daunt:

ifiwereloki:

yue-ix:

Quick content notes: Age-difference, student/teacher, sex workers, lots of kinks, werewolves bestialitish; this is Stiles and Peter, really, expect everything.

nightrevelations:

roseandthebeast:

saucefactory:

colethewolf:

No Peter. Bad Peter. Stahp

APPARENTLY THERE WILL BE MORE PETER-AND-STILES SCENES NEXT SEASON

ASDFAKLSDJFKLSDFD I CANNOT WAIT

okay, no

I have to reblog this again, because if you don’t know the context?

DISARMINGLY HOMOSEXUAL

because damn. when in the world do you hold onto a person’s forearm? and then BRING THEIR HAND TOWARDS YOU? like never. neverrrr. I can’t think of another time I held onto someone’s forearms that didn’t involve nakedness and the increasing likelihood of orgasms.

I don’t know, I just - there’s something about the way Stiles is watching Peter’s face, until that last bit at the very end, like, oh hey, he’s touching me, and the way Peter is looking at Stiles, but not at his face, and the way it seems like he’s going to touch Stiles’s side and comes back with his hand around Stiles’s forearm instead - gah.

out of context, this is like a screen cap from some independent movie where Peter is a friend of Stiles’s father’s, and he’s too old and it’s inappropriate but Stiles doesn’t care, offers to walk him out to the car after dinner and Peter lets him even though it’s ridiculous and he knows he shouldn’t, he knows he’s tacitly encouraging something that should never happen. and it’s awkward small talk and things they aren’t saying, like that Stiles isn’t taking Lydia to the winter dance, no, he’s not taking anyone, not any girl, and they both realize why Stiles said ‘girl’ but they can’t go any farther with it, because Peter doesn’t respect a lot of things but he respects family, he respects everything John has ever done for him, and he can’t - this is Stiles, this is Stiles, oh God, Peter remembers eating cake at his seventh birthday, remembers braces, remembers taking him and Derek and Laura to the water park every summer, and the worst part is looking at Stiles and remembering and not-remembering at the same time, like every shared experience and memory is written over Stiles, a palimpsest of their lives together, of little Stiles and now-Stiles, of water parks and family dinners, and Peter wants to keep writing over it, kisses and touches, layering them even as he unlayers Stiles’s clothing, the moles on Stiles’s face and the dimples when Peter kisses him, the flex of his stomach when Peter blows him for the first time, the sounds he might make when Peter fucks him, crying or moaning, or that he might go quiet, so very quiet, and Peter will have to settle him through it, or stop, will put up with Stiles’s incessant demands to try again until he does, until he kisses Stiles nosenapenecktoescalvesknees, until Stiles relaxes around him, until Stiles isn’t quiet but laughing, the carefree open-mouthed joy that Peter lives for. But he doesn’t say anything. Would never say anything. Can’t. Touches the end of Stiles’s sleeve, once, and whatever Stiles was saying died in his throat, and that’s it.

or Stiles goes to a prep school somewhere, the kind with a uniform and ridiculous ties, even if he can never remember to keep his shirt tucked in; and Peter is his professor, one of the good ones, a little sarcastic but nothing like Professor Harris, just enough so there are rumors of him being gay, his sass and his slightly too-on fashion sense and leather jacket and the fact that every year his favorite is always some young cute guy. and this year it’s Stiles. and Stiles says it’s not like that, of course, Stiles is just smart, he is, he’s got straight As, and it’s not like he’s got a crush on Professor Hale too, of course he doesn’t, and when Stiles’s Jeep breaks down Peter offers to drive him to the train station (because Stiles is a scholarship kid, he doesn’t have money for a plane ticket back to Beacon Hills, are you kidding) and Peter helps Stiles get all his bags out of the trunk and they’re saying goodbye when this happens, when Peter pulls Stiles to him and presses a kiss to the side of his face, just off-center from his lips, but too close from platonic to be anything else, anything less obvious, and Peter disappears back into his car before Stiles can figure out what the hell is going on, and Stiles spends the entirely too long train ride in a torment of what the fuck happened and then what does this mean and finally is there a boy like Stiles every year and back around to what the fuck and he jerks off to it because it is, frankly, one of the hotter things that have ever happened to him, the tiniest scrape of Peter’s stubble against his lips, the smell of some ridiculous cologne that Stiles can’t get out of his nose for weeks - he thinks about Peter and the back of that fucking car, he think about Peter and calling him Professor, all those stupid schoolboy fantasies; he thinks about getting spanked, about getting hit with a ruler, he thinks about his tie stuffed into his mouth, tied around his eyes, his wrists; he practically wears out his wrist by the time New Year’s comes around, and he takes another train back to the city. He’s going to take a cab when he gets there, is the plan, but Peter is there. Waiting. Leaning up against his car and Stiles can’t control the way his heart tries to beat out of his chest.

Or something darker. Simpler. A meeting in a parking garage, a chance thing, one in a million. Peter sees something he wants and goes for it, he walks up and asks, his hand on Stiles’s wrist, pulse throbbing up against Peter’s fingers, jack-rabbiting. How much for one night? he asks, and Stiles’s first thought is this guy is crazy, but the second is that he’ll never be able to pay his father’s hospital bills off at this rate, a crap waiter in a crap restaurant, and forget going to college. Crazy Guy is wearing a leather jacket nicer than anything Stiles has ever owned, next to a car that Stiles will never, ever be able to afford, and before Stiles really thinks it through he names the first number he can think of. Something ludicrous. Doesn’t really expect Crazy Guy to nod his acceptance, to bring Stiles’s wrist up to his mouth and bite, hard enough to leave little marks through the fabric - does he think he’s a vampire, what the hell, how does shit like this happen to Stiles - and Stiles dutifully ignores that he really sort of liked that, likes the proprietary hand Crazy Guy keeps on his thigh the whole drive, calms under it. Likes the way Crazy Guy methodically strips Stiles down, tie, shirt; sits him on the bed and pulls off his shoes, his socks, his pants. Stands up and looks down at Stiles, who is panting a little, though he doesn’t know why, shivering a bit; lying back on the bed, propped up on his elbows and letting his mouth hang open, and Crazy Guy smiles, a smile full of teeth, and Stiles thinks, oh fuck, he’s not getting out of this alive, is he? he’s going to die in this gorgeous high rise, on this really comfortable bed, it’s so unfair, it really is, Stiles is a good person, generally; and then Crazy Guy tell Stiles to call him Peter, please, and from there it goes pretty smoothly, if Stiles can call getting methodically taken apart and driven wild going smooth, which - hey, better than he though the evening was going to turn out before. And Peter gives Stiles his ridiculous amount of money, and asks for his cell number “for further appointments”, which Stiles does because hey, he’s only got a month by month phone anyway, good to throw away whenever. And Peter calls next weekend, and the weekend after that, and after that, until there’s a sizable dent in the hospital bills, which Stiles explains as doing tech work, internet stuff that Danny referred him for, because if it’s one thing his dad doesn’t understand it’s the internet; and he spends his weekends with Peter, generally, doing weirder and weirder stuff, though not - plenty of people like to get tied up or spanked or whatever, it’s not that strange to spend your weekend totally naked, or sit next to someone on your knees, or be hand-fed, or call someone sir - I would prefer sir, if you don’t mind, I find master a bit disingenuous - and Stiles tells himself it’s not weird to like it, definitely not weird to like something you get paid to do, right? So what if he’s stopped going on dates, stopped flirting with that cute barista at the campus Starbucks. No big deal if his fantasies about Lydia, intermittent as they’ve become, are definitely more specific. More… colorful. He reads about it, a lot, and he’s just as normal as anyone else, thank you very much. Despite the getting paid part. He’s making his peace with that, honestly, until Peter asks Stiles to move in with him, full-time.

“Days to yourself,” Peter says, casually, like he hasn’t rocked Stiles to his very core. ”Every other weekend off. A clothing allowance, for when we need to go out. You can use any of the other cars. At quadruple your current price.”

“I can’t,” is what Stiles says, immediately. Has to say it immediately, because otherwise he’d say something like fuck yes and then wouldn’t he be up shit creek? He knows why he want to say yes, and it isn’t because of the money. “I mean, I -” and Peter’s gaze is on him, sharp, like Stiles is just negotiating, like this is another power play, but Stiles can’t, he can’t leave his dad, not now, maybe not ever, the way he takes care of himself. ”I don’t live alone,” and the way Peter’s eyes flare makes something in the pit of Stiles’s stomach sour.

“I see,” Peter says. Calls himself every kind of fool. Even paying for him, he knows he thinks of Stiles as his. Knows how foolish it is. Who would have thought, that he would be the one to get attached? Somewhere Derek is laughing his ass off and doesn’t know why. “No matter,” and goes back to his newspaper. Long columns of the business section blurring before his eyes. “I’ll call you about Friday.”

Stiles opens his mouth. Thinks he should explain, maybe, that it’s his father, and then closes his mouth again. What would Peter care about his father? It’s a no, it doesn’t matter why.

“Sounds good.”

And it is. It’s good, it’s fine. Everything like normal. Stiles comes over after his Friday afternoon class. Strips down and sits next to Peter. Gets petted, and fed, sinks right down to where he wants to be, so comforting and slow, while Peter putters around, finishes some reports he’s been putting off.

It’s later something goes wrong. Stiles has his hands tied above his head, some intricate knot or another that Peter has tied with almost terrifying precision; Stiles can feel his hands, but can barely move them at all. Blindfold on. Like a freakin’ horse, Stiles thinks, but with a soft kind of happiness. Makes him mess likely to freak out. Easier to concentrate.

I don’t know what Peter does - too much, too fast, tries something they haven’t really before, or he’s not thinking about it, not properly. He’s thinking about the person Stiles lives with, who would let him do this with a complete stranger, who would let Stiles come home with bite marks and bruises and the careful, languid slide to his walk -

“Lacrosse,” Stiles sobs out, and Peter freezes for a moment. Stiles has never safeworded before; yellow, occasionally, when they’ve tried something new and Peter checked in. Peter is afraid, sometimes, that Stiles tries too hard to please him, thinks too much about the money. Thinks he doesn’t get to say no. Peter has no interest in forcing people beyond their limits. Never wants Stiles to lie to him.

On some level, it’s good to know that he would use his safeword if he needed to.

On another, Peter is furious with himself.

He tries to apologize, later. He’s never been out of control like this, before. Never been so ashamed of himself.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says. He’s fine, really - it was a little overwhelming a second ago, just too much, and Stiles’s mind had kicked into overdrive all of a sudden. He didn’t see it coming. Guess he found a hard limit, is all.

One Friday passes. Then another. Sometimes Peter doesn’t call for the weekend, but never two in the row. Not since this whole thing started.

On one hand, Stiles thinks maybe it’s good to let the whole thing go. To let Peter go. He’s getting in over his head - has been from the beginning, frankly, but now that there are feelings - it might be best to cut his losses. Dad’s hospital bills are nearly paid for. Stiles has plenty of scholarship money. He could just get a regular part-time job like every other student in the world. Give up this life of crime, he says to himself, his best Zoe-voice, and pretends he means it. He really wants to mean it.

Or maybe he says yes because Lydia’s just dumped him in front of a party full of people and he’s a little drunk and a lot reckless, going home with a guy he meets on the street when he stumbles out.

Or maybe A BILLION THINGS, oh my god, what am I doing with my life.

—

Someone made a great post earlier about how Peter says that Stiles is lying when he says “I don’t want to be like you.” Or, more specifically, that Peter hears the lie in “I don’t want”. And maybe some mix of that is true. Maybe Stiles doesn’t want to be a werewolf. Maybe what Stiles means is that he just doesn’t want to be like Peter. Or maybe that part of it was a lie. Because Stiles does.

Stiles wants.

“He really wants to mean it.”

Only deep down, he doesn’t. And when two weekends become three, Stiles flicks through his phone, hovering over ‘Peter.’ He taps it quickly so he can’t back out, and through the ringing tone, his stomach churns, one hand slippery with sweat on his smartphone (bought with Peter’s money), the other one playing with his textbook (bought with Peter’s money).

When he gets told to ‘leave a message’, he realizes that maybe he should have had a plan, maybe he should have written out lines on a napkin before he called, but it’s been too long and it’s just him breathing into the phone, now.

‘Hi — you haven’t called. Not that you have to, just. Did I do something? If it’s about that one time. I was fine — am fine. So, yeah. Call me.’

Stiles hangs up, heart racing, and puts his blazing forehead onto the cheap wood desk before him.

Great.

I WANT ALL OF THOSE SCENARIOS. MESHED INTO ONE OR SOMETHING.  

Where Stiles is a 16-17 student working several jobs to pay for his family’s bills. On one night he dresses nice for some one-shot waiter job he had on the side and fffff his car breaks down in the parking lot. Peter walks in, leaving the chic dinner he had just been attending, and he loves the company of his fellow university teachers he really does but they can be dull as bricks and now they are all drunk and since he can’t get drunk he might as well call it an early night, maybe find some entertainment.

That’s when he stumbles into Stiles, the cute enthusiastic waiter that had caught his eye at the dinner and really watching him navigate his way around the room was the only reason Peter stayed as long as he did. Peter remembers Stiles vaguely as the funny kid from the other side of town and he when he sees a tablemate looking he asks and his colleague says something about a sick dad and a pity there were money troubles there. Then Peter distinctively sees Stiles leave with one of the older waiters of the place and come back a little later with a wad of cash and tousled hair (which was actually Stiles getting paid somewhat under the table and messing his hair trying to figure what he needed to pay first with it). 

So Peter draws some conclusions and asks Stiles’s price. Stiles blurts a ridiculous price and to use protection, and Peter smiles and gets latex gloves in every colours to match Stiles’s skin depending on what they are doing. He uses the black ones the time he buys Stiles for the whole week-end and by Sunday Stiles’s arse is a gorgeous fired bruised that he can’t stop stroking, and the blue ones when Stiles shows up in uniform (because sometimes Stiles doesn’t have time to change and he says it’s  impromptu costume kink night! \o? And Peter might or might not by then totally know or suspect but hey they can pretend to pretend, it’s all good.)

It’s not like he ever really told Stiles about the lycanthropy thing, which he only lets out when Stiles is blindfolded and suspended and so far gone he stopped talking, and so Stiles doesn’t really notice that Peter’s semi furry costume is not a costume at all.

The clawed gloves were startling at first but it feels extremely grounding to be held down by them. and the fur smell is a bit further from what he had read up on the internet about this thing but dude does it work for him.  Especially when Peter has passed several sessions over several weeks fucking him with a knotted dildo, something bright red that Stiles had sucked first, wondering where the hell can someone even buy these things (he had found two different online stores in half an hour later that night). And especially when it works so well for Peter too, Peter who swears a lot on those nights, unravels further the more he fucks Stiles with it. When he’s satisfied with how well Stiles can take it, sometimes he blindfolds Stiles again and fucks him with the dildo as a strap-on, all in-character growling and claiming every centimeter of Stiles’s neck and shoulders in broad lips and nips. 

Then there’s that night where, idk, Stiles’s blindfolds slips, or maybe he’s less gone and notices his surroundings less, maybe Peter slips up, but whatever it is Stiles suddenly realises that oh my god holy fuck that is NOT a costume and Peter’s not wearing a strap on that is his own true mother fucking knot fucking into Stiles. So he kinds of freaks out and safe-words it, and Peter freaks out and lets him go.

Two weeks of intensive research and soul searching and wallet calculations, Stiles calls Peter. 

*SOBS INTO PILLOW* I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS AND YOU GORGEOUS, BRILLIANT, FUCKING PEOPLE!!

NOT EVEN SORRY FOR THIS MASSIVE POST BECAUSelksjajkdlf PETERSTILES i can’t eith tlkjakdfalksdf 

Can I get more of all of the above?  8D

vesperionx:

I love the dialogue in this game.

i-m-gonna-be-somebody:

This is My Design

indigirl94:

yesthatsmynaturalcolour:

“Can you, in fact, “Spock-ify” any phrase that I give you?” (x)

IM CRYING WITH REAL TEARS OF LAUGHTER MY INSIDE PARTS HURT SO MUCH WHY IS THIS SO FUNNY

h E LPD WHAT IDCS AIR

commandereverdeen:

WHAT’S UP INTERNET

If you’re a gamer, you probably noticed all the new stuff being announces at the Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3) in Los Angeles. I’m super excited, especially about all the announcements from Sony and Nintendo.

Lots of people are excited for different consoles and their respective games, LIKE THE 3DS. So here’s your chance to win one! The winner will receive a red 3DS XL system (like new, used only a few times) with its original box, charger, manuals, and AR cards. Plus, the two latest killer apps for the 3DS, Fire Emblem: Awakening and Animal Crossing: New Leaf!

Rules:

1. Sadly, the 3DS is region-locked, so I am only shipping to the United States.
2. Reblogs count, Likes do not. Reblog as much as you like, but try not to spam 50 reblogs in a row.
3. If you make a fake, empty, giveaway blog or something like that to spam reblogs then all your entries will be invalid.
4. I will need the winner’s address for shipping purposes, so you have to be comfortable with sharing this information.

The giveaway will end on Friday, June 21st and the winner will be announced on that day! Good luck!