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httpsserene · 5 months

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hey can I request something that’s angsty to fluff and then smut for Oscar where reader gets a ton of hate for dating Oscar so she kind of ghosts him for a bit and they figure things out

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰/𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: oscar really just wants to hear you laugh again. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. angst. fluff. happy ending. reader is exhausted physically and mentally. reader's internal monologue is not not nice. bad eating habits. bad sleeping habit. self-deprecation. don't worry she's back on her bs at the end. reader neglects herself (?) and her relationship. implied self-sabotage. people are mean. don't worry oscar is meaner. oscar piastri is a good boyfriend. emotional hurt/comfort. tenderness. intimacy. baths and pampering. crying (non-sexy). implied sex. implied bath sex. logan and lando as plot devices. no beta we die like my will to live during finals. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot w/ blurbs. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best i ever had • drake

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: sorry it took me so long, i've changed this fic like multiple times :/ hope it fulfills you request properly :))) this is not my favorite thing in the world, i feel like if i went on a smaller scale i would've enjoyed this more but what can you do. this is also not very black reader coded? idk but feel like it's lacking there. i also apologize for my inability to write an oscar fic without including lando, he's such a willing plot device though even if he's a little ooc. i also couldn't find the mental space to write smut but there's smth for you at the end. dedicated to us women in stem! i hope you have fun reading this because i didn't have fun writing it :)

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oscar is worried. you haven’t responded to his texts for a week, he hasn’t seen your face for two weeks, and he hasn’t heard your voice for three weeks. four weeks ago, you told him you wouldn’t be able to fly out to see him at the austin grand prix, like you promised. you sounded exhausted and incredibly guilty when you explained that your course load this semester is extreme, and finals are rapidly approaching. oscar understood; he won’t ask you to sacrifice your education for one of his races, there will be plenty you can come to in the future. what he doesn’t understand is how you’re still functioning. it’s your senior year of university at an american ivy league school, you're pursuing an engineering degree, and you’re also working nearly five days a week as a barista. oscar thinks the last time he’s seen you relaxed is before your fall semester started, you spent your entire summer break with him, making appearances at the only three races you’ve been to this season (silverstone, hungary, and spa). the last time he recalls seeing your smile and hearing your laugh is in august—it’s the end of october now.

you’ve been ghosting him. oscar wants to believe that it’s unintentional, that it’s just a side effect of the amount of work and pressure on your shoulders—but he can’t accept that. if you were unintentionally missing his calls, facetimes, and texts, you’d spam respond to all of them with a voice message or paragraphs of texts before you went to bed or class. you would send him daily or weekly recap videos of how life is treating you, like you used to do. you would send him stupid videos of you messing around on your shifts during a pause of customers. you would send him thirty reels a day on instagram of brain dead shenanigans with little captions of how you reacted, or if you thought it would make him smile. you would send him fit checks every morning before you went to class, even though your outfit consists of a hoodie and sweatpants. you would send him tiktok edits of himself and tell him that he needs to stop being ‘so hot’ because you almost barked in the middle of class. you would ask him how he’s doing, you would respond to his texts the minute you could even if it's hours late, you would leave him voicemails if he doesn’t pick up, you would make an attempt to communicate.

except, you haven’t. so, he knows that you ignoring him is intentional, and that your lifestyle right now makes it easier for you to disguise your avoidance of him as accidental.

you didn’t say ‘i love you’ back.

“mate, what are you frowning for?” oscar jumps, eyes flying up from the phone screen and meeting lando’s. the brit is staring at him in confusion, the two of them are still in their race suits, tied around their waists. the sprint race ended an hour ago, and they’ve just finished celebrating oscar’s win.

“you’ve won a race, oscar—what could possibly make you sad after that?” lando says teasingly. but, the smile on his face is quick to fade as he must see oscar’s dejected mood.

the australian debates his next move for a moment, before deciding that telling lando isn’t a bad idea; they’ve been getting closer—they’re friends, oscar would say. he sighs, and hands his phone to lando, maybe he’ll tell oscar he’s worrying over nothing.

“oh,” lando says, eyes widening, “i’m sorry, mate.”

oscar brushes off lando’s words, and buries his face in his hands, “she’s pulling away from me. that was five days ago, and she hasn’t answered any of my calls. she’s only responded to my texts since then with one word answers or very dryly. she’s ghosting me.”

oscar feels lando fumbling for words, not needing to look at him to know that the older man has no idea how to go about reassuring oscar.

“look, mate, if it were me i’d go see her anyways.”

oscar huffs, “she literally said she doesn’t have time.”

“oscar,” lando stares at him in disbelief, “she hasn’t seen you in two months. i guarantee she’s probably dying to see you again, fuck whatever time she doesn’t have. she also can’t ghost you, if you see her face to face. you should go and try to fix whatever’s wrong, before you let her slip away.”

“maybe…maybe she’s just burnt out,” oscar suggests shakily, “i’ll go see her after the triple header–i’m probably just overreacting about this. she’ll be back to her usual self in time.”

oscar is enraged. he’s pissed off at his fans for attacking you in a sick twist of ‘defending him,’ ‘protecting him’ and the supposed ‘ownership’ they think they have over him. he’s pissed off at you deciding to ghost him instead of confiding in him about the hate you receive. he’s pissed off that his flight to you has been delayed for four hours. he’s pissed off at his race in brazil, if you can even call what happened a race. he’s pissed off at the fact that you can’t make time to see him before vegas. he’s pissed off that you lied to him about picking up extra shifts at the cafe.

he stalked through your instagram the minute after he was allowed to escape debrief, hunting down your roomates accounts from where you’ve tagged them in an older post. he innocently made a group message to the two girls, figuring it would be kind and proper to inform them of his impending arrival to surprise you. and the two girls you shared an apartment with responded eagerly to his message telling him that you’ve been extremely stressed and almost depressed this semester, and that hopefully his appearance will break through to you in a way they are unable to. oscar asked them if they knew your work schedule for the week, since you never told him when you're working–and learned that you lied. you didn’t accept any extra shifts, matter of fact, you got all of your shifts covered for the next two weeks. apparently, all you have been doing is going to class, working, studying furiously, and crying. when he asks if there’s any reason besides the stress from work and school that has you crying, the girls decline to speak for you, and strongly suggest that he asks you himself when he arrives.

oscar’s no longer pissed at you for lying to him or for ghosting him–he’s hurt, but, he already understands your motive. you don’t want to worry him, so you bottle it up and distance yourself to not make him aware of how you're struggling. he won’t let you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone anymore, he’s going to see you and he’s going to take care of you, and then he’ll sort out the ignorant people on the internet.

when he’s at your apartment, you’ll be coming home from your last shift before your time off. and then, once he has you in his arms, he can make everything right again.

your hands are shaking; a result from the mix of stress and exhaustion that has been plaguing you for a few weeks. it takes you four and a half attempts to unlock the front door to your apartment—this is an improvement, yesterday it took you six times. a trembling sigh of relief exits your lungs as you shut the front door, triple checking that you lock the door properly. you remove all of your outerwear and slip out of your shoes, half-heartedly making an attempt to neatly place them in the organizer you have by the door. (you fail to register how there’s only two pairs of shoes stored away; yours and a pair of shoes that look too big to be one of the girls you live with—the usual sneakers the girls wear are nowhere to be seen.) you grunt as you tenderly put on your backpack and slowly make your way into the kitchen, off-handedly murmuring a “hi,” in the direction of the living room since you can hear the tv playing, but you don’t even spare a glance to see which roommate it is—you can’t stomach anymore human interaction today.

your walk is more of a waddle; your legs and feet are sore from working nine-hour shifts five days in a row, and also from going to class four out of those five days. you place your backpack on the small island, and continue to gently meander towards the fridge. your stomach aches at the thought of food—which is unfortunate, considering you’ve only had one meal today. regardless, you will shove a sandwich down your throat, you need the energy if you’re going to study for three hours before you go to bed.

you pause before you open the fridge, a note is stuck on the door with a magnet. your roommates are gone; the two girls have spontaneously decided to go spend the weekend with their boyfriends—you’re not going to complain, you have the apartment to yourself. a brief wave of loneliness washes over you, you were kind of looking forward to venting about the week you had to the girls in the morning, and also, couldn’t they have texted you this earlier today? who leaves old-fashioned notes on the fridge anymore? you pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat wishing them a nice weekend, and see that they did, in fact, text you that they would be gone—three days ago. and, you never responded, because you never saw it. you shrug, and send the text anyways, you’ve been incredibly busy and you’re bound to miss a few texts (especially the eighteen texts from oscar that remain unopened).

you're just going through a little bit of a slump, and you’ve had a bad day. you accidentally messed up three orders today (out of the hundred you fulfilled, so three isn’t really terrible), your running off of four hours of sleep (you’re more energized when you sleep less, anyways), and a customer accidentally bumped into you as you were walking to bring coffee to a table, causing the hot liquid to spill and burn a little spot on the back of your hand by your thumb. well, you know it wasn’t purely accidental, as the girl giggled to the group of friends she was with after she “bumped” into you. based on the way she was wearing a mclaren hoodie, you can make several guesses as to why she did it—you’re kind of shocked that she noticed you even though you wear a mask at work (you have for about a month, too many fans have noticed who you are), her hate for a relationship that’s not hers should be studied for science.

incidents like these have made your coworkers start to…dislike you. the decrease in tips when you’re assigned to the register causes you to be forced to be hidden behind coffee machines the entire shift, only making drinks the entire nine hours you’re there. it’s better for you though, at least you can have a physical barrier blocking the prying eyes you feel are judging you the entire time. if anything, the recent atmosphere at work made you want to put in your two weeks—but, you have bills to pay. you’re just glad you managed to find a way to get two weeks off so you can focus on school and prepare for your exams—you can’t afford to fail, it’ll cost your scholarship and then you’ll need more than the job you have right now to finish school.

the buzzing of your phone pulls you back to the present—oscar’s calling. you squeeze your eyes shut for a few seconds, before you blink and silence the ringer. if you speak to him, you won’t be able to hide your troubles from him any longer; he reads you as easily as a kid’s picture book. he definitely doesn’t need to deal with your problems after whatever the hell happened in brazil. the noise of your phone startled you into a new thought, however. if the girls aren’t in the apartment, why the fuck is the tv on? who did you greet when you walked past the main room without a glance?

“i was calling to tell you that i’ve got takeout from the asian restaurant you like, if you’re looking for something to eat,” oscar says gently.

it’s a testament to how extremely exhausted you are: you don’t scream, you don’t fight, you don’t run—you just flinch slightly, and turn around slowly to face your boyfriend…the man you’ve been avoiding for nearly a month. at the sight of him (his fluffy hair, his soft sweater, the confused and concerned glint in his eyes) your lip starts quivering, and your eyes start watering. oscar’s gaze softens into something sweet yet empathic, and he says, “i know it’s been a while since we’ve last talked, but i didn’t think you’d cry at the sight of me.”

you burst into tears with a sob, and in a second oscar’s got you wrapped up in his arms, one hand soothingly massaging your back, while the other cradles your head on his shoulder. your borderline hyperventilating, your tears have started to soak his sweater, and you’re sniffling every two seconds to avoid getting snot on him too. oscar doesn’t try to quiet your tears, he doesn’t ask about what’s making you cry, he doesn’t even try to tell you that everything will be fine—he just holds you as you cry it out and presses kisses into your hair. eventually, the flow of tears dries and you focus on pulling in shaky breaths of air to calm down. oscar switches to holding you to his chest with one arm while he uses the free one to reach across the counter and grab a tissue. wordlessly, he wipes the wetness off your cheeks and under-eyes, he even uses another tissue to wipe your nose, clearing away the snot that managed to escape. you almost start crying again at the tender treatment and the matching look in his eyes, but you muster enough strength to keep the happy tears from falling over the waterline.

oscar nods once, deeming his cleanup complete, and clears his throat, “i’m going to heat up the food. then, we’ll eat and you’ll tell me what’s wrong and if that has anything to do with why you’re ignoring me.”

there’s no attempt from you to keep the façade up any longer, all you do is nod and step to the side so he can grab the food from the fridge.

oscar has already cleared his plate and you’re still picking through half of yours. the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, teen wolf is playing on a low volume, and your eyes are tunneled on the screen even though oscar can see that you’re not paying attention at all. one of the characters is screaming about having to get his arm cut off (stiles, probably) and suddenly you start talking to oscar.

“it’s been a shit semester. if i wasn’t graduating in spring, i honestly think i would’ve dropped out or taken a gap-year. and, i knew what i signed up for as an engineering major, and i knew that working was only going to add more on my plate—but, it’s not like i can quit my job, i have bills to pay. so, juggling school and work is difficult, and i was managing fine. but, i guess i made the mistake of scrolling through twitter—which is truly my fault i think—and everyone on the internet was calling me a ‘terrible girlfriend’,” oscar watches you scoff out a choked laugh, “and, i obviously didn’t believe i was. in the beginning, at least. i mean, it’s like they expected me to be at every race by your side, like i’m not working my way through a hellscape of a degree. i watched every practice session, qualifying, and race—they’re literally the only hours i don’t spend studying or working. i brag about you to everybody who would listen, i missed hours of sleep just to speak to you on the phone for five minutes, i work as hard as i can so i can finish this degree early so i can be with you as early as possible, and they say that you deserve a better girlfriend.”

you pause and rub at your eyes furiously, mouth opening and closing as you take time to find the words to continue. oscar quiets the flare of anger at your distress, and stays silent, not wanting to interrupt your speech, this is the most you’ve said to him in a month.

“the thing is: i-i i let their words get to me. i think it’s because i was being kicked while i was down—or whatever the phrase is. i was already mentally exhausted, and i already believe that i’m not doing my best this year, i’m disappointing everybody who knows me, i’m a shit student—and just seeing everybody agree, even though they’re just randoms on the internet, tore me down. i even deleted all of the apps off my phone,” your voice has shifted into something desperate, “so i couldn’t see what they were saying about me anymore, but it’s like once i saw it, it never left my mind. i feel like everybody is staring at me with condescending eyes, like they all think i’m terrible. and, logically, i know that’s probably not true. but, this semester has pushed me past the point of being able to rationalize properly. so as a result, i have become a ‘terrible girlfriend’ to you; like a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy.

“i avoid your calls, i leave you on delivered for days, i respond with one word, i lie to my friends and say i was up all night talking to you on the phone when i was really crying and studying at the same time, i hold back from bursting into tears in the middle of my shifts when one of your ‘fangirls’ spills their drink over me for the third time. and while doing all of this, i was hoping you’d do the hard part and just break up with me,” your voice rings out sharply and you refuse to look at your boyfriend, afraid to see the look on his face.

“because…” you whimper slightly, tongue flicking out to lick at your lips anxiously, “you do deserve a better girlfriend.”

oscar is lost for words at your conclusion; seeing you, one of the strongest women he knows break down, is a sight he never imagined. a sense of guilt builds within him, knowing that he’s added to the deprecating thoughts in your brain by postponing this intervention for weeks. you may think that he deserves someone better, but he hasn’t been the best to you either recently. if oscar was half the man you think he is, he would’ve never allowed you to avoid him in the first place. oscar stands up, collects your plate and his, and places them on the coffee table. he turns and drops to his knees in front of you, resting his hands on your thighs, and squeezes them gently to grab your attention. it takes a minute, but eventually you allow your eyes to fall to meet his, and oscar breaks further at the lack of light in your eyes.

“i think,” oscar starts quietly, “that you expect me to break up with you and leave—am i guessing correctly?”

you blink down at him and shrug, biting your lip to prevent it from quivering.

“i also think, that if i flew all this way to see you, and that if i listened to your heartbreaking recollection of how this semester and how the world has been incredibly unkind to you, and that if i sat here and still broke up you—it’s not me that deserves a better girlfriend; it’s you that deserves a better boyfriend.”

stunned, you stumble over your disagreement, but oscar steadfastly continues.

“you did the right thing by deleting your socials—and that would explain why all three hundred of the reels i’ve sent you have gone unseen,” he laughs lightly, “and even if their words took root, you prevented yourself from being able to see more of it every time you used your phone; so even if my pride is not needed, i am proud of you for doing that. i’m even more proud that you sat here and told me that you aren’t doing well, that you didn’t make an attempt to lie, and that i didn’t have to force you to tell me,” oscar says seriously, holding steady eye contact with you to make sure you're hearing him.

“i wish that you would have mentioned the hate you’re receiving as soon as it started, and that you would have told me your mental health was suffering too. you know i do everything in my power to avoid reading anything with my name in it unless it’s a credible article—so imagine my surprise, when i learned about what people were saying about you through a twitter thread logan, of all people texted me about,” you snort out a laugh at the feigned disdain in oscar’s voice when he mentions the american driver.

“you know i have no issues embarrassing people on the internet for their incorrect claims—and i’d especially tear them to shreds for trying to drag you down. we’ve been together too long for you not to come to me about things like this, even if it’s something that mildly upsets you—i want to know, because then i can make it better, or i can at least try to. you haven’t complained to me about the grueling lifestyle once, as i worked my way up to f1; if anybody could be perfect, it would be you. so, let me try to be as perfect as you, and support you properly and thoroughly as you finish up this degree, baby.

“we’re soulmates, aren’t we?” it’s a question, but oscar states it like a fact, “and i know i can’t magically make the self-loathing disappear with one conversation, but i'll tell you that you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had countless times, until you believe me unquestionably.”

oscar watches your nose scrunch cutely as you sniffle, unable to stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes. sweetly, he catches them with his thumb before they fall. he stands up and tugs you to your feet, pulling you into a tight, warm hug.

“i love you, kanga,” oscar coos as he kisses your forehead.

“i love you the most, roo,” you answer back, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“i’ve bought some lavender epsom salt and an embarrassing amount of bath bombs. will you let me take care of you tonight?” oscar asks quietly.

he sees the mix of awed-disbelief and confusion as you stare up at him, like you can’t imagine why he’d want to love you tenderly tonight, and that hurts him more—the words of his ‘fans’ online have done enough damage to cause you to doubt him. maybe he can convince you to come to vegas with him so he can keep you close, but first, he needs to focus on caring for you here and now.

oscar grabs his duffle bag and smiles as you hold his hand to lead him to your room and the attached bathroom (rent is ridiculously expensive, but at least you don’t have to share a bathroom with your roommates.) oscar sends you to grab pajamas while he starts filling the tub, epsom salt already poured in. he fiddles with the temperature for a while before it’s set to the boiling-your-skin-off hot you enjoy. by the time you join him in the bathroom, he’s added the salts and soap in the water and has placed the bath bombs out for you to choose one. oscar can’t help the small smile that rises to his face at the sight of the serious furrow of your brow as you pick out your favorite from the bunch.

oscar hums as you hand him the jade-infused bath bomb, and asks, “can i wash your hair too? or will it mess up your schedule?”

“i actually really need to wash it,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle, “i’ve been so busy that i haven’t been taking care of my hair properly.”

oscar blinks and continues non-judgmentally, “i’ll give you an extra scalp massage to make up for that—you can start getting undressed now, the water’s nearly ready.”

he turns around awkwardly, he’s seen you naked before but he feels like it would be slightly perverse to watch you while you’re clearly in a more sensitive state tonight. he fumbles with the faucet for a few seconds before turning it off, and drops the bath bomb into the water so it can start dispersing. oscar faces you again carefully making sure he avoids staring at your body and locks eyes with you, he beckons you forward with an outstretched hand and holds your hand as you submerge yourself in the water. once you’re settled comfortably, oscar grabs your hair products (he holds up any bottle he thinks you may not want to use tonight, and you give him a thumbs up or down to decide), and then kneels at your side.

he starts to roll up the sleeves of the hoodie but your hand halts his motions, the water splashing loudly at the quickness of your movement, “you’re not getting in with me?”

“uh,” oscar stutters, “i-i wasn’t planning on it. i just wanted to give you a nice bath.”

oscar pinkens as you stare at him wordlessly and when your unimpressed gaze shifts to a slight glare, he finds himself shedding his clothes and sinking in behind you at an impressive speed.

his heart began to race as the two of you shifted into as comfortable of a position you could achieve in a too-small tub, but calmed at your pleased hum as you settled between his legs with your back resting on his chest. this may be the most romantic experience oscar has ever indulged in. sure, it’s not a candlelit dinner at an obnoxiously expensive restaurant but, it’s him detangling your hair, it’s him massaging shampoo into your crown, it’s him scratching softly along your scalp as the deep conditioner sits, it’s you playing with the water innocently, it’s you whispering every detail of your life that he’s missed out on, it’s you gently directing him through braiding your hair, and it’s him pressing kisses to your shoulder when he finishes. there isn’t a single moment where the two of you become unsettled during lapses of silence; the intimacy of his actions is loud enough to fill the gaps. oscar can’t imagine ever being this comfortable with anybody besides you, he hates that he almost allowed you to pull completely away from him. moments like these, where you allow yourself to be thoughtlessly vulnerable with him, are exactly why he’s completely enamored with you.

your body has loosened against him, muscles syrupy and lax from the effects of a toe-curling scalp massage, and oscar gently guides you to sit upright while steadying most of your weight with a single hand splayed against your abdomen. the sound of the cap of your body wash clicking open startles you into the present, and you shift around to straddle his lap. it’s amusing; he inaudibly chuckles at the sight of you struggling to complete your change of position without sending water over the edge. you make a triumphant noise when you’ve managed to turn around to face him, and oscar’s hands cradle your hips when you rest on his lap.

“can i–”

“shouldn’t you–”

oscar bursts into laughter and you into giggles, at the interruption of each other's sentences. it’s definitely not that funny, but oscar’s heart skips a beat at the sound of your laugh–he hasn’t heard that sweet noise in what feels like forever. he motions for you to speak, ever the gentleman, and eagerly awaits for our question with a smile still stretched across his lips.

“shouldn’t you fuck me before we wash up? so we don’t have to clean up twice?”

oscar chokes on his breath, his grip on you tightening in surprise, and he babbles, “what? no-i mean, yes, i mean—wait. i didn’t do all of this just to have sex with you, you know that right? i genuinely just wanted to pamper you–”

“oscar,” you cut him off, intentionally this time around, “after the semester i’ve had, and the less than kind words i’ve heard and thoughts i’ve had describing myself–i really do appreciate the bath, i feel reminded that you love me. however, i really think that having sex would help…solidify your devotion for me.”

oscar blinks up at you, he wasn’t quite expecting you to return to your normal sassy behavior as quickly as you did. but, he is thankful that you’ve opened up to him with no further hesitation–it’s actually incredibly attractive of you, how you’ve resumed complete comfortability in expressing exactly what you want to him. at least, that’s the excuse he’s telling himself to cope with being half-hard already.

“...at least let me take you to bed, then?”

“no,” you whine down at him, your hips sneakily twitching forward, oscar moans lightly at the light grind, “too far! saves time later if we don’t have to come back to shower.”

“you’re right,” oscar hums distractedly, moving his right hand off your waist to slip between your thighs and brush along your cunt, “i’ll fuck you here as long as you let me do all of the work.”

oscar’s blood heats at the sound of your whimpering moan and he takes his other hand off your waist to grab at your chin and he pulls you down for a kiss.

oscar groans when you pause before your lips touch his, and he feels the breath of your giggle ghost over his mouth, “mmm, i’ll never say no to that—and, didn’t i agree to let you take care of me tonight?”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

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theemporium · 3 months

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i love how you write oscar so had to send an idea in! oscar blurb where they're all dressed up and he can't keep his hands off her even though he usually very reserved in regard to PDA, maybe they're at an awards ceremony or clubbing with other boys from the grid?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Lando had practically begged Oscar to join the rest of the grid to come out with them after the season ended.

He was a rookie. He just completed his first full year in Formula one. And, fuck, they did a pretty damn good job compared to where they started. They ended the season on a high. They deserved to go out and get shit-faced drunk now that there were no race weekends or dietary requirements holding them back.

It took a solid twenty minutes of pestering before Oscar eventually agreed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to celebrate with Lando. It was just that clubbing was never really his scene. And truthfully, he was fucking exhausted and just wanted to pass out in his bed with no concerns to wake up unforgivably early in the morning.

But you had been right there with Lando, persuading him that it was the right way to sign off his rookie year in Formula One.

Except to everyone’s shock (maybe not as much yours), Oscar mixed with alcohol and exhaustion seemed to throw every aspect of personal space and PDA right out the window.

“Ease off, mate, she isn’t going anywhere!” Lando barked out in laughter as he watched Oscar reach out for you.

You had disappeared for a few seconds just to help Logan carry some drinks back to the table. You were barely at arm’s length from the booth before Oscar was reaching out, his arms hooking around your waist as he pulled you down onto his lap.

“Oscar, the drinks!” You laughed, but the boy didn’t care about the tequila splashing against his trousers and shoes. He just nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck as he muttered something about missing you under his breath.

“Fucking hell, he’s like—one of those grabby things!” Lando commented, snorting a little at the sight in front of him.

Logan blinked. “You mean a leech?”

Lando nodded furiously. “Yes, he’s one of those!”

“Just wanna hug my pretty girlfriend,” Oscar huffed, his hands splayed on your thighs where your dress had ridden up a little. “Shoot me.”

“I think you’re pretty too,” you whispered back to him, ignoring the exaggerated gag the other boys at the table let out as you turned your head to look at him.

Oscar lifted his head, a massive grin spread across his face and his cheeks flushed from the drinks he had. “Really? You think I’m pretty?”

“The prettiest,” you confirmed as you leaned down to peck his lips.

“Thank you, baby,” he hummed, clearly delighted with your words as his fingers continued to stroke up and down your thighs.

“Ugh, they are basically fucking!”

Oscar rolled his eyes at his teammate and huffed once again. “I’m allowed to fuck my pretty girlfriend!”

“Not in front of me, mate!”

“You wish you could see,” Oscar grumbled, arms tightening around your waist as he pressed his face against your shoulder. You could feel him yawning against your skin, his lips brushing over the straps of your dress despite his attempt to hide it.

“I think we can raincheck on that offer,” you snorted, watching as Lando dramatically shuddered in response. “I want one more dance with my pretty boy before we go, hm?”

Oscar looked up, blinking a few times before smiling. “One more dance.”

You left the booth, hand in hand with Oscar as you made your way to the dance floor with the boy pressed up behind you like he refused to keep any distance between you.

“If they shag in this club, I’ll never sleep peacefully again.”

“Might wanna look away then, dude.”

#oscar piastri #formula one #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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periprose · 6 months

Note

Hi! :)

I’m craving some Logan Howlett angsty fluff and I really like your writing style… Do you think you could maybe do a fic where either Logan and reader are in the heat of the moment and his claws come out and he scratches her. Or where Logan has a nightmare and the same thing happens. Either way the reader ends up comforting him.

Thank you! 🩷 :)

Hi!! So sorry for getting to this so late 🥹 loved the idea btw :) ended up doing a bit of a mix of both? If that makes sense.

"Out with it."

Your voice rings out clearly among the X-Men, the throng of battle no longer around you all. It was a more exhausting battle than you would've thought, but nothing irks you more than knowing that Logan has been apparently thinking of you as someone to play babysitter to. He hadn't trusted you to make your final blow to the enemy, and instead scooped you away to safety before lashing out with his own claws.

Logan clearly has something to say to you, and you want to hear it. You're not going to let him escape again- the way he always does, nonchalantly, refusing to acknowledge how he treats you.

Charles stiffens next to you in the helicarrier. Watching the tension, feeling the palpable heart-wrenching sensation between you and Logan. He doesn't know how you got to this point.

"Listen. Just because you didn't have it doesn't mean you're not a good X-Man-" Logan starts dismissively.

"But I did! I did have it!" You shout back at him, and then inhale carefully. "Nobody told you to rescue me, Logan. If I was about to die, then I was. I wanted that to be on my own terms."

"Don't talk like you're a fucking martyr when you've never had the privilege, kid." Logan's unnecessarily harsh tone has you flinching. "Do you know how many people I've seen die, for no good reason? Do you really want a bunch of Pentagon psychos to be your last memory?"

"Shut up." You shift in your seat, feeling small. "We don't get to choose when we die. Not like you."

Logan becomes visibly angered with that, the little taunt you've made towards his immortality. "That doesn't mean you have to go seek it out, dumbass."

"Oh really? Don't tell me you're getting soft, Logan." You glare at him, and Charles and Jean and Scott look at each other uncertainly. "Just because your life is so long doesn't mean the rest of us have forgotten what it means to be alive."

There's an unspoken, sudden charge in the air, now that you've mentioned what everyone else has the good sense to shut up about- Logan having lived so long and not caring about the consequences of his actions. Logan's eyes narrow until you feel sure that you've pushed him too far this time- he looks more animal than human, more Wolverine than ever- and you feel yourself inching forward, letting the anger of not being understood push you to fighting him- and Charles suddenly raises his hand in protest.

"Please, you two. I'm not sure what has transpired today, but I know you are better than choosing to have a physical altercation on a helicarrier flight." His calm, soothing tone makes you feel a little disappointed in yourself, and you settle back in your seat, refusing to meet his or Jean's glances of concern.

All you really wanted was an apology. A "Sorry, I won't do that again." Or even an explanation for why Logan keeps tabs on you all the time, never letting you be a real part of the X-Men, always safely on the sidelines. Were you just too weak?

Should you even be here?

You feel guilty for what you said to him. It's not a bad thing, you know, that Logan doesn't want you to get hurt- it's just that you want to do your job. You're not a kid.

It almost, almost justifies how you treated him, but even you know that was too far. You can't act as if you know Logan's life story- not even Charles or Jean would claim to do that, and they've searched his mind for memories several times.

Like it or not, the man was mysterious. He kept to himself on a lot of things, citing past hurt as his reason why- and you should've respected that.

"Maybe I am weak." You mutter to yourself, wondering why you can't restrain your emotions around Logan.

You're practicing shooting small, psionic blasts towards the target in your room- it's a great way to pass the time when you can't sleep- when you hear a groan, a shudder, an angry, deep growl-

It sounds like Logan. His room is right above yours, and the sounds are definitely coming from there- you hear him yell, and before you can stop yourself, you're bounding up the stairs to the third floor of the X-Mansion, bursting through his room's door with a ready hand, in case you need to fight.

Logan watches as you berate him in his dream.

Actually, it's not quite you- it's some venomous, evil, witch wearing your face. You giggle at him- you call him old- you don't take him seriously.

With every taunt, you fire another bright purple blast at him- and for once, his body doesn't heal instantaneously. He is getting old, getting hurt, watching as blood pools out of him. It's agonizingly painful.

He's going to die this time, without making it right with you- he's afraid that you're right about him, that he's a washed up sad old man who can't ever let people in.

"We don't need you anymore, Logan..." The not-you whispers softly, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and Logan can't help but believe it.

His self preservation instincts kick in, and he launches forward, snarling, claws out with a sharp snikt sound. He feels that even though he'll regret your death, he'll miss you immensely, it's just one more tally mark to several others.

"Logan. Logan!"

You're leaning over Logan's sweaty, clammy body in his bed. You watch as his hands fist in the sheets, and he tosses and turns in agony- you breathe in hesitation, in fear that he's not going to be okay- he grunts suddenly, and you're reminded of how Rogue tells you about his nightmares. They're frequent.

How out of touch could you have been today?

You gently-yet-firmly grab Logan's arm, shaking, and his arms move forward in a self-defense mechanism that seems practiced, as if he's been attacked in his sleep before, and before you can move away, there's a sharp snikt sound, a quick wave of claws, and a searing pain in your side.

It all happens before you can even blink. You fall off to the side, on the floor, writhing in pain. Logan's claws just nicked your side, it's essentially a scratch- but the pain is so much worse than you're expecting, and you fall to the floor again as you try to get up.

You breathe in harshly, holding back a sob, as you feel wet blood pooling through the side of your night dress.

"Jesus Christ." Logan pounces off the bed, waking to blood all over his claws, and he's leaning over your body, as you blink up at him hesitantly. He immediately panics, lifting you up and resting you on his squatted thighs. "Kid! Hey, kid, don't close your eyes-"

"..." You're just barely hanging on, but you listen.

And Logan feels that same sense of shame he felt when he attacked Rogue, when Jean "died", every single time he had accidentally unsheathed his claws towards someone who didn't deserve it.

Doubly so, considering it's like his terrible nightmare has come to life. But you absolutely didn't do anything wrong- he can't believe he was so angry with you.

He calls for help, in a slightly broken tone, and no one seems to be coming.

"Just a scratch." You try, but Logan shakes his head.

"No, no, no." Logan spits out. "How could I- I never meant to-"

"I'm sorry, Logan." You cough, and Logan feels awful that you're apologizing while bleeding out due to his actions. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You're not some unreliable old man who doesn't care..."

You flinch at a sudden, sharp pain, and Logan motions for you to stop talking, but you keep going.

"If anything, you're the opposite. You're there for me. And I'm sorry that I got so... so angry at you for that." You mutter to yourself, not aware of how Logan hangs onto your words. "You're protecting me from making mistakes, and I'm grateful."

"No, kid. You had a point before." Logan interjects, but you shake your head.

"Did I? Or was I being a brat?" You grimace at yourself.

"You did have a point. I was being selfish," Logan shakes his head and then swallows that urge to push you away. "I don't always know how to leave people well enough alone. Sometimes I'm too much."

He hesitates, and then continues on. "Like, I treat you as if you're a nuisance, right? But I always... I always want you next to me. And I know I should just sort my shit out like an adult. But I'm scared."

"Scared?"

"Of what happens. What always happens." Logan sighs in defeat. "I fall in love, and they die. I find my people, and they leave me because I'm such a jackass. There's too much surrounding me that just... ruins everything."

"No, no. I won't leave." You tighten your hand around Logan's, and he, despite wanting to say that you're wounded because of him, believes you. He's so grateful to hear you say it- he had no idea that's what was weighing on him so badly.

He loves you, he knows he does. Logan has never been the best with feelings, but for once, he's glad he was honest.

The first thing Scott sees when he finally makes his way to Logan's room, from all the way across the X-Mansion, is Logan whispering "I'm sorry," and... he thinks (he's not 100% sure), "I love you," to your very forlorn, softly curved-around-him body.

It's a very tender moment, and Scott feels he should leave.

Then Logan presses a firm, shaky kiss on your forehead, and then your lips, and you, with your limited reserve of energy, kiss him back, and then Scott interjects with:

"Hey!...?"

He seems taken aback as you both look at him. "I heard screaming? What is this, some sort of weird cult sacrificial scenario?"

"Logan... had a... nightmare..." You wince, and Scott sees the red on your night gown. "I need... medical attention."

"On it." Scott glances at Logan for permission, and he's currently trying to push all these mushy feelings back into his chest where they belong, and he wants to be there to help you in the clinic, but he's flustered with everything that's happened and he can only hand you to Scott without looking at him.

Scott smirks to himself as he runs you to the clinic of the X-Mansion.

"You and Logan, huh? I knew there was something in that fight today." Scott remarks as you cling to him.

"It's taken an embarrassingly long time for me to figure it out, but yeah." You blush. "Has everyone else...?"

"Jean's been running a bet for the last year." Scott laughs. "She says you both are two sides of the same coin."

You can't help but agree.

#logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett angst #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine #old man logan #wolverine angst #james logan howlett x reader #marvel x reader #xmen x reader #x men x reader #x-men #x-men x reader #x-men angst #ask #requests

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whoxeology · 3 months

Note

HI HII hope ur having an amazing day!! But I can I request Percy x reader (gn if possible plz:3) where Percy n reader get caught by Sally (after they rescue her😞) cuddling n kissing BUT Sally didn't know they were in a relationship (maybe they were just couldn't tell her since they didn't know when or couldn't since they just rescued her??). ITS OK IF U CANT/DONT WANT TO!! plz take care of urself n remember to drink water ^.^tysm!!

A/N: PLEASE YOU ARE LITERALLY SO SWEET. THIS IS SO EXCITING I LOVE GETTING REQUESTS. This is my first actual blurb so please let me know what y'all think.

⛧☾༺♰Red Handed♰༻☽⛧

PAIRING: Percy Jackson x Reader

WARNINGS: Established Relationship, cursing, GN Reader, Possible spoilers for TLT, Kissing, OOC Percy.

W.C: 0.8K

A/N: I have not read the books only knowledge I have of Percy is from the movies, TV show, and multiple fics I have read. While writing this I have Logan Lerman Percy Jackson in mind. With that being said this is purely for fun. You are more than welcome to disagree and leave feedback.

It had been a hell of a past few hours. In less than 24 hours you, Percy, Grover, and Annabeth had managed to go to the underworld and save Sally, briefly fought Luke before Percy ultimately beat his ass, returned the lightning bolt to Zeus, and got Grover back from the underworld.

"My god my back is killing me" You groaned as you stretched yourself out on Percy's bed. You had gotten out of a much-needed shower, the scalding hot water seeming to work miracles on your bruised skin. You smelled faintly of Vanilla and were wearing an old AC/DC tee shirt and shorts that Percy had lent you.

Saying you were exhausted was an understatement. You missed your friends, your cabin mates, and most importantly sleep. Considering you’d been barely managing to catch 40 minutes of sleep in the past few days you’d take anything.

"I wonder why's that," Percy said sarcastically as he slid himself up behind you. He placed his head into the crook of your neck inhaling your scent. "God you smell good," He said as his hands found their way under your shirt and onto your waist. His cold hands meet your hot skin making you shiver.

Percy missed his mom more than shown. You wouldn’t blame him, you know if you got your mom back you’d be feeling the same as him, if not worse. Annabeth and Grover had gone back to camp while you and Percy decided to stay with his mom for the night. You would have gone back to camp with Grover and Annabeth but Percy insisted on you staying with him.

"Can't say the same for you," You say jokingly. Percy's cold hands were poking around your waist with intent making you giggle and squirm when he poked a sensitive spot below your ribs.

"Hey I showered," he said defensively as his poking turned into tickling. His fingers were relentless "Take it back." He said into your neck as you laughed loudly trying to get away.

"Percy!" You whisper shouted trying to pry his hands away from your waist. You didn't want Sally to hear and get the wrong impression about you.

"Take it back love or else I won't stop," He whispered into your ear as he pinned your wrist down with one hand. His other becoming harsher tickling your sides as if there was no tomorrow.

"OKAY, OKAY FINE I"M SORRY, YOU SMELL AMAZING," You practically shouted as you grasped at his hands. If he kept it up you’d probably piss your pants. Finally, after what seemed like years he stopped tickling you resting his hands back on your waist. He shoved his head back into your neck.

"Percy," you said in a warning tone. He had started to kiss right below your ear.

"Hmm?," He hummed back. The vibration tickles against your neck right below your jaw. His hands around your waist tightened, pulling your back further onto him.

“Percy,” you whine breathlessly. Your hands reach behind you to tug on his hair. He was being an ass, placing slow kisses on the collar of your neck.

“Who smells amaz- OH MY GOD,"

The sound of Percy's door opening was all you heard before you were on the ground. Your ass hurts from the sudden impact.

"Oh my god sweetie are you okay," Sally said rushing to your side. Her hands grabbed yours as she pulled you off the ground.

"Oh my god babe I'm sorry I panicked," Percy said as he grabbed your waist and pulled you back onto the bed.

"Im fine it's okay really," You laughed as you sat on the bed leaning against Percy finding the whole situation funny. Percy was sitting on his bed awkwardly with one hand around your waist and the other rubbing the back of his neck, his face bright red while Sally's eyes were looking at him expecting answers.

"Babe? When did this happen," Sally questioned as she leaned against the wall. She didn't look upset but rather amused. "Since a little after I got to camp," Percy said looking at his mom. He stopped rubbing his neck and instead started playing with your fingers instead.

“Okay cool, look I get it, I understand you’re young I was young one too and I will admit I had my fair share of fun -” She was cut off by a loud groan from Percy. He threw himself back into his bed. His black hair hit his light blue pillow.

“Oh my god, Mom please stop” He mumbled his entire face red again. You can hear the embarrassment in his voice.

“Okay okay I’ll leave,” she said as she put her hands up with a cheeky smile on her face. “This door stays open though,” she said as she pointed at Percy, suddenly serious.

“MOMMMMM.”

A/N: How do yall feel about the color-coded diolauge? would yall prefer it like this or as regular text?

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loonylupinblack3 · 3 days

Text

Period Trouble

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: swearing, nothing else i think?

Summary: you wake up with your period and are forced to go on a mission with Logan of all people

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: literally obsessed with this man rn so ofc i had to write about him. also wolverine has enhanced senses including smell but its like…. barely shown in the movies so i had to search it up to be sure, and some part of me still doubts it but for the purposes of this fic he does have it

You woke up with a groan, immediately curling into a ball. You were early. You were early and you hadn’t emotionally or physically prepared for having your period today, yet the world seemed ready to punish you, burdening you with an early cycle.

You checked the time, cursing every god and deity you knew when you realised you were supposed to have woken up half an hour ago. Wincing, you got up, your body screaming at the movement. Already your stomach was aching, the ghosts of cramps to come caressing your body.

There was knocking at your door, quiet yet firm. You already knew it was Storm on the other side of the door, no doubt in search of a reason why you failed to get up on time. It was going to be a long day.

You yelled out to Storm, promising to be out in five minutes, and got up, groggily looking for your clothes. When you’d tamed your hair and brushed your teeth, you exited your room to find Storm waiting on the other side, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

She took one look at you and sighed. “What are you wearing?”

You looked down perplexed. “....my clothes?”

She raised her eyebrow. “You’re on a mission today, remember?”

Fuck. You nearly let out a whine. You were not in the mood to go skulking around doing Xavier’s bidding when you had a constant throbbing pain assaulting your stomach, unreasonable mood swings, and exhaustion weighing you down.

Storm sent you a questioning look. “You up for this?”

The mission was nothing big. Professor X needed you to collect some sort of rare herb that had recently been shipped into the nearest city, something he needed to complete a super secret experiment you weren’t privy to. He’d just asked for help and you’d volunteered.

Oh how you regretted that decision now.

“Yeah I’m fine,” you muttered. “Let me just get changed real quick.”

Getting into your previously decided upon outfit, a plain inconspicuous one intended to blend in, you left your room again, this time with no complaint from Storm. Your stomach gave an uncomfortable clench and you sighed, making a mental note to find some nurofen before leaving for the mission.

“Why aren’t you in your outfit?” you asked, just realising Storm wasn’t wearing what you two had agreed upon yesterday.

She winced slightly. “Can’t go. Filling in for some classes.”

Your face soured but you tried not to hold it against her. Storm loved her students, and given the choice of helping them or Xavier with a low level mission, she’d obviously choose her kids. You couldn’t blame her exactly, but it meant you’d have to go on this mission alone, while not impossible by any means it would make it slightly more difficult.

You sighed. “That’s okay. I can go alone.”

When Storm winced even more your eyes narrowed in suspicion, following her with caution. “Storm…..”

She sighed guiltily. “Xavier didn’t want you to go alone. The herb’s too valuable.”

You tilted your head slightly as you entered the house’s foyer. “So who am I going with then?”

Storm’s eyes darted ahead, and you followed her gaze to find Logan Howlett leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He smirked at you, “you’re looking at him sweetheart.”

You resisted the urge to groan, instead sending Storm a dirty look. You didn’t necessarily dislike Logan, but he was a lot to deal with, and you were already tired from your day that had barely begun.

You couldn’t say all that with Logan standing there however, so you muttered a, “lovely,” and walked past the man to the garage.

He followed you silently, no quip or smart ass comment which was strange for him. You’d just entered the garage, heading towards one of the cars, when you glanced back at him and found Logan stopped in the doorway, staring at you with a frown on his face. Or rather, a deeper frown than usual.

“What is it?” you asked him, standing at the hood of the car.

Logan’s eyes roved your body, searching for something. “You’re injured.”

It was your turn to frown. “What? No I’m not.”

He took a step forward, almost as if he was planning on looking for your alleged injury himself. “Don’t bullshit me Y/n, I can smell your blood.”

You made a face. “What are you talking about…..” you trailed off when you realised it, perhaps the most mortifying moment in your life.

Logan could smell your period blood. He thought you were bleeding from an injury.

You cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

He scoffed, walking towards you until you were face to face. You tried to step back and felt the hood of the car against your legs. “I can smell the fucking blood seeping out of you Y/n. I wouldn’t call that fine.”

You gritted your teeth to stop yourself from snapping at him. “I can assure you, I am not injured.”

You moved to walk past him but he caught your wrist, forcing you back into your position pressed against the car. “If you think I am going on this mission with you while you’re wounded, you’re out of your mind.”

“I’m not-”

“Do you think I’m an idiot darl? Is that why you’re denying being hurt while I can literally smell it on you-”

You cut him off. “I’m on my period, Logan.”

He paused, staring at you with an indecipherable expression on his face. You waited for him to speak, feeling embarrassed and furious about it. Why should you be embarrassed of your period? He was the one who was pushing you, prodding you, forcing you to tell him the source of the bleeding. If your answer made him uncomfortable, that wasn’t your fault nor your concern.

Eventually he spoke. “Alright then. Get in the car. I’m driving.”

You scowled at him. “Says who?”

He didn’t even bother looking at you, already in the driver’s seat. “Says me.”

You sighed but didn’t argue further, silently getting into the passenger seat. Logan started the car, reversing it out of the garage and driving down the long winding driveway till you got to the street.

“It’s an hour's drive to the city, give or take,” you told Logan, setting the GPS up on the car.

Logan barely glanced at it, eyes on the road, a firm grip on the steering wheel. He didn’t even respond to you. You sighed and turned away, looking out the window as the scenery passed you in flashes.

As the drive continued, you noticed Logan sending you glances every now and then. If you really focused on them, you’d almost say they seemed worried, concerned even, but they were always too quick for you to tell for certain. You were too preoccupied with your cramps that had started up anyway, and the lack of nurofen you’d forgotten to grab.

Finally, you arrived at the city, driving into the hustle and bustle of the crowded area. Logan’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, obviously not a fan of the traffic the city provided. You watched the stream of people through the window as Logan looked for a space to park, muttering under his breath.

You were mildly entertained at the amount of road rage he had, cursing every car that wasn’t at least 10 metres over the speed limit. His jaw was clenched, hand fisting the steering wheel, yet he still looked at you here and there, like you were actually wounded.

When he eventually found a parking spot the two of you got out of the car and you looked at the address Xavier gave you.

“Should be somewhere along this street,” you murmured, eyes flicking from the piece of paper to the busy street.

Logan moved behind you, so close you could feel your back against his chest, and looked at the paper in your hand. He let out a grunt and moved past you, walking forwards. You frowned and hurried your pace, not wanting to lose him amidst the crowd of people.

Luck was certainly not your side, because soon enough you’d lost him, unable to see his black leather jacket in the throng of people. You hesitated, wondering if you should look for him or just go straight to the address, when you felt an arm around your waist.

“Stay close to me,” Logan murmured into your war, his voice gravelly. “Don’t wanna lose you again.”

You glanced at him as he continued walking, not moving his arm from your waist. “How’d you find me?”

He gave you a smirk. “Followed the smell of blood.”

Again you felt your cheeks heat but you glared at him defiantly, refusing to be embarrassed. He smirked at you, flashing his teeth, as you arrived in front of the address, a plain building home to some sort of florist.

Logan finally took his hand from your waist, walking to the door with you trailing behind him. A bell gave a little jingle as you entered, and you were immediately assaulted with the smell of flowers. Different sorts of plants took up every corner of the room and Logan’s face soured as he looked around, obviously not pleased with the environment.

An old woman sat behind a desk, watering a plant with a mini watering can. You walked up to her, Logan hot on your heels. When you stopped in front of the desk Logan was so close behind you you could actually feel his chest against your back.

“Mrs May?” you asked.

The old woman looked at you with a smile, her eyes crinkling. “That’s me. What can I help you two lovebirds with? Bouquet of roses? Lilies?”

You opened your mouth, surprised, and tried to find something to say. Being mistaken for a couple shouldn’t have affected you so much, especially while on a mission, but you were flustered and could still feel Logan’s chest right against your back, his warmth almost dizzying.

“We’re not here for flowers unfortunately,” Logan spoke, saving you. Except why didn’t he specify you weren’t a couple? Did that not matter to him, what some old lady thought, or did he enjoy the idea of being thought of as your boyfriend?

Oh god. What were you thinking? Stupid period hormones.

The old lady looked at you two curiously. “Then how can I help you?”

There was a pointed silence and you realised Logan was waiting for you to speak. You cleared your throat and spoke the random sequence of words Xavier had you memorise, that would inform Mrs May just what type of buyers you were.

The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition and she nodded her head slowly. “Ah, yes, let me just go to the storage room quickly, I’ll be back….”

Mrs May tottered around the desk and through a side door, half hidden behind the multitude of plants covering the area, leaving you alone with Logan.

You took a step away from him and turned around to look at him, finding him staring at you with a frown on his face.

You frowned back at him. “What’s up with you today?”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “What is up with me? I don’t know if you’ve noticed Darl but you haven’t exactly been up to par yourself.”

You rolled your eyes at his words. “That’s not what I meant, and besides, I’m on my period.”

Logan stared at you, arms crossed. “What did ya mean then?”

“You’ve been acting strange. Less talkative and annoying like usual.”

Logan snorted. “Ever the lady.”

“I’m serious. What’s up with you?”

Logan sighed and took a step forward until he was towering over you and you had to crane your head up to look at him. “You are what’s up. I can constantly smell you bleeding, and I can’t get it out of my mind that it means you’re hurt. You’re driving me crazy sweetheart.”

Well…. That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. Logan smirked down at you as if he knew that, and enjoyed surprising you. You cleared your throat as your eyes darted to the floor. “Well, that’s hardly my fault.”

Logan chuckled. “Not your fault no, but it is your doing whether you mean to or not.”

You swallowed, looking back up at him. “Well…. Don’t you constantly smell when people are on their periods?”

“It’s different with you. Smelling your blood just drives me crazy, plain and simple. Can’t get the instinct out of my head that blood means injury.”

The way Logan was admitting all of this, with such calm, made you think he’d been wanting to say this for a while. The unspoken confession was there, and it was up to you to decide what to do with it.

“I’m glad you care,” was what you landed on, unsure of what else to say.

Logan chuckled again, one hand snaking to your waist. “I do a lot more than care, Y/n.”

You smiled softly, looking up at him. With his other hand he brushed your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The sound of a door closing brought you out of your little bubble and you took a step back, Logan reluctantly letting go of your waist.

Mrs May, either not having seen you two or graciously deciding to ignore it, passed you a package, informing you the herb and all information involving it was inside, and to handle it with care. You nodded and thanked the old woman before exiting the building, Logan again right on your heels.

As soon as the shop’s door closed behind you Logan’s hand was back around your waist. “Not losing you this time.”

You tried not to smile, though internally you were grinning like a maniac, and let Logan lead the two of you back to the car. You didn’t even get to argue your case of driving this time, Logan already in the driver’s seat. You sighed and got into the passenger seat, resigning yourself to another hour of silence as Logan started driving, when you felt his hand on your thigh.

You looked at him but he didn’t say anything, just gave it a light squeeze as he kept his eyes on the road. You looked away, grinning. So maybe the world didn’t have it out for you after all.

#wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #xmen #x-men #xmen movie #xmen movies #x men movies #marvel #hugh jackman #james logan howlett #james howlett #x men #xavier #charles xavier

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danieldrivesfast · 1 month

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After some absolute bullshit I've seen in the last 12 hours in Formula 1 circles, I need to let the intrusive thoughts out.

These are GROWN MEN participating in a multi-billion-dollar global sport. Stop projecting your feelings and experiences onto them. The infantilization of these men is absolutely ridiculous. The behavior of so many fans is out of control. It's exhausting to have to constantly navigate around this stuff and block a dozen people a day for the crap I see.

Nobody is saying you can't have fun in fandom, make jokes, write your fanfic, make your edits, etc. I'm on Tumblr. Obviously I appreciate that stuff.

But when you're wishing horrible things on Alex Albon/Williams because poor widdle Logie Bear isn't going to race because tHaT's NoT fAiR, it just shows you have no concept of reality when it comes to the business of the sport or Logan and Alex's objective worth to it. You can feel bad for Logan as a person while acknowledging reality and not making threats.

When you're slandering Daniel Ricciardo as a selfish prick/bad friend/disgusting person for not going to Scotty James' snowboarding competitions because you don't understand how adult friendships, travel logistics, professional schedules, and equitable relationships work, you're just showing your immaturity.

When you think it's okay to scream in people's faces, throw things at people, grab/touch people without their consent and if you don't act that way you're not a real fan or "real one," it shows you have no respect.

When you think talking hate, spamming comments, sending nasty DMs, looking up medical/family information, basically stalking women who are associated with the drivers is fine (because you think you have a chance with them), you're a creep and have zero boundaries.

When you position yourself as an authority on F1 but care more about posting on social media for a reaction/likes/comments than actually sharing things that are true, you are a problem and an embarrassment to content creators/members of the media who are doing actual work. That's not directed at honest mistakes, that is to the people who are wilfully ignorant and/or feed misinformation/sensationalism because it makes them popular.

NONE of that energy is needed in F1, or any fandom. It's absolutely gross and just as nasty as the men who act like know-it-alls and treat people like crap, just from the other end of the bell curve.

Do better.

#formula 1 #daniel ricciardo #alex albon #logan sargeant #scotty james #lando norris #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #do better #toxic fandom

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silverzoomies · 8 months

Text

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?”

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x y/n #txt #smut

489 notes · View notes

non-stop-imagines · 8 months

Text

My Girlfriend

From this idea 💖

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Black Fem!Reader

Summary: In which Logan loves you. That's it. That's the tweet.

Word Count: ~4.1k words and a lot of smau

Warning: Twitter environment, mentions of food, one small steamy moment, it gets "angsty", Logan and reader get in small short fight, curse words, really really mushy, making it supremely obvious that Logan's love language is touch in this

A/N: I love you guys so much. I want to start there. You guys make me feel so comfortable and seen, so thank you. Now, this way actually really fun and cute to write. I don't know what it is but Logan brings my motherly instinct out but in a "I want to date him and take care of him" sort of way. Like he's the type of guy I would have a crush on in high school. Anyway, hope you guys like it and I hope to more Logan fics in the future because he deserves it. Love you all!! 💖💛💖💛

Masterlist

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You poke your head from around the corner of the Williams paddock to get a glimpse of who was approaching next, knowing from the commotion that it had to be a driver. It took a moment for your eyes to find the center of everyone's attention, but once you did your guard immediately went down and you waved at the couple walking toward the paddock building.

"Yn! You're here!" Lily runs up to you and engulfs you in a tight hug, making you giggle with her. Although you two haven't seen each other in person very much, but you both forced your boyfriends to give the other your numbers, so you guys have been talking non-stop since before it was even confirmed that Logan was going to be a Williams driver.

“Of course I’m here. It’s home race weekend! And my first full week of my last college summer break so I’m thriving right now.” You hold onto Lily for a little longer, basking in the touch of your friend, a temporary quelling of your real desire to finally be with Logan again in person. “Speaking of, have you guys seen the guest of honor? I’ve been waiting to surprise him for half an hour because he thinks that I had to stay on campus for an extra week.”

“He should be heading over in a moment, I think I saw him when we walked in, and we have a meeting in about 20 minutes, so…” Alex checks the time on his phone and then scans the paddock for his teammate. Eventually he spots a small crowd building around a blonde and his somewhat intimidating trainer, heading in the direction of the Williams paddock building. “He’s coming! Hide!” Alex whisper-yells towards you and Lily, who were still in a tight embrace. You two quickly break apart and you tiptoe back around the corner of the building waiting to hear your boyfriend’s voice in person for the first time in 5 months. “You’re late.” Alex starts to improvise once Logan reaches the building.

“What do you mean? The meeting isn’t for another 20 minutes.” Logan sounded exhausted already, probably emotionally from believing that the one weekend he thought he would be able to have you there was ruined.

“No, um, there was someone else that was looking for you. They said it was important.” You were surprised Alex wasn’t breaking. You thought he would in a situation like this.

“What? Who? Did you text me or something?” Right as Logan was going to check his phone for a missed text or call from his teammate, you saunter from around the corner.

“Where were you? You were supposed to be here 10 minutes ago.” You tap your wrist as you slowly start to walk over to where Logan stood, motionless, mouth hanging open. It took everything in you to not run and jump into his arms, and Logan was urging his feet to move but at the moment was failing to make them listen.

“No way.” These were the first words directed towards you, that and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen grace your boyfriend’s face. “No fucking way.” Finally his feet cooperated with him and he ran toward you, bring you into the tightest hug you have ever received, one arm fully wrapped around your shoulders and the other wrapped around just enough to cradle your head into the nape of his neck, giving you a much needed whiff of his cologne. Your arms immediately found home around his waist, resting there but also feeling like they were trying to pull him into you so he could never leave again.

“Did you miss me?” You giggle, sniffing back tears while your face is still in his neck.

“Are you kidding me? Hell, yeah I missed you! I thought you said you had to stay on campus for another week?” Logan spoke into your braids, pressing his lips to the top of your head when he wasn’t speaking.

“I had to throw you off my trail somehow.” It was like you read each other’s mind after you answered his question, because once you finished speaking, you both pulled back just enough to look at each other's face.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Logan’s eyes continuously move over your face, an automatic grin tugging at the sides of his mouth.

“Sounds good to me.” You wiggle your arms from Logan’s grip to bring your hands to his face, leading his head down so you could finally kiss him, a borderline inappropriate kiss if you took in the entire scene and were close enough to see exactly the amount of tongue being used. A quiet cough signaled for you two to end the kiss, but it was a slow natural end because you knew exactly who it was that coughed. A cough you have heard many times over facetime.

“Hi, Ben.” You turn to the tall, buff man that has stalked up behind Logan’s shoulder, drawing out your words and giving him shit-eating grin as the cherry on top.

“There’s the voice that has haunted every single training session.” Ben reciprocates your grin, but after a moment, and a light scratch to Logan’s head, you’re released from Logan’s arms, grasp still on your hand, free to give a side hug to your boyfriend’s trainer. “How are you doing?”

“Much better now.” You’re yanked back into your boyfriend, your back against his chest as he brings his face back to your neck.

"Hate to break up this moment, really. But, uh, it's now 8 minutes until the meeting." Alex gave you two a remorseful smile, tilting his head towards the building. Logan doesn't move, doesn't loosen his grip, just groans into your shoulder, takes one more deep breath, then presses one more kiss to your head.

"Fine." Logan grumbles towards his teammate but then brings his mouth close to your ear. "Don't go too far, okay?" This made shivers run down your back, not the words, those were simple instructions given to make sure he could come right back to you. It was the feeling of his breath on your ear, the feeling of his hands grazing your sides, not wanting to break the touch, and the light kisses that are pressed right behind your ear and on your shoulder after you nod in agreement to staying close. Once he finally lets go of you to head to his meeting, Lily quickly makes her way to his spot, taking your hand to lead you God knows where, but Logan still watches you go off with her, glad that you were finally there in person, and realizing exactly how much of a positive difference just your presence had on the outlook of his race weekend. He needed you with him at races, and he was going to make sure you are always there.

logansargeant

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logansargeant Girlfriend appreciation post because I finally got to kiss her after not seeing her in person for 5 months

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user1 YES MY FAVORITE COUPLE IS TOGETHER AGAIN SUDJKSMS

yourusername Sooo when's my next race? 😗

>logansargeant All of the rest of the races this season if I can help it

lilymhe PRETTY GIRL 😍😍

> lilymhe Logan how in the world did you bag this baddie 🥵

>yourusername LOVE YOU BBY 😘😍💕

>logansargeant Well rn I'm questioning whether I've bagged her at all 🧍🏼‍♂️

"You left me." You pout, leaning from behind the barrier that separates guests from the rest of the garage to look at your boyfriend, who was in the nook where his helmet sat on a shelf as he spoke to his trainer.

"It wasn't my choice. I wanted to wait until you woke up." He takes a couple of steps towards you, undoing the top strap of his race suit so he could be more comfortable.

"We didn't have time to wait for you to wake up." Ben comments, picking up Logan's helmet as he does so.

"Ben, why do you hate me so?" You dramatically fluctuate your voice, instinctively allowing Logan to snake his arms under yours to pull you in as much as he could into a hug and nuzzle his head into your neck.

"I don't hate you. I will say that those 5 months I didn't see you in person weren't long enough." You both chuckle at the banter thrown between you two before you bring your attention to your boyfriend clinging to you.

"You okay, baby?" You bring a hand to the back of Logan's head, gently raking your nails through his hair.

"Yeah, just glad you're here." His voice was low, words vibrating through your neck before you feel his lips press a kiss at the base.

"I'm glad I get to be here." Logan finally lifts his head from the crook of your neck, tired eyes moving around your face and lips not giving away exactly how happy he was that he could touch you, smell you, hear your voice. "You sure you're okay?"

Logan stays silent for a moment, neutral face before pressing a kiss to your lips, nothing special, something like what you guys give each other after saying "Hello". After the kiss, though, a tickling, eye crinkling smile emerged on his face. "That's crazy…" His words were more of a whisper to himself.

"Can I get in on this great realization?" You mess with his appearance, velcroing the top strap on his race suit and smoothing down hair that moved while his face was in your neck.

"Kissing you calms me down immediately." It was said so matter-of-factly, but the abrupt discovery caused you to blink your eyes wide and for him to explain. "Ten seconds ago, I was ready to high-tail it outta here." He pauses, his child-like smile melting your heart. "Okay, I'm exaggerating, I'm just always very freaking nervous before driving, and not in a good way most of the time, but I had to just deal with it cause I had no choice. Now, I'm just excited. It's fucking Monaco, and your here with me and now I'm ready to put in some fire qualifying laps." He still had a smile on his face, looking at you like you were a crown jewel.

"Well, I'm glad I can help." You giggle out your words, a smile on your face that coaxes Logan to kiss you again, spontaneously, pulling you in by your shoulders.

"I love you." Logan didn't want to leave, didn't want to remove his hands from you, so he was glad that he could mentally use waiting for your response as an excuse.

"I love you too. Now, go put those fire laps in. I'll be here." You wave him away and watch as he practically bounces to grab his helmet, get weighed and then hop in his car. You look over at Ben, still in the nook next to the shelves that still held one more helmet, smiling and nodding at the "Thank you" he mouths your way.

__________

"16th isn't too bad." You place pressure with your thumb at the top of Logan's bare shoulder. You were kneeling behind him on the massage bed in his room, massaging his shoulders, the sound of the cars on track for Q2 quietly rumbling in the background.

"Yeah, I guess…" Logan has his head tilted to the side, exposing a greater surface area for you to massage. It was silent for a moment after that, you just kept focusing on massaging out Logan's shoulders, using the grunts he would let out as a guide for where to massage next, and placing kisses on different areas as you went.

"You extracted from the car what you could on this track. That's all anyone can ask for." You had to keep yourself from raising your voice, you had the tendency to get loud when you were passionate about something, in this case, passionate about keeping your boyfriend out of the dark cave he was walking himself into.

"Yeah, but Alex-" Logan was about to depreciate himself further, but you were quick to shut it down, stopping your hands where they were and leaning over his shoulder so you were able look at the side of his face, but the feeling of your eyes on him made him turn to look at you.

"Do not compare yourself to Alex. Alex has been driving at this level since 2019. He was a Red Bull driver. He was Max Verstappen's teammate. This is your sixth race in F1. You're still learning, and that's okay. Okay?" You watched him with a straight face, waiting for confirmation that he heard and understood you. To show that he was listening in his own way, he takes one of your hands that had traveled higher up his shoulder and grabbed it, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as a means of pulling you back to his side, letting his eyes roam around your face before leaning in to kiss you.

"Okay." He lets a content grin that held a slight bit of smugness settle on his face after he answers, and then goes in for another kiss. And another. And another. And as he kept kissing you, progressively using more and more tongue, he gently used your arm to guide you around him as he shifted back against the wall behind the massage table, ultimately ending up with you on your knees straddling him as you continued to make out. An air of youthful lust was swirling around you two as the make out session went on and hands began to wander. It first started with Logan's hands traveling down your sides, finally landing at your hips, thumbs massaging your the portion of flesh between your torso and the top of your thigh. It elicited an oddly erotic feeling as he did so, bringing you to want the same for him. So it was your turn to let your hands roam free next, removing themselves from his hair and running from his shoulders down to wear his race suit clung to his waist. You slithered a hand inside and continued down his thigh before coming back up to palm him through his underwear, your other hand sliding back up to his shoulder to give you stability. You smile into the kiss as you feel him get harder under your hand, swallowing the low, grumbling moans he let out.

“Fuuucckk…” This came out as a hiss from Logan’s agape mouth as you begin to move your hand up and down over him, still over his underwear, and kiss along his jaw.

“You want me to help you feel better?” You whisper this in his ear, then trail kisses from his earlobe, behind his ear and down his neck.

If everything went your guys’ way, you would’ve been able to do as you said, allowed the lust in his brain to take over and mask the stress from the day, even for just a moment. But life doesn’t work like that, and instead Ben walks in without warning, cause all three parties in the room to yelp in shock. “What the fuck, you two!?" There was a mad scramble from you and Logan to make yourselves at least semi decent while Ben exits and comes back in a minute later.

"I bet you'll knock next time." You comment when he comes back in, you standing next to the massage table and Logan sitting on top of it, leaning over to press his lips to your head, smiling against your hair.

"I never had to worry about it until you decided to grace us with your constant presence." He sets down some equipment on a chair in the corner and pulls out his phone to look at something.

"Speaking of, it's your lucky day. I'll be around for the rest of the season. Logan will have his own groupee." You beam like a proud child, looking toward your boyfriend when you feel his head lift up.

"Wha-how? What about your last semester?" Logan messed with your hair the slightest bit while waiting for your answer.

"My counselor helped me figure out how I could do the rest of my classes online. And since I'm studying athletic training and physical therapy, I can shadow Ben here and get some hands-on experience. Everyone wins, that is, if Ben doesn't hate me so much that he doesn't let me shadow him?" You bat your eyelashes and pout at the tall man who stares at you for a moment then takes a defeated deep breath.

"Stop saying I hate you. I don't hate you, you're just always here… but I guess you won't be a nuisance if you're helping." Obviously exhausted with the 2 horny young adults in front of him, Ben sighs and runs a hand through his hair, already mentally preparing to have to deal with you and Logan together for the rest of the season, but he couldn't help but feel a little sappy when he see you both send wide, thankful smiles his way. "Okay, that's enough. Stop looking at me like that. You, off the table and start stretching out your arms. You, over here so you can keep your hands off my driver." He points and beckons you over to him, and you watch as he begins Logan's post driving recovery routine.

"Fuck." This was the first word uttered from Logan as he plopped down in a folding chair in the garage following his retirement from the race in Hungary. He didn't take the time to look at anyone or anything, just sat down, took the towel from the back of the chair, and put it over his head as he rested his elbows on his knees. You look around the garage for anyone that could possibly reprimand you before moving from behind the barrier to go over to your boyfriend, squatting next to him.

“Hey, you were doing good. It was just a misstep.” You place a hand on his arm in an effort to console him, but in response he jerks his arm away from you.

“It was a bit more than just a fucking misstep, Yn. God, why are you always trying to make it seem like everything is fine when my literal fucking job is on the line each time I fuck up?” His voice was stern but tired as he turned his head to look at you, view partially disrupted from the towel.

“I think it’s because your fucking job is on the line that you can’t do this. It happens, Logan.” You match the annoyed energy he gave you, because you were annoyed. Yeah, this sucked. It felt horrible watching him spin out with only 3 laps to go knowing that he had the capability to do great things in that updated Williams car. But that’s not the situation.

“Sure, it happens, but not every fucking race. I don’t know if you realize, but I’m the only one doing this shit! And it’s not something I can just fucking get over, not matter what you tell me. So honestly I just need you to leave me alone because the last thing I fucking need is for you to tell me that everything is okay.” You proceeded to stand from your squatted position as he lashed out at you, watching as he swipes the towel from his head and sits straight up to look at you. From his eyes you could tell that he was not backing down from his words, and while you weren’t completely going to let his little boy-like outburst slide, you think about your answer for a moment. Your jaw shifted as you gave him an exhausted neutral look, observing the flush in his cheeks trying to be remedied by a creeping blush. He was tired. He was dehydrated.

“Fine. I’m gonna go. But not because you, whoever you think you are, told me to, but because I know MY Logan will meet me back in his room to talk to me like a person. You see, MY Logan doesn’t raise his voice at me, MY Logan doesn’t cuss me out, and MY Logan does not wallow. So, when MY Logan is ready to talk, you can tell him to meet me in his room.”

You turn on your heel and begin to make your way out of the garage, plastering a smile on for passersby. “Yn…” Logan calls after you, reaching a hand out that you don’t see because you kept your back turned, but you do put your own hand up to signal for him to stop talking, pausing for a second longer and then continuing on to where the drivers’ rooms were.

__________

There was a gentle knock on the door half an hour after the debacle that you didn't verbally respond to, you just jumped off of the massage bed and grabbed the Gatorade and banana that sat on the table next to you, waiting for him to open the door. When he does, he flashes a miniscule pitiful grin, closes the door, and walks over to take the snack that you were holding out to him. But he wanted to focus on you, have his hands free for the moment when he was able to touch you again without fear of you biting his hands off, so he places the food back on the massage bed and begins to play with his fingers.

"Hi." He started off slow, trying to gauge how you were feeling.

"Hi." Your arms were crossed and exhausted annoyance was still on your face, but he could see that it had relaxed somewhat, so he continued cautiously.

"I'm sorry." He tests the waters with a smile after he speaks, taking a small step forward that you don't step back from. You stay stoic and unmoving, only lifting an eyebrow when Logan began to run a finger up and down your upper arm. He was making progress."There's no excuse for how I acted out there. I was an ass."

You were silent, purposefully done so to make Logan sweat a bit before flashing a grin. "I forgive you. Honestly, the reaction you had made sense, you were tired and frustrated. But the way that you expressed it, that was where you went wrong." Logan brings you closer to him by your elbows, since your arms were still crossed, and gives you a kiss on your forehead.

"Yeah, I know." This was mumbled against your forehead because at this point, now that Logan had his hands on you, had your perfume swirling around his head, he didn't want to move.

"Next time, just tell me that you don't want to talk right now. And I would also suggest giving me a kiss so I know you're not mad or being a brat." You giggle, a sound that intensifies when Logan pulls you all the way into his chest and peppers kisses at the base of your jaw.

"Got it." He pulls back to answer you, and then gives you one more kiss, this time on your lips.

"Good. Now, uh, you still have the post-race meeting don't you?" You absentmindedly mess with the collar of his quarter zip jacket that your just now realizing he had on, trying to schedule out the rest of the day in your head.

"Yeah, and to be honest, I don't know how long it's gonna go. I probably won't be back at the hotel until late." His heart fluttered watching you, your face the physical representation of the wheels turning and then shifting in an instant when his words register.

"You mean 'we' won't be back until late." You grin confidently up at him.

"Uh, how would you…" Logan looks at you questioningly as you give one last swipe to his collar and pat him on the chest.

"It's pretty comfy on the floor outside of the meeting room. And I'll have earphones, so I won't hear a thing, even though you guys basically whisper anyway." You turn around to pick up and hand the banana and Gatorade to him again, flicking your eyes at the fruit indicating that you wanted him to take a bite. Now. And he does, aftee breaking off a piece and handing it to you since he knew that you were probably stressing all day and were extremely hungry. Just as you smiled and ate the piece of fruit there was a couple of knocks on the door before Ben entered, announcing his presence, but he stood confused when he just saw you two eating.

"You want some banana?" Logan somehow holds in his laughter as he holds out the fruit to his trainer who looks at both of you before pinching his nose and getting to what he came in for.

"No, thank you…Come on, the meeting is in a few minutes." When both you and Logan start following, Ben stops in his tracks. "Where do you think you're going?" Ben wiggles a finger at you as Logan snakes his hand in yours and you begin to swing the arm of the entwined hand.

"I'll be outside the room. And I've got earphones, so I definitely won't hear everyone's whispers." Your wide, tooth-filled child like smile didn't seem to visibly sway the trainer, but a tip of his head toward the door had you and Logan practically skipping behind him, hands clasped together up until the last possible moment when he disappears behind the meeting room door and you take a seat on the floor, making yourself busy until you can touch your boyfriend again.

yourusername

Liked by williamsracing and 20,480 others

yourusername So proud of this guy and were only halfway through the season! 💙 Now it's time to party 🥳

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logansargeant 💙

user2 LITTLE LOGAN 🥹😫

>yourusername I KNOW HE WAS SUCH A QT 😍😍

>user2 THE QUEEN ANSWERED I LUV YOU💕

>logansargeant Was? 😔

user3 I'm in love with all of these photos 😍 only Yn can grace us with such great pics of our baby

user4 We're all so proud of this boy! After Silverstone that car has been a rocketship 🚀

>user4 you know, all things considered

yourusername

Liked by lewishamilton and 29,839 others

yourusername A little R&R before gettin back to it. Spain and Florida style 🌴

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alex_albon Please tell me what Logan is like drunk 🙏

>logansargeant You could've asked anything and this is it

>alex_albon The world wants to know 🌎

>yourusername He's touchy feely ☺️

user5 Queen, you're with a man that takes fishing pics?

>yourusername It's his one down fall (but Im the one taking them so what does it say about me?) 🤷🏿‍♀️

user6 Loving this black women being loved aesthetic 🖤🤎

user7 Ben must've been the adult supervision

logansargeant

Liked by oscarpiastri and 39,628 others

logansargeant Quality Time ♥️ Now back to work 💪🏼

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yourusername This is why I'm with you...you take such great pictures of me 💁🏿‍♀️

>logansargeant Yes...that's why 👀

daltonsargeant It was great seeing you two! Now go put in those hours 💪🏼💪🏼🇺🇸

user8 Yn is so pretty it hurts

>logansargeant It's a satisfying pain 😌

#black reader #formula 1 #f1 imagines #formula 1 x black!reader #request #f1 x black!reader #logan sargeant x black!reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagine #f1 scenario #f1 smau

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kisses-for-you · 4 months

Note

Hiiiii 💕💕💕

Could you write something about how these characters would react to reader accidentally calling them pretty right to thier face idk maybe reader is kinda out of it after a patrol or mission or is on pain meds or smth and is just like wow you're sooo pretty and just how would the characters react to this pls I was thinking for donna troy, Jason todd and dick grayson and hank hall if you write for hank?? Xox

Preference: You call them pretty

Titans Characters X GN!Reader

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Gar Logan, Conner Kent, Kory Anders, Donna Troy & Hank Hall.

Dick Grayson:

You and Dick had been on patrol, and ended up fighting off a small group of criminals. You weren't injured too seriously but it was still quite painful, so you were given pain medication. You weren't very alert, and you just said whatever came to mind, so you ended up calling Dick 'pretty' right to his face.

Dick is a bit surprised by your compliment. He is not used to being complimented like that and he gets very flustered. He tries to pretend like he didn't hear, and he wants to brush it off by telling you that you probably didn't mean it. But, deep down, he is quite flattered by your compliment, and he finds it very adorable.

Jason Todd:

You and Jason had been through a particularly exhausting night of crime-fighting. You guys were fighting this big gang that was taking over the streets and you managed to win. However, when you got back to the tower, you were exhausted and slightly disoriented.

As you look over at Jason, you call him 'pretty' without thinking. Jason is surprised as he wasn't expecting that but he played it off by giving you a small smirk. He even teases you back, calling you things like 'gorgeous' and basically showering you in compliments.

Gar Logan:

You were watching Gar as he played this new video game he had discovered. As he finally beat the next level, he turned to you smiling, excited that he finally completed the level he'd worked so hard on. You chuckle at his antics and without thinking, you called him 'pretty'.

Gar is caught off guard by your comment and he can't help the faint blush that forms on his face. Gar grins sheepishly, his embarrassment transforming into a playful smirk. "Pretty, huh?" Gar teases, raising an eyebrow. You playfully roll your eyes, realizing your slip of the tongue.

Conner Kent:

You and Conner were just spending some quality time together, going on a nice walk around town. As you stared up at your boyfriend, you didn't even realise but you had just called 'pretty', which you did not mean to say out loud at all.

Needless to say, Conner is quite surprised and flustered by this compliment, and he finds it very cute. You try to apologise profusely, but Conner just laughs it off and says that it was a cute mistake. He goes on to tell you that he finds it quite sweet that you think that way of him, and you both spend the rest of your day together with a warm and fuzzy feeling.

Kory Anders:

You and Kory were having a nice, casual movie night. It was an 80's romance as Kory is really into anything 80's related. You looked over at her and noticed how pretty she looked while being so invested in the movie. Without thinking, you accidently called her 'pretty' out loud.

Kory doesn't think much of it but finds this quite adorable, and she is definitely flattered. She compliments you back, and you have a sweet moment together. You soon get back to the movie, mostly forgetting about what you said.

Donna Troy:

You and Donna were on a romantic date at a new restaurant that Donna suggested you guys go to. As you sat opposite her, you couldn't help but think about how beautiful she is. Without even realising, you said out loud, "God, you're so pretty."

Donna is slightly surprised as she wasn't expecting you to say that, however, she takes the comment in stride and gives you a flirty half-smile with a wink, which causes your cheeks to turn a bright shade of pink. Donna thinks your reaction is adorable, and she's impressed by how honest and straightforward you are.

Hank Hall:

You had been out drinking with some friends and you may or may not have drunk more than you can handle. All of your friends were plastered so none of them could drive you. Instead of getting an Uber, you decided to call your boyfriend, Hank.

As he arrives outside of the club and walks over to you, you can't help but think about how good-looking he is. Without realising, you call him 'pretty' to his face. Hank just chuckles at you, flashing you a charming smile. He wraps an arm around you, steadying your slightly wobbly stance. The next day, as soon as you're sober, he starts teasing you about it in a light-hearted way but you're confused as you have no recollection of anything that happened last night.

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secondhand-snow · 2 months

Text

a body of impulses

chapter 3: letting love devour

lukas matsson x f!roy! reader (succession)

★chapter 2★

wc: 8.4k+

warnings: dysfunctional family, swearing, fluff, smut, age gaps, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, virginity loss, vaginal sex, making out, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), corruption kink, aftercare, no use of y/n

summary: After Italy, things are hard. Your family is divided, your life is disordered, your brain is on fire. Lukas knows you better than yourself, and proves it by repairing your sanity in a way only he can.

author's note: here's a nice little fluffy chapter for you after our last installment! hope you enjoy, it was so fun to write ♡ please consider liking, commenting, or reblogging if you enjoyed!

The past few months have been hard, to say the least. The day of Caroline’s wedding was like a bomb had been dropped on your family. Logan wanted to sell to GoJo, and no matter what your siblings did, they couldn't change his mind. They felt betrayed, he felt discredited, and the whole thing ended up in flames. After that night, you didn’t have the energy to reach out to your siblings. They continued messaging you, half accusing, half blaming, you left their messages unopened. Except for Kendall, who you responded to in order to gain more information on his hospital visit. When you were satisfied he was okay, he got the silent treatment as well.

Worse than the bomb was the fallout. You left Italy alone the day after the wedding. Logan stayed in Italy for a while, his loyal executives staying by his side. You aren’t sure what your siblings ended up doing, you only know that Tom flew back alone as well. When you get back to New York, you throw yourself into your work. You get to the office at 6 in the morning, you leave at 10 at night, you never take lunch breaks. It’s the only thing that keeps your mind occupied. You barely sleep, you barely eat, you barely speak.

The rhythm finally ends with Lukas. Everything always ends with Lukas. He knows you’ve been struggling, knows how things ended with your family. Every night he begs you to take a break, get some sleep, and relax for the first time in over a month. You try to convince him you’re okay, that you're just busy with the deal and coping the best you can. He doesn’t believe you. Lukas keeps asking every night when you call. He offers to pay for a spa visit, a vacation, anything to get you out of the office. Like the money is what’s stopping you.

You play a game of cat and mouse, him chasing you and you denying him. It goes on for weeks. Until he doesn’t give you a choice.

“You’re coming to Sweden tomorrow.”

“Lukas… It’s 12 o’clock at night.”

“I’m sending my jet, your flight is 7am.” You roll over in your bed, moving from your back to prop yourself up on your elbows, eyebrows raising as he speaks. You were exhausted, just getting home from work an hour ago and getting into bed as quickly as possible, even if you couldn’t sleep.

“I have to work tomorrow, I can’t just ditch everything for a vacation.”

“They’ll survive without you for a few days.” He sighs, you hear fabric rustle like he’s leaned back onto where he’s sitting.

“I have so much to do…”

“You’re coming.”

“I can’t just go to Sweden on a whim!” Your voice isn’t really upset, just surprised and a little frustrated at the intrusion.

“It’s not on a whim, I planned it for you.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“I miss you. I want to see my girlfriend.”

You pause then, letting out a low sigh. Lukas always knows what to say to you, always knows how to get you to do what he wants.

“I miss you too.”

“I knew it.” You can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks now. He knows he’s won.

“I tell you that every day, it’s not a new revelation.” Lukas laughs quietly on the other line, the sound bringing a shy smile to your face. “I don’t think this is a good idea though. If we went public without me telling my family first…”

“Then we won’t. We’ll be careful and stay private until it’s a good time. Nobody will know unless you want them to, I promise.”

“Okay. Okay, fine. I’ll come to see you. But you know I can’t stay long.”

“We’ll see.” He half-sings, and you’re glad he can’t see the grin on your face when you try to sound annoyed.

“Lukas!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hangs up before you can change your mind, leaving you staring at the bright screen of your phone in your otherwise dark apartment, an embarrassingly large grin on your face. You try falling back asleep that night, but don’t manage to get more than an hour or two before waking back up. It’s not the worst night of sleep you’ve gotten, and you needed to pack anyway. Sending a quick message to your assistant, you quickly cancel your plans for the week. You know you said a few days, but you also know Lukas can persuade you like no one else. So, at 7am sharp you find yourself seated on an unfamiliar jet, making excuses to try and influence yourself enough to leave, call off the trip and head back to the office. It doesn’t work.

Lukas’s Swedish house is everything you thought it would be. Just outside of Stockholm, the building was modern and luxurious, with a long driveway and tall fir trees keeping the property private. The mansion was made of stone and dark woods with huge glass windows. It was simple and quiet, while simultaneously being incredibly opulent. It’s so Lukas it almost made you laugh. You took in the landscape, peering out the window of the SUV you were sitting in. Lukas insisted on sending you his personal driver, not trusting anyone else to bring you here safely.

When the car finally rolled to a stop and you exited the vehicle only a few seconds passed before Lukas was running out the front door of his mansion towards you. He was shoeless, wearing a pair of plain sweatpants and a shirt, with his hair messy and arms open. The goofy look on his face and the gawky way he rushed towards you made you giggle, your lips parting into a beaming smile. When he reached you, his arms tucked under your armpits and scooped you up, your feet lifting from the ground as he held you close. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your head into the top of his chest.

“You’re here!” His voice was slightly muffled from the way he had his lips pressed into your hair, but his tone was happy, maybe the happiest you’d ever heard him.

“I am. I finally made it.” Lukas set you back down onto your feet, dropping his arms around your waist before pulling you in for a soft kiss. You could feel his smile on your lips before you separated.

“Let me show you around.” He intertwines your fingers, presses his arm against yours playfully, and begins leading you into the house.

The inside is contemporary, filled with the highest end furniture and appliances that money can buy. It's minimalist and chic, and looks a little more lived in than Lukas’s Swiss villa. You recognize a few areas from the background of Facetimes and photos Lukas has sent you. The bookshelves in his office, the painting in his dining room, the mirrors in his home gym. It feels strangely nostalgic to see the spaces in real life, strangely like home. When you reach his bedroom you’re a bit surprised to see your luggage sitting there. The surprise quickly fades with the realization that he trusted you enough to share a space with you. Self-pride takes over your emotions, a small smile finding its way to your face.

“So, what do you have planned for me?” You release Lukas’s hand to walk over to his bed, sitting gracefully on the edge of it to look up at him.

“You’ll see.” He moves to stand closer to you, your knees brushing the front of his legs as he reaches out to run a hand through your hair.

“You really won’t tell me?”

“It’s a surprise!” His hand moves to cup your chin, tilting your head up even further to look him in the eyes. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I am not a fan of surprises.” You raise your eyebrows at Lukas, making him snicker at the pouty look gracing your face.

“You’ll like this one.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

That shuts you up. You can’t argue with the statement, you both know it’s the truth. Lukas knows more about you than your own family. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable and stayed, a feat nobody else in the world can claim. The months you have spent with him feel like centuries, and you don’t think you can ever go back to how your life was without him.

The rest of that day consisted mainly of lounging around, getting used to time difference and catching up on the few things you hadn’t shared with your boyfriend already. You watched a movie on his couch, casually resting your head in his lap while he worked on his phone. Lukas wasn’t the biggest cuddler, but he did enjoy your small displays of affection. Dinner was spaghetti and wine, prepared by his personal chef since neither of you were great cooks. As the sun set, the pair of you found yourself outdoors, in Lukas’s hot tub.

Your hair pulled back so it wouldn’t get wet, his shirt off exposing a light scattering of blonde hair on his chest. You sat next to him in the water, your head laying lightly on his shoulder while your feet stretched out in front of you, slightly floating. For the first time in months, your brain was quiet and your surroundings were calm.

“Have you ever used your pool before?” Your head moves from its resting point you look up at Lukas, your brows furrowed in question.

“Of course. Do people do that?”

“You mean- buy a house and not use the features it comes with?” He nods. “Yeah, all the time. That’s like… a norm in old-money social circles.”

“Really?” His head tilts, a confused smirk coming over his lips.

“Really. Roman has a house in Puerto Rico he’s never even been to. Says its ‘just in case.’” You laugh candidly at the admission, your head falling back onto his shoulder as you realize just how odd it sounds.

“Just in case what?”

“I have no clue. You should ask him, he likes you.” Lukas just hums in response, a hand coming around your shoulders to hold you close to him. You stay that way for a minute, just breathing and being together. Eventually, you move from your position, his arm falling away as you shift to settle in front of him in the water, bending a bit at your hips to stay at his eye level, hands resting on his thighs as you lean your weight forward. It gives him a great view of your cleavage, which you immediately notice as his eyes drift down to your chest.

“Do you think this is weird?” You look up at Lukas through your lashes, his gaze moving back up to meet yours.

“What? Us?” You nod. “Yeah, a little.” He shrugs, his mouth forming an indifferent line.

“I just feel like we move so fast, like nobody else would really understand it if we told them.”

“Well they don’t have to understand it. Are you happy like this?”

“Very.”

“Then that’s what matters.” He reaches forward, grabbing onto your arms to pull you into his lap, straddling his hips as his hands move to cradle your ass. “ I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks. The media, our companies, your family- it’s all unimportant. I only care about you.”

You pause for a second at that, gnawing on your bottom lip as you look into Lukas’s eyes. Your arms move from resting at your sides to circle around the back of his neck.

“You’re serious about this? About our relationship? About me?” There’s no hesitation before he answers.

“Yes.” A soft smile comes to his lips. “I’m more serious about you than any other relationship I’ve been in, to be honest.”

Something in his eyes tells you that it’s the truth. There’s a tenderness there you haven’t seen before. His answer satisfies you enough to make you lean forward, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. Of course, he deepens it. You’ve learned that Lukas can never do something halfway, with him it’s always all or nothing. The realization calms you a bit, dulls your fears of manipulation and misuse. You almost can’t believe that someone would care for you as much as Lukas does, you think there must be an underlying reason. But it feels so good to be with him, the potential for damage is worth it.

When Lukas said he was planning everything for you, he wasn’t kidding. The following days of your trip are planned perfectly, with every fine detail figured out for you. You don’t have to make any decisions, just let yourself be led and take things as they come. Part of you loves it, part of you hates it. You go along with it despite your uncertainty.

The first day, you go on a spa trip. The entire building had been rented out for the two of you, a needed step to take for maintaining the privacy of your relationship. Lukas assures you the working staff have also signed NDAs, just to be safe. You spend hours in matching robes getting pampered with the finest and rarest ingredients in the world. The massage you get disposes of all the stress you’ve been carrying, leaving your back and shoulders feeling the best they have in months. You convince Lukas to get a facial, snapping a photo of his face with cucumber slices on his eyes and setting it as his contact photo in your phone. But more than that, you’re able to be in a semi-public place with your boyfriend and not hide the connection between you two. There’s no harm in pressing a wayward kiss to his lips, in holding his hand as you walk together. Your affection being unconfined in the open is more of a luxury than anything else you receive that day.

The day after that Lukas takes you on a hike. You haven’t had the time to get out in nature in so long, and he knows it. It’s only a short drive to the area, a gorgeous forest of towering trees and lush vegetation. You hadn’t brought active clothing with you, but luckily were able to obtain some via Lukas’s assistant in time for your activity. When you promise to repay Lukas for the money he spent on your outfit, he just scoffs and presses an affectionate kiss to your temple. The hike itself isn’t too hard, only 5 miles round trip with a few uphill treks. On the way Lukas takes the time to point out native plants to you, and you pretend to understand when he pronounces their names in Swedish. At the end you’re left with the view of a beautiful lake and acres of rolling green hills around it. You take a selfie to commemorate your experience, the image showing you smiling at the camera happily and Lukas stooping over to press a kiss to your cheek. You’re so tired at the end that you fall asleep on his shoulder on the drive back, his hand covering yours and blissful smiles on both your faces.

The third day, you stay at home. Lukas apologizes profusely that he can’t take you shopping in old town Stockholm, but knows it's too much of a risk for you to be seen together. Instead of a public outing, you camp out in his living room and spend the day watching your favorite movies. He brings out a horde of Swedish candy, making you try every single one no matter how strange they sound. Bilar ends up being your favorite, you finish an entire bag between the two of you. You show him your favorite childhood movie, cuddling into his shoulder on the couch as you look up at his reactions. He tells you about his favorite movies, the tv shows he loved growing up, the books he read in primary school. It feels familial and a little cutesy. It’s a nice break in the intensity of your relationship.

Later that night you look over at Lukas, stretched out on the couch as he watches the TV intently. You roll over onto your stomach, propping your upper body up on your elbows, bending your knees to hold your feet in the air.

“Tell me something about yourself.” His head turns to you, a slightly concerned look on his face.

“What do you want to know?” Lukas moves his attention fully to you, shifting his upper body in your direction. You pause, thinking for a second before responding.

“Tell me something you haven’t told anyone else.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.” He takes a minute, head tilting to look at the ceiling as he thinks.

“I don’t know if I have one of those. I’m a pretty open person.” You give a small laugh at that. He mocks offense at your reaction, mouth opening wide and shoulders raising.

“That is so not true Lukas.”

“I tell people all sorts of things!”

“You calculate what you say though. Like- you tell people things to make them think you’re less threatening.” The smile on Lukas’s face makes you know you have him caught. “You only share what you know people can’t use against you.”

“You know me too well.” You smile at that, move to crawl over to him and roll over, putting your head on his lap, looking up into his eyes. Lukas threads his fingers through your hair, tilts his chin to return your gaze.

“Have you ever been like that with me?” He considers for a minute, eyebrows raising to accentuate the few wrinkles on his forehead.

“Maybe at first.” You nod. “But after I ate your pussy I stopped.” He laughs, a little smug. Your hand comes up to swat at his chest playfully.

“It’s weird seeing you talk to other people, though. Like a switch flips in your brain and all the sudden you’re this social mastermind.”

“Yeah…” Lukas lets out a small sigh, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip before he continues. “I guess I keep my guard up, it can be a little intense.”

“Intense is a good word. For both of us.”

“It is.”

“You really don’t have anything that you haven’t told anyone else? Anything at all?” You widen your eyes and pout your bottom lip.

“Let me think.” Lukas takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment. “I sent this girl my blood once.”

“What?”

“An ex of mine, I sent her frozen bricks of my blood. Like, these half-pint blood ice cubes.” You hesitate before responding, a genuine question in your voice.

“Why did you do that?”

“It was a joke at first. Then I just kept doing it. I don’t know- I just like being able to do that shit, you know? Like- having some power over her, even though we aren’t together.” He shrugs, averts his eyes from yours for a second before glancing back down as you speak.

“That’s pretty bad, Lukas.” Your tone is more lecturing than actually upset, like a teacher reprimanding a student for bad behavior.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You gonna break up with me?”

“Nah. I know people who have done worse.” You give him a little smile. “Who’s the ex?”

“My comms head. Her name’s Ebba.”

“Well that makes things complicated.” You laugh a little at the strangeness of the situation. Lukas sheepishly smiles.

“Yeah. You’ll probably end up meeting her at some point.”

“I don’t think I wanna meet her, honestly.”

“Because she’s my ex?”

“Yeah. I’d be jealous.” Lukas cracks a grin at that, but you're partially serious. You rise up from your spot in his lap, moving to sit so you face him, legs crossed in front of you. “For real! How come she gets your blood and I don’t?”

“You want my blood?” His eyebrows furrow, a genuinely surprised look spreading over his features.

“I dunno… maybe.” You blush a little at the strange admission and bring a hand up to push your hair back. “ I just want all of you.”

A cheeky smile returns to Lukas’s lips at the confession. “You’re almost as crazy as I am.”

You don’t respond to that, just move a hand to jokingly push him away. A move that causes Lukas to retaliate by bringing a hand to your chin and pulling you into a soft kiss. You huddle up together to finish the film, with him actually focused on the screen and yourself slowly drifting to sleep. When the movie finishes, you’re fast asleep, head resting gently on Lukas’s shoulder as quiet snores leave your mouth. You don’t see the smile that rests on Lukas’s mouth when he notices you. You don’t see the gentle kiss he presses to your forehead before he picks you up and carries you to bed for the night.

You wake up in the early hours of the morning, moonlight still shining through the large windows to illuminate the room in front of you. Your hair is spread out on the pillow like a circlet around your head. As you roll from your position lying on your back, the sleeping form of Lukas comes into your view. He’s on his side, facing you, with his eyes closed and shoulders rising with even, deep breaths. He looks so peaceful like this, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. You reach out, your hand brushing his hair back off his forehead before falling to cup his cheek. You can’t help but lean in and press a sweet kiss to his temple.

Lukas stirs, when your hand falls away, a lighter sleeper than you realized. His eyelids flutter for a second as he wakes, then open to reveal sleepy eyes staring back at you. A small smile comes to his lips at the sight of you, his shoulders rolling a bit as he comes further into consciousness.

“You brought me up?” Your voice is quiet, still a bit hoarse from sleep when you speak. Lukas nods in response. A smile comes to your lips, one wide enough to show your teeth. Your hand comes up to his cheek again, the arm closest to the bed moving to prop your upper body up a bit as you lean into him. You kiss him, smile still on your mouth and he reciprocates with twice the force. His hand comes to your waist, pulling your body in close to him as he deepens the kiss, tongue tapping against your lips for permission.

You allow him entrance, his tongue moving to trace on the roof of your mouth as you let out a soft moan. Your hips tilt into his, pressing your mound to the growing bulge in his fleece pajama pants. The effect is instant, a delicious pressure against your clit that pulls a soft gasp from your throat. Lukas shifts your position, rolling onto his back and using the hand on your waist to pull you to a straddling seat on his lap. He’s still laying down, with you now supporting yourself with a hand to be almost crawling on top of him.

His pants his feet on the bed, allowing him to slowly roll his hips into yours, grinding you on on his bulge with the hands on your waist. You can’t help moving back from the kiss then, an involuntary moan leaving your mouth at the unexpected sensation. Lukas’s mouth moves to your neck, sucking a mark onto your skin before nipping hard enough to earn a small squeal from deep in your throat. You grind your hips into his again, moving back from your place on your hands to sit upright on Lukas’s lap. His lips follow you for a moment as you move before he drops his head back against the pillow, mouth open and breathing heavy.

Your hands move to Lukas’s chest, bracing yourself as you rock your hips into the hard outline of his cock. A muted hum rumbles through his chest at the feeling, his hands moving to grip your ass and encourage your movements. Your motions are a bit delicate, but your body responds all the same. The heat between your legs builds, shocks running down your thighs at the pressure on your clit. A steady stream of sighs fall from your mouth, a blush gracing your cheeks at the unrestrained showing of your pleasure. Your head falls back a bit, eyes shutting with heavy lids as your face is turned towards the ceiling.

“You’re so perfect.” Lukas briefly moves a hand from your hip to push himself into a seated position. His lips fall to your neck again, peppering you with small kisses and bites, then brushing against your ear. “You’re gorgeous like this, all needy and wanting.”

You can’t argue with that, your moans speaking for themselves. In response, you move to capture his mouth again in a passionate kiss, your sounds muffled against his skin. Lukas’s hands begin helping your movements, creating a steady rhythm of rolling and grinding. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. Your thighs shake with the pressure on your clit, but your core clenches around nothing, feeling terribly empty. You pull back from Lukas’s mouth as a truly desperate whimper leaves your lips.

“I want you.” The confession is breathless, your eyes heavily lidded and your chest rising and falling quickly.

“You have me.” He plants a kiss to your chin, your hand coming up to his jaw.

“No, I mean…” You sigh for a moment, heat creeping up your back at the strange embarrassment you feel. “I want you inside of me. I want you to fuck me.”

Lukas pauses at that, his head moving to look you deeply in the eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in your answer, him barely finishing his question before you respond. “Please, Lukas.”

He nods, a gentle smile on his lips as he leans back into you with a quick kiss. When you separate, he gently moves you off his hips. You land in a seated position, knees bent with feet planted on the bed and arms behind you to brace your back up off the bed. Lukas moves on top of you, slotting himself between your legs as he sits back on his knees. His fingers come to rub small circles on the exposed skin of your lower thighs.

“Can I take these off? And your panties?” His voice is low and thick with his accent, barely a whisper as he asks. You nod, spreading your legs a little wider to accommodate the clothing removal. He leans into you, hands moving to the waistband of your casual shorts before slowly pulling them down. You lift your hips a bit, helping as Lukas eases the fabric down the curve of your ass. He moves back from between your legs as the garment moves down your thighs, quickly working them down to your ankles before discarding them completely. Your skin exposed, your body spread out beneath him, you instinctually move to press your knees together.

Lukas just chuckles lowly, a lopsided smirk on his lips as he gently presses your knees back apart. His fingers slowly move to the inside of your thighs, snaking closer to your core. His hands land right under the swell of your ass, cupping your sighs there as he bends to look at your slit. You’re embarrassingly wet, already so worked up after just a little dry humping. Gently, so gently, his thumb moves to part your folds, brushing gently against your clit and causing you to squirm under his touch.

“Shh, I know… I gotta make you cum at least once before you’re ready to take me.” He doesn’t move from his place between your legs, just directs his words up to you. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You give a small hum in acknowledgement, moving to let your back fall against the covers, a pillow under your head to allow you to continue watching Lukas. His movements are slow, borderline teasing as he begins his work. A finger comes to your clit, beginning to toy with it in small circles. The effect is instant, growing the heat between your legs at a pace that never fails to amaze you. Gradually, Lukas’s movements increase, both in pressure and speed. Your chest heaves as the gasps leaving your throat grow louder and louder. You’re so lost in the pleasure, don’t even realize your hips are bucking against his touch until Matsson’s hand migrates to push your pelvis back against the bed, anchoring you in place.

His thumb remains on your clit, with his middle finger moving to gently prod against your entrance. Delicately, so delicately, his finger slides in. The movement is easy, no stretching against his width, though his finger is longer than you’ve had before, tapping further back in your cunt than your own fingers ever have. It feels divine to finally have something to clench down on, your silk walls tightening against his digit as he stimulates your clit. You’re already content with the feeling of being full, well, fuller than you’ve been before. But then, Lukas moves. He crooks his finger up, gently beginning to thrust it back and forth into you.

The pad of his finger easily finds the spongy spot inside you, sending shock waves through your core. It’s only a few thrusts before you’re cumming, tension in your lower stomach finally peaking as your legs shake around Lukas. Your head rolls back, back arching up from the bed as a moan rips through your body. Lukas groans with you, fingers still moving as he fucks you through your orgasm. As your breathing regulates, you whine, a hand coming down to feebly push him away.

“Good girl… Come on, give me one more.” Lukas’s voice is a low growl as he speaks, slowing his motions while his eyes flick up to yours. “You can take it.”

His ring finger moves, slowly pressing in to join his middle finger deep in your pussy. This time, there’s a stretch. The wetness helps, slicking his skin enough to not provide too much resistance. Even so, there’s a slight stinging sensation between your thighs as you get used to the new feeling. Lukas’s two fingers are the widest thing you’ve taken so far, and he knows it, taking a moment to let you adjust before he begins moving again. A mewl escapes your lips as his fingers take a hook shape, the pressure you previously felt on your g-spot intensified by the extra weight.

Your hands grasp against the sheets near your hips, finding no purchase as the pleasure in your core begins to build again. When he brushes your clit again, you nearly pull away. The bundle of nerves is throbbing, hyper-sensitive from your first peak and incredibly responsive to Lukas’s touch. It’s almost too much, but it feels so good you lean into his pressure, hips gently rolling to meet his thrusts while he softly plays with your clit. Your fingers travel to the oversized t-shirt you wear, tangling in the fabric there, gently pulling in up to expose more of your stomach. Lukas’s hand on your hip moves up, exploring the new skin as he doubles his efforts on your pussy.

Gasps and faint moans fill the air as electric shocks run down your thighs. Soft words of “please” and “yes” leave your lips as you begin to reach your climax. What sends you over the edge is the feeling of Lukas’s nails as he gently rakes his fingers down your skin. The climax hits you like a wave, satisfaction running through your body with a heat that makes you gasp and whimper for more. Your eyes fall shut as you cum this time, hips moving against your will as your legs fall further open, limp with pleasure. You take time to catch your breath, leaving your eyes shut while you feel Lukas slowly withdraw his digits from you. It’s a strange feeling, being empty again, clenching around nothing in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

The bed shifts as Lukas moves, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head. You open your eyes at the sound of fabric rustling, vision still heavily lidded. His muscles are toned, skin lightly tanned and blonde hair growing a pattern on his chest. Your gaze draws down to the small trail of hair below his navel, disappearing underneath the waistband of his pants. He notices you looking, giving you a goofy smirk before he moves to cover your body with his.

“How do you feel?” His face is close as he talks, gazing into you with his icy blue eyes. You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, giggly and blissed out as you respond.

“So good.” Your hands move to his chest, fingers lacing into his light hair as you gently stroke over his muscles. “Will you help me with my top?”

The grin on his face speaks for itself, his hands moving to pull the fabric of your shirt over your head, you helping by shifting your weight. When your chest is exposed, Lukas immediately palms your tits. He squeezes, gently rolls your nipples between his fingers, smirks at the way this causes you to moan. It’s not long before his mouth dips to press kisses along your collarbones, falling to your breasts before he takes a nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking on the skin. Your hand moves to his hair, gasping and arching your back to press yourself against him harder. He chuckles in response, the hum vibrating through your body.

“Lukas…” You don’t have to finish your sentence for him to know what you mean. Know what you’re asking for. He presses a parting kiss to your chest, just between your breasts. Lukas sits back on his legs before moving to stand off the bed, making quick work of his pants as he strips them down his legs. His cock springs up, tip already glistening wet with pre-cum as he approaches you again.

You bite your lower lip at the sight, half from anxiety, half from arousal. He moves between your thighs, sitting up on his knees as he wraps a hand around the base of his shaft. His other hand comes to your thigh, spreading your legs wider as he slots himself in the space between them. Lukas is so close to you now, the front of his thighs pressing against the bottom of yours. His cock hovers over your mound, hand moving to gently stroke up his length while he looks down at you. Your breath comes deep and measured. You don’t blink under his stare, don’t look away, just gaze back into his eyes with the same intensity.

Lukas moves slowly, bending at the waist, his hand traveling to brace himself as he covers your body in his. The kiss he presses to your lips is electric, sending sparks down your body and through your brain. You can feel his cock lightly grazing the skin of your stomach, the realization making you moan into Lukas’s mouth. He swallows the sound eagerly before separating your lips, almost as breathless as you.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

His position moves, back to sitting up on his thighs as he begins to guide his cock into you. The hand that was holding him up goes to one of your hands, intertwining your fingers and squeezing. You feel his tip against your entrance, smooth and hot and large. Little by little, he presses into you. The stretch is instant, a stinging pain that makes you inhale roughly and squeeze Lukas’s hand. It’s not unbearable, but it is uncomfortable. Your brows furrow, face pinched with the harsh feeling.

“Are you okay?” Lukas’s motion pauses for a moment, his mushroom tip almost fully inside of you.

“Yeah- just… keep going.” Your voice is quiet and breathless, tinged with discomfort.

“Okay, it’s okay. I have you.” He presses in further, fully sheathing his tip inside of you, a movement that causes a small groan to come from your mouth. “Good. Good girl. You’re doing so well.”

You don’t respond to that, and he doesn’t expect you to. Lukas waits a moment before continuing to press in, so slowly it almost feels tortuous. The worst of the stretch seems like it's over, the pain staying constant instead of increasing like it had been. Lukas’s cock is heavy inside of you, the feeling new and pleasing. You can feel his tip pressing against every ridge inside of you, further and further back. Before long you feel him press against your cervix, a sensation that makes you jolt, pulling back a bit from his form.

He frowns at that, squeezing your hand quickly before letting go to grab your hip. Lukas’s touch directs you to angle your pelvis differently, the movement causing his cock to sink further into your cunt. He barely has to press any further in before he bottoms out. His hand comes back to yours, the fingers that had been gripping his base moving to gently hold the outside of one of your thighs. You’re fuller than you’ve ever been before, and the pain between your thighs is slowly beginning to fade as he keeps himself fully sheathed inside of you.

“Wait- just stay for a second.” Lukas nods, face caring and solemn as he watches the expressions cross your face. Your brows unfurrow as the sting in your vulva subsides, a low sigh leaving you as your body relaxes into the bed beneath you.

“Okay?” He notices the change in your posture, hand on your thigh rubbing small circles into your soft skin.

“Fuck, yes. Move… please move Lukas.” Without the pain occupying your mind, you're able to focus on your other senses. He’s so close to you. His body is warm and strong and everything, everything, everything. Your clit is rubbing perfectly on his pubic bone with him fully inside you, your cunt feeling so full you swear you might implode. It’s so good, but you need more, you think you’ll die if something doesn’t change soon.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait long. Lukas nods as he hears your request, softly pulling back until just his tip is left inside you before pushing back in. This time, he brushes that spot in you, the one that makes your vision go white and your toes curl. You moan low in your throat, earning a matching groan from Lukas as you involuntarily clench around his length. His thrusts steady, a gentle rhythm beginning as he starts to really fuck you.

The pleasure in your lower stomach builds as he moves, your hips starting to roll to meet him in time with his thrusts. Each motion grazes your g-spot, sending sparks of satisfaction through your body. He pants over you, deep groans leaving his mouth while he moves. His noises blend with your gasps and moans, filling the room with the sounds of depravity. Your free hand had been grasping at the sheets next to you ineffectually, now you moved it to squeeze one of your breasts, a sort of anchor as your body rocked with the motions of Lukas.

“Can you… harder?” Your sentence partially trails off as you gasp, barely getting out your question before another moan leaves your lips.

“Harder?” He confirms, strengthening his thrusts as you nod in response. The effect is powerful, his tip now hitting your g-spot with a force that makes your toes curl and voice whimper. You move instinctually, wrapping your legs around his torso, forcing him even deeper into your soaked cunt. Lukas’s hand on your thigh moves to your waist, gripping the skin there harder than he means to as he becomes lost in the change in sensation.

“God, yes. Please don’t stop.” You swear you hear him breathlessly chuckle at your pleading, but you're too lost in your own pleasure to be sure. The unmistakable sounds of skin slapping fills the room, nearly as loud as your noises of pleasure. His cock bullies that sensitive spot inside of you, bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

“Fuck. You’re so tight for me.” Lukas’s voice is practically a growl as he speaks. You can only nod helplessly to show your understanding, too overwhelmed by sensation, too close to your climax, to muster any words. “All for me- you’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”

His words go straight to your core, a final push that makes you fall from your peak. Hard. It’s more intense than any orgasm you’ve experienced before, the pleasure white hot and blinding. Your thighs shake, back arches, eyes clamp chut, head rolls back. Lukas groans as you clench on his cock, squeezing him so hard his own head lulls back at the sensation. Your climax hits so hard you don’t even moan, just gasp and whine, letting the feeling roll over you in a wave. You aren’t sure how long you're stuck in this trance of pleasure, but when your eyes finally reopen your boyfriend isn’t far behind you.

Lukas’s thrusts have gotten erratic, pace stuttering and strength escalating as he chases his own release. He’s more vocal now, groaning and growling deep in his throat, little murmurs of praise coming from his lips. You can’t help but bite your lip at the sight. It’s not often you get to see Lukas Matsson desperate, there’s something gratifying in being the cause of his frenzy. His head is thrown back, his lips parted and panting, his Adam's apple bobbing with his heavy breaths. The entirety of his body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his skin hot and muscle flexing with his efforts. He’s a picture of sexuality, just the sight of him like this making your heat throb with want.

It’s only a few moments after your climax that Lukas finds his. Thrusts faltering, he pushes himself deep into your cunt, cumming inside of you with a loud moan. His spend coats your insides, hot and wet inside of you, a feeling you haven’t experienced before. The sensation causes a quiet mewl to fall from your lips, the sound making him breathlessly chuckling above you. His head falls back forward. You roll your hips against his a bit, his cock beginning to soften inside of you after his heavy release. This draws his attention back to you, a blissful smile on his face as he gazes back up at your face with heavily lidded eyes. He pumps himself inside of you lightly a few times before slowly, so slowly, pulling his cock from your body.

As soon as he’s out, you feel the warm, wet stream of your combined cum leak from your hole. It’s a strange feeling, being empty again after having been stretched so wide. But the discomfort is gone, and you feel blissed out and satisfied and closer to Lukas than ever before. The smile on your face is embarrassingly wide, blush pink on your cheeks as you gaze up at him, the two of you still quiet and catching your breaths. Lukas moves first, gently bending down to place a light kiss on your smiling mouth before speaking.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I feel really good, like, tingly all over.” You giggle, your laughter joined by his own light chuckles. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

“Like what?” His eyebrows furrow a bit in question as he moves to stand at the edge of the bed. You follow his movements, sitting up on the mattress with your legs stretched out in front of you.

“Like… an explosion.”

“I think you’re cum drunk.”

“Probably.”

He laughs again at your nonchalant tone, moving to his en suite bathroom to grab a towel for you. You take the moment of calm to raise your arms up, stretching your back and shoulders after laying for so long. You bend your legs, tucking them up against your naked body and resting your head on your knees. Lukas comes back into your view, moving to kneel at the end of the bed, his eyes level with your hips. He grabs onto an ankle, lightly tugging you towards him. You follow his nonverbal request easily, scooting to the edge on the bed with your legs once again open to give him a clear view of your cunt. His fingers move to either side of your slit, spreading your folds, a devious look on his face as he watches his creamy spend drip from your used hole.

“Hell of a creampie…” Lukas’s eyes flick up to yours, a small gasp having left your mouth at his touch to your sensitive vulva. He bites his lower lip then, cursing under his breath while he sits back a bit, shaking his head as he realizes. “Shit, I didn’t even think about protection.”

“Got too caught up in it?” There’s a small smile on your face, the expression calming his nerves. He nods in response. “It’s okay, we can Doordash Plan-B or something. Do you have that in Sweden?”

Lukas chuckles then, moving back with the towel to gently clean between your legs. The rough terrycloth of the towel drags on your sensitive clit, making your hips wriggle a bit in protest. He just smiles at your movements, continuing his work until he’s satisfied. When he moves the fabric away from you, your eyes catch on a red patch marking the white cloth.

“Did I…?” You move your feet to hang off the end of the mattress to aid you in standing just in front of Lukas. When you're comfortably standing on the floor, albeit on slightly shaky legs, you turn the upper half of your body to peer at the sheets behind you. There on the white fabric is a small blooming stain of red blood. It’s not enough to concern you, but it does cause a small blush to come to your face as you back to face Lukas, who is now standing in front of you, hands coming to anchor themselves on your hips. “Oh I messed up your sheets… I didn’t think-”

“Shh, hey it’s okay. It’s just sheets, ’s fine. You’re more important than linens.” One of his hands moves you to rub against your cheek comfortingly. You nod slowly, looking up into his eyes. There’s a gentle look on Lukas’s face, a look you only see when you two are alone. He places a kiss on your lips before speaking again. “You want to head to bed? Get some sleep?”

You pause for a second, moving your hands to trail up the skin of his back before they land on the back of his neck. You press your chest against his, the hand on your cheek moving back to grip the meat of your ass to stabilize you. “Yeah… or we could do it again?”

The rest of your vacation is spent in Lukas’s bed. Well, that’s not entirely true, it’s also spent in his pool, and on his kitchen counter, and on his couch, and against his bedroom wall, and in his tub… You’re convinced he’s trying to get you to stay, but you fly back at the end of the week as scheduled. Despite his very persuasive attempts.

After Sweden, things get better. It’s like Lukas fucked the fog out of your brain and your back to thinking clearly. You cut back your hours at the office, maintain your work-life balance a bit better, though it’s never great with Waystar. You sleep better at night, usually falling asleep on Facetime with Lukas or reading his text messages. You even schedule some time to get your hair done, a task that your split ends thank you greatly for. You’re functioning the most normally you can given the circumstances. Lukas says maybe your reset switch is in your pussy, you say maybe all the additives and preservatives in American food were finally catching up to you.

Even your status with your siblings gets better. A month or two after the initial shit show of Caroline’s wedding, Kendall reaches out to apologize to you. He tells you he’s staying sober and says he misses you, wants to see you in person, talk things through. You end up meeting at a cafe in Manhattan. Ken almost immediately tries to convince you to jump ship and join your siblings on their new project. To his credit, he understands when you decline. It’s not long after that meeting that your other siblings reach out. Roman sends a half-assed, jokey apology. Shiv doesn’t say sorry at all. But at least you have your family back.

Both your siblings and your dad are upset that you’re talking to the other side, but you stand firm in your place as a neutral party. Once again, you’re the peace keeper of the Roy family. You can’t get them to speak directly, can only make offhand comments to try and slightly influence their perceptions. It’s not much, but it makes you feel less useless at least. You’re sure your siblings won’t miss Logan’s birthday, so you hold out hope they’ll make up by then. They have a few months so it’s not impossible, stranger things have happened.

In the weeks leading up to your dad’s birthday, you visit Lukas again. You stay with him in Sweden again, this time staying only 3 days instead of a week. It’s the same blissful, honeymoon-esque vacation as your first trip. This time with even more sex, if that’s even possible. Lukas teaches you to give blowjobs, and lets you try any position you want. He’s even caring when he’s fucking you roughly, pulling your hair and swallowing your moans with his mouth. He cleans you up after every session, dries your tears and draws you a hot bath for your sore muscles. Again, he hits a reboot button in you, makes you go back to New York with a stupid grin on your face and your head filled with rainbows.

As good as Lukas makes you feel, he leaves you entirely unprepared for the firestorm that your siblings unleash on your dad’s birthday.

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