#Smart Card IC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seumyo · 1 year ago

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BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 10:32

You tell Bakugou once that you don’t know how to take the train home, and he almost blasted your ears off with semi-yelling (or full-on yelling at some point) insults.

“Hah?” He scoffs, eyes narrowing. This information is new to him, and a surprising one at that.

You? The nerd that always bested him when it came to academics, which pissed him off the first few months in U.A.? The person who was not only book smart but was street and people smart as well?

The whole goddamn package doesn’t know how to take the train?

Really?

He’s calling bull.

“What do you mean you don’t know how to take the train home? What kind of idiot doesn’t know that?”

“I just��“ you’re abashed and really don’t know what to say, “I didn’t really— I’ve never had the chance to take one until now!” For a consistent honors student, you can’t really have everything, can you?

“How’ve you been getting to school and back, then?”

“We had a driver—“

“Fuckin’ course—“

“But hey! Listen—in my defense—my schools were usually a walking distance from our house.”

“And now what? Gonna stand here and wait for a miracle to happen?”

You nudge his side with a frustrated frown (more like a pout, Bakugou thinks.) “Quit it, asshole.”

He backtracks briefly, though you could barely tell at this point. And it’s clear enough that he takes your words into consideration. It could be the fact that you actually look scared shitless right now, something foreign to your typical lax and carefree persona.

“C’mon.” Bakugou grabs you by the arm.

“Ow— hey! Where are we going?”

“You have to learn somehow, or else you’ll look fuckin’ clueless and dumb, nerd.”

You don’t argue because you really just wanted to get home, and while you could just call in your driver, you considered that this was important information that would help you in the long run. Besides, you do agree with Bakugou that not knowing how to commute like this is embarrassing, especially at your age.

“What’s this?”

Bakugou hands you a card. It’s decorated with a minimalist logo of Musutafu’s native flower, whose color is your favorite.

“An IC card,” he simply answers.

It’s cute, you thought. You noticed how the other commuters had the standard design, so Bakugou must've gotten it personalized to your preference. How thoughtful.

“You could’ve just helped me get a ticket, though,” you murmur. You fiddle with the card in your hand, glancing at him with a puzzled expression. “I don’t think I’ll be using this card that often. It’ll be a waste.”

“Then try and use it as often as you can, nerd.”

“I’ll pay you back for this—how much was it?”

“Forget it.”

“Really, Bak—“

“Forget it,” he barks. “Keep up, you shitty extra. Or else you’d miss the last train to your station.” Bakugou starts walking, and you follow suit.

You can load your IC card at the ticket machines or the nearest ATMs. Different stations call for different ticket gates that obviously have different fares. The expiration of cards usually depends on what provider you got them from—

“What do I do now?”

You’re hesitantly in front of the ticket gate, with Bakugou on the other side. You’re like a kid who’s lost their mother in the mall.

“Just—“ Bakugou had to take a deep breath and not make a scene in the train station. He pinched the bridge of his nose, calling for all his ancestors to give him the strength to remain patient.

“Place your shitty card on the card reader. That’s it.”

You do as you’re taught, and you awed when the gates opened and let yourself walk through with a stupidly big smile on your face. “I did it!”

Bakugou thinks it’s fucking stupid of him to think that your enthusiasm for mundane things was cute. But fuck, something must be wrong with him because suddenly he feels a flurry of butterflies lodged in his throat, his heart beating ridiculously fast.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He gives you directions, how to navigate through Musutafu without getting lost, and the basic stations you’ll be passing by to get to your station. He sees you type most of the things he says on your phone, and the way you were so eager to learn was a sight to see, really.

Boarding the metro, people were just as eager to get home as you two. So you two stood, not that there was much room to do anything about it.

“Hold onto the handle unless you want to fall on your ass,” Bakugou says. His tone is hushed to not disturb the other passengers. At least he followed basic commuting etiquette.

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathe out. The passing buildings were as huge as those of U.A.’s, if not bigger. With the golden hue of the apparent descent of the sun below the horizon, Musutafu just became more beautiful in your eyes.

He scoffs.

“What’s so interestin’ about a buncha tacky buildings? Never seen one before you came here?”

“Of course I have; they’re just not like this.”

Bakugou follows your line of sight, and he thinks about it carefully. He couldn’t see what you saw, but maybe it’s because he grew up looking at this scenery. It doesn’t amaze him as much as it did when he was younger, he concludes. To you, this was a first.

An experience that could become a core memory in this city. And he’s with you as you live through it. The thought causes a familiar feeling of pride to exude from his chest.

Maybe he’ll learn to appreciate more mundane things with you too in the future.

The train stops at another station, and the people scurry out. Once in motion, you were surprised by the speed when it took off, and the motion had you stumbling back. You stumble against Bakugou.

“What did I say about keeping a firm hold on the handles, you shitty extra? That’s what those are for.” Whether it’s by instinct or unintentional, Bakugou guides your hand to hold onto the support pole. He doesn’t let go, and you didn’t make a comment about it.

“Sorry! Still getting used to it,” you quietly laugh. “I hope the people here don’t think I’m really that inexperienced when it comes to taking the metro home,” you told him. “It’s embarrassing to think that I haven’t taken one until now.”

Bakugou thinks it’s alright because you were actually on set to learn. No matter what those other extras say or comment, no matter if they give you unimpressed glances, he’s there to grant them one of his own spine-chilling glares if they had the balls to do so.

A passenger who appeared to be around your age stood up from his seat. “Excuse me, you can take my seat. I get off at the next stop,” he says. You’re a bit hesitant to take the offer, but he reassures you that it’s fine. It’ll be an awkward death for you if you don’t accept it, because now he’s standing. “Please, I insist.”

Unknown to you, Bakugou had an obvious scowl on his face until the stranger left.

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

“Shut up, I’m not.”

“Jealous?”

“Hah? Why would I be—”

“Shh!” you kicked his shoe with yours.

“Quiet, remember?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, still frowning. You hold his free hand, cheekily smiling when he tries to free it from your hold. And in the end, he lets you do whatever the fuck it is that you want, but he would never ever admit that he was jealous of some nameless extra. He’s too far into liking you to help you board a train, get you a personalized IC card, miss his stop two stations ago because yours was still three stations after his, but he doesn’t think he’d be vocal about it anytime soon.

He’ll leave it to you to confess.

Then again, you already knew.

Bakugou Katsuki would not go above and beyond like this for anyone else, but he unknowingly does for you.

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bluerosefox · 1 year ago

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Striking of the Clock

BrainDead or DeadTired idea.

During Tim's BruceQuest he uncovers hidden texts/tombs of a being that controls and watches over the Time Stream and Tim knows this being will have to be his best bet of finding Bruce while also trying to figure out on his own how to get Bruce out of the Time Stream as well.

However the being doesn't have a summoning sigil due to being an Ancient.

He does find the sigil for the Ghost King however, a being that borderlines into Ancients power territory and could in theory grant Tim an audience with the Time being if Tim plays his cards right.

In the end, Tim decides it was worth a shot. He convinces Ra's to 'help' him summon the Ghost King. Ra's wanting to see if such a being could be real and to see how far Tim is willing to go to bring Bruce back, allows League resources to be used.

It takes a few weeks, with Tim also making plans to undermine not just the Council of Spiders but Ra's as well, but eventually the time to summon the Ghost King comes.

Tim honestly was expecting the large eldritch like being that showed up, he just wasn't expecting the being to be basically a formed galaxy mixed with ice and the northern lights itself.

He also really wasn't expecting when he negotiated a deal with the Ghost King, and taken into a place called the Infinite Realms when they shook hands (Tam and Prue is also taken with him, he refused to leave them with Ra's), for the being to shrink down and turn into a white haired, green eyed teen around his age who starts flirting at him.

Nor was he expecting for another being, one that apparently is able to shift aging forms, and a grandfather clock in its chest to appear next to the teen and bonk the white haired teen with a staff and tell him to stop flirting with his future new apprentice....

Wait what?

-x-x-

Danny is rarely, very rarely summoned since taking the mantle of Ghost King. Due to being a new Ancient most old sigils that was once connected to Phantom (mostly teens from Amity tired summoning him a couple of times) no longer worked and the only ones that did were the ones he gave to his friends and family or the Ghost King ones (but again rare due to how rare texts/tombs to the Ghost King is written down)

So when he felt the pull of a summoning he made sure to go in his eldritch form, mostly to see if he could scare them or at least intimidate.

Honestly he was expecting the cult, given the fact they summoned a being known as the (freaking) Ghost King, maybe not them being assassins/ninjas but still a cult.

He wasn't expecting the cute, same age as him too, guy in the room.

(CW totally paused time for a second, gave Danny a file on who and why he was summoned, discussed getting Tim Drake out of Ra's hands (and maybe allowing CW to finally have his own future apprentice because Tim is a smarty smart whose been slowly able to figure out the freaking Time Stream itself.), and then started the timeline again)

Danny decided, after striking a deal, that since he's going to be working with Tim, aka Red Robin (who Danny found out used to be Robin! From Gotham), from now on he might as well shoot his shot and flirt with him and-

"OUCH, CW REALLY?!"

"Stop flirting with my new apprentice for now My King, we have work to do."

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katemoneymartinsgf · 1 month ago

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could you do one where paige and azzi are on a camping trip and have to share a tent or somthing and realize they like eachother

Camping |pazzi|

a/n: Finals week, sorry i’ve been lacking😔

“Don’t freak out,” Ice says, pulling another sleeping bag out of a duffel. “But we may have overestimated the tent-to-human ratio.”

Paige glances over. “What does that mean?”

“It means y’all are cozy tonight,” Ice grins, tossing a sleeping bag toward her. “It’s a two-person tent. And you’re with Azzi.”

Paige catches the bag mid-air and throws a look at Azzi, who just shrugs like, not my fault, before adjusting her ponytail.

“It’s fine,” Paige says, a little too quickly. “Totally chill.”

Azzi grins. “Sure, P.”

They set up the tent just before sunset — Paige fumbling with the poles, Azzi making fun of her under her breath, both of them pretending this isn’t a mildly life-changing situation.

By the time everyone’s had dinner, messed around with a cheap card game, and roasted enough marshmallows to count as a meal, it’s dark.

The two of them crawl into the tent, take off their shoes, and immediately run into problem number one.

“There’s only one sleeping bag,” Paige says, holding it up like it might multiply if she stares hard enough.

Azzi stretches out on the tent floor, hoodie riding up slightly over her stomach. “We can unzip it. Make it a blanket.”

Paige blinks. “Right. Smart. Blanket.”

She unzips it and tosses it over them, trying not to look like she’s panicking. Azzi lays back next to her — shoulder to shoulder, close enough to feel every tiny movement.

“Camp vibes,” Azzi mumbles, tugging the blanket tighter around her.

“You look too comfortable right now,” Paige says, arms crossed. “I think you might be built for this.”

“I am comfortable,” Azzi says, grinning. “You good?”

“Fine,” Paige says. “You just take up a lot of space.”

Azzi turns her head. “It’s a tent, not a twin bed. Chill.”

“You’re literally a space heater.”

“Wow. That’s actually the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Paige laughs. Quietly. “You’re ridiculous.”

Azzi shifts a little closer, her arm brushing Paige’s. “You’re warm though.”

“Don’t start,” Paige says, already pulling the blanket tighter around herself like a shield. “We’ve got all night in this tent and I’m barely holding it together.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “You holding it together?”

“No.”

Azzi laughs — not loud, not teasing, just low and honest and kind. And Paige feels it in her chest.

—

They talk for a while. About nothing and everything.

Azzi tells a story about how Ice once got lost in a corn maze and blamed “midwest energy” for an hour. Paige tells her about the one time she tried camping in eighth grade, cried when her phone died, and made her dad come pick her up at midnight.

“I brought extra chargers this time,” Paige says.

“Oh, so we’re growing.”

“Character development.”

Azzi’s head tips back when she laughs again, and Paige doesn’t realize she’s staring until the silence hits and Azzi catches her.

“What?” Azzi asks softly.

Paige swallows. “You’re just…”

She trails off. Doesn’t finish the sentence.

Azzi lets it sit there before Paige changes the subject.

“This blanket is way to small and you keep stealing ,” Paige says, tugging at one side. “Now there’s, like, draft zones.”

Azzi snorts. “It’s called sharing.”

“You took, like, 70 percent of it.”

“You’re the one with cold feet.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is your fault,” Azzi says, tugging it closer to her shoulder. “Poor circulation.”

“You made that up.”

Azzi grins. “Maybe.”

Paige mutters something under her breath and shifts, pulling the bag higher around her chest. Their arms brush. Neither of them move away.

The flashlight dims in the corner.

They go quiet for a minute.

Azzi’s voice is soft when she speaks again. “So is this better than the your first camping?”

Paige blinks up at the ceiling. “Sure, but it’s because i’ve never done it like this.”

Azzi turns her head slightly. “Like how?”

Paige hesitates. “With someone I actually want to be around.”

Azzi doesn’t respond right away.

But she smiles.

“I like it,” she says quietly. “Even if you steal all the space.”

Paige laughs, too softly to sound real. “You’re literally the one with your elbow in my ribs.”

Azzi doesn’t move it.

Paige doesn’t ask her to.

They lie still for a while. The sleeping bag rustles every time someone adjusts. Paige keeps her hands tucked under her hoodie sleeves like she’s nervous to let them sit still.

“Can I ask something dumb?” she says finally.

Azzi glances over. “Always.”

“Were you hoping we’d get the same tent?”

Azzi doesn’t answer right away. Her voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

Paige lets that settle. Lets it wrap around her like warmth.

“Me too,” she says.

Azzi breathes in slow. Then out. “I kept thinking… if I was near you long enough, I’d get over it.”

Paige’s stomach flips. “Over what?”

Azzi looks at her — really looks.

“This….you.”

And Paige… gets it.

She’s not sure when it started, or when it stopped being just a dumb crush that she could joke about in locker rooms. But now, Azzi’s knee is pressed against hers, and their fingers are two inches apart on the sleeping bag, and it feels like something they’ve both been dancing around for too long.

“You don’t have to get over it,” Paige says quietly.

Azzi’s voice cracks just a little. “No?”

Paige shakes her head. “Kinda hoping you won’t.”

And then she reaches over — slow, careful — and links their pinkies.

Azzi doesn’t look away.

Paige leans in.

The kiss is small, soft, something that’s been waiting its turn for months.

And when they pull back, Azzi’s forehead touches hers.

“Just so you know,” she murmurs, “you still hog the blanket.”

Paige smiles.

“You can have it,” she says. “You already have everything else.”

The morning creeps in slow — gray light seeping through the tent fabric, birds being unnecessarily loud, and the chill settling in around the sleeping bag like it’s got a grudge.

Azzi wakes up first.

Not because of the cold — definitely not because of the birds — but because her face is smushed against Paige’s collarbone, and Paige is breathing steady beneath her, still dead asleep.

And Azzi… is on top of her.

Like fully wrapped around Paige. Arm draped over her stomach. Knee tucked up against her thigh. Face hidden in her hoodie. The sleeping bag a mess around them.

She blinks. Doesn’t move.

Paige shifts slightly in her sleep, murmurs something under her breath, and tightens her arm around Azzi’s back like it’s instinct.

Azzi exhales into her chest.

Okay.

This is fine.

Totally normal for two friends who maybe kissed last night and then curled into each other like puzzle pieces. Totally normal.

Azzi doesn’t move.

Because… warmth. Obviously.

Ten minutes pass. Maybe fifteen.

Then Paige mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep: “You awake?”

Azzi nods against her. “You?”

Paige smiles. “No.”

Azzi huffs a laugh, and Paige opens one eye, looking down at her.

“Are we pretending this is still about warmth?”

“I was.” Azzi shrugs.

“You’re not even cold.”

“You’re warm,” Azzi says simply.

And that’s apparently enough.

Paige shifts under her, eyes still half-closed. “We should probably get up.”

Azzi makes no move.

Paige grins. “Right. In five?”

“Ten.”

They’re quiet for another moment, just breathing.

Then—

The tent zipper yanks open from the outside.

“Y’ALL UP—”

It’s Ice.

And she’s screaming.

“NAH. NAHHH. SARAH, COME LOOK AT THIS. THEY’RE CUDDLING FOR REAL.”

Paige groans, immediately throwing the sleeping bag over both their heads like it’s armor. Azzi’s laughing into her hoodie.

“Tell them to zip it back up,” Paige mutters.

“They’re already taking pictures,” Azzi says, grinning.

“This is why I don’t camp.”

Azzi kisses her cheek through the hoodie.

“You love it.”

“I like you. That’s different.”

Azzi just hums, smug and close and still not moving.

And honestly?

They’re not getting up for a while.

#wnba #wnba basketball #ncaa wbb #wlw #pazzi fics #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #dallas wings #uconn huskies #uconn lives #uconn wbb

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love4ng1e · 6 months ago

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༄ Some of the stuff I've manifested for 2025.

1. Unlimited money in my bank account.

My card never declines regardless if I spend millions basically.

2. Name never gets mispronounced.

My actual name gets mispronounced way too often, and I got sick of correcting people, so now I don't have to anymore.

3. Ability to read people's minds.

I don't even know how that works. I just know what people are going to say before they say it and I'm always correct.

4. Knowing how to Ice skate.

I didn't know how to ice skate, and now I can, and I can damn well too.

5. A Kwami.

My Kwami is named Lilaa, and she listens to me yap and fits in my pockets. Kwamis are from Miraculous Ladybug if you are wondering.

6. Long natural nails that never break.

I used to have very long natural nails, but they got damaged because of acrylics, so I manifested those back plus that they never break or get damaged.

7. Everyone in my family being kind to one another.

Self-explanatory. Also that we never argue because I'm tired of arguments.

8. Always having yummy food in the fridge.

I grew up in an ingredient household, and I was always starving so I manifested that there is always food in my house.

9. Racist, sexist, and homophobic people not exist in my school or my erea.

Self-explanatory. Eventually, I will manifest that they don't exist in the whole world, but I like starting off small so I can see the progress.

10. Ability to see people's auras.

It's cool. Also, I can see who's having a bad day so I can comfort them, and they hit me with the "how'd you know?"

There's at least quadruple more this list, so let me know for part two.

༄ How I personally did it.

Step 1: Scripting.

I used Notion, but you don't have to. Google documents, a piece of paper, or the Notes app is perfect too.

I didn't do anything fancy. Kept it simple. Feel free to do it the way I did it if you want to.

Step 2: Choosing an affirmation.

Next, choose an affirmation that would represent your whole script. Can be anything.

Step 3: Repeat that affirmation.

I repeated my chosen affirmation whenever during the day, but especially before sleeping.

Step 4: Assume and persist.

The way I assumed was that during my sleep, I was taking the train. The train from my current reality to my desired reality.

The way I persisted was if I woke up and I "didn't" have my desires, then the train just had a malfunction, and I'll arrive shortly.

Smart? I know 😉. Feel free to assume and persist the way I do or any other way you want.

Step 5: Celebrate!!

That was about it. I got my desires. If I can do it, you automatically can too. Just because it's 2025 doesn't mean it's too late, so go manifest!!

Also, let me know if you guys like the new theme for 2025.

#dream life #desired reality #ideal life #scripting dream life #manifesting #law of assumption #law of attraction #loa #neville goddard #manifesting is easy #manifesting community #master manifestor #manifestation #new theme 2

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yvesssssssss · 3 months ago

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hui could u write something with shin natsuki heisuke and nagumo having a sweet and kind gf, like maybe so kind that ppl tend to take advantage of it

Too Kind for Your Own Good

(Shin, Natsuki, Heisuke, and Nagumo x Sweet! Kind! Reader)

Shin Asakura

Shin loved your kindness—how you always smiled, always forgave, always tried to see the best in people. But sometimes, it made his blood boil.

Like today.

You were helping a coworker move boxes at your part-time job, even though it clearly wasn’t your responsibility. Worse, the guy had been slacking off, dumping all the work on you while he scrolled through his phone.

Shin heard your inner thoughts, how you didn’t want to trouble him by asking for help, and that was it.

He marched up, snatched the box from your hands, and shoved it at the guy. “Hey. Do your own damn work.”

Your coworker stammered, “I-I was just—”

“Slacking off,” Shin deadpanned. “She’s not your maid.” His sharp eyes flicked to you. “And you—stop letting people use you like this.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he softened, sighing. “I get it, you want to help. But it’s not fair if they just take advantage of you.” His voice was firm, but his grip on your wrist was gentle as he led you away. “C’mon, let’s go get ice cream. No more free labor today.”

Natsuki Seba

Natsuki wasn’t the type to get openly jealous or aggressive. But when he saw a group of guys from JCC practically cornering you, asking you for favors because they knew you were too nice to say no, he felt something dark simmer under his usual carefree demeanor.

“Oh wow, she’s actually helping you with your homework? Thought you guys were smart,” Natsuki drawled, casually sliding into the seat next to you.

One of the guys scoffed. “She offered, dude.”

Natsuki rested his cheek on his palm, looking unimpressed. “Did she, though? Or did you guys just keep pushing until she felt bad saying no?”

You blinked in surprise, but before you could say anything, Natsuki gently took the notebook from your hands. “She’s not your personal tutor. Figure it out yourselves.”

The guys groaned and left, and you frowned. “Natsuki, I didn’t mind—”

He flicked your forehead. “Yeah, but I mind. You’re too sweet, and people take advantage of that.” His voice softened, and he reached for your hand. “You don’t have to help everyone just because you’re kind. Let me be the bad guy when you need one, okay?”

Heisuke

Heisuke had always admired your kindness. You never hesitated to help anyone, even strangers. But when he saw you paying for a “friend” who conveniently always “forgot” their wallet, he felt a little annoyed.

“Wow, again?” Heisuke muttered under his breath as you handed over your card.

Your friend laughed sheepishly. “She’s just super generous, right?”

Heisuke’s eyes narrowed. No, you just know she won’t say no.

Before you could speak, he casually slid an arm around your shoulders and grinned. “Baby, you know you don’t have to pay for people who never pay you back, right?”

You flushed. “I mean, it’s okay—”

Heisuke leaned closer, whispering, “But is it really okay, or are you just being too nice?”

That made you pause.

Your “friend” looked uncomfortable and quickly said, “Uh, actually, I’ll pay you back next time.”

Heisuke’s grip tightened protectively. “Yeah, you do that.” Then, turning to you, he smiled warmly. “C’mon, let’s get you a treat, on me this time.”

Nagumo Yoichi

Nagumo wasn’t the jealous type. He trusted you, and honestly, he found it entertaining to watch people try (and fail) to charm you. But what did piss him off? When people mistook your kindness for weakness.

Like the guy currently trying to weasel free drinks out of you.

“C’mon, sweetheart, just one round? You’re always so nice—”

Nagumo’s arm draped over your shoulders before the guy could finish. His ever-present grin was in place, but his eyes were sharp, assessing. “Oh? So my girl’s nice, huh?”

The guy laughed nervously. “Yeah, she’s, uh, really generous—”

“Generous?” Nagumo hummed. “Or just too polite to tell you to fuck off?”

You let out a quiet sigh. “Nagumo—”

He tapped his fingers against your shoulder. “Sweetheart, love of my life, you know I adore how kind you are.” His voice was light, teasing—until his gaze flicked back to the guy. “But that kindness? It ain’t free.”

The guy swallowed. “I-I was just joking, man.”

“Yeah? So am I.” Nagumo’s grin widened as he flipped a butterfly knife between his fingers, the sharp glint of the blade catching the light. “Crazy how jokes stop being funny when you’re on the other end of them, huh?”

The guy bolted, and you groaned. “Nagumo, did you have to scare him like that?”

Nagumo shrugged, tucking his knife away as he kissed your temple. “Course I did. You’re too damn sweet for your own good.” He smirked. “And if I have to be the scary boyfriend to keep people from taking advantage of you, well—" His voice dropped to a purr. “I do look good doing it, don’t I?”

#sakadays #sakamoto days x reader #sakamoto days #nagumo x reader #nagumo yoichi #nagumo yoichi x reader #natsuki seba #shin asakura #sakamoto days shin #heisuke mashimo #natsuki seba x reader

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bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades · 2 months ago

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Skills, Stanley knew, were much like muscles: you had to use them, practice them, for the skill to be any good. He had a lot of skills with which he regularly trained: tax fraud, white lies, less-than-white lies, pickpocketing, animal theft, etc etc. There was one metaphorical muscle, however, that was quite rusty:

How to be a brother.

He had been a poor one, those seventeen years he was given the privilege, and now after a thirty year hiatus, playing with the laws of physics, and saving the world, Stan was forced to stretch that skill once again. Going out on the high seas, alone, seemed like a terrific idea in the face of regaining his memories after losing every single one, but the doubt began to seep in as they set sail. The last time they had been twin close, the way Mabel and Dipper were, was... what? 14, 15 years old? A half a century ago?

The Stan that took having Ford as a brother granted was brash, impulsive, and dumb. This new Stan, given a second chance, tries a different angle. He and Ford talk about anomalies and sailing and science; this new Stan made sure to do his chores, and give his brother his alone time, and not be too... Stanish. Hopefully this way, he'll earn the right to continue being a brother.

There is something wrong with Stan, Ford surmises; it only takes him a week or two to realize. Despite thirty years seperation, despite the anger they left each other broiling in, Ford knows his brother. A hundred universes he's traveled, dozens of gods and demons he's defeated, but nothing is as familiar to him as the cadence of Stan's voice, the rhythm of his poor jokes, the shine of his watch in the sun as he slips a wallet of a man's pocket. Stan, however, is not acting himself. At first it worries Ford, makes him think Stan hasn't regained all his essential memories, but then he realizes: Stan is scared of fucking up.

Ford comes up with a plan quite easily. That night, he shows Stan a card game he learned in a gambling dimension, and cheats to win. The next time they're in town, he snags Stan's favorite brand of ice cream without paying for it. As much as Stan has been trying to be like Ford, Ford becomes Stan: tricks and treats and scams. It's fun, just as entertaining as talking to Stan about anomalies (he is a smart man, no matter what he may think of himself). He needs to show Stan that Stan wasn't the only brother who had something to learn: a few Stan-isms helped oil the rough machine of life: in fact, Stan-isms are the only things that kept Ford alive as he dimension-hopped.

It helps, but Stan still isn't back to his normal self. Ford takes a more direct approach. They're anchored far off the coast, the stars their only companions, the amber whiskey in their glasses swaying to the beat of the waves, and Ford looks his brother dead in the eyes and says, with no uncertainty: "I'm so glad you're my brother, Stanley. I'm honored to be your brother."

That night, Ford had to exercise a skill he hadn't cultivated in a while, either: how to comfort a crying brother--- he's just glad to have a brother to comfort in the first place.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #sea grunks #will I ever get tired of forcing Stan to confront his identity in the face of 'completing' his 'purpose'?#No I don't think I will

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loislane-ana · 3 months ago

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NEWS, ukraine, zelenskyy, philly, denver airport, federal layoffs, protests, hochul, white house, columbia university, education, birthrights, nyc, snl, schumer, s&p, goat, ice, doge, panama, smart tvs, canada, gold card, cdc, tom homan,

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cherrygarcia-07 · 6 days ago

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What It Means To Be A Dad // Spencer Reid🧸

Synopsis: Spencer Reid has never had the best example of fatherhood, ignoring Father’s Day every year it rolls around. As he navigates life as a single dad he finds himself beginning to discover the joys of fatherhood over lazy mornings and evenings spent doting on his son.

Characters: Single dad! Spencer and his son, Sebastian

Genre: Flangst?? hurt?? fluff?? its complicated❤️

Notes/Tags: Father’s Day fic yayyy! Lots of sad talk about his upbringing, no1 William Reid hater, lots of Spencer being the best dad in the world!!!!! Happy ending!!! Lots of cute father son content!!! Rename his son in your head if you want to but I chose it for a reason mentioned at the end :3

Word Count: 3.8k

Masterlist If you enjoy this please reblog it helps so much!!

(btw i proofread this 1000 times but new typos keep materialising so please lmk if you spot any lol)

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Father’s Day had never meant much to Spencer. Maybe it had a little, a long, long time ago. There was a time it meant loneliness and longing, hate and hopelessness, but eventually the feelings dissolved into nothing at all. Until the day was simply a number on the calendar that held no weight. His relationship with his father had always been something miserable, somehow empty yet loaded with unspoken feelings at the same time. He had no memories to speak of, no anecdotes to tell with a smile on his face or traditions to recreate with any future children, only memories of the way he felt- and they were not good.

Spencer could recall seeing happy families on TV thinking they were purely fiction until he would sit alone at the park’s chess table and would find his gaze drawn to fathers pushing children on swings, letting their children eat their ice cream despite having one of their own, walking hand in hand besides the park’s pond with their sons. He would sit and watch in silence, shaky hands lingering over the abandoned chess pieces until he would have to force his eyes away to quell the unexplainable aching in his chest. After that the feeling would be forgotten, shoved far down into his psyche where it couldn’t climb back up- shut away with a lock and key if it had to be. He couldn’t afford to get caught up in fantasies, he was far too smart for that.

He didn’t know why he craved it so badly. Spencer didn’t enjoy his father’s attention. It was the kind of attention that suffocated you- that made it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to speak once it was over. Maybe it wasn’t his father specifically that he wanted, but just somebody. Anybody. The men he saw in the park or on TV, perhaps. Anyone who could treat him like the child he was and tell him stories and jokes as they tucked him into bed, or taught him how to look after himself so he didn’t have to figure it out for himself later in life when every trial and error felt like failure. Anyone other than who he had.

A child should never be the one making the effort and he knew this but he didn’t care. He worked hard in school, brought home grades in subjects far beyond his age range to give his father something to brag about. Report cards that weren’t looked at or pinned up on the fridge but he poured his blood and sweat into regardless. He wrote a paper once about how the offspring of macaque monkeys sought out the attention of their fathers, initiating interactions and seeking support from them despite paternal care being more or less non existent within the species- not that William ever read it. His son’s brain was beneficial to him, sure, when it came to boasting about being a good father, but in private when he snapped at Spencer’s statistics or told him to speak normally with an exasperated sigh he realised he really just wanted him to be like every other kid.

One year Spencer tried to make him a Father’s Day card, like a normal kid would. He stole a couple of colourful pens at school, promising himself he would return them, and stayed up late the night before huddled underneath his duvet with a small flashlight between his teeth as he worked. On the inside of the card, he recited quotes from father-son poems he’d found on his last trip to the library and when he was done he tucked it gently inside an envelope before carefully writing on the back of it. He crept out of bed, silently making his way to his father’s study to leave the card on his desk- he didn’t want to give it to him in person. He found it weeks later, exactly where he left it on the desk. Unopened.

That was the last year he tried, and one of the last years his father was around for him at all.

As an adult, Spencer forgot about Father’s Day every time it rolled around. It was odd, others thought, that the man with an eidetic memory who could recall every niche holiday on any international calendar didn’t spare a thought to it. To him it made perfect sense. After all the words had lost all meaning, they weren’t anything celebratory anymore and they never really had been. Where others conjured connotations of warmth and joy he felt nothing but cold and hurt. It felt like a hypocritical holiday, why celebrate someone who brought you into the world against your will and abandoned you long before he physically left the house?

Speaking frankly, his concept of fatherhood was skewed. His anxieties stopped him from even considering a family, too afraid of repeating the mistakes that hurt him or even just of the fact he had no idea what to do. He didn’t know how to be a father- he was never taught. Behind the grown up facade he put on he still felt like that young boy on the inside, clinging to any older man who showed him the slightest of care and painting them as a make shift dad to appease the fantasies he still had from long ago at that chess table in the park.

So when he unexpectedly became a father himself, his whole world was thrown.

At first he was overwhelmed, terrified even. He second guessed every choice he made and doubt infected his mind like a plague every time he couldn’t get his son to stop crying. It didn’t matter how much logic told him babies cry, Spencer, every tear from his tiny eyes felt like they were drowning him and all he could hear was the muffled voice of his own father above the water telling him he wasn’t cut out for this. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his son, in fact it was the opposite. He loved his son so much- so fucking much- that the thought of messing him up paralysed him. The thought of becoming his own father kept him up at night and cursed his subconscious when he finally fell asleep. He knew every statistic on paternal relationships and the chaotic ways they manifested in their son’s development and as much as he tried to forget the numbers they wormed their way into his dreams until he woke up in tears. Every time he looked at Sebastian’s face he saw himself- as a baby, as a child, even as an adult, all of it and every time he saw himself he saw his father, a ghost haunting him every time he braved the mirror.

After a little while and with a lot of support from the BAU Spencer began to find his rhythm. Instead of dwelling on the chaos of his own upbringing he began to dedicate his heart and soul to making sure his son had only the best and never felt a fraction of the same hurt that he did. The memory of the letter his father haphazardly left behind when he gave up clung to him like a leech, the memory of when he left a boy to become the man of the house. He learned to take care of his mother alone before he could learn to look after himself. Because of this Spencer began to write letters for Sebastian. Long, heartfelt letters about anything and everything in a beautiful hand bound journal (or a few of them) beginning from the day he was born and he intended to keep writing them long into his adulthood. Pages and pages of inky handwriting detailing precious memories big and small, any minuscule thing Sebastian did that made him smile, laugh or cry was documented as permanent proof of just how much he was adored so that he never had to doubt it for a second.

Sebastian had his own personal library curated for him, on short child-height bookshelves lined up beside Spencer’s shelves so that they could read together. Gorgeous cloth bound children’s classics and fairytales took pride of place in any room they could fit in, and the two of them often scoured local bookstores and libraries for new additions to their nightly bedtime story routine. It was Spencer’s favourite part of the day by far. Sebastian would be cosy in his pyjamas nestled drowsily into his side with his teddy bear tucked under his arm as he fought to stay awake, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm the same way he always saw his dad do when he was tired. Spencer’s heart would melt when he heard the sleepy sighs become soft snores, tiny fingers instinctively curling into his sleep shirt and every time he would consider falling asleep right there in the cramped little toddler bed, not caring about the knots in his neck in the morning so long as it meant he didn’t have to leave his son alone. He treasured the mornings that would follow, the two of them curled up on the couch together in matching pyjamas watching cartoons in peaceful silence. They would munch on cereal or pancakes they had made from scratch, Sebastian’s teddy tucked up in his lap as he sat sprawled across his father’s.

Spencer didn’t care whether or not his son inherited his brains, in fact a part of him hoped that he wouldn’t so he could spare him the complications that came with it. Of course he was passionate about intellectual stimulation and began teaching him how to play chess or how to solve crossword puzzles on lazy Sunday mornings over breakfast, he bought him books about every topic under the sun and got his hands on every kid friendly documentary he could find- but he would never push him more than what he was comfortable with. Spencer nourished all of his interests the same, be it the history of dinosaurs or simply whatever his favourite cartoon was at the minute, but he couldn’t deny the childish excitement he felt when Sebastian began to show an interest in space. As soon as his son had mentioned it, there were glow in the dark stars creating constellations on the ceiling above his bed, posters of the planets lining his walls. He remembered thinking that the beam his son wore that day when he stepped into his bedroom was so bright that we didn’t even need the sun anymore, that the twinkle in his wide wonderstruck eyes was so luminous that we may as well strip the stars from the sky. With some help from Penelope, Spencer had tracked down every planetarium, every space exhibit, anything even remotely related that he could indulge his son in and he planned to take him to every single one.

Spencer also loved more than anything to watch the creative cogs in Sebastian’s brain turn and develop as he grew. It was so fascinating to see how his brain operated so differently yet so similarly to his own and it brought him indescribable joy to watch his son discover his own identity without boundaries. He let him dress himself most mornings, heart warming and laughter spilling whenever he waddled out of his room in a show of colourful outfits and in mismatched socks that mimicked his father’s. Sometimes when an outfit was particularly farfetched he would suggest some subtle changes, but he never discouraged him. He never diminished that spark. He reacted to every scribbled drawing like it was the world’s greatest masterpiece (because to him they really were simply just for the fact they were Sebastian’s) and each piece was immediately awarded a place on display- when the fridge had gotten full Spencer opted for taking down all of the artwork on his walls in favour of his son’s. Ever so intrigued by his creative process he would ask him to explain each drawing, grinning ear to ear as he listened to him babble his response as he proudly clutched his work in paint-covered hands.

Perhaps one of the most healing things about his own fatherhood journey was the excuse to just be childish for the sake of being childish, doing all the silly things nobody did for him and that he never got to explore himself having always been held to a standard far higher than that of his actual age. Growing up he had always taken pride in his maturity, believing him being strong beyond his age was the right thing for his parents yet not really sparing a thought as to whether it was the right thing for him. He’d locked the feeling away as a child, but as an adult he looked back and felt a wave of emptiness wash over him and he never wanted his child to have to feel that way. After one cosy weekend morning cuddled up together in the living room watching The Muppet Show, Spencer found himself roped into putting together his own puppet show with all of Sebastian’s stuffed animals, not that he minded in the slightest. Still clad in his pyjamas, bedhead unbrushed and with a goofy grin on his face he scrambled to make the coffee table into a makeshift stage, hiding as low down behind it as his tall frame would allow him to while still being able to peek over the top to watch the joy on his baby’s face. For every silly voice and terrible dad joke told through a teddy bear or a toy puppy he was rewarded with the sound of his son’s wild giggles, a sound he could never get enough of no matter how many times he heard it. After the first couple of shows Sebastian decided he wanted to join in, and so the two of them sat side by side crouched behind the coffee table performing to no one and laughing until their cheeks ached.

Being a single parent was still tough, but he couldn’t imagine his life any other way. He did everything in his power to make sure his son always felt loved, even through the inevitable times they would clash over the years. He made sure despite it just being him and his dad that he never felt like anything was missing the way Spencer had even when his own dad was still around. It was hard but he played the role of both parents the same way he had done for himself when the responsibility fell on him so long ago, caring for his son the same way he had been left to care for his mother except this time it felt right. The team were his village; they were always offering to babysit for him- especially Penelope (although he rarely took them up on this, he hated to be away from Sebastian even for a couple of hours), Hotch allowed him to work from Quantico as often as possible instead of travelling alongside the team and there were plenty of occasions he’d been allowed to bring him into work on admin days (much to the teams delight, he made the day go much faster), and of course they were constantly checking up on him and making sure he was okay through it all, after all he was still their baby brother. It warmed his heart to know that despite their circumstances his son had a whole family of people who loved and adored him and would go to the ends of the earth for him the same way he would.

With Sebastian still being so small on Spencer’s first Father’s Day, the day hadn’t even occurred to him, in fact there were plenty of days the fact he was somebody’s father at all was hard to believe in itself. It was only when he received a string of ‘happy Father’s Day’ texts from the team that he even realised and the reality of his new life hit him like a brick. It knocked the wind out of him, chest hollowing and breath shallowing but not in the same way he was used to, blown down like a house of cards by a gust of anxiety. This was different. This was disbelief, surrealism- love. A staggering wave of love crashing over him faster than he could brace for it but he didn’t mind at all, he simply succumbed to it with a doting smile. He was a dad. Sebastian’s dad. Agent, Doctor, non of the titles he’d carried with so much pride all these years could even hold a candle to that. He spent the rest of the day with his baby in his arms just watching him sleep, listening to the soft coos that spilled out of his tiny pursed lips as his eyelashes fluttered gently against his rosy cheeks, the grin on Spencer’s own face never once faltering.

For the next few years whilst Sebastian was still so little, Father’s Day became like a second birthday for him. Spencer spoiled him with with attention, celebrating him for changing his life and giving him something to hold onto throughout the horrors of his work days and for giving him something to come home to that made it all worth it. As far as he was concerned, just the fact that his son existed was as great a gift as he could ever wish for. He didn’t need a day to remind him how lucky he was because he had never forgotten, it was the first thing he felt in the morning and the last thing he thanked the stars for before he fell asleep. With every toothy grin, every cherubic bloom of laughter, every tiny hand in his, Sebastian was healing him.

The first year that he was old enough to participate was a day that would forever be spotlit in the gallery of Spencer’s memories forever. Like always he had no plans to celebrate himself, preparing to spoil his son rotten the way he had every other year- but Sebastian had other plans. The night before, he had come home from a rare babysitting night at Penelope’s house, the two of them acting secretive as she dropped him off in a way that had Spencer intrigued (and slightly concerned). In the morning when Spencer woke up his son was already lingering in the open doorway, too-long pyjama pants trailing on the floor slightly as he swayed back and forth on the balls of his mismatched sock clad feet. He was holding something in his hands, but the sleep still clinging to Spencer’s vision blurred whatever it was. With a yawn and a raspy voice, he called him over, scooting along the mattress to make space for his tiny frame as he climbed into bed beside him, messy brown hair flopping over his eyes as he did so.

‘Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.’ His small, sleepy voice whispered as he held out what he had been clutching against his chest.

Spencer froze for a second, touched all the way through his chest down to the aching centre of his heart. His breath caught in his throat, gaze locking on the wide brown eyes staring up at him as he took the envelope from his hands. He held it delicately, gracefully as if he were handling porcelain, tears already pricking his eyes as his fingers traced over the word ‘daddy’ scribbled as carefully as a boy his age could. As he took out the card and opened it, a mountain of glitter spilled out onto his lap, pulling a surprised giggle out of the two of them.

“Aunt Penny says glitter is essential.” Sebastian explained, adorably slurring through the pronunciation of ‘essential’.

Inside the card was a poem, wrote neatly on penciled-in lines to keep the writing even. It was nothing spectacular, nothing genius or revolutionary, nothing that Spencer’s own father would’ve spared a glance at. But it was Sebastian’s. His own thoughts, his own words, his own feelings crafted into art just for him- and for that it was the most incredible thing he had ever read. For a moment he thought he would never read another poem again, he didn’t need to. Spencer’s lip quivered as he re read the words over and over again, honoured that his son trusted him enough to pour his heart out on the page instead of quoting other people’s as he had done in his own card all those years ago, too scared to be vulnerable in a letter that wasn’t even opened. Before he could stop it, a tear rolled down his cheek and almost instantly a sleeved hand beside him reached out to wipe it away, causing the tears to keep rolling as the pride of raising such a caring child overwhelmed in. He thought about the card that he’d made that was left unopened and ignored and swore that he’d frame Sebastian’s and keep it displayed forever.

Spencer knew that William kept tabs on him and he wondered in that moment if he knew he had a grandson, he wondered if he even cared. He couldn’t help but hope that he didn’t, he hadn’t earned the privilege of even knowing of someone as pure and perfect as Sebastian. He wondered if William noticed when Father’s Day rolled by or if he ever even noticed it back then when he was still pretending to be a father. Spencer wrote a list after his son was born of every way his father had failed and hurt him so he could be certain he never repeated his mistakes. He wanted his son to grow up to be the man he’d made himself, not the man his father abandoned. He wanted to make sure his son was like him but only the good parts, never the bad. The parts that were held up by the love of his mother, by the support of his team and by the newfound sureness in himself- not the parts of him broken down by a man who never cared.

William. ‘The protector’. Ironic. Spencer scoffed whenever it crossed his mind, the only thing William ever protected was himself. Sebastian. ‘The revered’. Adored. That’s what he was, with every fibre of Spencer’s being he adored that boy with the kind of overpowering love he didn’t even know existed until he saw that sweet, sweet face for the first time.

As time went by, Spencer started to lose the ghost of his father’s face haunting him wherever he caught his reflection. Now, when he looks in the mirror all he sees is his son, the coldness in his features fading away until all he saw was the familiar warmth he saw in Sebastian.

‘There are lots of ways sons defeat their fathers’ Hotch had once said during a case. Spencer vowed to make sure his son never felt like he had to.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dad spencer reid #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid x reader

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spidybaby · 2 months ago

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GQ Couple Interview

Summary: You and your boyfriend got invited to do a GQ interview.

Warnings: cursing

A/N: Doing this while I eat dinner 😔 is very short, but I hope you like it ❤️🥺 also I'm working on more than just these. So be patient with me, pleaaaaaseeee ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Madrid Boys x Actress!Reader

Jude

"Just be yourselves, read the questions, and have fun!" The manager of GQ says.

You two nod, you squish Jude's hand. The makeup girl was finishing retouching your powder.

"Done!" She smiles. You give a small thank you.

You sit properly on the chair. You can hear the cameraman count and give you the big. "We are recording." Shout.

You take a look at the questions. "What is my favorite ice cream to eat with your mom's brownies?"

"Oh, you love that German brand with the Cardi B whip cream."

"Ufff, that cream is amazing." You say, feeling the craving of it.

"Now, darlin'" He smirks. "What is my favorite goal that I've ever scored?"

You blink a few times. "Is it the one you scored in the ammm, champion league?"

"Wrong!" He shouts. "It was one that Erling assisted me."

"Never heard of it." You say, making him roll his eyes. "Anyways, what is the name of my character in Euphoria?"

"Rue!" He says happily.

You can't help but look at the camera, it looks like a scene from The Office. He has a smug on his face, proud of his answer.

"That's Zendaya."

"Oh," He says, smug falling from his face. "Damn, Lexy!"

"That's not even close!" You say, laughing.

"Maddie." He names.

"That's Alexa, you know her."

"Fuck, I don't know." He says, still thinking about the name. "Next question."

"What do you mean next questio- fine." You say, grabbing another card. "What is my favorite order when we visit your parents in the UK?"

"Fish and chips with some side of green beans, but also you love the sausage."

"I love a good sausage." You smile at the camera.

You don't say that in a dirty or fun way. You say that because you do love food, and British food was one big thing for you to discover.

"But don't worry, she gets a good one." He says, winking at the camera. "What's my favorite food order?" He asks.

"So this is where Mister Jude." You start, but then paused. "Jude!" You say, looking at him, hitting his arm with the card. "You can't say that."

"What's my favorite book to read?"

"I haven't even answered the first question. His order depends on where we are at. If we are at a steak house, he somehow wants a salad."

"Not true, I love steak."

"And I we are at maybe Olive Garden, during the pre season trip, he wants a big 16 oz steak."

"Told ya! Love steak." He smiles.

"So if you can describe me in three words, what would they be?"

He thinks them, trying to find the best ones.

"Smart!" He smiles at you. "Inspiring and"

You can't help but blush, you love that he finds you inspiring and a smart person.

"That is so cut-"

"She's also fart the lou-"

"DON'T! STOP RECORDING!"

Kylian

"Do we do it in English, Spanish or French?" Kylian asks.

"If it's okay with you, Mister mbappe. Please, in English."

He nods, making the lady walk back to the cameraman to talk to them. She keep looking over at Kylian.

"Monsieur Mbappé, veuillez signer mon maillot. Oui, c'est là qu'est mon sein." You say with sarcasm. (Mister Mbappe, please sign my jersey. Yes, here where my boob is)

He rolls his eyes while laughing. "Don't be jealous." He says, smiling at you. "I'm not looking at anyone when I have you here."

"So when I'm not here. You do look at others?"

"Okay, time for questions." He says, calling the attention of the set. "Cause you are getting out of hand." He says, joking with you.

You roll your eyes, laughing at him. You know he knows you are joking and you love how he jokes back.

"Okay, here are your questions." The lady says to you. "And Mister Mbappe, here are yours." She smiles at him.

You look over at him, wanting to roll your eyes. "Okay, thank you." He says. "Ready, amour?" He asks.

They let you know that you are being filmed and to start with the questions.

You check the questions before making one. "Oh, what was the name of my pet hamster?"

Kylian frowns. "The one who died pooping?"

You look at the camera. "He was a saint." You say, pouting at the thought of him.

"Chili?" He says, more like asking. "Wait no, Paco?"

"Paco is my sister's dog!" You say, laughing at him.

"Fuck!" He says, thinking harder. "Was it Harry? Like Harry Styles?"

"Yes! My sweet creature!" You smile. "I love Harry Styles, fun fact about me by the way."

"My turn," He smiles. "What's my movie?"

"Easy, you love The Great Gatsby." You smile.

He shakes his head. "Noup."

"Ammm, the teenage mutant ninja turtles?" You ask, joking.

"Hahaha." He faked laughed, then making the most fake angry face. "You are so funny."

"Okay, next question." You ignore him. "Who is my favorite parent?"

"But my movie!" He shouts. "Also, none, you have beef with everybody." He side eye you.

"I do not." You say, frowning. "Oh, I remember, your favorite movie is that one with tom cruise, the one where he flies planes."

"Oui!" He smiles. "Also you favorite parent is your mom." He smiles.

You roll your eyes at him, "what is my f-"

"Hey, my turn!" He says, pouting. "Do you know my favorite goal?"

You think for a while. "Maybe the one against Barcelona, when you were in PSG?" You ask.

"Yep." He nods, waiting for you to look away, then he shakes his head no to the camera. "What is the name of my mother?"

"Fayza Lamari." You say in a very obvious tone. "Love her. Even more than her son."

He looks at you, going from a smile to a frown. "Rude." He says.

"Okay, fun fact about Kylian." You announce. "He's a sucker for praising."

"Tu n'es pas censé dire ça." (You were not supposed to say that)

You look at him, sensing him a kiss. "Je t'aime."

"What type of pasta is my favorite?"

You think, he really loves pasta. "Carbonara." You say, thinking about that being the only one he asks you to prepare. "If you say no, I'll know you are lying."

"It's..." He does this pause. "True." He smiles.

"I knew it, bébé." You smile. You read the next question. "If you can say one of my characters is your favorite, which one?"

He thinks for a moment, trying to order his ideas of which one of the roles you have played is his favorite.

"Maybe when you did marvel." He smiles. "Love that movie."

"I know you love that one!" You smile, getting up to hug him. "Fun fact about Kylian." You say again.

"Okay, we are done." He says, covering your face with the cards. "Cut the camera." He says, laughing at you trying to fight him.

Arda

"Are you sure you want me to be on this interview?" He asks, worrying that he might not be welcomed.

"Babe, of course." You laugh, grabbing his hand. "We are in this together." You smile.

"Are you quoting high school musical again?"

"Love doing that." You smile. "Okay, we are ready!"

"Okay, everybody. We are starting in three, two, one." The director yells, giving you the signal to start.

"Hi everybody, I'm Y/n."

"And I'm Arda."

Brahim

"And we are doing the GQ Couples Interview." You both say, smiling at the camera.

"You start." You say, grabbing his hand and giving his hand a squish.

"What is the name of my childhood dog?" He asks, reading the card. "Wait, I don't have a childhood dog."

"He doesn't." You shake your head. "But I did. What was his name?"

"Chipotle?"

"Chili." You smile.

"What was my dream job as a child?" He asks.

"He wanted to be a bread man." You smile, trying not to chuckle. "Like the one of Shrek, the cookie guy."

"I love bread and cookies, so I wanted to be a bread guy, like a huge piece of bread." He laughs.

"If I was in a desert island, what are three things I would take with me?"

You think for a while, Arda is someone simple, he's not into materialistic stuffs.

"A football ball, your favorite pillow, and me because I want to swim while you play with the ball."

"I mean, it says things, and you are not a thing." He replies, smiling shyly at you.

"I know, baby." You whisper, reassuring him. "Name three of the characters I have done."

"I like when you did that Disney princess movie," he says, not knowing what the name is.

"It wasn't a Disney princess, baby. I was in Barbie." You laugh at him being so confused.

"Oh, shoot." He laughs too. "It's true, she spent days, weeks even saying < Hi, barbie! >"

"Hi, Barbie!" You say in that tone everybody used at the Barbie set. "Okay, name the rest. You still have three because Miss Disney princess is not right."

"Barbie," He smiles to the camera, knowing he has that one right. "The one in La Casa de Papel, and the one in Youth."

"Can you at least name one?"

"I just did, Barbie!"

But that's not-"

"Goodbye, Barbie." He says, waving at the camera.

"But we are not done."

"He said three questions." He points to the calera man. "Plus, we have Taco Bell in the dressing room."

"Joder, maybe a break!" You say, hearing your stomach growl.

"What's my favorite cookie?" He asks, after a few warming up questions.

"That's not even a question, Brahim."

"You see this?" He asks the camera. "This is why I always say that you need to protect your hearts."

"It's the matcha one from that Chinese Restaurant, God damn." You laugh.

"Now, this is real love, people." He smiles. "Love you, baby."

"Love you too." You smile. "Now, if I was an animal fighting among the avengers, which animal would I be?"

"Who?" He stares confused at the camera. "Did she just made up the question?"

"I need to think." He says, waiting a few minutes before answering. "A crocodile."

"Yes!" You smile. "Love crocos."

"She also loves crocs." He smiles. "We have a matching pair."

"Now, back to the normal questions." You chuckle the questions. "Tell me the name of my favorite movie I was in?"

He looks at the camera, confused, looking like a The Office episode. "The marvels?"

"Wrong, it's was Neighbors."

"Tell me your favorite trophy I won."

"The Champions, because that day I surprised you when I told you I wasn't coming to the finals, and I did."

"Loved that," He smiles, getting closer to you, kissing your lips. "Now, who do I think would be the perfect 11 on a team."

"Qué caraj-"

"Amor, language."

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kayhi808 · 8 months ago

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Please feel free to ignore this if you have done this already but your recent post made my day that it’s got ideas HAHA. Thank you for sharing us this Bucky and his family!

Anw, what if it’s the reverse? Abby doesn’t really understand much of her mama and bucky’s dynamics but she knows, Bucky is her’s and mama’s. AND her mama is HER mama and bucky’s Doll. They belong with eachother. What would happen if there are scenarios where men or even young adults find her very attractive (she’s a milf like that) and/or talk abt her and flirt with her? Will she confront them like what she did with Megan’s mom? Or call help from Bucky? Or Both?

Thank you for this Ask! Abby doesn't like other men giving you attention either. In her brain, the 3 of you need to be together. No one is going to bust that up. Haha! Bucky may have to step in.😉

You and Abby are at a coffee shop waiting for Bucky. His meeting is running long and The Tower is just around the corner. You order yourself an iced tea and a juice for Abby. The young barista included a lemon cake when you picked up your order. "Oh, I didn't order this."

He winks at you and smiles, "It's on the house."

Blushing, you thank him and walk Abby to the benches outside. You catch Abby frowning at you. "What's wrong?"

"Who dat man?"

"A worker at the coffee shop "

"Why he winks at you like dis?" She blinks.

"I don't know, maybe because he was being sneaky and gave us a lemon cake."

With raised eyebrows "Did he steals it?"

Probably. "No, I'm sure he bought it for us. If you don't want it, I can eat it myself."

"No! I wants." Abby laughs and does a happy wiggle.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" You look up and a man is asking to sit on the the other side of the bench. You look around and you and notice most of the seats are taken. "Sure." You gather Abby closer to you.

He looks down at Abby, mouth sprinkled with crumbs. She just stares at him."That looks really good." Abby nods and wipes her mouth off on her arm. Looking back at you, "She's adorable."

"Thank you," you smile down at Abby.

"Like mother, like daughter." Abby frowns at that. "I'm Mike." He hold his hand out to you.

"Stranger danger, Mama!"

You bite your lip, holding back a smile. "You're right, baby."

Mike laughs, "Sorry. Smart girl. We can still talk and get to know each other so we aren't strangers."

"Bucky not liking that."

"Who's Bucky?"

"He's my Papa & he's big and strong and angry."

You laugh, "Baby! I'm sorry, I am seeing someone." To Abby, "Finish your cake."

Mike produces a business card, "If you change your mind."

"Mama not changing mind!" Abby mumbles around a mouthful of cake.

In the blink of an eye, the card is snatched out of Mike's hand. "Change her mind about what?"

Abby's face lights up with a smile, "Papa!" She launches herself off the bench before you can stop her. Bucky effortlessly snagging her mid air. The Winter Soldier glare never leaving poor Mike.

"He talk to Mama & she said she seeing someone so he try give her card. If she change her mind."

"is that so," looking at the card, "Michael?" Bucky flicks the card back at Mike and he flinches.

"S...sorry. It was a mistake." He quickly gets up to leave.

Abby cackles at his retreating back.

"Was that really necessary?"

Bucky leans down to kiss you, "Evidently it was." Turning to Abby, "Did you just call me Papa?" The Winter Soldier glare is no where to be found, but in its place is a look of joy and wonder.

"Yous my Papa Bear. Growly and scary," squeezing his face between her palms, "but I no needs be scared cos you my Papa. You scared them nots me."

"That's right, my girl. You never have to fear me." Bucky hold her close and presses a kiss to her forehead.

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #abigail rose

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rinhaler · 2 years ago

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I will kiss you and hold you and pet you and call you a good girl if you write a toji os abt him having a one nightstand with someone and when he’s undressing them he unzips their dress WITH HIS TEETHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA……….. anyways!!! :3

am i a good girl now :(((

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, soft dom!toji (maybe), alcohol consumption, squirting, fingering, face-sitting, vaginal sex, tit sucking, praise, slight degradation, reader passes out for a sec.

words: 2.4k

“Can I buy you a drink?” a handsome stranger asks you as you sit by your lonesome at the bar. You came here with your friend, who has since disappeared since locating her ex-boyfriend. And you suspect he won’t be an ex for much longer. The attention makes you giddy. His scar pulling as he smirks at you, a grin that grows wider when you nod. He pulls out his card and waits to flag down a bar tender. “I’m Toji, by the way.”

You introduce yourself and you curse yourself for how pathetic you must seem. It’s embarrassing, really, feeling so accomplished that a man deemed you worthy enough to talk to and buy a drink for. He’s like a model, possessing a wide build and tall figure. He could have any woman here if he wanted, you’re sure. And despite your inner monologue telling you to act coy, you’re sure you’re a bashful fool.

He orders you the same blue lagoon cocktail you’ve already had three of, and himself a lemonade.

“You don’t drink?” you ask him.

“Nah, it doesn’t really affect me.”

You shrug, slurping the ice cold cocktail through a metal straw you brought from home. He smirks at that, noting that you’re the type to prepare this much for what he’s sure is meant to be a casual night out. And he asks you questions about yourself that you’re so willing to answer. You ask him questions about himself that he answers too, though the responses are surface level and simple. The mystery only adds to his allure.

He's funny, effortlessly. Everything he says seems to make you giggle. You’re a cliché, too, twirling your hair as you hang on his every word. It’s a mix or attraction and intoxication. Is he really so interesting and funny or are you just wet and transfixed by his looks?

Your laughter dies out when you feel a tap on your shoulder. It’s your friend, coming to say goodbye. She points at her ex and tells you she’s leaving with him.

So much for girl code.

Though she does offer you to hop in the taxi with them so you can go home. But you don’t want to leave Toji. You want to keep making a lovesick fool of yourself for him and maybe see where the night takes you. So she waves and you focus on the older looking man beside you. He licks his lips, his scar glistening under the everchanging technicolour lights flooding the club.

“Wanna get going, gorgeous?” he asks, leaning over to speak into your ear. The rough gravel to his voice rushing straight to your pulsing cunt. You shouldn’t, really, should you? It’s not smart to go home with guys you’ve never met. You don’t know him or his intentions, he could be plying you with alcohol to get you stupid enough to kill you.

“Mhmm.” you nod, dumbly, consequences be damned. If you die, you’ll die by the hand of a man so beautiful you’d think an angel would cry at his presence. He takes your hand, leading you outside and hailing a cab. You at least have the sense to go to your place, knowing your cousin lives a few doors down and will surely here if things go wrong.

He kisses you deeply in the back of the cab, fingers digging into your skin as he squeezes your plush thigh. You moan, lewdly, when he tells you to stick out your tongue and he sucks it before licking it with his own. Tongues tangling as he continues to squeeze and knead your malleable flesh.

“Head on up, I’ll follow you.” he tells you as he pulls out his wallet. You nod, agreeing, whispering your apartment number before clambering out of the car. The chill of the 2am air bites at your skin, and you hurry to the security door. You pull the key from your purse and rush inside.

Toji takes his time paying the driver, grunting as he puts his wallet away and slides out of his side of the car. He slowly skulks to the entrance, smiling when he realises you remembered to leave the latch for him to get inside. He sees a crowd gathered by the elevator and opts to take the stairs instead.

He smirks, gleefully, when he sees you waiting by the front door.

“Watcha doin’, gorgeous?” he wonders.

“Waiting for you.” you confess, looking down at your feet awkwardly as shame surges through your body.

He approaches, slowly. But before you know it you’re looking up at him and caged between his body and your front door. His hands rest against the frame as he studies your blown eyes and nervous face.

“Somethin’ tells me you’ve never had a one night stand before,” he smiles, scar pulling deliciously once again. You can barely form a thought unable to break yourself from the hypnotising mark on his lip. “Unlock the door.”

“I already did…” you gulp, nervously, still unable to tear your eyes away from his.

He likes your answer, picking you up so that your legs wrap around his waist and he lets himself into your home. Your lips lock and tongues clash as he controls the kiss, but your eagerness gets the better of you. Your hips rutting and soft moans pour from you as you portray yourself as a desperate slut for his benefit.

You pout, a little defeated, as he sets you back down. Though the disappoint dies an instantaneous death as he spins you around so your back is to him, pushing you into the wall by your entryway.

“Have you fucked a stranger before, princess?” he asks, brushing your hair from your shoulder and whispering devilishly into your ear. You shake your head, pathetic strings of ‘no!’ spilling from your lips as his fingers explore under your dress and pinch your ass. You bite your lip as you feel his heavy fingers prod at your drippy panties. He huffs out a laugh when he realises how wet you are. “Allllll of this jus’ for me? You shouldn’t have, darlin’.”

“B-Been wet… since you asked if I wanted a drink…” you tell him, giggling a little and hiding your face against the wall.

“No no no…” he objects, tugging your hair softly to draw you out. “Wanna see you, wanna see how you look when I ruin you.” you feel your body flush with heat at his words, turning your head to the side so he can see you again. You place your palms against the wall to brace yourself, not expecting him to pull your panties down your legs from under your dress.

He relishes in how you can barely keep your eyes open as he sinks two fingers into your sopping cunt and your panties drop to the ground. You bite your inner cheek, though it does little to keep you quiet as he curls his fingers against your spongy insides.

“Oh fuck.” you gasp, ashamed that you might cum after a few pathetic pumps of his fingers. Though it doesn’t feel right. You don’t want it to stop, but you don’t feel like you usually do when you’re close to cumming. “W-Wait.” you move your head and try to close your legs.

“Sh.” he stops you, kicking your ankles to keep your legs open. He holds your head against the wall with his forearm, his breathing heavy in your ear. You shudder when he kisses against it, chuckling quietly when he feels your pussy begin to clench. “Stop clenching, push. It’ll feel good, promise… push against me.” he commands.

You don’t know what’s he’s talking about. Push your body? No, he said stop clenching. You’re trying to keep him inside, keep the feeling inside. But he repeats it. Push. And like he’s the master of your cunt, it listens.

“Good girl, baby…” he praises you as he notes the pressure switch from your tender hole. You moan, and he coos. Faux sympathy as he fucks you dumb on his thick digits.

“Toji! Ngh—!” you moan. Clear liquid jets from your pussy, dripping down your thighs and soaking your panties and the floor beneath. He doesn’t let up, either, still battering his fingers against your g-spot.

“There you go, princess. Good fuckin’ girl… so good for me darlin’.” he moans, too, getting off on your pleasure and the striking realisation that you’ve never squirted before. He’s proud of himself, and he’s proud of you. “Fuckin’ soaked your pretty panties, sweetheart. Dirty little girl…” he teases.

You don’t have the energy to respond, already spent from cumming in such an alien way. He kisses your shoulder as your legs continue to shake. Any logic from the thought of telling him to stop fingering you dissipates when you think that he can you make you cum like that again.

He feels his hardened cock over his jeans as he looks down at the puddle beneath you. Still pumping his fingers against your sweet spot until your eyes roll over white. He can’t take it anymore. The unrelenting inner voice telling him to touch himself. He thinks he might die if he doesn’t stroke his length, even for a minute.

“Don’t move.” he orders.

You stay still, unsure of what he’s doing. Though you whimper as you feel his body press against yours. His head sinks to the top of your dress, and you just about cum again when you realise he’s biting down on the metal zipper, pulling it down with his teeth as exposing your bare back.

The black mini dress falls to the ground into the puddle of your lewdness and your drenched underwear.

“Good girl, stay there.”

He pulls off his t-shirt and tosses it aside down the hallway, only to be seen by the end of this dalliance. You hear him kick off his shoes and quickly throws away his socks. Eagerly, his pants follow, as do his underwear. He’s just as naked as you, now. And you choke out a breath as you hear him drop to his knees, licking up the mess on your thighs and pussy. But he turns around, sitting on his ass with his back against the wall, without a care for the wetness beneath. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your cunt towards his face.

“Sit.” he instructs.

You do, without pause, moaning boisterously as he sucks at your clit and covers his face in your sweetness. One arm remains hooked around thigh while the other releases, hand in search of his aching length. He plays with himself, alternating between lazy strokes and passionate ones. The taste of your cunt makes him dizzy, unable to believe how much slick you’re producing as he relentlessly feasts on your flesh.

“F-fuck, Toji… finger me, please.” you beg. He’s leaking like crazy, and thinks your request might have come at the perfect time. He lets himself go in favour of pleasuring you, the sound of your sticky cunt squelching with each press throughout your eerie apartment. Neither of you had even found time to turn on a light, the only thing illuminating the room is the filtering light sneaking in through the cracks of your front door. “G’na cum, a-again… holy— s-shit.” you moan.

It spurs him on, maintaining all of his ministrations as he tries to coax your second orgasm out of you. He grunts, loudly, against your sodden folds as you squirt again. His face and hair doused with your release as he doesn’t dare pull away. The sadistic desire to prolong your ecstasy is fuelling him to keep going. He feels like he might cum untouched as he feels your cum cover him.

Your legs give, his burly arms hook around your thighs again in a bid to keep you stable. But his hands wander, impatiently. Fingers grip into your waist as he pulls you away from the wall.

He helps you down, hovering you above his longing cock as he guides it to your spent hole.

“I don’t have any condoms.” he tells you.

“Don’t care—” you assure him, wriggling your hips eagerly. “’m on the pill.”

“Greedy girl,” he smirks, pushing you down onto his cock. You want to scream from the stretch but you manage to refrain. He sets a ruthless pace, forcing you to accommodate to it quickly. “Been so sweet for me, darlin’. Gonna be nice ‘n do all the work for ya, okay? Say thank you.”

“T-Thank you! Thank you.” you babble nonsensically.

His knees are bent as he fucks up into your abused hole, the velocity propelling you forward. Your fingers clutch onto his shoulders for dear life as he takes advantage of your body being in such close proximity to his mouth. He sucks your tits, eliciting a dreamy moan from you. The gorgeous sounds you make for him have his cock drooling inside of your unprotected walls.

It's so sorrowful, really, thinking about how pathetic you both are. He seemed so calm and collected and yet neither of you could even make it through the hallway of your apartment before you were both stripped bare. You thought you’d be fucking comfortably on your bed. But here you are, being fucking destroyed by his monstrously large cock on the wooden, soaking, hallway floor.

“Gonna cum, baby.” he breathes against your spit soaked tits. The admission makes you cream, clenching around his thick, veiny cock as you brace yourself. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re gonna cum again. Can feel it, little cock slut. No one’ll fuck you like this again, y’know.”

“Ah- aaaah—!” is all you can say as a lesser stream of liquid shoots from you once more. The internal bliss you feel makes you pass out momentarily. But you come around quick enough to feel your untainted insides become stained with his white, creamy warmth.

He groans, deeply, bouncing you up and down his length. He wishes there was a light on to see the creamy ring and the messy puddle you’ve created together.

“You’re fuckin’ amazing, baby.” he tells you, grasping the crown of your head with his palm to guide you into a sloppy kiss. He manages to stand up whilst keeping himself slotted comfortably inside of you. You giggle as you guide him to the nearest light switch, and both of you look down at the mess you’ve made. Shame builds once again and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Awe, pretty girl made a dirty little mess f’me.” he teases you.

“Stop! ‘m so embarrassed!” you tell him, the sentence muffled as you talk into his skin.

“S’okay, rest up.” he tells you, stroking your back soothingly. “Give me a tour, wanna see the next place we can make a mess of.”

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