Domesticated | T. Todoroki

sometimes I forget stranger things isn’t this little tight-knit tumblr fandom

I’ll see rednecks in my classes talk about the show and every single time I think I’m hallucinating

….like is this fandom not just a bunch of gay people on my phone…? nah no way

i got so sad when trevor had to leave ice spice 💔💔

I just saw your post about request so I want to make your day. May I request headcanons of Zach dealing with a crush on the reader who just helps out with solider. He sees them a lot and can’t help but think about them. :)

Yay, thank you! This is a great request and I really enjoyed working on these headcanons, so I hope you like what I came up with. <3 Let me know what you think!

Zack Fair x gn!reader – how he acts when he has a crush on you (HCs) 

Having a crush on someone is honestly a bit stressful for Zack. He’s just not good at hiding his emotions, and he feels like everyone can read him like an open book, so he’s always a bit afraid that someone will figure out how much you mean to him. It’s not that he’s embarrassed about his feelings for you – everyone can fall in love, right? – but he doesn’t want anyone to make stupid comments when you’re around.

It’s not a conscious decision but Zack definitely tries to impress you whenever there’s an opportunity to do so. He’s not exactly bragging but it’s quite obvious that he brings up the success rate of his missions and his achievements during training to make an impression on you, almost as if he wants to prove that he’s strong enough to protect you, should it ever be necessary. It’s actually pretty cute but whenever he thinks about these situations later on he can’t help but feel like he has made a fool of himself. (That won’t stop him from acting the exact same way the next time you see each other, though. He just can’t help it.) 

More often than not, Zack ends up embarrassing himself during conversations with you. He wears his heart on his sleeve anyways but during conversations with you, it’s even worse. It’s almost like his brain stops to function properly when you’re around, no matter how much he tries not to say something stupid. 

Even when you’re not around, Zack can’t help but think about you and the way you always smile at him when you meet. Just the thought of it is enough to make his heart skip a beat, and he often finds himself smiling like an idiot as he thinks about your latest encounter. It’s moments like this that make him realize once again how much he really likes you. 

To be perfectly honest, he has considered asking you out quite often but, despite his optimistic and carefree nature, a part of him is always afraid that you’ll reject him. It’s torture to be around you without having a clue if you maybe return his feelings, yes, but it would be even worse to know that he’s not more than a friend to you. It honestly drives him crazy to mull over these things all the time – and in the end, that might be what drives him to finally confess his feelings to you. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider reblogging, sending some feedback to my inbox and/or leaving a comment. I'd really appreciate the support. <3

batman did not take a single nap that entire film. man’s surviving off one hour of sleep (from getting knocked out by the bomb), an adrenaline shot, and a crumb he found in his pocket 

Bakugo, playing Kingdom Hearts: Why the hell is Goofy trying to act tough? Like that old man dog can fight shit.

Izuku:

Izuku: I disagree, I think he can hyuck you up.

Bakugo, pausing the game: Get the hell out.

having a grocery list filled with fruits and vegetables and taking your trophy husband Eddie along who picks up every vegetable and says "is this *insert item on your list*?" and you just have to giggle and be like "no baby" and he pulls a "ah. i'm close though right?" signature smirk and cute little peck on the lips before he's onto the next display of veggies

Oh my god shut up shut up shut up. This is my fucking kink.

Eddie’s holding up an avocado and you’re like “babe we’re making Italian food tonight.”

“Does that makes a difference?” He asks, looking down at the unripe avocado in his hand. You smile at him so patiently that he laughs.

“Avocados are great with Mexican food…not so much for pasta. You know what, though? Grab some. We’ll make guacamole tomorrow.”

Eddie’s smile is so wide his face can barely contain it. He grabs a few avocados - but not before you explain how to pick out the perfect one, not too soft and not too hard - and gently places them in the cart. You move on to the next part of the produce section, trusty list in hand, but before you can select the perfect head of garlic Eddie’s arms are winding around your waist and his chin is resting in the dip of your shoulder.

“What is it, baby?” you ask, laughing at his tight grip. He places a fat, wet kiss on your cheek before speaking quietly in your ear.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Princess.”

The words send chills throughout your body. Chills that are 50% romantic and 50% deeply inappropriate for the current grocery store setting. You turn your head to do your best and look over your shoulder at him.

“You’re the one who takes care of me, Eddie.” You say it definitively and with a slowly spreading smile on your face. It makes Eddie’s knees feel weak, so he tightens his hold on you in order to stay grounded.

“So what you’re saying is we complete each other. Like some fairytale shit?” He leans down and drags his nose up the line of your cheek and you giggle, clutching onto him.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you agree, before planting a deep kiss right on his lips - a kiss that’s probably offending every grandmother and house wife perusing the produce beside you.

Eddie is the one to pull away first, chuckling when you try to put your tongue in his mouth. His fingers caress the skin exposed between the hem of your top and the upper edge of your pants.

“Okay, before I fuck you in this grocery store, please, for the love of god, tell me what’s next on the list.”

“Remember how I taught you to pick out onions?” You ask, rubbing a stray bit of your lipstick which has transferred to the corner of his mouth. Eddie straightens dramatically and with purpose.

“How many onions do you require, my lady?”

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

shy shy shy

a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship

masterlist | requests are open!

buy me a ko-fi!

nerdy peter lovers rise

They were just glasses.

On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.

Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.

Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.

Metal frames, thick lenses.

Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?

Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.

He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.

Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."

percolator

warnings: 16+ smokin weed, mentions / talking about sex (no actual sex)

a/n: i attempted to unlock every bit of stoner knowledge i had from my high school days, but the weed fucked with my memory so don’t mind the weird writing. i am not dumb my brain is just the fried egg from the DARE commercial!!!! also my parents (born:1972) claim that everyone called weed pot back then so im rolling with that. u call it dated i call it historical accuracy.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

you knocked on your boyfriend’s front door, giddily bouncing from foot to foot. the plastic bag held in your opposite hand brushed against your thigh as you were waiting for him to answer the door.

seconds later, you were met with the face of your mulleted boyfriend. cheeks flushed and eyes a shade redder than the usual look of acute sleep deprivation. he was probably high.

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