#remember everyone if you're tired of seeing these on your dashboard

[yellowlikelemons]

The clock on your dashboard reads 02:58. Shit, I've been out for that long?

"English? Sorry, I don't speak..." Staring back at you trough the crack in the window, I'm silent for a moment, registering what you'd just said. "Oh!" I light up a little. You'd looked tired as soon as I opened my mouth, so I'd assumed you simply weren't in the mood to deal with a stranger. No - you just hadn't understood what I'd said.

"Tourist?" Comes reflexibly, but I figure you probably don't want to sit around and be interviewed. Why would anyone tourist here anyway? "I, uh, I missed the bus in from town, next one's not until tomorrow. Would you maybe help drive me home?" The headlights hit a crooked sign barely visible beyond the bend. "I live right down that dirt road. It parts further... south, and you turn left at this big grey building, old factory." My ego takes a hit at how much I stumble over the words. I'd rehearsed what I wanted to say in case I could wave down a car, but here I'd had to quickly shove it trough the mental translation filter. You don't seem to care, however, and nod torwards the back seat. "Sure. Get in."

Gravel crunches as we turn off the asphalt and drive in between pines. We're slow. It's not populated enough to warrant streetlights, and the first thing I do once I'm seated is warn you about wildife on the dirt road. "We almost hit an elk here once, those are terrifying up close. You american? Heard they're not as common there. Unless you're like, way up north?"

We catch eyes in the mirror. I expect everyone I meet out here to be at least in their fifties, and you're much younger, probably around my age. If it wasn't clear you weren't local I would've asked for your number, then planned to come by with cake as thanks. I'm starved for interaction with non-retirees, but I'd be lying if I denied that you're also just kind of my type. I feel shallow for thinking that right away. Then guilty. You're not very talkative, and you're doing me a kindness, the least I can do is be quiet and refrain from mentally commenting about your looks. You remain silent. Insecurity washes over and I pop my beanie off, suddenly hyperaware of what an annoying clicking the badge along the hem makes.

I've taken to looking out the window when you finally speak up. The trees outside rise in jagged black walls on either side of the car, so there's not much to see. "...Why were you out on the highway so late?" You've angled the mirror away. "Oh, uh," There's crinkling and rattling from where I start digging around in my hoodie. As if you didn't have your eyes on the road, I pull out a tiny cardboard box and a few plastic packets. Sweets. "Now, it was, it was kinda stupid, got just like a strong sugar craving. Needed the grocery store. I missed the last bus at midnight - usually I have someone to drive me, but he's not home right now," It bothers me that I feel the need to explain myself to you. I've turned up the same "everything-is-fine-i-am-so-responsible-really" cadence I use when I speak to real adults, and can't quite tell why. Usually I'd be much more at ease with someone my age.

"So I ate at this local pub for an hour, and then just kinda started walking back, a-" I think you're about to comment, but the car replies first with a defeated buzz. The rumbling of the road stops. We're still. Shit.

My hands go back down into my pockets, trying to remember where I put my phone. "Hey, we-should I call somewhere? It's close enough to my house to walk there if we need to." I'm only watching you from behind, but see you shake your head. "Not needed. Stay." The doors unlock with a click, and you pull on your handle. "Do you need help?" I ask, reaching for mine. "Holding the light or something?" I don't know shit about cars. "No. Stay," you insist, more forcefully this time. I briefly hear crickets outside as you open the door, then am left in silence again as it shuts.

-

-

He doesn't wake back up when the car starts. Not strange. That sugar craving had to come from somewhere, and you're pretty sure you saw him put something out against his boot as you first pulled up. A few minutes into your abscense there'd been screenglow from the backseat, by ten it'd dissapered. You reach down and pick the phone up from where it's slid off his lap. Something's still playing behind the case, so you check the notifications before sliding it into your pocket. Nothing important, hours old texts in his language. Seems lighthearted in tone from the pictures attached.

The boy in the back doesn't stir while you glide further between the pines. You push the mirror into place to check every now and again. There are headphones wedged in his hair now, they're still faintly playing that video. His clothes pool around him, and that beanie's about to slide off his lap just like the phone did. What was it he said about somebody not being home?

The trees give way. A long, grey, industrial building sits in what's essentially a large clearing. You stop. The car huffs, and instantly you have to check so the boy wasn't shook awake. No. No worries. The road forks, and further to the left there are lights on somewhere in a window. He forgot them on before he left home. Cute. If somebody was inside, and you're pretty sure they're not, they would've turned them off by now. That means you've got at least until dawn, probably longer, until he's missed. You start sliding up the road. Now you've got his address, at least - should you decide to return him sometime.

#Unfortunately high effort post #horrordynamic #kidnap fantasy #nsft concept

[headoverhiddles]

Portrait era, for the word: protective

Era: Portrait

Prompt: Protective

Words: 150

"You show me where this prick is!"

Manson paces backstage. Daisy is launching into an extended guitar solo to make up for the fact that their frontman isn't onstage singing Dogma like he should be right now.

"No, just forget it. It was nothing!"

"For what he called you? I should crack the motherfucker's skull."

You tug at his pink feather boa. "Just get back onstage. You're being too protective!"

Not having it, walks you out into the crowd of the small Jacksonville club. He looks around, sees you staring at the asshole who harassed you.

"Hey, dipshit! Guess who?!" The guy sees you, sees your proximity to Manson (who currently looks like a deranged, half naked, sweat-soaked lunatic) and starts to freak out. Thankfully the mosh pit is a good cover for throwing punches. Twiggy looks out into the pit, sees the anarchy, and laughs his ass off.

Request a babble

#manson babble babbles #remember everyone if you're tired of seeing these on your dashboard #just blacklist that tag lol #marilyn manson x reader #marilyn manson #marilyn manson imagine #portrait of an american family

[ashotofeuphoria]

As I Hold You

Pairing: Firefighter! Jongho x Injured! Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: character death (not member or reader), ANGST, car accident, blood, injury, fire, v brief description of a dead body, trauma, potential miscarriage (hinted at), let me know if i missed anything!

Authors Note: First fic! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

You don't remember the impact. The sound of metal crushing, of horns blaring, and tires screeching. Everything just went black.

You had been out running errands all day with your younger brother, Gabriel. You needed to pick up some more supplies for your baby who was soon to arrive. Your first baby shower was scheduled for this upcoming weekend. While you knew that your family and friends would support you and buy you most everything you needed for your baby; you still wanted to buy cute outfits and toys in the anticipation of their arrival.

Your final stop was a new boutique that opened across town, and your younger brother was eager to chauffeur you. He knew that you were a little scared of what the future held and wanted to ease any stress he could, by doing little acts of service for you.

You were living with your family and would remain there throughout your first year of motherhood. You hadn't meant to become pregnant. In fact, you were rather scared of the idea of children and pregnancy. But accidents happen, as they tend to, and your (ex)boyfriend ended up knocking you up.

It was an amicable split when you broke up. You both knew it wouldn't last, and children don't fix broken relationships. He did agree to support you the best he can and you're thankful for that much. It's overwhelming honestly, having the amount of support from everyone that you do. One thing is for sure, this baby will be so loved.

Your brother walked you out to the car, all the bags in his hands, opened the door for you and helped you in. You were only about 4 months along, so you just barely had a visible bump on your small figure. But he held your hand and helped you step into the car regardless. He shut the door and ran around to the driver's side before opening the door and hopping in.

"Thank you for driving me today, buddy. I know you have other things you could be doing," you said as he started the car.

"You know I'd rather spend time with you than do anything else. All I do is read and listen to music in my room, it's not like I do all that much," he chuckled, finding it amusing how appreciative you are of a simple car ride.

"Yeah, alright," you smiled towards him, "Still I know you aren't required to help me out, so thank you. Love you, bubs."

"Love you too, y/n," he said as he glanced towards you with a soft smile.

The car pulled out of the parking lot with the GPS routed 20 minutes down the highway to the boutique. Gabriel took a left out of the neighborhood, and you asked him for the aux.

"Sure," he replied, keeping his eyes on the road but reaching for the cord to hand to you.

You began playing your K-pop playlist, something that's been getting you through the days recently. When you hit shuffle, Love Die Young by Eric Nam started playing. You started to harmonize with the chorus as Gabe pulled the car onto the highway.

"Not this sappy shit, y/n, really?" he giggled as he watched you dramatically act out the song, clutching at your heart as you sing, staring at him with a smile plastered on your face.

"His voice is so smooth I can't help it Gabe," you exclaimed in a sing-songy tone. "So, what do you think I'm gonna have? A boy or girl?" you ask him as the car hits the speed limit and he puts on cruise control.

"Honestly, I think it'll be a little girl. I hope it is at least. We gotta buy so many cute outfits today. I can't wait to help you take care of them. Whatever they may be," he laughed glancing over at you.

"I have this whole idea for their room, I want to do a taupe and mossy green color for the walls. And I think I want a lot of cute pictures of plants and different animals. Ya know, to keep it pretty but neutral, something that can age well with them," you explained to him as he steadily controls the car.

"I think it'll look perfect," he responded. "10 more minutes and we'll be there."

You nodded your head and looked out the window at the greenery. Ideas of outfits and nurseries swimming in your head. You closed your eyes, propped your arm up on the window, and leaned your head against your hand as the car drifted down the highway.

Your eyes jolted open when you suddenly hear Gabe go from a whisper to a shout "fuck, fuCK, FUCK Y/N HANG ON!"

A car had swerved and jumped the median and was driving directly towards you, mere meters away. Showing no signs of stopping, and Gabriel having no real way to swerve to avoid them, he threw an arm in front of you, and you brought your hands up to cover your face, your knees coming up on instinct to protect your belly.

And everything went black.

----

When you came to, the first thing you noticed was the smell. Metallic, and smoky, like something was burning. Then you felt a searing pain in your head. You struggled to open your eyes but when you did you couldn't believe what you were surrounded by. The airbags had deployed, but there was blood splattered across the car. You could tell smoke was rising out of the engine, but you couldn't see much else through the cracked windshield.

You look to your left and see Gabriel covered in blood, eyes closed. And you immediately feared the worst.

"Gabe! GABE!" you reached over to shake him, to hold onto his cheek and try and get him to face you. To open his eyes. To do anything. Your ears are ringing, and you can feel your eyes stinging when he won't respond. Your hands are desperately grabbing at his shirt, and hair, willing for him to wake up, for him to be okay.

"Gabe," your voice barely bubbling out of your throat as sobs begin to overtake your body. "Gabe, please, please, wake up. please, you can't, no, please, Gabe, bubs, you're okay, we're okay, please," the sobs wrack your body as you gasp for air between each word. Tears are streaming down your face and suddenly your focus is on your hands, and you see they're covered in blood.

You hold your hands in front of you and stare at them in horror when your vision redirects to your legs. You're crushed in the car. Your legs trapped under the dashboard. Your hearing is slowly coming back as you hear sirens somewhere in the distance, but from what direction you were unaware.

You remember a car had hit you head on when it crossed into your lane going well over the speed limit. As you glance out of the passenger window to see what happened to the other car (and if you're even still on the highway) you're met with a ghastly picture of your face in the side view mirror. Your forehead has been deeply cut, and blood is dripping thickly down your forehead and has mixed with the tears falling down your cheeks.

You cough when you begin to inhale smoke. Your vision blurring, your head falls back onto your headrest as you pass out.

----

As you come to, a faint knocking sound begins to grow louder, until you can hear a man yelling "Ma'am! Ma'am! Can you hear me! You gotta wake up! Ma'am!"

You cough the smoke out of your lungs, your head throbs from the movement and you wince in pain. You're brought back to the situation you've found yourself in and remember Gabe is next to you. You look over to him and the feelings become overwhelming again, as you stare at what you can only assume is his dead body.

As a sob erupts from your throat, you look out your window at the man who was calling for you, and are met with desperate, soft brown eyes staring at you through a helmet and face guard. He's a firefighter dressed in full gear. He yells something to you, trying to overpower the other noises happening on the busy highway but you can't connect the sounds with words in your brain. You can only stare at him in confusion, tears falling faster down your cheeks, your breathing uneven.

You see him reach for the handle of the car door and try and open it mumbling a quick "fuck!" in frustration. You're trapped in this car, and he needs to find a way to get both of you out before the whole car goes up in flames.

"Get the jaws! The doors are jammed!" He yells at the team of firefighters surrounding the car and the truck.

He looks back down to you and says as clearly and reassuringly as he can, "Hey, it's okay. It'll be okay, we're gonna get you out of there, okay?"

You begin to nod your head in response when a knock is heard at your brother's window. You whip your head around and see stars for a moment. When your sight clears you see a taller man in uniform shouting to your brother, who isn't responding. Your voice is small and cracks as you try and tell the man outside "he can't, he's not-" and you feel your chest become tight once more.

You hear the man at your window begin talking to you.

"Ma'am, please try and stay still. We must make sure your head is okay. Alright? Please don't move too much. Can you do that for me?" he politely asks you, empathizing with your situation.

You meekly nod your head. Your eyes are stinging. You don't know if it's the smoke or the tears, but it's probably both. As you focus on the man in front of you, you hear the man near your brother begin yelling at his team about the window and needing to check Gabriel's vitals. The man in front of you can tell you're not paying attention, so he speaks up.

"Yunho is going to break the glass to check the man next to you, okay? Just look at me, don't look away from me, okay? My name's Jongho. Just look at me, okay? What's your name?" Jongho asks you to keep you preoccupied and focused on him.

"Y/N," you try and get out of your throat. It's so dry and scratchy your voice isn't much higher than a whisper.

"Okay, y/n. Listen to me, you'll be okay. I'm going to get you out, okay? Who is that in the car with you?"

"M-my brother, Gabe, but he, I-I don't thin-nk," you choke out as you stare at Jongho, unable to say the words. That Gabe is dead. But you don't want him to be. You don't want it to be true. You look down at your door, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, unable to breathe. You hear glass shatter. As you begin to turn your head, Jongho raises his voice, keeping your focus on him.

"Your brother? Yunho is going to check on him and make sure everything is okay." you hear him say.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" Yunho calls out from the driver window. "Try not to breathe the smoke in, Jongho is gonna break your window to get to you, I'm going to take your brothers vitals and make sure he's doing okay. We're going to get you out of here as quickly as possible, okay?"

You glance towards him and nod your head, finding your eyes drawn to the way he checks for a pulse on Gabe, his slender fingers dancing on his throat, his wrist, anywhere he could find a heartbeat. And seeing the increasing worry on Yunho's face does nothing to reassure you. You see his eyes widen, and yours follow. He leans back and yells over to the team, "There's a pulse. It's faint, we need to get him airlifted asap! San, I need you over here!"

While you're fixated on Gabe's pale and limp figure, you hear glass shatter next to you followed by a warm hand turning your cheek towards him. You involuntarily gasp and sputter at the influx of fresh air.

"Deep breaths for me, Y/n. Please look at me." he gently demands. You look into his eyes as he shines a flashlight above them checking your pupils. He can see how bloodshot your eyes are from crying, and he glances over at your brother, then back at you. "Hey, it'll be okay, we're here now. Just look at me, don't look at him. You're okay. Everyone is here to protect you." he rushes out.

His hand rests under your chin as he uses two callused fingers to check your pulse. Then he gently tilts your head to each side to inspect the gash on your forehead as quickly as possible. He glances down your body to check your arms, and torso seeing they're mainly just bruised, when his eyes land on your bump.

His eyes widen as he asks you urgently, "Y/n are you expecting? Are you carrying a child?"

You hadn't even thought about your child. You had been so distraught over your brother; you didn't even consider the health or wellbeing of your unborn baby. Your heart rate rapidly increases as panic begins to set in.

"y-yes I am, I'm 4 months. I-I'm, do you think, are they? god please don't tell me-" you start blubbering as all the possibilities begin to tumble through your head.

Before he can reassure you, he checks down the rest of your body and sees your legs are trapped under the dashboard. And that even when the door is off you won't be able to get yourself out of the car. Jongho defaults to reassurance as he really can't even begin to answer the questions you're asking him, "I-it's okay. Everything is okay. Let's get you out of this car."

Smoke is becoming thicker around the front of the car, and you watch as it blows around Jongho's figure, flooding out the highway from where you sit. Tensions are growing higher as the crew knows there isn't much longer before the car is gone. Four men are teamed together and grab the Jaws of Life from the truck as they begin walking toward your car. Setting up on your brothers side you begin to hear metal cracking and snapping as the four men work to pry the car open with the heavy machinery. You're itching in your skin wishing to jump up and run now that you're trapped, and Jongho can tell. He has his hand braced at the back of your neck, keeping it steady, as you once again begin to panic; he rubs circles on your arm, and pushes your hair back from your sticky forehead and out of your eyes.

You can hear the Jaws stop and in the reflection of the side view mirror you can see Gabe's lifeless body being pulled from the car, his body pale and bright red from blood, blue and purple littering his figure. He's placed on a gurney and run towards the truck where someone begins CPR.

You redirect your eyes to meet Jongho's, whose eyes are looking deeply at you searching for any sign of pain or discomfort, any sudden changes in your condition. "Is he going to be okay? He has to be okay. Please tell me they can fix him." you plead with Jongho, who looks at you with nothing but the heaviest of hearts.

"We're going to do our best. I promise you we will do everything we can. But right now, we need to get you out of here too." he explains. "I'm going to go bring the Jaws over this way and we are going to get you two out of here," he asserts, gesturing at your bump. "I need you to stay still just like you have been, okay? You're doing so great. Keep your arms as close to your body as you can, and don't look at the window in case anything splinters. Do you understand me?" he asks you.

"Please don't leave me. P-please don't, don't go. Please stay." you sob as you realize you'll be left alone in your wrecked car.

"I'll be right here. Remember stay still and close your eyes." he reminds you as he drops his hands from you and gives his team room to operate on the car door.

You sob quietly to yourself. You can't believe this is happening. How Gabe could be here one second and now he's gone. The image of his pale bloody face is burned into the back of your eyelids as you squeeze them tightly shut. You hear the metal of the car frame crunching and cracking once again, as all four men yell commands and directions at each other. Your sobs are uncontrollable as you wish it had been you and not your brother. You wish with all your heart that you could've taken his place.

The door hits the asphalt and almost instantly you hear Jongho next to you, "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here. I never left." He notices how black the smoke has gotten and decides to check your legs to see if he can carry you out before the rest of the car is disassembled.

"Can you feel your legs?" he urgently asks you.

You nod your head as you cough so hard that you gag.

"shit-" Jongho mumbles under his breath, looking all over your figure and the car, knowing he must move now or never. With his mind moving a million miles a second, he makes the decision that your legs are likely not broken and brings out a blade from his pocket to saw your seat belt off you. You watch as the sweat beads down his forehead and across his dimpled cheeks as he grits his teeth.

Jongho puts his arms under yours, pulling you into his chest, getting your upper body mostly out of the car. When your legs are more visible, he puts one arm under your back and the other under your knees and lifts. You slide out from under the dashboard and with your neck cradled by his bicep and forearm he jogs you away from the car towards the firetruck. He gets five strides in when you hear the explosion. You peek past his arm to see your car engulfed in flames. You can feel the heat on your face, and the sound has left your ears ringing once more.

The team must've anticipated the event as hoses immediately start spraying to drown the car fire. Jongho gets behind the firetruck away from the fire and sets you down making sure you are stable, with no further injuries from his manhandling. He gently places a hand on your bump and hopes against everything that this baby is okay. Just as he's about to stand to find his captain and report your status he feels your hands fist into his uniform jacket holding onto him.

"please don't leave me. please don't leave. d-don't go." you hiccup as you stare pleadingly up at him. With the way you're gripping onto him, he knows there's no way he can walk away from you right now. Instead, he stands up and grabs a clean towel from just inside the truck and begins to tenderly wipe the blood and tears off your face, avoiding the gash on your forehead.

He doesn't have the heart to tell you that Gabe didn't make it, his body covered with a sheet on the other side of the truck. He also doesn't know how to explain that if Gabe hadn't reached over to protect you, he might've been in less critical condition. That he died protecting you. So, for now he wipes away the grime; and, after seeing you shaking, unbuttons his thick uniform jacket so he can hug you; until the paramedics arrive and will inevitably pull you away from him. You don't hesitate to wrap your small arms around his waist, and he holds you, pressing your head against his chest where you can hear his steady heartbeat.

"It's okay, y/n, it's going to be okay. You're okay. I'm here. I've got you." he repeats it like a mantra, over and over, convincing he thinks, both you and himself.

#ateez angst #ateez fanfiction #ateez #choi jongho #jongho #jongho angst #firefighter au #oneshot #ashotofeuphoria #fanfiction #ateez jongho #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez yunho #ateez jongho x reader #jongho x reader #kpop imagines #kpop fan fiction #ateez au

[glitterge1pen]

Have You Ever Considered Craft Supplies Instead Of Drugs? Then This Might Be For You.

Kyōtani Kentarou x reader, sfw, fluff, 1,691word count 

His room for the most part was clean. It’s main function was for sleep though. This was apparent. His clothes, which were mainly basketball shorts and blank t-shirts, were scattered about in a way that told you he threw them there when going to bed.

Kyotani had told you to give him a few minutes, while he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and struggling with the cap of his eyeliner pen. You felt comfortable enough in his apartment to check the fridge and see if anything was worth your while. But still you felt a bit like an intruder in his bedroom, which is where you had wandered off to.

The walls were white, mostly bare. There was a poster up for some band you didn't recognize, and another one advertising the Sendai Frogs that looked like he had ripped it off one wall to get onto his. You smiled at the thought of him stealing the poster from the grocery store display window or stadium parking lot.

You give his room one last once over before turning to leave. On your way out you trip over a shoe box. You would have just ignored it but a few tufts of paper flew out from the lid. You bend down to collect them but find that these aren't just trash from the shoe box. Quietly, and with a tinge of guilt, you kneel down to gently put the papers back in the box. The little scraps of paper you had found were actually sticky notes, you couldn't decipher the writing on them because of how faded and old the paper was.

You get one quick glimpse inside the shoe box on Kyotani’s floor. There are dozens of papers, printed photos, receipts, tickets, and what you assume are old keys. You feel like you've seen something very private of Kyotani’s and when you turn around to find him standing in the doorway, you gasp in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

He seems more concerned and confused about you versus the fact that you are in his room. You decide sarcasm is the best choice of action.

“What? You embarrassed about me being in your bedroom?”

“Shut up and get out!”

Kyotani puts his hands on your shoulders and tosses you out into the hallway.

“Hey, hey, what time is it because we might actually be late to the movie now,”

You say pulling out your phone to get a glance at the clock. There was only twenty minutes before you were supposed to be at the theater.

“We’ll be fine, the trailers always play for too long anyways”

He says leading you out the front door.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

When the team wins a game and you head out to eat with the guys afterwards, your eyes don't usually follow Kyotani’s hands so closely. You hope that no one else has picked up on your new habit. But last week's venture into his bedroom has left you reeling in thought.

Kyotani doesn't really like to be hugged. During movie nights he sits separate from the pile of pillows and bodies. He tolerates head pats and high fives. When he hangs up the phone you can feel how difficult it is for him to say something like “bye I love you” platonic or not.

You hadn't really considered it before, at least not so intently in relation to Kyotani. Most people were easy to understand in their affections and how they garnered it. Or if they weren't so obvious, they made some sort of distinction, a simple “I don't like when people do this” or “I prefer this”.

Being friends with Kyotani you had assumed that he was content with what people gave him because he never asked for more. He didn't hug you when you two parted ways, and you never forced him to. He didn't ask or push on others boundaries but now after seeing that shoe box you wondered why he had never advocated for his own. You thought perhaps it wasnt that Kyotani disliked those other forms of affection or care, but rather he didn't regard those other acts as affections at all.

The sounds of the restaurant fade back in as your thoughts simmer down. You feel Tsukishima and Yamaguchi next to you. Enthralled in a conversation about some show they had been binging together. Apparently Yamaguchi had watched a few episodes without Tsukishima and everyone found the annoyed, bitter expression on Tsukishima hilarious, the table erupting in laughter.

“You good? You've been staring at nothing for five minutes,”

Kyotani said to you before taking another bite into his food. He sat across from you, his elbows propping him up over his plate of food.

“Yeah, just tired today,”

You say shaking your head as if trying to wake yourself up.

As the evening wears on, your eyes still follow Kyotani’s hands. Trying to catch the moment of thievery in action. To see if your contemplations are grounded in Kyotani’s actions or rather thoughts with nothing to hold as they pass you by.

But as everyone files out of the restaurant, the bill already split, the copy of the receipt abandoned on the table, you watch as Kyotani lingers for just a moment, to pocket the slip of paper.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You couldn't remember the last time you had attempted to burn a CD. Was it you who did it or a friend? It was years ago though that was for sure. You had made three playlists on spotify, checking and double checking that they were private playlists. After arranging them and finding the songs that fit just right with each list you started finding youtube videos of each song. From there you converted the links to MP3 audio.

While your computer whirred and the audio filed loaded onto the disk you thought about decorating the CD cases. Of course covering the clear plastic case with glitter gel pen and cute stickers was very tempting. But you weren't sure that was Kyotani’s style. At the same time this was supposed to be a gift from you. You met yourself halfway.  Decorating one CD case like how you would have wanted, and the other with more of a Kyotani flair, the third somewhere in between the two.

When the CD’s were done you carefully placed them into their new plastic homes. Grabbing a black sharpie to scribble the playlist names onto each. You felt like wrapping them would be too extravagant so you settled for tying a ribbon around the two.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What the hell do you want?” Kyotani says as he pulls up next to you on the curb outside your place. You had texted him earlier while he was at work, asking if could stop by after he got off. He has the window rolled down and you take it upon yourself to unlock the passenger door and climb inside.

"I wanted you to test these out"

You were hoping that you had done everything right with the computer.You hand him the CD's, he flips them over in his hands inspecting them.

“Is it cool if I take these ribbons off?”

You nod and he turns the car radio on to insert the CD’s. As the first song starts playing you turn to him.

“This is that band you like right? The one on that poster in your room?”

Kyotani is visibly flustered by this.

“Yes? Did you...did you make these for me?”

You throw your head back in a laugh.

“Yes, I made them for you,”

“Oh,”

He says in a rather soft amazed tone.

“Look, I didn't mean to, but when I was in your room the other day I tripped over that shoe box you have,”

You keep your eyes trained on the street outside the dashboard window. Unsure and a bit nervous to see what Kyotani is thinking. Tempted by curiosity though, you do look at him for a brief moment, only to find him also intensely staring off into the street. His face lit up red with embarrassment.

“I’m glad that I saw it though. Because that stuff is important to you and I want to know what you think is important”

The air in the car feels like it is clinging to your skin with tension. You think the pressure will start to crack your bones when Kyotani’s voice splinters the suspense.

“It's easier to feel something when its tangible, when you can hold it, it's why people still buy polaroids and go to museums and shit”

You nod, a jovial ease overcoming you as he continues to speak.

“I don't really like, uh, I guess physical affection or even talking or it’s not like talking, people call it words of affirmation or whatever,”

You hold the smile of your lips down, you don't want him to think you’re teasing him in this moment. You're just happy that he is comfortable enough with you to say such things.

“I know lots of other people like to have those types of things though, and I worked really hard to get used to stuff, but I don't know, this is what I like,”

He says gesturing with the CD case to you.

“I mean so like, birthday cards, post-it notes, bus transfers? Things that are directly attached to memories and people? Anything else you want me to know about?”

While it hurts a little that he’s struggling to talk about this matter, you can't help but revel in the unusual brash shyness of Kyotani. He does mutter something, but when you lean in closer to signal that you didn't hear him the first time he repeats himself.

“Event pamphlets. I know it's trash but I like it”

“Promise you won't get mad?”

You drawl your voice out and make it sweet so he knows you're messing with him.

“Hm?”

He says, eyebrow quirked in question.

“I think you'd be really into scrapbooking”

“Shut the hell up before I kick you out of my car”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: Took a break from my current writing obsession to spit this out .

#kyotani x reader #kyōtani kentarō #kyoutani kentarou #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #kyoutani kentarou x reader

[harry-sussex]

You're lovely, and I enjoy seeing your blog on my dashboard. I'm sorry this has been such a difficult thing to process. It's always really difficult to rework an image of someone you once thought you knew. However I'd like to just put it out there - sometimes (I think the large majority of the time) news is presented in the most sensationalist way, such that nowadays I make a point of de-sensationalizing any news I read in my head. In the case of the whole Harry's memoir thing- I can sympathize with Harry as a person possibly just wanting to take back some control of the narrative for himself. Not just in the most recent events with family (that I tend to think are less horrifying than the fandom/Twitter sussex squad discusses it anyway), but in all aspects of his life. I do not at all think he's going to put his family on blast. I can easily imagine Meghan reigning that dialogue in; she has the tendency to think before she speaks that he seems to lack. And he loves his family. Similar to The Interview promos, I imagine the publishing house knew to increase the interest by implying it to be a tell all memoir. I think he's just done a lot of growing up that he didn't know he had to do over a short period of time, esp re: implicit bias/racism in the setting of media's blatant attack on someone he loves, and is disappointed by the institution's and his family's response to it. I think he's emerged a more introspective and aware human, albeit a disillusioned one. Yes it breaks my heart to think that Meghan won't get a break from the tabloids any time soon. If I were him I'd counsel him to write it & sit on it for a few yrs. But I don't want to give the media the power to destroy Meghan in my mind, and I pray she & Harry won't either. I think she'll be okay. She's a strong one, and I think he's able to draw that same link for himself and be thoughtful about what he does. No one likes being misunderstood/misinterpreted, and I wouldn't be surprised if Harry's especially triggered by that given his history with the press. Maybe this idea emerged from therapy, idk. I can empathize with that, even if I wouldn't do it myself. I hope and pray Meghan gets the support she needs from him and her loved ones in the meantime. I'm honestly not going to read it. I think the less attention I give the BRF the better off they are, unless they're doing something immoral/illegal (see: Woking pizza alibi). And I think at the end of the day, people will unfairly judge other people, especially public figures that have tragic pasts and are publically fighting with the media. A lot of it is going to be noise and I'm not going to give my energy into figuring it out. I like to think I've got a good sense of who they are as people - flawed but ultimately well meaning and earnest. I'm a huge admirer of Meghan and think Harry got really lucky with this one and I'm proud of him for choosing her in more ways than one. I believe Harry and Meghan are lovely people, and I 100% believe their interview. I believe that there are people in the palace with a lot of unchecked power who deliberately uncovered her and Archie from BRF protection for reasons of believed superiority over Meg & Arch. And they're figuring out how to deal with that as a couple and a family. And it's none of my business past that imo. I pray for them and hope it'll eventually end in peace for them all. Just wanted to add another perspective, and hopefully some levity. xx M

Hi, dear. First thing’s first, I really appreciate that this is off anon lol. I love it when people own their opinions, and it says a lot that you did. So thank you for that.

Second of all, I really appreciate the nuance and perspective that is in this message. I agree that the news is sensationalist, and my initial reaction was based off of that. I did watch the promotional clips of the interview and I believe it did sour my expectations going into it when I watched it nearly a week after it aired. I did my best to stay away from Tumblr because I didn’t want that to hinder my view, but it was impossible to separate the promotions that presented the information one way from what it actually was, and thank you for bringing that up with respect to the memoir because I hadn’t considered it. I will say that my knee jerk reaction is pretty on par with the way I still feel about it 24 hours later, especially since I got the news directly, not from Tumblr or Twitter or anywhere else, but you’re right that it could have soured my view from the very start.

I appreciate that he wants to take back some of the narrative but I think that ship has sailed, tbh. He did that with the interview and now I just think it feels like information overload. At some point, people are going to get tired of hearing the wealthy, privileged, powerful Prince complain about his life while more than 4 million people have died due to a global pandemic in less than 2 years. Not to say that he doesn’t struggle - in the words of Roxane Gay, there is no oppression Olympics (and that can be extended to struggle Olympics) - but people view it that way and will get tired of it, if they haven’t already.

I also agree that Harry’s past with the press has tarnished the way he has handled the media and the public post-exit, when he’s finally in a position to strike back without being somewhat obliged to them as part of the circumstances of his birth. I understand and sympathize with him but I just don’t think the public does, and the public matters much, much more than the perspective of one single American fan, to whom he’s never been obliged, and I simply do not think the public will afford him that same understanding, sympathy, and leniency. The public and the media are critical to his humanitarian work - his mother never realized that towards the end of her life, and I truly don’t think she would have been the martyr/saint she is perceived to be now if she had lived, because she did not know how to meet the media in the middle and eventually that started to piss people off. He’s starting to piss people off now and if it doesn’t bother him personally (which it definitely does), I don’t want it to affect his causes. The Invictus Games, Sentebale, Walking with the Wounded, WellChild, Mayhew, Smartworks, Archewell, etc. deserve better than to suffer the wrath of the media and an apathetic public because their patrons simply will not shut up lol.

I guess my point is that they will be unfairly judged (regardless, but especially due to the way they’re handling things), and I think it would suit them better in the long run if they adopted a different strategy. I really sympathize with the fact that he feels frustrated with the narrative that has been manufactured but I really, really think the narrative will only get worse and worse as he continues to go on and on about how badly his life sucks, basically. Again, I don’t deny that he struggles - we all do, some more than others, especially when there are mental health issues - but the public, to me, simply does not care. My own therapist has told me to simply stop caring about the things that I discuss with him. Not to say that they’re not relevant, important, or worthy of discussion - they absolutely are - but his point is that you cannot change people and you are wasting your energy and struggling yourself because you want to change them so, so, so badly that you’re neglecting your own self care in the process. I hate that I do it to myself and I also hate that he appears to be doing it to himself. I’m sure a lot of this conversation has been brought up in his own therapy, and I’m no professional, but I’m doing my best to heed the advice of my own therapist - which is the opposite of what Harry is doing - and it’s done wonders for me, when I actually can do it.

If there’s anything I know from this whole thing, it’s that Harry is absolutely punching above his weight, love him as I may, and that he adores, adores, adores his wife. He has chosen her from the very second she came into his life and I couldn’t want anything more for him or from her. I’m not going to lie, I would have been in this thing for any wife that Harry chose, because I was here long before Meghan specifically came into his life. However, I am glad every day that he chose her, that he loves her, that he wants to protect her, that she loves him back, that he lives the life with her that he’s wanted as long as I (and I’m sure he) can remember. I love her because he loves her, and I would have no matter what, because at the end of the day, it’s his happiness and comfort that matters to me, that has mattered to me since I discovered him and how wonderful he can be more than 7 years ago. What more could I ask of Meghan? What more, as his fan to the end (annoy me as he may), could I want for him? Who could say anything about her in that regard? If there’s anything that has come of this mess, to me, it’s that Harry loves, loves, loves his wife. I will always be happy for him and I will always be proud of him for choosing her, even if I don’t always agree with the way he goes about it.

I’m looking forward to peace, too. I cannot wait for things to just die out, for them to work things out as a couple and as a family, and for everyone to move on. The family will still do their thing and the Sussexes can do theirs, but I cannot deal with this back and forth, tit for tat, petty nonsense anymore. They’re wonderful and flawed, like the rest of them (except Andrew), and I just hope that they can all come to some kind of agreement or terms that lets this die down. It’s exhausting for everyone - themselves included. If I’m this tired, I can only imagine how tired they all are.

Thanks for stopping by, and sorry for the essay (essays, these past 24 hours lol). I really appreciate your kindness in this message, your presence in my notifications (I do see them!), your nuanced perspective and like I said before, I really, really appreciate that you own it!

#Ask #possibilitiesofsainthood #Prince harry #duke of sussex #meghan markle #duchess of sussex #phmemoir

[ambivalent-anarchy]

Grey

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x morally grey! reader

Warning: None

Saw something on Pinterest and had an idea.

This will be a new storyline. Not a fic, just the one-shots will be connected, though you'll be able to read all of them separate and it still makes sense. You can send requests for this storyline just put 'Peter Parker x grey!reader'

Morally grey- a character who does too much good to fully be bad, but too much bad to fully be good and their motives are unclear.

Hope you like it!

---------------------------------------

Peter had been warned against people like her.

She kept him on his toes, always switching sides. She wasn't like the other villains he'd known.

Mysterio, Scorpion, Otto Octavius. They were bad. There was no doubt about it. They'd each brought some turmoil on the world in one form or another.

They needed to be stopped. So Spiderman stopped them. Simple as that.

But [Y/N]. She was different.

"Watch out for the morally grey ones," Mr. Stark had told him early in his superhero career. "They're the confusing ones. The ones ya just can't fully be mad at."

Natasha was much more clear with her approach. "Take my advice, kid," she said. "Don't make it personal. I've seen how you act with your villains.. one like that, where they're so close to being good, yet so far. One like that would kill your spirit."

And it certainly seemed Peter had finally found his match.

"Give it up, [Y/N]! I always catch you!"

He'd been tracking her for weeks now. At first it seemed she was just a common thief. But she was smart. She had skills. She had plans. And well, if you wear a costume, you can't just be some common thief.

"You forget, Spiderman!," she chirped as she ran, a large, bulging bag on her back. "We're twelve to seven! I've been coming up lately!"

Peter rolled his eyes as he hopped into action. "Is this just a game to you?"

"I'm just saying," she laughed. "Gotta give credit where credit is due!"

Peter scoffed as he swung to catch up. "You say that as you hold a bag of hundreds of people's stolen money!"

This was her fifth time this week. Going to rich people's banks and sneaking past the security systems and stealing their money.

For a few weeks, Peter hadn't eaten. He hadn't slept. He was practically going crazy searching for her. Trying to pin an M.O. to make it a bit easier for himself. But she was untraceable. The only thing he'd found out about her was her name. Which basically led to nothing being that she was practically a nobody. The only time he could see her was when she made herself visible.

Today, she'd hit the bank Norman Osborn had been storing sums of his money into. But hardly anyone knew that. She'd done her research and some heavy snooping.

"It's mostly just Osborn today, he'll find a way to bounce back! He always does!," she yelled, jumping to the last building on the block.

She looked around desperately as she felt her chaser getting closer. She was trapped. "Crap," she muttered.

"Gotcha," Peter whispered to himself as he swung to the building she stood on. Once there, he quickly webbed the bag from her back.

Quickly noticing what he was doing, [Y/N] caught it just as he began to snatch it. She kept a tight hold on it and they began to fight for dominance, stuck in their own little game of tug-of-war.

"Let...go!," Peter grunted.

"Not on your life," she shot back, feeling her feet slide on the concrete. She was about to lose.

They both realized it as her feet began to give way and her body became airborne, almost crashing into Peter before he quickly moved out of the way.

"Ugh!"

[Y/N] screamed as her entire back crashed into wall of the building. Looking up, she watched as Spiderman grabbed the bag.

"Oh, hell no," she spat.

Peter smirked as he picked up the bag. "Sorry [Y/N]. But I guess it's thirteen to seven now- AGH!"

He collapsed in an instant, feeling something hard sling across his face. It was too hard to be a fist. And God it hurt like hell.

[Y/N] scowled. "You threw me into a wall!," she screamed as hit her nemesis again and again with the butt of her gun. "You asshole!"

Peter grimaced, attempting to grab hold to her wrists and push her off of him. "Well, I didn't BREAK YOUR NOSE!," he hissed through gritted teeth. Luckily, that was the only thing that felt broken of his.

She continued her brutal attack on his upper body, almost as if she's was trying to put the gun through him before he finally got the upper hand and threw her off.

He moved to try to stand, but he fell back down, an entirely new, different pain aside from his face starting.

[Y/N] propped her head up. "Was that your stomach?," she asked.

Aunt May was out of town, so there was no one to make sure Peter had been taking care of himself, which he hadn't. The last thing he'd prepared was a pop-tart, that was still burning in the toaster in his home as he sat on that building.

[Y/N] stood, rubbing her back to relieve some of the pain she felt that was keen on staying. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was your stomach."

Peter scrunched his eyebrows together, confused. Still, he put his fist up to fight, ignoring the heavy and loud rumbling of his stomach.

Rolling her eyes, she threw the gun down. "Well, I'm not gonna fight you now." She moved toward him to pick up the bag he barely had a hold on. Unzipping it and reaching in, she pulled out a few bills and put it in the hand that wasn't pressing his cheek. "Here. Take it."

Peter backed into the wall some more, if that was even possible. "I don't want your dirty money," he protested.

"Well, it's from a rich people bank. It's actually pretty clean," [Y/N] joked before kicking his uninjured leg lightly. "C'mon man, don't be weird just take it, okay?"

"Put the money back in the bag," Peter ordered, making a second attempt to stand. He didn't make it this time either, cursing quietly as he fell back to the ground. Was he hurt or was he just really tired he asked himself.

"You need to eat something."

Peter frowned, wrapping both arms around his grumbling stomach. "You need to mind your own business."

[Y/N] stepped forward slowly, arms held out in front of her, palms up. "You fainted on me last week, remember idiot? And I can hear how hungry you are now." She walked a bit closer, picking up the bills her enemy had thrown on the ground, then looked back up to him. "If you won't take the money, at least let me buy you some food," she bargained.

Peter watched the mixed expressions flicker on her face. Annoyance. Concerned? She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Look Spiderman, you help everyone. Let someone help you for once. Don't let your pride stop you from taking the help you need to continue saving lives, okay?" She smiled crookedly. "To continue stopping people like me."

Peter stared, mouth agape. "[Y/N], what is this?," he questioned. "You're not nice.. you're rude, a-and you only care about yourself." He winced, shuffling to lay his back on the wall of the building you'd thrown him into moments before.

"Well, I've always preferred 'rough around the edges', but okay," she snickered, rolling her eyes and then looking down at the ground right in front of his feet. This was completely out of her element, but she couldn't help but feel like she was obligated to do it.

"Alright, but.. you hate me," Peter said, looking up to see her completely unreadable face.

She finished stuffing the rest of the money in her bag. "I think you've got me messed up with Doc Oc," she said, wiping off her pants, getting ready to help Spider-man up. "I'm not like most of them, y'know. Us villains aren't all the same. Some of us actually do have some morals."

He watched as she looked around, muttering to herself. If it were anybody else, they wouldn't have heard her. But with his senses, Peter heard her loud and clear.

'God, give me strength.'

She held her hand out to him. "Come on, let me get you outta here, Spider."

Underneath his mask, Peter's frown deepened. "No, I got it... just go, okay?" He still had a hold on the bag with his webs. He was offering her a chance to escape.

"Don't be an idiot, dude," she scolded. "I just pistol-whipped you. Even if you swing, I'm sure all that wind blowing on your cuts and bruises wouldn't be comfortable..."

Peter blew out a breath. He knew she didn't really want this. So why was she so insistent? She was a criminal and he was the hero. Simple as that. Or at least, it's supposed to be.

But now she was helping him? Offering him a meal? He hated to admit it, but at this moment, he preferred criminals like Doc Oc or Green Goblin. At least they didn't confuse him like this.

But she's didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. And he did still need to take the cash she'd stolen. So swallowing his pride, he chuckled. "Um, [Y/N]... look.."

-

And now they were in the Olive Garden parking lot.

She'd helped clean most of his cuts in her car (his mask only going up to his nose of course).

After he'd had a bit of time to calm down, he turned his face toward her. "So, um, there's no drive-thru?"

The villain scoffed lightly. "Hell no," she responded. "I'm not throwing my whole day off on you. We're movin' on my schedule bucko. And anytime I lose against you, and not get thrown in lockup, I go drink, okay? That cool with you?," you teased. "Or are you gonna tell me how unhealthy that is Mr. Superhero Guy?"

Peter huffed. "Well, you can go eat. But I'm not taking off my mask. I'll stay here."

"And let you steal back my cash? I don't think so," she retorted.

"So what?," he asked, frankly annoyed at this point. "Spider-Man just walks into an Olive Garden with a random girl?"

"Wouldn't be that way if you'd just take off your mask," [Y/N] defended. "Then it'd just be two random people walking into an Olive Garden."

"That's not an option."

Tapping on the dashboard, she groaned. "C'mon, I take my mask off in front of you all the time! You know who I am. Why can't I know who you are?"

"You don't care about keeping your identity a secret because you have nothing to lose. I'm not the same. I want my loved ones to be safe."

"That's implying that I'd hurt someone you love, Spider-Man. I'm not sadistic," [Y/N] corrected.

Peter frowned. "You literally pistol-whipped me about an hour ago."

"And I just spent that last hour nursing your wounds," she shot back.

"Sometimes you go out of your way to beat me up though."

"That's because sometimes you aggravate me," she laughed. "Occasionally, you deserve to get punched in the face."

"Whatever."

It was quiet again.

Until two minutes later Spiderman's stomach growled once again.

"Look dude, we could always pass you off as a overenthusiastic cosplayer?," she offered. "You wouldn't have to take off your mask that way, but you would get weird looks."

For probably the hundredth time since starting his hunt on her, Peter rolled his eyes. "Why do you want me to eat so much anyway?"

"I don't care about you if that's what you're suggesting," she said. "I just don't like people going hungry. And it's obvious you're not taking care of yourself." Her eyes shifted a bit. "And what's the fun in beating you if I'm not beating you at your highest, right?"

Peter chuckled at [Y/N]'s excuse. "Right.."

-

And now they were sat at a table. [Y/N] in a cute shirt she had in her car and some jeans. Peter still in his Spiderman suit.

Awkward, to say the least.

But the stares from waiters were the least of Peter's worries.

'What am I doing???'

He should've left hours ago. He should've grabbed the money and returned it and taken this girl to jail.

But the more he talked to her, and the way she nursed his wounds without question and gave him some food. It made him think of all the other things he hadn't noticed before.

How she only stole from the rich (which was very bad of course but way better than just taking from everybody). How she never went for kill shots, or even for spots that'd cause heavy injury.

She was a bad guy, yes. But maybe she wasn't a bad guy.

"I'm sorry for that time I shot you, by the way," she spoke in the middle of their meal. "It was meant to just be a warning shot. But you moved and it got your leg. It's been bugging me for a long time. That didn't take too long to heal, did it?"

Peter shook his head as he chewed his food.

"Good," she said. "Also for pistol-whipping you earlier today. I kinda got carried away."

"Yeah, I could tell. It hurts to chew right now," he said.

"Well my back still hurts from being thrown into a wa-"

"Why do you steal?," Peter cut in to ask.

Without any hesitation, [Y/N] responded. "It's just my way."

He frowned. "Just your way?," he repeated. "Haven't you-"

"Don't want a job. Tried them and didn't like them. And there's nothing more schools can teach me. Stealing has the thrill I love and it helps me to get around and, if the opportunity presents itself, to help somebody out."

Peter stared, dumbfounded. So [Y/N] was a good person...who just happened to like stealing? But then that else make her a bad person.

How could one person be so contradictory?

"You are an enigma," Peter marveled.

"Thank you," she replied, taking a sip of her wine.

When it came time to leave, [Y/N] paid and they made their way out of the building, actually laughing together and enjoying themselves.

They made their way back to her car. [Y/N] smiled. "Well, thanks for that, even though I never saw your face the whole time," she giggled. "Wait, does this count as a date? I'm sorta dressed up and you're probably in the best suit you've ever worn." She pinched at a spot of his suit on his shoulder. "Had a semi-fancy dinner-"

Peter held his head back and laughed. "I mean, I guess if you want it to, then it does. But I'm still gonna arrest you if I catch you again."

[Y/N] smirked. "And I'm still gonna steal, so.."

"Right..," Peter sighed. It wasn't like he thought he could actually change her in one night. But someone so insistent on doing a bad thing.

So close, yet so far...

Which made him remember..

"Oh yeah!," he exclaimed as he bursts off running towards the car, leaving a confused [Y/N] behind him.

She didn't get a chance to ask what he was doing before he kicked and busted the tires of her car and broke one of the windows to reach in and steal the bag of money inside.

Jumping onto her car, he pulled his mask up to right above his mouth. "Thanks for the meal! Gotta blast! Remember to stay off the streets!," Peter yelled before he jumped into the air.

Shocked, [Y/N] stood there frozen. "I-i, I-i.... I'M GONNA KILL YOU, SPIDERMAN!!!"

"You say that a lot!," he joked. "I'm beginning to doubt your commitment!"

"Ugh!"

-

"How'd it go, underoos?," Tony asked early the next morning.

Peter looked up from his computer with a unreadable expression on his face. "Hey Mr. Stark," he started. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I think I met one of those villains you used to talk about. The good but bad ones?"

Tony crossed his arms. "And?"

"I think we're kinda friends..."

#peter parker oneshot #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #spiderman x you #spiderman mcu #spiderman fic #spiderman x reader #spiderman #marvel x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel

[thegayfromrulid]

Nice to see you're taking fic requests^^ Here's something funny you could write: AU where Eugeo is in Kiritos world. Eugeo has just gotten his drivers license and wants to show off to Kirito (who doesn't have one), but it turns out he's a terrible and aggressive driver. Kiritos stomach doesn't like that very much XD You can make it shippy if you want^^

Uhhh maybe I can answer them long???? I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TUMBLR asladfashdg. I’m so sorry I’m dense. This was fun to write. I’m someone who easily gets carsick, so I can really feel for Kirito here...ahaha...one-shot below the cut. 

             So, asmy luck would have it, an artificial Fluctlight brought into the real worldsomehow managed to get a license before I did. I mean, I have the motorcyclelicense, but that’s not the same. I can’t drive a car. I can only have oneother passenger, which isn’t really fair when I have a decent-sized group offriends. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with taking the bus or the train, butsomething almost felt…cooler…about being able to drive your friends places.

               AndEugeo beat me to it.

               He toldme he’d pick me up at ten so that he could demonstrate his new driving skillsto me for a little bit before we met up with everyone at Dicey Café. I glanceddown at my phone. A few people had just sent good morning texts, and here I wasstanding on the curb yawning and waiting for my ride. The only two people whohad been up earlier than myself and Eugeo were Asuna and Alice, who probablywere holding back comments when I told them ten in the morning was “too early.”

               The carhe pulled up in looked like an average streetcar. I don’t know why I’d beenexpecting some weird government vehicle. I shook my head and leaned over towave at him through the window. He lowered it, giving me a friendly smile.

               “I’dwatch out if I were you,” I said. “I heard some sketchy blond guy’s beendriving around picking up random teens off the curb.”

               “K-Kirito,don’t just say things like that in public!” he said.

               His tonesounded serious, but I could tell he was holding back a laugh.  I slipped into the passenger seat and reachedan arm around him.

               “Lookat you, adapting to the real world!” I jabbed. “Except you keep slipping up.”

               “S-slippingup?” he stammered.

               He lookedembarrassed suddenly.

               “Oh!Your name…it’s…”

               “Kazuto,”I said, laughing. “It’s okay. It took Asuna time to adjust, too. She stillcalls me Kirito quite often. No matter how many times I tell her it’s Kazuto.”

               Eugeoshook his head.

               “Well,that is the name you gave me when youintroduced yourself,” he pointed out. “Anyways, you’re the first passenger I’vehad since being licensed. I promise I’ll do my best.”

               I gavehim a funny look.

               “What’sthat supposed to mean?” I asked.

               Hetapped one finger on the steering wheel.

               “I’mjust a little nervous,” he admitted. “I know I passed the tests and receivedthe license, but this world is still new to me. You were born here and grew uphere. You know what a good driver is from a bad one because you’ve been aroundcars your whole life. Meanwhile, I’m completely new to this. Even if I was ableto pass the tests, I’m new to cars in general.”

               Ipatted him gently on the shoulder and gave him my cheesiest grin. His cheeks tingedred.

               “Hey, I’msure you’ll do fine,” I reassured him. “And like I told you on the phone, it’scool that you want to do a few practice laps around the block.”

               “Practicelaps?” he repeated. “I distinctly remember telling you I wanted to show you howmuch I learned!”

               “Aaaah…right.”

               Oops.

               “Y-youknow what I mean!” I said. “By doing, you’re still practicing, so…”

               He letout a stressed sigh and shifted the car into drive. A small part of me wantedto playfully clutch the seat and act like he was already driving like a maniac,but it was better not to pick on him while he was operating a two-ton mobilesteel cage that had me inside of it. He pulled out onto the road. We sat insilence for a moment.

               “So…is…isit okay to talk while you…?” I asked.

               Eugeonodded.

               “Yeah,it’s fine,” he said.

               “Okay, cool,otherwise this might be very awk—”

               Thewords were yanked out of my mouth as he pressed his foot down into the acceleratorand made a hasty left turn. My body slammed against the car door. He tried tostraighten out the car, swerving a little back and forth as he tried to correcthis direction. I caught a glimpse of how close the car in front of us wasbefore he slammed down on the brake, sending me forward so fast that the onlything stopping me from banging my head on the dashboard was the seatbelt digginginto my chest.

               “Eugeo,easy!” I said.

               “S-sorry,”he stammered. “I didn’t think someone might be so close when I turned.”

               I satup properly to give him my response, but he swerved again, this time changinglanes abruptly to go around someone going the speed limit. This time, I wastossed against him. He let go of the wheel and moved to get me off of him.

               “Eu-Eugeothe wheel, the wheel!” I exclaimed.

               “O-oh,right!”

               Hegrasped ahold of the wheel and kept his focus on the road from then on, noteven bothering to look at me as he drove. I wasn’t paying attention to himafter the second turn, though. He whipped the vehicle around, didn’t exactlydrive straight, and had a foot made of lead. With each bump, swerve, or sharpturn, I felt my stomach turn. If I didn’t get out of the car, I thought I wouldpuke right there in my lap.

               “Ithink I’m done practicing,” he said, using my choice of word specifically tomake me regret having chosen it. “I’ll head to the café now, if that’s alright?”

               I gavehim a meek nod. It didn’t occur to me where he’d driven us on his littlepractice runs around the city, but before I could register it, Eugeo pulled hisworst driving stunt yet: a U-turn. I clamped my hands over my mouth as the carcareened to the right. Something told me we might have lifted two tires off ofthe ground, but I felt so dizzy I couldn’t focus on anything.

               Withthe U-turn nightmare over, we still drove for about ten minutes to get to DiceyCafé. My stomach continued to protest as he whipped the car around otherdrivers. I personally had expected Eugeo to be an overly-cautious and nervousdriver, but instead he drove like a child who only knows how to press the gasas hard as possible in a racing game and when they pressed the brake (if atall) it was a full stop from top speed.

               When he(very poorly) finally parked the car alongside the street, I slowly pulledmyself out of the car and staggered a few feet, clutching my belly. I leanedagainst the wall of the closest building and took deep breaths as I tried toreorient myself. Eugeo hurried over to me and gently rubbed my back.

               “Youdidn’t tell me you got carsick,” he said.

               How onEarth was I supposed to tell him I don’t? I forced myself upright and wrappedmy arms around his neck. From the flustered sounds he was making, I’d probablyjust really embarrassed him. I patted his back and shook my head.

               “Whatam I going to do with you?” I muttered.

               “K-Kirito,people are staring!” he exclaimed.

               Itprobably did look like a young couple getting a little too close for publictaste. I didn’t care, though. I didn’t want him to see the laugh I was holdingback.

               “We’llwork on that lead foot of yours, Eugeo,” I said, sighing. “Maybe then the carsicknesswill magically go away.”

               “Wereyou faking sick?!”

               I shookmy head.

               “No,no,” I said.

               Finally,I grasped him by the shoulders and separated us just enough that he could seeme face. I’d composed myself well enough, I thought, to be able to seriouslygive him my opinion on his newly legalized skill.

               “You’rejust that bad of a driver.”

               “H-hey!”

               At hisresponse, I couldn’t hold in my laughter any longer. Oh well. He was probablyexpecting it, anyways.