, but the thing that finally undoes you is when he removes them and shoves them into his mouth to get a taste. He moans, loud, not even trying to hide the pleasure he gets from it, diving right back in to lap at you hard, his tongue flattening against your entire pussy while he eats.
You twitch, legs shaking and hips jerking, but he doesn’t stop for a single second, just murmuring against your folds as you finish.
“There you go,” he purrs, never stopping his assault on your clit, tongue circling the bundle of nerves, “cum for me, pretty girl. Cum on my tongue.”
You jerk again, moaning his name like a prayer while he gathers every bit of slick he can, drinking your sweetness and taking it all in.
“F-fuck, Scott...” You mumble hoarsely, swallowing thickly and feeling your dry throat from all the panting and whining. He offers lazy licks to clean up the mess he’s made, greedily humming against your puffy pussy as he lavishes it with his mouth.
“Tastes so good.” he moans in a whiny little voice, his hips jerking desperately against nothing, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “I could stay down here forever.”
You scrunch your nose indignantly, pussy clenching around nothing as Scott only offers lazy kisses to the inside of your thighs, admiring the good job he’s done while he watches your hole twitch.
You nudge him with your foot, a huff leaving you. “Hello? Earth to Scott. What are you doing?” You ask with a impatient whine, eyebrows raised as you look down at him.
He only frowns, his crimson eyes glancing up at you sheepishly. “What am I supposed to be doing?” He asks gently, his voice shy as his fingers reach out to run over your folds again. You moan against your will, clamping your jaw shut tightly to keep from making any more noises, not until you get what you want.
“You’re seriously not going to fuck me? After all that?” You blurt out, pouting just a little for effect. He gives an astonished look, lips falling into a little “o” as he gazes up at you in a fugue state.
“You… want me to fuck you? I figured, um…” Scott stammers, throat bobbing as he swallows harshly. “You shouldn’t feel obligated or anything, I just wanted to make you feel good, and I liked it so-“ He continues, his words cut off by yours.
“I want to make you cum,” you begin, sitting up just a little, your hand wrapping around his wrist and pulling his fingers away from your core, “and I want to cum on your cock. Easy enough, right?”
He nods quickly, still knelt between your legs so obediently. If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it right now.
Scott fumbles as he stands up and eagerly tries to remove his slacks, whipping his belt off and shoving his pants and boxers together to the floor. His hard cock springs up and slaps against his tummy, making your mouth go dry just a little. He looks very proud of himself, grinning gleefully as he looms over you, eyes raking over your spent form. He takes your arm, pulling at it like a child dragging their guardian to the pet store in the mall, tugging you off the chair and towards the bed.
Scott eagerly helps you pull your dress off over your head, also throwing that to some unknown spot on his bedroom floor. He urges you down onto the bed, sitting down beside you with a sheepish expression.
You look around with a soft laugh, then finally back to him where he sits politely on the edge of the bed with his hands in his lap, grinning at you bashfully. You, however, are wasting no time, scooting right beside him and wrapping a hand around his cock.
He hisses a breath of air through his teeth, eyes fluttering to a moment as you stroke him slowly. His hips roll up against your touch, wanting more and not even bothering to hide it, given how he is already whimpering. He begs, a soft little breathy voice, an octave higher the usual.
“P-Please, please, it feels sooo good.” he urges, nodding as he moves his hips up, leaning back on his hands and gripping the sheets tightly.
“You want more?” You inquire teasingly, grinning wolfishly when he nods in confirmation, a whine slipping from his lips as he fucks his cock into your hand. You lean up, press a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then sink your teeth into the side of his neck.
You can feel his racing heartbeat on the side of his neck, the way his breath quickens with each stroke, each brush of your thumb over the sensitive tip. He’s close, you can tell, so you pull your hand away and watch his eyes fly open, his own hands reaching for you desperately.
A choked cry leaves him, his hands seeking you out and running over your whole body. He quickly finds your waist, and apparently his strength, because he flips you around and pins you on your stomach to the soft mattress.
Your face is smushed against the sheets, your fingers gripping the duvet as you prop yourself up to question him. You glance behind you, finding him shaking his head, looking a bit troubled as he mumbles softly, almost in an apologetic way.
“M’so sorry, I…” he rambles, hooking an arm under you and lifting your hips up, pressing himself against your plush ass. He slaps his achingly hard cock against your exposed pussy, making you yelp just a little at the sudden contact.
“I’m sorry, I have to, I can’t wait, I just…” He thrusts his whole length into you at once, letting out a strangled groan as he runs his free hand over his burning up face. You moan aloud, back arching as he fills you up in one stroke, eyes widened as you shoot him a look. He meets your gaze, bottom lip pouty as he pulls out almost all the way and bottoms out inside you again, his eyes rolling back into his head as he murmurs so sheepishly.
“I-I’m so sorry, I just had to be inside you, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
He doesn’t waste a single moment, thrusting hard into your soaked hole and knocking little moans and whines out of the both of you with each one. Your pussy contracts around his cock, milking him with each stroke. He grips your hips, pulling your pussy back onto his length with each move, his tip kissing your cervix ever so lightly.
He whimpers lowly, lips open as he breathes heavily, his words coming in a strained voice.
“I need you to cum for me. Just one more, sweet girl, just cum for me first so I can fill you up.” It’s a desperate request, fingers digging into your skin, squeezing your hips. One hand slides to your ass, spreading you apart so he can see where he disappears inside you with each sloppy thrust. “Please tell me I can cum inside, please?”
You nod eagerly, your lower tummy warm, tightening with the need to cum on his cock. “Y-yeah, you can, just…” you exhale sharply, his arm hauling you back against his pelvis so he can go impossibly deeper, a moan leaving him.
“Fuck, right there, Scott. Please don’t stop.” You affirm when he hits that spot inside you that makes you squirm, your vision swimming as he hits it over and over again. He feels the way your pussy flutters against him, the way you fumble for a fistful of sheets in front of you and how you arch your back just a bit more.
He smiles deviously when your moans get a little louder and high pitched, when he feels you choking the life out of his cock before everything goes white.
You tense hard, almost pushing his cock out of you with the intensity of your orgasm, but he buries himself deep inside you and shoots ropes of hot cum against your walls with a whiny moan of your name. He keeps his arm locked around your hips, holding your limp body up as he gives a couple more shallow strokes, staying inside you while he catches his breath.
Panting, he rubs a palm over your back, soothing you with a gentle voice.
“You okay? I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?” He questions, his warm hand shaky as it runs over your skin.
“No, not at all. Exact opposite of that.” You return with a soft laugh, cheek pressed against the sheets as your eyes flutter gently. He pulls out finally with a groan, staring with reverence at the masterpiece he has just created - his seed mixed with your slick, a beautiful mess on your pretty little pussy, all pillowy and ruined.
Scott eases you back down onto the bed on your tummy, leaning over to kiss the top of your head. “Let me get a wash cloth and I’ll clean you up so you can go to sleep, hmm?”
Scott returns shortly from the bathroom with a damp cloth, rolling you over and gently running the cloth over your core and your thighs to wash off the mess he’s made (and is very proud of). You push yourself up with a grunt so you’re sitting up, watching him with a little tilt of your head. His crimson eyes flick up to you and a sheepish smile graces his lips, his cheeks still flushed from exertion.
You brush a hand over his dark hair, threading your fingers into it, earning a pleased sound from him. He sets the cloth aside, just letting you touch him, resting his head on your thigh and peering up at you like he’s waiting for some sort of praise. You indulge his secret desire, grinning as your palm grazes his cheek, your voice gentle.
“I don’t think you’re a mess.” You whisper, your brow furrowing slightly. Scott only scoffs and rolls his eyes lightheartedly, opening his mouth to argue.
You continue before he even has the chance, “I don’t. And you deserve to have someone take care of you for once.” He just studies you, his ruby gaze heavy as he keeps his cheek pressed against your thigh. He lets out a soft hum of thought, standing and slipping his boxers back on while you sit all the way up and wait for him to say something, anything to make this less awkward now.
He leans over, kissing the top of your head, pulling you against his chest. His nose brushes the crown of your hair, an almost relieved exhale leaving his lungs.
“You take care of me every morning already, don’t you?” He answers softly, his voice a low rumble. “You do things for me that you don’t have to do. You do them because you want to. I can’t thank you enough for that.”
You both curl up in bed, a calm quiet blanketed over Scott’s room. You run your fingers through his hair, a purr leaving the back of his throat as his eyes close. He tucks his head against your chest, one hand coming up to squeeze your boob through the oversized shirt he has lent you. You give an exaggerated sigh, only earning a sly grin from him as his thumb runs over your clothed nipple.
He almost pouts, resting his head on the other boob with a barely there whine. “I didn’t pay nearly enough attention to these earlier… I’ll have to do that next time.”
You hum an amused sound, glancing down at him with an inquiry, “Is there going to be a next time?”
He nods eagerly, brow furrowing with a look that tells you he thinks that is the stupidest question you’ve ever asked, a genuinely offended huff leaving him.
“Of course there’s going to be a next time. And lots of times after that, if I’m lucky.” You only laugh your agreement, soon falling asleep with Scott curled up against you, limbs tangled and blankets askew, warmed by his body heat.
The sun peeks through the sheer curtains of his bedroom, your eyes squinting when the rays reach you. You groan, rolling over to find yourself alone in the bed. You sit up, exhaling an indignant sigh - it’s not like he can just run away after what happened last night, this is his bedroom.
You glance around, taking stock of a surprisingly clean and tidy room for a bachelor - only a few personal items, mostly history books and X-Men mementos he has collected over the years.
The sound of the door opening almost makes you jump out of your skin from where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes wide as you meet Scott’s gaze. He stands in the doorway, two mugs of steaming hot coffee in his hands, blinking innocently at you.
“Here, made you coffee. I, uh, assume you like coffee, given the… y’know.” He comments dryly, carefully handing it over to you and closing the door behind him.
He plops down on the edge of the bed with you, brushing some hair behind your ear with a boyish grin, looking you over in a way that makes you blush. “Just figured since you make my coffee every morning, I could return the favor for once.”
He takes a sip of coffee before he leans over to kiss your forehead, his sleepy voice quiet against your skin.
“Does this mean I get a discount now?”
ahhh I had so much fun writing this, it took over my brain and I just had to finish it!! He’s so babygirl, sub Scott is real to me :)
