#hotter than the sahara desert

[mdawgswizzleinthehizzle]

somebody sedate me

[jake-g-lockley]

Good night to everyone except the people who made Microsoft Excel xxx

And the people who made me put all the dashes in their id card numbers xxx

[silverzoomies]

Screwball

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: smut, slow burn, kissing, hand jobs, loss of virginity, temperature play, mutant reader, ice powers, porn with plot, clunky writing

word count: 14,151

a/n: im so late posting this. i meant to finish this one like a month ago. but it's already september !! and a heatwave fic seems so out of season !! oh well !! i hope someone out there enjoys this. i went through hell tryin' to finish it. but i'm pretty happy with the way it panned out,,

apologies for the usual: clunky writing, slow as fuck execution, potentially ooc dialogue, etc etc etc kbgsjbdghsoiheg

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Westchester, New York had never seen such a record breaking heat wave.

And in all his reckless, fast paced years up to the ripe age of thirty, neither had Peter.

His fragmented memory is jam packed. Cluttered with disorganized checklists of every place he’s ever been. Not that he’s bragging or anything. But Peter’s basically seen the entire world, and then some. If one were to count those gnarly, X-Men space missions. He’d gone places no non-mutant could ever conceivably dream of reaching. From the deathly cold peak of Mount Everest, to the blistering sands of the Sahara desert itself.

Even with all that collected experience, Peter’s a hundred percent sure; he’s never faced summertime heat as insanely lethal as this.

Okay, sure. Maybe declaring Westchester as hotter than the Sahara might be a bit of a stretch. But to Peter’s credit, this heat wave is dangerous enough to warrant a citywide advisory. Which, in layman’s terms, means: don’t get ballsy. Unless you wanna end up fryin’ like an egg on the sidewalk.

The weather outside is so grisly, in fact, the X-Men themselves had to call their latest mission quits. Imagine that! Crazy, right? A fierce team of mutant heroes, capable of taking on behemoth sized sentinels. And even they didn’t dare another second in the heat.

Peter detached himself from the concept of religion ages ago. But thank the mysterious powers above, whoever they may be. Because he was legit two seconds away from collapsing to the ground, in a boiled heap of skin and bone.

He stumbles off the X-jet on wobbly legs. And no joke, Peter swears his muscles have somehow melted into jelly. It’s supremely embarrassing, the way he struggles to keep up with the team as they move ahead. They all stop before going upstairs, waiting to reconvene with Xavier. Organized in a careless, half circle; the X-Men look as though they’ve returned from an Olympic marathon. Their bodies exhausted, and blanketed in buckets of sweat.

Naturally, on account of Peter’s super dope, mutant genes; his body functioned at a nonstop rate of super sonic speed. As a repercussion, his average body temperature burned leagues hotter than any non-mutant’s. It wasn’t abnormal for Peter to dread the tormenting heat of the summer season.

In the blazing eye of a dangerous heat wave, swarming the city like an apocalyptic storm; Peter’s absolutely certain – like, for sure, he’s teetering on the brink of death. A miserable, stewing-in-your-own-sweat kinda death. Leave it to Logan to recite the eulogy at Peter’s funeral. No doubt, Wolvie would have nothing but positive things to say about Peter after he died. Most definitely.

Peter might be a teensy bit freaked out actually. Since he had no idea he was even capable of experiencing heat exhaustion. It almost makes him paranoid. Like a hypochondriac with a chest ache. In an attempt to force his recovery, Peter chugs through exactly thirteen bottles of dollar store water in a flash. The source of his stash? A stainless steel, mini fridge in Hank’s lab.

He knows Hank’s gonna be totally peeved when he finds the fridge raided clean. But Peter doesn’t bother worrying about that right now. Instead, he makes a mental reminder: Water bottles. An IOU. One he’ll probably forget about within the next two seconds. And never get around to fulfilling.

Professor Chucksters is talking, but Peter can’t find it in himself to listen to a single word. Whatever momentous info the ol’ baldy drops, flies a thousand miles over his feverish head. Peter cranes his neck back in overheated agony, lazily chugging Hank’s last remaining bottle of crisp, cold water. The smooth bite of that cold down Peter’s throat makes him exhale with relief through his nose.

Halfway through, he stops to shower his head in the rest. Letting chilly droplets rain down over his silver hair. Sharp tingles erupt down his neck and across his shoulders. Peter shudders, humming in delight to himself.

Oh. Shit. Wait…

Peter then comes to the regrettable realization that, in a heatwave so hazardous; water is a necessity to be shared.

No shit, blockhead.

Now, mind you, Peter isn’t known for his forethought. He’s pretty overzealous. Had he taken time to stop and think for a hot sec…yeah. Sure. Maybe he should’ve been more mindful of his suffering teammates. Oopsie daisies.

Much like a careless dog, Peter shakes off the cold drops soaking his hair. Sprinkles of water splash all around him, with Jubilee caught in the line of fire. She jumps in place with an abrupt, but silent exclamation of ‘ew!’ Shooting Peter a look of burning fury. Damp strands of Peter’s hair fan over his eyes. He runs his fingers slowly through them to give his forehead some air.

Maybe Peter’s a little delusional. Because he swears on his life he catches a red tint in Jubilee’s cheeks. She scoffs, like she can’t stand his bullshit. He throws her a wink. A beat later, she smiles and rolls her eyes.

Peter smirks. Lucky for him, his speedster charm has yet to fizzle out.

The team waits patiently for their opportune moment to flee. It’s obvious they’re all pretty antsy. Probably since they’re dying to change into something lighter. Better fitted for Satan’s city wide celebration of hellfire and brimstone. Anything but the jumpsuits, at least. But that’s just a hunch.

In Peter’s own personal opinion? The most ideal scenario would be to strut around naked, in nothing at all. Sounds awesome, right? Freedom from the suffocation of needless threads! However, societal standards and modern customs definitely wouldn’t allow such debauchery. Not to mention, Peter isn’t super keen on the idea of peeping his teammates in their birthday suits.

Except for Raven, maybe. He never gets tired of looking at those scales. All that blue. Nice.

Oh. And…you. Frankly, Peter’s willing to risk it all just to catch a glimpse of you in the buff.

He swallows a thick lump forming in his throat, sneaking a lightning fast glance in your direction. Observing you with a gawking gaze, Peter ignores the way his heartbeat kicks up to roadrunner speed. Faster than fast. Like, cartoonishly fast. It’s ridiculous.

You’re completely impervious to any heatwave debuffs. Lucky lucky. Standing there without a care in the world, you listen attentively to professor Charlie Brown’s ramblings. Since you’re so distracted, Peter lets his speedy eyes shamelessly wander. Trailing down the glittering, icy blue of your jumpsuit. Uniquely personalized to coincide with your wintry gimmick.

Which doesn’t at all explain why it’s so inappropriately skin tight.

Peter feels himself choke on his next breath. But he’s quick to blame it on the weather. Yeah. It’s just the heat that’s stifling him. Nothing else. Get real, dude.

The sparkling material of your suit hugs your figure a little too perfectly. Complementing every irresistible curve. Peter always thought you looked so ludicrously fine in that suit. If not way, way, way too distracting. Sometimes, he found it ultra hard – ignoring any euphemisms – to maintain focus during missions. Usually because your frosty ass came twinkling in his peripheral, throwing off his mojo.

But let’s chalk Peter’s lack of focus up to his chronic ADD instead, ‘kay?

Heck. Maybe it wasn’t the ADD’s fault. At least, not entirely. Like, cut the bullshit for a sec. Peter doesn’t have a lot of sexual experience. He’s never gone any further than a dozen heated sessions of heavy petting. And from time to time, though he hates to admit it; it haunts him. The way he’s so suppressed. Overflowing with pent-up desire.

Thirty years old and still a virgin? Clock’s ticking, Quickie. No wonder he can’t take his hungry eyes off your body.

Speaking of your body.

Damn, is it hot in here? Or is it just you?

It’s most definitely not you.

Your body naturally radiates a refreshing aura of frigidity. It’s no coincidence, the way your teammates linger so closely in your proximity. Peter can’t really blame them for doing so. You’re the human equivalent of an icebox. Even a touch of your finger could turn the entire X-mansion into a winter wonderland. Part of him wonders why you haven’t done so already. Since you’d be sparing everyone the infernal anguish of this awful heat wave.

Maybe you’re just as absentminded as he is.

Anyway, right about now, Peter desperately yearns to be a long lost tub of neapolitan. Stuffed deep inside your metaphorical freezer.

Which…sounds way dirtier than intended.

Fuck. Alright. Moving on.

Tugging at the collar of his jumpsuit, Peter fights to catch his breath. The fierce heat from outside has somehow seeped its way into the X-Men’s base of operations. Almost like an act of god. Or more like a punishment, maybe.

In desperate need of relief, Peter looks to you once more. He finds himself struck with an ingenious, lightbulb moment then.

A blink, and he bolts, appearing directly behind you. A faint gust of wind flutters your hair. But the breeze fails to even make you flinch. Peter isn’t the least bit subtle with his actions, as he presses his burning body a little too closely into your back. And hoooooooooooooo mama! The sweet relief of your icy presence is so worth any consequences, should they arise.

You whip your head around suddenly, giving Peter a weird look and a once over. He can’t really blame you for staring at him like that. Sure, you’re both teammates. Even family, one might argue. You’re both fighting for the same cause. But you haven’t built an inseparable bond with Peter or anything.

Honestly, he’d be totally down if you did. But that’s neither here nor there.

Peter always thought you were pretty damn cool. In more ways than one, if your glacial mutation was included in the mix. If he were more honest with himself, he would’ve acknowledged his dumb, boyish crush on you an entire ice-age ago. Oh well.

He’s still too much of an awkward spaz for his own good sometimes.

You seem…confused. Staring at Peter as if silently asking him a question. If he had to guess, it’s probably something along the lines of – what the hell do you think you’re doing, you handsome scoundrel? Peter exchanges your puzzled look with an uneasy smile. Dramatically, he fans himself with a hand. Hoping you get the hint, he pokes his tongue out to playfully express his suffocating torment.

Thankfully, you pick up what he’s putting down. As you turn back around, you giggle cutely. Peter breathes an alleviating sigh. He’s left to bask in the glory of your wintry aura. So freeing, and so, so cold. He could kiss you as a thanks, if only you’d let him. But you’ve already directed your attention to Xavier’s painfully long lecture.

Wait. Seriously, how long was this talk supposed to last? It feels like a million years at this point and-

Peter checks the Star Trek watch on his wrist. It’s only been…five minutes. Huh.

The gathering of ye olde X-council draws to a close. At long last! Xavier wraps up his spiel of heroic efforts , world peace , and wonderful work everyone. Bla bla bla. Don’t get Peter wrong. He harbors a lot of respect for the guy. Any other day, and he would’ve found those words somewhat awe inspiring. If not the slightest bit misguided.

But today? Professor, dude, now’s not the time to be preaching words of wisdom. Your nerd club’s literally cooking from the inside out. Give it a rest.

The team wastes no time. As soon as Chuck’s given the go-ahead, they’re gone. High-tailing it upstairs as fast as their tired legs can go. Which isn’t all that fast. At least, not by Peter’s standards. But he’s hella impressed with the enthusiasm.

Unlike everyone else, you move at a frustratingly slow pace. Walking behind you feels akin to waiting too long in a DMV line. Something Peter’s never had to do a single day in his life. And he’s not about to start now. It’s monotonous, and borderline infuriating. But his heightened impatience is probably just another consequence of this outrageous heat.

You take your sweet ass time – and holy moly, did you have a sweet ass – as you ascend to the first floor of the X-mansion. Peter follows after you like a lost puppy, not too far behind. On your way to – presumably – your room, you climb another, dreaded flight of stairs. And since when were stairs a hindrance to a speedster like Peter? He’s never once felt winded making a simple ascent like this. Ever.

Peter’s growing more and more restless. His skin feels sticky and uncomfortable under his jumpsuit, but he can’t rush home to grab a change of clothes. He’s unwilling to risk a race through whatever hellscape lies in waiting outside. No matter how little time it takes him. Not while his lungs are cooking to a crisp.

He aches for the touch of your icy hands. Plain and simple. Nothing to it. Nothing sexual. No strings attached.

Unless…you had a preference for strings. Peter would tie them around his wrists and move like a marionette puppet if you asked. Shit, you want a whole show? Bring out the dancing Muppets.

Midway through your ascent, Peter appears in front of you. He stops you suddenly, leaning casually with his hand against the wooden railing. His other hand rests on his hip. Lamely, he forces himself to act as naturally as he can. Which is virtually impossible, considering the circumstances. But even so, Peter throws you his signature grin and nods his head.

Be cool, dude. Be cool. Ease into it. Just try not to think about how you’re literally baking to death here.

His overheated exhaustion is impossible to miss. Even a dense chimp in a blindfold could sense something’s off about him. The quick rise and fall of Peter’s chest is a dead give away. Revealing how labored his breathing really is. Trickles of sweat race in a tense competition down Peter’s temples. Warm heat pools in his cheeks, and his skin appears ghostly pale.

That…might be the reason you gaze at him like you’re worried sick. As if you’ve seen a haunting, silverette ghost. Peter looks like he’ll pass out sometime within the next five minutes. Realistically, he should probably seek medical attention immediately. But he fakes his aloof casualness anyway.

“Heyyyyy, what’s the haps? Where’re you headed in such a rush, Screwball?” Peter asks, somewhat condescending.

“Screwball?” You narrow your eyes, puzzled, “Oh, y’know, my room probably? I might take a nap. Why?” You laugh despite your confusion, crossing your arms. Fixing Peter with a look that only suggests one thing: suspicion.

Fair enough.

He nods, rapidly tapping his fingers on the railing.

“Cool. Coooooool. I can dig it. Nothin’ wrong with that. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna spend a summer afternoon like this lazin’ around in bed, amiright?”

Good. Nice and easy. Peter should probably stop there, and speak no further. But his hazy, addled mind works on autopilot. The words race past his lips faster than he can keep up.

“It’s hot as hell today too. So, you could totally sprawl out butt ass naked and-”

Too late.

“...Yeah?” Based on your expression alone, Peter knows he’s made a total ass of himself. By some miracle, you don’t deck him with an icy fist of freezing fury. Not that you seemed the violent type to begin with.

“Wait, no-” He abruptly pauses to try and make sense of his thoughts. A stifling heat in the air swarms his head, drowning Peter in hot molasses, “Oh. Gah! What the hell am I even saying? Sorry, that was-uh…that was totally weird, right? Uh, lemme start over-uhm-”

Peter clears his throat, masking his mortification with his speedster charm. Super popular with the ladies. Tested on the battlefield of life and approved. A five star rating. No need to question why he still hasn’t managed to get laid, like ever.

“Sooooooooo…anyway. Y’wanna hang out?” He asks, cheesing a dorky grin.

“You never ask me to hang out with you. But today, of all days…that’s when you do? Everything’s closed, Peter. Y’know, because of the heat advisory? I mean, clearly…you look like you know.” You gesture to Peter himself.

A sweaty sheen coats his skin. He really should’ve taken a cold shower in the communal washrooms. At least before confronting you like this. Man, he really screwed this up. If this interaction falls flat, Peter’s just gonna bail. Maybe he’ll try and stuff himself in that mini fridge of Hank’s. He’d be way better off there. Until Beastie finds him, anyway.

“Uh, yeah? Pffft …no duh. I knew that. But, so what? Just ‘cuz there’s some lame stuff happening outside. That doesn’t mean we can’t do somethin’ totally cool inside. Know what I mean?” Simple and subtle.

“Hm…” You think on his offer for a moment. But it feels like he's aged another thirty years by the time you reply, “At least let me change first, okay? You probably should too! I know you gotta be burnin’ up in that jumpsuit, sweetheart!”

A dopey smile plays on Peter’s lips, pressing into his dimples.

So…sweetheart, eh? That’s a new one.

Politely, you push past Peter to make your way up the remaining stairs. Without any forethought or plan of action, he cuts you off again. He slides across the floor into your visual radius, worn sneakers squeaking along polished wood. Wait…why’s he losing his balance?? Peter doesn’t usually lose his balance. Shit.

Ah. he’s lightheaded now. Great.

You’re close enough that Peter can feel the tempting coldness radiating off your body. Oh, man. If only you’d envelop him in your frosty arms completely. You could even lay on top of him like a blanket of snow post avalanche. Anything. Please. Peter is so beyond desperate to beat the heat, he’d let you pelt him with a flurry of snowballs. At least then, he wouldn’t feel a spark away from igniting into flames.

Staring at him with an impatient look, you tilt your head and furrow your brows. Awkwardly, Peter shifts on his feet. Thick humidity overflows his lungs, close to bursting with the force of an atomic bomb. Breathing is near impossible at this point. Peter may as well bite the silver bullet, before he finally kicks the bucket.

Godspeed, or however the saying goes.

“Hi…sorry. Okay-uh…hear me out, please?” He begs. Peter brings his hands together in front of him like he’s praying at the altar, “This is gonna sound weird. Like, next-level weird. Yer probably gonna think I’m a huge creep. And I’m not tryna freak you out ‘er anything. ‘kay? Like, I totally get it if yer not down for this. ‘Cuz, y’know, we’re not really all that close. Plus, you probably have other stuff you’d rather be doin’ than helpin’ out some loser like me, but-” Peter rapidly stammers over his words.

Way to go, ponyboy. Graceful as ever.

Holding out a small hand to politely silence Peter, you utter his name in the sweetest tone he’s ever heard. Hushed, soft, and so gentle. Your voice is the equivalent of candy to his eardrums. He kinda really digs the way you sound when you talk. So courteous and nice all the time.

Be still, his palpitating heart. Seriously. Calm down. Or he’s literally gonna die.

“Peter?”

“Uhyeahwhat?” He stammers again.

“Are you…okay? You’re sweating like crazy. You look like you’re gonna pass out, dude.”

Peter throws you an ‘ok’ sign with a hand, his grin sluggish.

“Peachy keen, baby.”

He swears with every fiber of his sweltering soul that calling you ‘baby’ made you blush. But, y’know, since he’s a little bit doubtful, he might have to test that theory again. Just to be a hundred percent sure. Break out the ol’ chalkboard and sketch some x’s and o’s like a scientific diagram. Top of the line research. He’s the leading psychoanalyst in speedster charisma. 

“You sure about that?” You ask, arching a brow, holding an easygoing smile.

Taking a few steps closer, you bless Peter with your emanating chill. He doesn’t at all expect you to raise your hand. Peter swallows a thick, blistering lump in his throat. Frozen in place, he watches in slow motion as you bring the tips of your frosty fingers to his chest. Brisk, winter cold spreads in fractals of frost over his jumpsuit.

Freezing heaven on scorching earth. It’s sorta…poetic, in a way. Peter blinks rapidly, caught in a mind-altering daze for a beat or two. Your touch really is like a miracle cure, alleviating that stifling thickness suffocating his lungs.

“W-Wow. Okay.” He chokes awkwardly, cheeks flushing. His skin tingles under his jumpsuit, “Wow. That’s cool. Literally cool.”

“Peter?”

“Mmmmmmhmmm?” He hums, slouching his shoulders. Peter shamelessly relaxes under your wintry touch.

“You’re suffering in this heat, aren’t you? You need me to help you out?”

Stupidly, like a colossal, doofus dumbass, he shakes his head. You’re offering the exact thing Peter came to you for. A golden opportunity. He’s really hit the jackpot now. All he has to do is face the music, and admit it. Just be honest. Say it, doofus!

“Huh? Naaahhhh! Pffft …why would-...hey, I told ya! I’m juuuust peachy, Screwball! Don’t gotta worry about me!”

Hanging in the air by a delicate string, is a tension Peter’s too stunned to identify. Taking another step closer, the swell of your breasts meets his chest. The hand you’ve placed over his speedy heart trails tantalizingly slow, up to Peter’s flushed cheek. His dark eyes flutter closed, and he almost falls face first into your touch.

“I can take care of you, y'know? I really don’t mind, honey. It wouldn’t be an issue.” Your soft voice exudes genuine compassion. The sweet, gentle attention burns his skin to a boiling point, his veins melting underneath.

That unidentifiable tension in the air permeates, thicker than summertime heat. Despite the relieving cold you’ve given him to bask in; Peter finds it even more difficult to breathe. It confuses him, the way you act so nice and considerate. And now? He’s melting entirely.

Literally. No dramatizations. Peter can feel his damp skin drooping slowly off his bones.

He’s already close enough to death as is. What’s with the tenderness and affection, huh? Were you going out of your way to make sure he dies faster? Have some humanity, for Geddy’s sake. Jeez.

“I-uh…I…” Peter stutters, at a loss for words, “I wouldn’t wanna put you out like that, but…uh…”

“Alright. Whatever you say.” You steadily pull your hand from Peter’s face, “Offer’s still on the table, though!”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Why are you pulling away? No, no, no! You can’t pull away! Not yet! Come on!

All at once, the soothing cold you’ve gifted Peter disappears. No thanks to the steaming fever brought upon by his overheated, speedster body. He nearly whines at the loss, pulling his lip between his teeth to stifle any embarrassing noises.

It takes Peter only a millisecond to give in. With a slower reaction time than usual – not really all that slow, from an outside perspective – he darts his hand out in a flash. Peter lightly grabs your wrist, stopping you from retracting your hand any further.

“Wait-” Peter groans, acting hasty. Frustrated with his own awkwardness, he rolls his eyes, “...I’m…I’m literally dyin’ here, okay? Like, no joke. I think my heart might actually explode. And I…kinda can’t breathe right now? So, uhm…can you just, like, touch me? Just a little bit? But not-” He panics suddenly, eyes widening, “N-Not like-...not in a weird way, I swear!”

He almost tacks on a suggestive ‘unless you really want to,’ but decides against it. Better not, lest he dig himself into a deeper hole. So far under the Earth’s surface, he’ll come out the other side. Not a bad idea, actually. Maybe it’s cooler over there.

“And I’ll totally make it up to you. I promise. Pinky swear. Cross my heart, hope I don’t die of heat stroke.” He insists.

You giggle again, cute as can be. It’s not the least bit condescending either, thankfully. Peter feels the weight of a billion megatons finally lift off his shoulders. With a nod, you take his hand in yours. A surprisingly intimate gesture, since the two of you have never done anything quite like this before. Hell, you’ve never spent time with each other one-on-one outside of the X-Men.

“C’mon, you silly goose.” You lightheartedly joke.

Your affection catches Peter off guard. Not that he’s got a problem with it. No siree. In fact, his heart might’ve skipped a few beats. A lazy smile plays at his lips, as you guide Peter down the hall to your room in your usual, slow stride.

Oh, sweet, frosty sanctuary calls.

As soon as Peter steps inside, you quickly close the door behind you. Feeling somewhat out of place in the unfamiliarity of your space, Peter distracts himself with the posters on your walls. He casts quick glances over the silly knick-knacks occupying your desk and dressers. Turns out, your room has a lot of personality. Neat.

He overhears a faint click suddenly. Whipping around to find you locking the door, Peter narrows his eyes in thought.

Huh.

Maybe he’s overthinking. Probably. But doesn’t locking the door like that suggest some…implications? Then again, Peter could be looking at this in all the wrong ways. Like, okay, if he were being realistic? More than likely, you didn’t wanna risk someone walking in. Not while you got handsy with one of your teammates in your room. Totally reasonable, he thinks.

But then-

Leaning your back against the door, you steadily unzip your glittering suit. Pulling the tiny, snowflake zipper down just enough to expose the swell of – Oh, hellllloooooooooo snowy cleavage. Where in the world have you been all his life? Peter has to refrain from whistling.

Okay. You totally did that on purpose, didn’t you? That was completely intentional. And Peter’s definitely not reading too far into things. He’s most unequivocally not letting his attraction to you affect his perception of a simple gesture. Not at all.

He can’t control his lingering gaze. Peter’s droopy eyes follow the slow movement of your hand, his mouth falling agape in a heat-exhausted stupor. Somewhere around him, he can barely make out your voice. But it’s muffled. All noise. Akin to a teacher from a Peanuts cartoon. Bwah Bwah Bwah Bwah.

Peter blinks.

“Huh? Sorry…you say somethin’?” It’s a failed attempt at a recovery. Peter taps his temple, “Gotta couple screws loose in here right now. Y’know, heat’s kinda gettin’ to me.”

You arch a brow, gazing at Peter like you see right through his bullshit. And yeah, he’s gonna go ahead and bet you probably do.

“Uh huh?” You scoff, giggling, “I asked if you’d be more comfortable on the bed, doofus.”

Moving closer to your bed, you bend over to adjust the fuckload of plushies resting on the blankets. Wow. Check that out. It’s like a Toys R Us threw up. A colorful mess of too many plushies for Peter to count. There’s barely any space to lie down, even if he wanted to.

Doing a quick double take, he glances between you, and your occupied bed. Peter sways where he stands, light headed from heat exhaustion. His brows shoot up in unexpected surprise. He whistles through a suggestive grin.

“Waiiiit, seriously?” Peter huffs a charming laugh, “Wow. Didn’t peg you for the direct type, Screwball. Y’wanna take me out to dinner and a movie first?”

“Dinner and a movie? I dunno, Peter. You’re askin’ for a lot.” You giggle again, acting nonchalant. You make your way around the room to a record player on a corner shelf. Neatly organized vinyls are aligned meticulously next to it. As you poke through your collection, you continue, “But sure. Fuck it, right? Why not! What movie?”

Distracted, as he usually is, Peter glances curiously around your room. Framed photos, postcards, and letters adorn your walls. Pinned carefully in place. Some of the photos, he suspects, are of your family. Others, more than likely friends. There’s even a few group photos of the X-Men together, bringing a fond smile to his face.

Bwah bwah bwah bwah?

Wait. Shit. You’re talking again. And Peter totally missed whatever you said.

“Huh?” Peter darts his head in your direction, watching with half lidded eyes as you set up the record player.

“Dude.” You roll your eyes affectionately, chuckling, “I said, is it hot in here, by the way? Just wondering. Since I can’t really tell.”

“Oh-” Peter exaggerates a sigh, “It’s really bad, babe. Like, sooo bad. I’m definitely gonna die if you don’t come over here and put those icebox hands on me, like, right now. Seriously.” He snickers, falling limply backwards into your bed.

Several plushies bounce with the impact of his weight. Some tumble onto the floor. Others topple onto Peter himself, but he leaves them be. He clutches a Beatles Blue Meanie plush to his chest. Breathing in quick, muggy breaths. Peter finds he’s even more consumed by the record-breaking heat. It’s a miracle he hasn’t disintegrated into a pile of ash by now.

“Howard the Duck.” Peter adds, staring at the ceiling in cloudy thought. He twirls the Blue Meanie in his hands.

“Pffft…what?” You laugh, “What are you even-”

“That’s the movie I wanna see. When you take me out? I wanna watch Howard the Duck. Oh! And I want popcorn too. Can’t watch a movie without popcorn. But it’s gotta be one of the big ones. With extra butter. And some candy-”

“ When I take you out. C’mon, really? Dude, didn’t critics totally pan that movie? I swear, I saw that in the paper just recently! It’s such an awful movie, Peter!”

“Uh, yeah? And so what? That’s kinda what makes it the ultimate date move, babe. Check it out – we could have the most awesome time makin’ fun of it.” Peter throws his head back further into your bed, peering at you from upside down, “Ooooh! Did you hear about the duck boobs scene? No joke. I kid you not. It’s got duck titties.”

A mellow tune slowly encompasses the quiet, muggy space of your room. Peter instantly recognizes it from the first few beats alone. Obscured by Clouds. Pink Floyd. …Cool. Peter’s pretty fond of that album himself. It’s not necessarily his favorite, per se. But it’s awesome enough. And it’s perfectly fitting for the mood of sweltering, summertime vibes too, he thinks.

“I didn’t until now.” You sarcastically scoff. Meandering towards Peter on your bed, “Spoilers, dude.”

He brings his head up to look at you. Spreading himself out, Peter knocks more of your poor plushies to the floor. Carelessly, he drops the Blue Meanie plush. Letting him fall to his ultimate demise. Au revoir, his blueness.

“Right. My bad.” He snickers. After a beat, Peter adds, “I love this album, by the way. It’s a nice vibe.”

In your eyes, he must look a lot like a beached starfish. Sprawled out and helpless. Drying to death in the heat of the summertime sun. Peter has his long legs hanging loosely off the edge of your bed. Moving in between those spread legs, you carefully climb onto the bed. Your knee stops just short of his crotch. As you inch yourself further over his body, Peter’s eyes widen. He blinks slowly, feeling hot beads of sweat roll down his temples.

“I know you do.” You grin down at him with a warm gaze. Peter’s lungs threaten to shrink into nothingness.

“Y-You do? Huh…no shit?” He appears put off, raising a silver brow, “How’d you know?”

You shrug, keeping your grin, “Guess I pay more attention to you than you think, hmm?” Perched over Peter with a palm to the sheets, you brush the silver bangs out of his eyes, “You got any limits?”

Peter blinks again, dumbfounded.

“Lim-...uh, what now?”

“Limits, y’know. Like, where am I free to touch? Anything you’re not comfortable with?”

“Oh. Uh…you can…touch me anywhere? It’s whatever yer comfortable with. Yer the one doin’ me a favor here.” he gazes at you with an unsure, sleepy eyed look. Nervously nibbling his lip, tasting the salt of his sweat, “Do you-uh…do you do this kinda thing a lot? Fer…other people?”

“Nope.” You blink down at him with that genuine, sweet smile again. Shrugging, “Just you.”

A subtle aura of addictive cold radiates from your body like a light. Peter can feel the faintest hint of it as you move in close. It teases him, promising sweet relief from the merciless summer heat. With his lips parted, Peter stares longingly into your eyes. His smile reveals a glimpse of his front teeth, as he snickers in disbelief.

“Uh huh. Alright. See, now I know fer sure yer just messin’ with me.” He bashfully laughs.

“Not yet I’m not.” You throw him a coy wink. Innocently, you ask, “Where do you want me?”

Which could so easily be misconstrued. Dammit.

Yeah. So, this one’s definitely on him. Peter’s inexperienced, sexually charged instincts immediately jump somewhere totally depraved. He’s a little ashamed of that fact. But hey, who’s the one climbing over him on their bed? Who’s the one fluttering those pretty lashes? Giving him those flirtatious smiles. Come on. Really? No wonder he’s lost his mind in the gutter.

Where do you want me?

Peter’s dark eyes immediately dart to his crotch for less than a second. But it happens so fast, he doesn’t doubt you missed it.

“Uhhhhh…I dunno. I didn’t…I didn’t really think about it? But, you cou- HHHHHHhnnnnnnnaaaaaaa-”

Frigid cold invades the exposed skin of Peter’s neck, as you press your hand gently there. A tiny thumb brushes his adam’s apple. Shivering, Peter bunches his shoulders. Tingling chills surge across his body.

“That’s good. That’s g-great. Awesome. Totally awesome. Thanks. Thank you.” He chokes in a rush, instantly melting into your icy touch.

Relaxing his body in your bed, Peter’s head falls loosely back. He breathes a long sigh of relief, his mouth falling open in a dopey smile. His eyes flutter closed as he laughs. Steadily then, your hand travels lower. Grazing frosty fingertips over his chest. Your fingers soon find the zipper of his jumpsuit, and you tug it down a little further.

That heavy tension from earlier grows a thousand times more distracting. For whatever reason, the mellow melody of Pink Floyd’s ‘When You’re In’ only seems to heighten said tension. Almost like it’s setting a certain kinda…steamy mood. 

Did Peter wake up in some cheesy, VHS porno? He’s definitely living the plot of one.

Peter flutters his eyes open, met with the sight of you on your knees over him. Your gaze appearing heavy, focused intently on your task. You nibble your lip in thought, looking fine as hell while doing so. Pressing your small palm to his chest, you finally grace him with glorious cold again. Right over the sweaty abomination for a shirt he wore under his jumpsuit. He’s almost embarrassed that you’re even touching it.

Using your glacial gift, you manifest more coolness. Allowing it to spread all over Peter’s body. He sucks in a harsh breath, freeing his lungs from their heated asphyxiation.

There it is. Sweet, icy sanctuary, at long last.

“Ohhhhhhhh …” Peter groans, “Nice.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat, his veins straining under his skin. Digging your nails firmly into his chest, you manifest snowy trails of glittering frost. The biting cold nips at his skin over the fabric of his shirt. Like walking chest first into an arctic glacier.

“Is this helping you much at all?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

“You have nooooooooo idea, babe.” Peter breathes a grateful sigh, “This is, like, so amazing. Thanks. I owe ya one.”

“Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

Your freezing hand meets Peter’s sweaty forehead, pressing into his skin. Like you’re checking his temperature with the gentleness of a mother’s touch. Humming to the music, you card your cold fingers through his damp locks. Firmly massaging Peter’s scalp.

Peter lets his eyes drift shut again. His mouth falling open out of his control. Leaving his hair, you bring your attention back to his body. Watching him carefully for any sign to stop, you tug the wet, frost nipped fabric of his shirt. Bunching it up over his neck, exposing his broad chest.

He shoots an eye open, fixing you with a curious look. Feeling hot skin under your soft palms, you slide your hands over his raised pecs. Your fingers gliding in a touch as delicate as powdered snow. It sends sharp chills down his spine. A sensation he’s quickly finding extremely addictive and all too pleasant.

Instantaneously, something clicks in Peter’s brain.

A beat, and your touch goes from relieving, to downright pleasurable. Even sort of…arousing. Peter immediately reacts, arching his back in an abrupt jolt. He laughs his surprise through a broken moan, tossing his head back for the umpteenth time.

“O-Oh, fuck.” He chokes, loud enough to disturb whoever occupies the room next door.

Peter’s so righteously fucked now. Because he really shouldn’t be as turned on by this as he is. It’s just…he’s so boiling hot. Miserable as hell. And not only are you finally breaking him free of hellfire’s tyranny. But you’re also touching him sorta intimately. Peter’s really not immune to attention like this. Especially not from a stone fox he’s super attracted to.

His nipples harden under your frigid spell, perky against the tips of your fingers. Peter hisses, whimpering another moan without meaning to. Your only response is to giggle. Curiously, you tilt your head. Quickly taking notice of the way Peter’s noises have changed in pitch.

They’re more like moans of ecstasy now. Because, well, they sorta are. Whoops.

Lowering your hips, you suddenly move to rest on Peter’s lap. Just to give your knees some much needed rest. His hammering heart threatens to burst straight through his ribcage. Rising from the bed onto his elbows, Peter tries to protest.

“Wait! Wait, don’t sit- hoooohhhh.” A throaty groan slips off his tongue.

The full weight of your lower half drops onto his lap. Right over the stiff hard-on in his jumpsuit, doing little to hide itself. Your ass is so outrageously cold against his crotch and… oh, fuck. That’s so perfect. Peter groans again through a shuddering breath. Limply, he lowers himself onto his back. Hoping to conceal his shame, he brings his hands to his face.

Except, there’s no denying his obvious desire anymore.

“Auuuuugh.” Peter curses himself, “Shit. I am seriously so, so sorry-” Your name plays on his tongue in a desperate, apologetic tone, “I-I really…I dunno why I’m so-uh…I’m not usually-”

“Hey, don’t worry! It’s okay. Believe me, I don’t mind…”

Gosh. There you go again, doing that thing. The thing where you act so unexpectedly understanding in the face of an awkward situation. But even then, Peter can hear your smooth voice waver. Despite all you try to hide, he can tell. You’re just as nervous as he is, but ultimately better at masking it.

He doesn’t see it, but you gaze down at him rather suggestively. A fresh, newfound sense of lust lingers in your eyes. Raking your nails teasingly down his chest, you draw numbing streaks of snow, making him wince. The frost manifests seamlessly from your fingers, tickling Peter’s ever burning skin. It melts instantly, leaving beaded droplets.

“Does it really feel good when I touch you like this, pretty boy?” You tease, that waver in your voice barely leaking through again.

Wooooah. Okay. Okay. Hold up. Rewind. What?

Peter isn’t hearing you wrong this time. He couldn’t be. It’s impossible to misread the dirty tease in your tone. In the blink of an eye – rapid fire speed – the blood pooling in his cheeks vacates straight to his dick. Peter’s cock twitches, pulsating under his jumpsuit – under you – and shamefully unveiling just how horny he really is.

The high-speed boom boom boom of Peter’s heart skids to a deafening halt. His exhausted lungs finally collapse. Squeezing out his final remnants of life. If someone were to hook him up to an EKG, he surely would’ve flat-lined. Sayonara, suckers. This foolhardy speedster’s at the end of his road.

But…what’s this?! Peter’s still alive and breathing? Who could’ve predicted such a phenomenon??

He lowers his hands from his flushed face, peering over the tips of his fingers. His black coffee eyes blown exceptionally wide.

“Woah. Hold on now. What?” Peter snorts. He shakes himself free of total shock, frantically nodding, “Uh, yeah? It feels…really fuckin’ awesome, to tell you the truth.”

“Mhm?” You hum a sensual vibration, biting your lip, “Mind if I try something bold then?”

Peter arches a curious brow. You’re kind of a little minx, aren’t you?

“Literally? You can do whatever you want with me, babe. I’m all yours.” He heaves an exasperated laugh.

A smirk dawns your pretty lips, and you shimmy backwards over Peter’s lap. Until the bulging swell of his hardness lies before you, squirming under his jumpsuit. Teasing him, you drag your biting touch down to his crotch. Euphoric cold dances across his pelvis. You stop short of his hard-on, and Peter draws in a ragged breath.

“Awww…feelin’ a little stiff, sweetheart?” You coo in a sultry sound. Peter feels his blood pressure drop to a life-threatening degree, “Let me help you out.”

Testing the metaphorical, frozen waters; you bring your frigid palm over his bulge. You watch Peter for any sign to retract your hand, fixing him with an intense look. But to your surprise, his cock doesn’t soften under your frosty touch. Not like one would expect. Oh, no. The opposite happens, in fact.

“Mmmmhh…oh my god.” He moans, his front teeth clamping hard into his lip. Jolting in response to his own sensitivity, he rolls his hips into your small hand, “Please…”

You squeeze the thick length of him as well as you can over his jumpsuit, applying more pressure. Awkwardly stroking his dick with your wintry tipped fingers. The bleak touch you cast sends chills racing through Peter’s veins, and sharp pleasure rises in his groin.

“F-Fer the record, by the way, this is not how I expected this to go.” Peter shivers, breathlessly chuckling.

“Oh, no?” You mutter, climbing over Peter on your knees. Glacial breath ghosts his lips. You lean in close, giving his cock another firm squeeze, “Hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Fuuuuuuck no, baby. Not a chance.” Peter groans his reply, lifting his hips. Yearning for more of your gratifying chill. Another wintry wave of cold seizes through his groin, and Peter’s eyes roll back, “Holy shit. That’s it.”

Peter finds himself a little conflicted. His brown hues can’t decide if they wanna gaze into your own, or stare longingly at your lips. In the past, Peter thought about those same lips more often than he’d admit. But to be so up close and personal with them like this…

“I’m not even gonna lie to you, Screwball. I really wanna kiss you right now.” Peter admits defeat. Even in your polar proximity, humiliation burns his cheeks with the force of hellfire.

Knitting your brows, you narrow your eyes. And for a painfully long instant, Peter thinks he’s finally fucked up. As if confessing his desire to kiss you was somehow a step too far over the line.

Is there even a line left between the two of you anymore? Or did you both trip over it the moment you gave him ‘fuck me’ eyes?

You lean in a touch closer, quietly chuckling. Cold puffs of air fan over his lips, a needle-thin space away.

“You’re so silly, y’know that? Why do you keep callin’ me Screwball?” You ask, placing a tantalizing kiss to the corner of his lips. Like the touch of a delicate snowflake, “You make it sound like you think I’m crazy.”

“Well, okay, first of all, you gotta be some kinda crazy. ‘Specially if yer screwin’ around with me.” Peter jokes. He’s beyond winded under the teasing brush of your soft lips, “S-Second of all, it’s an ice cream thing. You ever-uhm…stop by an ice cream truck before?”

Why’s he even doing this? Making casual conversation like it’s a date at the diner. Peter half expects you to pull away. Since this is the least sexiest thing he could be doing. Amazingly, you remain where you are. Trailing kisses across Peter’s cheek, down to his ear. Leaving feather-light sparkles of frost in your wake. Still, they melt within seconds.

“Yeah. Of course I have. So?” You mumble.

He tenses as goosebumps descend down his neck. The tight grip you have on his dick doesn’t let up. Any words Peter planned on saying seem completely lost on him now.

“Uhhhh…Screwball’s the little…it’s got the-uh…gumballs at the bottom. It’s, like, a cone-”

Righteous work, casanova.

“Right. And I’m Screwball because…?”

Damn you, little minx! You know why. The answer’s totally obvious. There’s no way you’re that dense. Nah. You’re just so set on teasing Peter, tempting him to nervously ramble. Like you find his embarrassment…humorous or whatever. Pfffbbtt …

“You messin’ with me? It’s ‘cuz it’s ice cream, yeah? No duh. And ice is, like, yer thing, babe. I dunno. It made more sense in my head.” Peter laughs in spite of himself, “Listen…can I please kiss you? Before I make even more of an ass outta myself?”

In this position, Peter can’t kiss you. Even though it’s all he can think about. You’re too busy mouthing at his neck, grazing his skin with your teeth. Fondling his cock in freezing strokes, making him whine under his breath.

Up until this very moment, Peter’s hands remained mostly still. He’d dig his fingernails into your blankets, as the pleasure of freezer burn simmered in his pelvis. But he held himself back from ever really touching you. Since this little interaction wasn’t supposed to end up like this to begin with.

But now? Well…shit.

You knead at his junk like you’re making biscuits, flicking your icy tongue across the skin of his neck. Eliciting another husky whine from deep in his throat. Peter’s pretty sure, judging by your forwardness; you wouldn’t mind so much if he touched you just a little, right? Like, you totally wouldn’t protest if he brought his large hand to the back of your head, would you?

He threads his fingers through your soft hair, tugging your head back gently. Pulling you from his neck, just so he can meet your wanton eyes again. There’s a single second of hesitation, as both of Peter’s hands claim your cheeks. That second seems to stretch for what feels like an hour, while Peter memorizes the features of your face. His racing, speedster heart leaps at the sight.

He swiftly pulls you down for a kiss. It’s clumsy as all get out. Initially, anyway. But if there’s one thing he can actually pride himself on? At the very least, he’s had a lot of experience with canoodling. Kissing you comes as naturally to Peter as running does. His skillful lips and tongue guide yours effortlessly. Coercing you into a heated makeout session. Against his own, your lips are frosty cold. Like drinking crisp water straight from a chilled glass.

Or…it’s more like he’s lapping his tongue across some kind of…slushy ice cream. Like…a Screwball cone, maybe?

No?

Fuck it. Whatever. The only difference is, you don’t taste anything like cherry. You taste like you. And Peter would argue that’s almost better. Almost. Cherry’s pretty hard to beat. It’s a tough competition.

As you fall victim to his bitchin’ makeout skills, Peter indulges himself. He touches you the way he’s dreamed since forever and a day. His hands glide thick fingers down your chilly body. Feeling every glittering facet of your suit under his fingertips. Meeting the curves of your hips, he squeezes them firmly.

“Mmmmm…this is awesome.” Peter breathes, “This is really fuckin’ awesome.” He hums into your lips, stifling a moan by kissing you again. You stroke his clothed cock a little faster, and he chokes, “O-Oh…yer so awesome. Fuck.”

“You’re really awesome yourself. But I’ve always thought that about you.” You titter, nuzzling his nose so tenderly, “The others on the team? Yeah. They’re alright. But you? Peter, you’re the coolest.” You admit with a bashful smile. After locking him in one more, passionate smooch, you pull away, “Sexy too.”

“W-Wait, really? Are you bein’ serious right now?” Peter asks, stupefied. He furrows his brows. Another beat, and he forces himself to smirk proudly, “I-I mean…well, yeah. Pssshh …of course. Why wouldn’t you think that? I’m the bomb, baby.”

Peter keeps his hands on your hips, feeling your ravishing curves. Stroking them with his thumbs. They fit so perfectly in his grasp. And Goddamn, Peter doesn’t ever wanna let go. Mark his words. Right here, right now. He’ll glue his hands to you forever if he has to.

Lowering your ass over his crotch, you keep your erotic gaze focused on his. Your intense eye contact never seems to break for even a moment. Pressing into the exposed, damp skin of his chest, you brace your freezing hands over Peter’s pecs. A filthy moan teases your lips, as you roll your gorgeous hips forward and back. Grinding into his needy bulge.

Oh.

This is happening now. Fuck yeah.

Peter squirms in place, tightening his hold on your hips. His nails tear at the tiny sequins of your jumpsuit, digging into the sparkling material. It’s such a needlessly skin tight thing, for fuck’s sake. Criminally skin tight, even. How did Xavier ever greenlight that? Peter can see the tempting outline of your pussy in it, deliciously rolling into his clothed cock. His mouth waters at the sight. Lifting his hips off the bed, he meets your slow thrusts.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, what the fuck-” He moans an octave louder.

A strangled sound catches in his throat, and you’re quick to shush him the moment it frees itself.

“Pietro, honey, you gotta be quiet, okay?”

Hushed moans pour from your parted lips as you speak his given name. Peter’s completely bushwhacked at the mention of it. Since no one ever – excluding his mom, in her more frustrated moods – uses that name. A tickling flutter erupts with a burst in his belly. He almost creams himself at the sound of that name in your voice.

“Come on. Be good for me. You can be good for me. Can’t you, baby?” You plead. Moving your hips in a painfully slow, steady rhythm.

“Fuuuuuuuck. Babe, please-” Peter begs, “Faster? Faster, please. Yer killin’ me."

Your sharp nails sink into his bare chest, manifesting more glassy shards of frost. Winter cold seizes Peter’s body entirely, infecting him with frostbite’s kiss. Peter knits his brows tightly, his dark eyes mesmerized with your every movement. The freezing solace permeating from your pussy proves a little too overwhelming. As sharp, pinpricks of cold rush through his veins; it all morphs into carnal heat.

His muscles quickly tighten, every inch of him tensing in an instant.

“Wait wait wait! Fuck!” Peter whimpers in desperation, a flurry of moans erupting from his throat. His rock hard cock twitches, pulsating under you as he cums. Leaking thick streams of his seed into his boxers and jumpsuit, “F-Fuck! I’m sorry, baby! Ohhhhh god! I’m so sorry.”

As far as Peter knows, you have no clue he’s a virgin. Until now, he was content with that. He hadn’t planned on announcing it anytime soon. In hindsight, it’s pretty fucking embarrassing how easily he comes undone. All from a little dry humping, no less.

Yeah. You’re bound to figure it out sooner or later. Yikes.

Sticky, white pearls of his cum seep through his jumpsuit, staining the material. Your erotic motions slow to a stop, once you notice the streaks sticking to your clothed cunt. Tilting your head, you raise a brow. A delicate blush swarms your neck and ears, as you stare down at Peter with genuine surprise. He tilts his head back shamefully, sighing.

“D-Did you just-” You hesitate to continue. Wintry fingertips trace over his bare chest, “Damn, Quickie, that was fast.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Peter sighs again, bringing his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, “Dammit.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, feeling blistering warmth rapidly return. Taunting him with the promise of death by suffocation all over again. Before he finally succumbs to it, you crawl over him. Knees braced on either side of his body.

“I’m…god, I’m really fuckin’ sorry about that.” Peter awkwardly stammers, “I-I just…fuck! Yer just so-”

You shush him, chuckling, “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. That was so, sooooooo hot. Really hot, if I’m being honest.”

By virtue of his blessed genes, Peter takes very little time to recover. And hell, you make it an impossible feat not to chub up all over again. Your arctic tongue intertwines with his hotter one, as you meet him in another sloppy kiss. Cold hands grasp his cheeks, quickly sliding through his hair. Dragging your nails across Peter’s scalp, you kiss him with more urgency.

Peter sneaks his hands to your juicy ass, warm palms feeling at your plush booty cheeks. He gives one of them a light, playful smack. Drawing out a squeak from you, Peter giggles into your mouthy kisses. He’s distracted enough, he almost doesn’t notice you tugging the zipper of his jumpsuit.

“C’mon, get this thing off already.” You pull the zipper down even further, murmuring through frantic kisses, “Before you die of heat stroke in my bed.”

With a hmph , Peter nods his head, “Hey, if it’s life ‘er death? Guess I’ve got no choice then, huh?” He replies, fabricating his confidence, “Just a sec.”

Peter sits up fully on your bed, his feet absentmindedly kicking a few plushies on the floor. You slide off the bed entirely. Stepping back to give Peter the space he needs. From your perspective, the removal of his sweaty jumpsuit takes less than a second. But from Peter’s own POV, it’s a thousand years before he finally pulls himself out of his clothes. Clumsily, he peels his sticky limbs free.

“Fuckin’ shit-” He curses, struggling to free one of his ankles once he’s done.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but a faint air of raw cold filters through the space of your room. With his body free of stifling clothing; Peter can finally embrace that coolness in full. It bites sharply at his skin, making him shudder. Peter inhales a slow, deep breath just to feel it all

“Oh, wow! It feels damn good in here, Screwball! Like, woahhh! I feel like I’ve been sweatin’ my balls off this whole time until now.” He says.

“That’s the most charming thing you’ve said all day.” You sarcastically chime. And he snorts.

Peter promptly rids himself of his sweat soaked shirt, aching to feel more frigid air on his skin. He tosses the drenched fabric to the floor. Left in his cum stained boxers, Peter shifts uncomfortably on your bed. Self consciously, he gazes at you with a doe eyed look. He twiddles his thumbs in his lap.

“Sooooooo…uh…a-are you gonna take off yer-uhm…” Peter gives you a once over, gesturing to your jumpsuit.

He lets his long, sturdy legs hang off the side of your bed. Watching as you take slow steps backwards, pulling that tiny, snowflake zipper of yours. Dragging it all the way down. A mischievous spark twinkles in your eye, and Peter’s heart skips a thousand beats. Even though you’re trying your best to be sexy, you’re still just as clumsy as he was.

Which somehow, ultimately makes you even sexier to him.

You peel your limbs out of your glittering jumpsuit. Revealing the underwear beneath, fitting your body in all the right ways. Peter’s adam’s apple bobs, his eyes flitting up and down your curvaceous form. Drinking in the image of you almost completely bare.

“Holy shit.” Peter mumbles, leaning back and bracing his hands on your bed.

You’re giggling again. Blessing his ears with a precious sound he’s grown to adore over the last…however long it’s been since you invited him in. Peter can’t really remember. It’s impossible to hold any sense of rational thought while watching you like this. Especially when you pull off everything except your little, lace panties. Freeing your-

Whoaaaaaaa, mama.

There they are. In all their beautiful, freezing glory. Your icy cold knockers bounce freely. And with a flawlessly executed jiggle, too. If Peter had a sign, he'd rate them a perfect ten.

The skin of your breasts is heavenly soft, dusted in a faint motif of frosty snowflakes. Nipples perky.

Peter's wondered about those suckers for ages. And you most definitely don't disappoint. He whistles, his eyes flying open. Black pupils dilating like drops of heavy ink. No matter how hard he tries, he can't tear his gaze away from those bouncy beauties.

"Damn, Screwball…" Peter grins, shaking his head, "Yer a smokeshow, babe."

Subconsciously, he palms his hardening dick over his boxer briefs. Momentarily grimacing at the texture of drying cum in the fabric. His focused gaze lingers a little too long on your totally righteous titties. You're talking again. Speaking words in that sweet voice, though they go unheard.

Bwah bwah bwah bwah!

You must have given up on trying. He barely sees you coming, as you collide your lips with his again. Shocking him out of his boob-induced daze. The moment you're in close enough range, he reaches out to touch you. Burning hot palms fondle your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples. Furrowing your brows, you squeal into his mouth.

"Your hands-" You whine, "Your hands are so hot. It's like you're on fire." And Peter chuckles a heated breath in response.

"See? And that's why we're here. Gotta beat the heat somehow, eh?" He says, his hands playing with your frosty titties. Silken and cold on his skin.

Sinking to the floor, you lower yourself onto your knees. Peter knows without an ounce of doubt; your poor knees have to be aching like hell right about now. Yet, you persist. He scoots a little further at the edge of your bed, allowing you to ease yourself between his spread legs. With one less layer of clothing in the way of your touch, the coolness feels even more crisp and harsh over his cock.

“God, you’re so pretty…” He mumbles.

Peter stares down at you in awe, curling his fingers into the sheets. Biting your lip with an impish grin, you ease his boxers off completely. As your glimmering eyes meet the full length of his cock, you're instantly enamored. His dick, colored a scarlet hue and pulsing with thick veins, bounces over a silver bush of hair.

You haven't even touched him directly yet. But Peter can already feel that freezing aura easing in close. Swiping your tongue across your plush lips, you gaze at Peter's dick like your hunger hasn't been satiated in weeks.

No words are spoken between you both. As one of your hands treads carefully. Barely touching his thickness with your fingers. You stroke him in slow, but firm motions at first. Peter arches his back in shock, the cold like electricity rushing through his veins. Arctic temperatures rapidly pump his body full of adrenaline.

Maybe that’s why he’s so into this. Being a speedster, he’s always been addicted to the rush of exhilaration.

“Ohhh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Peter moans.

Your strokes slide up to the swollen, purple-ish head of his cock. Squeezing tightly. But the tip is too outrageously sensitive. A simple, icy cold tug of it gets Peter practically seizing. White light flashes through his vision. And just like that, he’s going totally mental. He jumps with an abrupt jerk, his body vibrating.

Peter whimpers in quick gasps, “Ah! N-Not the tip, baby! Not the tip!”

You make a quick retreat, sliding your hand down to the thick base of his length. Pumping his vascular cock in a frosty fist. He can feel his blood vessels constricting with every motion. Cold creeps under his skin, bringing with it a burning sensation. Peter’s groin tightens, and his moans turn to pleading whimpers.

With a cheshire grin, you flutter your lashes over a naughty gaze. Leaning forward, you tease the smooth length of his cock with your lips. Kitten licking a vein with the tip of your tongue.

“W-Wait! Hold on, Screwball! Fuck-” One of Peter’s hands finds your head, clutching strands of your hair between his fingers, “It’s too much, baby! I can’t-”

A long, chilling swipe of your tongue brings momentary crystals of ice. Igniting the burn along his skin. Peter never thought himself a masochist. But this freaky, frosty jerk-off session has somehow completely rewired his brain chemistry. Pain never felt so good.

In all your wickedness, little minx, you refuse to heed Peter’s warning. Your mouth engulfs the scorching heat of his cock. Surrounding him in a crisp, cold shroud. Bringing upon him a vengeance of the bleakest kind. Like a frostbitten hug, sending shockwaves of pleasure fluttering through his bones. Peter’s breathing quickens.

“Ah! FUCK! Gonna fuckin-...I’m fuckin’ cumming, baby! Sorry, sorry, sorr-” He falters over broken whines.

Acting on impulse like the total spaz he is, Peter panics. Tugging your head from his cock so he doesn’t bust a load in your mouth. He lags a few seconds behind. Late again, as per usual.

Peter accidentally showers your precious lips in his cum. Painting your face in hot, messy strands of it. He writhes in place, sluggishly rocking his hips forward. The spurting tip of his dick kisses your lips, the length bouncing with every eruption of thick, sticky heat.

For a second time in a row, he’s blown his load prematurely. Impressive, in a really lame way. But, hey, even if Peter feels a little bad for glossing you in his cum. He’s gotta admit, you look drop dead gorgeous like this.

Peter quickly snaps out of his post-nut daze, his eyes dancing across your decorated face.

Ah. Actually, now that he’s thinking somewhat clearly again…it’s a little gross. He fumbles over an onslaught of apologies. Reaching to the floor for his discarded shirt without thinking, he wipes your face clean of his nut.

Wait. Fuck. Why’d he use his shirt? Shit. Get it together, Quickie!

As always, you’re just as chill about this as you have been everything else, “That wasn’t so bad. But thanks. Sorry about your shirt, though.” You giggle. But all Peter does is shamefully laugh in response.

You’re perceptive enough to catch onto his sudden hesitance. He tenses, avoiding your pretty eyes. Bouncing a nervous leg at the speed of a rabbit’s kicks. Twice now, you’ve seen him finish way too early. And though he knows in his heart you wouldn’t judge him for his lack of experience; a small part of him fears the worst.

He really likes you, actually. It’d hurt like hell if you thought less of him over something so trivial.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” You ask. Playful, but still concerned.

Peter’s heart aches in the presence of your gentle nature. Swallowing his pride, he opts to confess. And if you think him pathetic for being a thirty year old virgin? Fuck it. He’s betting Hank’s mini fridge is still vacant.

You’re resting on your knees in between his legs, tracing feather-light, frosty patterns into his thigh. Peter’s skin swiftly erupts in goosebumps again, his body never accustomed to your arctic touch. Taking a deep breath, he drops his head forward.

“I…gotta be honest with ya about somethin’. I’ts-...” Peter cuts himself off with a sigh, burying his face in his hands, “I’m kind of…a virgin. Y’know, if you couldn’t already tell. I just…didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Pfffttt …” You puff in disbelief, like you’re assuming he’s messing with you. But Peter blinks, staring down into your eyes with a look that tells you he’s all business, “You’re serious? But, Peter, no offense? I’m really surprised! You always seemed like such a player. Like, you flirt with literally everyone.”

Peter stares at you in silence. He shakes his head, brows furrowed. A timid grin curling into his lips.

“I guess? I talk a big game, yeah. And I’ve made out with a lotta girls. Screwed around a few times. But…nah. I’ve never-uh…actually, really screwed. I dunno if the timing was never right or what, but…” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Despite fighting an internal war of crippling shame.

“Well, we’ll just have to remedy this then, won’t we?” Your hand rises to his chin, thumb tenderly stroking rough, silver stubble.

His eyes fly open, cheeks swarming a bright red. A beat, and Peter’s dick already twitches to life again at the prospect of your offer. However, despite his body’s insatiable desire, he waves his hands and shakes his head.

“N-No! No, babe! Listen, you don’t have to. I really wasn’t implyin’ anything when I said…uh…it’s just…I-I’ve never told anyone. That's all!”

“It’s fine! I said I would take care of you, didn’t I?”

He swallows, caught off guard by your choice of words. ‘Take care of you.’ His brows raise high, and the cartoonishly fast pounding of his heart returns. Fluttering in his chest, hiking up to sonic speed. Peter opens his mouth to protest, to remind you that you shouldn’t feel pressured into stealing his v-card.

But you’re already pushing yourself off the floor, climbing over Peter on your bed. With your icy hand to his chest, you guide him down onto his back. He gazes up at you with an uncertain, but lustful look in his dark eyes. In spite of the significantly cooler temperature of your room; Peter’s entire body breaks out in a humid sweat.

Okay. Calm down, man. Take a chill pill. Relax.

“You got any condoms?” You ask, blunt and up front.

So. This is really happening, huh? Yeah. Peter’s gonna lose his v-card to one of his teammates. No biggie. Screwing his fellow X-Man Screwball? Totally not a big deal.

Peter swallows dryly again, an awkward chuckle vibrating over his tongue.

“Not on me, no. I don’t really-uhhh…carry those around.” He makes a hasty move to sit up, “But I can run to the store really quick and grab some. Y’wanna snack ‘er a drink while I’m at it? I could really go fer somethin’ sweet like-”

Your frosty lips capture his in yet another, intimate kiss. For the sake of Peter’s inexperience, you take your time. Guiding Peter down onto his back once more. Working with tender consideration. When your tongue so lovingly swirls with his, he scowls. Tasting the lingering bitterness of his nut. He curls his lip.

“Euuuugh! Augh! Blegh! Is that really what I taste like? Eck! I’m so sorry, Screwball. I’ll try to spare ya next time. Eugh. That’s disgusting!” He rambles, overcompensating for his uneasy nerves again.

“Next time?” You raise your brows. Supple, wet lips smirking.

“Y-Yeah? Yeah…like… pfftt …if you want…” Peter shrugs, casual, blinking puppy dog eyes, “I dunno about you, but I’m havin’ a killer time fuckin’ around like this.” He adds, fingers toying with the hem of your panties.

Reaching for his cock, you take his length into your icy cold grip. Peter jolts again, cursing under his breath.

“I need to confess something too.” You say, bashful. Peter watches your facade of confidence diminish for a moment, “Would you still wanna do this if I told you I’m just as cold on the inside?”

“Woah…yeah. Listen, that is the opposite of a problem for me.” Peter reassures you, looking between your bodies, “Call me crazy? I’m really diggin’ the whole cold thing.”

He watches your fingers hook through the hem of your panties, sliding them down your smooth legs. It’s a bit awkward for you to get them off in this position. But eventually, you’re entirely exposed.

No more messing around. This is the real deal.

Wiggling your ass, you position your wintry cunt over his cock’s swollen head. Peter’s fingers tremble as they grab your ass for purchase. Holding you steady, he keeps his lidded gaze on your pussy. Entranced in the sight of your puffy lips lowering over his tip. Barely nudging it in, giving just a little tease of what’s to come. He shivers, muscles locking, shockwaves of glacial cold racing through his veins already.

“Ohhhhhhhh …wow…” He whines, teeth clamping his lip, “Please, ya gotta gimme more than that, baby.”

“Pietro, be patient.” You chastise him, fluttering your eyes closed.

Sighs and erotic moans of euphoria rise from the both of you in unison, just as his leaking tip dives through your cushiony walls. Peter shudders again, craning his neck back. Moaning a broken, strangled sound from deep in his chest. The tight, freezing sting of your cunt causes him to tense up. Peter digs his nails into the flesh of your ass, his lips parting for breath.

“Mmmmmfffuuck. You good? You okay?” You ask, little mewls bubbling in your throat.

Through frantic, wordless intakes of breath, Peter nods.

He’s never felt anything like this in all his thirty years of life. It’s a completely new sensation. The plushiest of pins and needles constricting tightly around his cock. Or the world’s softest pillow, pulled straight out of the freezer. Sex with you is the kind he could so easily become addicted to. If it was possible to stay connected this intimately forever, he’d do so in a heartbeat. No questions asked. Totally worth the searing pain of frostbite.

You take a few moments to adjust to the length and girth of him. It feels like centuries before you’re moving, but the wait is more than worth it. Your cunt weeps around his cock, swallowing him up completely in a frosty slickness. Peter chokes, his breath hitching. The pace you set is frustratingly slow, bouncing into his pelvis in steady slams of bush on silver bush.

“Fuck yeah. Just like that. More? C’mon gimme more, baby, please. Oh, please!” He whines, submissive and needy.

Sitting up a little straighter, you balance your cool hands on his chest. Peter’s skin is all raw and red, frostbitten from your previous teasing. It’s a little painful now, actually. Leaving a tingly burn. But the stinging pain registers as pleasure in Peter’s speedy brain.

Your pussy molds perfectly with the thick shape of him. Roughly shocking you with a surge of dull pain, Peter’s cock knocks straight into your squishy cervix. His expression contorts in overstimulation, his mouth falling open. He wets his lips with his tongue.

“That’s it. Fuckin’ ride me. Mmmmm yeah~” Peter moans, “Yer so fuckin’ cold. Shit-” His moans steadily trail off into whimpers.

“Should I stop? Is it too much?” You halt your movements for a second too long.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ stop.” He groans, animalistic and ragged, “Ohhhh~ Please don’t stop.”

As you thrust your beautiful body into his lap, Peter follows your lead. Driving his hips against your ass with each bounce of contact. Overshadowing that sultry melody of Pink Floyd with the lewd smacking of skin on skin. Your cunt hugs his cock in a grip tight enough to induce more freezer burn. But it’s such an alluring feeling, he bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

Peter’s brown-eyed gaze rakes down your body. Intoxicated with the way your titties bounce and your pussy sucks the ever-speeding soul out of him. He has to mentally-prep himself so he doesn’t cum too soon again. But the piercing cold compressing his dick sends thrilling pulses through his limbs. Erotic pleasure burns deep in his gut.

“Pietro!” You cry. Riding his dick and mewling soft kitten noises, you circle your little clit with your fingers, “Want me to cum on your cock, pretty boy? Wanna feel this tight, little pussy cum for you?” 

Ohhhhh. You can’t do that to him. Dirty, little minx. He’s never heard such filthy words like that come out of your mouth. And the way you sound, how you look touching yourself on his cock; It all triggers a carnal instinct in the recesses of his mind.

Peter lifts his hips in a display of super strength, abusing your cervix repeatedly with his cock. Pounding your pussy so fast and hard. With a force deep and rough enough to make you see stars. A filthy squelch of a sound echoes from inside you.

“Oh my god-” Peter’s face contorts in needy desperation, brows creasing, “Please? Wanna feel you cum, baby. Need you to cum on my dick so bad.”

Sitting up on his elbows with his mouth hanging lazily open, Peter brings his fingers to his drooling tongue. His eyes are half lidded and cloudy, almost rolling back into his skull. He reaches out, the wet pads of his fingers meeting your cute bud. He buzzes his digits in a scorching vibration, knowing how sensitive you are to his heat. Easily coaxing you towards release.

“HOH! FUCK-” Peter’s eyes flutter in shock, “ Ohmyfuckingod that’s really fuckin’ tight. ”

His body tenses hard as stone. Feeling you clench around him while he fucks you so deep he thinks he’s reached your stomach. Within a few, measly seconds of teasing vibrations on your clit; you’re cumming. Coating his cock in a wave of crisp slickness. You tremble uncontrollably, tilting your head back and crying like a siren of the arctic seas. Singing a mantra of the name Pietro.

Peter grips your hips hard with both hands, sinking his blunt nails into your skin. Animalistic instinct overflows his mind as soon as he’s reached his own peak. Ecstasy tumbles over Peter in an overwhelming crash, much like an avalanche. And just as he’s pumping you impossibly full of hot, thick ropes of cum; something happens.

His release burns inside you, pooling in a milky heat. A stark contrast to the freezing temperature constantly flowing through your body. Your nails scratch red lines into his chest, manifesting glass crystals of frost. They burn like hell, and Peter hisses. One, final slap of your ass against his lap, and –

A ripple of explosive, winter cold rushes from your body in a flash. The bombastic wave coats your entire room in powdery snow and sheets of ice. Turning the small space into a glorified freezer. It even hits the record player, slowing the final tune of Obscured by Clouds to a creeping stop. Piercing cold fires through Peter’s lungs, and he chokes on it.

…D…Did that really just happen??

Glancing around frantically, he pushes himself up on your bed.

A soft, tingling blanket of snow drapes his body. Peter sputters, quickly brushing as much of it off as he can. You’re still sitting over his lap, his softening dick tucked safely between your pussy’s plush walls. With every puff of warm air from his lungs, Peter can see his breath fanning like smoke through the air.

“Woooahhhhh, babe…” He nudges you on the shoulder to get your attention, his expression wide eyed and bewildered, “Are you seein’ this shit?”

Recovering from your numbing state of euphoria, you lazily scan your room. You gasp, though it sounds more like a really cute squeak; covering your mouth with a hand.

“Ah! What the hell did I do!? I’m sorry! Oh my god, Peter, I’m so sorry!” You say, dropping your face into Peter’s frost-bitten chest.

He hisses as you lean into his sensitive, scarred skin. And before you can spout off another flurry of sweet apologies – a noise catches the attention of you both. Outside, the two of you hear the unmistakable sound of children’s laughter. Joyful cries, followed by playful giggles and screams. You raise your head, meeting Peter’s doe eyes with a questioning look.

Narrowing his eyes, he pats your thigh. Signaling you to hop off his lap.

Clumsily, Peter zips around the room in a blur, searching for something to cover himself up with. But his clothes are all caked in snow. And not to mention a little something else. Peter has to resort to a blanket stuffed underneath all the others on your bed. Untouched by your surprise blizzard. He cloaks himself in the blanket, appearing at your door in a fwip.

Discreetly, he pulls the door open.

Or, at least, he makes an attempt. It’s completely frozen in place, sealed with ice around the lock and hinges.. Why is he even surprised at this point? Peter tugs the handle once or twice with barely any strength. And when that doesn’t work, he jerks it open with a harsh flex of his muscles. He pokes his fluffy, silverette head halfway out the door. Looking up and down the hallways.

Only to find…

Your orgasmic snowstorm reached places far beyond the confined space of your room. Looks like Christmas came early this year. The hallways of Xavier’s mansion are all drenched in frosty spreads of snow. It’s not nearly as much as what’s accumulated in your room. But it’s enough to stir up the students and teachers. Many of the kids run around excitedly. Bouncing, cheering, celebrating.

And who can blame them?

To those unseen forces of the universe out there: thanks for blessing us all with the power of Screwball's ecstasy.

Out of nowhere, the X-Men’s laser eyed leader makes his appearance. Scott comes skidding to a halt outside your door just at that moment. He balances himself with a hand to your door, a genial smile on his face. A fuzzy fust of red tickles the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

Across the hall, Logan leans casually against a wall. Puffing a cigar, wearing a thin undershirt that compliments his jacked form a little too well. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his fitted jeans.

For a moment, Scott doesn’t seem to register why Peter’s even in your room.

But in this life, one speedster can only be so lucky.

“Wh-...Peter? Hey-uh…where’s-” Scott mentions your name, and continues, “I wanted to give ‘em my thanks for doing this.” He gestures over his shoulder to the mess of snow covering the walls and floors, “Some of the kids were getting really sick from the weather. And I know Xavier's gonna be pissed, but-...” His voice slowly trails off.

Scott’s smile falls for a beat. But Peter finds it hard to read his emotions without seeing his eyes clearly. Those sunglasses must do him loads of favors on a daily basis. If he tries, he can gauge what’s going through Scott’s head based on the look of surprise that crosses his face. Followed by a sly, knowing grin.

Summers is an intelligent guy. It doesn’t take long for him to put two and two together.

Especially with the way Peter stands in your doorway. He’s draped in a blanket that clearly isn’t his, shoulders bare underneath. The surface of his skin burns cherry red in some places. His hair is a tousled, fuzzy mess, and his cheeks are flushed bright pink.

Peter awkwardly swallows, avoiding the vibrant gaze of Scott’s red-tinted sunglasses. He directs his attention over his shoulder instead, making accidental eye contact with Logan. Wolvie arches a thick, quizzical brow, his eyes glancing over Peter’s blanketed form.

He really hadn’t meant for anyone to find out about this. But it looks like the cat’s out of the bag.

“You kids better be using protection.” Scott jokes, patronizing.

Which is funny, coming from him. Peter’s got ten years on him at the least.

“Uhhhh, yeah. I’ll totally tell ‘em you said thanks. We cool? Bitchin’. Later, Summers.” Peter rushes through his words ultra fast, before slamming the door shut behind him.

That’ll be a rough one to explain later. But hopefully no one’ll be nosy enough to pry. Besides, Peter doesn’t wanna think about it right now. Since, y’know, he kinda just got laid for the first time. Which is really fucking awesome, now that he can stop and really digest that it happened. And with someone he’s been crushing on too.

Maybe he’s luckier than he thought.

Peter presses his back against your icy door, letting the thick blanket covering his body fall to the floor. Leaving him butt ass naked in your freezer of a room. He rakes his fingers through his hair, cheesing a goofy smile to himself.

“What’s goin’ on? Were you talkin’ to someone?” You ask, emerging from your bathroom and brushing snow off a towel.

“Oh- pfffttt …just Summers. Yeah. He-uh…wanted to tell you thanks. ‘Cuz you kinda went all blizzard on this whole place and now it’s, like-” Peter makes a wide gesture with his hands, mimicking the sound of an avalanche falling. Or, that’s what he tries to do, anyway. He’s never been the best at charades.

“HUH!? What are you-” You rush to your door. Those pretty titties of yours bounce with every step. And Peter ogles them shamelessly. Poking your head through the door, he overhears the sound of your gasp. Followed by the shyest little, “Heyyyyyy, Logan.”

Before you’re closing the door again, marching to your bathroom with your head cast down in shame. 

“Xavier’s gonna kill me, dude! I can’t believe this!” You whisper-shout.

Your bashfulness and frustration are so cute, Peter has to refrain from snickering. And as you reach the doorway, you stop yourself. He catches the motion of your eyes checking him out, before your gazes meet again. Peter smirks.

“Uhm…how was your first time, by the way?” You ask in a quiet, uncertain tone, “Was it…okay?”

Oh, you cannot even be serious right now.

Peter gives you a weird look. Staring at you like you’re some strange, newly discovered entity from a far off universe. Really, you must be, if you’re gonna question a good time like that.

“Okay? Okay?? ” Peter appears before you in less than a blink’s time.

He wraps his strong arm around your waist, pulling you close to his body. Grinning confidently, he darts down to kiss your frosty lips.

“Screwball, baby, that was a total rush. Are you crazy? It’s not every day I make somebody cum so hard they kickstart an early winter, y’know. Not bad fer my first time, if I do say so myself.” He waggles his brows.

I’m really glad I could help you out…” You mutter, smiling so sweet.

Your fingers trace the burns littering Peter’s chest with a feather-light touch. Even the faintest brush makes him wince in pain. But he’s not ashamed to admit it’s totally worth it. What’s a little freezer burn and frostbite between friends, huh?

Or, between…whatever the two of you are now.

“Oh, you did wayyyy more than help me out.” Peter winks, kissing you once more, “You rocked my world babe. Don’t sweat it, ‘kay? I had a great time.”

You saunter off to your bathroom then. And Peter reaches out to playfully smack your ass as you walk away. He admires your gorgeous figure in all its naked glory. His eyes following the jiggle of your booty cheeks.

“Yer still takin’ me on that date, right? Dinner and a movie?” He asks, startling you with his sudden appearance in the bathroom. Peter presses himself into your back, standing tall in comparison to your height.

“Can we hold off? Do you think you can wait until the city isn’t on fire?” You meet his dark eyes in the mirror over the sink, “And it can’t be Howard the Duck.”

“No. It’s most definitely gotta be Howard the Duck.” Peter brings his warm hands to your shoulders, thumbs gliding along your soft skin. He leans down to pepper your sex hair in kisses, “I won’t accept nothin’ else, got it?

“Mmmhm. Shouldn’t I be the judge of that, Peter? Since, like, you keep implying I’m the one paying.”

He scoffs, slowly gliding his large hands over the irresistible curves of your body. He gives a mischievous grin through the mirror, his look oozing speedster charm.

“Who said anything about paying?”

[vantedaes]

Not shy! 1/5 (Leon x F!Reader)

Author: @vantedaes Editor: @141s-chewtoy Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x fem reader! Word count: 2.350k Tags/Warnings: MDNI (+18) age gap, Banter, pining, romance, flirting, shy (introverted :p) reader, fluff, miscommunication, eventual smut, maybe slow burn? we'll see.

Summary:  1/5 When senior agent Leon Kennedy joined your unit the last thing you were expecting is for him to pay any attention to you let alone make you his partner, you, the outcast, shy, and officer rookie from the whole unit.

And it wouldn't be a problem if he didn't find pleasure in driving you crazy.

A/N: So here we at with my first fanfic in a long ass time (Also my first one in English be nice it's not my first language!) So i just wanted to make a wholesome banter with Death island Leon in mind! there will be eventual smut but later so buckle up to some old slow burn.

Thanks to my girl, the one, the only, the QUEEN: @141s-chewtoy for editing this nonsense and making it better and greater, ilysm bestie.

✩｡:•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•:｡✩✩｡:•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•:｡✩

When you first met Leon you thought he would never even grant a glance at you. 

As an officer researcher rookie, you were usually picked on and the spot of jokes from your whole department, it didn’t help you were the first woman to achieve that high-ranking position. It should mean you receive respect from others, right? Well apparently not, and you knew that it was partly your fault, you’ve always been introverted and also maybe kind of a pushover. 

So maybe being the target of jokes from the whole station and also having no other friends than the lunch lady —Sandy, god bless her heart, and her delicious croquettes—, was enough to make you invisible, and you were fine with that, mostly, it helped you not attract too much-unwanted attention which you hated but it also made you the odd one out that you also hated, but in the scale of things you’d rather be the quiet girl of the unit. 

Therefore you didn’t even make an effort to leave your office when everyone was running laps because the great senior agent Leon Kennedy was coming down the department.

You figured that he was another know-it-all dickhead, that would only come to you to shove your face in his big achievements and how he single handedly saved the president’s daughter and some many other stuff, cause yes you did peek at his file —What? you have access to it, you were the intel and researcher of the unit, and you had to—  Suuure, he was jaw-dropping gorgeous to say the very least but that was not the reason you sought shelter in your office, no, you just knew he had to be a fucking asshole like all the others you worked with. 

Of course, you couldn't hide forever, as much as you wanted to. Eventually, you had to face the man of the hour and oh boy you were nervous… you were so nervous that Sandy had to give you a pep talk for you to just do your job

“Girl I know he’s hotter than the Sahara desert but you can’t just miss out on your job! the guy’s been asking for the researcher for days now he thinks you’re a slacker.” 

“I’m not hiding because he’s hot! I’m just…scared he’s an egocentric idiot.” 

Sandy gave you the most ‘you think I believe an ounce of that?’ look she had ever given to you. 

“For sure honey and that’s why you have been eating in the kitchen and actively avoiding your work that you never do cause you practically breathe for this job.” 

Ugh, you hated how right she was and how much she knows you.

“Whatever.  It’s not because he’s hot, I’m just…busy with personal stuff.” 

Oh, the way she scoffed was nothing amicable. 

“Riiight, busy thirsting over the guy! I've seen the way you cling to his file, you ain’t fooling anybody and you’re sure as hell not fooling me so woman up and face him once and for all.” 

You sucked in a breath and shook your head. You knew she was mostly right, you just couldn’t avoid your work so you had to face him sooner than later… but it wasn’t because you were attracted, no, you just didn’t want to lose your time with the insufferable prick he surely was.  

It was an especially bad Friday morning when you sensed something off, could it be the fact that your coffee wasn't as warm as you usually prefer it? Or the way everyone was staring at you as you made your way to your office? Sure, you’d been coexisting with these idiots long enough to just ignore their shit but this morning they were drilling your head in with the intensity of their staring and whispering. 

You couldn't bring yourself to ask what the fuck the problem was but you soon regretted not doing so. 

Because at the other side of your private office was no other than agent Leon S. Kennedy sitting on your desk and examining your files in excruciating detail —making a total mess. You were frozen at your own door, your hand still on the handle and a part of you wanted to close the door and run away but, that wouldn't be so professional on your part and also he already had his cold blue eyes on you and, oh fuck you felt yourself trembling and clinging to your almond latte cause the pictures and the videos didn't do the  man justice… He was even hotter —and wider— in person. 

Regardless, you tried to maintain your calm and remain professional. This was your space of work and how dare he just intrude in your office! Sure you were avoiding convening with him and that was part of your job, but still! Wasn’t this a bit too much? And how did he even get into your office? You always closed it with a key, a key you and only you—oh, fucking Sandy! 

You could only snap out of your internal conflict when he called your name with that smokey-ass voice that made you weak on the knees. 

“I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this,”

Was he for real? Of fucking course you fucking minded but of course you couldn’t gather yourself to say or do anything but  just look blankly at him.

“It was the only way I could find time for us to meet since you kept avoiding me.” 

Fuck.  How did he realize that? And why did he look so amused by it? God, you knew he had to be a prick, and worst of all, and breathtaking prick.

Well, you ought to speak up for yourself because the silence was flooding the room and it wouldn’t help your case just to stay quiet and wait for him to leave. 

“Agent Kennedy, what a pleasant surprise,”  You uttered in a breathy tone, still without the strength to actually step inside. Leon raised an eyebrow and cocked a smile that just made you even more annoyed. 

Before he could even speak, you continued: “Sorry for the delay in our meeting, I’ve been busy with personal errands.” 

Ugh, at least you were good at being professional-ish.

Leon's eyes were full of something between total disbelief and something else you couldn’t really place.

Your heart almost crawled out of your chest when he approached you, so incredibly close to where you were standing as still as a damn statue. You could do nothing whatsoever as his huge physique came so fucking close to you and you almost felt like fainting when his arm reached behind you to just close the damn door. However, judging by the smug grin he had on his lips, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your eyes were fixated on his huge chest and the veins on his neck, your nostrils absorbing the delicious scent of cologne and something citric… Dear god, this man was a danger walking.

You could only breathe again when he finally gave you personal space. 

“Sorry, don’t like the ogling eyes.” 

He said smoothly, returning to your messed-up desk. You were at a loss for words as you tried to regain some confidence to answer him. He had some nerve to keep meddling in your stuff and— wait, was he holding the file you had on him?

“Hey! Keep your nose out of my stuff!” 

Well, that was out of character for you, the way you snatched the folder out of his pretty hands like a toddler wanting their toy back. The coffee —that by this point was cold —in your other hand almost spilled on your carpeted floor.

You just tugged the file with your hand while he looked at you in surprise, clearing your throat and taking a step back. Now you probably needed to explain why you had a really specific file of him on your desk in the first place…

One that looked like it was thoroughly reviewed over and over again, and also had many pictures of him… 

At least the look in his eyes  —which were still full of amusement — prompted some explanation. 

 “What? I’m the researcher, I needed to know who you were before the meeting,”

As if anyone could believe that, he certainly didn’t, but god knows you were going to cling to your lie like it was the truest truth ever. 

“When they told me you were shy I wasn’t expecting this.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, trying to move freely in your space around him. You carefully saved his file on your cabinet and just threw the fucking cold coffee in the trash, it was ruined anyway.

“Not shy, introverted.” You corrected, trying to get behind your desk. He looked at you still with a smug grin on his lips, he was enjoying making you nervous and annoyed. 

Before he could make another clever remark, you stopped him. 

“Listen Agent Kennedy, I would appreciate it if  in the future —”

“Call me Leon.” 

What? 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You have nothing to apologize for, please call me Leon.” 

Oh but wasn’t he just a fucking smooth operator.

“Listen, Leon,” Oh your patience was running thin, and it wasn’t helping that he kept looking at you with that smug grin and those huge arms  —like seriously, huge — crossed, just owning your personal space like it was nothing.

“Right now I don’t have any time for you, so I would appreciate it if in the future you don’t just break into my office.” 

Firm, professional, you felt proud of how you handled it. Cause right now you just really wanted to erase that smug expression from his face with a slap. Of course, he could be a real smoke show but he was just getting on your nerves with all his…all of him, really. 

Nevertheless, he continued to just sit on your desk giving zero fucks about how much you wanted him gone. Clearly he was having a great time making you uncomfortable and maybe a little flustered. It wasn't like you to yell or have a bad attitude towards anyone really, but you were having a hard time remaining cool in front of this smug man who kept meddling in your papers! 

"Do you mind?!" 

You said almost in a yell. Leon giggled, looking at you innocently. 

"I don't mind at all."  

You opened your mouth in disbelief,  he was just toying with you now. 

"Listen kitten— Can I call you kitten?"

"No, you may not!" 

Now you were sure you were red as a tomato.

"So, kitten, I understand your annoyance but I think we’re even, given your very specific investigation about me I could say that we both broke personal boundaries.”  

You were speechless, he was somehow right but clearly, you were not going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. He was the one who broke into your office and he was the one who’s all in your personal space. How dare he compare your innocent file of everything you could find of him with this? Pfft, you did nothing wrong. 

“Now that we are somewhat acquainted, there should not be any problem with us working together.”  He leaned in and you felt your breath catch in your throat, “Closely, together.” 

What now? 

Leon kept staring at you, scanning your every reaction, almost savoring your internal struggles like he could read them completely. 

“Wh—What do you mean?” You asked in a tremulous voice.

Something in Leon’s eyes flickered as he bit his lower lip and almost suppressed a chuckle. 

“You know, because you’re the best researcher and the first line of intel it makes sense that we work alongside one another.” 

Ok, you were having an actual breakdown and it showed. What did he mean about that? Well, you knew what he meant but like what did he really mean? That you were going to have to see him every day? You could barely bear this unexpected intrusion and now he's telling you that you're going to be working partners? You didn’t do partners, you worked alone, you researched and informed the headquarters and that was it. 

Leon kept looking at you with his head slightly tilted to the side, clearly enjoying your reaction. You sucked in a breath, trying to collect yourself. 

“Is it really necessary?” 

And it was the only thing you thought to ask, you knew Leon was there to join your unit and it did make sense what he was saying but a part of you just wanted it to be a lie. You didn’t know how much you could bear having someone like him all over you at all times, the thought of it just made you…quiver. 

And no, it wasn’t because he was incredibly hot and unbelievably gorgeous, no, it wasn’t because his mere presence made your heart race and your insides burn and of course, it wasn’t because the sound of his voice and that stupid grin and the way he just called you kitten made your panties soaked in a fucking second. 

Fuck, you couldn’t be thinking of that when he was still right in front of you like a fucking predator smelling how aroused his little victim was…

Ok, you really needed to stop now.

Leon chuckled, “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you too much, kitten.” 

That fucking nickname again, your panties were as soaked as they could get. 

“Stop calling me that.” 

You tried to sound more serious than strangled but failed completely, Leon cracked another one of his fucking smirks and you felt the heat in your body increase, god, you weren’t sure if he annoyed you as much as he turned you on. 

God no, he just annoyed you, that’s all. 

“Why? It fits you perfectly, a shy kitten.” 

Oh god, you could kill him.

“I’m not shy. I’m introverted!” You exclaimed, feeling your face burning up, “And certainly not a kitten!” 

Sandy better fucking get her hands ready making you all the croquettes you wanted, she owes you one after this. 

[turtlesandfrogs]

So I was scrolling and saw this image in an article about the European heat wave,

And was like, uh, are you missing something there, buddy? Like all that red in northern Africa? Because that's a lot of red.

And I was going to give them the benefit of doubt, since I don't know much about the climate in Northern Africa, aside from Morroco and Egypt, which seem like really hot places, so you know, maybe it's normal there?

But nope, that's not the case:

"While the planet broke multiple records for average worldwide temperatures last week, a heat wave gripped northern Africa.

The region has been experiencing some of the most intense heat waves in recent years, but in many cases they’ve been under-reported due to misconceptions about Africans’ ability to withstand them.

���Africa is seen as a sunny and hot continent,” said Amadou Thierno Gaye, a research scientist and professor at Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar, the capital of Senegal. “People think we are used to heat, but we are having high temperatures for a longer duration. Nobody is used to this.”

North Africa, the Sahara desert and the Sahel, a semi-arid belt north of the Sudanian savanna, are some of the most vulnerable areas because they have larger land masses relative to the rest of the continent, meaning they tend to heat up faster. Scientists have attributed the unprecedented temperatures to a combination of human-induced climate change and the return of El Niño, a natural phenomenon that alters weather patterns.

The Sahel, for instance, has been heating at a faster pace than the global average despite being hot already. Burkina Faso and Mali, both in West Africa’s Sahel, are among countries that are set to become almost uninhabitable by 2080, if the world continues on its current trajectory, a UK university study found. Its people are especially vulnerable due to shrinking resources, such as water, and poor amenities, and a dearth of trees and parks means there are few options for places to cool off.

“People talk of climate change as if it’s a thing of the future,” said Gaye. “Climate change is already here and we see its implications in people, livelihoods, economies and even in cultures.”

While studies on heat impacts on health are limited in Africa, research published last year found that children younger than 5 years old are particularly vulnerable to the hotter weather as they are less able that adults to self-regulate their bodies’ temperatures. The authors estimated that heat-related child mortality was rising in sub-Saharan Africa due to climate change. Other researchers have named the elderly, pregnant women and people who work outdoors, as groups at risk of heat strokes or heat-related infectious diseases.

Elsewhere on the continent, the crisis is also being felt. In the Horn of Africa, at least 43,000 people died in Somalia alone last year as a result of the worst drought in four decades. A study found that global warming is changing rain patterns and bringing more heat to Somalia and some of its neighbors, for longer stretches of time. Further south, unusually destructive cyclones in 2019 claimed more than a thousand lives in Mozambique and Zimbabwe alone.

“If we continue business-as-usual, the heat is not just going to get worse, it will get much worse,” said Mouhamadou Bamba Sylla, research chair in climate change science at the African Institute for Mathematical Sciences in Kigali, the capital of Rwanda. “We are going to see more frequent, longer and more intense heat waves.”

Much of the continent, responsible for just 4% of the world’s greenhouse gas emissions generated from burning fossil fuels, is ill-prepared for a hotter world. Meanwhile, Group of 20 nations, with air conditioning and access to functioning healthcare facilities, account for 80% of the world’s emissions.

Hundreds of millions of Africans lack electricity to even power a fan. One in three people in Africa is affected by water scarcity, according to the World Health Organization, so hydration can’t be taken for granted. Even shade is harder to come by due to widespread deforestation and land degradation. And only 40% of people on the continent are covered by early warning systems for extreme weather.

“More funds have to be allocated to climate adaptation and they need to be made more easily accessible to the most vulnerable countries,” Sylla said.

The UN climate talks later this year aspire to come up with a plan for richer nations to pay for loss and damages. But they’ve collectively fallen short of their commitment to spend $100 billion each year on projects in developing nations to cut emissions and to help them adapt.

“That’s where the issue of climate justice comes in,” said Gaye. “It’s not just that people are uncomfortable, climate change is killing them.”

[b3achysurfer]

and y’all wonder why I hate his ugly ass LOOK AT HIM 🤬

MY FRIEND MADE THIS I'M GONNA CRY (I don't support the Boyfriends webtoon and neither do they)

LEAVE LOGAN ALONE

[vividmilk]

Sam and Darlin HCs!

<3:

Darlin’s-

. got their wisdom teeth before anyone else in the pack

. by consequence , got their wisdom teeth removed before everyone else and cried for about 3 days straight after

. LOVES SCRITCHES behind their ears , on their scalp and under their chin

. is always hotter than the Sahara desert, in both ways

. will most definitely beat up anyone who is rude to sam, despite his pleads not to

. has a few tattoos , and plans to get one to represent sam

. secretly owns too many keychains from arcades and such

.ice croncher

Sam’s-

. has his bed covers a special shade on maroon

. can do the rock stare perfectly

. allergic to cats and walnuts

. was never born with wisdom teeth , calls his fangs his wisdoms

. scared of kids who smoke / vape

. literally smacks vapes and/or cigarettes out of darlin’s hands

. hands are colder than the Antarctic

. also , an ice croncher

. likes to play smash bros , religiously

. wore lipstick one time and now wears it unironicly

. loves tank putting their head on his chest and cuddling up to him

[darknessawaits28]

Get your head in the game Choomba- Cyberpunk 2077 Pt. 1

*Phone ringing*

"V here."

"Hey V, it's River, wanted to ask if you was free?"

"At the moment...yeah I'm free....what's up?" V smiled as she drove her cotton candy colored Caliburn down the freeway at 120 miles per hour.

"Uh...wanted to invite you over for dinner at Joss's....if you can make it?"

"Huh, dinner, that sounds interesting."

"Yeah...we'll be waiting...hope to see you."

"I'll be there River, no need to pout."

River laughed on the other side of the phone call before hanging up and getting himself ready; aka showering, putting on some nice cologne and clothes for V.

As V continued to drive, Johnny magically appeared next to her, glaring daggers at her. "What now Johnny?"

"Nothing, I just am laughing internally because you don't seem to notice what is going to happen next" Johnny gagged a bit, knowing for a fact that V was going to fuck River tonight.

"Excuse me, what happens to my body is my choice Johnny, you're just a passenger" V grumbled as she changed lanes to head to the Red Peaks' Trailer Park.

"You sure about that?" Johnny smirked as he lifted his right hand, forcing V to do the same with her right hand.

"Fuck Johnny, stop it, I'm driving at high speeds, you wanna kill us both!" V shouted worriedly as she held the wheel with her left hand.

"Pull up by Kendall park" Johnny ordered.

V rolled her eyes as she got control back in her right arm and turned into the wrong exit, heading to this so called park. As she pulled into the parking lot, she parked her car, glaring angrily at Johnny. "You could've seriously killed us you fuck head!"

"Relax, you're a good driver, I wouldn't have done that if you weren't" Johnny snickered, pulling off his glasses and putting them on the dashboard.

"Okay...so now what?" V sighed, hoping that this was quick because she had to get to River's place soon.

"V....I just.....ugh....I don't....whatever....".

"Come on, spill" V chuckled, crossing her arms as she waited for the whole pep talk he was going to give her.

"I just...after all this time we've been together V.....I'm starting to fall for you....more and more." "I mean not just because of your clusterfuck of hormones you have...but because you're such a great friend to me" Johnny admitted.

V, taken aback by his response, sat there in silence, trying to figure out what the fuck to say. "Johnny I....-" she gulped. "How would this even work?" "Not trying to be a bitch in this moment but you're just a relic in my brain, how can we be together?"

Johnny nodded, giving her a side smirk, "I used to know a girl that would always brag that she can copy engram's and clone them into a body." "We could see if she's still alive or find someone that can do that."

"Johnny, seriously, now you tell me this, after all this time of you being in my fucking brain!"

"Hey, hey, hey, they're not gonna actually fix you up and take the relic out of your slot, but they can like slice a part of the relic and make a copy of my signature." "I think the copy can last up to two weeks but that's it."

V groaned angrily as she rubbed her temples, trying to figure out what should she do next. "Fuck, let me go to River's at least, have some dinner, and then we bounce; sound good?"

"He's gonna try and fuck you V, I saw it in his eyes" Johnny chuckled, grabbing his shades and putting them back on.

"I mean he is hotter than the Sahara desert" V bite her bottom lip in a sexy manner, causing Johnny to take control of her right hand and make her slap herself.

"What the fuck, Johnny!?" V jumped slightly, Johnny beginning to laugh hysterically.

V simply rolled her eyes and put her car in reverse and headed out of the parking lot to the trailer park where River asked to meet her.

[luckyqueenreign]

GURRRRLLLLL… I have thoughts!

1. MC is gorg, thank god!!!

2. When Ivy mentioned they already did an “ex in the villa” last season I died. Whoever wrote these first few episodes definitely had some funny “we know last season sucked” moments💀

3. Ivy is Kat in glasses (which lol we’re those supposed to make her look nice?), but damn girl has some bad RBF (already kinda hate her)

4. THEY GAVE MC A PERSONALITY!!!!!!! Job, our type, and we got to pick the dude we want✅✅✅

5. When it was revealed the #doubletrouble is our LITERAL FREAKING TWIN I laughed out loud, but then my heart sank. Is this bitch gonna be the one stealing our man the whole time or are we bestie sisters?? Picking all the safe, “I love you, I trust you” options just incase. Don’t need her stealing Lewie or Ozzy from me rn🤞🏼

6. But also OF FREAKING COURSE SHE COMES OUT LOOKING HOTTER THAN US🙄🙄🙄

7. THE KISSING! It was almost over kill how much MC can kiss who she wants these first 3 episodes but a much better change than last season where we got NO bits

Okay girlie pop I need your thoughts now! (almost came here after ep 1 bc I had so many already)

BESTIEEEEE SAME!!!

YES and I went through it so fast at first because I just wanted to start the season already but I feel like I'll go back and explore later so I can change up my look a little more. (especially since our twin is currently hotter...can't have that)

2. nah the jokes were actually so good. loved the callback moments !! 3. Ivy lowkey sucks like Kat was a b but she had her redeeming moments...ivy's 25 point checklist and her growling at anyone that comes near her man is so weird. Like girl YOU dont even know if u like this man yet. SETTLE DOWN!

4. THE JOB! And they actually mentioned it again (I chose fashion designer)

5. im doing the exact same. choosing all of the safe BFF options because they wouldnt make our TWIN steal our man. That's evil.

6. girl...... when she came out and they said she had our face. I was like she does???? 💀

7. the kissing was giving me s3 vibes but ILL TAKE THAT over the Sahara desert of no bits last season

[milk-crafting]

I have drawings I need to finish but bed so cozy and its so hot in the rest of the apartment 😔

The solution is to draw in bed ofc

Also fun fact, my area of Texas is supposed to be hotter than anywhere on earth today except for the Sahara desert 😌 I definitely love it here

[shhhhhiminsidesaitamascloset]

because in some parts of the US its ten times hotter than the sahara desert and some people dont own air conditioning.

[queerworldtravelers]

Palermo, Sicily - The Finale

38°07'55" N, 13°20'8" E

We visited almost every museum on the list…in the last days we were in Palermo! The city started to cook in the summer heat and we now have a new appreciation for Matt Goulding’s comments: “After a few days, you learn to turn down one street because it smells like jasmine and honeysuckle in the morning; you learn to avoid another street because in the heat of the afternoon the air is thick with the suggestion of swordfish three days past its prime.”

We attempted to go to the Zisa Palace a few times. On the first Sunday of the month all state run museums offer free entry and the Zisa was not having anything to do with free entry. We were met with closed signs more often than we would like to admit, but we were rewarded for our tenacity on our final try. Originally a hunting palace during Norman rule and then left to deteriorate until the state of Sicily bought it in the 1990s, the Zisa is now a part of the UNESCO Arab-Norman Palermo and the Cathedral Churches of Cefalù and Monreale World Heritage Site. It is stunning even when being renovated. We found the air conditioning system absolutely fascinating. The palace is strategically positioned to face north-east, allowing the structure to capture refreshing sea winds. A gorgeous fountain in front of the main hall supplies humidity for fresh air. There are also vent ducts throughout the house positioned to capture and circulate the scorching Sirocco winds off of the Sahara Desert. We couldn’t help but imagine returning some day with a mountain of cash to return the palace to its original glory. 

Palermo days started to get really hot and our winter gear was starting to get even hotter! We made another trip out to Cefalu to cool off and collect some more linen. In Italy one can choose to go to the free beach or the lido. A lido is a place that charges around €20 for two chairs and an umbrella and the benefit is that they have a bathroom, food, changing rooms, and a little bit less trash. We attempted to do research, but it was really a crap shoot. We picked the one with yellow umbrellas so the pictures would look nicer. We handed over our €20 and they tried to stuff us by the trash cans! Lesson number one for Sicily: always, always, always decide on the rate AND what you are getting BEFORE you hand over any money. A little push back got us a seat in the middle of the madness which proved to be a great people watching spot for the day. We still have no idea how to reserve a front row lido seat, but we are certain that comes with time and experience. We stopped by Le Chat Noir for dinner and had the absolute best anchovies in the whole world.

Mary really wanted to see the Renato Guttuso paintings at the Villa Cattolica and we had a dinner date with David and Rikard, so we hopped on the train and spent the day in Bagheria. The place was stunning! The building interior and grounds are incredible and so is the collection of art. We highly recommend a visit. Fighting off mosquitoes while admiring incredible art stirred up an appetite, so we stopped into the Friggitoria (fry shop) for an arancini because our days of giant fried rice balls stuffed with goodness were certainly coming to an end. We had dreams of walking by the addresses for Krystal ancestors, but it was literally so hot we thought our feet would melt. Instead we headed to Barotolo’s bar in Porticello to enjoy a few aperol spritzes in the sea breeze. Our evening wrapped up with a glorious meal at Cafe Buttita with David and Rikard. Complete with a never-ending flow of a white wine from Marsala we had the best night ever.  We also froze as Rikard noted the last train to Palermo passing as we were just being served a thinly sliced banana soaked in Marsala wine. Shit. This led to a wild adventure where Rikard drove us all the way back to the Ballarò. Truly a gift to have caring people who understand the limitations of public transportation in Sicily in our orbit. 

Did we mention how hot it was getting? Where does one go when it is sweltering? The mall! We took the tram (Palermo totally has a tram, but it is slightly disjointed because the EU threatened to take the funds back if they didn’t get it done. So they built it…part of it.) to the mall. This may have been the best decision we have ever made. It is an interior mall with glorious air conditioning. We realized all of the shops on Via della Libertà in Palermo are for tourists who don’t mind melting between shops. The Forum, however, has food and all of the shops and did we mention AC? We had a blast! Krystal wandered into a dress shop and the sales lady decked her out with really great dresses that were on sale! We were stocked for summer and we even got new underwear! Note that when everything you own fits in a 40L bag, you wash and wear what you do have a lot! 

Armed with unwavering confidence in the Palermo public transportation system we took the bus to the far end of town to visit the Palazzina Cinese and the Sicilian Ethnographic Museum. After visiting we are now firmly in the camp of not believing a word most published reviews report. Wow. The Palazzina Cinese was free to enter and absolute magic. Designed and built for King Ferdinand III of Sicily and kept in respectable condition by the Commune of Palermo it is well worth a visit. Stunning frescoes, a marble bathtub, and a tabletop that is set one story below and elevated up to the dining table by a lift are just a few mind blowing details.

Our favorite museum in all of Sicily was one of the last ones we visited. Next door to the Palazzina Cinese is the Sicilian Ethnographic Museum. Founded by the scholar Giuseppe Pitrè in 1909 the collection is beautifully cared for and shines light on many artifacts of everyday Sicilian life. We even saw locks of hair that reportedly belonged to Roger II of Sicily the King of Sicily. The most incredible thing was the kitchen! Dreamy indoor wood fired brick ovens and luscious tile provided a backdrop for old Roman-style water jugs and giant pots we imagine once held mountains of caponata. 

Our last adventure before heading to Tunisia was to see the tiny elephants that once roamed Sicily. They are, or were, totally real and super fascinating! Imagine an elephant the size of a pony! 

We were leaving Sicily just as the summer season was in full swing. The markets were brimming with goodness: apricots, cherries, plumbs, figs as well as tuna and anchovies. We also discovered the refreshing respite of pistachio granitas. Really a special icy treat for the hottest moments in the day. 

It was a gift to get to know Palermo and we have made dear lifetime friends. We will be back soon! 

[remithefoxlovepl]

"Hey Elene looking pretty as usual" Tony he's like your typical leather jacket guy from the movies greese if you have heared of them then yeah picture that in your mind

"Where's Maybelle she should be here yknow cause I Klhoe am never wrong" that is not true she is usually wrong but she likes to say she's never wrong in a joking matter she's there for everyone even to Maxine lately Maxine has been going through some things so Khloe is there for her

Maybelline is a pretty southern girl she is always having everyone's back even marrisas so once everyone showed up they took marrisa's truck and they started driving to the graduation party

"Why it's hotter than the Sahara desert" Maybelline spoked

"I have the ac on maybelle"

The car breaks down in the middle of no where to where they need to walk through a forest

(TW Swearing if you don't like swearing please skip this bit if you need to)

"Shit!"

"What is it marrisa why you look like you gotten your tunes tied"

"Car broke down maybelle"

"Wait car broke down aww does that mean I won't be able to get my nails and get to party today damn"

Everyone got out of the truck to go into the woods which for some reason there was random woods in the middle of Texas heat!

"I'm sorry but I've seen better decor at a sizzler than this"

"Maxine I swear to god I will throw u into a lake now let's split up I'm with Khloe, Maxine your with lilith, Elene your with Tony, and Jaxon your with Maybelline let's go"

To be continued...

[pancakehouse]

this GAME omg!! 3 or 4 pls if you haven’t yet? 🖤🖤🖤

HI omg hi darling!!! soooo sorry for how late this is, im SO unbearably slow, but i had lots and lots of fun with this one!! <3 <3

3. love always wakes the dragon and suddenly flames everywhere.  

(vaguely nsfw)

It’s the heat that gets them, in the end. 

Tuesday afternoon, and the peak of summer. Sweat works its way into every folded crease of Sirius’ skin, every tiny, inconsequential buttonhole; pooling in droplets that reproduce and multiply, soaking right through one of his rattiest t-shirts before he strips it off altogether. 

They’ve taken to lying on the kitchen tiles for cover. Spines to the grotty porcelain, faces tilted towards the open window. A breeze filters through, but it’s weak and pitiful; hardly enough to flutter an eyelash, let alone do any real cooling. 

This heat is blistering. A week of it now - relentless, and fleece-blanket stifling. Sirius whimpers, pressing a damp tea towel further into his face. “Remuuus,” he says, and blindly throws an arm out. It knocks against warm, sweat-slick skin that twitches under his touch. “Remus, my towel needs more water.” 

There’s no response. Sirius whimpers some more, trying - and failing - to lift his head from the ground. It’s too heavy, weighed down by hair and exhaustion and the soupy, unreal haze of a dragging afternoon. He’s going to die here, probably. Left to rot on a floor that’s definitely not been cleaned since they moved in two months ago. 

“Why is it so fucking hot,” he whines. He thinks it’s Remus’ side he’s got a grip on - his ribcage, the tender skin between bones. Sirius drags his finger along the ridges; feeling, more than hearing, Remus’ sharp inhaled breath. The delicate shudder that runs through him, the half-baked moan pulled from his throat. Somehow, the kitchen grows hotter.

“Sirius,” murmurs Remus. His voice is gravel-road rough; scrapes on skin, exposed and raw.

Heart pounding, Sirius uses his other hand to rid of the tea towel. When he opens his eyes, Remus is staring at the ceiling, head thrown back. His throat is long and golden, bobbing as he swallows, cheeks flushed pink and lips parted. He looks - well. Fuck. Sirius burns all over; the tips of his fingers, molten ache pooling in his abdomen. 

Remus is still wearing his own t-shirt, but it’s rucked up to his chest, boxers damp with sweat and clinging to his skin. Sirius’ gaze flicks to his hip bones, pale and protruding, and his throat feels dry; scratchy and cracked, a week-long sojourn through the Sahara fucking desert. 

This want - he’s carried it with him for ages now. For months, years, since the conception of all known universe. It’s become something of a comfort, if not torture; a familiar weight in his lungs, pulling, pulling: yes, there you are. can i come with? oh, anywhere. anywhere you like.

The heat bakes his mind, turns it delirious and hazy-red. Sirius flattens his palm against Remus’ ribs, tests curling his fingers in. His heart pounds when Remus exhales, shaky, his back arching off the tiles. It looks involuntary, instinctive; and no choice Sirius makes will ever be more important than what comes next. 

He presses his thumb in, slides it down to skirt the edges of Remus’ waistband, eyes glued to his face, watching for - for anything. Goosebumps dance across flesh, and when Sirius’ nail grazes the fine hairs on his belly, there’s no missing the full-on moan Remus lets out. 

The kitchen burns. They’ve been transported, dropped into a pit of unending flames, and everything is red, red, red. Sirius gazes at him, stretched out on the tiles, golden skin taut and breaths coming in fast, harsh pants. 

When Remus looks over, his eyes are bright and syrup-hazy, full of the same burning heat pulsing through Sirius’ fingertips. He feels breathless with it. It echoes across the kitchen; off the ceiling, the floor, the useless inches of space between them. Sirius wants and wants and wants. 

It’s the same spark that pulses through his gut every time Remus shuffles out of his room in mornings, all sleep-soft and rumpled; every time his nose scrunches when he laughs; every time he drinks more than one glass of wine and is made of pink cheeks and bright eyes and lopsided grins for the rest of the night. 

“Moony,” he whispers, not wanting to cut through the haze permeating the air. He leans over, forearm on the tile above Remus’ head. Grins stupidly, watches Remus’ cheeks go pinker. “Oh, darling,” murmured softly, “you are just so fucking sweaty.” 

“Christ,” Remus huffs. A tentative grip at his hips; a lazy, lopsided grin. Then: “You’re an idiot.”

[crappymixtape]

omgomgomgomg i’m working and fuuuuuck i wanna read this nownownow 😵‍💫🫶🏼🤩🔥 can’t wait bb, you know imma blow you up with the review later 💖

EDIT: WELL FUCK A JOB, I READ THIS INSTEAD AND GOOD GOD. IT'S GLORIOUS. the way i was grinning and laughing like a fucking asshole and kicking my feet and giggling about all of steve's stupid lil antics and jokes AND THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE HIM. OH HOLY HELL. the pool scene?? are you kidding me??

“I wanna know what’s got your panties in such a twist,” he says. Your heart thuds in your ears, throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “Are your panties in a twist? Is that why you’re all out of breath?” “Steve,” you warn, though there’s no malice in your tone, only hesitancy. You curse yourself inwardly.  His voice drops into a whisper, “Is this a sexy book?”

His smug self reaches down to grab a handful of your freshly pourn candies and plops a few into his mouth. You’re about to reprimand him when he moans around the mouthful, saying, “You taste so sweet, baby.” Your throat dries. It’s worse than the Sahara Desert. Sandpaper slides across your vocal cords, your mouth opening and closing to try and form sentences. Words. Vowels. Anything would be better than the fish-like gape you’re left with, eyes widened in absolute horror.  “What did you just say?”  He turns to face you, his hip pressing against the countertop. Another M&M is lifted to his pursed lips, tongue sliding over it before pulling it into his mouth, his voice low as he repeats slowly, “You taste…so sweet…baby.”

You’re so rendered immobile by the sight you briefly forget it’s a scene that happens in your book. A moment when Cora realizes she’s physically attracted to her best friend. Only you differ from her in the fact that you’ve known Steve Harrington has been gorgeous for years. If that isn’t enough, though, when his body slowly walks up the stairs and he turns around to face you, your cheeks burn hotter than the sun could have ever warmed your skin. Because he slides a hand up onto his hair, bicep and abdominals rippling and on display.  Is he moving in slow motion? No, he can't be. Can he? What the actual fuck is going on?

The fourth day brings soft serve ice cream, which is usually an innocent, non-sexual experience. Until, that is, Steve starts trailing his tongue along it. Little kitten strokes at first, long swipes through cream, the occasional slurp. And that’s all fine and dandy, something you can deal with, until he moans and you have to threaten him with the garden hose (after contemplating using it on yourself to cool off) because you’re not sure if you're about to combust into flame or kiss him square on the mouth and ask him to reenact his performance with the ice cream for real this time.

this is literal perfection. you've done it. sent my soul straight outta my body 🥴😮‍💨 I LOVE IT <3

Bad Idea - s.h. x f!reader

note: thank you to @crappymixtape for the initial prompt that started this fun little fic. <3

summary: steve happens upon you while you're reading a smutty book and chaos ensues.

warnings: oral (f receiving); p in v smut -- that's all, really; barely edited, slightly rom-com vibes, so do not take this seriously (haha).

-

“I got a bad idea. How 'bout we take a little bit of time away?”

-

A fan blows in the distance. The low hum is a constant drone, offset by the sounds of your quiet breathing and the gentle turn of a yellowed page in your book. You’ve been sitting in your window nook for hours, the weather too hot outside to linger for too long. 

Your fingers halt on your current page, eyes glancing out your bedroom window. 

Summer burns bright outside. The sky is a bright blue, smiling down on all those who thrive beneath it, its golden sun winking on full display. Your bedroom window is parted enough to allow air to filter in, the sounds of birds chirping greeting your ears. Across the yard is the Harrington backyard. Their pool glints blue and bright beneath you, lounge chairs filled by his parents now back from whatever business trip they’d been on, glasses of champagne already in hand. 

Steve’s mother soaks up the sun, all long, lean legs, wide brim sun hat, oversized glasses, and the diamond ring on her finger that seems gargantuan even from here. You catch the sight of his father, stark dark hair like his son’s, leaning over to press a kiss to his wife’s lips before settling down on the chair beside her. 

Steve’s nowhere to be found, but you know that’s always the case when they’re home. He’s likely on an errand, trying to stay away from the home, trying to cut all interactions to a bare minimum. Because he’s twenty-two and still working at Family Video, he’s twenty-two and should have more in his savings, should be taking on the family business, should be thinking about his future, should be—

Your attention is drawn by the sound of children’s laughter. The neighbor’s kids have shoddily drawn a hopscotch grid onto the ground, the sound of their sneakers knocking against the warm concrete audible even over the low hum of the cars that slowly slide on past. 

And there, in front of your home, you catch the all too familiar sight of Steve’s BMW, and that pretty head of dark hair as he clambers out the driver’s side door, sunglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. 

Your eyes return to your book, knowing you have approximately sixty seconds until he’s in your bedroom and making himself at home. The main characters, two best friends oddly enough, are about to finally cross over a line of no return. You’ve read it enough times to know what comes next. 

Nathan will tell Cora he loves her and she’ll tell him the same. He’ll grab her in his arms, pull her close, and kiss her until she’s breathless…

“Hey.” 

And there he is, all fitted denim and a striped tee shirt that shows off how generous the years have been to your best friend. Long gone are his gangly limbs of boyhood. Now he’s all corded muscle, finely hewn, high cheekbones, that lovely jaw, dark eyes and his goofy smile that has your heart somersaulting as he plops down against the sea of pillows near your headboard. 

“Hey,” you reply, eyes shifting back to your book. 

It’s not unusual to sit in silence like this. In fact, he pulls one of your Cosmopolitan magazines from your bedside table and glances down at the woman with gorgeously blown out hair, shifting over onto his stomach. You both read in silence, your ankles hooking over one another as the scene in your book changes and suddenly Nathan and Cora are kissing in the back seat of his car, a little hot and heavy, wild and dirty, groping hands starting to remove clothes. 

Your hand comes up to curl around the back of your neck, wiping at some of the sweat pooling there, both from the way Nathan’s hands slide underneath Cora’s shirt and slide along her breast, and the heat spilling in from outside. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, head lifting from whatever article he’s likely not even really reading, hair flopping with the suddenness of the gesture.  

You close the book for a moment, thumb holding your place, and offer him a nod. “Anything good in there? I don’t even know why my mom orders them; I don’t even read them.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t read this article on ‘Ten Ways to Please Your Man?’” He chuckles, turning the magazine to show you. “Really riveting stuff. I’ll cut this one out for you.”

“You’re such an ass,” you snap, though your voice breaks off into a laugh at the end. You never really can stay mad at him, not when he looks at you like a lost puppy in need of attention. All round dark eyes, elbows on your bed, lip jutting out just so. “Stop pouting. It’s not a good look—and don’t make any corny comments about how all your looks are good looks. Don’t you give me that face, I’ve known you since we were eight.” His look of incredulity falters, those lips of his curling into a smile because he knows you’re right. 

Your eyes drift back to your book, picking up right where you left off as Nathan’s fingers unbutton Cora’s jean shorts and he helps to slide them down her thighs, fingers exploring every new inch of exposed flesh. 

“Want to go to a movie tonight with Robin and Eddie? We all have off, might as well,” Steve muses, flipping the page of the magazine, and then flipping it again when he realizes it’s only ads for some clothing brand. “They want to see Dead Poets Society, and I remember you said you wanted to see it last week.”

Nathan’s fingers slide beneath the waistband of Cora’s underwear, asking for permission to touch her in a way no one else has. Your knees press together involuntarily, hand coming to rest over your swiftly beating heart, suddenly very grateful for the fan oscillating in the corner of your room. 

“Did you hear me?” Steve asks, rolling over onto his back. His head dangles upside down over the edge, face immediately growing red like a tomato, your head shaking at him. “I asked if you wanted to go to the movies with Robin and Eddie later.”

“Oh…” You swallow as Nathan’s fingers start a slow drag along Cora’s center, making her writhe and moan in the back seat of the car, the sun setting and bathing everything in pink and orange shades that dance along his skin with dappled light. “Y-yeah. Sounds good, Stevie. I’d love to.”

You settle back into a comfortable silence. Steve still hangs upside down, tossing a tennis ball you must have left on your floor up into the air from your brief stint trying to play. Couples tennis, minus the fact the two of you weren’t a couple. But he thought it would be funny, and you’d long decided you would give everything at least one chance before ruling it out. 

Your eyes drift back to the page, resuming where you left off, right when Nathan slides Cora’s panties down her thighs and asks if he can taste her. Your breath catches, and Steve rolls back over to look at you, brows furrowed high on his forehead in concern. 

“Are you okay over there? Seriously. You’re breathing all funny and you’re barely here right now as it is,” he worries his lip between his teeth, those dark eyes of his meeting yours from across the room. 

“I’m okay.” You glance down at your lap and tap your book. “You just walked in as things were picking up in my book.”

Maybe it’s not the right choice of words in retrospect. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it at all and instead played it off like, yes, yes you were feeling a little under the weather because of the heat. But you don’t, and it’s the small fumble over your words that has Steve pushing himself upward to sit on the bed, head tipping lightly toward your floppy paperback. 

“What are you reading anyway?” 

“Nothing,” you mutter, sliding your bookmark into place. You press your book onto the cushion beside you, arms coming to curl around your body, shoulders shrugging. “Just a book.”

“You already said that,” he replies, throwing one foot over the edge of the bed, followed by the other. You shift further against your nook, your book sliding beneath a pillow as your hip bumps against it, obscuring it from view. “What kind of book is it?”

“Adventure,” you say quickly, turning a bit to meet him as those hands come to rest on either of your shoulders. “You haven’t hugged me today.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, but he appeases you anyway, his face inches from yours as he bends down to fold you against him. 

You hum against his chest, relishing in his warmth, when you ask, “And what is that?” 

“Trying to distract me.”

“I’m not distracting—”

Your words are cut off, because Steve’s hand reaches swiftly behind you to curl around the edge of your book and tug it close to his chest. The shriek you let out frightens even yourself as you rush after him, arms curling around his waist and sending him hurtling down against your bed. The book skitters toward your headboard, but that’s the least of your worries right now. 

The only thing terrifies you more than him reading the scene that comes after where you left off is the way you’re sitting on top of him. With a slow, horrifying clarity, you take in the room around you. Thighs splayed on either side of his hips, your hands pinning his arm closest to the book above his head, and his hands reflexively against your hips. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your palms, those dark irises rounding around the edges, his fingers clutching into the belt loops on your shorts. 

You both look at each other in silent panic. Because this is your best friend. This is over ten years of friendship lying beneath you. It’s the boy who has seen you scrape your knees learning how to ride a bike, sat next to you on the swings at the park, was there for your first heartbreak. Because he’s the boy you were there for when it then happened to him with Nancy, the one you walked around town with after dark on a warm day with cups of ice cream in hand, the one you told everything to, who knew you best, the boy you snuck your first beer with, and fought off monsters from the Upside Down alongside. 

Luckily, he seems to come to the same revelation just as quickly, shoving you off him onto the mattress, hands coming to dance along your ribs until your sides hurt from laughing so hard. A foot comes out to kick him in the thigh when his hand slides out above you, and you hear the familiar slide of your paperback against a blanket. 

“Not fair!” You growl, watching him lean back on his haunches, book tucked into his shirt that he’s then tucked into his jeans. “That’s disgusting. You can keep it now. You’re sweaty.”

“I just showered.”

You huff. “Still. Why do you care about what’s in it so much?” 

“I wanna know what’s got your panties in such a twist,” he says. Your heart thuds in your ears, throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “Are your panties in a twist? Is that why you’re all out of breath?”

“Steve,” you warn, though there’s no malice in your tone, only hesitancy. You curse yourself inwardly. 

His voice drops into a whisper, “Is this a sexy book?”

You want to throttle him. Want to wrap your hands around his shoulders and shake the look of pure and utter delight off his smug features. Only you don’t. You sit there and watch as he slides off your bed and stretches his arms above his chest, which outlines the rectangle hiding against his skin all the more. 

It’s then you remember: Steve Harrington hates books. Hated them in high school so much that you had to always read them for him and give him your breakdown of what happened, and you know for a fact he hates them now. The likelihood that’ll change brings you some peace. Confidence rising, you lean back onto your palms, grinning widely up at him. 

“Movies at eight then?”

He arches a brow at your sudden shift in demeanor. “Uh…yeah, sure. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

Everything will be just fine. 

-

Only it’s not. 

You learn quickly that, though Steve’s hated every book given to him thus far in life, he absolutely devours this one. 

There are certain fears that have always lingered in the back of your mind throughout the years. 

The first being the worry one day Steve would find out about your years-long crush you’ve had on him. The feelings that have lingered way longer than you ever intended for them to. And it’s not like you hadn’t tried to push them aside; you dated other people, put yourself out there, all to take your mind off of it. It always works…initially. That is, until he does or says something that has you falling all over again, wondering if he’d ever feel the same—wondering if he’s ever felt the same. 

But this isn’t a romcom movie, and not all stories like these end up in a relationship, and you had already accepted that…for the most part. If there’s any hope, it’s more like a small flame. A tiny flicker. Nothing noteworthy or remarkable to see here. 

Your second fear is the newest one. The fear that Steve would read the book you’d allowed him to sneak out of your house a week ago—actually read it—and unleash a new kind of petrifying hell on you and take actual pleasure in your demise. 

It starts over Eddie’s place. He’s got an apartment with Robin now, a dingy little place you’ve always thought they should move out of, but theirs all the same. Robin and Eddie are picking out a movie while you and Steve stand in the kitchen, getting various bowls and trays ready with chips, candy, popcorn, and drinks. 

Neither of you has said anything about the book catastrophe. That night, you’d gone to the movies as planned and even shared a soda together, your shoulder pushed against his like nothing even happened. You figured he’d torture you a bit, keep the book for a few days, and give it back with your bookmark exactly where you’d left it. 

But he still hasn’t returned it, and when you ask him for it in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen he only shrugs and says, “I’m actually reading it again. I think I skimmed it the first time; I want to make sure I take it all in. Every word, and, you know, every inch of it.”

You glance his way out the corner of his eyes. On a good day Steve’s odd, to say the least. It’s one of the many things that endears you to him and has made you love him as much as you do. Right now, however, he’s all flushed cheeks and wide smirks, looking very much like the cat who swallowed a canary. 

“Why are you smirking?” 

You shuffle about him to reach into one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a scissor. You snip the corner edge off of an M&M bag and pour some into a bowl, watching him the whole time. 

His smug self reaches down to grab a handful of your freshly pourn candies and plops a few into his mouth. You’re about to reprimand him when he moans around the mouthful, saying, “You taste so sweet, baby.”

Your throat dries. It’s worse than the Sahara Desert. Sandpaper slides across your vocal cords, your mouth opening and closing to try and form sentences. Words. Vowels. Anything would be better than the fish-like gape you’re left with, eyes widened in absolute horror. 

“What did you just say?” 

He turns to face you, his hip pressing against the countertop. Another M&M is lifted to his pursed lips, tongue sliding over it before pulling it into his mouth, his voice low as he repeats slowly, “You taste…so sweet…baby.”

Your eye twitch is your only response. 

Your personal hell gets worse, if that’s even possible, two days later. 

It’s a particularly balmy June day. Luckily, Steve’s parents are once again out of town, leaving the two of you behind to do whatever it is the hell you want to do. The both of you had settled on a pool day. Just the two of you lounging on floats, smelling of suntan lotion, your cherry chapstick freshly smacked against your lips, and soaking in the sun’s rays. 

You’re on a round float in particular, arms spread out beside you, fingertips dancing along the pool’s surface. Music blares from a speaker in the distance, your warm beers long forgotten near the lounge chairs covered in your colorful towels. 

You still don’t have your book back, but you can’t find it in yourself to ponder on it. Not like this, not with the water dancing along your skin, chilling your sweat-slick body, bobbing along the water without a care in the world. 

“Should I make burgers or hot dogs?” Steve asks when the sun starts to set a bit and the humidity in the air lessens. 

You slip down into your tube now, legs kicking in the water, arms propped up over the plastic edges. He treads water in front of you, hair slick against his head, face tanner than it was earlier that evening. He’s even got new freckles along his shoulders, dark against his golden skin.

“Can you do both?” You grin, reaching forward to poke at his cheek. “Please?”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he says, moving to go swim toward the shallow end of the pool where the stairs are. 

You’re lucky you’re holding onto a float, because you’re pretty sure you would have momentarily choked under the water at the sight of his form disappearing beneath the surface, long legs kicking in that red bathing suit. Those strong arms of his slice into the water, perfectly practiced motions from the summers he spent life guarding. 

You’re so rendered immobile by the sight you briefly forget it’s a scene that happens in your book. A moment when Cora realizes she’s physically attracted to her best friend. Only you differ from her in the fact that you’ve known Steve Harrington has been gorgeous for years. If that isn’t enough, though, when his body slowly walks up the stairs and he turns around to face you, your cheeks burn hotter than the sun could have ever warmed your skin. Because he slides a hand up onto his hair, bicep and abdominals rippling and on display. 

Is he moving in slow motion? No, he can't be. Can he? What the actual fuck is going on?

“I’m onto you, Harrington.” You drag a thumb along your throat in a warning. 

He only laughs and flexes his arm once more, asking innocently, “Whatever do you mean?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re going to actually have to kill him. 

Over the course of the next few days Steve ups his antics. 

It’s diabolical, you’ll give him that. 

You make a mental note to talk to Eddie about it, because the dramatic flair practically screams his influence. 

One of the days he wears a button up in the middle of your kitchen and offers to wash your dishes. Slides his sleeves up over his forearms so you can see all the tendons rippling as he moves (you almost pass out). Unbuttons the collar of his shirt complaining of heat to show that dark hair spattering his skin (you walk into the fridge).

Another day he takes your hand and dances with you like Nathan and Cora do in one of the chapters, spinning you round and round despite your initial protests, to something exceedingly romantic for your best friend’s tastes.

On the third, he accidentally brushes up behind you while you’re grabbing a board game from your closet and you feel the firmness of his chest against your back. You have to pray, something you haven't done in a long time, to keep yourself from doing something you might forever regret, because when did Steve get so muscular?

The fourth day brings soft serve ice cream, which is usually an innocent, non-sexual experience. Until, that is, Steve starts trailing his tongue along it. Little kitten strokes at first, long swipes through cream, the occasional slurp. And that’s all fine and dandy, something you can deal with, until he moans and you have to threaten him with the garden hose (after contemplating using it on yourself to cool off) because you’re not sure if you're about to combust into flame or kiss him square on the mouth and ask him to reenact his performance with the ice cream for real this time.

The fifth, while you’re minding your own business and actually trying to restock the tapes at Family Video, he plants dirty quotes from the book around the place. The two of you play games all the time. It gets you both into more trouble than you’d ever really like to share or admit, but this one is bolder, more evil than any that have come before it. 

You’re torn between loathing him and loving him more for it. 

And while you don’t particularly enjoy your job there, and really only use the pay to help you put yourself through college, you also don’t want to have to explain to Keith why there’s dirty talk written and hidden in parts of the building. You can picture him firing you already, fed up with Steve’s and your constant antics. 

In the break room. I want to taste you. 

Attached to the employee bathroom mirror. Let me hear those pretty sounds. 

On a back room shelf. You feel so good around me. Feel how deep I am? 

Inside one of the cup holders in your car (must have snuck that one while you’d been in the bathroom) I want you to fuck me so hard that I forget my name. 

He’s proud of himself, laughing whenever you make a point of ripping up the paper loudly in front of him, letting the shreds drop one by one into a trash can. In actuality, though, your insides are fluttering from the words he’s chosen and you don’t even want to think about the way your thighs clench together or how you feel wetness pool inside your panties, so you decide you need to do damage control. 

“So what you’re saying is he’s torturing you?” Robin asks at the conclusion of your debrief. 

Her and Eddie sit across from you on the couch, watching wearily as you practically burn a hole in the carpet from your constant pacing. It’s been like this for a half hour. You frantically tell them all the ways Steve’s been haunting your every waking moment. How you’re feeling things you’ve long since tried to suppress. 

You’re pent up. 

A rubber band ready to snap.

You’re just afraid of what happens when that moment comes. Afraid of what you’ll do, what you might want. 

You can’t voice it, let alone allow yourself to think it. 

It would be a bad idea. 

“Yes!” You nearly shriek, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“You two share a single brain cell, and it’s actually quite amusing,” Eddie says. 

It’s the only thing he’s said the whole evening, and you pause to whirl around and face him. “What did you say?”

“The two of you,” he says evenly, hooking an ankle over his knee. “Share a combined brain cell.”

“That’s rude,” you snap, narrowing your eyes. 

He laughs, glancing over to Robin. “Are the two of you ever going to, oh I don’t know, act on your feelings? I thought it was because of all the shit with the Upside Down. But we saved the world, remember? So what gives?”

“I’m not following…”

Robin interrupts, all wild hands and frantic speech. “You two dinguses like each other. And stop with the ‘we’re best friends’ bullshit you feed everyone. The two of you are dancing around each other and have been for years now. Why not…talk it out and see what happens? You’re clearly feeling some sort of way over this weird little game the two of you are playing this week.” 

But the two of you are best friends. You’re not Nathan and Cora. That kind of stuff happens in your books. Those fated relationships, destined to be at a young age. 

You know how to separate fact from fiction. 

Steve and you are fact, and you don’t want to dabble in fiction when it comes to him.

Right…?

-

Tears for Fears blares through the speaker system, Family Video empty save for the two of you. The ‘OPEN’ sign on the door has already been flipped to ‘CLOSED.’ You’re meant to be going through new releases for Keith and unpacking them from the boxes laid out in the back room. He’s already told you where he wants them placed, which movies to arrange on certain shelves for different occasions. 

Your pencil scratches along paper, calling out the names of movies to Steve, crossing out a box to confirm you received all the titles the business was expecting. It’s tedious, and you’d rather be doing just about anything else, but it takes your mind off the tension swirling in your gut over your ‘Steve situation.’

Neither of you have spoken in a bit. More so because you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to address the elephant in the room: the fact you like him, want him, and have been struggling to remind yourself that this game you’re playing is only a game. It’s a dangerous line to walk, even scarier to tread. On one side, the safety of friendship, and on the other is the unknown. 

So you return to your tapes, the shadowed in boxes, the methodical strokes of pencil against paper. It’s another ridiculously warm day. You curse the shoddy air conditioning system Keith never calls in to get fixed, hands sliding down the sides of your skirt, grateful for the slight breeze that tickles your ankles with every movement. If Steve’s warm, he says nothing of it, only picks up the pace with going through the inventory and closes up the box once you’re finally done. 

“We just need to double check the back room is clean and then we can lock up,” he says. Your head lifts abruptly, having gone so long without hearing his voice it almost shocks you. 

“Oh, yeah. Right. Coming,” you tell him, clipping your pencil to the board and sliding the whole thing onto the shelf beneath the counter. 

Steve’s shoving the box onto a wooden table when you join him, your eyes doing a cursory scan about the room to make sure everything looks to be in its proper place. What you don’t expect to see, however, is your book resting in your pocketbook on the chair you left it atop of. 

Steve follows the line of your gaze and chuckles. “Figured it was about time I gave it back.”

You lift the tattered old thing in one hand and flip through the pages. He’s moved the bookmark all the way to the back, and you know he’s read the whole thing. Satisfied with its condition, you tuck it back into where it belongs and lean against the wooden table, palms curling around the edge as you shift to face him. 

“You done teasing me?” You ask pointedly, head tipping to the side with a little smirk. “Even I have to admit that was a cruel game.”

“Why was it cruel?” He steps closer, the already small room shrinking even further.

“You were making fun of me.”

“No I wasn’t. I liked the book,” he admits, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “I just had one question the whole time I was reading it.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” You’re genuinely curious, leaning back further against the table. 

Steve takes another step closer, dark hair bouncing with each movement, those eyes dark and kind. “You’ve written down all the dates you read the thing in the front. So I assume it’s your favorite. Why is it your favorite?”

It’s…not a bad observation. If anything, it has your blood burning a bit, heart starting to flutter faster in your chest. Still, you keep your cool, shrugging your shoulders in reply. 

“Come on now, since when do we keep things from each other?” 

His hand drops down onto the wood beside your hip, his chest nearly pressing to your knees where you sit. Your feet kick mindlessly back and forth, brushing against his shins, skirt fluttering around you. 

“I like the plot,” you admit, popping the 'p' for emphasis, trying to look anywhere but his face as you continue, “I like the idea of two people who already know each other trying to see if there’s more between them.”

“Cora and Nathan are best friends.” It’s not a question, but a fact. You nod, watching his other hand drop onto the other side of your hip. “Is that why you got all hot and bothered in your bedroom? Why those notes made you squirm?”

“Don’t be an asshole.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s a book.”

“Is that all it is?” He asks, looking into your eyes with an unfamiliar intensity. You want to hide from it, but it dredges up something new in you. Something bold and dizzying. “If it’s just a book, tell me that’s all it is and we’ll close up and go home.”

You don’t say anything for a while. 

How could you? How could you admit that the reason it’s your favorite is because it’s about two best friends falling for one another? How could you admit you dreamed and hoped maybe one day it would be your reality with him? How could you admit you wanted to taste him, touch him, feel him for years now? 

Steve moves to head back toward the main room when you make your choice. 

“Steve?” 

He whirls around on the spot, eyes searching your face. He rushes back over to where you’re sitting. Your hands slide up tentatively into his, testing the weight of them in your palms. 

You exhale a deep breath, “Kiss me?”

There’s no moment of question. No hesitance behind his gaze when he curls a palm around the side of your face and swoops down to kiss you soundly on the lips. It’s not slow and sweet like in the many movies you’ve seen and books you’ve read. Instead it’s an urgent, hurried thing. His hands slide around your hips and draw you closer to him, your thighs parting to make space for him, mouths licking into one another hungrily, years of pent up emotion spilling into the spaces between you. 

It’s a nip of his bottom lip here, the gasp from you when his mouth slides along your cheek in search of your jaw, sucks below your ear in a way that has you clutching at his shoulders, dragging him closer. Fingers pinch into skin. Frantic hands slide over your Family Video vest, his mouth forming the quiet question of “Can I?” And your head is nodding, heart thundering. He slips it free from your form and touches at the hem of your shirt hesitantly. 

“You can touch me,” you rasp out, hands clutching around the edge of the table. A callused palm slides up and along your skin, dances along the curve of your breast, right over the rapid thrum of your heart. “Stevie…”

He’s kissing you again, hand sliding out from underneath your shirt and instead rucking up the sides of your skirt. A gust of cold air hits the tops of your thighs as he bares you to him. You watch those fingers that have held you all these years, have tended your wounds, soothed away your worries, drag along your flesh. Up over the curve of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and down again. 

“I want you to touch me, Steve. I want you,” you whisper against his ear, curling an arm around his shoulder and shuddering into the side of his neck. Those fingers slip down the front of your panties and trail a dangerous path from your slick center to your clit, teasing lightly, circling where you want him most. 

He hums pleasantly. “This all for me, pretty girl?” He’s smiling to himself at your quiet cry, tracing the same pattern once more before dropping down onto his knees to help you slide them down and off your legs. “Are you sure?”

“Pleas—” Your voice breaks off into a moan. That taunting mouth of his licks a deadly path from your entrance to that sensitive nub, rendering you at his mercy. He slides one of your thighs up and over his shoulder, the other held out to open you further to him. “Just like that, just like that.”

He licks into you, murmuring into your skin about how he’s wanted you like this for years. Dirty sounds of your slick meld together with your gasps and whimpers, fingers reaching down to grasp at hair, tugging hard, hips grinding involuntarily into his face. 

“Steve!” Your head falls back at the white hot flash behind your eyes when that first finger slides in all the way to the knuckle, a sinful slide in and out of you that has you craving more. More fullness, more something, more Steve, until you’re whining pathetically. The second finger joins the first, stretching and sliding against skin, working in tandem with the flat of his tongue against your clit. 

You come with a cry of his name, body bowing over the top of his head, fingers a tangle against his scalp. He continues to lick and pump into you through your orgasm, his other hand holding tight against your hip you’re sure you’ll have bruises come morning. But you don’t care. You don’t care at all. You grip the front of Steve’s shirt and drag him upward to your mouth, tasting yourself on him. His tongue glides over your own, moans mingling in the spaces between you. 

Your hands work on his jeans next, needing more of him, his mouth moving languidly over yours. Shaky hands slide the button through the hole, fingers pushing down the zipper, the desperate wiggle of fabric down his thighs so he can kick himself out of them. You waste no time sliding him out of his boxers, hand pumping him once, twice, before he’s sliding on a condom fished from his wallet and asking you how you want him. 

It’s how you end up sliding down to the edge of the table, his fingers dipping into your slick heat, still sensitive from your orgasm, his cock straining against your hip when he drops down to kiss you once more, whispering, “Are you sure? Need your words, pretty girl.”

“I want you…I’ve wanted this, Steve.” 

You feel him nudge at your entrance, so full and thick it has your eyes rolling slightly at the first delicious stretch. Your arm curls around his shoulder to drag your chests closer, gasps mingling, the hand curling around your hip gripping tighter while he sinks inch by inch into you until he’s buried to the hilt.

He rocks slowly against you at first. A slow, torturous drag in and out. In and out. Until you’re whimpering steadily into the quiet room, ankle curling around a hip, drawing him closer. Always closer. It’s a slow build up. Face pressed into his chest, hips rolling in tandem with his, relishing in his sounds rumbling deep within his chest. 

It’s Steve, you remind yourself. 

Steve, your best friend in the world, rocking into you, chasing your peaks together. He's whispering how pretty you are, how good you feel, praising you. He murmurs ‘good fuckin’ girl’ against your mouth when your head shifts and you kiss him greedily, a messy tangle of lips, tongue and teeth. 

“Faster, Steve,” you plead, eyes pinching shut. 

His hips snap harder against yours, his grunts and groans filling the space, driving the table to knock against the wall, sending the box of new inventory hurtling to the ground. Neither of you can be bothered with it, hands clutching against clothes, mouths tangling, wet skin slapping against skin, lurching closer and closer to the edge.  

Steve’s laying you back against the table, chest crawling over your own, mouth like a brand against yours, your hair fanning around your head. He curls a forearm under your lower back, tilting your hips, the new angle hitting that part of you over and over and over again that makes your vision grow white around the edges. Your whimpers of his name spurring him on, your thigh crooked over one of his elbows, drawing him closer, deeper. 

Steve comes seconds after you do, face red and chest heaving, gasping at the way your body clenches around him. Kisses you in between broken cries of his name falling from your pretty lips. 

Your thigh slides back down from around his elbow. The other thigh slowly drops back down against the wood, skirt bunching indecently around your hips, his chest heavy against yours. Your fingers come up to brush along his hair, humming when he leans over to kiss you once, twice, and then slides off of you, your body immediately missing the feeling of being full of him. 

You dress and clean in silence. Little awkward chuckles spilling here and there as he helps you slide your underwear back on, head disappearing beneath your skirt to teasingly nip at the inside of a thigh. Your hands help to smooth his unruly hair back into place. It’s a gentle slide of fingers together when you both make your way out to his car and slip inside, the cheeky grin from him when he leans over the center console and smacks a kiss against your cheek, making your skin burn ablaze. 

“Want to go get food? Maybe a milkshake,” he suggests, curling a hand around his steering wheel. “On me.” 

“Like a date?” You muse, watching his hand curl around your own to draw your palm to his lips for a slow kiss into the center. 

“If you want it to be.”

-

Steve and you open up at Family Video the next day. 

Your late night plans the day before in hindsight may not have been the best idea either of you had in a while, but seeing him early that next morning with his sunglasses perched on his face and his lips eagerly seeking yours over the center console had made it worth it. 

You’d spent the evening huddled over a basket of fries, talking about your feelings, about giving things a try, constantly touching. Hands, cheeks, shoulders, legs. You craved it all, this new need to be attached at all times, butterflies fluttering in bellies, grins tugging at faces. Later it had been chocolatey milkshake kisses under the stars at Lover’s Lake, a new world of exploration at your fingertips. 

Presently, Robin and Eddie mill about in the distance, looking for a movie for your usual Friday night in, the two of them calling various movie titles over to where you and Steve work behind the countertop. 

“How about Heathers?” Eddie asks, just as Keith barrels out of the back room, looking red in the face and on a mission. 

“Looks like you two—” he points between you and Steve. “—did some rearranging in the back room last night. That wall you dented and then tried to hide behind the table, however you managed that, I don’t know…but yeah, you’ll be paying for it. And the stack of movies on the floor? If any are busted, I’ll dock both your pay for them as well. Count your lucky stars I’m not firing you both.” 

He’s gone back the way he came, leaving you standing beside Steve, your mouths open, eyes rounded in fear. 

Steve mouths, “We forgot to clean up the movies…”

You turn into his chest to hide, mortification burning your face. 

Robin and Eddie smirk, high-fiving amidst the movie displays. 

-

[lostinthewiind]

I know it’s been a while since you posted this one but maybe a smutty part 4 for the thick thighs save lives daichi fic…you could age them up of course to maybe living together in college or something 😁

Thick Thighs Save Lives Part 4

A/N: I will honestly NEVER get tired of this series so hell yeah you can have a smutty part 4! Time to put those thighs to good use, Daichi!

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: thigh-riding, female!reader, female anatomy, male anatomy, aged-up characters, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjob

Stepping into your shared apartment after a long, exhausting day of classes was like you had been transported into the Sahara Desert. The wave of heat hit you like a freight train; an unpleasant contrast to the air-conditioned hallway of the apartment complex.

"Holy crap!" you exclaimed, immediately kicking off your shoes and setting down your things. "It's like a fricken sauna in here!"

Not a second later, your roommate and best friend, Daichi, emerged from his bedroom, shirtless and sweating. "The AC unit stopped working," he said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I texted the landlord but he said there is nothing he can do until Monday."

Throwing your head back, you groaned. "And here I was hoping for a relaxing Friday night."

Daichi nodded. "And we can't even open the windows because it's just as hot, if not hotter, outside."

"Just great." You rolled your eyes, the heat already starting to get to you and induce irritation. "Please tell me we at least still have running water. Cold running water."

"That we do have," Daichi assured you as he headed for the bathroom. "Speaking of which, I'm going to take a cold shower."

"Don't be too long," you told him as you started for your bedroom, ready to change into a sports bra and shorts. "I need a shower too."

Approximately an hour later, after both you and Daichi had stood under the cold water until your lips turned blue, the two of you sat in the living room wearing as little clothing as possible, lazily fighting over who would get the shower next.

As expected, it hadn't taken long for the effects of the cold shower to wear off, leaving you both sweating and nearly panting again in no time.

"How about this?" Daichi turned to look at you from his spot on the couch, "I go hop in the shower again and you run out and buy us some fans."

Rolling over onto your back on a spot of cool floor, you scoffed. "How about I shower and you go shopping? Hmm?"

Daichi only grunted, meaning he was no more willing to step out into the humid monstrosity that was waiting outside than you were. "We really need to find a better place to live," he finally spoke. "This place is falling apart around us."

You chuckled lightly. "And how do you suppose we do that? We're a couple of broke college students living from paycheck to paycheck."

"Yeah, you're right . . ." Daichi admitted before smiling. "But hey, at least we have each other."

You snorted before closing your eyes and exhaling slowly. "Yeah . . . at least we have each other."

There was a moment of silence before you heard a thud and the sound of skin slapping against hardwood, indicating that Daichi had decided to join you on the floor, which was much cooler than the couch. Seconds later, you could feel a presence next to you and you opened your eyes to see Daichi lying next to you on his stomach.

"If just the thought of touching you didn't give me heat flashes, I'd suggest cuddling up on the couch and watching a movie together," Daichi's voice was soft as he ghosted his fingers over your stomach, sending chills up your spine that you wholeheartedly welcomed.

You smiled even though the thought of cuddling made you feel like you were seconds away from melting into a human puddle right there on the floor. "We could watch a movie here on the floor," you suggested. "Maybe it will distract us."

"Yeah . . . maybe," Daichi agreed, but he didn't make any effort to stand up or turn on the TV. Instead, he kept ghosting his fingers along your exposed flesh, of which there was an abundance of at the moment. "Actually, scratch my previous idea . . . if we had AC right now, there is something else I'd much rather be doing with you."

You quirked a brow at him, pretending to be puzzled even though you knew exactly where he was going with this. "Hmm?" you hummed.

He grinned. "It involves the same amount of close contact—probably even more—but way less TV watching."

"Ah . . ." you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself, ". . . wrestling."

Daichi chuckled as well. "Yes, you college-educated genius, I totally meant wrestling."

As the chuckling died down, you reached out to him and ran your fingertips along his shoulder blades, eliciting a shudder and content sigh from Daichi. The sweat on his back helped your skin glide smoothly across his and for a second, you pictured how messy and slippery things would be if the two of you were tangled up in each other in bed right then.

The thought brought a new type of warmth to your body—more specifically, to your core. Suddenly, despite how hot you were, you wanted nothing more than to jump your roommate's bones. That was one way to distract yourself from the heat . . .

Daichi, ever the observant one, noticed the change in your body language and scooted closer to you, his lips inches away from your ear. "Do you remember the first time we had sex?" he spoke so nonchalantly that it actually startled you a little. His voice, so deep and soft in your ear, made you shiver. "Hmm?" he provoked, looking for an answer.

You nodded. "Yeah, it was right after we graduated high school."

"That's right." He flicked his tongue over the shell of your ear before blowing on it lightly, the combination of the cooling sensation and the loud noise heightening your anticipation. Then, you felt his fingers finally make actual contact with your skin—the skin right above the waistband of your shorts.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you let your eyes flutter shut. "It had been a long day and we both just wanted to take a quick nap before the graduation party that night," you continued the story; after all, you did know it like the back of your hand since you thought about it a lot when you were alone in your room at night.

"Just a nap." You felt Daichi smirk against your ear as his hand dipped below your waistband and into your underwear, causing you to let out a satisfied moan when his fingertips pressed down on your throbbing clit. "But it wasn't just a nap, was it?"

You shook your head and opened your mouth to say something in response, but before you could get a word out, Daichi pressed his thumb down hard on your clit while his fingers prodded your entrance, causing you to let out a pleasure-induced sigh instead.

"You were always such a tease before then," he continued to recount your first time together while he touched you the way he knew drove you wild. "Hands roaming while we cuddled, thighs squeezing around my own, soft kisses against my chest and neck. If only I had known how badly you had wanted me, I would have made a move sooner."

"Daichi," you moaned out as his fingers slipped inside of you and curled upwards. "Wanted you so badly . . . want you so badly now."

Readjusting your position on the floor, you rolled onto your side and reached out to massage Daichi's growing erection through his shorts. This was when you learned he wasn't wearing any underwear because of the heat; just a pair of loose gym shorts.

Daichi's eyes screwed shut and he hissed slightly when you touched him. "Fuck," he grunted as he rubbed the pad of his thumb against your clit, eliciting the same sort of response out of you seconds later. "I swear to God if it wasn't so fucking hot right now I would rip your clothes off and have my way with you right here on the floor."

You clenched around Daichi's fingers at the thought of having hot, sweaty sex with him on the living room floor.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Daichi felt your muscles contract around his digits and smirked. "Your body is responding so nicely to me."

Stuffing your hand down Daichi's shorts and wrapping your hand around his hard cock, you wasted no time and began to jerk him off. If it was too hot to have actual sex, then the two of you would just have to find another way to get each other off.

"Just like that, baby," Daichi cooed as you ran your thumb over the tip of his cock, collecting the precum there and spreading it along the shaft. "Shit, your hand feels so good around me. Wish it was your pussy though," he gave a rather harsh thrust of his fingers into you and curled them up into your sweet spot, making you clench around him once more, "nothing feels as good around me as your sweet pussy does."

Feeling beads of sweat beginning to drip down your back and forehead, you huffed, trying to catch your breath and cool down a little. "Clothes off," you finally said as you began to push Daichi's shorts down his legs, allowing better access to his cock and helping cool him off a little at the same time.

Following your lead, Daichi quickly pulled your shorts and underwear down as well, leaving himself completely nude and you in only your sports bra.

For the next five minutes or so, the two of you laid on the floor—which was no longer very cold at this point—and worked each other toward orgasm while panting heavily and staring into each other's eyes. If the whole ordeal hadn't been so hot and slightly uncomfortable, it might have even been a tad romantic.

Faces inches apart, the two of you laid completely still aside from your hand movements and occasional buck of the hips when the need for more friction was too much to handle. Despite how much you wanted to kiss Daichi, and how much he probably wanted to kiss you, the two of you had to stay separate in favour of allowing your mouths to draw in deep breaths.

"Close," you managed to choke out as you felt the familiar tensing sensation in your core from the constant fingering and clit stimulation. "Gonna cum."

"Me too," Daichi breathed out. "Fuck, want you to come around my cock so badly. Need more of you."

You nodded. "I want more."

Without warning, Daichi sat up, pulled you into his lap, and positioned your aching cunt over his toned thigh. "Ride my thigh, baby," he told you, arms wrapping loosely around your waist. Almost instantly, the skin-on-skin contact was too much to handle. You knew you would overheat soon but you did as he instructed anyway, the orgasm you were chasing making your brain fog up and your discomfort from the heat to suddenly not matter nearly as much as it had.

With your hand still pumping Daichi's cock, pushing him closer and closer to his own release, you began to grind your pussy against Daichi's thigh—a thigh you had had between your legs countless times before and still somehow had yet to use it in such a dirty way—the way you were quickly starting to believe it was meant for all along.

Thanks to the juices dripping from your pussy and the sweat that had accumulated on Daichi's legs, you were able to glide back and forth across his hard muscles with ease. When you felt that same sensation return, only this time much stronger than before, you threw every last ounce of energy you had left into your thigh riding and clung to Daichi like your life depended on it, completely ignoring the fact that his skin felt like it was on fire when you touched him.

"That's it," Daichi growled, head thrown back, indicating he was close as well. Tightening his hold around you and squeezing your ass with his hands, he pushed and pulled you against his thigh. "Ride my thigh just like that. Fuck. I'm gonna cum."

You nodded lazily in agreement, unable to form words with just how out of breath you were. As soon as Daichi let out a low grunt and you felt hot liquid spill onto your hand, you pressed your clit down hard onto his thigh and forced your own orgasm to wash over you as well.

Hips stuttering as your walls clenched around nothing, you fell limp in Daichi's arms as your high engulfed you before slowly releasing you seconds later.

As soon as the two of you had stopped shaking and your brain fog had cleared, you were thrown back into the reality of just how fucking hot the apartment was, and how much hotter it was holding each other, and promptly untangled your limbs and pushed away from one another.

"Cold shower," Daichi mumbled as he stared down at the cum he had painted his own stomach with. "I feel like I'm burning."

Reduced to a puddle of sweat and bodily fluids on the ground, you nodded in agreement. "Cold shower," you repeated.

Daichi, who had previously looked miserable in his post-orgasm clarity due to the heat, suddenly chuckled. "Why didn't we just have sex in the shower in the first place?"

You just shrugged. "Round two? This time without the danger of human combustion."

Daichi smiled wide. "I have a feeling we are going to be spending the rest of the night in that shower," he paused and his smile turned into a devilish smirk, "and I'm going to be spending the rest of the night in you."