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theshadeblindcolor · 5 days

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Quick art I did on a 5 hour bus ride of my favorite wine-aunt

Don’t mind that I draw him in jeans and a slutty red button up, I think it’s so funny.

#tpp peter #tpp fanart #tpp nureyev #the penumbra fanart #peter nureyev fanart #peter nureyev #junoverse #juno steel spoilers #kind?#art #my art #he’s a wine aunt and I love him #this was a new brush pack I got to play with #the penumbra fandom #the penumbra podcast

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lonely-lady-and-a-foxglove-man · 2 years

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The crew is turned into animals:

Juno-hound dog adjacent mutt with dark fur, plenty of scars, and the most freakishly strong sense of smell known to dog kind. He takes a long time warming up to folks, as pretty much all his social experiences are negative, but he still is a pack animal who loves with his whole being.

Nureyev- a semi-domesticated raccoon who some idiot decided to teach how to steal stuff as well as a bunch of other random things and which was then released out into the world to cause chaos.

Rita- a small lap dog with a smooshed in face or some other breeding horror and the intelligence of a human being who randomly showed up outside your door and refused to leave.

Vespa- cat. This is an ex-barn cat who is domesticated enough to associate humans with food, but not enough to not bite anyone who tries to pet her before the six year mark.

Buddy- a wolf kicked out of her family who understands that teamwork is the secret to survival and who has therefore built herself a family of her own.

Jet- He's an old bear, big and intimidating, but ultimately not going to attack unprovoked. He's tired from his younger years and is not naturally that social, though he's learned. He's brighter than folks give him credit for.

#the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #rita penumbra #buddy aurinko #jet siquliak #vespa ilkay #I see Juno as a street mutt who gets taken in and trained as a police dog #only for that to go sideways after he bit his handler after she viciously attacked a suspect #Rita took pity on him though and took him in so that he wouldn't end up getting put down #of course Rita the dog is a different story #she came from the blue and now she lives here #how exactly Nureyev stabbed Mag as a raccoon is beyond me #but he is a very talented raccoon #something about a wolf ending up separated from her pack only to befriend and fall in love with a barn cat #just to lose her again so soon afterwards #so she was alone for a while #until she finds an old bear whose as world worn as her and so they start working together #then one day they find a dog #and they decide to take him in #because they see how he loves with the whole of him and it reminds buddy of home #then he finds her beloved barn cat #now it's them and the little lap dog who follows the new recruit everywhere and who is too brilliant to pass up #and a raccoon whose on thin ice #it's all sorta Disney #like a sequel to homeward bound

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static-radio-ao3 · 3 months

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@jegulus-microfic // january 22 // prompt: cry // words: 1184 // cw: explicit sexual content

James Potter is loud. Unbearably so. He’s also talkative, which makes for a particularly frustrating combination. He’s always blabbering on about one thing or the other. His professors or the reading materials or the RA of his dorm, whose name is Frank Longbottom, by the way. This is something Regulus knows because James is —say it with me— loud.

James is either louder than usual today, or Regulus’ fuse is shorter than usual, but it is bordering on unbearable. Regulus is trying his best to focus on the economics of inequality, really, he is. But James Potter’s aggravating voice is cutting through his concentration at an alarming rate.

With a sharp exhale he slams the palms of his hands against the table and shoves his chair backward, causing Evan and Barty to look up. At the sight of Regulus fuming, they simply raise an eyebrow at each other and turn back to their assignments.

Regulus rolls his shoulders and steels himself for what is undoubtedly going to be a frustrating interaction.

He weaves his way through the library, surprised that no one else seems as bothered as he is about the noise, because it is fairly packed. Exam week is coming up and Hogwarts University is known for its rigorous program and harsh grading. This may or may not be the cause for Regulus’ short fuse today — he really needs to pass the econ exam if he wants to take an elective next semester.

Before he knows it, he is standing in front of James Potter’s table. Regulus clears his throat once to get James’ attention, but he seems so captivated by his own story that he doesn’t notice Regulus, standing there with a frown on his face.

It isn’t until James’ friend, Peter? Preston? Patrick? No, Peter sounds right, nudges him under the table that James looks up.

Regulus is met with a blinding smile. “Hi, Reg! What can I do for you?”

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” James asks, affronted. “You came and talked to me.”

“No, I mean what you can do for me is shutting up. You’re being loud and I can’t focus.”

The confused expression on James’ face morphs into a smug one almost instantaneously. “So what I’m hearing is that you find me distracting?” He asks with a wag of his eyebrows. Peter snorts out a laugh, but Regulus ignores him.

He rolls his eyes. God, this man is infuriating. “That’s absolutely not what I said. I simply can’t hear myself think over the sound of your voice.”

“Shame,” James tells him. “Although, I must admit I’m rather interested to hear what you’re thinking. Maybe you could tell me on Friday? Over dinner?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Dinner. Friday,” James repeats. Then he gestures between the two of them. “You and me.”

Regulus feels like a fish out of water, gaping stupidly at James Potter in the middle of the library.

Regulus is about to say something cutting and devastating like In your wildest dreams or Is this a prank or Absolutely the fuck not, but what comes out of his mouth is a hesitant, “Sure.”

James’ beaming smile is back. “Alright. I best get back to studying, then. Apparently I have plans on Friday, so I gotta clear my schedule.”

Regulus makes his way back to his table in a daze. Barty and Evan are waiting, gazes expectant.

“Well?” Evan prompts when Regulus doesn’t say anything. “How’d you get him to shut up?”

“By agreeing to go on a date with him,” Regulus says, still somewhat confused. He isn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t a prank and he also isn’t entirely convinced he’s awake right now. The interaction was so absurd, he's sure he dreamed it.

“What the fuck?” Barty asks. Yeah, that’s what Regulus is also thinking.

————————————————————————

“C’mon, James,” Regulus murmurs, “let me hear you.” He reaches up to tug James’ bottom lip out from between his teeth. With a particularly harsh thrust, he pushes James up the mattress a couple of inches, slamming the headboard against the wall.

James moans —loudly— and Regulus relishes in the sound. He chases it, covering James’ mouth with his own and licking into it as if he could taste the sound, somehow. He pulls back and attaches his lips to James’ neck, sucking a bruise into the flushed skin.

James moans again, and again, and again. The sound bursts out of him in breathy gasps every time Regulus pushes in.

“Love it when you get loud for me,” Regulus tells him.

“Used to—” James starts, but he is interrupted by yet another moan, “used to hate it.”

“That was before I knew better,” Regulus acquiesces, slightly breathless. “Now it’s my favorite thing in the world.”

The sound of the headboard hitting the wall fills the room, interspersed with the sound of James moaning. It doesn’t take long for James’ moans to rise in pitch, signaling that he’s close.

“Reg, Reg, I’m—” James tries to warn, but he cuts himself off with a cry of pleasure.

“I know, James,” Regulus replies. He furrows his brow in concentration, his fist tight around James' cock as he pushes him toward his release. “It’s okay, come for me.”

James spills all over Regulus’ hand and his own stomach with a particularly loud moan and Regulus follows close behind, tumbling into pleasure headfirst until he comes back down to earth.

He pulls out of James gently, discards the condom, and moves to grab a cloth. He wipes down James’ stomach and reaches between his legs to get rid of the excess lube. Regulus is just about to get comfortable again when there is a sharp knock on the door. With a sigh, he tosses James a pair of underwear and tugs on his own.

“What,” Regulus says sharply when he yanks the door open. James pads up to him and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Hi, Frank,” James says somewhat sheepishly.

“Hi, James. Regulus,” Frank says. His eyes get stuck on the blooming hickey Regulus left on James’ neck a few minutes ago. Regulus coughs pointedly, snapping Frank out of his daze. “Got another noise complaint. Would it kill you guys to be quiet?”

Frank definitely looks like he doesn’t want to be here. Regulus agrees. He would much rather be back in bed with James.

“Sorry, we’ll try to keep it down,” James says. The hand that is not resting on Regulus’ shoulder goes to his hair, running through it self-consciously. Even if they hadn’t gotten a noise complaint it would have been obvious what they were doing. The hickeys, the hair, the distinct lack of clothes.

“Anything else?” Regulus asks when no one speaks.

“Uh, no, that’s all. Thank—” but Regulus has already closed the door before Frank can even finish his sentence.

“Regulus,” James says, exasperated, “this is the third time we’ve gotten a noise complaint. They’re gonna kick me out, I swear.”

“Don’t worry,” Regulus tells him. “You can get up to five complaints before they consider eviction.”

With a loud laugh, James tackles him to the bed.

#yeah i have no excuse guys #idk how i got to over 1k #reg going from “james is so loud 😒” to “james is so loud 😏”#bottom james enjoyers come get your food #anyways uhh enjoy #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #jegulus microfic #mil's microfics #my writing

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silverzoomies · 8 months

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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

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melodymunson · 2 months

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Eddie Munson x Reader x Corroded Coffin groupie

A little mayhem never hurt anyone

Eddie has a tour with his band Corroded Coffin and you go along as band manager and you are Eddie's long-term girlfriend. You and Eddie end up meeting another girl who was one of his band's biggest fans and you, along with Eddie, show her the best night of her life. Takes place in the late 80s. Reader Eddie and Groupie are all in their young 20s.

18+ only absolutely no exceptions. This is filth.

ao3 version

Sexual content, sexual themes, 3some, handjob, blowjob, pussy eating, p in v sex, fingering, girl on girl, lesbian sex, spit kink, facials.

Corroded Coffin had a small line of gigs lined up and what made it super awesome was that they could finally tour outside of Indiana and the small town of Hawkins. Eddie was thrilled when he found out the news and he, of course, told you right away. Once he knew he would play some shows, he was super excited because the band would open for none other than the thrash metal band known as Carnivore with frontman Peter Steele. It was going to be an amazing summer and Eddie already had the tour bus for his band purchased. You were a temporary fill-in as the bass player for the tour in 1987 when Grant temporarily took a hiatus. The year was now 1988. Eddie had spent the earlier half of the year working at the video rental place with Robin and Steve, and had a good portion of the money saved up combined with contributions from the other band members and savings from their music sales. When the day finally came to start the tour, you packed and loaded your bags on the bus. You and Eddie were wearing matching Hellfire Club tee shirts. He also had on his signature Dio vest and you had on your favorite leather jacket with pins from all of your favorite rock and metal bands. The first night of the tour was in Indianapolis. Of course, you had side-stage access to the tour and you couldn’t wait for it to start. It was going to be your first summer away from home and you couldn’t wait. Little did you know it would end up being the best summer of your life. Once you arrived at the tour's first stop, you went backstage and did your makeup.

By the time that the soundcheck had started, you were watching front-row and seeing your man play a cover of Master of Puppets by Metallica. You were so proud of Eddie and he couldn’t take his eyes off you as he played on the stage. Showtime soon arrived, and you were side-stage as the lights went down and the crowd cheered on Corroded Coffin. Eddie took the stage first and once the rest of the band started playing, he joined in and played an original song. One girl in the crowd caught your eye pretty quickly. She was gorgeous and one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life. Her style was like yours and she had long black hair. She had on all black and red leather, sultry dark makeup, spiked jewelry, and the prettiest hazel eyes. It was then you noticed her Corroded Coffin logo tattoo. There were multiple tattoos adorning her body but the band's logo tattoo stood out. She knew every single word to each song and once Corroded Coffin finished playing, you went up to her and asked her name. She told you her name was Brody, and you gave her a backstage VIP all-access pass. The band was celebrating their first show with drinks at the bar and you and Eddie were watching Carnivore. Soon Brody stopped by the bar asking you and Eddie if you wanted some drinks and you gladly accepted her offer ordering beers and some shots of whiskey. You clinked glasses and gave a toast to keeping rock n’ roll alive.

When Carnivore was close to ending their set you whispered to Eddie you were heading back to the tour bus and he promised he would be there shortly. The rest of the band was off partying and you told Brody to stop by the bus in about ten minutes or so. When you were on the bus you changed into something more comfortable- a black lingerie slip. Soon after Eddie came onto the bus. He passionately kissed you as he took off his jacket and pushed you down onto the bed. A knock came mere minutes later and you looked at him with a raise of your brows.

“I bet that’s Brody, huh? What do you say we ask her to stay the night with us?” He asked mischievously.

“Sure. I thought you’d never ask. I guess things would be even more fun with another person."

He slapped your ass as you got up and waited patiently on the bed as you opened the doors to the bus and invited Brody inside.

“That show was amazing. I am really glad we met. Eddie’s band is one of the best I’ve ever seen live. I don’t mean to be a fangirl, but can I get his autograph?”

It was endearing to you how she truly loved Corroded Coffin. Some girls had made it backstage to hook up with you and Eddie, but her passion for his music seemed genuine.

“Of course, but right now, you should just relax and talk to us for a bit. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Sounds like a good idea, but I’m fine for right now and I don’t need a drink. I think it's pretty awesome how you were Corroded Coffin's bassist for the band on the tour last year."

"Thanks, that means a lot. Grant is a great guy, but I would be lying if I said it wasn't the time of my life and I wish I could tour with the band more often.”

As you walked to the back of the bus, she followed you and once she saw Eddie's head banging along to Metallica's Master of Puppets on the radio, she got into the music too. He noticed and flashed her a big grin as she sat down next to him on the bed.

You wasted no time getting closer to her and giving her a signed Corroded Coffin poster, touching her hand and fingers as you gave it to her.

“Thanks. This is so great. I was thinking about following more of the tour. I hope you don't think that’s weird. I have so many posters and tee shirts of Corroded Coffin,” she added. She set the signed poster aside on the bedside table.

“That just really shows the band you love them and true dedication. It's great you are going to do that. Also love the Corroded Coffin tattoo” Eddie told her with a wink. It flattered him, to say the very least.

"Thanks its my favorite one."

So far, Brody seemed like the greatest fan ever. She was the perfect supporter- a fan any band would be lucky to have.

“I just want you to be comfortable with us,” you mused.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Brody asked as she looked at you with equal parts amusement and curiosity in her eyes.

“I’m just thinking about how hot it would be if we all kissed,” you suggested with a raise of your brows.

She looked at you, then Eddie, and back towards you again as a slight blush formed on her cheeks. She thought about what you had just propositioned, as so got up to get closer to you. She straddled your lap and leaned forward to crash her lips against yours, answering with actions instead of words. It turned you on so badly and made you want her even more.

She smelled like vanilla and eucalyptus, and you loved how she tasted. You kissed her back even harder and made her grind on your lap. When the kiss broke, you gestured Eddie closer to you both with a crook of your finger. He removed his shirt but put back on the denim jacket with his heavy metal patches, then kissed you with tongue as Brody watched. After possibly the best French kiss you ever had before, she leaned in towards Eddie and kissed him deeply. You moved your hands to her clothed breasts and cupped them as she moaned against his lips. Your fingers moved under her dress, pushing it up and ripping her tights along the way as she revealed to you she had no panties on. Your other hand still kneaded her breast and tweaked her nipples through the thin black material. Turning back towards you, she kissed you again as your fingers found their way inside her tights, ripping them just a little more as you desperately fingered her. As she ground against your fingers moaning desperately, Eddie watched as he kissed and bit your neck. Everything that was happening was making you so wet and you could tell Eddie was rock hard now. Already she was soaking on your fingers as you pushed them even deeper inside of her. She felt so fucking good and amazing as your fingers worked their magic on her clit.

"Eddie, feel just how tight her pussy is," you suggested as you grabbed his hand and replaced your fingers with his.

He moved two long fingers deeply inside of her, strumming her like he would his guitar as they looked into each other's eyes. The grin he had on his face as he fingered her wet pussy was priceless. You had her taste your fingers of her juices which she sucked greedily.

“Fuck, I want you to fuck me. Please. Eat me out while Eddie watches,” she begged and pleaded desperately.

“You want to be my pillow princess, is that it? You want me to eat your desperate pussy because you are so needy and you just have to have my mouth?”

You slapped her ass with your hand as Eddie continued to finger fuck her before stopping and bringing his fingers to your lips, tapping them so you could taste. You did eagerly and swished your tongue over his slick fingers.

“Yes, I want it all. And I want Eddie to enjoy himself, too.”

“Babe, just being here with the two of you makes me happy.”

You smiled at him, then pushed her onto the bed, laying her down and ripping off the rest of her clothes.

"She tastes so fucking good." You eagerly kissed him so he could get a taste too as Brody watched, clearly turned on by it all. He nodded in agreement and got up, stripping off all his clothes as you removed your slip. He leaned in close to you and whispered into your ear.

“Please, her pussy, as I eat you out. I’ve been dying to taste your sweet pussy again,” he told you with a wicked grin on his face.

Once Eddie was naked, he cupped your sex with one hand and your ass with the other and finger fucked you as he squeezed and spanked your ass. Mewls and moans escaped your lips. As he did this, you kissed and licked her inner thighs, wanting to get her nice and wet for you. He removed his fingers from your cunt and then sucked them clean. You were eager to feel his balls slapping against your ass. He took his time though with licking your clit and separating your pussy lips, wanting to give you the utmost pleasure and wanting you nice and wet before he fucked you. Your fingers moved over her wet entrance before you began to suck and tease her clit. Her pussy tasted so good and you loved how sweet it was.

"That feels so nice," she groaned as you pleased her with fingers and tongue as well as slaps against her pussy.

The wet and lewd sounds of you eating her out as he ate you out were such a turn-on, and you were getting wetter with each passing moment and more with each lick against your pussy.

"That's right baby, eat her out like it's your last meal. daddy's going to fuck you so fucking hard," he promised before giving your ass a few good slaps. Eddie stroked his cock and spit on it, then lined himself up at your entrance. It felt so nice to feel his big thick cock making contact with your aching and needy pussy again. It had been too long. He began inching in little by little as you began to slap and spank her pussy and she whined in pleasure and squeezed her breasts.

"I'm so fuckin wet daddy and her pussy tastes so fucking amazing," you moaned as he adjusted himself inside of you with a hand on your ass, his other hand pulling your hair back.

"I love fucking you baby and watching you please her," Eddie grunted.

He moved slowly at first, then picked up his pace as you licked, sucked, and spit on her clit while simultaneously rocking back and forth on his cock. He pounded into you mercilessly, wanting to make you feel amazing, and watched as you pleased her pussy. He felt his cock grow even harder as he fucked you, and a low groan escaped his lips. You messily ate her pussy, loving how she tasted. The sounds she was making and how she clenched the sheets beneath her with her fingers brought a smile to your face and made you want to make her cum even more. Your breasts bounced as Eddie fucked you deep and hard. His cock was already twitching inside of you.

"I love your mouth. Fuck! I love watching Eddie fuck you too," she whimpered loudly as she pleased her breasts pinching them and raising her hips to get even closer to your mouth.

"You taste so good and you are such a good girl for me," you seductively told her.

As you ate her out voraciously, she screamed your name and moaned her sounds echoing off the walls. You were so fucking wet and wanted to feel your fingers inside your pussy. You were so tight and he loved how the walls of your pussy hugged his huge cock. You could no longer resist the temptation to touch yourself, even though he didn't yet allow you to. As you fingered yourself, Eddie quickly noticed, and a scowl formed on his face.

"Don't touch yourself without my permission, doll. I want us to cum together," he forewarned you as he slapped your ass again, wanting to leave an imprint of red marks.

You removed your fingers and looked back at him with a bratty grin on your face, to which he grimaced. He slapped your ass even harder and left it a bit bruised as he fucked you at a fast pace. He wanted to make you cum and cry out his name, and he was eager to fill your pussy up with his cum. As he looked at you pleasing her, he watched the show eagerly and fucked you harder. The way he made you feel was amazing, and you were getting very close to your release.

"Eddie, I'm gonna cum."

"I know, baby girl. I know."

You fingered, sucked, and licked her pussy as you looked up at her with lust in your eyes.

"Fuck, that's so good. I love watching when you eat my pussy. Fuck!" She cried out as the loud sounds of fucking were heard throughout the tour bus.

His cock felt so good as he fucked in and out of you with deep thrusts and you were on the verge of cumming for him. It wouldn't be much longer before she would cum as well, because you knew just how to work her pussy like a pro. Her walls clenched tightly around your fingers as you ate her out, and her cries of pleasure were like music to your ears. It felt so wonderful to be eating her out as he pounded into you and pulled your hair. There truly wasn't a better position to be in.

As his pounding grew in intensity, his slaps on your ass became even rougher. Eddie loved watching you fuck another woman, and you wanted to please him so badly, but most of all it pleased you. The taste of her pussy and the sounds she was making let you know she was having the time of her life.

"I want to see Eddie make you cum," she cried out as she played with her breasts and watched him pound into your pussy as Eddie groaned.

"Eddie, your cock feels s'good," you moaned around her pussy.

"Make her cum, my dirty girl," he demanded you as he gently wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing lightly.

The intensity of your licking and the thrusts of your fingers drove her over the edge as she whined and tugged on strands of your hair. Her eyes rolled back into her head as you pleased her and made her cum. She was so sexy and Eddie's deep and hard thrusts into your pussy and the slaps against your ass made your orgasm quickly approach.

Moments later, you came calling out his name, and he pulled out, feeling about ready to burst. Your mouths watered at the sight of him stroking his big length. Brody crawled over to you, spreading your pussy lips, looking at your wetness mixed with his pre-cum.

"Can I taste?" She inquired curiously.

"Please do."

She got down in front of you, wrapping your legs around her shoulders, and licked your sensitive bud as she swirled her tongue around your pussy, licking all of your wetness and sucking, making you moan so loud for her.

"Fuck, this is the hottest thing I've ever seen," Eddie groans lowly, resisting the urge to touch himself any longer so he wouldn't cum right there on the spot.

As she ate you out and made eye contact with you, you looked from her to Eddie, whimpering and moaning as you were getting overstimulated and nearing another orgasm.

"She's amazing at eating pussy, Eddie. Fucking me so good with her tongue I'm going to cum again," you mewled and pulled back her hair from her face tightly.

"Be a good slut and make her cum," he commanded as he kneaded her ass and slapped it.

Her tongue licked your pussy, then your ass, and she fingered you until you cried out, reaching your peak again. It felt so fucking good and had your legs shaking as she groaned into your pussy, then sucked her fingers clean.

After you rode out your high, you wasted no time sucking his cock into your mouth and beckoning her over. She crawled on her hands and knees over to you and Eddie and sucked on his balls as you deep-throated him.

"Yeah, you little sluts want my cum on your faces, huh?" He tsked. "Such dirty little girls."

Not being able to last much longer, he pulled out of your mouth and gave his cock a few final thrusts.

You both opened your mouths wide for him as he began to cum first on your tongue and face and then on hers, panting as his release left his body.

"So fucking hot. Taking my load so well. Fuck," he grunted as he stood back and watched you lick your fingers clean and spit some of his cum into her mouth. She spits back into your mouth and kisses you with her tongue as you share your reward. You swallowed and so did Brody. You both opened your mouths, showing him that his cum was all gone now. Watching with satisfaction, Eddie wiped the sweat from his brow. He tasted so fucking good and that night was one you wouldn't soon forget.

Taking groupies back to your tour bus, women and men alike was nothing new, but this girl was special. You gave her a backstage pass, one she could use for the rest of the tour and any dates she wished to attend. And she went to more of Eddie's shows, which led to more mind-blowing sex. Eddie trusted you and you trusted Eddie, and nothing came between the two of you. When you were on the road and had your fun- that was for the tours and after your rock shows as a reward. What happens on the road stays on the road, but that tour was one of the most memorable. What they said about bassists and guitarists having the best fingers was true. Now Brody knew it, too.

soundtrack

mayhem and Rock show by Halestorm animal by WASP nib by black sabbath rock of Ages by Def Leppard turn you by In This Moment I like it rough by Lady Gaga I love rock n' roll by Joan Jett girls girls girls by Motley Crue nothing but a good time by poison my lady dominate by William Control

tag list @chrrymunson @bimbobaggins69 @somethingvicked @babygorewhore @inourtownofhawkins @corneliuswatkins @keeryatmosphere @undead-supernova @ali-r3n @harringtonfan4 @koskeepsake @munson-mjstan @bunnsandroses @steveslittlesunflower @reidsbtch @emsgoodthinkin @jadeylovesmarvelxo @zestychili @s6raphic @probablyin-bed @corrodedcorpses @dollalicia @xxbimbobunnyxx @ofhawkinsandskippy @keeksandgigz @bettyfrommars @hcwthewestwaswcn @emmyshortcake @voyeurmunson

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #rockstar #eddie munson x reader x oc #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #rockstar eddie x reader

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afallenunicorn · 1 year

Text

why is the peter steele playgirl magazine so $$$ i wanna see how much dude was packing but whatever i guess

#peter steele #type o negative

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zapreportsblog · 8 months

Note

I love the last post. I can see Felix and the Reader doing martial arts together. I can see Caius's face being hesitant to give the reader head scratches.

Jasper/ the Major x wolf reader

Jasper ends up leaving the Cullens for good and going back to live with Peter and Charlotte because he decides he is done with the animal diet, and He finds out Alice lied about them being mates. On the way to Peter and Charlotte's home, He finds the reader in her wolf form not knowing she is female, being chased by other wolves. She accidentally runs into him, and she hides behind him visually scared as the others catch up to her. The Major comes out when he realizes the reader has blood on her fur and open wounds.

(I feel like Jasper/ the Major wouldn't leave the reader to suffer from danger.)

He tells the wolves after they have shift back into human form to leave the wolf alone, that's when the alpha of the pack mentions very rudely that the reader is female and how she does not belong in his pack. They leave and by then the reader has shifted back into a human and looks at Jasper and imprints on him but before she says anything she has passed out from her wounds. Jasper takes her back to Peter and Charlotte, where he nurses her back to health after Peter calls him and says she is important to Jasper. After a few weeks, Jasper, Peter and Charlotte, Reader have received a message that Maria is coming to try take The Major back.

Okay! We got this!

❝true mates❞

✭ pairing : jasper hale x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : jasper is done with the animal diet, he can’t survive no longer without the sweet taste of human blood so he leaves, he leaves behind his family and moves in with two of Carlisle old friends Peter and charlotte. They welcome him and he’s happy now, but before he can arrive there he has a run in with some wolves, no they aren’t attacking him but another.

✭ authors note : this was fun to write ooh and I’m in a Uber on the way home. Nvm I made it home before I could write the last half

✭ twilight masterlist

Jasper Hale's world had always revolved around Alice. Their connection was unbreakable, their bond stronger than steel. But as the days passed, an unease began to settle within him, like a cloud obscuring the sun. It was a gnawing feeling that refused to be ignored.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first stars appeared in the sky, Jasper found himself alone with Alice in their favorite clearing. The air was crisp, and the only sound was the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

"Alice," Jasper's voice trembled as he began, "I've been feeling something... off, lately. Like there's something you're not telling me."

Alice's golden eyes flickered with uncertainty, her usually bright demeanor dimming. "Jasper, you know I'd never keep anything from you."

"But what if you did?" he pushed gently. "What if there's something you've been hiding? Something about us?"

Alice's gaze dropped to the ground, and Jasper's heart clenched. "Jasper, I thought I was doing what was best for us. I thought if you believed we were destined mates, it would make the transition easier for you. I didn't want to burden you with doubts."

Jasper's brows furrowed, his confusion turning to hurt. "You lied to me? About being mates?"

Alice's voice quivered as she nodded. "I thought it was for the best. I didn't want you to struggle with your cravings more than you already do."

The weight of her admission hung heavy in the air. Jasper's mind raced, conflicting emotions churning within him. The bond they had shared, the trust he had placed in her, felt like shattered glass beneath his feet.

"I can't do this, Alice," Jasper whispered, his voice cracking. "I can't be with someone who would lie to me about something so fundamental. And it's not just that. My cravings are getting worse, and I can't ignore them any longer."

Alice reached out a trembling hand, but Jasper stepped back, out of her reach. "I need human blood, Alice. I can't suppress it any longer."

Tears of vemon welled up in Alice's eyes as she nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "Jasper, I'm so sorry."

Jasper's resolve hardened. He turned away from her, his gaze fixed on the darkening forest. "I can't stay here any longer. Not after this. I need to find a way to control my cravings."

As he walked away from the clearing, leaving behind the shattered fragments of his relationship with Alice, he felt a mixture of sorrow and determination. He needed to find a new path, one that didn't involve the lies and half-truths that had clouded his existence.

Several days later, in the quiet of the Cullen home, Carlisle approached Jasper with a solemn expression. "Jasper, I've made a difficult decision. I reached out to two old friends, Peter and Charlotte. They are vampires who drink human blood, and they've agreed to take you in."

Jasper looked up, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "You've done so much for me already, Carlisle."

Carlisle placed a reassuring hand on Jasper's shoulder. "We care about you, Jasper. We want you to find the path that's right for you. You deserve to live without the burden of lies and cravings."

Jasper nodded, his voice sincere. "Thank you, Carlisle. For everything."

As Jasper traveled through the dense woods, each step brought him closer to the unknown. The memory of leaving the Cullens was still fresh, a mix of sorrow and determination propelling him forward. The moon hung high in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the forest.

Suddenly, a series of frantic growls and rustling leaves shattered the silence. Jasper's instincts kicked in, and he swiftly darted behind a large tree, taking cover. A pack of massive wolves emerged from the shadows, their eyes glinting with a mix of fury and urgency.

In their midst was an injured wolf, blood oozing from a wound on its side. The injured wolf's paws faltered, and it stumbled, falling to the ground with a pained whimper. The other wolves closed in, their intentions clear.

Jasper's eyes narrowed as he felt a surge of protective energy flow through him. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his presence commanding attention. The air seemed to crackle with tension as his form shifted, his alter ego, the Major, taking over.

With a roar that echoed through the night, the Major radiated power and authority. The other wolves hesitated, their aggression giving way to uncertainty. The Major's cold, steely gaze bore into them, a warning that needed no words.

The pack of wolves backed away, their tails tucked between their legs. As they retreated, the injured wolf managed to stand, its eyes locking onto Jasper's, a mixture of gratitude and fear in its gaze. Jasper's gaze softened, recognizing the vulnerability beneath the fierce exterior.

Then, something unexpected happened. The injured wolf's form began to shift, contorting and reshaping until it was no longer a wolf, but a human. She stumbled slightly, her body weakened by the transformation, and Jasper moved quickly to support her.

Her breathing was labored, and blood stained her torn clothes. "Thank you," she managed to whisper, her voice fragile and hoarse, before collapsing against him, unconscious.

Jasper's surprise was twofold. First, he was taken aback by the fact that the injured wolf had been a girl all along. And second, as he looked into her eyes, which had transitioned from the fierce amber of a wolf to the warm brown of a human, he felt a pull—a connection unlike any other.

His heart raced, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. The sensation of a mate pull was undeniable, a magnetic force drawing him to her. But his recent experiences with Alice had left him cautious, wary of giving his heart too easily.

Gently cradling the injured girl in his arms, Jasper's thoughts swirled. He couldn't deny the bond that seemed to be forming, the inexplicable connection that defied reason. As he carried her deeper into the woods, seeking a safe place to tend to her wounds, he couldn't shake the feeling that his journey had taken an unexpected turn—one that held the potential for a new chapter in his immortal life.

Jasper continued his journey through the night, his arms cradling the injured girl against his chest. His steps were steady, his heart a mix of uncertainty and determination. He knew he was headed in the right direction—toward Peter and Charlotte, his two old vampire friends who had agreed to take him in.

As he approached their secluded dwelling, nestled deep within the wilderness, a sense of familiarity washed over him. The moonlight illuminated the path ahead, guiding him toward the place where he hoped to find answers and a safe haven.

The door to the cabin swung open just as Jasper arrived, revealing Peter and Charlotte. Their expressions were a mix of surprise and concern as they took in the scene before them—the injured girl in Jasper's arms.

"Jasper, what happened?" Charlotte's voice carried genuine worry as she rushed forward to help.

Jasper carefully laid the girl on a nearby couch, her unconscious form a stark contrast to the cozy interior of the cabin. "She was being chased by a pack of shapeshifters. I scared them off."

Peter approached Jasper, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Good job, Major."

With Charlotte's expertise, they set to work treating the girl's wounds. The room was filled with the soft glow of candles, and Jasper watched as they worked together seamlessly, their experience evident in every movement.

Time passed in a blur as they tended to the girl's injuries. Slowly, her breathing steadied, and color returned to her cheeks. Jasper found himself captivated by her delicate features, her vulnerability drawing him in.

As the girl began to stir, her eyelids fluttering open, she looked around in confusion before her gaze settled on Jasper. "You saved me."

Jasper offered her a small, reassuring smile. "You're safe now."

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

As the girl drifted back into a restful slumber, Jasper turned to Peter, his expression conflicted. "Peter, I don't understand. I felt a mate pull toward her, but she's a shapeshifter, and I'm a vampire. How is that possible?"

Peter's gaze held a knowing twinkle as he leaned against the cabin's wall. "Jasper, a vampire's mate can be anyone or anything. The connection transcends the boundaries of species. It's about souls that resonate with each other, regardless of form."

Jasper's brows furrowed, absorbing Peter's words. "But how can I feel a connection to her? I've felt a similar pull before, but it was never this strong."

Charlotte joined the conversation, her gentle smile reassuring. "Jasper, love is a powerful force. It can defy logic and expectations. Your experiences with Alice might have taught you caution, but that doesn't mean you should close yourself off to new possibilities."

Jasper's gaze drifted back to the girl, his heart a swirl of emotions. As he watched her, he realized that he had been given a second chance—a chance to discover a new kind of love, one that was based on honesty and mutual understanding.

Peter's words echoed in his mind, a reminder that love was not confined by the boundaries of species. As the night unfolded around them, Jasper's resolve strengthened. He would embrace this newfound connection, this unexpected mate pull, and allow it to guide him toward a future that held both promise and adventure.

As the girl began to regain her strength, Jasper sat by her side, his eyes never straying from her. She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open, and a soft smile curved her lips as she met his gaze.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice fragile but filled with gratitude.

Jasper returned her smile, a warmth spreading through him. "How are you feeling?"

"(Y/N)," she introduced herself, her voice carrying a hint of determination despite her weakened state. "And thanks to you and your friends, much better."

He nodded, a sense of kinship forming between them. "I'm Jasper."

She looked around the cabin, her gaze landing on Peter and Charlotte, who were watching with approving smiles. "You have good friends, Jasper."

"They're more like family," Jasper replied, his voice tinged with emotion. "They took me in when I needed it most."

Peter approached, a playful grin on his face. "And now it seems we're growing our family even more."

Charlotte nodded in agreement. "You're welcome to stay with us, (Y/N). Consider this cabin your home as well."

Tears glistened in (Y/N)'s eyes as she looked at the couple before her. "Thank you, both of you. I don't know how to repay your kindness."

Peter chuckled. "No need for repayment. We've been in similar situations before, and we believe in helping those in need."

As days turned into weeks, the cabin became a haven for (Y/N), much like it had been for Jasper when he first arrived. The bond between them grew stronger, a friendship forged in gratitude and shared experiences.

Jasper found himself drawn to (Y/N) in ways he had never imagined. Her resilience and kindness captivated him, and the mate pull he felt only intensified. He was no longer burdened by doubts or fears; instead, he embraced the connection that had formed between them.

As they spent time together, sharing stories and laughter, Jasper felt a deep sense of contentment. The pain of his past with Alice was slowly fading, replaced by the hope of a future with his true mate.

One evening, as the sun set and cast hues of orange and pink across the sky, Jasper found himself alone with (Y/N) on the porch. They sat side by side, the quietude of the moment speaking volumes.

"(Y/N)," Jasper began softly, his gaze fixed on the horizon, "I know we come from different worlds, but there's something between us that I can't ignore."

She turned to him, her eyes meeting his with a mix of curiosity and understanding. "I feel it too, Jasper."

He took a deep breath, his voice steady. "I've been hurt before, (Y/N). But with you, it's different. I want to embrace this connection between us, without reservation."

A smile graced her lips, a gentle affirmation. "I want that too, Jasper. I've never felt a bond like this before."

And in that moment, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Jasper knew he had found his true mate. The journey that had led him to (Y/N) was one of twists and turns, heartache and healing. But now, with her by his side and the support of Peter and Charlotte, he felt a sense of completeness that he had never known before—a love that transcended all boundaries and promised a future filled with hope and happiness.

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stillness138 · 3 months

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Since there won't be any more expansions (and i'm a chronic procrastinator), i updated my personal top 10 Gwent card arts into a top 20, including the few sets that came since then and shuffling things around a bit.

It's a long one, hence the cut.

Personal top 20 Gwent card arts:

20: Bone Talisman by Bogna Gawrońska It's still the most festive looking thing i like. My beloved blue-and-bright red fidget spinner. I really can't explain my weird attachment to it any other way; i generally tend to like the item arts, maybe it's the collector brain, maybe it's because after Homecoming and most of the expansion sets since later 2019 onwards, these base set trinket adjacent arts became more prominent to me among a lot of new, more dramatic and bleak character and scenery art.

19: Ceremonial Dagger by Katarzyna Bekus The entire set of strategem arts from Merchants of Ofir is honestly packed, but the dagger is the one i found myself putting in my in-game profile the most. Maybe it's the item hoarder brain again, maybe it's the color scheme i find relatable if that makes sense, most likely it's the premium helping a bunch to make that choice too. The background weirdly fascinates me. Does it have anything to do with The Spiral? I have never attempted to really assign any logical meaning to the strategem arts, they're clearly more symbolic than anything, but it still makes you wonder.

18: Ard Gaeth by Katarzyna Bekus Somewhat related, here's another piece of wonky multiverse lore. And once again, it's the color that first grabs attention; the contrast of teal and this dusty red. Then one starts realizing the implied size and scope, the birds help with that, apart from being a cute composition detail. The shattery effect makes it look volatile, unstable, dangerous. Ominous. Which ultimately makes it fit with the rest of the Wild Hunt archetype in more than just lore.

17: Coup de Grâce by Lorenzo Mastroianni There are two wolves in me, one loves bright colors, the other actually enjoys a lot of the bleaker scenes. Although to be fair, Lorenzo Mastroianni is a big contributor to that. And it's no wonder, when he casually drops stuff like this. It's almost symbolic, lot less than strategems but certainly more than other, straightforward "war sucks" Gwent art. How do you visually represent something sad in a way that makes it hard to look away not just because of the tragedy but because of the beauty put into making that image? You ask Lorenzo Mastroianni, the modern classical artist, to do it.

16: Viper Witcher by Valeriy Vegera I once described Valeriy's art as "where Lorenzo uses a tight color palette, he uses every pencil in the case". This one is perhaps not as obvious an example, the whole piece has a very unified atmosphere especially from afar, but still, there are so many colors especially in textiles and skin. They're harder to register sometimes but it's how Valeriy does texture and shading. And somehow, he bridges the bleak and the colorful world too. Admittedly, this card also had to be here because mr. Viper is my son, and the voicelines are done by an actor with the nicest, smoothest bass i've heard since Peter Steele.

15: Naglfar's Crew by Anton Nazarenko I was surprised by how much i ended up liking this one. It's the implications, i think; enchanted to laboriously upkeep this monster of a ship, this 'and if you see it emerge from a breach in the sky, you know you're fucked' symbol of death and decay. It's dark in a way i find compelling, i guess.

14: Serpent Trap by Marta Dettlaff Back to the bright ones, i liked this art ever since i discovered it as Nature's Gift in post-Midwinter beta. The card saw play in Scoia'tael spell decks, and to me it became linked to Francesca Findabair for their shared spectral snake thing. But that all aside, the art is just so pretty. Vibrant, yet not oversaturated. And like the item arts, needed to balance out the cool and badass and the dramatic and tragic. Looking at it now, another point comes to mind; it's still grounded? The way Gwent art at large is grounded compared to other card games. Like it's not trying so hard (both this piece and the game's art in general). That's refreshing.

13: Chort by Bartłomiej Gaweł It reminds me of the first game's main menu. The Witcher 1 main menu is, to me, one of the most accurate representations of this universe, its atmosphere. Even if the "you kill cows, you get ambushed by the fucking baphomet" is a meme game mechanic, something about it is...witchery. Superstition, folk legends, and ultimately, monsters. Or that's my takeaway, anyway. But the Chort art, beside being on the more rare side in-game, has always weirdly drawn me in.

12. Oneiromancy by Lorenzo Mastroianni This was the Novigrad expansion key art before they turned it into a card, and i sure am glad they did. Lorenzo can get a bit weird, as a treat, someone said. Are they Condwiramurs and Corinne? Possibly! But i'll abstain from the schizo theories now. It's a gorgeous, well composed and executed surrealist piece. Inception if it had strong palpable atmosphere.

Denis Villeneuve > Christopher Nolan. but Lorenzo beats both

11: Funeral Boat by, you guessed it, Lorenzo Mastroianni One final yippee for the last card set. And my god it's beautiful. Tight composition can get surprisingly hard to coordinate and make decisions for, but this is so well-balanced. The left end of the boat is closer to the frame, but right side has the most noticeable color, the character's face, and of course the bird to even it out. As if to defend the title i gave him earlier, Lorenzo references Isle of the Dead in a way that, even if symbolic, fits into the universe perfectly. Someone stop me before i start rambling about similar concepts in different mythologies.

10: Dana Méadbh (now the token spawned by Call of Harmony) by Anna Podedworna The most famous Gwent artist enters the list. With a piece made around two, when you think about it very bold choices. The goddess of nature and life, glowing with inhuman light in a black and barren forest. Obscured by thin, bare tree trunks. But to make her emerge and stand out, that was necessary. And it's working wonders. A lot of the Scoia'tael faction is obviously green, all kinds of green, but even a simple choice like making it pop out of black makes the card art stand out among others.

9: Circle of Life by Oleksandr Kozachenko It has everything i usually look for in Gwent art; nature, color, atmosphere. A certain tranquility, perhaps. A little bit of story - the orange badge is the Kerack coat of arms. It's that environmental storytelling thing gamers keep talking about, complementing the character and faction drama of the rest of its card set.

There's a slightly changed, extended version, too, and somehow it's even better.

8: Gezras of Leyda by Bogdan Rezunenko As much as i tend to dunk on Bogdan for having played Blasphemous once and making it his entire personality, Gezras is easily the best school founder card art of the set. Once again, the choice to have these prominent arts on the more symbolic side paid off, and the result is a stalking nocturnal animal out for revenge, backed by a giant image of what simultaneously did him irrepairable harm and gave him the means to defend himself. The premium doesn't disappoint either.

7: Rioghan the Undying by Daniel Valaisis To nobody's surprise, the atmosphere, once again, got me hooked. I love the cold color, the dramatic flow, the big imposing silhouette of a ship in the background. Poor boy is the picture of misery. It's pure melancholy (something not that common in the Skellige faction by the way, which is a point in favor of Funeral Boat too), that i, of course, am inevitably drawn to.

he's just like me fr...

6: Witches' Sabbath by Michal Lisowski Did i craft this card already or not? The realist's complaint towards near-greyscale card art. I share this sentiment, if only for the comedy of it, but with a few notable exceptions, and this piece is the main one. The Robert Eggers comparisons were made already i'm sure, but it really is a take on the last good Witcher 3 quest with a dramatic, more dreamy, or you could say cinematic quality ramped up to 11. Gone is the fanservice present in the game and the unnecessarily grotesque depictions of fatness of other parts of this card set, and what remains is a beautiful, ominous callback to folklore and classical art.

5: Tinboy by Valeriy Vegera This is a baroque painting. The drama. Tinboy doesn't take that scarf off, ever. And here this poor soul is, their last will to live dragging it off him. On purpose? On accident? Probably both. The pattern marking Tinboy as a gang member staining with blood of a victim, something something symbolism. All in Valeriy's signature 'which pencil should i pick up next' style. Underrated piece.

4: Lara Dorren by Toni Muntean They finally got our girl. And once again, despite heartbreak, it's gorgeous. Soft, sweet colors with a necessary hint of melancholy (the lighting suggests it's sunset?), and a pure, painted quality without the need for texture assets. A scene like this is better left a comparatively simple and laid back tribute. Beyond the technicalities, i also really, really applaud Toni for the outfit design. This is the Aen Elle princess, dressed well but for the weather. And the fact her mostly blue clothes with yellow sleeves mirror Cregennan's yellow jerkin with blue details, and her red brooch above the heart might, beside contrasting with the blue, very well reflect his fatal wounds... well. As much as death on card art isn't always done the best, Lara is represented together with that which mattered to her the most. Despite being categorized among the Wild Hunt, she remains herself.

3: Lydia van Bredervoort by Igor Klymenko The joy i felt when this was the art of Lydia they managed to get into the game. It's easily one of the best contest pieces and on par with the best Gwent has to offer - it has mood, and that ever present air of groundedness, realism, and in that, unfortunate tragedy. But similarly to Lara, it shows Lydia being her own person; doing what she loved and was good at without sight of Vilgefortz despite her being known as his ever loyal assistant. Likewise, it doesn't sensantionalize her condition, but references it in a subtle, tasteful, and even clever way. I also love her dress and the overall color palette. Igor understood.

2: Eldain by Anna Podedworna Couldn't help it, this asshole has me in chokehold and he's enjoying it. In my defense, this piece highlights everything Anna is known for, because she's damn good at it. Incredibly sharp main subject of the piece contrasted against a blurry background, which allows for insane details like the strings extending from the top of the lute. To add more fun to it, Eldain isn't even in the absolute foreground, but the piece is still composed smart, so he remains the main focus. His silly red collar on mostly green helps. On top of all that, the art tells a little story, something Anna often does too, and in this case it delightfully sums Eldain up. It's also the best premium in the game.

look at his little red ears from sitting against the sun aww

Honorable mention: Lake Guardian by Anton Nazarenko Like the following #1, this card has sentimental value to me as my second card reveal and artwork i made my best emote of. It was a perfect match, bird gals and all. It's a Sirin, bringing in a more obscure but not unwelcome mythology reference to the universe. And I love her vibrant, marble-like eyes.

1: Dol Blathanna Sentry by Lorenzo Mastroianni ...remains my favourite card art since that fateful day sometime in January 2018. I was just discovering what there was to know about Witcher, downloading Gwent in the first place out of need for more content as i was slowly reading through the first book. Gwent has done a lot to explore and build on this universe, and it has helped me contextualize a lot of things early on. I remember scrolling through the deckbuilder, seeing this art, and being struck by its mood, this aura of secret and wonder. "Oh, so this is what Dol Blathanna looks like..." It's quintessential older Lorenzo. Very much admitted brush work, fog, tight color palette. The little specks of blue in flowers and face paint work just right. Maybe it's a reference to Arthurian myth and Avalon, maybe to Greek myth and Hades, or maybe, as is often the case and was the case later (or earlier in this list), both. It spoke to me and my sense of wonder back then. It speaks to me when i search for comfort now.

now, time to tear Karol Bem to shreds in the top 20 least favourites xd

#shut up elis #the witcher #gwent: the witcher card game #fingers crossed tungle doesn't obliterate the links

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peterlorrefanpage · 2 months

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Peter Lorre Eyebrow Arch Post

"I Was an Adventuress" (1940):

Eyebrows in this pack include: hinted, quirked, crooked, suggestive, and full-on devastating.

"Die verschwundene Frau" (1929):

"M" (1931):

Portrait by Lotte Jacobi (1932):

"Stupéfiants" (1932):

"Du haut en bas" (1933):

"Mad Love" (1935):

Irresistible double eyebrow from the "Mad Love" trailer:

Studio portrait as his hair was growing back:

"Crime and Punishment" (1935):

"Crime and Punishment" publicity still by Irving Lippman:

1930s:

Portrait by Anton Bruehl (mid-1930s):

"Crack-Up" (1936):

"Secret Agent" (1936):

"Nancy Steele is Missing!" (1937):

"I Was an Adventuress" (1940): - my slo-mo gif of the first eyebrowing above. "You know when she was a little child, she was always a [eyebrow arch] first-rate dancer."

"The Maltese Falcon" (1941):

"All Through the Night" (1942):

To be continued! Do share your favorites.

#just wanted to capture some of #THE ARCH #peter lorre #peter lorre eyebrows #peter lorre eyebrow arch #peter lorre movies #peter lorre pictures

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buckybarnesss · 6 months

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@mirrorthoughts

teen wolf has what we call a soft magic system. it's rules aren't wholly defined and rigid so there is a lot of interpretation and wiggle room for the writers.

think of how star wars handles the force over how harry potter's magic has specific rules and boundaries.

there is something of explanation though and it lies with duecalion.

duecalion explains to theo in the beast of beacon hills:

"that's the secret to taking power. pain. take their pain, take their life, take their power. It's all or nothing. you take until there's nothing more to give. that's where you find the spark of power. and then, you take that as well. pain, life, power. in that order and only that order."

we see theo put this into practice with his pack and it's because of this liam even thinks to bring him back in 6a but his time in hell stripped of all that extra power just as peter's resurrection left him weaker than an omega.

power has a cost but there is power in taking it from someone else, from taking their life and energy. this is something we see many times throughout the show actually.

it's the driving principle behind the alpha pack. selfishly they killed their pack members which enhanced their own powers and than by following duecalion they enhanced his power.

it's why they wanted derek to kill boyd and isaac so badly. taking their power would make derek more powerful and therefore increase their power if he joined them.

we see this when derek mercy kills paige and why his eyes changed color. he absorbed a lot of her pain and than her life energy which therefore gave him more power.

incidentally this is probably why there's a stigma to blue eyes within the supernatural community which peter hints at when he is trying to manipulate stiles and cora in visionary:

"taking an innocent life takes something from you as well... a bit of your soul. darkening it, dimming the once brilliant golden yellow to a cold, steel blue."

fandom took this too literally. there is no morality involved in how power transference works but it's part of the mythos in the supernatural community.

when derek heals cora and his alpha spark is consumed in the process duecalion's words are still the idea behind what occurred. he takes on her pain and she took his excess power to heal herself beyond what a beta could do.

peter explains it in alpha pact:

"it's that spark of power that makes you an alpha. when you take her pain, she draws on the power that provides you with those special gifts: the power that heightens your senses, your strength; the power that transforms your body. as an alpha, you have that bit of extra-- that spark intensifies the color of your eyes from a bright yellow into a searing red."

this the entire reason peter killed laura in the first place and he explained that in wolf's bane:

"yes, becoming an alpha, taking that from laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process."

remember the speech the nogitsune gives scott in letharia vulpina?

"you should have done your reading, scott. see, a nogitsune feeds off chaos, strife, and pain. this morning, you took it from isaac, then you took it from coach, and then from a dying deputy. all that pain... you took it all. now, give it to me."

even jennifer gains power from killing and death. she commits sacrifices to gain specific kinds of power which parallels her to duecalion and the alphas. she is not any better than they are despite believing her cause righteous.

as a true alpha scott's spark cannot be stolen. like, peter couldn't just take it by killing scott because that spark is unique to scott specifically. it's incompatible with nearly anyone else except for those who were created by that spark which would only be liam and hayden.

and we know that even in the teen wolf universe they are still beholden to law of conversation of energy so energy cannot be created or destroyed. it has to go somewhere.

so say in season 4, if peter had killed scott than either scott's alpha spark merely dies with him or liam inherits it. than peter kills liam to take the spark.

the same for theo in season 5. he cannot take scott's power so he engineers liam killing scott and than he would kill liam for it.

never mind that theo isn't an actual supernatural creature but one created by the dread doctors so it's unclear if he could take the power anyway but i am digressing and it's all fucking convoluted but here we are.

like, we know corinne wanted to kill malia to try to regain the power she believed stolen from her when malia was born. instead malia pulled a reverse uno by using belasko's claws on her.

inheritance seems to be the most peaceful way power 1. remains in families and 2. transfers as a whole.

when talia had laura, derek and cora they inherited a piece of her spark which made them born wolves. when talia died the alpha spark went to laura but since laura was murdered by peter the line of inheritance was interrupted.

now there's a nebulous little thing of scott being dead for like 15 minutes and liam didn't become an alpha and this is where the soft magic system comes into play.

go with the story. sometimes you just have to accept things for the sake of the story over getting a concrete answer.

also this is why frayed is hilarious in retrospect. they all think derek died but none of them take a moment and realize that neither isaac or boyd have become alphas because none of these idiots know how things work quite yet.

the brain cell was calling but no one was home.

i will acknowledge they also didn't know if someone just didn't come along and finished derek off while he lay there dying but i think my line of thinking is funnier.

but for example say derek died in season 2 when peter resurrected himself. something which came close to happening. than derek's alpha spark would probably go to isaac who was his first created beta.

it's the reason scott didn't become alpha upon peter's death. derek killed peter taking that energy and became the alpha thereby breaking the line of inheritance.

therefore one can become an alpha by inheritance which is likely how the hale pack maintained it's power and is the most peaceful, by killing which is common but frowned upon and by changing their own spark via willpower extremely rare.

tl;dr pain is the secret sauce in the teen wolf universe.

#my blog #thoughts on teen wolf #teen wolf #i don't smoke but i feel like i need a cigarette after this #power transference: the electric boogaloo

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heli0s-writes · 2 years

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bite the hand

a/n: featuring a whumptober prompt of “fracture, dislocation, are you here to break me out” 2.6k words of wolf/shapeshifter reader & human bucky, who are both trying to break the mold of their species.

warnings: violence, blood, language.

moonchild masterlist

You’re not any kind of damsel in distress but there’s no point in lying to yourself this time. There aren’t many ways to escape a steel cage and considering the silver they tied you with and the after-effects of enough tranquilizers to knock out a stampede of horses, you figure you’ll be here indefinitely.

Nine humans tore through early morning. Raids have been far and few but once in a while they get bored, get audacious. The pack moves often enough, and deep enough, to where hunters can’t track, but sometimes they also get lucky.

Or you’ve been had. Because you’re the volunteer liaison, and Barnes always said you were too damn trusting for one of your kind.

Maybe you trusted him too much.

You shut your eyes, tired all the way through, and try a number of any imaginary techniques to keep from despairing. How long do wolves stay alive in captivity anyway? It’ll drive you fucking insane before you die. Your muscles might atrophy with this tiny perimeter to pace around in, but your heart will go first, getting carted out of the wilderness and into smoggy, disgusting cities.

They’ll either sell you or gut you or parade you around as another circus act. Let their ugly children throw rocks and garbage between the bars, but at least it wasn’t any of the others—and especially not any of the pups.

You could bite the one feeding you, hold their arm between the bars with your teeth until another one puts you down.

But what if they don’t give a shit? Humans can be horrible like that. Depending on who it is, they’re likely to weigh their options, wonder if you’d be worth more sold as pelt or organs or teeth crushed to powder than the poor bastard giving you scraps.

You let out a whine. Slump down as comfortably as you can because the damage to your left shoulder is not letting you forget it any time soon. If you could turn or push up against something, you would—that’d set the damn thing right—but the chains and the drugs and yada-yada.

On the bright side, if you give up and let them take you, at least it means they won’t come back for the kids.

Pietro and Wanda and little Peter who’s a damn prodigy when he darts through the trees but skin and bones after a long winter. Most of you are, which is why humans showed up, which is why you were barely strong enough to fight, get shot to hell, and strapped down to the bed of a truck.

Your animal form would have been hard to manage, but you were weak, tired, and human. Your shoulder dislocated, and leg fractured, and if you see another tire iron coming your way you’ll beat the fucker swinging it to death. No. You’ll fucking eat him.

If you see Barnes, you’ll eat him, too.

Delirium is definitely sinking in. Being the liaison between humans and wolves means that the wolf should never have the urge to eat a human or else it would totally compromise the position. And yet here you are, fantasizing of biting down on Barnes’ beautiful skull.

“See you in the spring,” he’d said as he fixed his gloves. He was hilariously bundled up, nose a startling pink, admitted he couldn’t deal much with the cold and snow but then after a couple weeks of scarce prey and hungry bellies, there’d be a deer, or a rabbit, dragged close enough to where you’d smell it, far enough to where no one else would.

Rumlow would call you a traitor to your face for taking it home, but at least the kids ate. If he had his way, the nearest town would be a bone yard. But that’s the stupid in him. The dumb animal part that hasn’t evolved past eat-fuck-kill. That’s gonna get the locals burning the entire forest just to smoke the pack out.

One of the men who captured you knocks a pipe against the bars.

“Crazy bitch really does look human.” He bangs the cage without rhythm, just hitting it over and over, chortling. After a few more seconds without a response, he pulls back further to wind up.

“Cut that shit out, man,” another one says.

“We ain’t got nothin’ to fuckin’ do until sundown.”

“If you’re bored, go into town with John and get some fucking gas and bandages. We got a long drive tonight.” A third guy snatches the pipe, throws it over his shoulder and jerks his thumb toward one of the trucks.

“You do it.”

They bicker for a while longer, and the shittier one between the three of them picks up a rock when he loses the argument, hurling it at you as hard as he can. It bounces off the bars, and you can only hope that they have the same crappy aim at wherever carnival you get hauled off to because the metal is still quivering, and you have never been in love with the idea of being stoned to death.

The sun is sinking, resting low atop the tree line, temperature dropping rapidly in the absence of its heat.

They’re going to move you as soon as the last ray winks out. Take the cars past the edge of the forest, hit the interstate and then they’re home free. Wolves wouldn’t chase humans on the highway, across state lines. There’s no bureau of jack shit to follow your trail. Rumlow would never even suggest it. He’d just call you one of them, anyway, as if wolves aren’t half-human to start.

You shoot up when the air shifts. The scent on the wind is different, the noise dimmed but it’s a stillness that’s too quiet for these woods and for these humans.

Four went and five stayed because despite their advantage, on the off chance you got loose, they probably figured they’d need one for each limb and one to blow your brains out.

The one by the fire spits out a mouthful of chew and checks his phone, oblivious.

Your skin is prickling, hairs on the back of your neck lifting because the new smell isn’t stale tobacco and 3 days worth of grit— it’s— familiar. Like intention, an adrenaline that doesn’t rush so much as slinks forward.

It’s how you feel padding between the trees, ears pulled back, your sights set on the pulse of a fawn’s neck.

And then, the rush hits.

He’s there, eyes flashing blue between the pines, to the fire, to the cage. You fight the wolf that wants to tear out of your skin—fight the instinct to howl at bloodshed, to kneel and leap and affix your canines to something soft.

A bullet flies through the trees, pierces one in the shoulder. A second through the side of the one next to him. A third to another guy just now on his feet.

They pull out their pistols and shoot back, blasting into the pines blindly, recklessly reloading.

Shouting commences, and the humans split apart, try to flank Barnes in the trees.

And regardless of how you thought about biting off his head earlier, your fists are clenched, wanting to give anything to break free.

Pops go off in the distance with thuds following. There’s snaps of twig and bone and soon after, there are no more bullets, only the pained whimpers of wounded men.

He dashes out, a ring of keys clutched tight in his hand.

“Hey,” he says, crouching and out of breath. He’s talking fast, puffing out continuous clouds in the late February air. “Think all the ammo’s in the other truck. Heard some guys bragging about catching a wolf last night. When I said see you in spring, I didn’t mean like this.”

He’s too damn casual about it. You jerk helplessly at the one suddenly sprinting up from behind. “Move!”

He quirks a brow, “That’s all I get?” and proceeds to dodge a bat full of nails like it’s made of cotton candy. “No thanks for breaking you out?” But his eyes catch on the swollen mess of your shoulder, the dead limp of the rest of your arm. The silver. And then he’s immediately serious, sharp and deadly, and gets a foot into the nearest ribcage.

Logically you’d known that he would have been strong enough to, at the very least, keep his life if the liaison decided to eat him rather than broker peace. But for a man who doesn’t change into anything the way you can, he’s pretty impressive.

He fights like he’s been in a lot of them. Like maybe he’s been trained.

He ducks low, sweeps a pair of feet out, and then he’s sending a single kick to the temple, and uses the motion to fall forward into the other guy. He’s swiped at, a hidden blade cutting across his chest but his leather jacket takes it, and it only nicks his jaw, sending a single trickle of blood flowing out.

You growl at the sight. The low buildup starts from inside your belly and rolls upwards until it’s roaring out of you—a promise of retribution for every drop.

It makes his last opponent flinch, and Barnes tackles him over, punches him til the lights go out.

All five are accounted for, unconscious and strewn across the dirt. There’s no noise for a few seconds other than the calling of nocturnal birds until you hear the other truck around the bend of trees, tires crackling against fallen branches and gravel road. You hear it first, but Barnes is listening too, watching for your signal.

“Hey,” you say, urgent, “are you here to break me out or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?”

He looks like he’s about to smirk and give you shit for calling him pretty by any degree, but you start pulling against the cuffs, let him hear the way it sizzles, and then he’s rushing forward with keys, throwing the door open, kneeling by your side.

“Shit,” he mutters, face screwing up when he gets a whiff of blackened flesh. He unhooks the padlock, rips the links off, and flings them across the cage.

“Come on.” You nod at the jut of bone as it nudges against your skin. There’s no time to waste. “Go, go, go.”

His pained frown keeps on, big eyes darting back and forth.

“Barnes,” you say, ducking your head so you can stare into him, into all that worry and fear that’s taking hold of his reason because you know what you look like right now. Skin and bones and bloodied up. But you won’t look like it for long—but if he keeps getting stuck, both of you are going to end up in the dirt. “The adrenaline will be enough, you hear me? It’ll be enough.”

He nods, shutting his eyes for a second before calmly settling in front of you. With one hand, he takes your elbow, with the other, he gently places at an angle, right beneath the swelling.

The correct way to set a shoulder is to relax the tightened muscles, which takes massaging, and breathing, and patience. But right now the car is pulling up—you can smell the exhaust, the open beer, the sour smoker’s breath on the wind, see the flicker of headlights as they make slits through the trees—and you need pain. Need that kick in your system that overrides reason.

“On three,” he says.

You take a breath and don’t even make it to one before the explosion of your joint ramming back into place whites everything out.

It’s sirens all the way.

Slamming doors, footsteps, yelling. Shots. You’re a terror of instinct shredding across the short distance from vehicle to cage, landing first on the one with the gun. A bullet grazes your belly, but it doesn’t hurt. You sink your teeth into a neck, then an arm, and when someone else reaches for a new magazine, you take their fingers. Take their shoulder, their side. It’s indiscriminate killing and what they would have done to you, and the kids, and one of their own.

You counted every drop that slipped off his chin. You’ll take a mouthful for each.

When logic comes back, you’ve got your paws on a jerking limb, fur matted at the snout and claws.

Barnes is still by the cage, like he meant to go somewhere and then forgot.

“Shit,” he says, awed, ambling forward. He reaches out his hand, touching the side of your face gently, parting the furs and stroking your cheek. “Goddamn. You’re beautiful, aren’t you?”

You bare your teeth, canines nearly 3 inches long and sticky with blood but he just says, “Nah,” like you’re not one yawn away from cracking his skull, stupid smile a wild slash across his face. “You’re a sweetheart.”

He rubs the line of your snout, up between your eyes.

“Yeah,” he says again, quieter, “you are.”

And because you can’t fake it anymore, because you’re too tired to fight it for fucks sake— and he’s looking so soft and dumb as he strokes his thumb over one ear and then the other, you start to change back, one crackling bone at a time.

He takes off his jacket, placing it around your naked shoulders when you’re bipedal again, eyes fixed on the stars overhead until you clear your throat. The leather smells like him. Warm and musky but clean like fresh air. There’s notes of his morning coffee—caramel and lemon aromas. His soap, his toothpaste, his maple syrup. His sweat.

You feel out your shoulder and previous fracture, both healed slightly after the change. “So it wasn’t you who led them to us.”

“You’re breaking my heart. You think I’d do something like that?”

“Hm.” No, not really.

“I think maybe they followed me, though. Followed you.”

“Do you have a poacher problem in your town?”

“No, they’re from somewhere else.” His brow furrows.

You think about Rumlow, how he transplanted himself into the pack, digging his heels in and trying to assert some kind of dominance. How the hierarchy existed but loosely, because packs evolve, and change, and those who don’t fall behind.

Human-wolf relations are changing, too. You’re not the first liaison and you won’t be the last. Small towns are trying to learn how to coexist all over the world.

You look at the many unconscious men behind your back, and the one to your side, alert and watchful. Him, and you, agents of change— despite the challenge, side by side.

“The kids care much?” He gestures to the very human artifact over your body.

“No,” you admit, “they like you.”

He whistles, scrubs his hand through his hair, letting the wind rustle the long waves he’d grown out during winter. And it’s killing you—all that smell whipping around so carelessly. All of him, just there. That pretty, pretty aroma separating him from the rest of his kind.

He doesn’t even notice. “What’d I do to win them over?”

You sigh. Before this? Nothing, really. He didn’t do anything except be decent. And be your friend. But then again, crossing the distance from one species to another, two polar opposites that have hunted each other, have hated each other, is brave. And bravery is high on the list of good virtues for wolf pups.

For grown wolves, too.

“I like you, is what.”

He stops playing with his hair, color flaring back to his wind-whipped cheeks. “Don’t let Rumlow hear you saying that.”

“Think a human’s the only thing I’ll bite?” You grin, pulling his jacket tighter to your body, dropping your head dramatically to inhale.

“Oh,” he breathes, kicking dirt as he stumbles around his words, attention glued to how you nuzzle in because wolves don’t forget scents. Not even feral ones, when they’re lost to instinct and chasing thoughtlessly after the moon. Rumlow would only choose to leave you to rot because he’s an asshole— not because he can’t track.

So when you take in a lungful of Barnes, you’re promising him of some kind of forever.

And if Rumlow gives you shit for coming home wearing Barnes’ clothes, you’ll just have to remind him you’re not human enough to consider yourself above cannibalization.

It had been a long winter, after all.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #marvel #whumptober #reader insert #mcu #fanfiction #moonchild series

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steele-soulmate · 8 days

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Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 594, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death, abandoned baby, child intoxication, death of a minor character, injured baby, kidnapped child

WORDS: 1050

“There are the Ratajczyk babies now!”

Peter and I were both watching grainy security footage as police officers crawled all over the Chuck E Cheeses location. We watched as Governor Paul Thomas Grantsville came into frame, picking up Baby Noah before turning to walk off. Little girl latched onto his leg and wouldn’t let go until he reached down to pull her off, rewarding him with a strong bite on his hand. Baby Tommy zipped of, probably to go find his daddy as the governor shook his hand, gritting his teeth as he finally threw off the child, hurling her into a wall. He then turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner. Little girl picked herself up, clearly dazed as she wobbled about on her two feet before promptly breaking down into messy tears.

“That’s my girl!” Peter chuckled, fond pride on his face.

“Peter,” I grounded him with a stern voice before turning to the chuckling police officer in the room. “What happens now?”

“We’re looking for the governor’s properties and we will dispatch officers to go pay him a visit.”

“Oh,” I whimpered out from my place on Peter’s lap, tucking my face into his manly chest. “My love, do you think we can try for a restraining order?”

“If I may interject myself here, any judge would be a fool to turn away your request for legal protection.”

“Thanks,” Peter grunted, pressing a whiskery kiss to my temple before standing and exiting the cramped back room with me cradled lovingly in his muscular arms. “I’m taking you and the kids home now- it’s best to allow the professionals to work now.”

The only thing that left my lips was a choked cry before tears began to freely flow down my face as I pressed myself in deeper into his chest.

After we all had been tucked away in the car, I thought to call James- he and his husband had both been whisked away to Mercy Memorial in an ambulance, Ryley having been called and on standby to tend to her uncle’s goddaughter.

“Yeah, she suffered a concussion, and she’s been ordered to take it easy for the next six weeks,” James told me, his voice a mixture of worry and pride. “A police officer swabbed her month- she bit the sonofabitch so hard that she drew blood. The DNA evidence will be used to help identify the perpetrator.”

“We’re bringing little girl’s presents with us to our house,” I told him as Peter began to approach the car with his arms full of presents. Little Christopher trotted off at his side, helping with packing the gifts into the back of the Doom Buggy 3.0. “You or Aaron can come by and grab them whenever is best.”

“Thank you, Mary Claire.” I could only picture him slumping in a chair in an exam room with Ryley working her doctor witchcraft on little girl. “What would I ever do without you?”

“You’d be single and childless,” I told him bluntly, barking out a laugh at the look I felt him shooting me. “Well, you did ask me!”

“Mommy, is liddle gurl okay?” Baby Tommy meeped out, chewing on his little baby fist.

“Little girl’s head suffered a booboo,” I told him as Peter climbed into the driver’s seat and strapped on his seatbelt. “Hihi my love.”

“Hihi sweetheart,” he greeted me in a gentle rumble. “Are you on the phone with Aaron?”

“I’m actually on the phone with James,” I gently corrected him.

“Daddy, liddle girl got a booboo on her head!” Baby Tommy spilled the tea as Peter pulled out from his parking spot, being careful not to run over any of the kids.

“A booboo?” Peter gasped, coming to a halt at a red light. “Poor little girl.”

“She’ll be alright, my love,” I told him, retucking my cell phone back into my bra and reaching across to settle my hand onto his tense knee. “Kids always bounce back- they’re resilient that way.”

“I know they are sweetheart,” he chuckled, taking off when the light turned from red to green. “Bitty when she suffered that knot on the side of her head, Katie after CPS stepped in and took her away from her parents, little girl after that despicable excuse of a human being broke in and threatened to harm her, little girl after that racoon attacked her, little girl after she was born on the toilet…”

“Alright my love, I get it, I get it!” I told him, wrinkling my nose up at him as he turned onto the freeway to take his family home once more.

My babies are so strong and loving, I thought as I glanced behind me, seeing Baby Tommy sandwiched between Baby Mattie and Baby Teddy and Elizabeth and Elle, Baby Jojo and Katie and Jing in the very back. Please don’t grow up so quickly. Can you please remain as mommy’s sweet babies for just a little bit longer?

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

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dramaticvhs · 11 months

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Hey! Hoping you could recommend any smut fics for me where it’s Stiles Stilinski x The Hales. It could be just a couple of the Hales, all the male Hales, or all the Hales. As long as there’s more than one hale.

hi! I don't remember getting this ask so I have no idea how long it's been sitting in my inbox. I'm terribly sorry.

I don't know a lot of fics (unfortunately, because I love them) but here are a few I do have bookmarked! :) Also unfortunately, I don't seem to have many Stiles x male Hale's that aren't just Derek and Peter.

if anyone has more please feel free to comment/reblog with fics, or send me an ask! I love finding new fics (:

as always remember to read tags !!

New Experiences by EmeraldTrident and mikkeltwink (Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale)

Stiles Stilinski heads to a remote cabin in the woods for a one night stand with an older guy he met online. When he arrives, Stiles discovers the man brought a friend to join in on the fun. Stiles doesn't have a single complaint.

Live & Thrive by callunavulgari (Derek Hale/Laura Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

“Now, for your first assignment of the week, I would like you to tell me,” Laura Hale tells them, casting her eyes relentlessly around the room. Searching, meeting each of her student’s gazes, until those dark intelligent eyes finally come to rest on Stiles. “What would drive you to kill?” Stiles Stilinski, sixteen years old and new to the Future Agents in Training program, falls in love.

A Night of Morally-Questionable Decision Making by marguerite_26 (Cora Hale/Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

"He's perfect, Derek," Cora says, like she's asking permission. Her breath is hot against the back of Stiles' neck while her fingers toy with his belt buckle. Stiles squirms in her hold, confused and self-conscious. They're still in the apartment doorway, talking to her brother. He doesn't have a lot of experience, but he's pretty sure this isn't normal hookup procedure.

Filling the Void Within Me By demonkatgurl17 (Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale)

Derek backed Stiles up against one of the steel girders in the abandoned station, stopping mere inches away from him. Stiles’s eyes were trained on the floor, staring at anything else but the warm body in front of him, nearly pressed against him. He didn’t know why he was here, what had driven him here, to Derek of all people. He was sure that if there was a shred of sanity coursing through him right now, then he would have never have left the relative safety of his room.

Virgin Territory by jujukittychick (Derek Hale/Laura Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

Stiles has a photo shoot for Hale’s Belles BDSM magazine where he’ll be subbing for Laura while Derek photographs. Things go quickly off script as the twins find themselves attracted to the cutie, and Stiles is completely flustered by the attention from the two smoking hot siblings

here's these as well that have several pairings:

Knotfest by Triangulum

"Remember," Peter says loudly to the audience, "that very few people come from penetration alone, so paying attention to your partner is key." Peter strokes Stiles, loving how it makes the boy tighten around his knot. Peter rolls his hips, nudging the boy's prostate and making him whimper. "Peter, I'm close," Stiles gasps. "Mmm, be a good boy and come for me," Peter growls in Stiles' ear. OR All year, Peter and Talia work to set up Knotfest, a three-day festival devoted completely to knotting. There are vendors, demonstrations, even a group play area. And finally, the time is here.

The Job Interview by Inell

Stiles is attending the third interview for the job he’s applied for at Hale Enterprise LTD. He has no idea that the third round of interviewing is going to require him to be the center of a Hale pack gangbang.

#teen wolf #steterek #teen wolf fics #fic recs #stiles stilinski x the hales

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devoursjohnlock · 2 years

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hi! do you happen to have a list of must-watch holmes adaptations? can we see it pleasee

Hi anon! This is a great question; the short answer is no I don't keep such a list because I'd like to see everything eventually and haven't yet. But can I make such a list? I can try.

Since your follow-up ask mentioned that you’re watching from a tjlc/BBC Sherlock perspective, I’ve added explanations for why many of these adaptations made the cut. Personally, I love the earlier black and white films; if this is less your glass of tea, the first ones to cut out are Barrymore and Wontner.

Oh! Edited to add: there are so many Sherlock Holmes adaptations I haven’t seen, and I’m aware that I’m dramatically under-representing those not performed in English. Please feel free to recommend your favourites if you don’t see them here.

ACTION!

1. Sherlock Holmes Baffled (1900) Why wouldn’t you start here? It was the first, has nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes whatsoever, and runs just under 1 minute.

2. Sherlock Holmes (1916). William Gillette as Holmes. Historically very important. This is the film version of an original play first written by Doyle, then destroyed in a fire, then rewritten by Gillette with Doyle’s permission. Remember “Marry him, kill him, do what you like with him”? That was about this play (1899). Gillette was the model for Collier’s illustrator Frederic Dorr Steele’s Sherlock Holmes (1903 onward). This film was thought lost for many years; the Hartswood gang partly funded its restoration when it was rediscovered. Holmes has a love interest in this, Alice Faulkner, who is I guess modelled on Irene Adler; IIRC, they share a dream or vision at some point, which got my attention. There are some nice Holmes & Watson bits, too, although Watson is barely in it.

3. Sherlock Holmes (1922) John Barrymore as Holmes. I like this one! Again, Watson is not much in it, which leads to some odd choices like Holmes sitting down and listing his own limits (why???), but we do see their rooms in... Cambridge (sure, why not)... so they’re young, which is rare enough, and there’s a bit of nice camaraderie there. The Moriarty special effects are hilarious.

4. Sherlock Jr. (1924) Buster Keaton as a bungling Holmes wannabe. It’s Buster Keaton, so it’s action-packed and funny, with the added bonus of an extended mind palace sequence and fourth wall breaks. I just think it’s neat.

5. Wontner films (1931-1937) Arthur Wontner as Holmes. At long last, sound! Wontner did several films as Sherlock Holmes, partnered with Ian Fleming (not that one) as Watson. I like these, too. The Sign of Four is often laughed at for the speedboat chase, but have you read The Sign of the Four? Of course there should be a speedboat chase. Also: hairline.

6. Rathbone/Bruce films (1939-1946) Basil Rathbone as Holmes. These are obviously essential. The first two are set in Victorian England; after they moved from 20th Century Fox to Universal, they ditched the fog and deerstalker to fight the Nazis. Sherlock references these films often. For example, the Golem in TGG is based on the Creeper from The Pearl of Death; the play in the aluminium crutch case on John’s blog is named for Terror by Night; Moriarty’s stair pause in TRF is based on that in The Woman in Green; Irene teasing Sherlock in disguise in ASIB is based on Adria Spedding doing the same in The Spider Woman. That’s off the top of my head; lots of people have written about these references on tumblr over the years. Oh right, Holmes nearly leaps off a building in The Woman in Green because Moriarty tells him to, so there’s that.

7. The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959) Peter Cushing as Holmes. This is the Hammer Films version, so it’s pulpy and lurid. Is it Sherlock Holmes or is it Dracula? I’m not sure even Cushing knows. Mark Gatiss is a huge Hammer fan; ‘nuff said. Meant to be enjoyed for its faults, rather than despite them.

8. The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970) Robert Stephens as Holmes. Surely I don’t need to explain this one. The first on-screen gay Holmes (some would say this is arguable; I’m not going to bother arguing).

9. The Seven-Per-Cent Solution (1976) Nicol Williamson as Holmes. This is not a great film, but I’m giving it a mention because the pastiche it was based on (by Nicholas Meyer, who also wrote Star Trek: Wrath of Khan, with all its Sherlockian vibes) is a pretty big deal. It’s got Freud! It’s got cocaine! The film has some good moments in it, though the book is better; the ending was changed from book to screen and a het romance was tacked on, because of course it was.

10. Murder by Decree (1979) Christopher Plummer as Holmes. Does a thing with peas.

11. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, aka Lenfilm Holmes (1980-1988) Vasily Livanov as Holmes. This Soviet-era Russian series is so well done; really a must-see. I linked the first playlist I found with subtitles, but it’s probably worth hunting around a bit for good ones. Vitaly Solomin is wonderful as Watson in this. Tea?

12. Sherlock Holmes, aka Granada Holmes (1984-1994) Jeremy Brett as Holmes. Again, essential viewing. Don’t underestimate the film-length episodes at the end of the series; Sherlock references these more than most because it’s where the original contributions are. A huge caveat here: Granada’s approach was to usually remove Watson’s narration, and show the viewer events that are only told in the stories, and often filtered through multiple people. So, when you’re watching the episodes, you pretty much can’t help but accept all events as factual, whereas the same cannot be assumed in the stories at all. In my opinion, this is the biggest limitation of the Granada series. They do make up for this with creative framing and lighting; pay attention to mirrors, for example, which are used to great effect throughout the series. And when they choose to diverge from the original story, it’s often to do something quite interesting. But I’d strongly recommend reading the story before watching the episode, so that you can see how they changed it every time; there is a real tendency for people (and like... the Granada fans are quite zealous about this) to just assume that everything Granada did was exactly canonical, and it’s simply not. I’ll also point out that the series was mainly produced by Michael Cox, who also commissioned the Oxford World’s Classics editions of the Holmes stories, which were annotated by a team of very smart people, including Richard Lancelyn Green. Cox also wrote a biography of MR James. Anyway, he knew his stuff, and it shows in the non-canonical places, in the divergences from canon.

13. The Great Mouse Detective (1986) Barrie Ingham voicing Basil of Baker Street. No explanation needed.

14. Without a Clue (1988) Michael Caine as Holmes. This is mostly here for Amy! It’s revealed early in this film that Watson is the brains behind the operation. Personally, I prefer The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’s Smarter Brother (1975) in the “Holmes isn’t smart actually” genre, but only because I think Gene Wilder is funnier than Michael Caine.

15. A Case of Evil (2002) James D’Arcy as Holmes. I’m sorry, this has no place on a must-watch list, but it’s one of two so-bad-it’s-somehow-something films that I’m including (yes, you know what the other one is). It’s all repressed trauma and spooky dreams, I can’t leave it out.

18. The Hound of the Baskervilles (2002) Richard Roxburgh as Holmes. Ok, again, I apologize, but this is the only Hound film among over 30 to nail the tone of the book as far as Holmes and Watson are concerned—to recognize that the point of the book is that Holmes deserted Watson and now he’s back (yes, I’m aware the novel is backdated, it doesn’t matter). The only one! The casting is not great, it’s got some other issues, but it deserves more credit than it gets.

17. Reichenbach Falls (2007) Alec Newman as Detective Inspector John Buchan, who is somehow both a Holmes and a Watson. Required viewing; if you haven’t seen it, then hell mend you. I wrote an enormous meta on this film a few years ago.

18. Sherlock Holmes and Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2009/2011) Robert Downey Jr. as Holmes. I said what I said.

19. Sherlock Holmes, aka Asylum Holmes (2010) Ben Syder as Holmes. Awful. Frankly appalling. But may I also submit: Dinosaurs. And robots. It’s a fun time, especially with friends, and by now I really have convinced myself that Steven Moffat based the Doctor Who episode Deep Breath on it.

20. Sherlock (2010-) Benedict Cumberbatch as Holmes. Eyyyyyy.

21. Sherlock Holmes, aka New Russian Holmes (2013) Igor Petrenko as Holmes. Full disclosure, I haven’t watched this yet. I need to rectify that soon.

22. Miss Sherlock (2018) Yûko Takeuchi as Holmes. What a tragic loss; this was a wonderful series and she was brilliant in it. Saw what BBC Sherlock was doing and tried to beat it to the punch. I have to respect that.

#Sherlock #asks #adaptations #will check for typos tomorrow #now that I've done this I feel like I must have done it before #if I did don't tell me

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