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zepskies · 7 months

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Talk to Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Ben had a vivid nightmare last night. You know how he is about his “man feelings.” But you try to get him to open up anyway, before you both lose your tempers.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @deans-spinster-witch. It's set in the Break Me Down-verse and is a sequel to the SB imagine below:

See this imagine for context: Ben loses you.

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Imagine: You confront Ben about his fears.

“What the fuck is wrong with this cocksucking coffee maker?” Ben snarked.

He bumped the top of it with his hand, so hard you thought he was going to break it.

Your brows furrowed as you shot him a look. It was too early for all that.

“Nothing?” you said. “Worked just fine for me.”

He sported an even grumpier face as the coffee finally poured into his mug.

Something’s wrong, you thought.

Ben was usually quiet in the morning. Relaxed and slow until he’d had his coffee and started his routine, with his newspaper at his favorite lounge chair, then breakfast in the kitchen with you.

You were making pancakes on a griddle, but you were also watching your boyfriend. He wasn’t just quiet. He was downright grouchy and taciturn.

What crawled up his ass? you thought. Though you had your suspicions...

“Breakfast is done,” you called to him.

He eventually joined you, sitting down at the breakfast bar. You served him a mildly enormous stack, and just two pancakes for yourself. In most respects, Ben was still a bottomless pit.

However, after eating the first couple of pancakes in silence, he pushed away from his plate and leaned back in his seat. You held your coffee mug between both hands and eyed him.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, repeating the very words you’d asked him last night.

He glanced at you through surly brows. “Yeah. You can stop asking me that.”

Right, you thought. He’d been twitching in his sleep, muttering, making sounds that had worried you enough to wake him with a gentle hand on his dewy arm. His response had worried you too—that haze of disoriented shock, followed by relief when he recognized your face.

You’d comforted him the best you could after his nightmare, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. You knew he wouldn’t now, either. That didn’t stop you from trying.

You set down your mug and soothed a hand up his arm, until your fingers disappeared under his shirt sleeve.

“What’s got you all sunshine and rainbows then, Mr. Grouch?” you lightly teased. “I even made you pancakes. Still waiting on my thank you.”

Ben didn’t want to answer, though he briefly glanced at you. He slurped at his coffee.

You sighed. A tick of annoyance at your brow.

“Okay," you said. "Well, since we had breakfast here, I figured we could go out for lunch later when we get to the city. There’s this amazing deli I could take you to—”

“We’re not going,” Ben said.

You blinked in surprise. Your hand fell away from his shoulder. “What?”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said. And without looking at you, he grabbed his half-full plate and got up to bring it over by the sink. He speared a few pancakes back onto the plate you’d served them up in before dumping his plate into the sink.

At least he was learning something about living with you. Now, if he really wanted to impress you, he'd wash that damn dish.

But for now, you wanted answers more than you wanted clean plates. You slowly got up out of your chair and went to him. You tried your best not to be accusatory when you asked your next questions.

“What do you mean? What do you have to do?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer you. Or maybe, he didn’t have a good answer, because he was fucking lying.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Ben. I need you to talk to me right now, because this is our first day off together in weeks. You know this was supposed to be our day. So you’d better have a damn good reason.”

He frowned angrily down at you. “We’re not going because I fucking said so. That’s all you need to know.”

You glared back at him, standing your ground.

You raised a brow. “That’s not good enough with me, and you know it. But if that’s how you’re going to be about it, I’ll call Annie and make it a girls’ day.”

You turned on your heel to walk away, but an iron hand grabbed your wrist. Holding back a wince, you frowned at Ben over your shoulder. His face was tight with irritation.

“You’re not going any-damn-where,” he snapped.

“You better let me go, right now,” your temper snapped right back.

This man was protective, but he had never been this bad. Not even after you got out of the hospital after Vought Tower collapsed. Granted, you’d been fully healed. He’d never outright tried to forbid you from leaving the house though.

“What the hell is your problem?” you said.

He didn’t want to let you go, but after a beat, he released you. His frown deepened when you had to rub the ache out of your wrist.

He hadn’t meant to grip you that hard. Part of him relented…but then it firmed back up, when he remembered last night. The images were still filtering through his mind on a loop.

The alley, the blood slipping through his fingers, your pale, cold cheek, and lifeless eyes staring up at him.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” he said gruffly.

You tilted your head at him. Your face was tight and angry now, but you still followed him into the living room. You sat down together on the couch, and with crossed arms, you waited for him to speak.

His elbow rested on his knee while his hand swept over his mouth and beard. Then his gaze slid over to yours.

“You need to take Compound V,” he said.

To say that shocked you was an understatement. Your eyes widened, and your body went rigid.

“Excuse me?” you said lowly.

“There’s no way around it,” he said. Grit was laced in his voice, but you didn’t care.

“I’ve made myself very clear—”

“And you also said we’d revisit this little chat, so here we are,” Ben retorted. “You need to live in fucking reality. I can’t be with you 24/7. I don’t trust those CIA fucks to wipe their own ass, let alone keep an eye on you. Especially when I’m in the field.”

You just managed to lasso in your temper when you finally realized where this was coming from. You inhaled a couple of calming breaths. Your fingers tapped your knees. You sat up straighter before you turned to him more fully.

Your hand reached out to cover his on his thigh.

“Ben,” you started. Soft and even. “What did you dream last night?”

His face tightened further, his lips pressed into a line. It took him a moment, but eventually he answered.

“Nothing. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

“We both know that it does,” you chided.

When he just maintained his stoic façade, you slid closer to him on the couch. You curled a hand around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

You looked up at him.

He didn’t want to break.

You just waited until the green of his eyes met yours.

“Hey. It’s just me,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

His brows knit together, slightly. His jaw clenched and twitched under his skin.

“I lost you,” he said.

Admitting to that was like admitting that his uniform was a lie; that he had no fear. That he was invulnerable. That he was a god in human form.

But you had become the last human part of him. To lose that would be to lose everything again, worse than 1984.

Somehow, you’d become his reason…for most things. He didn’t think you realized it, nor would he allow himself to tell you.

His eyes closed when you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You let your fingers sift through his hair, brushing it back and away from his forehead.

“Do you know why I want to stay normal?” you asked. "Albeit fragile and breakable."

He didn’t answer, but his eyes silently asked for one.

“Because I want to stay myself,” you said. “Power corrupts, and there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be the woman you loved anymore if I injected that shit into my veins.”

Ben frowned. He hadn’t considered that…but he still felt it was a price worth paying.

You moved off the couch and into his lap. He welcomed you with an arm curling around your waist and another moving up your thigh.

Your arms twined around his neck, and you kissed him properly, nice and slow. He tasted like coffee and maple syrup. His hair was soft between your curling fingers.

You parted from him after a while, just to press another comforting kiss to his temple.

“I know what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry,” you whispered against his skin. “But we’ll figure something else out.”

“How?” he scoffed, his brows furrowing again. “In a few decades—”

“I thought you didn’t mind a few wrinkles,” you teased.

A smirk flickered across his lips. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But we have time. I promise, we’ll figure this out.”

Ben didn’t totally believe you. There was going to come a time where you were going to have to make a choice: between him and your principles.

It wasn’t fair, but that was the reality. Life wasn’t fucking fair.

Until then, maybe he could make one concession.

“If you want…” he said. You leaned back enough to see his face.

He met your gaze. “We can go to dinner later. In the city.”

A slow smile spread across your face.

“But we’re getting a private room,” he warned, squeezing your hips. “And we’re driving there and back. That’s it.”

Your smile warmed further, and kissed the corner of his mouth. You were sure you could convince him to go a Broadway show afterwards, if you plied him in a few key ways...

“I like the idea of a private room,” you said.

His fingers crept up your pajama pants, drifting down between your thighs. His thumb started to stroke warmth through your panties. It had you smiling, sighing, subtly pressing into his hand.

His smirk deepened.

“You do, don’t you?” he said.

You let out a breathy laugh at the change in him. It didn’t take much to get him worked up. So you hugged him close and spoke into his ear all the things you had planned for him tonight.

Before, and after dinner.

AN: Lol I love writing this lovable asshole. 💚 Especially in the BMD-verse.

I have more Dean imagines coming soon! Including a requested sequel to "You are Dean's one exception," in which Sam "crosses the line"... 🫣

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

#Talk to Me #reader request #soldier boy #Imagine Ben losing you sequel #You confront Ben about his fears #hurt/comfort #Soldier Boy imagine #BMD verse #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #Break Me Down verse #zepskies answers

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norrizzandpia · 9 months

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She Doesn’t Know Who I Am (LN4)

Summary: Lando’s in New York and no one knows who he is. Especially the girl who asks for his number.

Warnings: nothing really, the vaguest inference to alcohol consumption? If that, man, but lmk if i missed any ofc

Lando was always weary of the United States. From the intrusive people to the crazed, horrific politics, he always tried to stay away. However, once a year, or season, he had an obligation to make an appearance in one of the fifty maniacal states. This year, the region in which would be graced with his chaotic presence was that of New York.

Y/n was the typical college student, ruthless and stupid as she went through her days at NYU. Crazy parties and a lack of sleep filled her days as she struggled to get through her second to last year in school. While part of her hated the way New York operated and how unsafe she felt, there was nothing like the beauty of the city. Her whole life had been spent in a small town where she felt trapped and alone, but in the big city, she felt a part of something, almost as if she was finally contributing to something. What she was contributing to, she didn’t know, but, in her mind, that didn’t really matter.

What did matter, however, was her friends dragging her out of bed and forcing her to go out with them whilst on two hours of sleep.

“I can get bagels literally any day. Please,” She put her hands in prayer as she pleaded with her best friend, “Paige, let me go back to bed.”

Paige looked back at her as if she had grown three heads, “No way. You go back to bed now, you’ll sleep all day and then be screwed up tomorrow. Then, you’ll complain about your sleep schedule being off and get mad at me for not waking you up. This is a much easier Y/n to deal with, thank you very much.”

Her response seemed to shut Y/n up as she hung her head low and trotted behind her brunette friend.

—

The walk to the bagel place had been longer than usual as they ran into George, a homeless man who lived at the end of their street and they had come to love. He had been there since the moment they moved in, coming and going as he moved to different places to sleep. After a few years of becoming friends with him, they learned he was a veteran who came back with severe PTSD, and, in turn, had to deal with tumultuous debts for his tries to stop the depressing spiral. While he had successfully gotten over the painful flashbacks, he never came back from the money he owned, the main reason why he ended up on the streets. The girls had found sympathy for the man and whenever he was there, sitting at the end of their block, they gave him fifty dollars each, whether they were struggling with their own financial burdens or not.

His smile had sent them into the rest of their breakfast with happier attitudes as Y/n’s annoyance for being conscious disappeared. However, they returned for the entire duration they spent waiting in the long line in the cramped, stuffy deli. Nonetheless, once she had scarfed down her bagel sandwich and chugged some water, she found life to be much lighter.

—

Lando, on the other hand, had been wandering around Central Park aimlessly with Max and a few other McLaren PR employees. The group had been out shooting content for both the racing company and his own company, Quadrant. Checking out different sights and throwing middle fingers up when they crossed the Trump building, the two boys found themselves having lots of fun in the country they thought so little of.

“Maybe this shit isn’t that bad?” Max chuckled as they stared at the lake that stretched across the park, a piano sounding lightly behind them from a street performer.

Lando nodded, liking the way no one was recognizing him and he could just be, “Yeah, maybe it’s just the politics that dampens the whole thing.”

—

“I’ll seriously never get over how stunning it is in here,” Y/n whispered as she and Paige strolled through a particularly secluded area of Central Park.

“Mhm, me neither.” Paige smiled as the two girls cherished the moment together.

Y/n turned her head to catch the brunette’s brown eyes, “Ever think about what would have happened if we never met?”

Paige pulled a look, “Absolutely not. That sounds like hell.”

“You’re not wrong.” Y/n laughed, “But, seriously, like, how would we even be surviving right n-”

Her abrupt stop to her sentence had Paige turning to look at the girl. With Y/n’s jaw dropped and cheeks ablaze, she followed her best friend’s eyeline, stumbling upon two boys who looked about the same age as them.

“Wow.” Y/n said aloud as she stared, mesmerized, at the man.

“Which one are you looking at?” Paige tried to decipher.

“Brown curls,” Y/n responded immediately, allowing her best friend to finally hone in on the boy of her friend’s choosing.

Paige smiled softly as she pictured Y/n with the boy standing in front of them, a cute couple they would be.

“He’s cute. Go ask for his number!” Paige said excitedly as she pushed Y/n in the direction of the particularly striking young man.

Y/n instantly paled, “What?! No way! Absolutely not!”

“Why?! Y/n, you literally haven’t dated anyone since freshman year. Come on, you’ll never even see him again if he rejects you. Please? For me, at least?” Paige pleaded, giving her best friend a look that she couldn’t turn away.

Huffing, Y/n began walking away, muttering, “The things I do for you.”

—

Y/n first caught Lando’s eye in his peripheral. The quick flash of y/h/c had him turning around to quickly glance at the newfound presence.

He almost lost his footing at the sight of her.

Black leggings and a sweatshirt never looked so good on someone as she approached him. His eyes were followed by Max, the boy laughing at a Lando who was clearly very taken by the girl coming up to them.

“If she asks to take a picture, I’m going to be so devastated,” Lando whispered as she smiled at them, the sight making him want to melt to the ground and beg her to go out with him.

It dawned on him that he didn’t even know her name yet, but that was a passing thought as she came to stop in front of him.

“Hi,” She stared up at him, clearly nervous, “My friend is forcing me to do this, so don’t think I’m doing this willingly.”

Her next few words Lando was already preparing himself for. Either her sentence could send him into a euphoric orbit or she could crush his dreams by being a fan.

She took a deep breath, Lando smiling at her cute demeanor, before she continued, “I just thought you were really cute and thought that, maybe, I could get your number? My name’s Y/n, by the way.”

Max was quick to jump infront of his lovestruck friend, not trusting the girl’s intentions.

“Sorry, he doesn’t give out his number.” He shot out, Y/n grimacing as she took in the embarrassment.

“Is he a celebrity or something?” She tried to recover with jokes, but it just made the faces of the two boys pale more.

The one that she liked, the one with the soft curls, stepped in front of his friend as he shook his head, “No, no. He’s just overprotective,” He sent his friend a threatening gaze, “I’m Lando and I would love to give you my number.”

Y/n was too caught up in the meaning behind Lando’s look to catch the way he was staring down at her, brown eyes big and round as he shot her a toothy grin. Their eyes met, and she flushed under his stare.

Tucking some hair behind her ear, she quickly got out her phone, “Oh, cool! Here you go.”

Lando’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed in his work phone number, not his personal. While he wanted to trust in her cluelessness, he couldn’t be that reckless.

Sliding her phone back to her in a way that allowed for their fingers to brush against each other, Y/n beamed triumphantly, something Lando knew he was going to grow to love.

She stood there for a few moments before nodding her head and beginning her walk back to her friend, “I’ll call you soon. We’ll figure something out.”

Lando nodded eagerly at her, a sign that he liked her just as much as she liked him. When her figure was a dot in the distance, Max turned to him and smacked him on the chest, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!? You can’t just shovel out your number like that! That was way too dangerous, Lando.”

His stern lecture had Lando rolling his eyes, “Max, two things. 1) I gave her my work phone, and 2) I’m willing to bet my seat in McLaren that she has no clue who I am.”

His best friend shifted on his feet as he looked at him, “You really think so?”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. I’ve seen fans try to play it cool, and even then, when they outwardly say they know my favorite flavor of ice cream, I can tell they’re freaking out on the inside. Her nerves seemed more to be the type of just asking a random stranger out rather than meeting her idolized driver.”

Max shook his head, “If you insist.”

—

Paige smiled proudly at her best friend as they began making their way out of the park, “So, what was his name anyway?”

Y/n thought hard for a moment before guessing, “Land? Lanyard? Something like that. I can’t remember. I was too caught up in his biceps to comprehend anything he was saying to me. I just hope he isn’t a murderer.”

NOTE: lmk if you guys want me to make a part 2 to this where they go out on a few dates and a month in or so she finds out or he tells her (something roughly like that)

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #mclaren #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #max fewtrell #new york #big apple #the big city #i love that city

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literaila · 5 months

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PETER PARKER ANGST????❤️🫡🛬🤭😍🗣🙀🫡😀🫡🫶😀😟🫶😟❤️ (if you dont write it ill sob violently on the floor ☹️)

we could call it even

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary:

"peter parker," she says, "you're like a legend around here."

warnings: unspecified angst, series, no fluff, no explanation

a/n: might i introduce a playlist entitled stupid boy which i listened to while writing this (and the other parts????)

there's a specific time of night that is appropriate to go to the market.

or inappropriate, depending on how old you are.

if you're in your sixties and sometimes feel like your joints are just notches that need to be oiled, midnight probably isn't your designed time for grocery shopping. seven in the morning is typically the best time for swollen lungs and--literal--broken hearts.

but if you're you, exhausted from running around all day, unpleasant from all of the people you've talked to, and trying to avoid anyone (everyone) you might know--and secrets you don't feel like sharing--then midnight is a perfect time. and perfectly normal, thank you very much.

you're not even sure why meyer's is open this late. there's no way the owner, jerry, is staying up until midnight to check out the lowlifes or drunk teenagers stopping by, and you know that these aren't prime business hours--evident by the crickets you can hear behind the 'fresh produce' section. maybe he forgets that it's open, and that susan--the only person willing to work here--is still on the clock. or maybe he's just taking pity on you. you don’t think he’s ever there, but maybe he hides around corners, noting the new lines on your face so he can report it back to every person in town. gossip is like a disease, and you’re never alone in a place like this. never quite at peace.

you look around the next shelf for jerry, or a gust of wind that follows him running away. there’s only silence. the echoes of your footsteps.

it doesn't matter why meyer’s is open. you're thankful for this time alone. or at least by yourself.

it's a welcome change to have no one judge you for your selection of deli cheese and baked goods. or the three containers of instant coffee you've hidden underneath it all. just out of habit.

tuesday nights are yours, and the market is your chosen domain.

usually, that is. usually, you're all alone. usually, you can run around on the carts and pick up anything you accidentally knock over. you can spill an entire bottle of wine on the floor and no one will blink an eye. jerry wouldn’t even be able to hear it from three feet away.

but tonight--on this tuesday when your feet hurt a little bit more than necessary, and your eyes are twitching at all of the lights--apparently you're not alone.

which you wished you would have realized before you started humming 'single ladies' a bit too loudly.

you wished you would have skipped shopping at all, really, as soon as you see his face.

his wide eyes--surprised and silvered by age, much like yours--and his open mouth.

in a different world, you would be shocked--shocked instead of scared--and you might run to him. you might ask him why he didn't tell you he was coming? what is he doing here? in a different world, you two would be the only people in the market and it would be fine.

it might even be great.

this subtle shift in autonomy wouldn’t hurt the peace you’re looking for on this tuesday night.

there wouldn't be this obvious horror story standing between the two of you, this looming presence. the history of a thousand lies, bruise after bruise, and scars so red that they could burn through the ground. glass shattered around your feet.

the lights might as well start flickering. you should probably call out "hello?" even though he's right in front of you, and if he was going to murder you, he probably wouldn't answer. a door should creak.

you should probably go.

you should probably run away before he can take a step closer. you don't look a threat in the eye and smile at it. you don't feed a stray cat.

it always comes back.

why is he here?

you take a step away. as soon as you notice him--behind, between, all over you--silence ensues. you might as well be at a loss for words. you don't have much to say to him.

not to that look in his eyes, or his receding hairline, or that peak on his mouth.

because peter would be here. at this time. and he would be trying to hide a smile, a smirk, when he's not even supposed to be within a five-hundred-foot vicinity of you.

actually, maybe you forgot to mail that restraining order.

but the words come out anyway because your body has always betrayed you when it comes to him.

"peter?" you blurt out, and just saying the word stirs the simmering feeling inside of you. just saying his name is enough of a warning.

"hey," he whispers and takes a step closer. you step back. he leans away like he knows his proximity is toxic. "sorry, i didn't mean to scare you."

i didn't mean to.

and yet.

you breathe and forget how to blink. he might disappear. "peter," you repeat, as a form of masochism. you don't breathe at all.

"sorry," he says, again. he doesn't say what for. there could be a million things.

"um," you choke out, looking around--away from him and his manipulative eyes. "what?" you laugh to yourself, hand running over your face. you roll your eyes back into your head and laugh again. you shake your head.

you look at peter, at his furrowed brow and inward stance, and you snort. look away from him before it's too late.

you're laughing like something is funny. it's not.

it's really not.

"are you..." peter is swallowing. you'd like to pretend that his voice is hollow and cold, much like that cave inside your chest, but it's not. you recognize that concern, that softness in his voice that used to be just yours. "are you okay?"

you almost giggle at him. it comes out as more of a cough.

you wonder if you look like a ghost. some remanent of who you used to be--the person that only peter used to know.

"peter," you sigh, and step away from your cart. into the shelf you've been backing yourself into.

you step away from him, still shaking your head.

"i've got to--" you trip as you turn around and say to mostly yourself, "i've got to go."

groceries, and peter, be damned, you think, as you walk out of the building and prepare yourself to never ever come back.

it wouldn't be the first time.

you are having your daily debate with mrs. brooke about the amount of calories in each pastry, in which you tell her that you only measure the amount of pleasure someone might get out of each one—which earns you a lovely sneer—and that she should try the blueberry scone.

she always rolls her eyes at you, says something about watching her weight even though she’s looked the same since you were five years old and sneaking through her yard to catch the neighborhood cat. and then she leaves with a breakfast sandwich.

it’s actually one of the most enjoyable parts of your day.

here’s the thing about knowing every single person that comes into the shop: you know exactly what they’re going to order, and you know what type of conversation you’re going to have with them.

mrs. brooke always stresses about her breakfast, her smile a tense sort of pleasant, but by the time she leaves her head is held a little higher. if she chooses the sandwich instead of the scone, then she’s started her day off right. you used to feel exasperated by her indecisive nature, but now you find it kind of adorable.

mr. meyer—jerry—just comes in so he can complain about the surplus of options on your menu. he wants a black coffee, and he wants to complain. you always smile at him and ask if he’s sure he doesn’t want to try the raspberry green tea. he finds this less than humorous.

every kid wants some kind of hot chocolate—which you actually have an excessive amount of—and no matter what their parents say, you sneak some extra marshmallows in. and everyone pretends otherwise.

susan—your kindergarten teacher, now friend—asks if you’ve met anyone special lately. it doesn’t matter that the selection of single people your age is always the same. there’s got to be someone special, she says to you and leaves with a cider she tells everyone is a latte.

there are the people who want their lattes and mochas, those who want some alternative milk that they complain about—even though you’ve tried every brand on earth—there are the people who don’t ever buy anything, and just come in to pretend they want something and talk to you. they gossip about the other people in town as if you aren’t well aware of everything that goes on.

you roll your eyes, but you appreciate the company. things get pretty boring when you can guess everyone’s schedule.

but you like your tiny tea shop. you like the consistency. you enjoy the smiles you throw out, and the complaints you receive. it’s a routine, and nothing goes wrong. you're in control of this one thing, and that's just how you like it.

in control, that is, of course, until you see him when mrs. brooke is walking away.

“oh!” she says, pausing, her drink shaking in hand, her pink fingernails a smudge against the shadow suddenly coming from right in front of you. she is just a foot too close to him. “is that peter parker?” she asks, saying his voice like an omen, turning around so she can set her cup and bag down, and then hugging him so hard you can see her muscles working beneath her sleeve.

“hey, mrs. brooke,” peter wheezes out, a strangled smile on his aged face. his same eyes.

he is just as surprised as you at her sudden outburst, the cooing noises she's making as she attempts to crumble him.

“look how handsome you’ve gotten! and so strong. what are those new yorkers doing with you?”

“definitely not trying to squeeze me to death.”

mrs. brooke laughs, somewhat vindictively, and she turns back around to look at you, with wide eyes. “did you know he was in town, dear? why didn’t you say anything? i almost had a heart attack.”

peter clears his throat before you can throw any type of face on. any mask. “it’s a surprise,” he mock whispers, and his eyes dash to yours, then away, just as quick. “don’t tell anyone.”

“it’s not like they’d believe me anyway,” she scoffs, “you’re a legend around here.”

“i’m honored.”

she laughs again, then grabs her cup. “oh,” she whispers, too loud. her eyes are tight, as if she’s intruded. “of course. i’ll leave and let you two talk.”

and within a blink of an eye, she is running out of the shop, faster than you’ve ever seen anyone escape from here.

and peter is there, standing in front of you. his face is smooth, calm, his eyes roaming over your face like he still has the privilege of knowing any of it.

and your heart might be racing, if it was still there.

"hi," he whispers. it is quiet enough for you to feel it in your chest. his voice and the memory of it.

does he sound different? has he really changed that much in the last two years? is his face a bit worn? are his eyes a different color?

but it doesn’t matter what rattles through your head—when you look at peter, you just see him. your peter.

except that he’s completely different.

you clear your throat, looking away and pushing off of the counter. “what can i get you?”

peter blinks. “oh, um…” he looks at the menu above your head, back to you. “what—“ he swallows. “what would you recommend?”

“it’s all good.” your voice is clipped. you should’ve said pure brewed black tea, no ice, no sweetener, no cup. just to get him out of here. you should've recommended the starbucks three towns over.

he swallows, again. a hand rakes through his hair. “i… just a sec.”

there is a single second where you grant him the patience you would give every other customer—smile politely and let them know to ask if they have any questions. a single second where you treat him like anybody else.

and then you say: “do you want a mocha, peter?” with an anger that shouldn’t—can’t—be contained inside of you.

you wince at his name. the singe of his brand on you, going down your throat.

peter seems to watch this on your face, because he’s even quieter when he answers, “sure, that’d be great.”

at least some things haven’t changed.

so you grab a cup, writing his name on it, and move to grab the milk.

you turn around and pretend like you’ve just forgotten he’s there.

peter doesn’t take this hint.

“so…” he says, his feet are loud as they tap on the ground. “you still work here, huh?”

you barely grunt a response, spilling chocolate in the cup recklessly. if peter dies of a clogged artery it won’t be your fault.

“that’s nice. felix always loved you. and you loved working here, back in highschool.” you have to face him as you steam the milk, and you try not to pointedly stare. not to roll your eyes or hiss at him. “it’s different though. the decor, i mean. but nice. i like it. did you do it?”

“yes.”

you grab his cup, pouring the milk and shoving the cap on it. “here,” your fingertips burn as you pass it to him, and you don’t think it’s because of the drink.

“thank you.”

you both stand there; peter blinks and doesn’t leave.

he coughs. “i didn’t pay.”

“mrs. brooke would kill me if i made you pay for your first drink back home.”

“well, she knows where you live,” his lip twitches, but he doesn’t laugh.

and neither do you.

“is it just you here?” he asks. “no felix?”

“he sold me the shop a year ago.”

his eyes widen. “oh. oh! that’s great. congrats.”

“thank you.”

you don’t move your eyes from his face, because it’s suddenly not fair that he’s here. that he’s allowed to intrude like this.

“it’s good to see you,” peter relents, a fake smile playing on his lips.

you falter. your heart turns in your chest, just so it doesn’t have to look at him anymore. “i’m working, okay?” you say, whispering. “i can't do this right now.”

“right. yeah.” peter trips on a step back. his eyes are scanning your face again. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t—“ he blows out a breath. “i’m sorry.”

you nod. watch the ground as he stumbles over it.

“i mean it though,” he adds, like he hadn’t thought about it. “it’s good to see you.”

and then peter swallows. you blink at him.

when he turns around the bell rings as he pushes it. and peter doesn’t look back.

he’s right about one thing, at least. it is nostalgic.

"when were you going to tell me?" your mom asks, leaning against her kitchen counter--the same one you scribbled on as a kid, smiley faces still apparent. she's doing that fake smile thing. the one that makes you want to storm off and slam the door like some mistreated teenager.

you don't, but both of you know that you think about it. for at least five seconds

"tell you what?" you ask, instead, setting the groceries you brought for her on the counter.

"about peter."

your eyes close. he would follow you around, wherever you go. he's probably hiding in some vent, smiling maliciously.

there's that teasing voice in your head saying small town, small small town, but you just turn around, ignoring it, and her, and raise a brow. "peter parker?" you repeat, rhetorically. "twenty-six, new york. brown hair, brown eyes. lived here his whole life, has an aunt who lives next door, tried to steal our cat when he was nine..." you drawl off, making a point to smile. "ringing any bells?"

she throws a dish towel at you. "you know thats not what i meant."

"do i?"

you wipe the counter with the towel, then fold it nicely on the counter, all the while avoiding your mother's eyes.

but you know she won't leave it alone. the same way she hasnt left you alone once in the past four years, like she can dig your feelings up from whatever grave you buried them in.

there's a part of you that wants to crawl over to her and ask her to make you some hot chocolate, to watch some childrens movie on the couch with you. you want to be the little kid who would've depended on that knowing glance she's still giving you. the little kid who idolized her and wasn't afraid to admit the truth--even if you did steal that chocolate bar from under her sink.

but you're grown, and this doesn't matter. not in the long run, anyway.

you look up, expectant eyes. she has your same eyes, and meets them.

"linda told nancy, who told jerry, who told me over the phone..." she shakes her head. "but may was here earlier."

"yeah? how is she?"

"good, busy, i'm guessing, because you know how she dotes over him."

"yeah..."

you fold the towel again, running your fingertips over the embrodered flowers.

"have you seen him?"

you swallow, and nod absentmindedly. you're not going to tell her about the grocery store. "yeah, he came into the shop yesterday."

she taps your hand, and you let go of the rag. she hangs it back over the oven, the ebbing silence more like a threat, her hands falling to her hips. "why didn't you say anything?"

"it's not a big deal. he came in, ordered, and then left."

"and there were no words between the two of you?" she prods. "no wandering eyes? you just read his mind instead of taking his order?"

you grit your teeth, rolling your eyes. "he asked for a mocha and i made it for him."

"nothing else?"

"he said it was nice to see me."

she waves a hand at you.

"and i said that i was working." you sigh, leaning against the counter. "that's all."

"you're not freaking out?" your mom ducks her head so she can meet your eyes. her face is sullen, but her smile is genuine.

it's like talking to a counselor.

"why would i be freaking out? he had to come back sometime."

she scoffs. the little necklace your dad gave her dangles from her neck, and you watch it. "i don't know," she says, using the same voice you do when she tells you not to take a tone with her. "maybe because you havent spoken to him in the last three years?"

yeah, the same voice says, rough and patronizing, you haven't spoken to him in five years. why is that, again?

but you snort at your mom, a defensive smile making its way to your lips as you look at her. "water under the bridge," you say, dismissing it.

you don't want to talk about this with her. you don't want to talk about this with anyone.

because the only person who might actually understand is the same person who left three years ago. who came back with no warning at all.

"did may say when he got here?" you ask, voice escaping before you can stop it.

"just a day or two ago, i think. why?"

"is he here for the holidays?"

"yes. she said he plans to stay until at least january. he's between jobs, i guess."

"oh." you smack your lips and move away from her, back to the groceries, which is the reason you're here in the first place. you take out the milk jug, walking to the fridge, but a soft hand stops you.

your mom is smiling when you turn towards her. "you don't have to talk about it," she's saying, her voice smooth and comforting. "i don't--i don't know what happened between the two of you. i just mentioned it because may said he was talking about you. it..." she drops off, wincing.

"what?"

"it might be good to talk to him. put the water under the bridge."

you roll your eyes, nose twitching. you don't need to say anything, you won't. your mother is just another town gossip, and her opinion has no sway over you.

even ask the words sink in.

"now put the rest of those away," she says, ruffling your hair, "i know what happens when you take your 'breaks.'"

you push her and put the milk in the fridge.

you're mopping the floor when the bell rings, and a cold brush of air trails goosebumps up your skin.

it's late enough in the season to no longer smell like the leaves falling onto the ground, or the grandesur pine needles showing off their lifespan. it's cold in the shop now, and you have three coats in the back.

but the person who walks in is only wearing one. one you recognize from several years ago, with the holes in the sleeves from when he jumped over your fence and sprained his ankle. the stain on the front when may threw a plum soaked rag at him and you'd laughed so hard that you'd fallen to your knees on the floor and couldn't breathe.

peter's face is wain. his eyes are cautious as they meet yours.

you're not used to anyone coming in at 5:55. everyone knows you close at six, and the few people who'd dared to come in and order a drink a minute before you flipped your sign have learned their lesson.

but peter hasn't learned anything.

"i know," he says, like tracking your mind. "you close at six. may told me."

"okay."

you're still holding the mop, sure that his footprints would leave mud all over your floors.

"i don't want to buy anything. or--" he breathes out, hands wringing at his sides, probably from the cold. "i will. if you want me to. but that's not why i came. i wanted to see if you..."

he does a sweep over you, and his words fall in the air, as if he's just realized something.

you look down at the snowflake apron your mom bought last year. it's not that dirty.

you look back up, brows furrowed, and peter's expression matches yours. "yes?" you prod, feeling that anger simmer in the core of your chest. but you've been rude enough to him.

your mom's words ring out in your head.

it might be good to talk to him.

peter swallows, whatever emotion on his face fading. "i wanted to see if you would go to dinner with me. or take a walk. or--or i'll buy you groceries, since you left yours the other night. it doesn't matter. i just want to... talk to you."

"you want to talk to me?"

peter nods. "i can wait outside, while you finish." he waves a hand, like an explanation. "it doesn't have to be long. just five minutes?"

you watch peter, his face a world of feeling that you can't recognize anymore.

and maybe that hurts the most. not him being here, not the distance or the time you've let edge you apart, but the fact that it's changed things. peter has changed and you've just let that happen. he's got a life seperate from you and there's no one to blame. he'd reached out enough, initially. months of letting his calls go to voicemail and ignoring may when you saw her in the street.

putting yourself back together in the misshaped way you are now. peter probably doesn't even recognize you--not like this.

maybe it's your fault.

but you find yourself nodding anyway, ignoring the guilt seeping through the cracks of you. you nod, and peter's face changes.

it's not the first time you've noticed his eyes, or watched relief ease into him, but it's just the same.

"yes?" peter asks, his voice rough and dry. you look at that jacket again.

"where's your coat?"

"my..." peter looks down with you. "oh, my coat. all of the ones aunt may kept were too small, and i thought--" he scratches his neck. "well, i forgot how cold it gets."

you nod, slowly.

peter nods back.

you stare at him a moment longer, and then break away from his unfamiliar gaze.

"just give me five minutes. i just need to put this away, and grab my stuff, and..." you swallow.

"okay. great. do you want to me wait outside, or should i?" he gestures around, looking as uncomfortable as you've ever seen him.

"you can sit. just--don't get any dirt on the tablebases."

"okay. thank you."

you nod, one last time, and look away from him.

your heart runs circles around peter as he sits at one of your tables, his long legs not fitting beneath it. it taunts you again and again as you try not to notice him breathing, try to ignore him completely.

you dup the mop water, spilling it on your shoes. you wipe down the last counter, the syrup sticking to your hands like a scar. you walk around the shop trying to find something else to do so you can avoid this as long as possible. your feet are cold and your hands feel abnormally dry. maybe you need to go home and shower. maybe you shouldn't be doing this at all.

you sit in the office for a moment, wishing you could watch peter without him knowing. scope him out before you hear what he has to say.

and--

okay, maybe there's a part of you that's been waiting three years for this.

that dream where he's there even though you don't want him; that moment when he apologizes and you forgive him automatically, because your heart has always been small and fragile around him; that fantasy where peter comes home and he's the same teenager you used to walk around town with at two in the morning, the same brown eyes laughing as you both slipped on ice and fell on top of eachother.

you won't deny that you've thought about this before. what you might say to him if you got the chance.

but as you grab your bag and hang your apron around the chair in the office, the words have gone some place else. what could you say to him to make any of this make sense?

still, you clear your throat when you walk out, feet aching from standing all day. you blink at him as he struggles to get up, pushing your chair in, the legs scratching on the floor the only sound between the two of you.

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keerysfreckles · 6 months

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your kiss - peter parker

pairing: tom!peter x f!reader

summary: peter, your best friend, also known as spiderman swings into your bedroom after a night of patrolling and finds you asleep on your desk. he tries his best to be quiet while tidying up your room, but things change - for the better ?

warnings: PURE FLUFF!!! use of y/n and she/her pronouns

ﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟ

peter parker has always been enthralled by y/n. ever since the first day of freshman year, since the two were biology lab partners. the two were quick to have a connection, and were soon best friends by the end of the first semester.

he was enticed by her. the way her hair bounced on her shoulders as she walked from classes. or the way her eyes lit up at the mention of her favorite book. he especially loved how her smile got slightly wider once he stepped in the room.

y/n was always on his mind. whether it be a reminder for him to ask how her day was, or because he simply couldn't stop thinking about the girl.

lately y/n and peter haven't been able to talk much, due to peter being busy being the friendly neighborhood spiderman, and y/n was tackling college applications as well as essays and exams.

every friday night, peter would stop by y/n's apartment she lived in with her parents. her parents absolutely adored peter when she brought him over to study for an upcoming economy test.

this friday was no different, as peter finally swung on his last web to get to the girl's window. he caught his breath as he took his mask off, while sliding open y/n's bedroom window.

his feet hit the carpeted floor of y/n's room, and he smiles softly once he sees y/n asleep. her head was resting on her folded arms, which were covering pages of her unfinished essay. her computer was open and on the dim screen was a half finished college application. peter chuckled quietly, as he closed the window, and threw his mask at the edge of her bed.

peter made his way towards y/n's desk and turned off the lamp. he closed her laptop, and tried his best to clean up the supplies the girl wasn't laying on. peter also couldn't help but notice she was wearing his midtown sweatshirt. he must've left it over one time, and now he was glad he did. he thought she looked adorable in it.

as peter was moving the books off the desk and towards y/n's bookshelf, y/n lifted her head from her arms, and rubbed the drool that was leaving her lips. she turned in her desk chair, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"pete? what are you doing here?" her voice was quiet, and hoarse considering she just woke up.

peter walks over towards her, "just doing my weekly check in. i see you're still busy with college stuff."

y/n only nods, and peter notices her shoulders tense at the mention of it.

"how were the streets of queens tonight?" y/n asks the superhero, as he sits on her bed and she starts to clean up her desk.

"they were alright," peter shrugged, "i caught a guy stealing from the deli. so i guess that's something."

y/n nodded intently, as he continued to tell her about his night. peter couldn't help but let his eyes trail over y/n's figure as she sat on top of her desk across from her bed.

y/n couldn't help but let her eyes go back and forth between his face and his body in his spider suit.

as y/n was not-so-discretly looking over peter's body, peter smirked. "why are you staring at me like that y/n?" he let out a breathy laugh, mostly out of nerves.

y/n's face instantly changed into a shade of red. "i wasn't staring," she lies.

out of no where, peter suddenly gains confidence. he isn't sure where it comes from, but before he knows how to stop, he's walking towards y/n. he simply stood in front of the girl, his hands were placed on both of her bare knees.

peter's voice is soft, scared if he spoke any louder he'd scare y/n off. "i don't know what it is about you y/n, but i've always been captived by you."

"captived?" y/n reiterates, surprised at the confession by the boy. her cheeks grow hotter as peter moves forward, now standing directly in between y/n's thighs. his hands don't leave her legs, while his thumbs rub comforting circles over her skin.

"why do you think i stop by here every week?" he honestly asks.

y/n shrugs, as her brain becomes foggy at the close proximity of the pair, "because you care about me?"

peter slightly chuckles, "well yeah i care about you. but it's mainly an excuse so i can see you."

y/n doesn't know how to respond, and is grateful once peter continues, "i've liked you since the first day of freshman year. i've always liked you y/n. even when you dated that douchebag jonathan, and came home crying almost every night because of him. i've liked you since sophomore formal, and i got enough courage to ask you to dance with me. i've liked you since i told you i was spiderman, basically trusting you with the biggest secret of my entire life. and i've liked you since you started applying to all these colleges. i've always liked you y/n."

y/n's silent, as she takes in all of peter's words. of course they all caught her by surprise. she's liked peter since the night of the sophomore formal. she remembers the night vividly. how she danced with peter, and got milkshakes with him afterwards.

peter's voice gets caught in his throat, creating a more raspiness to it as his leans closer towards y/n and whispers, "if you don't want me to kiss you, just say so."

only a moment passes before y/n's the one to lean forward, connecting her lips to peter's. her hands move to his shoulders, and peter kisses her with such force. he's been waiting to kiss the girl for four years, of course there's going to be force behind it.

"wow," y/n whispers as peter pulls away. her hands don't leave his shoulders, and only move to his neck to lightly play with the curls at the base of his neck.

peter looks down to his midtown sweatshirt y/n's wearing, "y'know, i could get used to you wearing my clothes."

y/n giggles, a hard blush forming on her cheeks. peter leans forward and kisses y/n's lips again, much quicker than before.

"how would you feel about being spiderman's girlfriend?" peter asks.

"it would be an honor," y/n giggles once again, before pulling peter in again and kissing his lips. that wasn't the only kiss shared for the rest of the night.

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tom holland peter parker #tom!peter parker x reader #tom!spiderman #spiderman

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moxfirefly · 5 months

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Ok. I wanna ask something. It’s ok you don’t have to answer this but I wanna ask how would the Turtles be like when they are in season? Like way before their s/o came into the picture? Like their emotions and how to handle it? You can make it SFW or NSFW or both.

We love mating season in this house. This is a fun one anon thanks! So undercut cause goes without saying.

Explicit

Leo

He knows how to manage it the best during the beginning.

Get messy towards the middle.

For Leo the best way to deal with pesky spring fever is simply to overtrain and overwork his body.

Out of sight out of mind mentally.

His nose gets easily irritable with all the scents he can pick up now that go beyond his usual. So he’ll burn more incense, he’ll light more candles (softer scents that calm him)

His gaze strays. Leo knows how to keep his eyes on check whenever he sees a beautiful individual, he’s very aware that making it obvious isn’t always fun.

But man, is he fucking staring now. Notices all the intricate details about April that makes her so very beautiful. Notices how pretty the lady that works at the deli where they patrol often is, saw a guy so breathtaking he had to stop and take a second. It’s all rather annoying and it exacerbates him.

MEDITATES MORE™️

More on the angry jerk off side of the spectrum.

Raph

Oh boy is he just more stand off-ish than normal. Quicker to pick fights and really will fight if pushed.

Raph needs to blow of steam on a normal basis, while in his season? Sheesh are the Foot getting extra bones broken.

Over exercises to compensate the territorial nature that boils within him.

A lot of impure thoughts about April.

He feels awful about it too which further being the cycle full circle.

Angry, fight, fantasize, rinse, repeat.

Tries to get out of the Lair more. Sneaks out or the cold fresh air to center him.

People watches. His mind will wander. Up until now Raph believes he won’t ever have a chance with someone, so this part isn’t his favorite.

Yearns baby, this one yearns and aches.

Mikey

So. Much. More. Extra. Energy.

Much more scatter brained than usual.

Head full. Many thought.

Mikey likes to burn off his energy by skating. He’ll concentrate on tricks and enjoys the speed of zooming around on his board.

Tbh Mikey sticks to what works. Skateboarding and masturbating.

Could get rather territorial, a bit prone to picking fights. Surprisingly scary when mad.

While Mike doesn’t like being alone in general, really needs the solitude during this time.

If he flirts with April on a normal Tuesday evening, how’d you think he’s gonna be now?

Over all handles the season fairly well.

Donnie

Probably the best to handle the season out of his brothers.

Naturally because Donnie prefers to nest during this period. He naturally prefers the solitude so during this time it’s the best excuse to not have everyone on his case about it.

EATS.

The man gets pretty famished and eats more that he normally does.

Skins feels a little on fire, just about anything sets him off. Whether the instinct to fight or his need for release.

Don’s pretty creative when it comes to getting off, but man does he breakout some fun things to pass the time.

Tries to distract himself with his work.

Not proud of it but if Aprils around, he’ll smell her a lot. She’s got a comforting scent but it also kinda gets him going which doesn’t help.

#ask #anon #tmnt bayverse #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt michaelangelo #tmnt donatello #ns*w #requested headcanons

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de4dlyniightshade · 3 months

Note

how long do you think spencer lasts in bed and how big is he

not long imma be real, he's just a sensitive little baby boy who loves to be touched and can't help himself sometimes, ofc he tries to hold off for you but it's hard for him so like really not long at all.

AVERAGE! very on the lines of the post i just made bcs spencer reid has an average sized dick idc what anyone says, there's no way he's packing a deli market down there it's just not possible, at best he's 7.5-8 but honestly i'd say more like 6-6.5 which is a good size, not too big, not too small, hits all the right spots and size doesn't matter that much if they know how to use it(which he doesn't but it's fine he loves to be ridden anyway and that's okay)

#📬 maeve's mailbox!#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fandom #dr spencer reid #mgg #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

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iliaclwrites · 2 years

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hi! eddie x cheerleader during lunch where mike, lucas, and dustin are all like : "0-0 her????? you got her???? how?? this is fake right?? he paid you, right???" and she's just like "no? and they ask for proof and she rolls her eyes and shows them her tiny "e" [for eddie] tattoo and they're like "wow! but it could stand for anything. we need more" so eddie is like fuck it and stand on the table and just kisses her in front of everyone

wow i got carried away- ily <3

"What's his favourite colour?"

"Red," you said dully, looking at your nails. Shit, was your ring finger chipped? You chewed the nail, looking up at Dustin.

"What's his favourite food?" he demanded, and you sighed.

"Mashed potatoes and chilli," you responded, and then paused. "But he also really loves the monster shakes you can get at the deli," she added, furrowing her brows. "And raspberry white chocolate cookies. That boy's a bottomless pit."

"What's his favourite book?"

"The Return of the King," you said, scratching at your nose. "Especially the appendices. He loves the appendices."

"Who loves the appendices?" Eddie asked, swooping down to kiss your cheek and lounge across the bench. "Ooh, are these for me?" he asked, snatching some tater tots from your plate. "You're the best, pom poms."

"You love the appendices, Eddie," you said, and he nodded, shrugging. "This little menace," you said, tossing a tater tot at Dustin, "has been quizzing me on my Eddie general knowledge."

Eddie frowned, leaning over the table to Dustin. "Huh? Why?" he asked, resting his chin on his hands.

"There's no way you're actually dating," Mike said, spreading out his hands. "Like, she's a cheerleader. You're definitely paying her to go along with this."

"Like scam," Lucas said.

You blinked. "You could not pay anyone enough," you muttered, "to listen to this asshole snore all night."

"Hey!" Eddie elbowed you in the ribs, and you huffed, clutching his forearm to your chest as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. "What don't you buy? I'm stunningly handsome, charming, clever, and an all-around fun-time gal. Why shouldn't I date her?" He leaned over, raising his eyebrows at them as he whispered conspiratorially, "Is it because I'm a bit out of her league? I know, poor thing."

"Eddie!" you laughed, and shook your head at him fondly. "Look, is it really so hard to believe?"

"Yes."

"Et tu, Gareth?" Eddie asked, and the other boy shrugged. "Okay, look, how do we have to prove this to you? This is ridiculous."

You were rolling up your sleeve, presenting them with the looping letter 'e' you had on the inside of your elbow. "I got this done drunk," you said, and raised your eyebrows at them. "Convincing enough?"

Lucas' hand came over the table and started to rub at the tattoo. "Seems real," he reported back.

"That could stand for anything. Erebor."

"Eventide."

"Enemas."

You wrinkled your nose. "I'd tattoo 'e for enemas' on my body?" you asked, before throwing your hands into the air. "I give up. You kids are ridiculous."

Eddie pointed at all of them. "Okay. Watch this, and watch closely, because I'm only going to do this once." He twisted toward you, and cupped your chin in his palm, turning your face this way and that. And then, quietly, just loud enough for you to hear, "Open up, pom poms."

He kissed you.

You clutched at his jacket in surprise, but melted quickly into his kiss, sighing happily as he stroked the nape of your neck with his long fingers. He pulled away, and raised his eyebrows at the boys, your hands still entangled in his lapels.

"Got that?" he asked.

"Ew, dude," Dustin said. "I was eating."

#eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x cheerleader #s: two households

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floralcrematorium · 8 months

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Assorted FrUK/FACE Fam Headcanons

These are silly little thoughts I've had while drafting Migraines in Margaritaville, so these apply to the world of that AU (modern, human; FrUK parents raising NA bros in Massachusetts, US). Most of these involve food because I seem to think about them when I'm hungry???

• Francis and Arthur practice "one-parent-one-language" with the boys. Matthew took to French much easier than Alfred did, but both brothers managed to pick it up without much of a fuss. In elementary school the twins would use French to cheat on tests (they weren't allowed to sit next to each other after their schemes were discovered).

• Arthur set the grill on fire three times in one summer. Francis clearly doesn't learn from his mistakes and Arthur is too stubborn to let Francis do all of the work when it comes to preparing dinner.

• Follow up on the point above -- Arthur can prep vegetables and throw together food that doesn't require too much measuring or too many steps on the stovetop. He doesn't have the patience for most dishes and doesn't have a sense of what spices go well together/what is enough vs too much. Francis lets him help by chopping up vegetables and Arthur was usually the one to pack the boys' lunches. Sometimes they'd get leftover portions of whatever they had for dinner last night, but Arthur often defaulted to some sort of wrap with deli meat and assorted veggies/crackers for snack.

• Francis gives me similar vibes to those youtube moms who try to make homemade versions of popular American snacks. He may spend the weekdays at work in a kitchen, but on the weekends he's at home, still in the kitchen, trying to make homemade fruit leather and homemade cheese crackers for his sons.

• Arthur's the one more willing to let the boys get snacks from the store or take out. Francis is very much "we have McDonald's at home."

• Both Francis and Arthur would've been so excited to decorate the twins' nursery. They're both artistically inclined, be it in different ways. Arthur made blankets for both of them; Matthew is red and Alfred is blue. Francis paints floral designs on the furniture, in particular purple irises and both red and white roses.

• Because the twins were identical and because babies are kinda just blobs, they definitely accidentally mixed the twins up. The color coding might've come after the swap. They had a crisis about it. Francis "sacre bleu, we just gave two people permanent identity crises" Bonnefoy and Arthur "if we compare them to every picture we have of them we can figure it out" Kirkland. I'm imagining this happening before the twins have enough hair for their cowlicks to really form.

• It's tradition in the Kirkland-Bonnefoy household to have a box of Whitman's chocolates at every family party and Alfred is the reason why. One Christmas each twin got to pick out something special for the party and Alfred picked out the 22 piece Whitman sampler in the yellow box. They're not the best chocolates, but it became a tradition. Thankfully there's two layers in the box so Mattie and Al can have their own messenger boy pieces (the shaped chocolate that's the centerpiece of each layer).

• Neither Arthur or Francis have favor for one twin over the other. They both have their own activities they can do with Alfred and Matthew separately. Francis will cook and bake with Alfred and draw with Matthew. Arthur teaches Matthew to garden and watches old (by his son's standards) movies with Alfred.

• Francis is the parent the boys can come to no questions asked. Arthur isn't apathetic, but Francis is more inclined to give more thoughtful advice for relationships and general fuck-ups. He won't press on why or how something happened, but will help his sons figure out the best way to solve a problem.

• When Alfred and Mattie turned 10, Arthur wanted to teach them the importance of personal finance. He would give the boys $5 each week to spend on snacks at the grocery store (Arthur does the couponing and the shopping for the house). They were allowed to hold onto the money to use for later and could help with the couponing.

• Arthur drags the family out to Salem every Autumn. Sure, they live in Massachusetts and are well aware of how bad tourist season is, but he's fascinated with the city. Alfred initially went because he really liked this one New York style pizza shop in the Witch City Mall (how they got Francis to step foot in there, I don't know), but eventually grew interested in the witchy stuff Salem has to offer. Francis only puts up with it because the city has an art museum and weekly art fairs in the Fall. Matthew dreads their yearly trip. He loathes it. He'd rather tag along with Francis to the museum.

• Until the boys were old enough to start protesting, they had family Halloween costumes. Francis thought it was tacky, but saw the appeal when Arthur got the twins (still babies) all dressed up in lobster costumes.

#that second to last one is really self indulgent #hetalia #ヘタリア #hws #hetalia headcanons #migraines in margaritaville #fruk #na bros #face family #hws face family #hws france #francis bonnefoy #hws england #arthur kirkland #hws canada #matthew williams #hws america #alfred f jones #floralcrematorium writes

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rosepascal · 10 months

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pedro boys when you’re not feeling well

ft: Joel Miller, Din Djarin, Frankie Morales, Jack Daniels, Marcus Pike, Marcus Moreno, Max Phillips, Dieter Bravo

a/n: writing this in bed as i suffer from a stomach ache (maybe caused by exhausting travel day or it could be my acid reflux making my life hell idk) either way i need comfort from the boys. also first time writing a headcanon for dieter, might add max lord soon bc hes fine af

Joel Miller

Pre outbreak Joel would know exactly what to do to help. He’s dealt with his fair share of stomaches aches, fevers, colds etc. Sarah got sick a lot as a child so he knows the remedies and what makes someone feel better. He’ll cook u soup or make u toast and coax you into eating with kisses. He’ll make you drink water and let you sleep in his bed. Also gives you lots of cuddles

Post outbreak Joel still has those instincts buried in him when he sees you aren’t feeling well. He’s not as kissy as he used to be but he will do anything to help you feel better. If you even mention wanting soup or needing medicine he's out the door to get it for you. He’s a grump though so he’ll be a bit more blunt like telling u to sit and stop whining when you complain about him doing so much for you. But it comes from a place of love even if he won’t admit it. Still gives the best cuddles. You just have to ask.

Din Djarin

Mando is such a sweetheart. He’s been sick and injured himself but normally he’s on his own. Suffering by himself on his ship. But after meeting you he doesn’t feel that way anymore. Every injury is now treated by you. He never ever wants you to feel the way he used to feel so he’ll be right by your side. Returning the care and compassion you give him. He has bacta if you need it but sometimes you just have to ride out the sick feeling. He gets you whatever you want. Tasking Grogu to stay with you as he goes into town. He’ll take real good care of you until you’re back to normal.

Frankie Morales

Frankie, sweet Frankie. Oh he’s just a total sweetheart. He’s a bit of a worry wart though. Oh you should have seen him the first time his baby girl got sick. She cried in his arms and his heart broke because he couldn’t do anything to help her. He goes a little overboard sometimes. He’s at your side in an instant. Immediately jumping to the worst conclusion even if its just a stomach ache. He doesn’t like to see you sick because it worries him to no end. Even if you promise you’re okay. He probably has some cure he promises you will help that he learned in the military. But he can also make you mac and cheese and sit with you on the couch.

Jack Daniels

Whiskey is basically your maid when you are sick. He calls you a million sweet pet names as he lets you sit in his bed all comfy and brings you anything you ask for. He’ll also go to ginger for medicine, knowing whatever she can give you will have you right as rain in a day. He is a bit of a tease though. Saying stuff like “Poor baby.” and “Don’t feel good huh?” His tone is light and joking and you tend to play along. Pouting and nodding your head. Telling him that only his cuddles and that soup from the deli downtown is all you need. He’ll laugh but get it for you in a heartbeat.

Marcus Pike

Oh my god this man is the perfect partner when you are sick. At first you're pretty upset because you have to cancel your date with him. Date nights are already hard to plan given both of your jobs. He can tell something is wrong the moment he hears you over the phone. Even though you tell him that you're fine and promise to make it up to him he still shows up to your place 30 minutes later with food. He'll turn on an old movie and wrap you in a blanket and let you fall asleep in his arms.

Marcus Moreno

I feel like Marcus is also a pretty anxious guy but like Joel and Frankie he's got the dad knowledge on how to make someone feel better. Plus his mothers surefire cures. He comes after work because as much as he wishes, he can't miss work. But he's constantly messaging you to make sure you're okay. He offers to let you stay at his place but you don't want to get him or Missy sick. Though its a losing battle because both him and Missy don't care and want you around. Missy will keep you company while Marcus makes you tea and soup. The night ends with family cuddles and a lot of love.

Max Phillips

Vampires can't get sick like humans so there's no worry about getting him sick. Max wants you to feel better as soon as possible, mostly because you don't taste as good when you're sick and its not as fun for you. But also because he cares about your wellbeing of course. He's bit of a pain though because he's at work and you're texting him to pick you up some medicine and he's being a tease about it. Telling you how out of the way it is and how expensive it is but obviously he's going to get it for you. He just likes it when you beg :) He'll get you everything you ask for and more. As for cuddles he is happy to be your ice pack. He also offers to turn you so you don't have to feel like this ever again. Mostly joking, but a part of him isn't.

Dieter Bravo

Dieter will buy you all the expensive medicine and the fluffiest blankets and food from the highest end restaurant if it will make you feel better. Well it's his money but he has assistants to actually go and get it for him. Dieter is no stranger to feeling like shit so he knows what helps. Lots of snuggling in his bed, he won't let you leave unless its for the bathroom. Honestly, he's probably hungover in some capacity the same morning so its a lot of sleeping and being sick together.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #max phillips #max phillips x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader

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anamenooneowns · 10 days

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖MEETING JJ

an: another moodboard/ficlet ig? is this allowed? um, youre from nyc in this one and moved to the obx, yeah. if you didnt get the memo either with the moodboard you're black and you say a few words in Spanish bc youre also hispanic (idk how to speak Spanish so if its wrong i'm apologizing beforehand😃) enjoy!

DNI IF YOU DO NOT HAVE AN AGE IN YOUR BIO. THIS BLOCK BUTTON GOES BRAZY

"Ma, why'd we move here again?" you groaned, tugging at your shirt to generate some sort of cool air as you walked in the sun.

Your mother ignored your question after having answered it for the umpteenth time. Rent was rising crazily in NYC and it was getting more dangerous by the day. And your family down here that she had lost contact with due to her own mother practically begged your mother to come back down and just move in, so that's exactly what your parents did.

The culture down South was something you weren't acclimated to. In NYC, people kept their heads down and kept it pushing, but you were perceived here. 'Good morning/afternoon/evening' along with 'Sir' and 'Ma'am' were integrating themselves into your vocabulary. Still, it was obvious these folks didn't exactly... like you. They didn't like the way you dressed with multiple gold chains on your neck and rings galore, or the fact that your nails were so long, and too many old people commented that they could hang onto your hoops.

It was annoying.

"Oh, mama, go into the beauty supply right there and see if they have products for our hair. Here- take this to pay for it, and get us some drinks too from the deli, it's hot as hell out here," your mother ushered you away, pushing three twenties into your hand.

You sighed and turned on your heel, going into the beauty supply and greeting the cashier before scanning the shelves. Thankfully, they had all the products your family used and it came out much cheaper than it would have in your old store when you paid for it. Next was the store at the corner of the strip mall. Your mother drove you out here since you definitely wouldn't find what you guys needed in the rich part of the island so you had to come to what your extended family called 'The Cut'.

"Dude, I-I'm tellin' you this is the right idea, when have I ever led you astr- fuck," a voice hissed.

You gasped as something wet poured down your front, ruining your crop-top and getting you sticky in the process. Slowly, you looked up, mean mug getting even meaner as you glared at some blond who was looking down at you with his eyes wide and pink lips parted like a damn fish, some other boy behind him.

You were yelling at him, that much he could tell, but all he could see was some phantom light shining behind you and making you look even more ethereal in presence and all he could hear was 'Sha la la la la, la laaaa'.

"He-fucking-llo?" you hissed, snapping your fingers in his face. "Does he have a brain or something?" was directed at his tall, brown-haired friend who sputtered as he tried to apologize for JJ, elbowing him.

"I... huh? Oh, shit! I'm sorry, my bad," he grabbed tissues and started to dry your own shirt for you making you freeze up, eyes widening while John B watched in literal horror as his dumbass best friend dabbed the paper towels against your chest.

Smack!

"Eres un idiota," was the last thing you said before leaving.

And JJ was touching his cheek and looking at the door where you left like a lovesick puppy as your fragrance of vanilla and shea butter lingered. "Dude... I think I'm in love."

an: comments and reblogs are appreciated! thanks for reading💕

#jj maybank x reader #obx jj maybank #jj maybank #x black reader #x black!reader #outerbanks jj

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goldengleams · 9 months

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Omg I need some Jack Hughes fluffff (please)

You tugged the black New Jersey Devils hoodie over your head as a chill ran through your body. It was lightly snowing outside, the temperature dropping to signify that it was truly winter time.

The television in front of you now played the late night news, the hockey game having just ended. The Devils had a home game but you had decided to stay at the apartment due to a bug you were just getting over. You hadn’t wanted to get Jack sick, so you stayed away, cooped up in your apartment when you weren’t at work. Jack had all but forced you to stay over at his and Luke’s place since you were feeling better so he could finally see you.

Looking at the clock, you knew the boys would be home soon. The Devils had won and Luke had scored the only goal of the game, so you knew he would have to do some media interviews after.

You curled up onto the large couch, promising to only close your eyes for a moment so you could greet the boys when they got home, but it was too good to be true. The next thing you heard was the click of a lock and the door was opening.

You sat up from the couch just in time to see Jack push open the door, bags in hand. He flipped on the light and you could practically see his pupils dilate as he discarded his things and rushed over to you.

“Hi babe,” you said, voice still raspy. He embraced you in a tight hug, mumbling how cute you looked in his sweatshirt.

“Good nap, eh?” He joked, taking your face in his hands. You tried to laugh, but it ended up as a cough, and you quickly turned away so you wouldn’t spread your germs.

“Damn, you really were sick,” he teased. You pushed his chest, mumbling out an insult back to him.

“You’re just the nicest boyfriend, aren’t you, J?”

“Yeah, well I did stop at that deli you like near the rink and I bought you soup earlier, so I’d like to think I am the best,” Jack said, giving you his classic cheesy smile.

“And what if I’m not hungry, Hughes?” You said. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look tough even though you knew your hair was sticking up.

“You are, I know you.”

He moved towards the kitchen to take some out for you, knowing your sleep schedule had been off and that you had been up most nights coughing. You followed behind him and entered the kitchen where Luke was sitting at a barstool, scrolling on his phone.

“Luke, you did awesome tonight!” You said, smiling in pride for the youngest Hughes brother. “I’d hug you but, y’know…”

“I know,” he laughed. “Thanks, Y/N.”

Luke was always a little shy when it came to compliments, but you always made sure that he knew how great he was. He asked you how you were feeling and you chatted while Jack went to change.

“I’m honestly so glad you’re here, Y/N he’s been driving me nuts all week,” Luke said once you asked how the week had been. “I think I probably know the whole trajectory of your illness because he’s talked about you so much.”

You rolled your eyes at that. Jack didn’t like to show it, but you knew that he was a worrier deep down. Whether it was before big games or things dealing with family, he always cared.

“Well I promise that I’m feeling better and I’ll be around more to relieve you of your roommate and brother duties,” you said, fake saluting him.

Jack walked back into the kitchen, now in a t-shirt and some flannel pajama pants. He gave you a quick kiss on the top of your head.

“Want me to heat some up?” He asked you, already moving to get you a bowl.

“Yeah J,” you said back. Jack moved around the kitchen easily, grabbing everything he needed to heat some soup up for you.

The microwave hummed in the background as Jack caught you staring at him.

“Like what you see?” He joked, swaying his hips a little. You giggled as he made his way over to you.

“Missed you,” you mumbled, pressing your head to his chest.

“Missed you more,” he whispered. “Can’t wait until you’re better and then we can-”

“Alright, I’m leaving you lovebirds alone before I see anything that would make me sick,” Luke joked, walking out of the kitchen and dodging Jack’s attempt to slap him on the shoulder.

He turned back to you, about to finish whatever his thought was when the microwave beeped. He groaned but went to go get your bowl.

“Thanks, grumpy,” you laughed. Once he set the bowl down in front of you, he sat on the barstool across from you.

You waited for it to cool before taking a bite and moaning in delight. “Jack, it’s so good, oh my god.”

“I’m glad, babe,” he watched you in admiration as you seemed to feel better immediately as you ate. It had been almost a year since you had met Jack and you never failed to make him smile.

“Thank you, by the way. I think I started eating before I said it,” you chuckled.

“You don’t have to thank me, you did the same for me when I was sick,” he replied, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, when you thought had the man-flu,” you said, giggling as you recounted the last time he was sick.

“Hey, I had a fever,” he countered.

“You were sick from the flu shot, Jack, and it lasted for two days!”

You both started laughing, then, remembering how dramatic he had acted. Your laugh turned into a cough and Jack came over to rub your back.

“Need some medicine?” He asked you. You nodded, trying to swallow some water to help. Jack returned quickly with some pills you had been prescribed to help for you to take.

A few minutes later, once everything had been cleaned up, Jack took your hand and led you to his bedroom. You climbed into bed together and felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, babe,” he muttered, already closing his eyes.

“Love you, Jack,” you said, sinking into his warm embrace.

“Love you too, Y/N.”

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I wrote something!!! Trying my hardest to get to my requests, I promise! Hope you enjoyed this little bit of Jack Hughes fluff!

#jack hughes #nhl hockey #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #luke hughes #hat trick hotties 🏒🧢#nhl

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