#this is so disorganized i apologize

[gothcsz]

what if someday, Javis constant girls do get a bit much for neighbour readers feelings and heart and she actually thinks about moving and looks in the newspaper for new places (even though she knows she never actually could because being away from Javi feels impossible) and Javi randomly sees the circled ads on her kitchen table and he just absolutely panics and freaks out. And in typical Javi way, does it in a way that’s probably rude lmao

we are back on our neighbor!javi flow, y’all! i mixed these two amazing prompts together so thank you to my anons for sending them in 🖤 i hate these two (i don't) hehe

“What’s this?”

You freeze mid-step, a stack of extra blankets and a pillow nearly slipping from your grip as Javier holds up a newspaper, the pages marked with listings of different apartment complexes and houses.

His eyes are narrowed, mouth pressed into a firm line, and your heart stutters as you see the storm of emotions there.

You’d tried to keep it together, to swallow the ache every time you heard him bring someone home, convincing yourself that it shouldn’t bother you.

But then you started seeing and hearing the same woman’s laughter drift through the walls, night after night, and that finally broke something inside you.

He’d found someone—someone who wasn’t just a casual fling, someone he wanted to talk with, someone to hold at night. And while you’d long accepted that you’d never have that kind of intimacy with him, the reality of him finding it with someone else made your heart burn in ways you weren’t prepared for.

So, determined to protect yourself, you began looking for a way out.

“I’ve just been looking around—” you start, trying to keep your tone casual.

“Why?” he cuts you off. You watch as he sets down the paper he’d been holding, but he doesn’t step back, his body tensed as if he’s bracing himself.

“Because this place is crappy.” You straighten your shoulders, gesturing with a faint, forced smile to keep this from spiraling.

It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the full truth.

“They can’t even get someone out to fix the plumbing on time, and you’re about to be crashing on my couch because of it. My lease is up in two months, so… it just makes sense.” The words tumble out easily enough, but you can’t ignore how his gaze searches yours, like he’s looking for deeper meaning—and it’s there, but he doesn’t know what exactly it is.

“So… what, you were just going to leave without telling me?” His voice dips, the tension almost palpable as he stands there, arms crossed, jaw set in that way that makes his frustration obvious.

You cross your own arms, matching his stance. “I haven’t even toured any places yet. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” It’s not like you’re moving back to the States, even though that thought has crossed your mind.

His eyes bore into yours, and the weight of all the unspoken things between you lingers, tightening your chest. Javier is wrestling with his words, unsure of what to say since he’s doing that thing where he lets his anger take the reins before thinking shit through.

"Besides, I can barely afford anything around here." You let out a short laugh, but it's strained, revealing just how much this uncertainty has been weighing on you. "I’ve been… I’ve been looking for other jobs too." You clear your throat, wondering how he’s going to take it. "No luck, though.”

Javier’s face shifts, his eyes darkening with a flash of something almost akin to guilt.

First, you're talking about moving away from him, and now, even your job isn’t enough to keep you around him.

Panic prickles under his calm exterior as he watches you, piecing together the unspoken reasons behind your restlessness.

Is this because of him? Is he selfish for thinking this way?

He can’t help but think back to every little misstep he’s taken with you.

Had he finally pushed you too far? Sure, he knew he got a little too possessive when you were bringing Mateo around… or maybe he was too obvious with his flirting over those shared dinners.

Every moment he spent lingering in your presence—sitting a little too close at the courtyard on embassy grounds during his smoke breaks, or holding your gaze longer than necessary—flashes through his mind.

It’s one thing to flirt and tease, to keep his feelings in check for your sake, but the last thing he ever wanted to do was make you feel cornered, like he was crowding you.

"He’s not making you do any of this, is he?" Javier’s voice has an edge, wary and somehow accusatory.

You blink in surprise, a flicker of irritation igniting inside. Really? Does he actually think your short-lived thing with the guy from the bank has you wanting to carelessly pack up your life?

The assumption pisses you off, but you hold back—after all, he’ll be crashing on your couch for the next few days, and arguing right now could make things awkward.

But then again, maybe he'd find solace with that woman you hear coming around nearly every night.

“You’re joking, right?” You shake your head, feeling the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. “No, Javier, no one’s making me do this but me. If anything, I’m just a little tired of having to plug my ears at night to avoid hearing you screw your girlfriend into oblivion.”

The words spill out, laced with a bitter edge you didn’t mean to reveal, but after how he barged in on your date with Mateo, maybe he deserves a to feel some heat about it, too.

His eyes narrow sharply. “Girlfriend?”

You wave him off, “Just forget I said anything.”

But of course, he’s not going to let it go that easily. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, Javi," you sigh, feeling exposed and frustrated. "I just know the walls are paper thin, and I can hear everything—just like you can. It’s grating sometimes, but I do my best to ignore it and not storm over there to embarrass the both of you by blowing up."

Suddenly, every late-night hookup he’s had since you moved in projects like a kaleidoscope in his memory.

None of it meant anything to him—they were just distractions, shallow ways to escape the brutality of his job and maybe even the tender, unspoken feelings he harbors for you.

Yet, in his careless distraction, he hadn’t considered how it could affect you, make you uncomfortable in your own home. For someone who claims to care deeply about you, he realizes he’s done a lousy job of showing it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, cariño.” He deflates, and your heart skips because you just melt when he calls you that, “I didn’t think… well, fuck, I never think.” He bites back the urge ramble, to tell you how much he despises the idea of you leaving, how much he wishes he could be the reason you stay and that he hates himself for making you listen to him lose himself in different women. “I’ll be better about that.”

You nod, feeling whiplash from this weird ass conversation slash argument you just indulged in.

“Just be courteous. Isn’t that what you told Mateo?”

He steadies himself, masking the ache in his chest with a small, tight smile. “Yeah, guess I did say that.”

And it’s not like you’re actually going to follow through with leaving. You’ll just resign your lease and hope that Javier sticks to his word about keeping his love affairs quiet.

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 161 spoilers with thoughts below the cut u know the drill

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THIS IS MY FAVORITE PANEL OF JAVIER EVER. IN THE ENTIRE MANHWA IM LOSING MY MIND HAHAHAHAHAHA

HE JUST LOOKS SO FUCKING UNHINGED I DIDNT EXPECT IT AT ALL HHAHAHAHAHAAAA

anywayy back to the top

honestly maybe i shouldve seen the fact that his own singing would fuck him up coming LMAO

their matching dazed expressions when they both realize PLEASSEE LOL

raphael also calls the start of his singing demonic sounding lmao

and then they start fighting again and JESUS holy shit they're so overpowered this is so cool to watch and also as i was reading i was VERY scared for javier

genuinely i really really love whenever they draw action scenes they look very cool while also not being terribly hard to follow i like that

like oh my god?? he's swinging that hammer around like its nothing its very very terrifying, esp cause its been a while since javier has fought something thats his match yknow, or at least it feels that way

AND THEN. THE LEADUP INTO THE NEXT SCENE IM LOSING MY MIND JAVIER YOU SCHEMER

the feigning being down and then the peek and the slow getting up im giggling so so bad AND THEN

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA JAVIER YOU CLEVER ASSHOLE I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH

like i knew that line raphael said about how the halo would continue protecting him so long as he's pure and just or whatever would come into play BUT I DIDNT THINK JAVIER WOULD BE THE ONE TO DO IT SO DIRECTLY TOO HAHAHAHAAA he's learned so much from lloyd <3 LOL

i also think its interesting that the halo keeps track of this with like points or smth, not much to say about it i just think its an interesting gear; the ultimate defensive tech but it's based on how "good" you are thats just really interesting to me hehe

ALSO ALSO i think it's really really silly funny that raphael was this very intimidating and menacing figure that was super scary right up until the moment javier played dirty and then the moment that happened that image/vibe immediately crumbled WAHHAHA he's just a silly guy and the halo does the work i like him a lot

i really like these panels of them being evenly matched, raphael is still holding his own even with a penalty like that, their expressions here are really good too its so tense,,,

AND THEN LLOYD BEGGING THEM TO STOPP AAHHH

AGHHGHGHHGHGH AAAHH JAVIER STARING WIDE-EYED AT LLOYD IM CURLING AND SHRIVELED ON THE FLOOR

like okay i know lloyd is scheming or whatever. but my heart wants to believe that some part of this was very real okay . let me cope let me believe this . one cannot act/lie effectively without some of it being real. RIGHT???

AND THEN WHEN THE POPUPS APPEARED I STARTED SHOUTING OH MY GOD I FORGOT ABT THE RP SYSTEM IM SO. LLOYD YOU BRILLIANT MOTHERFUCKER YOUUU

HE CAN JUST SKIP THE PROCESS AND THEN BECOME A SWORDMASTER HE HASNT DONE THAT IN A LONG TIME OHHHH MY GOD

also. everyone else's bonus RP was +10. but only javier's bonus RP was +45. which could mean nothing.

WHAT DO I EVEN SAY ABOUT THAT LIKE. JAVIER WHAT YOU. WHAT. YOUUU im gonna lose it im gonna LOSE IT

top ten photos taken moments before disaster HE LOOKS SO EVIL THE ART HERE IS SO GOOD HAHAHAHA OHH MY GOD

and how he says "YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS" ohhh lloyd you asshole you i love you so much

THIS PANEL TOO LIKE WOW THE FUCKING EFFECTS THIS IS INSANE HE LOOKS SO FUCKING MENACING THE VIOLENT LINEART HES POWERING UP HIS SINGING OH MY GODDD HAHAHA

when i saw these panels i immediately thought of that one song from princess and the frog god i wish i could like tween or something itd be so cool to see This drawn to That

thats all i LOVED this ep i had so much fun RAPHAEL JAVIER LLOYD FIGHT PART THREE NEXT WEEK HERE WE GO

[milk-ducts]

I'm so glad to have encountered a fellow Cecil stan. I freaking love coming up with headcanons for Cecil, platonic or romantic, because he's such an interesting character. For real though feel free to dump any Cecil headcanons (platonic or romantic) on me anytime.

AWAAAA!! YES HAII OTHER CECIL AFICIONADO !!! im so glad theres more of us sprouting out here. my wife is so underappreciated, you have no idea how much he means to me. i'd love to req n swap headcanons anytime !! I have so many thoughts on that morally ambiguous gilf.

[messy, disorganized surface level autism rambling ahead. this will be just random scenes and characteristics i like of him]

BUT YES .. cecil's character is just so interesting to analyze. he does unethical, necessary things. But he doesn't subscribe to idealistic notions of "the greater good" or justifying his actions to make himself sleep better at night. He knows the harsh reality that someone has to make the difficult decisions, no matter how unethical. The psychological toll it takes to calculate how many civilian lives can be spared, and how many are inevitably lost in order to achieve the optimal outcome. He doesn't celebrate after victories like the other heroes do. After the dust settles, his mind is already racing - calculating, strategizing how to prevent future catastrophes. How to minimize casualties next time.

his methods are...questionable,, as ive said,, but there's a hint of nobility to it that just makes you respect him, A SHADY GOVERNMENT CHAR that does the dirty work and takes in all the heat for it so no one else has to? SIGN ME TF UP! i love exploring his character and all the little glimpses of humanity we get to see from him,, especially with debbie, SO SOFT FOR HER, there's so much depth there. that old fuck would MOVE mountains for her if he could,, TRUST. EVEN though he doesnt deserve her .. <<

LETS CONTINUE TO CIRCLE BACK TO S1 with his confrontation w Nolan in the desert, the way he entrusted his survival to the skills of his team operating that teleporter watch (I'm aware he can control it himself, I think this was just my interpretation of it since the employees seemed directly involved here). The margin for error was nonexistent. One miscalculation, one millisecond too slow, and Cecil would have been reduced to a red smear across miles of sand. MY WIFE HAS BALLS ON HIM. (also love walton goggins breathy lil giggles here .. hwaghffhh)

All this, All the whilst Nolan could have ended him with a casual backhand, as easily as swatting a fly. And for what? For humanity's (mostly his) right to know the truth. For Debbie's right to understand what she had truly married because Cecil respects her that fucking much for her to have a part in all of this, and what fate may lay in store for her son.

AND what I particularly liked about that scene is that unlike most SHADY GOV CHARS ™.. Cecil isn't afraid to regularly place himself in life-threatening situations, and for that im just.. FKING obsessed. finally. a hyper competent gov char that gets shit done and occasionally by his own hands instead of always puppeteering in the shadows. Love u .. love u honey snooch, please stop putting yourself in danger for your crazy alien side-hoes .

but ahem ... back to s2.. and some flaws of his that i'm not afraid to point out. the way he's been treating mark is killing me. manipulating my son by comparing him to his dad then keeping him on lock by saying he's not like him??? The breadcrumming definitely didn't work out at all, cuz Mark is too damn stubborn to continue to be swindled by fear tactics he does not give a shit for anymore (homegirl DEBBIE taught him better) hes not gonna listen to a cranky skullet-having side bitch of nolans who clearly has been tryna manipulate him since s1. i HATED how he went "ur broke tyrannical bitch father felt the same way" in the last minute when mark tried to leave earth and yet i still lobve ceci cause ough,,.. my bastard wife knew something was probably up.

Him wanting to keep a short leash on MARKY could be summed up after all that has happened in s1. i'm not going to justify his scummy manipulations or paranoia,, especially after all the shit mark has done and endured to prove himself over and over again that he's not like his father BUT its somewhat understandable for cecil 2 be wary if you look from it in his perspective.

moving on from that, lets dive back into ep 2 ..

Debbie was semi-right in her deduction in s2 ep2, that this is what it's really all about for Cecil - being in control. Not of any situation, but of Mark. To ensure history does not repeat itself in the form of Mark becoming another Nolan. imo He likely doesn’t actually view Mark as his father, Not saying the possibility of it being a part of Cecil's subconsciousness is out of the equation but the way I see it? He was just exploiting that one weakness, that one insecurity Mark has - the fear of becoming like Nolan. And it’s a fear Cecil seemed to prey upon to keep Mark under his thumb and in the fucking GAME.

awaaaa :3 !!!! psychologically damaging teens by comparing them to their abhorrently shitty fathers !! FUCK YOJ STEDMAN (love you snookums..)

,,,,I'd also like to think in my warped deluded perception (aka hcs) that he sees Debbie in Mark, so he can't help but care for the kid too. IVE ALWAYS seen a lot of comparisons between Mark and his dad, plus the whole motif of this new season hasn't helped it allay. But Debbie and Mark share so many similar characteristics as well and i wish that was talked a bit more often &lt; 3 (I will go in depth about it at a later post.)

n umm like ...,,, bck to cici in gen. I guess the safety of earth is one of Cecil's redeeming qualities along with his compassion for side characters like Debbie. His pragmatism and utilitarianism define him. He lacks normal morals but has his own code that cultivates to his character. this ramble could not do justice to him ughfglg..,, what a compelling jezebel.. how can u captivate me so !!

My inbox is always open to discuss this multi-faceted rat man. here's to more cecil content in s2..,... hopefully with more of his dynamic with Debbie because I LIVE for that shit. though its unlikely their interactions could range to anything positive now since they may be hinting to cecil becoming an antagonist and/or taking extreme measures w/ mark. soo.. i dont think debbie's scolding was enough for that slut 2 take in ..

in the mean time i'll be catching up on the comics/re-reading them, look up more of his backstory and hopefully create 10 novels worth of google docs of analysis' of his character < 3 cuz .. he means .. that much 2 me.. and i want to prod at every crevice n brain matter he has inside that megamind head of his .

((hwaghhhhhh << hoping that one day the discord moots ive been keeping in my basement and most invincible fans fall victim to cecil stedman propoganda.. no one should be immune to my girlboss and his awful skullet.))

[k1ttygam3r]

Just watched the new Helluva Boss episode out of curiosity (via a reaction, I’m not giving Vivienne a cent) and I don’t know what I expected but I’ve never been more fucking disappointed in my entire life

[comicalcarnival]

Casual new 3 plush comish from half a year ago. I'm only a little behind on posting things. XD

[wing-shot-first]

Was scrolling through TikTok and came across this set of screenshots that was very concerning!

Now, no one is saying that you have to stop using ao3, but for the love of God DO NOT DONATE. Yes, that could definitely result in the site getting shut down, but the simple solution to that is downloading your favorite fics.

I would highly recommend looking at the original thread though, as there should be more details about this there.

I don't care how much you need your "silly bedtime stories", do not fucking donate. The lives of the innocent Palestinians are more important than your fanfictions.

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

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[omohole]

What do you think gay men are attracted to in men that they can’t be attracted to in women?

It can’t be anything about femininity or masculinity obviously. That’s both sexist, and cultural so can’t be what drives men-only attraction.

It can’t be anything about stated identity because someone could lie just as easily as they could tell the truth in such a statement, and it makes no sense because homosexuality and heterosexuality exists in other species with no stated identities. It’s not like other animals without gender are all pan.

Saying idk it’s the vibes or some indescribable trait men have that women can’t but “I can’t explain” is a nonanswer.

Soooooooo what is it? Or do you think any sexuality but bi/pan is just cultural performance or an identity rather than an inborn orientation?

- [ ]

this feels like bait but damn you sure are making a lot of assumptions about incredibly large groups of people with any number of unique experiences here.

"it cant be anything about feminity or masculinity"/"it cant be anything about stated identity" yes it can. because different people are going to have different reasons and explanations for why they are attracted to who they are. some people ARE attracted based on how feminine/masculine someone is. some people ARE attracted based on stated identity. by saying that it cant be these things youre making a huge generalization. just because You Personally do or dont experience these factors doesnt mean that its the same for every other individual.

youre absolutely right that attraction based on masculinity/feminity is culture based! so are many many other factors of romantic and sexual attraction (cultural expectations, societal opinions, views on monogamy vs polygamy, cultures where arranged marriages are standard, etc.) that might influence someones attraction to a potential partner. so i dont know why youre acknowledging that there is a cultural difference in some cases and then writing off any possible case of attraction to gender presentation (conformity or non-conformity) as impossible. not to mention that it isnt necessarily sexist to have those preferences at all. i for one, am a butch lesbian who is (primarily) attracted to other butches. that isnt me saying that a partner needs to act and perform in one particular way or another on the basis of discrimination, thats just me saying what i find attractive personally. just like i can say i prefer orange juice over apple juice. i dont think its Wrong to like apple juice, and i dont think people who do prefer to drink it are wrong or bad, i just dont like it personally. there have been subgroups in the queer community for literal decades that came together over attraction to very specific gender presentations (butches, femmes, twinks, bears, etc.). not to mention, when it comes to meeting a potential partner (at least in person) visual appearance tends to be one of- if not the first- things you notice about them. of course thats going to have some sort of influence on how you view them.

sure, people absolutely can lie about their stated identity. theres plenty of cases where people will attest that someone lied about their gender to get into their pants (and that sucks when it happens!). but that doesnt mean that its always true that someone will lie nor does it make it common to do so. fun fact, but if your partner is attracted to something that you Know You Arent, it tends to be a pretty unfulfilling relationship and lies like that are difficult to keep up.

and for some people, it literally is just Based On Vibes! some people do not have the words to describe what they find attractive, some people just know that theyre attracted to men and not women, and absolutely No One is obligated to explain it to a stranger (and much less an anonymous one). im putting in the time to type this all out because some of the things you said bothered me, but you dropping this on a random stranger is fuckin weird yknow?

the way you worded this last part is weird. no, i dont think that. its the same as any other attraction to one gender. do you think that being straight is just an identity or cultural performance? and if youre trying to say that it isnt the same on account of biological compatibility when it comes to having children, what about straight couples where one partner is trans? or straight couples where one is infertile? youre coming at this from the angle that being gay is the only form of single-gender attraction.

and alllll of that put aside to say that i dont know why you sent me this. im literally just a random person on the internet, i am not an expert in attraction in any manner. i can only speak as far as my own experiences and observations.

not to mention

i am not a gay man

[moonydustx]

The night cook.

masterlist | requests here

Summary: Insomnia has struck one of the crew and Sanji is willing to find out. Meanwhile, you try to deal with your fear as best you can.

Warnings: I don't know, mention of clowns maybe (yes, exactly what you're thinking).

Word count: 1.4k

Pairing: OPLA!Sanji x F!Reader.

A/N: I have a new obsession and I need to write more and more. I watched the series in one day and now I'm racing against time to catch up with the anime (and soon move on to the manga). It has not been proofread so I apologize for possible errors.

Part 2 here

Sanji was starting to get stressed.

Despite the short time he had been part of the crew, he already knew where he belonged: the kitchen. He could spend hours there and felt comfortable. But something bothered him. Every morning, some fruit always appeared cut, food scraps in the trash, his knives disorganized. He wouldn't look for trouble right away, but he was aware of every move.

Your steps dragged to the kitchen, after another bad night's sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were visible from afar, as was his bad mood.

"Good morning madame! Glad you joined us today for coffee." Sanji caught your attention, placing your plate in front of you.

"Good morning sunshine, your mood seems to brighten the day." Zoro teased you, only earning an eye roll.

You stared at the food in front of you. They looked appetizing, but hunger seemed to be nowhere in your body. You rolled them from one side to the other, without removing any pieces, while heard the others talking in the distance.

"Everything is fine?" The cook's voice caught your attention, a quick glance was enough to realize that the others had already eaten their meals. "Sorry to say ma'am, but you look tired."

"It's okay Ji. I'm just discouraged." You stand up, handing the plate back to him. "They look delicious, but I'm out of food, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for, my sweet. I heard that if you eat with a full stomach, or in your case without hunger, you can't enjoy the food and the last thing I want is for you to not like one of my dishes ." He leaned on the table, watching you.

"That's impossible. I could eat anything you make, as long as it's you making it."

It had been a while since the two of you exchanged small gestures, small flirtations. Unlike most other women, you weren't bothered by what he said. You felt seen, admired like never before, even though you knew he would say that to a thousand others. Plus, it was fun to see him shy with your answers.

"So... What can I do special for you today. Choose and I'll do it."

"Surprise me!"

You left it in the kitchen and if you looked back, you could see it lost in your image. None of the other beauties would be like that beauty, her beauty. Even though he was still lost, Sanji tried to regain his thoughts, thinking about the perfect lunch.

You got caught up in the tasks on the boat, all to keep the tiredness out of your body. Despite having heard the call for lunch you decided to postpone it, as well as dinner.

When you returned to bathe, you could see that everyone had retired to their rooms. Even with the most comfortable clothes, the coziest sheet and the cool sea breeze coming through the window, it only took a few minutes of sleep for you to wake up sweating, scared.

You were tired of it would be another wasted night. You got up and went towards the kitchen, since sleep didn't decide to appear that night, hunger had already taken its place and a salad would go well at that moment.

You gathered some radishes to cut and a few slices later, you felt the knife against your skin and was scared.

"So you're the cook for the night!" Sanji spoke suddenly.

Before you could curse him for his fright you had to hold back a scream due to the inconvenience of the pain.

"Shit, let me see." in a matter of seconds, he was already in front of you , holding your injured hand.

"It was nothing, you can rest."

"That, young lady, I will decide later." he gently placed a cloth in your hand, pressing it. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep, I decided to prepare something."

"Honey, what's been going on?" He took your hand again, removing the cloth. "Okay, I have the solution to mine and your problem."

He took you by the hand to the bench, placing you in a sitting position, returned to the kitchen, placing a small container to heat and disappeared from sight for a few seconds, returning with a small box in his hands. It brought everything in front of you, allowing you to see what it was really about. A small box with bandage and a small plate with lasagna.

"I saved it from lunch for you, I think you'll like it."

"You know you're my favorite. Shit!" you immediately regretted trying to use your injured hand to eat.

"Now, we'll fix this." The cut was small but uncomfortable and felt a little deep.

You watched him bend down to your height and tend to the small wound like something precious while you ate. The silence between you didn't last long, against your will.

"When are you going to tell me what's been going on? You know, we're friends." Sanji charged, finishing applying the last strip. "Something is wrong with you and I can't figure it out. Besides, you've been destroying my onions in your nightly escapes."

"I'm having some trouble sleeping..." you tried to leave the explanation superficial, but the look in his eyes made it very clear that he wouldn't just buy that.

"You could have told me, you could have made me some tea or something that would help."

"It's not that." You pushed the plate away and straightened up, trying to look away from Sanji. Shame already dominated your body at that time. "It's a stupid thing."

"No mon amour, it's not. I'm here, talk to me."

"There's only one thing in the world that I'm afraid of: clowns. Be they the cute ones or the psychopaths alike..."

"Buggy. Has he been a problem?" Sanji tried to understand, although it didn't make sense since the crew hadn't seen him in days.

"First we were trapped in his circus and it was horrible. Then we had his head on board and I was sure that at any moment he was going to appear. Now, I can't stop having vivid nightmares about it." you confessed, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. "I can't sleep, so I come here at night and I always cook something. I usually watch you cook and it seems like something so relaxing, so good. It hasn't helped me much with my sleep, but at least I've been eating some of the inedible things I make ."

"I bet they're as good as the ones I make and if you don't mind, I'd love to cook with you one of these nights." he winked, eliciting a smile from you. "But for tonight, we need to sleep, finish your plate and I'll be right back with something."

A few minutes and mouthfuls later, Sanji appeared with two mugs, with some hot liquid inside them.

"Herbal tea. It'll help you fall asleep."

"I have my doubts, but…" you took a sip of the sweet drink. "It doesn't hurt to try. Are you sleep deprived too?"

"Not really, I just couldn't leave a lady drinking alone."

"If this works, I promise to buy you the next drink at a bar."

"Wait. This a date?" he asked and if it were possible, you would see hearts instead of his eyes.

"We have the drink." you pointed to the two mugs. "We had dinner." You pointed to the lasagna. "Sounds like a date."

"That miserable clown at least did one good thing"

"Don't ruin the moment, Ji."

The two of you finished your drinks in silence, a few glances exchanged were enough to get comfortable together. Sanji picked up the dishes on the table and you followed him with slower steps.

"Thank you for helping me."

"Who said our date is over?" he turned around, grasping his arm for you to intertwine. "I would never let a lady go alone to her chambers."

"You are a gentleman."

"Only for you amour." He stopped in front of your door. "It's delivered and safe."

You stood on your toes, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, really." You opened the door and before you could enter, you turned around. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Whatever madam wants."

"You can stay here for a while, just until I sleep."

"Of course sweetheart" He walked you into the room.

You straightened the bed and lay down on one end, watching him just stare at you, waiting for some sign that he could sit down.

"Please be my guest."

He lay down and almost automatically gave way for you to snuggle against his chest. Your laughter was suppressed when you saw him smiling widely at the contact.

"A few drinks, a dinner..."

"And you ended up in my bed." your voice was already sleepy. Maybe because of the tea, but something said it was more because of the company.

"And I ended up in the perfect place." reciprocating your gesture just now, in the little conscience you had left, you felt his lips touch your forehead. "Sleep missus. I promise not to let any harm come."

[therealcocoshady]

Kinktober - Day 13 - Fuck Or Die

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : Since I am a messy, disorganized and irresponsible writer… here is the episode for Kinktober Day 13. The prompt is « Fuck or Die ». I had lots of fun writing it. 🙊 I hope you guys enjoy it just as much 💕

CW : Use of viagra and aphrodisiacs - Mentions of infidelity - Marshall Mathers being kind of an asshole 👀

PSA : fooling with Viagra and aphrodisiacs is a bad idea. Also, I’m not a doctor so… there’s nothing medically accurate here, you know ?

« Yo, have you seen Paul ? » Marshall asked as he entered your office. He seemed in a hurry and, frankly, he didn’t look well. He always arborer an unreadable expression but now, he looked a little bothered, which was quite unusual. « He left about an hour ago » you informed him. As soon as the words left your lips, you could see the panic take over his expression. « What’s wrong ? » you asked with concern. « Nothing » he replied too quickly for it not to be suspicious.

You stared at him and he avoided your gaze. Embarrassment. You raised an eyebrow and decided to give him another opportunity. « What did you do ? » you asked calmly. « Wha- Why do you think I did something ? » he barked. You let out a chuckle and crossed your arms as you leaned back in your chair. « Not only have I been your assistant for the last ten years, I’ve also had the displeasure of being your girlfriend for two of them. Which means I know you too well. » you playfully commented. « Thank God you have someone else to annoy now » he replied curtly. You scoffed and stared at the picture of your fiancé on your phone wallpaper. Thank God, Greg was everything that Marshall wasn’t.

« Seriously, tell me. I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t help you with. » you pressed as you turned back to him. « It’s personal. » he said. « Good thing I’m your personal assistant, then, dumbass » you chuckled. « Now is not the time, Y/N » he warned. « It’s Kayla, isn’t it ? Marshall, I don’t mind. You can tell me about your… whatever she is. » you said as you gestured vaguely. « I need Paul » he insisted as his expression grew more uneasy. You sighed and tried to call his manager but it went straight to voicemail. Not surprising knowing how busy the man always was. You looked at Marshall apologetically. He was visibly frustrated. « Fuck » he muttered. He almost looked in pain, which was concerning. You got up and placed a caring hand on his shoulder. « You don’t look well » you remarked. He seemed to wince at the contact and took a step back. « I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you » you immediately apologized, thinking you’d hurt him. « Do you need a doctor ? » you asked carefully.

He looked at you with a look full of shame and regret. « I hope not » he mumbled. « Marsh, what’s wrong ? » you questioned for what seemed like the thousandth time. « Promise not to laugh ? » he asked. « Of course. You know me. » you said reassuringly. He immediately raised his eyebrow. « Yeah I know you. That’s why I’m asking you to promise » he said sternly. « I promise. Now tell me what you did. » you sighed. « I think I took too much viagra » he almost whispered.

You had just promised not to laugh but you couldn’t help but let out a squeal. There was something special about your boss turned ex looking really stupid and ridiculous. The two of you had ended on amicable terms but the shameful look on his face definitely gave you the revenge you never knew you needed. « Fuck you, Y/N » he groaned and you immediately apologized. « I’m sorry, I’m sorry… it’s just… you took viagra ?! ». He sighed and nodded. Having spent two years with him, you could point out a lot of flaws in this man but lack of libido was not one of them. Well, maybe his latest sidepiece wasn’t up to the challenge. « I had an incident the other day and Kayla… well, she suggested- you know. And, uh, I was supposed to see her tonight but… she bailed and now I can’t get rid of the damn thing » he explained. You hummed empathetically. He seemed annoyed and distressed and, knowing his pride, you knew he wasn’t having a good time confessing all of that to you. « How long has it been ? » you asked. « Three months. Why ? » he asked. « Your blood flow is really going down there, huh ? I meant how long has it been since you… you know. Since you took the pill. » you corrected with an amused look. « Two hours » he sighed. « Is it painful ? » you asked. « It’s… really uncomfortable. I asked the Google and they say I should take a cold shower but I can’t drive home like this » he continued. You let out a chuckle at the mention of « the Google ». If the technophobe boomer you called your boss had actually gone on the internet, you knew he must be really distressed. « Have you tried solving the problem manually ? » you asked carefully. He looked at you with an aggravated look, clearly losing patience. « Of course I’ve tried ! It doesn’t work ! » he snapped. You crossed your arms defensively. You were trying to be nice and you didn’t need him lashing out at you. As soon as he saw the frown on your face, he calmed down a little. « I’m sorry… I just… i don’t know what to do » he mumbled. You nodded with understanding and placed your hand on his arm, trying to be supportive. « Please don’t » he almost whined. « Well I just touched your arm, dude » you said with your eyebrows furrowed. « I know but I also took that other pill. Like it’s made of plants or something and my senses are all heightened and- I swear to God, if you touch me again I’ll bend you over your desk. ». You looked at him with wide eyes, almost shocked by his bluntness. You held out your hand, pointing at your engagement ring. « This ship has sailed, man » you recalled. « Look, maybe we should call a doctor- hey ! My eyes are up there, Marshall ! » you scolded.

He looked, half-apologetic. However, you knew him too well for your liking and you could see the wheels turning. « don’t even think about it » you warned. « Come on, we’re friends, right ? You can help me out » he pleaded. « You’re not seriously asking me to do something about this. Not when we’ve been broken up for three years. » you said in disbelief. « I’m engaged, Marshall ! I’m getting married to another man ! » you reminded him. « You smell so fucking good. And oh god, you look stunning » he said breathily. « You’re losing your mind » you scoffed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and lost his balance for a second. You immediately grabbed his forearm and had him sit on the small sofa in your office. He was sweating bullets and looked hazy. « Fuck, there’s this thing in my chest » he groaned. You placed a hand on his heart. The beating seemed steady. You could see him wince at the proximity and he closed his eyes, inhaling your scent. Before you could pull away, he placed a hand on your hip and brought you closer. « Marshall » you scolded. « Sorry » he whispered - though you didn’t believe for a second that he was sorry. « Can I do something ? I mean, anything that doesn’t involve cheating ? » you asked. He looked at you and stayed silent for a second. « Do you think you could stay here while I…? » he asked. You stared at him, flabbergasted, unable to say anything. He couldn’t be serious. « I just need you near. I won’t touch you. » he promised. « I just can’t stand it. It’s hell. » he pleaded. Maybe it was the proximity and the fact that you still shared chemistry. Maybe it was the ovulation. Maybe you were just stupid for thinking you could actually help him in a friendly way. But you found yourself nodding. « No touching » you repeated. He nodded and undid his jeans. It wasn’t visible before, but now that his cock was springing free, you understood what was so uncomfortable. That thing was massive. Of course, you knew his size. But it was something else. It seemed girthier, more veiny. « Oh good God » you whispered. He started stroking his length, letting out a groan. « Come closer » he instructed. You inched a little closer to him and he inhaled your scent. He kept on pumping himself, staring at your cleavage. You could see the relief in his expression. « Are you ok ? » you asked awkwardly. « I’m- getting there. » he nodded. « Could you open your blouse a little ? ».

You stared at him, scolding him with your eyes. This man was going to be the death of you. But at the same time, you didn’t really say no. You undid a few buttons of your blouse, enough to let your lacy bustier peak through. « Like this ? » you asked. « A little more ? » he suggested innocently. He knew he was pushing his luck. And you knew that he knew. Still, you did. Maybe it would be over sooner. He took a good look at your boobs and bit his lip. « You’re hot. Do you know that ? » he asked. « As a matter of fact, I do » you said with a chuckle. « Now get to it. We don’t have all night. » you instructed. He kept on stroking himself, still staring at your breasts. He had always had a thing for tits and beautiful lingerie so you didn’t doubt that he was enjoying it at least a little, no matter how uncomfortable he must be. You tried to look elsewhere and think about something else, to distract yourself from the fact that your ex was literally touching himself to you. He kept at it for a little while and let out a grunt. You open your eyes, thinking he had gotten it over with but you could see the frustration on his face. « They’re gonna have to cut it off » he complained. « I’m so close but- » he whined. « You can do it » you said reassuringly. And before you could even fully comprehend the consequences of what you were doing, you were freeing one of your boobs, revealing a pierced nipple. « Does that help ? » you asked innocently. He stared at you, almost shocked. « Holy fuck. Is that new ? » he asked as he referred to the piercing. You nodded, forgetting that you had it done a while after breaking up with him. « That’s… fucking hot. » he commented. « Yeah ? You like it ? » you asked teasingly. He nodded, not taking his eyes away from the small piece of metal as he pumped himself a little more energetically. By the looks of it, it was sort of working for him. You were staring at him innocently, though you were beginning to find the whole thing oddly titillating. You liked seeing the desire in his eyes. it didn’t help that you’d been feeling a little neglected by your fiancé, lately. And even if you knew Marshall’s desire was merely the consequence of chemicals, it still felt satisfying. The lust in his eyes was giving you the attention you’d been craving for a few weeks now. Enough for your inner demon to get all horny. You stared at him, biting your lip and gently pinched your nipple, playing with the piercing. « Fuck » he whispered. « Better ? » you asked breathily as he nodded. « Now, do you think you could come ? » you continued teasingly. He swallowed dryly and nodded. « How about you tell me what you want ? » you suggested. « Huh ? » he whimpered. « Talk to me. No touching. Just talking. » you encouraged him. He stared at you, a mixture of shock and amazement in his gaze. « That’s what friends do, right ? » you whispered. « Yeah » he replied breathily. « I-I could use your hands. » he said hesitatingly. « Oh yeah ? You’d like me to give you a hand ? » you teased as he nodded. « Or you could get on your knees » he hummed as he kept going. « You always loved me on my knees, didn’t you ? » you asked playfully. « Fuck yeah » he moaned. You hummed appreciatively and got up. He looked at you in confusion but before he could say anything, you were kneeling between his legs, sensually staring at him. « like that ? » you asked as he nodded frantically. You could feel that he was on the edge. You freed your other boob from the cup of your bustier and gently pinched your nipple. « Oh shit » he moaned. You nodded in encouragement. « You know… I still remember your taste. » you said innocently. His eyes met yours as you playfully licked your lips. You could see his pupils dilating, his lips parting, before he let out a throaty moan as he came, lifting his tee-shirt just in time.

He didn’t move for about a minute after that, panting and catching his breath. His face was relaxed, though. You silently got up and adjusted your clothes, as if nothing had just happened. You turned your back to him, closing your eyes as you tried to convince yourself that everything was ok, and that it wasn’t actually cheating. After all, he hadn’t touched you, right ? Right ? You were taken out of your zone by Marshall’s voice. « Do you, uh, have a tissue ? » he asked. You mumbled something and tossed a box of tissues at him so that he’d clean himself. After he was done, he adjusted himself and placed a hand on your shoulder. « I… thanks. » he said awkwardly. You nodded, still refusing to look at him. « That stays between us, right ? » you asked nervously. « Of course » he hummed. You nodded and stared at him as you but your lower lip. The usual stoic demeanor was back. As if nothing gad happened. Or maybe he wasn’t that phased by it. Maybe he had no qualms about touching himself to his ex. After all, he wasn’t especially known for his scruples. Before none of you could utter any more words, you heard a knock and the door opened. Greg. « what are you doing here ? » you asked as your eyes opened wide. « I finished earlier so I thought I’d pick you up » he said with a warm smile. « Is it a bad time ? Are you guys busy ? » he asked as he stared at Marshall. « No ! I was just telling Y/N what a good job she’s done. » he said calmly. « She’s the best, right ? » Greg beamed. « She really is », your ex replied with a shit-eating grin that made you want to kill him. « By the way, man, we got your RSVP but you didn’t specify if you were bringing a date », your fiancé said. « Oh. My bad. Yeah, I’ll be coming on my own. », Marshall hummed. « Oh that’s too bad. I thought Y/N mentioned you were dating ».

You felt as if you were about to faint. Greg was obviously clueless, just trying his best to be friendly, while Marshall was staring at him with an all-knowing smile. « Not anymore, I’m afraid. » he simply replied. « That’s too bad. Hey, maybe you’ll meet someone at the wedding. I’ll make sure you’re seated by some attractive single » Greg offered. Your ex gave him a grin and shook his hand. « Thanks, man. You know, I’m really looking forward to it. I look at you guys and I tell myself… I really want what you have » he hummed before giving you his signature asshole smirk.

[otakuworks]

❛ 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒. angst w/fluff

feat. Caelus x GN!Reader | wc. 1.6K

sum. fireflies are fleeting creatures, and so were his feelings for you. . . or so you thought

cw. 2.0 spoilers, some intended lore inaccuracies but nothing major

note. no firefly slander in here, just some angsty thoughts I got after finishing 2.0 before bed

main.mlist hsr.mlist

Ambiguous relationships are unstable, often leads to misunderstandings. The balance that had been barely maintained by not invading each other's territory and not interfering with each other's business had begun to shake. With the appearance of a variable called Firefly. Disorganized thoughts strewn like scratches in your head.

"Caelus, how can you be certain she's trustworthy if she's hiding something from you?"

"I never said she was, she has her reasons if she doesn't want to tell me, but I'm inclined to help her now that she's in danger."

He never spared you a glance as he stalked to his room.

I was in danger once yet you never came to my aid. What's so special about her? Was your bitter thought.

There were so many questions you want to ask him. If you had tried to count them, you would have run out of fingers and toes. But when you opened your mouth, what came out was utter nonsensical question.

"What makes you so inclined to help her?"

He finally stopped and gaze over his shoulder. "She's important to me."

. . . And I'm not?

You're shakened, but his golden eyes were utterly calm. It would be absurd to tell this man to forget her and stay by your side. The idea of fleeing was anathema to him.

You don't even know the girl, but based on his descriptions prior she's exactly the type of girl he would go for and it's enough to add salt on your unrequited love.

It's obvious you two like each other that even March was able to pick up the tension, but you both remained on the neutral ground and never fessed up.

Meanwhile, Black Swan's knowing gaze traversed on your distraught ones as you follow the Trailblazer on his way back to the Dreamscape. She knows the moment she looked, conflicting feelings who are yet to be acknowledged are now catching up.

Once Caelus entered his room, the Memokeeper turned to you.

"One with a sincere heart prevails, young one. He's yet to be aware of your burgeoning feelings, having the initiative might help you with your current predicament." She advised.

You barely glanced at her as you downcast your eyes. "And endure the plausible rejection now that he has her? I'd rather be colored in green."

She chuckled. "Green with envy doesn't suit anyone. It's strange to me how certain you are with your prediction."

Sighing, you turned to meet up with the special guest whom he invited you to have a chat.

"I'll head first. Take care of him, although he can do most part of it, it wouldn't hurt to have another shield."

Black Swan merely smiled as she watched you walk away with a heavy heart. Ah young ones, always so blindsided with things that hinder them to confess.

"Apologies for the delay, your friend told me about their plans to meet with the IPC ambassador before going in the Dreamscape."

Caelus, who was about to dive in, halted at his steps and his shoulders stiffened. For a brief moment, the Memokeeper witnessed the renowned Intergalactic Baseballer summoning his grey bat.

"Aventurine? Why would they meet up with him?" Was his immediate response with furrowed eyebrows and clenched fists.

"That, I do not know. You can wait and ask them once we're done with the mission."

Who ever said he's a patient guy?!

"Well, my friend. What do you say?"

You groaned upon gracing your eyes with reality and a peacock suddenly greeted you by the tub. No wait, it's just the IPC representative.

"I-I must discuss the details with the others first before making a decision." You clutched the rim the of the tub to balance yourself from that disgruntling experience.

Transition sucks the most.

"Don't worry, I can wait but try not to make it long."

Honestly, you don't even know the reason why he's seeking you out for this. It was Caelus at first and now he's interested in doing business with you.

You're tempted to ask him but it might lead to a longer conversation and you want nothing more than to relax for a moment without sleeping.

You heard Aventurine bid his temporary farewell, but you failed to notice him stopping right at the exit before shaking his head. You were too focused on alleviating the dizziness that you failed to focus the shadow framing you

"What did he want with you?" Your blood froze right there and then

"Shouldn't that be my question? What are you doing here, in my room?" You couldn't look up at him and can only look on his knees which are the same level as your eyes.

Look up and you would see every emotion to exist on his face.

It came by a blur, you were sitting in the tub and the next you heard the water splashing followed by being engulfed by someone warm and sturdy.

He's hugging you.

You blinked once and twice.

Caelus' hugging you.

If you can even call it a hug when you feel your bones cracking.

It's not a foreign act, you've hugged once in awhile but it's usually with the four of you; Dan Heng, March and him. You've never exclusively hugged before so this notion surprised you.

"Caelus?" You softly called out as he buried his face in your hair.

"Nothing remains with me. My memories and past companies, I couldn't grasp them. Now I'm graced with so many friends, I'm always afraid everything will slip away once more and I'll be an empty shell you met in the Space Station." His voice is unusually mellowed, it reminds you of a child complaining about school.

You let yourself relaxed and surround him with your warmth as well and right at that moment you feel him abandoning his weight.

He wants to say more, however the recent events seemed to have an invisible force squeezing his heart and preventing him from talking, but it doesn't stop his tears from flowing.

I don't want to lose you, too.

He wants to say those to you, but his heavy heart and parched throat reign supreme. So he bared himself and cried to you, letting himself vulnerable in front of you, hoping that would be the bridge to convey his feelings that words cannot express at the moment.

©OTAKUWORKS_2024

[fluffymarshmalllows]

You're late

College au! Ford x Reader

summary: Ford and Reader in college origin

“Stanford, once I get your sorry ass it will be over for you!” Y/N huffed earning a scolding shh from the librarian as they watched their best friend, reach the book she needs from a higher shelf of the library.

She asked for Ford’s assistance but got fooled by his antics. He looked back sporting an aloof smile that ticked them off even more. Though, internally Y/N was still giddy at the fact Ford smiles at them like that after all these years.

Walking back to your table with a book less than what you needed for the project you were building to present at the science convention Ford blackmailed you to apply in.

Getting settled and comfy in the cold room, you look back at the memory fondly as he praised you and smooth talked (well, more of stated the blunt facts) that you are a great inventor, just a bit disorganized, which you can’t help but agree to.

You knew that, everyone around you knew that. It’s just that you find being smart…boring. Without something to think for or someone to compete against, the spark for it fizzles out.

Until you met Ford in Calculus lecture. He was actively participating in class, is has a pretty face and a helpful hand, a true eye candy. What struck you odd was he never fully raised his hand. Just a pen or a pencil, which curiosity got the best of you.

Boldly walking towards his desk after the bell rang, you reached out your hand introducing yourself. “Hi! I’m Y/N, nice to meet you” only to get a blank stare and a nod. “Stanford Pines”

Well that plan failed. As a true scientist, that shouldn’t stop you. But he kept his stuff and was out the door almost immediately leaving you dumbfounded. At least Fiddleford was there to bring you back to your senses.

Walking out to the hallway you can’t help but rant about it. “The nerve he has! I was just trying to be polite” you huffed as you were shoving your things in the locker. Fiddleford hummed in response, but offered his sincere advice “Y’know Y/N, what if he’s just awkward, even I was the first days I came ‘ere”. You slammed the locker door, “look McGucket, I appreciate the honesty but shouldn’t you be on my side?” Which earned a fit of laughter from your friend.

“Whatever, I’ll visit you later” You and Fiddleford went your separate ways as the bell rang for the next class. You entered the room while the professor was taking attendance. You ducked your head trying to look invisible and by god, did you wish you were. “L/N, you’re late, I’ll have you written up the next time this happens.” muttering your apologies he asked you to take the available seat, lo and behold, the only seat available is next to the Stanford Pines himself.

You meekly took your place, almost dropping the whole contents of your bag haphazardly shoved in it, trying to observe your seatmate while also paying attention to the discussion in front.

You didn’t know it was possible but he became more handsome upon closer inspection, little stubble of a beard and his thick lens glasses that perfectly frames his eyes. “Ehem” Ford cleared his throat drawing you out of your ogling.

You whispered “sorry, you look good” which turned his face so red like a bright tomato. He stammers for a bit trying to say something while avoiding your gaze. You found joy in pestering him but it will get boring in the long run, especially when he doesn’t retort.

Deciding that taking notes and listening was mind frying enough, and annoying your seatmate can get you in more trouble than it’s worth. You decided to take a nap, hand supporting your head trying to look like you’re still paying attention to whatever was being discussed.

It took a while before Ford realized his seatmate decided to not make a peep. He thought you just got tired of asking him random questions or you got enough of his attitude and will hate him forever.

Looking over at you, he did not fail to admire how angelic you look, how your hair perfectly falls over you face, how your lips looks kissable? What are these thoughts, he shook his head trying to focus on the equation the professor made, scribbling his own calculations on his notebook.

Until the professor threw a chalk nub hitting you straight in the forehead jolting you awake. This made Ford snicker causing you to blush of embarrassment. “Mx. Y/N, can you please tell the class the answer to this problem?”

You stared at the board long and hard before shrugging your shoulders and saying “Unsolvable, unless you want a negative answer that is impossible, no—improbable for the set of limits you’ve given”. The professor was stunned, so was Ford because of your bold claim. Everyone’s attention now shifted to you which in turn made you rise up from your seat, picking up the chalk thrown at you and head straight to the board.

While you were solving and explaining where the equation went wrong, Ford was just in awe on how you did it. Your intelligence and confidence was something he wished he have. He glanced over his own mess of solutions and realized that you are right, so did the professor nodded in agreement.

After that class, Ford just had to know how you figured it out easily so he gathered up all his courage and tapped you gently holding a pen on his other hand. Deep breath, easy,

You looked at him, and he looks like he’s about to self combust any second, “Need anything?” You asked smiling to ease his anxiety. It took him a while to process before remembering what he needs to ask you, “how?”

“What do you mean how?” Trying to figure out what he was trying to ask you after ignoring you a class before. “How did you know it was wrong? You were asleep” he pointedly asked you.

Trying not to take any offense you teased, “You were watching me sleep?”. “No!,” he sputtered “I just noticed, anyway nevermind” before he can grab his stuff you took the pen he was holding and started scribbling on his notes. “You’ll figure that every time this and this will come out its most likely a negative by the end,” pointing out the values to prove your statement right. While he was staring at the paper you finally noticed his hands, his digits to be exact.

“You have six fingers.” You said matter of factly, which made you feel rather stupid as soon as the words left your mouth. Of course he knew that already! It is his hands after all.

Ford is growing more self conscious by the second. He quickly said his thanks but not before dropping a notepad he was trying to fit in his bag and rushing out of the room.

You noticed a notepad before you left, thinking it was one of your things you kept it in your bag along with the random gadget you made to pass the time.

Arriving at the cafeteria, Ford and Fiddleford was already conversing and trading intel regarding some classes they both are in. You did not intrude since you still felt guilty for what you said the last time you conversed with Ford. Heading back to your dorm, you decided mid way to just cut the last classes and make something until Fiddleford is back to his room, maybe this time you’ll finally meet his roommate.

Your phone has been buzzing for quite a while now but you can’t seem to find it under all the wirings and spare parts for your next project. You wanted to make some sort of handheld x-ray but you needed guidance from your friend since he is leagues better at engineering than you’ll ever be.

“Finally!” picking up your phone tucked with a notepad you don’t remember buying. Before you even had the chance to check the contents, your phone rang again. Dropping the notepad in your bag along with the mini machine you answered the phone.

“Y/N wher’re ya? I’ve been trying to geta hold of yous since I got back” voice of Fiddleford you realized. “Oh shoot, my bad I lost track of time, I gotta show you something” Grabbing your bag and keys before heading to the door still on call with your friend. “Aight, you betcha be here soon if you want to meet the new roommate I was telling you about” click.

So much for a productive call. Keeping your phone in your pocket, you dashed all the way to the other side of the campus.

Arriving in their dormitory building, you were a heaving mess. Beads of sweat on your forehead with some stray hairs sticking to your face. Not the prettiest sight but by fate, you found yourself face to face with Ford Pines once again.

Ford was heading to back to campus to look for his sketchpad. It was a generic notepad that could easily be mistaken for anyone’s notebook. All his practice drawings are there, documenting things he seen and capturing the beauty of it through his drawings. It meant a lot for him and he fears that if the wrong person got a hold of that notebook it will be over for him, socially. Well not really, he didn’t have much social standing to begin with. He told his roommate he’d be out for a bit of “fresh air” not expecting to see you and all your gorgeous beauty albeit sweaty and disheveled.

Ford still thinks you are the prettiest person in the entire universe. But not like he’d admit to it this early.

Pleasantries were exchanged between the two of you before parting ways. Finally making it to Fiddleford’s dorm room. You knocked on the door repeatedly and hearing a faint “come in” was your cue to let yourself in. It was a new sight. The room was organized for once, yet stacks of books littered the other side of the room. You assumed it was Fiddleford’s roommate you still have not met.

“McGucket, I need your help” you pulled out the machine you were trying to build, showing it to him. “Tell me about it, kiddo” still focused on his computer coding. “Hand held x-ray machine! This will be revolutionary,” demonstrating your machine “You can even adjust it to go atomic level, or you supposedly can, I just can’t make it right.” tinkering with it. That got Fiddleford’s attention, “well jeez, this is still a tad advanced for me but I’ll see what I can do”. You tossed him the machine and exclaiming your thanks which he almost dropped giving you both the fright of a lifetime. Changing the topic, it was time to debrief about your day.

You took a deep breathe before starting “Well, there’s this guy…” unpacking your bag to keep your hands busy and taking this chance to organize.

Ford is at a lost, he has no clue on where his notepad can be. Not in the classroom, not in the cafeteria, not even in the lost and found area! He’s starting to lose hope as he retraced his steps. The classrooms reminded him of your interactions, he laughed to himself remembering how confident you were on stating the obvious. Which made him feel a little better. Then it dawned on him.

The notepad, he must have dropped it while packing up his things quickly. But it wasn’t in the rooms so there is a big chance you might have took it.

He ran back to his dorm hoping his roommate knows where to find you. He feels utterly stupid for not asking Fiddleford’s contact number so that he won’t run all the way back to his dorm room like a mad man.

It’s late afternoon by now and curfew will be soon so he has to act fast if he wants to get the notepad before you have the chance to open it.

“Fiddleford,” Ford says in between his gasps of air, “do you know where,” taking in more gulps of oxygen. “Take your time buddy”. Ford coughed before trying again “do you know where to find Y/N?”.

This was met with a raised eyebrow and a teasing look. Ford never had a knack for picking up subtle social cues but this was something so obvious its like a glaring sign. Fiddleford just nudged his head to Ford’s desk and there laid copper wiring rose and his missing sketchpad.

He quickly opened it and saw pencil doodles in the corner of the page complimenting his drawing skills and art style. Ford tried hiding his blush but his roommate was well aware of the blooming romance this will be.

At the latest drawing he made just hours before,

Call me ####### -y/n

On the bottom of his sketches of Y/N all through out the day, including a sketch of her sleeping in class. Fiddling with his phone, unsure what to do. He typed in the number and pressed call.

“Hello?” You mumbled answering the ringing of your phone. “Y/N you’ll be late for class again if you don’t get here in 5” that got your attention. You quickly kept your books and shamefully tried to wipe a drool stain on your notes. And as much as you love hearing Ford’s voice through the phone, you can not afford another write up, especially when you’re aiming to score higher than your best friend.

word count: 2.2k

would yah look at that another fic! requests are open (i'd love to write your ideas)

'till next post <3

[pinksobg]

su-su-su-supernova 🌠🎀

What's good is coming next?

I hope you enjoy the reading! for reflection. thank you 🌠🎀🌌

pile 1: hii pile number 1! all good? a moment of stagnation will be transformed. We see here movement in some area that was previously at a standstill, for your good, for your prosperity in an area. other people can also benefit positively from your prosperity, it could be your family, your friends, your partner, your community; with community work or something like that. We see here a movement towards your own prosperity, to fill your own cup, but it also seems that what comes next will also be very beneficial to others. How intriguing, isn't it? It may be your joy that radiates, because you will return to movement in something that was previously in stagnation, which may even leave you in distress previously, or with internal conflict. This joy that you radiate will be good for you and others around you. Amazing! Another case too, this area that was at a standstill, could actually have something in common with serving others too, it could be about spiritual gifts, working in care, treating people with love and kindness, etc.

In short, something will change, a positive movement in something, a snap, an inspiration, a change perhaps in your well-being, in your energy, which will become more positive. Therefore, you will be able to move something in your situation, in your environment and/or in your life that will be very, very beneficial. both for yourself and for others. Congratulations on this great news, pile number 1! Take good care of yourself, stay hydrated, get a good sleep, ask for help if necessary and you feel like it. thank you! 🌷💌

Cards: I forgot to write them, I apologize my pile number 1.

________

pile 2 - woah! pile 2! you probably went through a tower moment, something changed internally and/or externally. We see here that it is a positive change. With the Lovers Card and the 7 of Cups, you will have many options that will sharpen your eyes! I think there are a lot of love opportunities here, perhaps you are or will be arousing interest in several people and soon you will be able to choose. 👀 hmm, interesting.

Cards: the tower, the lovers, 7 of cups.

Anything else? Furthermore, your ideas and mind will be sharper during this period. allowing you more clarity and good ideas, good projects and also providing you with willpower, inner inspiration. Cards: page of wands, king of cups.

Advice: 10 of pentacles, wheel of fortune. truly accept past events in your life, past cycles. With the work of acceptance, your personal prosperity will flourish greatly. So, accepting and letting go really isn't easy, it can take time, practice - but it's something that can be learned, isn't it? Don't give up, good luck on your healing journey. Seek help and inspiration whenever you want. thank you! take care of yourself, pile number twoo. ❤🌷

________

pile 3 - the sun! oh, finally. some weight will be left behind, recentness, hurt, something you've been waiting a long time to release. It's as if things finally fall into place with ease and a weight is lifted from your shoulders.

In the past, you may have had to choose between two things, with the two of pentacles. Your intuition guided you a lot on this path. I wanted to talk more about the positive things, but I was called to attention. Maybe it would be good for you to reflect on something, write about your feelings, your points that led you to the decision you are making/or made at that moment, if it's your case.

The oracle cards tell you:

love surrounds you. The Spirit is there for you.

There is also more advice from oracles, among them, avoid disorganization; If you feel that you are not capable of something or a mindset, improve yourself little by little and believe that part of you is already like that, the way you want to achieve it - and/or "fake it until you make it" kind of thinking if that is healthy for you and do you good in your situation.

Cheers, pile number 3! ☀☀☀ now is the time to feel loved, free, light and supported by the Universe. "Got your back!" ☀🌼🌱

________

[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?”

[abyssnotch]

i feel bad that alot of my art is scattered around on different socials so apologies for that i mainly post on Twt or X but ima try my best on here and others too p_p im very disorganized on where i post

[winged-void]

can you show the world The Mage and its Maid

Memoirs of The Mad Mage

Society, our society, is, broadly speaking, (and so agreed upon by many experts) the outgrowth of systems which never needed interact. Magic and flesh, biology and intellect that was a gift we can never return. You are familiar with these effects if not their causes, but those things are of no concern here. 

This is to say. 

You would expect such a system of systems, to produce aberrant results. The gods did not predict this nor could they plan it. Outgrowth. Externality of their need for worshippers. 

The priorities of such a system would not bias towards aberrance. Shun it. Remove it. 

But is aberrance not progress? Nothing (by definition!) can move forward without change, and what is aberrance but unexpected change. 

A wise reader might have gathered that this expert speaks of the existence of the monstrous. The strange that lurks outside of our little societies and yet seems so much more powerful than it. Is something like leviathan, or a dragon, not much more powerful than any given person? Could it not level our towns? 

Such things lack a fabric binding them. Kill ten thousand people and you'll find only more wanting your head. That power is much more. Is that not the selfsame source of the power our little intelligences were created by the gods to provide them? That togetherness, that binding agent? 

It seems then, that our society would be safe. 

Unless. There were some part of it. Some bright burning star. Some loose stitch in the fabric. That would give that gift to the monstrous, knowing it as its own. 

And I-

tick tick tick tick 

The Mage's pen stilled. 

tickticktickticktick

The pen dropped from its burn-scarred hand. 

ticktick tick   tick ticktick

It looked up. 

Across from the desk at which she wrote, there was a creature of her own creation, one she called the only name she had for a thing such as it: maid. 

An animate suit of armor, wearing a simple black robe, with a white smock thrown over it. To the untrained eye it would seem the armor had an ornate texture across it. And while that is technically true, the more expert viewer would see that texture for what it is: countless runes, all engraved by the steady hand of only the most determined mage. 

When it moved, one could hear a mild sloshing, like it was full of a liquid, which, despite many gaps in the armor, never leaked. 

Right now though, all the Mage could hear was ticking. Uneven, unsteady, disorganized ticking. 

“Cease. Cease cease cease you insipid horrid wretched disgusting thing.”

The faceplate on the armor superheated, melting into the vague impression of a smile. 

The Maid replied, “Oh, my lady, my dearest and most wonderful lady. Please understand. It produces such a rhythmic noise because it has observed, and documented, an uptick in your writing efficiency when such noises are produced.”

It tilted its head to punctuate the statement. 

The Mage stood, and leaned over the table, matted hair draping itself over the ink and paper, and spoke. 

“No. NO. I know you can produce rhythm and that was not it. It was inconsistent. You know it to be inconsistent.”

The Maid tilted its head yet more. 

“Oh my lady, it apologizes so terribly. Your inquisitive spirit was instilled in its being.

“As such, it sought to conduct an experiment of sorts. It wished to see which rhythm would best benefit you. So it switched between them.”

Silence. 

The Mage began to laugh. 

Scrambling over the desk, it grabbed the Maid's arm and began to shake it. 

“How wonderful. How creative. How beautiful. You spite me despite all precautions put in place. I simply must see more. I must.”

She thought for a moment, and looked, not at the faceplate, but instead to where it knew the organism to be. 

“I will. Thank you.”

The Mage fell back into its seat, and began to write much more frantically than before, stopping only to look back up at its creation another time. 

“I will.”