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Random wednesday in Maria’s Army:
Peter: Ok, I found your hand.
Jasper: It's not mine.
Peter: But it's a good hand.
Jasper: Peter, I want my hand.
Peter: But—
Jasper: Peter. Find. My. Hand.
Peter: Fine, Mr. Grumpy.
inspired by a conversation with @lazy-anxietyinfectedzombie. Love you man 🤟
That fic you wrote for peter , so good. Keep up the good work.
Could you do one shot for peter x human mate where he comes back from hunting and he finds out that she has been up most of the night and slightly scolded her but he started to regret when she starts to cry a little while she tells him, she worries about him and can not sleep when he is not there. They both back to bed naked because she loves the feeling of his cold skin. In the morning when she wakes up, she finds him at the end of the bed begging her to let him eat her out because he loves it when her legs are wrapped out his head.
Feel free to ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable
Cold comfort - Peter (Twilight nomad) x His human
The cabin sat tucked into the trees like it had grown there, old pine walls and a tin roof that sang when the wind picked up. It wasn’t much, just two rooms, a wood stove, and a bed.She has been here three weeks now, far enough from any town that Peter felt comfortable leaving you alone for a few hours. He always came back before dawn. Always. But the hours in between stretched long when you were human and he wasn’t.
Tonight had been one of the bad ones.
She has tried to sleep. Really. She read the same three pages of the beat-up mystery novel Peter had grabbed from a gas station, made yourself tea on the stove, even lay down with the lights off. But every creak of the trees outside sounded like footsteps that weren’t his. Every distant animal noise made your pulse jump. The bond between you—the strange, invisible pull that had clicked into place the first time he looked at you with those red eyes—made absence feel like missing a limb.
By three in the morning she were back at the kitchen table, wrapped in one of his flannel shirts, staring at the dark window. Her eyes burned and her body felt heavy but her mind wouldn’t shut off. What if he ran into another nomad? What if the bloodlust pulled him farther than he planned?
The sky was just starting to lighten when the door opened. Peter stepped in quiet as always, wiping his boots on the mat out of habit even though mud didn’t bother him. His shirt was clean but she could smell the faint metallic edge of blood under the pine and cold air that clung to him. His red eyes found hers immediately, softening a fraction before his brow pulled together.
“Darlin’.” he said, voice low and rough like gravel under tires. “You are up again.”
She shrugged, trying for a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He crossed the room in that effortless way of his. Peter was tall, broad-shouldered, built like someone who had once fought for survival and never quite forgot how. He dropped his jacket over the back of a chair and came to stand in front of her, one cold hand resting on the table near hers.
“You promised last time…” he reminded, not unkindly but with that practical edge. “Six hours gone, that’s all. I told you I’ll be back before the sun got ideas. You look like hell.”
The words landed heavier than he probably meant. She felt her throat tighten. The exhaustion of the night, the worry she has been chewing on for hours, rose up fast and sharp.
“I tried.”She said quietly,but her voice cracked on the second word.
He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “I know you did. But this ain’t good for you. You are human. You need sleep. I can’t keep coming home to you half-dead on your feet because you are waiting on me. It’s not sustainable.”
That did it. The tears came without warning, silent at first, just warm tracks down her cheeks.She looked down at her own hands so she wouldn’t have to see the regret flash across his face. Peter froze. He faced down armies of newborns but her tears always hit him like a gut punch.
“Shit.” he muttered. “Hey. Come here.”
He pulled her up from the chair and into his chest without waiting for an answer. His arms wrapped around her, one hand cradling the back of her head. He was so cold, even through the flannel. The contrast against her warm skin made her shiver once before she melted into it.
“I’m sorry.” he said against her hair. His voice had lost the scolding tone completely. “I wasn’t trying to jump down your throat. I just hate seeing you wear yourself out like this. You should be… I don’t know. Sleeping like a normal girl instead of worrying about some vampire who has been walking this earth too damn long.”
She pressed your face into his shirt, breathing in the smell of him—cold air, pine, the faint copper that always lingered after a hunt. “I can’t help it.” She whispered. The words tumbled out shaky. “Every time you leave, my brain just… goes. What if you don’t come back? What if something happens out there and I’m just sitting here waiting forever? I know you are strong. I know you always come home. But the worrying doesn’t listen to logic. The bed feels wrong without you. Too warm. Too empty. I lie there and count minutes and I can’t turn it off.”
His arms tightened. She felt him swallow even though he didn’t need to. “I know that feeling.” he said after a long moment. “Had it plenty during the wars. Lying awake wondering if Jasper was coming back from whatever suicidal run Maria sent him on. But you… you are my mate. The one thing in this long life that actually makes sense. I hate that I cause you this.”
She shook her head against him. “It’s not you. It’s the bond. Or maybe it’s just me. I have never felt like this about anyone.”
He pulled back enough to look at her, thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks. His red eyes were steady, patient in that way that always surprised people who only saw the soldier side of him. “C’mon. Back to bed. We will figure the rest out later.”
She let him lead them to the bedroom. The space was simple, wide bed with heavy quilts, one window covered by thick curtains, a single lamp glowing low. Peter stripped out of his clothes without ceremony, folding them over the chair with military neatness. Shirt, boots, jeans. She did the same, peeling off the flannel and the soft shorts underneath until the cool air of the cabin raised goosebumps on your skin. She loved this part. The moment she finally pressed against him and felt that shock of cold. It grounded her. Reminded you he was real.
Peter pulled the covers back and you both slid in. He lay on his back and she curled into his side immediately, one leg thrown over his, cheek against his chest. His arm came around her waist, hand resting low on her back. The temperature difference made her sigh, pressing closer, seeking more of that cool relief against her overheated, exhausted body.
“Better?” he asked quietly. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns on her skin.
“Mhm.” Her voice was already thicker with sleep. “You are freezing. It feels perfect.”
He huffed a soft laugh, the sound rumbling under her ear. “Only you would say that about a walking corpse.”
“You are not a corpse.”She murmured. “You are mine.”
Peter was quiet for a long time after that. She felt his chin rest on top of your head, his body relaxing. The steady useless rhythm of old habits—breathing in and out even though he didn’t need air. Her own breathing slowed as the warmth of his presence finally let your mind unclench. The worry that had kept her up all night faded to a dull background hum.
Peter stayed awake, red eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to her heartbeat. Regret still sat in his chest like a stone. He scolded her when she were already fragile. Old habits from a life where weakness got you killed. But she weren’t a soldier. She were his mate, warm, breakable, and trusting enough to fall asleep naked against a predator. The bond pulled at him, that deep certainty that you belonged together. He would protect that. Even from himself.
Morning came slow through the heavy curtains, soft gray light leaking around the edges. She woke to the feeling of hands on her thighs, gentle but deliberate, parting them with patient care. For a moment she were still half-dreaming, then awareness settled in.
Peter was at the end of the bed, kneeling between her spread legs. He was still naked, broad shoulders catching the dim light, red eyes looking up at her with open hunger. His hair was slightly messy from the night, expression soft but focused. He looked almost boyish in the morning quiet, except for the centuries behind that gaze.
“Morning, darlin’.” he said, voice low and rough with sleep he didn’t actually need. His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, slow circles that made heat pool low in her belly. “Been lying here thinking about you. Can I?”
She blinked the last of sleep away, propping herself up on her elbows. The sight of him there, begging in his own quiet way, sent a shiver through her. Peter didn’t beg often. When he wanted something this badly he usually just took, but with her he always asked. Always made sure.
“Please.” he continued, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss just above her knee. His cold lips against her warm skin made her inhale sharply. “I love this. Love when your legs wrap around my head. Love feeling you shake and knowing it’s because of me. Let me take care of you. Been craving it since I got back last night.”
Heat flushed across her face and chest. She reached down, fingers threading through his hair, and nodded.
“Yeah.” She whispered. “Yes.”
That was all he needed.
His mouth moved up her thigh with deliberate slowness, savoring. No rush. He had all the time in the world and he intended to use it. When he finally reached her center he pressed a soft kiss there first, then dragged his cold tongue through her folds in one long, slow stroke. The temperature contrast pulled a gasp from her throat. He hummed in satisfaction at the sound, the vibration traveling straight through her.
Her legs closed around his head instinctively, thighs pressing against his ears. Peter loved that. His hands slide under her ass, tilting her hips to get closer. He took his time, circling her clit with the tip of his tongue, then dipping lower, exploring every inch like he was memorizing her. His touch was confident but gentle, the way only someone who had spent decades learning patience could be.
His girl moaned softly, fingers tightening in his hair. The pleasure built in slow waves, Peter focused and devoted between her legs. He found the rhythm that made her back arch, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and precise flicks that had her thighs trembling around him. Every so often he would pull back just enough to press kisses to her inner thighs, cold breath ghosting over wet skin, before diving back in.
“Peter.” She breathed, hips rocking against his mouth.
He answered with a low sound, one hand sliding up to rest on her stomach, feeling the way her breathing hitched. The other stayed under her ass, supporting. When she came it rolled deep and slow, legs clamping around his head, a soft cry slipping out as her soft body shook.
Only then did he lift his head, lips shiny, a small satisfied smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. He crawled up her body, pressing lazy kisses along her stomach, between her breasts, the hollow of her throat, before settling beside her again. He pulled her against his chest, arms wrapping around like he never planned to let go.
“You are gonna kill me one of these days, woman.” he murmured, voice warm with affection. “But damn if this isn’t the best way to start eternity.”
She smiled sleepily, curling closer, legs tangling with his. His skin was still cool against yours, grounding and perfect. The worry from last night felt far away now, softened by touch and time and the steady presence of the man who always came back.
She drifted in and out of light sleep after that, wrapped in each other. Peter hand stroked her back in slow arcs. Occasionally he pressed a kiss to her forehead or murmured something low and southern and fond. No rush to get up. No pressure to be anything other than exactly what you were together.
Later, when the light had shifted to proper morning,she felt him shift slightly.
“Still worrying?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head against his chest. “Not right now.”
“Good.” His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up so he could look at her properly. “We will find a rhythm. I will hunt closer when I can. You will sleep when I’m gone because you know I’m coming back. Deal?”
“Deal.” She whispered.
He kissed her then, slow, deep, tasting faintly of her. When he pulled back his red eyes were soft.
“Love you, darlin’. Cold dead heart and all.”
She smiled, pressing closer to that cold skin she always craved. “Love you too.”
The day stretched ahead of you both, unhurried. There would be more nights where worry kept you awake. More mornings where he woke her with his mouth and his hands. But for now there was only the quiet cabin, bare skin, and the steady comfort of choosing each other again and again.
Peter eventually got up to make her breakfast. She watched him move around the small kitchen, naked and comfortable, red eyes flicking to her every few minutes like he needed the visual reminder she were safe and here. When he brought the plate back to bed she ate while he lay beside you, head propped on his hand, content to simply exist in the same space.
Hours passed like that. Talking quietly about nothing important. His fingers tracing patterns on her thigh. The occasional kiss that lingered longer than necessary. No grand declarations. No drama. By afternoon you were both dressed in comfortable clothes, sitting on the porch steps together. His arm was around her shoulders, her head leaning against him. The sun filtered through the trees but stayed off his skin thanks to the overhang. She finally felt rested for the first time in days.
“Next time I go out…” he said eventually, “I will leave sooner so I’m back faster. And you will try to sleep?”
“I’ll try.” She agreed.
He nodded, accepting that as enough. His hand found hers, cold fingers lacing through warm ones. The bond hummed between you, steady and sure.
Eternity was a long time. But they would take it one night, one morning, one cold press of skin at a time.
idea……. if Rob and Kirsten for some reason couldn’t do the voice acting for Bella and Edward in the Midnight Sun series CAN WE PLEASE RECRUIT Illyana Kadushin & Jake Abel, the rest of the twilight cast should be able to do their characters (they are more than willing) also if Taylor Lautner couldn’t do Jacob it can only be Matt Walters ALSO FOR VICTORIA PLS IT HAS TO RACHELLE, their voices all match the characters so perfectly 🥺🙏🏽
Jasper and Peter Friendship Moodboard request by @eeve06
requests are open and request here for my 500 follower celebration, check my pinned post for more details for requesting or for ask games
Just my version of tiktok trend
Twilight Character's as things my friends/family have said (Part 12):
"You're a dickhead" - Jasper to Peter, playfully of course
(sidenote: I love their fanon relationship, I say fanon cause despite it clear they are old friends, they have next to no relationship)
Jasper: She took my life, made me fight in a war killing thousands, and she even plotted to kill me.
Peter: Maybe we should kill her then?
Jasper: Why would I do that?
This is kind of a random question, but I thought about that while reading your story Variable Stars, more specifically that scene in which Alice decides not to kill Peter and Charlotte. If it had happened, how Jasper would've reacted? Or, in a canon version, how do you think he would react if Peter and Charlotte were killed (not by Alice but a nomad or something)?
Ooof, Anon, you woke up and chose violence. We'll start with Variable Stars.
