March 10th is Wheatley’s designated hatchday!
I wanted to make a special post for my little wheat noodle. He’s turning 3 this year. I got him at only 4 months old and it feels like yesterday, but by June I will have officially had him for three years. Time flies.
Happy hatchday, Wheatley! Love you and hope to have you for many years to come!
“You’re really trying to tell me that Low is David Bowie’s best album to date?” Jonathan nodded, opening the brown paper bag that held his lunch.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Y/N’s eyes widened, then shoved her lunch tray to the side. She leaned on her elbows, her hands in front of her.
“I could name five other Bowie albums, easily, that blow Low out of the water,” Jonathan took a bite of his sandwich, then motioned to Y/N.
“Go on then,”
“Station to Station,” Y/N’s right index finger began to point to the fingers on her left hand to count. “Aladdin Sane, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars -obviously-, Diamond Dogs, and my number one favorite Bowie album of all time,” Jonathan mimed exactly what Y/N was saying with her, “Hunky Dory.” Y/N took a deep breath as she finished, then shoved a french fry in her mouth. “It’s like I don’t even know you sometimes,” She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders jokingly, “But, I mean, Low is still a great album,” That made Jonathan chuckle. A body suddenly appeared on the bench next to Y/N, scaring the life out of her. She had one hand on her mouth and the other over her heart to stop herself from screaming. Y/N turned her head and saw Steve Harrington with a dumb grin on his face.
“Tonight?” He looked at Y/N expectantly.
“What?” Her pupils were still wide from the shock, and the word sounded pretty dumb coming from her.
my good friend @lena221b recently reminded me of a series of drabbles i wrote in response to anon asks aaaaages ago. i couldn’t find the original posts (we’re talking years ago, that’s too much scrolling for one mortal girl) so i decided to lump them all together here. the following are a few short snippets of derek and stiles’ life together. in my head they’re all part of the same universe. enjoy!
“I dream about riding you sometimes.”
Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.
Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, just tries to roll himself back over. ‘Tries’ being the operative word, because he somehow manages to get himself tangled in his hoodie and then he’s just struggling on the ground with his head trapped in the sleeve.
Ordinarily Derek would help him, would feel guilty about dropping him in the first place, but right now he’s too preoccupied with choking on his own spit.
Stiles fights his way out of his clothing and gazes up at Derek.
“You’re so big though, I’m not even sure I could get my legs around you.”
Can werewolves go into cardiac arrest? Because it’s happening, Derek’s pretty sure it’s happening.
“And you’re so strong, too. I bet I could just climb up on there and you could keep going for hours.”
Stiles smacks his lips and wiggles on the forest floor and seems completely unconcerned with the way Derek’s world is rearranging itself around him.
“Such a scary wolfy,” Stiles mumbles, eyelashes fluttering. “You’re also really fluffy though.” He reaches out and starts patting Derek’s boot. “Preeeetty.”
Derek steps carefully away from Stiles and smashes his head into the nearest tree. A cut appears on his eyebrow and then heals before he’s even wiped the blood away. Because Stiles is talking about riding Derek in his wolf form. Like he’s some kind of glorified pony. And Derek is so pathetically gone on this boy that he’d let him. He’d growl and snarl and snap his jaws and then he’d get down on his haunches and carry Stiles wherever he wanted to go.
He’s absolutely, definitively not disappointed that Stiles isn’t talking about riding him in his human form because that would be gross and creepy and taking advantage of Stiles’ intoxicated state.
Right, Stiles, who is drunk, and burrowing into a pile of leaves.
Derek sighs at his life and stomps over to pick Stiles up again.
“Whoa, spinny!” Stiles shrieks and clutches at Derek’s collar. When he’s got his feet back under himself he looks around and frowns. “Nooo, no standing, it’s nap time.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning,” Derek grumbles.
“Which is why it’s nap time,” Stiles insists, like it wasn’t his idea to get smashed in the woods in the middle of the night like an utter moron.
“You can sleep back at the loft, okay?” Derek bargains, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and hauling him forward.
“Mmm your bed,” Stiles groans, stuffing his face into Derek’s neck. “Been trying to get into your bed for months.”
Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.
The first time Stiles walks into Derek’s loft and finds him cooking he’s so stunned that he forgets to actually stop walking and crashes into a table.
Derek raises an eyebrow without looking away from where he’s blanching (blanching) vegetables. Once Stiles has stopped rolling around on the floor he uses two bar stools to pull himself right-side-up and brushes himself off as nonchalantly as he can manage.
“You cook?” he asks, trying his hardest not to appear incredulous, but Derek is wearing oven mitts so it’s not really going too well.
Derek levels him with his patented ‘why am I dating an idiot?’ look. It’s very, very flat.
“Yes, Stiles, I can cook,” he says, and pokes at something sizzling in a pan. Stiles boggles. Derek raises his other eyebrow this time. “Why is this shocking? You know I eat.”
“Well, yeah, objectively,” Stiles agrees. “I just always assumed you lived off a diet of Hot Pockets, squirrels, and the tears of your enemies.”
So very flat.
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint. I’ll throw this in the bin and then head out to rustle up some woodland creatures.” He goes to turn off the burner and Stiles dives across the kitchen.
"No, no, no. This is good. This is — What is this?” Stiles takes a whiff and just about hits the floor again. “Oh god, feed me.”
(Stiles can cook too, but his speciality is sweet things. Derek couldn’t bake a cake to save his life. They’re a match made in culinary heaven.)
"No,” Derek says sternly, giving Stiles everything his eyebrows have to offer. “Absolutely not.”
“What! Derek, come on, you know you want one,” Stiles wheedles, waggling his own eyebrows at Derek. He looks ridiculous and definitely not appealing.
“I have my hands full enough just trying to look after you.”
"Hey!” Stiles squawks. “I resent that! I am a fully functioning adult, thank you very much,” he says, puffing himself up.
All Derek has to do is glance pointedly at the thing curled up in Stiles’ arms and he puffs right back down again.
“I’ll keep her at my place! You won’t even know she’s there. I’ll take such good care of her, I swear.” Derek remains unmoved. Stiles pulls out the big guns. “Babe, please.” Damn him. “Just look at that face. You can’t say no to that face.”
The thing is, Derek is dangerously close to letting slip just how true that is. He’ll never be able to say no to Stiles. He might put up a token protest, but Derek knows that the second Stiles asks him for anything he’s already screwed.
And right now Stiles isn’t pulling his punches either. He’s got the big eyes and the pouty lips and his neck stretched out at the most perfect angle and Derek’s ready to fall to his knees and offer Stiles everything.
Except, what, no, not this time, Stiles is starting to make him legitimately insane.
“Who are you?! Hagrid?!” he exclaims. “Put the dragon down, Stiles.”
Stiles pulls this heartbroken face, and Derek is almost swayed except dragon.
“But she’s just a baby!” Stiles wails. “She doesn’t know how to look after herself.”
“She just singed off Scott’s eyebrows,” Derek says flatly. “I think she’ll be fine.”
(On the walk back to the Jeep Derek offers to buy Stiles a cat in place of the dragon, because they’re basically the same thing anyway and Derek is a sucker.)
“I told you not to do it,” Derek sing-songs, condescendingly, not even looking up from his book. The ass.
“No you didn’t,” Stiles moans from his place on the couch. He removes his arm from his face to glare weakly at said ass. “You said, ‘As if you’d ever get your nipple pierced’. Which was basically a direct challenge. Which means of course I did it.”
Derek doesn’t even stop reading to roll his eyes at Stiles. He just kind of widens them slightly with a long-suffering look on his face. The ass.
"This is entirely your fault,” Stiles whines. Derek doesn’t respond at all.
Stiles wriggles around making pitiful noises until Derek snaps his book shut with a growl. “What.”
“It hurts,” Stiles sniffles.
“Well that’s because you poked a piece of metal through your flesh,” Derek bitches, but he gets up and walks over to the couch anyway. He lifts Stiles’ legs and settles himself down, Stiles’ thighs splayed across his lap. Then he curls his hand around Stiles’ knee and begins leeching his pain.
“Better?” he asks, and Stiles hums in the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut.
He’s just about to drop off the edge of consciousness when something hot and wet envelops his nipple. Stiles jerks violently and finds Derek staring up at him from his chest, eyes dancing. He grins wickedly and flicks his tongue against the bar and Stiles melts.
(Derek ends up loving Stiles’ nipple piercing. Stiles lords it over him for months until Derek comes home with a piercing in a much more sensitive place. Stiles’ mouth is busy doing other things after that.)
Derek went into this relationship with Stiles with his eyes wide open. Which basically meant he was expecting a lot of sex, because every second word out of the kid’s mouth was innuendo and he smelled constantly turned-on. And Stiles did not disappoint. There was a lot of sex. A lot.
Derek was not expecting the cuddling. But five months in Derek’s beginning to wonder if Stiles is actually a were-octopus and just hasn’t told him yet.
No matter how aggressively he spoons Stiles when they’re drifting off to sleep, he’ll always wake up buried under warm, clingy boy.
When Derek joined the Stilinski’s in visiting the Sheriff’s mother over Thanksgiving, he passed out alone on the couch and woke to Stiles wrapped around him, his face shoved under a throw pillow.
Stiles holds him in the shower, tucks Derek under his arm at pack movie nights, plasters himself to Derek’s back in the kitchen when he’s soft and tired-eyed.
The first time Stiles grabbed Derek’s hip and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder while they were both brushing their teeth Derek spent two whole minutes staring at him in the mirror. The first time. Now it feels weird whenever he’s not lopsided during his entire morning routine.
For years after Kate, Derek was uncomfortable being touched. Other people’s hands made his blood pump harder and his breathing turn shallower and his muscles coil up. Now, the safest he ever feels is when Stiles’ arms are snug around his heart.
Request: Can you do a Peter Parker x reader where you are around Peter’s age (1 year older) and a badass avenger with a public identity and best friends with Peter and when is being teased by a bunch of bullies about being a nerd with no girlfriend until he blurts out that you’re his girlfriend and they don’t believe him and tell him to prove it he runs up and kiss you begging you to go along with it
Peter was fucked. That was it. He knew the minute those few words came from his lips that he was eternally fucked.
The boys who sat at the table directly ahead of him had turned around and started pestering him, again. Honestly, at this point in the school year he was used to it, it didn’t bug him like it used to, if anything it was just a nuisance now, a nuisance he’d do anything to get rid of. So that’s why when they started pestering him about having a significant other he flipped and blurted out,
"I’m actually dating someone, you know (Y/N) (Y/L/N), that really cute senior?“ The boys look a him as though he was crazy and at this point Peter think he may be.
"There’s no way you’re dating them,”
"Nope, I totally am,“ Peter leans into his seat, smirking at the boys almost cooly.
"Yeah? Then prove it,” They boys smirk back, making Peters blood run cold.
(Y/N) was his best friend, his partner with shield, they were amazing and understanding but would they understand enough to help him out?
"Go up and kiss them,“ Peter gulps as his eyes travel to (Y/N)’s table where they were valiantly studying for an upcoming graduate test. He knew he shouldn’t disturb them at such a time but before he knew it his feet were carrying him to their table, forcing him to seat and turn to (Y/N) with a hopeful expression.
"Pete, I’m kinda busy right now,” (Y/N) supplies before Peter even has time to open his mouth.
"But (Y/N), it’s really important-“ (Y/N) turns to look at Peter with their best bitch face, a face that sent fear tingling down his spine.
"This better be good or I swear to god I’m going to beat your ass,” Peter sighs as he looks at his hands, twiddling his thumbs a bit as he does.
"Well- so those guys who um-“ Peter didnt want to say bullying, he didn’t want to seem weak around (Y/N). "Those guys I was just talking to,” Peter gestures to the guys behind him, all staring at him intently. “They’ve been mocking me for the last couple of months-”
“they’ve been bullying you?"
"No, that’s not what I said-”
“Do I need to beat them for you?"
"No! God, no, I just need you to kiss me,” (Y/N) stares at Peter with a dumbfounded expression, as though he had just grown a second head or three.
“Are you fucking serious?"
"I know, I know, you can beat my ass later but please, I just need this,” Peter gives (Y/N) his best puppy dog eyes, he even threw in a pout just for good measure.
(Y/N) was seriously contemplating saying no but then they heard the boys snickering and mocking Peter. Gritting their teeth (Y/N) leans forward, cupping Peters cheeks as they connected their lips to his.
His lips were surprisingly soft and sweet and (Y/N) knew It was horrible to think but they wanted more. Plus, Peter wasn’t too bad of a kisser- in fact he was good, maybe a little too good.
(Y/N) pulls away (even if they were reluctant), licking their lips as they look to Peter with half lidded eyes, almost as though they were drunk. Peter looks almost disbelieving himself as he stares at (Y/N), more specifically their lips.
"Was I your first kiss?” (Y/N) asks, cutting the younger boy short. Peter looks a bit sheepish at first, his cheeks dusting a light pink as he looks down at his hands.
“Is it that obvious?” (Y/N) smirks as they hum, casually turning back to their papers to get back to work.
"No,“ Peter looks surprised at this, eyes wide and lips parted. "You’re surprisingly good,” And that was all the information (Y/N) gave Peter before they set back to work, smirking as Peter made his way back to his own table with a new sense of shock and pride.