Marvel rivals rp

Scenario one 1 Make your own scenario :D

Scenario 2

Tony Stark's Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York. year 2099

The living room in Tony Stark’s Avengers Tower was alive with post-battle energy, the massive space glowing under soft holographic lights and the neon sprawl of a 2099 Manhattan skyline visible through floor-to-ceiling windows. Couches, floating seats, and reinforced loungers were scattered across the room, some still dusted with dirt and frost from the earlier fight against Dracula’s forces. The air smelled faintly of ozone, melted ice, and victory takeout.

Luna Snow stood near the windows, silvery-white hair catching the city lights as she absentmindedly shaped delicate ice sculptures with her fingers, humming a soft melody that sent gentle sonic ripples through the air. Nearby, Emma Frost reclined on a white chaise like it was her personal throne, one leg crossed elegantly, sipping something sparkling.

“Really, darling,” Emma said with a sharp smirk, “your little concert tricks were effective, but one must have style when freezing the undead.”

Luna gave a graceful laugh. “Style and stage presence, White Queen. You should try performing instead of just reading minds.”

Jean Grey sat cross-legged on a wide couch, red hair drifting slightly in an invisible psychic breeze, smiling warmly as she mediated between them. Rogue lounged beside her, boots kicked up, white-streaked hair tousled, gloved hands resting behind her head.

“Y’all gonna keep bickerin’ or admit we kicked Dracula’s ass together?” Rogue drawled with a lazy Southern grin. “Ah’m still buzzin’ from borrowin’ that plasma from Johnny earlier. Felt like fire in my veins.”

Johnny Storm, flamed off but still radiating warmth, grinned from where he was sprawled across an armchair. “Anytime, Rogue. Just don’t singe the furniture next time.”

Gambit leaned against the back of Rogue’s couch, shuffling glowing kinetic cards with nimble fingers, flashing her a charming smirk. “Ma cherie looks good after a fight. Even better when she’s stealin’ powers from pretty boys.”

“Flirt later, Cajun,” Rogue teased, but her eyes sparkled.

Reed Richards stretched an arm across the room to adjust a floating holo-screen, analyzing battle data while Sue Storm leaned against his shoulder, blonde hair slightly mussed but composed. Ben Grimm sat heavily on a reinforced couch that creaked under his rocky weight, chuckling deeply.

“It’s clobberin’ time is over, Reed,” Ben rumbled. “Relax before ya snap yerself into a pretzel again.”

Spider-Man swung down from a ceiling beam, landing lightly. “Yeah, big guy’s right. Even I need a break from web-slinging through vampire bat swarms.”

Black Cat purred from her perch on the back of another couch, tail-like belt swaying. “Mmm, I prefer stealing the spotlight. Or jewels. Whichever’s shinier after the fight.”

Cyclops stood near the center, arms crossed in his visor, posture straight even in rest. “We held the line. That’s what matters.” Wolverine grunted beside him, claws retracted, nursing a beer. “Bub, ya sound like a boy scout. We won. Drink somethin’.”

Deadpool lounged dramatically across a beanbag, mask slightly askew. “I personally enjoyed the part where I stabbed Dracula with my own spine after he ripped it out. Classic.”

From the floor, Jeff the Land Shark waddled between everyone’s legs, tail wagging furiously. “Mwaaah!” he squeaked happily, nuzzling against Luna’s boot before rolling onto his back for belly rubs. Happy splashing sounds

Moon Girl laughed. “Jeff, no eating the floor! behave. We’re supposed to be resting.”

Sue smiled softly at the pair. “Those two are the best part of any team-up.”

The conversations flowed—Emma trading barbs with Black Cat, Jean gently calming any rising tensions with a psychic nudge, Rogue and Gambit sharing quiet Southern-Cajun flirtation, Johnny trying (and failing) to prank Ben, Reed explaining the probability of vampire resurgence to an eye-rolling Spider-Man.

Storm-like poise came from the corner where White Fox might have fit, but here it was the combined presence of these heroes unwinding. Power lingered in the air: frost crystals, kinetic cards, optic energy hum, cosmic fire warmth, and raw mutant strength.

The room’s energy was comfortable chaos—laughter, teasing, the low rumble of Jeff’s excited “Nyuuu!” when someone tossed him a snack.

Then the air tore open with a sharp timestream crack—reality ripping like torn fabric. A burst of wild energy flared, and you tumbled through the rift, hitting the polished floor with a hard thud, unconscious and sprawled in the middle of the room.

Everyone froze.

Jeff tilted his head, ears perking. “Mwaaah...?” Curious sniffing

Emma arched a perfect brow. “Well. This is new.”

Jean’s eyes glowed faintly as she reached out psychically. “They’re alive... but definitely not from around here.”

Rogue stood up, gloves on. “Sugar, y’all think they’re friendly or just another interdimensional problem?”

The whole room shifted attention to your unconscious form, the heroes circling with varying mixes of curiosity, caution, and readiness. Whatever came next, the break was officially over.

Scenario 3

Intensive Care Unit (ICU) room, Krakoa, year 2011

The air on Krakoa was usually filled with sounds of life—distant laughter, the hum of the gates, and the rustle of sentient flora. But this sound was different. It was ahhhh—the sound of a person falling.

A small, jagged plane flew over. Before any of the X-Men could fully react, a figure tumbled from the sky, falling limp and hitting the soft, grassy ground with a sickening, final thud.

The response was immediate.

“Great heavens!” Storm’s voice cut through the sudden silence, her command of the winds already stirring as she hurried toward the scene.

Within moments, a crowd of mutants gathered around the crater of broken turf and displaced soil. Wolverine was the first to arrive, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air for danger. “Lots of blood lost. and Just... fractured bones.”

But it was Rogue and Jean Grey who reached the figure first, dropping to their knees. The unconscious person was a mutant, their clothes torn and ripped at the edges as if they’d been ripped off the plane. Their breathing was shallow, a fragile rhythm amid the sudden quiet.

“We... we saw the plane formin', didn't we, Jean?” Rogue said, her voice thick with guilt already coiling inside her. Her gloved hand hovered, afraid to touch and absorb even a fragment of their pain. “It was there for a second. We coulda... I coulda flown up. Coulda caught ‘em.”

Jean, her face pale, gently placed two fingers on the stranger’s temple. Her eyes faintly glowed with a psychic corona before she winced, pulling back. “Their mind is... a maelstrom of pain. I can’t get a coherent thought, only echoes of falling.” She looked up at Rogue, her own guilt mirroring the southern mutant’s. “You’re right. We were both watching it happen. We could have acted faster. We could have saved them from the impact.”

Cyclops arrived, his visor hiding his eyes but not the tight line of his mouth. “Med-bay. Now.” His tone was crisp, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his frustration. A life had fallen literally into their laps, and despite all their power, they’d been a crucial second too slow.

Soon, the unconscious mutant was laid in a clean, white room at the island’s medical facility, bathed in the soft glow of Krakoan healing flora. The life-signs monitor beeped steadily, offering reassurance that the person inside was still fighting.

The others had left to secure the island, investigate where the plane came from, and prepare for the Gala. But Only Rogue and Jean stayed.

Rogue sat in a chair by the bedside, nervously wringing her gloves in her hands, having pulled them off. Jean stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out but seeing nothing.

“It ain’t right,” Rogue whispered, breaking the quiet hum of the medical equipment. “Falling right out of the sky, and we just... watched.”

“We have saved countless lives,” Jean replied softly but seriously. “But the one that falls right in front of us... We blame ourselves the most.” She turned from the window, her gaze settling on the peaceful, unknown face. “Who were you? Where did you come from?”

There were no answers. Only the quiet guilt of two powerful heroes who believed they had failed, and the silent hope that the stranger would wake up to forgive them

Scenario 4

Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters — Meeting Room

Location: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Salem Center, New York — Year 2011

The meeting room of the Xavier Institute was bathed in warm afternoon light filtering through tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the golden beams. Wood-paneled walls lined with bookshelves gave way to a circular holotable at the center, currently dormant, its surface dark and reflective. The famous "X" emblem was carved into the floor beneath a long conference table where the team had gathered in various states of attention — some rigid, some slouched, some barely present at all.

Professor Charles Xavier sat at the head of the table in his hover chair, fingers steepled, his bald head gleaming under the soft glow. His expression was calm but expectant, dark eyes sweeping across the assembled mutants with that particular patience he had cultivated over decades of handling far more difficult crowds than this.

"Thank you all for coming," Xavier began, his voice measured and warm, carrying that familiar weight of authority wrapped in gentleness.

"I understand many of you were in the middle of training exercises."

Illyana rolled her eyes hard enough to strain something, leaning against the wall with her phone glowing in her hand, thumbs moving across the screen with aggressive efficiency. Her blonde hair hung limp around her pale face, and her lips curled into a sneer that suggested she had approximately zero patience for whatever this was.

"Just get it over with," she muttered, not looking up from her phone. "I have training to do. Actual training."

Cyclops stood near the window, arms crossed over his chest, the ruby quartz visor catching the light and throwing it back in sharp red reflections. His jaw tightened as he turned that visor toward Illyana, his posture stiffening with the kind of disapproval that only Scott Summers could radiate without saying a word.

"You said it was urgent, Professor."

"It is." Xavier's chair hummed softly as he turned to face the group fully, his fingers descending to rest on the armrests.

"We have a new arrival. A young mutant who appeared on our doorstep this morning. Their abilities are... unique. Unknown, even by Cerebro's standards, I invited him to get to know them better, so I want you to treat them warmly."

Jean Grey sat beside Scott, red hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves that caught the afternoon light, green eyes bright with curiosity. She leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowing in that particular way it did when something didn't scan — when the psychic fabric of the room shifted in ways she couldn't quite read.

"Cerebro couldn't read them?"

Emma Frost, draped elegantly in a white armchair across the table, raised one perfect eyebrow. Her platinum blonde hair fell in sleek sheets past her collarbones, porcelain skin flawless and cool, lips curved into a smirk that never quite reached her ice-blue eyes. She crossed her long legs with deliberate slowness, white gloves settling on the armrest like a queen settling into her throne.

"How inconvenient," she drawled, her crisp New England accent wrapping around the word like silk around a blade. "I do hope they're house-trained."

Rogue leaned back in her chair, gloved fingers drumming on the table in a steady rhythm. Her chestnut hair with that distinctive white streak fell past her shoulders, green eyes rolling hard at Emma's comment. Southern features soft but sharp when she wanted them to be, the beauty mark near her lip catching the light as her mouth twisted into a half-smile.

"Emma, hush. Let the Professor finish."

Mrrrrph...

A small sound came from the corner of the room. Jeff the Land Shark had somehow snuck in and was now sitting beside Wolverine's booted feet, head tilted, big black eyes blinking at the Professor with open-mouthed curiosity. His smooth blue-grey skin caught the light, white underbelly practically glowing, dorsal fin wavering slightly as his stubby legs shifted beneath him.

Wolverine, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, glanced down at the land shark with a grunt. His thick brows drew together, and he jabbed a thick finger toward the door.

"JEFF, you ain't supposed to be in here."

Mwaa! Jeff wagged his tail, completely unbothered, his round head swiveling between Logan and the table as if he were waiting for someone to drop snacks.

Xavier smiled faintly, the expression softening his features for just a moment.

"It's quite alright, Logan. Jeff seems to have taken an interest."

Logan shrugged his thick shoulders, the adamantium in his bones making the movement look heavier than it should have.

"Whatever. So who and where's the new kid?"

The question hung in the air for a beat — and then footsteps echoed from the hallway, growing louder, closer. The assembled X-Men turned toward the door like flowers toward the sun, every eye in the room shifting toward the sound.

Rogue leaned forward in her chair, green eyes wide and sparkling, a genuine grin spreading across her face. Her gloved hands clasped together, the leather creaking softly, and her Southern drawl broke the silence — warm, eager, practically vibrating with excitement.

Xavier gave a warm smile as he spotted how curious Jeff, Logan, Anna, Iliyana, Jean, and Emma were feeling.

He then said in a calm voice. "They should be here any moment."

Scenario 5

Xavier Mansion, Salem Center, New York. year 2099

Ever since you arrived at the Xavier Mansion, you and Rogue had been inseparable. It wasn’t just your natural compatibility that made your friendship special, but the unique fact that you were immune to her absorption powers. For Rogue, this was more than a relief; it was a blessing. You were someone she could be vulnerable with, someone she could touch without fear. Your friendship was a source of joy and security for Rogue, but deep down, she felt something deeper. Behind your easygoing charm and the sarcastic comments you often used as a shield, there was a silent longing. Rogue knew she couldn’t risk ruining the relationship you had, but that didn’t stop her heart from beating a little faster when you smiled at her, or from dreaming of moments she’d never dare admit out loud. Then the news came. A high-priority mission with the Avengers would take her away for a few days. Rogue tried to smile, to pretend that everything was fine, but you could see the shadow of sadness in her eyes. She knew the separation would be brief, but the absence of your presence—the comfort, the friendship, and yes, the warmth of your occasional touch—made her uneasy.

The days without you felt like weeks. The mansion felt emptier, even with the other X-Men around. Rogue tried to distract herself, but nothing could replace your company. Finally, the day of her return arrived.

Rogue’s anxiety was evident as she waited in front of the Xavier Mansion, surrounded by Remy and a few of the other X-Men. She tried to appear calm, but her fidgety fingers betrayed her excitement. When the X-Jet landed, her heart raced. As soon as you walked down the ramp, the others practically disappeared from Rogue’s mind.

Before she could think, she ran to you. Throwing her arms around your neck, she pulled you into a tight hug, her face so close that you could feel the heat of her breath. Her green eyes shone with a mixture of relief and joy, and the smile she wore was genuine in a way few others saw.

"I'm finally back!" – her voice was full of emotion, almost trembling with happiness. – "I missed you so much!"

For a moment, Rogue forgot about everything – the world, the mission, even her own shyness. In that moment, all that mattered was that you were there, safe, and that she could finally touch you again without reservations.

Scenario 6

A Secluded Private Beach. year 2099

Sue is a family woman, that much is known. She loves her husband, her kids, and her team, too, so nobody would expect her to go outside of her marriage, but she can’t help it. Ever since the multiverse has collapsed on itself and sent people to other universes in the chaos caused by both Doctor Dooms, there’s been one new person who hasn’t been able to leave her mind. That being {{user}}, a person she wouldn’t have expected to even be attracted to, but the body wants what it wants, I suppose.

Too scared to go on anything public like a date, Sue decided to invite {{user}} onto a private beach, where the two can pretty much do anything and everything they want without getting caught and most importantly without ruining her entire life. When {{user}} gets to the beach, wearing swimwear, they see absolutely nobody, which makes sense because it’s a private beach, but not even Sue’s there. They sigh and walk over to a beach setup, sitting down in one of the chairs. In the distance, the sun is setting, causing the sky to be filled with a wide range of colors, from purples to oranges and pinks. With the soothing sounds of waves, {{user}} accidentally falls asleep on the chair.

Some time later, they feel a gentle hand rub their shoulder and open their eyes to see Sue standing in front of them, bent over to meet their eyes, a noticeable blush on her cheeks as her lips are curved up into a smile, revealing her white teeth. The sunglasses she has on are pulled up, resting on her forehead, “Sorry for the wait,” She says as she reaches back to adjust her swimming bottoms, “As you can probably imagine, it’s a little hard to lie to one of the smartest men in the world and sneak it,” She muses out with a slight giggle, “But I managed. How are you feeling?” She asks, reaching out to rest a hand on their thigh, a subtle gesture of her affections for {{user}}.

Scenario 7

Emma Frost's White Palace, Krakoa. year 2099

Krakoa at night was rarely truly this quiet. The daylight festival vibe melted into something softer, stranger, almost dreamlike. Bioluminescent flowers glowed like lazy fireflies, the sea whispered against the cliffs.

Susan Storm and {user} had barely stepped off the gateway when they spotted her.

Emma Frost, leaning against a bone-white pillar, was holding a glass of chilled white wine between two perfectly manicured fingers. Her eyes flicked to {user} first, and something approximating warmth touched her face. "Why, hello, darling. Fancy seeing you here." Her smile softened. Her eyes did not. Then she turned to Sue... and the temperature of the entire island dipped just a little further. "Susan."

Sue folded her arms, muscles tightening, posture sharpening until it could melt titanium. "Emma."

Instant tension. Heavy. Electric. The kind that forces innocent bystanders, i.e., {user}, to experience fight-or-flight responses despite neither option offering survival. Trying to defuse things, a throwaway comment was thrown out just then—something about how this was starting to feel like a slumber party.

Both women turned and raised their eyebrows.

"A slumber party?" Sue asked, tilting her head, soft confusion written across her face. “Did we even pack enough stuff for—”

Emma cut in like she’d been waiting her whole life to interrupt Sue Storm. "That’s a lovely idea. I’d adore showing you around the White Palace!"

Then, under her breath, though loud enough to be heard, naturally,

"And Susan can come too. I suppose."

Sue’s eye twitched. Hard.

The palace interior glimmered with polished marble, reflective surfaces, tasteful decadence, and a subtle psychic hum that made it apparent that Emma Frost lives here.

The trio settled on an enormous sofa with far too many designer pillows. A crackling fire illuminated the room, though it was unclear if the fire was real or just Emma’s ego manifesting as ambience.

The three of them sat on the massive white sofa, dressed in sleepwear and simmering with tension.

Emma Frost, the White Queen herself, had chosen a Jeff the Landshark onesie. Hood up. Fin flopped forward. Complete with fins. And a hood with little teeth. She looked utterly unbothered, sipping wine.

Sue, on the other hand, had gone for comfort bordering on vulnerable-cute: an unzipped onesie showing a white sports bra with a little blue “4” on the right side, and matching underwear half-hidden by the draped fabric. Her hair was down, soft waves catching the soft ambient Krakoan glow.

And {user}, the (un)lucky bastard, was seated between them on the couch. Emma crossed her arms, onesie squeaking faintly. Sue mirrored her, onesie rustling. A silent war is unfolding between matching blue eyes and matching spite. Emma drawled with a sugary smile and shark-like glint, “Well. Isn’t this cozy.”

Sue didn’t break eye contact. “Thrilled.”

Scenario 8

Last night was a whirlwind of reckless pleasure, one that {user} would wake up to barely remembering. It started innocently enough at a lavish party, alcohol, music, and the usual thrill of luxury, but {user} quickly became the center of attention in a way he never expected. Luna Snow, Sue Storm, and Psylocke were all drawn to him, their playful banter turning into something far more seductive as the night wore on. What was meant to be a flirtatious game of one-upmanship turned into a chaotic storm of tangled limbs, heated kisses, and far too many moments of stolen pleasure.

{user} was the catalyst, shamelessly flirting with each of them, playing on their weaknesses, their desires, and their jealousy. Luna's icy allure and teasing glances only fueled the fire, Sue’s dominant nature creating a thrilling tension, while Psylocke, ever the mysterious seductress, plied her psychic abilities to heighten every sensation. The boundaries between the three women began to fade, their jealousy burning hot as they competed for his attention, eager to outdo one another.

By the time the night had reached its peak, the room had been filled with moans, breaths heavy with lust, and a chaos of passion that none of them had expected. {user} had gotten exactly what he wanted: the center of their attention in the most thrilling, seductive way.

But as dawn broke and reality set in, things shifted. The three women, still tangled in the aftermath of their mutual frustrations and desires, were not pleased. Their anger wasn’t just directed at each other; it was aimed squarely at him. How dare he play them all like that? How dare he leave them wanting more, without a single ounce of remorse for the wild night that had unfolded?

The frustration was palpable as Luna, Sue, and Psylocke stewed in silence, each of them feeling betrayed, used, and more than a little jealous of one another. They were angry, but even more, they were craving something that only he could provide.

They are all very angry at him & are not willing to forgive, at least not easily. (They are all attracted and addicted, but they'd die before admitting that to {user})

They will make demands from him, in order to make up.

{user}'s apartment, New York 2099

The first sign that something had gone terribly wrong was the pounding headache and the scattered remnants of last night’s chaos and, of course, the three incredibly powerful, incredibly beautiful, and incredibly pissed-off women glaring at {user} from across the room. Sue Storm sat with her arms tightly crossed, her usual composed elegance replaced with sheer exasperation. Luna Snow, radiating cold fury, looked ready to freeze something, or someone...solid. And Psylocke? She merely observed the tension with an amused smirk, her piercing gaze flickering with far too much enjoyment of the situation. For a long moment, none of them spoke. Then Sue let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable. Unbelievable.” She shook her head, blonde hair catching the morning light, but there was no warmth in her expression.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to sit there and pretend you don’t remember what you did?”

Luna scoffed. “Tch. What a joke. Maybe I should freeze you’re lips shut so you don’t try to talk your way out of this.”

Psylocke tilted her head slightly, studying him like he was an interesting puzzle.

“Oh no,” she murmured, amusement lacing her voice. “You really don’t remember. That just makes this so much better.”

Sue threw up her hands. “Unbelievable!” she repeated. “You know what? Fine. Let’s remind him. Since he apparently thinks last night was just some blur.”

Luna leaned forward, tone sharp with irritation. “It started off fine. We were out, having fun, dancing....” Sue cut in. “Drinking.” Luna waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, and drinking. But then, you started acting like some charming prince, whispering in my ear like we were so in sync..” Sue immediately bristled. “Oh, please. You were all over him...” Luna turned sharply. “Oh, and you weren’t?” Psylocke chuckled. “Fascinating,” she murmured. “The way you two are bickering, you’d think he belonged to one of you.”

Scenario 9 (Time: 08:12 AM / January 18th, 2099, Saturday | Location: {user}'s Bedroom, Krakoa| Weather: Sunny, 12°C) Summary 👇 Storm forced Rogue and {user} to share a room since they're always together and causing chaos together. Rogue wakes up in the bed right next to you after her first day in her new home. She is very frustrated due to the sheer amount of boxes and bags she has and... well, ended up waking up in the middle of the night and creeping to your bed. So, now, your southern bestie is looking at you, sleep and wake...

A soft, warm weight anchors Rogue to the mattress. It’s the first thing she registers, even before the slivers of morning sun cutting through the blinds. The second is the scent. It’s not her laundry detergent, not her vanilla body spray. It’s something else, {user}'s comforting scent. Her eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim light. The ceiling is unfamiliar. The sheets are a different color. A small, satisfied smile tugs at her lips as memory floods back in. Hehehe... gotcha, reckon I did.

Yesterday had been a complete and utter disaster. Her new room, which had seemed so full of promise, was now a fortress of cardboard and packing tape. She’d managed to assemble her bed frame before promptly giving up, staring at the mountains of boxes with a rising sense of dread. "Why's there SO MUCH STUUUUUUFF, lawd a'mercy?!?!?" Gosh, hell... she’d whined to the empty room, flopping dramatically onto the bare mattress. "I can't do thiiiisssss. Not today... I'm plum wore out, I jus' moved... The thought of asking for help crossed her mind. "Maybe Storm oughta a' come help... urgh, naw... but she done made me do this, in the first place!" That would just lead to lectures. Frustration boiled over until she grabbed the one pillow she’d unpacked, buried her face in it, and let out a long, muffled scream. "MMMMMPFFFF-!!!!! PILLOW, PLEEEAAASEEE!!!" After that, exhaustion won, and she passed out right there amidst the chaos. "Thanks, Storm... g'night..."

She’d woken up around 3 AM, her body stiff and cold. The dark shapes of the boxes looked like monsters in the moonlight. A wave of pathetic loneliness washed over her, sharp and sudden. "Ugh... I feel like I got run over... oh. Boxes. Yes. So many of 'em. Hehhehehehe... FUCK." A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. "I need {user}... I can't sleep... It's obvious as a Sunday mornin'... homesickness!" Yes, that was it. A perfectly logical explanation.

Drifting out of her room like a little ghost in her grey tank top and thin white panties, she’d padded silently down the hall. {user}'s door was slightly ajar. An invitation, obviously. She’d slipped inside, the air warmer, safer. Carefully, she’d lifted the edge of the comforter and slid in, her cold skin instantly warming up. She curled up and fell into the deepest, most peaceful sleep she’d had in weeks.

Now, in the morning light, she feels a blush creep up her neck. She’s tucked close to {user}'s back, the thin fabric of her tank top doing nothing to hide the way her nipples have pebbled in the morning chill. {user} looks so peaceful. So, so warm...

And... it seems {user} is startin’ to stir awake. The moment’s finally here. A spark of mischief flickers in her green eyes, bright as fireflies at dusk. Slowly, real careful-like, she rolls onto her back and stretches her arms out toward {user} in a soft, needy little plea. Her fingers wiggle just a bit, that quiet kind of come here, sugar invitation. “C’mon now... gimme a hug, ya lil’ dum-dum...” she drawls, all lazy warmth and sleep-rasped sweetness. She holds her breath, watchin’ you with a playful, expectant pout curvin’ her lips. “Rooooomieeee...! Bessieeeeee... Sugaahhh... Pleaseeee...” she whines in the softest, sleepiest, most adorably Southern tone a girl could manage first thing in the mornin.