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p0orbaby · 3 months ago

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A Drop in the Ocean

summary: you buy barça for alexia

warnings: none

a/n: requested on the back of a similar one i wrote

word count: 1.5k

You don’t even think about it anymore, the money. The commas and zeros stopped meaning anything the moment they started adding up faster than you could count. You don’t remember exactly when it happened, just that it did. One day you were checking the balances on your brokerage account religiously, watching the stock tickers on your phone at breakfast, and then at some point—probably after that second meeting in Geneva or maybe the fourth trip to Dubai—you stopped caring altogether. The accounts became endless, infinite, numbers that only existed on a screen and held no weight in the real world. You could buy anything, do anything. You do.

You’ve bought Barcelona FC. For Alexia.

It wasn’t a particularly difficult purchase, and that’s what bothers you, how easy it was. You’d made a few calls, orchestrated a few backroom meetings with men in navy-blue suits who wear Patek Philippe watches but don’t know how to spell "integrity," and within weeks, it was done. The club—one of the most storied institutions in world football—was now, for all intents and purposes, yours. They were failing in every department that mattered, so it wasn’t hard to make them see reason. The board was crumbling under its own corruption and incompetence anyway, the men in charge having long ago stopped caring about anything other than their own salaries. They saw the numbers you offered and couldn’t sign the dotted lines fast enough.

You’re sitting in the back of your Bentley Bentayga—the V8 model because the W12 felt too much, like gilding the lily—watching the city of Barcelona pass by in blurred streaks of sunlight and shadows. You don’t drive yourself anymore; it’s not that you’ve forgotten how, but why would you bother when you can pay someone to do it for you? You’re sipping on an iced Americano from a local coffee roaster that isn’t La Colombe but isn’t Starbucks either—because Starbucks is for tourists and people who don’t care what real coffee tastes like—and tapping your thumb against the cool glass, counting down the minutes until you get home. Home isn’t the place you grew up, or even the first penthouse you bought in Barcelona—God, you’ve already sold that one off—but the sprawling villa in the hills that overlooks the city like a predator watching its prey.

You’d bought the house because Alexia liked it. You had taken her to see it on a whim, even though you knew you’d buy it regardless of her opinion. But she’d loved it, her eyes lighting up in that way they do when she’s genuinely moved by something, not when she’s just being polite or trying to please you. It’s rare, that reaction, and you’ve noticed it only happens when she’s either on the pitch or somewhere quiet, somewhere she can breathe. It makes you feel something, a tightness in your chest, almost a panic, like the world’s collapsing in on itself, but in a good way. If there even is a good way for that to happen.

Your phone buzzes, vibrating against the buttery-soft leather of your seat. You glance at it and see it’s a text from her.

Training's over. Home soon?

You smile, the kind of smile that makes the people around you uneasy, because they never know if it’s genuine or not. It is, but it’s small, fleeting, like everything in your life that isn't Alexia.

On my way. You send the reply quickly, almost too quickly, like you’re not supposed to care that much. But you do. You always do.

You met Alexia when you were young—stupid young—back when you still believed that success was something you had to fight for. She was everything you weren’t: grounded, focused, humble. Even now, with all the accolades and the Ballon d'Ors and the fanfare, she still feels *real* in a way you don’t anymore. She still eats cereal for breakfast sometimes, not some overpriced organic granola shipped in from the Swiss Alps. She’ll sit on the sofa in her sweatpants and watch trashy reality TV with you, her feet in your lap, like the world outside doesn’t exist. Like she’s not the face of women’s football, the woman everyone wants to be. You want to be her too, sometimes.

But then you remember: she’s yours. And you’re the one with the power, the one pulling the strings now. You’re the one who’s going to fix everything for her.

You think about the RFEF, the Royal Spanish Football Federation, and how utterly revolting they are, how they’ve mishandled everything about the women’s game. It makes you angry, but not in the way normal people get angry, not in that quick, fleeting way. Your anger is cold, calculated, the kind of anger that doesn’t make itself known until it’s too late. You’d called in favours—favours you didn’t even know you had—and now you’re restructuring the whole thing from the inside out. The old guard, the men who’ve spent years belittling and undermining women’s football, will be gone soon, and they don’t even see it coming. You’ll replace them with people who actually care, people who understand what’s at stake.

Alexia doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t need to. She already carries enough weight on her shoulders; you see it in the way she moves, the subtle slump in her posture after a long day. She’s been fighting this fight for years, but you can take it from here. You’ll make sure she never has to fight again.

When you finally pull up to the villa, the sky is turning that particular shade of burnt orange that only seems to exist in Spain. The driver opens your door, and you step out, the sound of your Louboutins clicking against the cobblestone driveway. You’re wearing something understated but expensive—a cream-coloured silk blouse from The Row, tailored trousers that cost more than most people’s monthly rent, and a watch that could fund a small country’s healthcare system for a year. You’ve always preferred quiet luxury, the kind of wealth that doesn’t scream but whispers, softly, in the background. Alexia likes that about you. At least, you think she does.

You walk through the front door—minimalist, custom-made, imported from Italy—and the scent of jasmine fills your lungs. Alexia’s perfume. She’s here.

You find her in the living room, sprawled out on the sofa, her legs up on the coffee table, still in her training kit. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, strands falling loose around her face. She’s scrolling through her phone, probably reading up on whatever the media is saying about the latest match, and she looks up when you walk in. There’s that smile again, the one that makes everything else disappear for a moment, just a moment, but long enough to matter.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft, like it’s only meant for you.

You cross the room and sit next to her, pulling her legs into your lap, your fingers automatically tracing circles on her shins. You don’t say anything for a while, because neither of you needs to. The silence between you is comfortable, familiar, the kind of silence that only comes when two people have been through everything together and still come out on the other side.

“I bought the club,” you say, casually, like you’re talking about picking up milk from the store.

Alexia looks at you, her eyes widening for a second before she catches herself. She’s good at that, at pretending nothing surprises her, but you know her well enough to see through it.

“You did what?” she asks, her tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“I bought Barcelona,” you repeat, leaning back against the cushions. “They were fucking it all up, especially with the women’s team. I’m fixing it. For you”

She doesn’t respond immediately, and you can see the gears turning in her head, trying to process what you’ve just said. It’s not that she doesn’t believe you; she does. It’s just…a lot.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says finally, but there’s no conviction in her voice. She knows as well as you do that you don’t *have* to do anything. You want to.

“I did,” you reply, your voice firm. “Because they don’t care about you. Not like I do”

She looks at you for a long moment, and you can see the conflict in her eyes, the push and pull of wanting to argue but knowing there’s no point. You’ve already made up your mind. You always have.

“Thank you,” she says eventually, and the sincerity in her voice catches you off guard. You’re used to people thanking you, sure, but it’s always perfunctory, transactional. This is different. This is real.

You lean in and kiss her, slow and soft, and for a moment, everything is perfect. You don’t think about the money or the power or the corruption you’ve spent years navigating. You don’t think about the board meetings or the backroom deals or the restructuring of the RFEF. You just think about her, and how she’s the only thing that makes any of it worth it.

When you pull back, she’s smiling, and it’s that smile again—the one that makes your chest tighten and your heart race in a way that nothing else does. Not even the money.

“Let’s go fix everything,” you say, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you already have.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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abxtchbetired · 5 months ago

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seven deadly sins headcanons

because i'm tired of sinday memes being all about sex. send a category + a number. warning: some of the questions in the lust section are nsft. that's why it's at the bottom.

gluttony - - -

what could your muse eat all the time without ever getting tired of it?

a feast of all your muse's favorite foods is laid out in front of them. what's on the menu?

is your muse the type to leave the last bit of food for someone else, or to take it for themselves before someone else can claim it?

does your muse frequently overeat?

does your muse go back for seconds? thirds? fourths?

how many meals and snacks does your muse eat in a day?

what are your muse's go-to beverages?

does your muse drink enough water?

does your muse drink many sugary drinks, like soda or juice?

is your muse a heavy (alcohol) drinker? if so, what do they drink? in what situations do they drink? do they know their limits? do they stop at their limit, or go past it?

is your muse addicted to caffeine? if so, what is their preferred caffeinated beverage?

does your muse have a sweet tooth?

greed - - -

what does your muse collect, if anything?

is your muse prone to hoarding anything?

what is your muse's financial situation? what are their financial goals?

is money important to your muse? why or why not?

how much money does your muse keep in their checking account at any given time? if your muse keeps cash, how much do they usually have in their wallet? does your muse carry coins around? what is the limit on their credit card, if they have one? do they have multiple credit cards?

does your muse have good savings habits? how much do they currently have saved up?

is your muse prone to shopping sprees? if so, what do they usually indulge in buying?

is your muse in debt? if so, are they managing it well, or are they struggling?

would your muse throw others under the bus/step on others if it meant they could find more success/make more money?

would your muse steal anything?

wrath - - -

does your muse like to get revenge on those they feel have wronged them?

how does your muse handle anger? do they have anger issues? how do they manage or vent their anger?

does your muse believe in karma?

did your muse get into fights as a kid? do they get into fights as an adult? if your muse never got into fights before, would they in the name of self defense?

what, if anything, provokes your muse to violence?

does your muse believe that violence can solve some problems? or are they more a "violence is never the answer" type? somewhere in-between?

does your muse destroy things for fun, or to let off steam?

was your muse a bully? or were they bullied themselves?

has your muse ever considered murdering someone? or have they actually gone through with murdering someone?

does your muse enjoy hurting others, whether it be physically or emotionally?

pride - - -

does your muse believe they are the best at everything, even if that belief is unwarranted?

in what areas might your muse be a little overconfident? are they overconfident in the sense that they don't have the skills to back it up, or in the sense that they do have the skills but they are obnoxious in their confidence?

does your muse accept responsibility for their actions when they have done something wrong?

is your muse comfortable with apologizing to others?

does your muse feel remorse? if so, how do they express it?

has your muse every blown off preparing for something because they were confident they could complete the task without preparation? if so, what was the situation?

is your muse prone to bragging? what do they brag about?

does your muse look down on others they perceive as being "not as good" at things as they are?

sloth - - -

on what day(s) does your muse feel most lazy? at a specific time of day, or all day?

is your muse prone to procrastination?

what chores/responsibilities does your muse avoid doing at all costs?

how many hours of sleep does your muse get? do they feel rested after, or are they still tired?

once your muse gets started doing something important, do they drag their feet, take many breaks, and ultimately prolong the task? or do they work as quickly as possible, at the sacrifice of a quality job? or do they work efficiently without sacrificing quality?

does your muse put on real clothes every day, or only if they have to go out?

if your muse could get away with wearing pajamas all day every day, would they?

does your muse complain about responsibilities a lot?

is your muse the type to get up on time on their own or with an alarm? are they the type to hit snooze over and over?

envy - - -

does your muse get jealous easily, or does it take a lot for them to feel it?

what kinds of things does your muse get jealous about?

does your muse compare themselves to others often? if so, how does it affect them?

lust - - -

is your muse sexually active? if so, how often do they have sex? how many partners do they typically have at one time? if not, why not?

what is your muse's sexuality? if asexual, are they sex favorable, sex indifferent, or sex repulsed?

is your muse vanilla, or are they kinky? if kinky, what are their top three kinks, and why do they like them? if vanilla, what position(s) does your muse have sex in?

what sex-related words turn your muse on? what words make them cringe?

does your muse masturbate? if so, how often, and how do they get themselves off? if not, why not?

does your muse have high, medium, or low libido?

is sex compatibility a dealbreaker for your muse in a relationship? why or why not?

how does your muse feel about one-night-stands?

what was your muse's first time having sex like? who was it with, why did they choose that person, where did it take place, how old were they, and what happened?

#sinday meme #rp meme #headcanon meme #lore meme

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luvergirl-866 · 6 days ago

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something like love

part - 6

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 4.7k

c/w - language, tiny bit of angst (this is only the beginning i fear.)

a/n - is it cringe of me to ask for live reactions? bc i want live reactions sb. anyway, sorry ik i said this chap would be long and juicy but i decided to hold off on the juicy part, i needed a lil more plot development! also ty to everyone who sends me asks, even if it’s just things like “when’s the next part😫” i love it sm lol. hope yall like this one!!

The next two days are—at least compared to the first two—almost peaceful. The weather is nice, just warm enough and not too humid, which Azzi’s hair appreciates. She got goddess braids done just before the trip and even in protective styles, her hair gets frizzy at the very notion of moisture.

The peacefulness largely comes from the fact that Paige is avoiding her parents like the plague, instead spending all her time with Azzi and her siblings. The third day they spend almost entirely at the local park, shooting around at the court there under the hot sun. Lauren even reluctantly joins for a few games, and she may be adamant about not wanting to play basketball but the talent for it must be genetic because she’s a natural. And if Paige and Azzi spend the whole ‘competition’ brushing hands and flirting, nobody says anything. (Though Ryan does wrinkle his nose at them a few times.)

The fourth day starts out warm, and so Paige and Azzi sneak the kids out bright and early (Azzi, of course, ends up with the job of waking all three siblings up—not one of them is a morning person whatsoever) and go to an ice cream shop, where they eat their cold, sweet breakfasts on the curb while they chat. Both Ryan and Lauren may have argued that they were too old to be excited about ice cream for breakfast anymore, but they both end up with matching, chocolate-covered grins when they’re done.

The weather turns for the worst before noon, though, and the kids want to go home but Paige insists they go to the arcade instead. When she says she’ll pay for as many games as they want, they’re easily swayed. Of course, Paige and Azzi make a competition out of the day, deciding to keep a tally of all their points so that whoever has the most wins by the end has to buy the whole group prizes.

Azzi gives it a fighting go but Paige plays way more video games than she does so she very nearly beats her—but then, when they’re almost out of game tickets, Azzi pouts at her about the whole situation, and suspiciously, she ends up making an incredible recovery, easily beating Paige at almost every game after that.

Lauren picks a koala plushie, Ryan picks some new shoes, and Azzi gets this shiny plastic tiara.

“You didn’t have to get the cheapest prize,” Paige says as Azzi adjusts the tiara on her head. “I got money.”

“I know,” Azzi replies, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “But I had to. As the princess.”

Paige gives her that stupid fucking look again—the one Azzi still can’t figure out even though she knows Paige like the back of her hand, which is just driving her crazy—and that look shows up so often Azzi should really just start referring to it as The Look at this point.

But then Paige smiles, previous odd expression gone, and the way she does that,—slips out of it like she doesn’t even realize it was there in the first place—drives Azzi even more crazy than The Look itself.

Now, it is the fifth day. And Azzi reminisces on these past two blissful days to try and distract herself from the fact that Paige and her parents are having a heated argument right in front of her and her scrambled eggs.

“No, Paige,” Amy is saying. “Absolutely not.”

“You can’t do that!” Paige replies, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m an adult, I make my own money, I can do—“

“It’s stupid.”

“It’ll be fun!”

“It won’t, because it’s not happening.” Amy is unpacking a load of groceries, and Dean is lingering in the corner of the kitchen being absolutely useless. That seems to be his brand.

“Yes it will, Mom,” Paige replies, voice lower now but still obviously frustrated. “I wasn’t asking for your permission. I was just seeing if you wanted to come with us. I was tryna be nice!”

“Well it won’t be nice when you crash and we all drown, Paige.”

“Jesus, Mom! I ain’t gonna go around crashing!”

Azzi feels very uncomfortable, wishing she were literally anywhere else, but at the same time this is sort of amusing and she has to hide a smile in a bite of eggs.

This argument is, out of all things, about a boat. Paige wants to rent one and have a lake day, and though she didn’t want to, Azzi convinced her to invite her parents—she figured they’d decline but that they’d be offended if they weren’t at least invited.

She wasn’t really expecting a lecture to come out of it, though. But by the tired look on Paige’s face, she knew exactly what was coming their way.

“You don’t even have a boating license,” Amy continues, placing a new jug of milk and some apples in the fridge. “This is illegal. If you won’t listen to your mother, at least listen to the law.”

That very nearly gets a giggle out of Azzi. She chokes it down.

“This is a private lake, I’on need my license.”

“Well that doesn’t sound shady at all.”

“It’s not, it’s super legit!” Paige makes for her phone in her back pocket. “It has its own website and everything, I looked way into it.”

Amy stares her daughter down for a few seconds, hands on her hips, before she lets out a resigned sigh. “Like you said, Paige, I can’t tell you what to do. You’re an adult, do what you want. But you will not be taking your siblings on that death trap.”

“Wha…” Paige flounders, eyebrows furrowed, and her voice raises again, “that was the whole point of this entire thing!”

“Well, that’s too bad. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll make them wear life jackets!”

“They’re teenagers,” Dean points out rather unhelpfully, and it’s the first time he’s spoken around her in days but Azzi is already sick of him again. “Neither of them are gonna wear life jackets.”

“I’ll force them, I swear.”

“Paige Madison,” Amy snaps, and Paige may be an independent adult now but she still straightens her back subconsciously at her mother’s warning tone, “no means no. They are my kids.”

“They’re my siblings!” Paige replies—rather boldly, Azzi thinks, because if Azzi were in her place she would’ve given up by now.

But Paige, as most daughters do, knows exactly how far to push her mother to get what she wants—apparent in the way Amy massages her temples with her fingers before saying, “You know what, Paige? Fine.”

Dean is jumping in immediately. “What? No, she can’t take my kids out on a boat.”

“She’s right, Dean,” Amy says, though she looks a little pained to be siding with her daughter for once. “They’re her siblings. She wants to do something fun for them.”

“It’s dangerous!” Dean motions sporadically at where Paige and Azzi are sitting at the island. Azzi’s eggs are gone now and so she has nothing to put her awkward energy into. “Neither of them owns a boat, and they are practically strangers—“

“She is my daughter,” Amy says, and it’s so quiet Azzi almost doesn’t hear it, but she does, and it sends shivers through her. Because there’s something dangerous, something protective in her tone, something only a mother who loves their child could convey. And it sends a flicker of hope through her. “She is my daughter and I trust her with her siblings.”

Dean flounders for something but comes up empty, instead storming off all red-faced like a child. Amy doesn’t look either of them in the eye when she says, “Let me know if you kids need anything today,” before leaving the two best friends alone in the kitchen.

Slowly, Paige turns to look at Azzi, something like disbelief in her expression. “Did that—actually go well?”

“Yeah,” Azzi responds. “I think it did.”

Things may just be looking up.

———————————————

Dean may be an asshole, but it turns out he was right about one thing: Ryan and Lauren will not wear life jackets.

“C’mon, guys, it’s the law,” Paige insists, thrusting a pink life jacket at her sister, who scrunches her nose in disgust.

“No way! That’s so ugly, Paige.”

“The color wont matter when you’re drowning.”

“You sound just like Mom!” Lauren sighs, and Paige’s mouth falls open.

“You did not just say that.”

Lauren gives Paige a smug smile, which amuses Azzi because it’s the same smile Paige gives her whenever she wins an argument. “And I meant it too.”

If Lauren were not much smaller than Paige, she would be tackling her right now, based off the look on her face. But instead she composes herself and turns to Ryan, who is sitting at the front of the speedboat on his phone. He feels his older sister’s gaze and looks up at her, then at the life jacket in her hands. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being so for real.”

“There’s gonna be hot girls in bikinis on the lake,” Ryan replies, as if this is the most obvious thing ever. “No way I’m wearing a life jacket.”

Paige sighs and rubs her temple with her fingers, and Azzi would never say it out loud (for fear of being pushed into the lake) but she does kind of look like her mom in this moment.

When Paige turns on her with a warning look, Azzi startles, wondering if she’s somehow read her mind. But instead, Paige picks up another life jacket and says, “Will you at least wear one?”

Azzi smiles, a little puzzled. “Paige, I don’t need a life jacket. I can swim.” Which is obvious considering she and Paige have spent various lake days at her family’s cabin.

“Yeah, but for my peace of mind, though!” Paige shakes the life jacket in Azzi’s direction.

The truth is, Azzi wouldn’t mind wearing the life jacket. But ever since she put on this bikini��pastel purple in color—Paige has been swallowing thickly and averting her eyes constantly. So Azzi thinks she has other reasons for wanting her to cover up.

And Azzi can’t let her get away with that, can she?

“I don’t need it.” Azzi steps forward and takes the life jacket out of Paige’s grasp, tossing it aside before reaching to trail her hand down Paige’s bicep, squeezing the hard muscle a little bit. “And besides, won’t you save me if I’m drowning?” she asks, smiling coyly.

Paige’s throat bobs, eyes landing respectfully on a spot past Azzi’s shoulder. “Well, that’s not really how that works.”

Azzi blinks, and she knows just how big and brown her eyes are when she looks up at Paige through her lashes. “No? Thought you’ve been in the gym?”

“I have,” Paige says defensively.

“Hm.” Azzi lets her hand trail off Paige’s arm, resting it on Paige’s side before dancing her fingers dangerously over Paige’s exposed abs. “You wanna prove that to me, baby?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and Azzi loves the way she can not only see but feel her stomach tense under her fingers. But the moment is broken by a gagging sound nearby.

Lauren—who has sat beside her brother and pulled out her own phone—is now looking at them with disgust. “You guys are so gross.”

“You shouldn’t be making sexual innuendos in front of Lauren,” Ryan adds on, though his eyes don’t leave his screen.

“Yeah!” Lauren agrees, then furrows her eyebrows and starts tapping at her phone. Azzi guesses she’s probably searching what sexual innuendo means.

“Hey, yo, don’t blame me,” Paige says, putting her hands up and taking two big steps away from Azzi. “She started it.”

“Azzi’s a freak,” Ryan says.

“Whoa, chill!”

“Hey, that’s actually offensive,” Lauren says. She has picked up a habit of defending Azzi with her life these last few days they’ve spent together, and Azzi has decided she would do the same. “That’s like calling her a monster or something.”

Ryan smirks, finally looking up at them. “I didn’t mean that kinda freak.”

“Okayyy!” Paige jumps in before Lauren can do any more Googling. “Let’s get this show on the road. Imma go untie us real quick, then we’ll head out.”

For the first time, nerves bubble in Azzi’s tummy. “Paige, you sure you’ll be able to drive this thing?”

Paige looks almost offended at the question. “Yeah, duh.”

“It’s just, you’ve never driven a speed boat before…”

“Trust me, mama,” Paige says, nodding cockily to herself. “I got driving skills like you’ve never seen.”

Fifteen minutes later, Azzi realizes Paige was telling the truth. She has certainly never seen these driving skills before.

Paige is an—erratic driver, to put it mildly. This lake is private, huge, and though there are plenty of other boaters out Paige drives as if they’re the only ones on the water. At one point, she gets to such a high speed that even Ryan grasps onto Azzi a little bit.

When Paige very nearly runs into a cruising party boat, Azzi finally gets up from her place between the kids and marches over to Paige, who glances up at her with a sheepish smile. “Whoops.”

“Lemme drive,” Azzi demands, beckoning for Paige to get up.

“No!” Paige says stubbornly. “I’m doin’ good!”

“I thought I was going to die!” Lauren pipes up angrily.

Azzi motions to her. “See? You’re scaring your brother and sister.”

“Whoa, who said I was scared?” Ryan says.

Azzi decides against bringing up the fact that he kept clinging to her arm. “This is scary, I wanna drive.”

“But babeee,” Paige groans, bringing the boat to a stop so she can properly argue, “you drive like a grandma.”

“I drive like a sane person, is what I think you mean to say.”

“It’ll be boring.”

“Paige.”

Paige stares her down for a moment before sighing like a stubborn little kid. “Fine. You can drive.”

Azzi nods, pleased, and shoves at Paige’s shoulder when she doesn’t move. “Get up.”

A slow smile creeps over Paige’s face and Azzi doesn’t like the look of that at all. “I gotta show you the ropes.”

“I don’t need you to teach me how to drive this thing,” Azzi says as if it’s obvious, because really, it is. The thought of Paige trying to teach anyone her…unique ways is downright scary. “I got it.”

“Nah, I think you’ll need some help.”

“P, for real, stop being difficult and move.”

“I’m not about to—“

“Can we go?” Lauren says loudly, getting both girls’ attention.

“Yeah, I’m getting hot as hell just sitting here,” Ryan agrees.

“I wanna get to that diving cliff Paige was talking about!”

Before Azzi can turn back to Paige to continue arguing with her, Paige has her hands on her hips and is pulling her firmly into her lap. Azzi squeaks, grabbing onto the wheel for leverage.

“Paige!” she exclaims, turning to glare at the smug-looking girl underneath her.

“You heard them,” Paige says simply, shrugging her shoulders as if her hands are tied. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t—“ Azzi starts to argue once again, but then Lauren is sighing dramatically in that teenage-girl way of her’s and saying, “Seriously, come on!”

So, almost in a daze, Azzi turns back to the front and moves her hand to the shift, getting the boat moving slowly again. She tries desperately to ignore it when Paige leans up close to her ear and murmurs, “Atta girl,” but she can’t help the goosebumps that erupt over her neck and Paige must spot them because she chuckles lightly before leaning back, letting Azzi do her thing.

Trying to shake off the feeling of Paige’s hot breath fanning over her skin, Azzi amps up the speed a little bit, determined to show Paige that she can be fun and safe, as promised.

After a few minutes of skimming over the water, Azzi calls over the wind, “Thought you were gonna ‘show me the ropes’?”

“Looks like you got it,” Paige says, sitting straight so she’s pressed up against Azzi’s back again, and her hands find their place on Azzi’s waist.

“Why’d you make me sit on your lap, then, P?” Azzi asks, and her tone lilts teasingly but she is sort of freaking out on the inside because moments like these—moments where Azzi hardly bothers to hide her feelings for Paige and Paige, instead of shying away, responds—are becoming a little too common for comfort.

Paige rests her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, lips brushing her cheek when she says, “Think you know why, hm?”

Yeah. Definitely far too common for comfort.

Ramping up the speedboat a little bit—enough that Ryan whoops and Lauren leans over the side to touch the water—Azzi shifts her hips. She moves out of discomfort, almost subconsciously trying to get away from this buzzing energy between her and her best friend, but Paige lets out a huff of air at the motion and, curious, Azzi does it again.

A full-on gasp this time.

A flush creeps up over Azzi’s cheeks all the way down her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s from pleasure or shyness, though likely it’s both. But she can’t let Paige have the upper hand, because Azzi can’t even imagine how quickly she’d fold if that happened. So instead, she turns her head to the side and says, “All good, Paige?”

The problem with this is Paige’s face is still turned toward her when she says it. And when Azzi moves to reciprocate the angle, their lips are so close that they brush on the last word. On the utterance of Paige’s name.

Azzi jerks back as soon as it happens, putting a couple inches of distance between their faces, and she’s sure the flush is noticeable by now. She tries for a lighthearted laugh, “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize you were so close—“

She doesn’t see it coming when Paige kisses her.

It pulls a gasp out of her, lips now pressed against Paige parting slightly in surprise, and her eyes don’t even close until she feels Paige’s tongue dip inside her mouth.

It’s a quick swipe, her tongue against the space between Azzi’s teeth and upper lip before she’s pulling away—only enough to make the kiss much more chaste.

Her hands slide from Azzi’s waist to her stomach, and Azzi grips onto the steering wheel for dear life when Paige moans ever so quietly into her mouth, the sound barely heard over the wind whipping around them. And then the wind is whipping Paige’s hair into their faces, a few strands getting in Azzi’s mouth, which she takes as her opportunity to pull away. Paige stares at her—The Look again—for only a split second this time (Azzi much prefers that over the lingering one) before her face is breaking into a smile, not cocky or smug or teasing but just bright, and Azzi can’t help but laugh with her as they pull Paige’s hair out of her mouth.

“Keep your eyes on the lake!” Lauren yells at them, and when they look at her she’s got her nose wrinkled. “What is it with you guys and PDA today?”

“Maybe someone put viagra in their coffees this morning,” Ryan suggests, looking equally as disgusted as his little sister but also twice as amused.

“What’s viagra?” Lauren asks.

“Yo, Ryan!” Paige snaps, her hands moving tantalizingly from Azzi’s tummy to rest low on her hips instead, and Azzi forces herself to look back where she’s driving. “Keep it PG, dawg!”

“I could say the same thing to you,” he replies, and Azzi isn’t looking at him but she can picture the smirk on his face—she knows the look all too well by now.

The three of them bicker for a few more minutes, and Azzi tries really hard to focus on where they’re going rather than the implications of that kiss and all the questions that follow it.

Paige is the bad driver, but when she leans forward and mimics her—“All good, baby?”—Azzi worries she may be the one to crash this boat.

———————————————

“Sunscreen time!”

“No, what?”

“We just put some on!”

“Az, I’m never gonna tan at this point!”

Shaking the sunscreen into her hands, Azzi motions the three siblings towards her. “C’mon, you need it.”

“I don’t burn,” Lauren insists as she steps up in front of Azzi, lifting her arms dutifully anyway.

“You’re already getting a little red,” Azzi points out, applying an extra-thick layer onto Lauren’s rosy nose.

“This is lame,” Lauren groans, though she still lets Azzi work in silence and mumbles a thank you before she turns back to the lake.

Ryan is next, and he doesn’t complain about it but he does stare down at his phone the entire time, his head only falling back down when Azzi tries to push it up. “Ryan,” she sighs.

He tears his eyes away from his phone, only to look around subconsciously. Azzi knows he’s trying to see if the gaggle of teenage girls along the rocky beach have noticed him getting his sunscreen done.

“Hurry up,” Paige complains, nudging her younger brother in the back, and he turns around to shove her.

Azzi fights back a smile. “You can put it on yourself if that’s better.”

“It’s good,” he says nonchalantly, but he hasn’t quite mastered acting like he doesn’t care.

Azzi finishes up quickly, ending the torture with an encouraging smile, watching him run up to join his sister where she stands on the ledge above the lake, sneaking up on her. He pushes her in and Azzi laughs at the way Lauren screeches before her eyes drift to Paige, who is now standing right in front of her, looking awfully petulant.

“You really don’t want me to tan, huh?” she says, wincing as Azzi rubs the cold lotion over Paige’s sun-kissed shoulders.

“Your white ass is gonna burn if we don’t do this every thirty minutes,” Azzi says, reiterating what she said the past five times Paige complained about the sunscreen.

“I got a little melanin in me.”

Azzi looks at the way Paige’s blue eyes are squinting against the summer sun, the way her pale skin is already tinted pink, and raises her brows.

Paige holds her hand up. “Just gimme the sunscreen.”

Chuckling, Azzi squirts some into her hand before giving the bottle to Paige, who turns around and starts doing her front while Azzi does her back. They’ve done this maybe a hundred times, before countless sunny fair days and hot boat rides, but today it just feels a little…off. Everything feels a little off about them recently.

Azzi worries it may be her fault. She has always been good at hiding her feelings for Paige, good at making sure her attraction doesn’t show on her face just like she knows all her other emotions do. But recently, ever since they began this facade—and more so ever since they arrived in Montana—she knows she’s been slipping up. She thought she’d be okay but she wasn’t prepared for the way Paige would look at her like she wasn’t pretending, the way Paige calls her pet names even when they’re alone, the way Paige told her she liked kissing her and wants to do it again.

The way Paige did do it again.

And there lies the burning question: why?

Azzi knows Paige doesn’t have feelings for her. Azzi knows that she’s the only one who lies awake thinking about having Paige in every sense of the word, the only one who wakes up in the middle of the night thinking of Paige with an uncomfortable stickiness between her legs. She is the only one, of course, who is in love.

Then why do Paige’s eyes and hands wander nowadays? Why does she call her baby in quiet moments? Why did she kiss her when she really didn’t have to?

Could she be—attracted to Azzi? Maybe through playing this role, she’s seen Azzi in a new light, and realized her best friend is no longer dorky and fourteen but rather a tall, pretty twenty year old with a great ass. (And yes, Azzi knows she has a great ass.)

She could be attracted to her and not be in love. She could be attracted to her and have no other attachment whatsoever. The two things can be true at once, can’t they?

The thought flatters her but it mostly scares her, because she’s barely surviving this unrequited love as it is. But with her best friend having any level of attraction back? How is she supposed to continue on like that?

“Azzi?” Paige asks, and the tone of her voice implies she’s already said it a few times.

Azzi hums, blinking. “Sorry, yeah?”

“Uh,” Paige says, and it’s then that Azzi realizes her hands have stopped rubbing lotion into Paige’s back and have sort of just come to rest on her waist—like it’s instinctive. Like it’s natural. “You done back there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Azzi says, but for some unknown reason she can’t find it in herself to let go.

Paige glances over her shoulder. “Azzi?” she repeats.

Azzi can’t really take it any longer.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Paige’s sides tense up under Azzi’s hands, and then she’s stepping away, out of her grasp, and turning to face her.

The look on her face is guarded, almost closed off completely. This is dangerous territory and Azzi has barely dipped her toes in the water yet.

When Azzi’s hands fall helplessly to her sides, Paige says, “I was pretending.”

As much as Azzi doesn’t buy it, the words—and the flat, cold intonation of them—sting. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Why’re you being weird about it?” Paige asks, eyes dancing nervously away from Azzi’s face.

“I’m not, Paige. I just—I wanna know. For real.”

“You agreed to do this for me,” Paige reminds her, as if that has anything to do with this. But, of course, it has everything to do with this, and Azzi hates how easy it makes it for the both of them to hide under a facade, a lie.

“I know,” Azzi says carefully, also taking a step back if only to get away from Paige’s chilly stare. “But you didn’t have to kiss me this time. There wasn’t a reason.”

Paige shrugs, and Azzi hates to admit it but she is much better than her younger brother at acting nonchalant. “We’re s’posed to be a couple. I don’t want my siblings getting suspicious. They know I’m a touchy person.”

Getting the sinking feeling that Azzi won’t get anything out of this conversation other than a fight, she nods slowly, looking down at the ground. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Paige, as usual, thaws at the slightest hint of weakness, taking a tiny step forward. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Azzi is a little too quick to say. The kiss caught her by surprise, but they’ve only done it two times and Azzi is quickly coming to find that kissing Paige is the most comfortable thing in the world—it’s natural, and right, and like curling up in bed with a book and a warm cup of tea—and Azzi also knows they should never do it again.

Despite the earnest answer, Paige looks at her suspiciously. “You sure, ma? Don’t ever wanna make you uncomfortable.”

Azzi does her best to fix her face, which she worries may be showing a little too much. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.”

“Aight,” Paige says, but she still doesn’t sound very convinced. Azzi’s just glad she’s letting it go.

“Sorry for bringing it up,” Azzi says. She’s not.

At this, Paige sighs, reaching out to bridge the gap between them, running a gentle hand up and down Azzi’s arm. “Nah, don’t be, I get it. Sorry for getting a lil defensive.”

A little? Despite the fact she doesn’t believe Paige one bit, and that she doesn’t like anything about the interaction they just had, Azzi manages a smile. “You’re good.”

Paige nods, and her smile at least seems to be sincere. But as they jump into the lake, and as Paige talks Azzi’s ear off while Azzi floats around lazily in a donut floatie, things feel even more off than before.

Azzi can’t quite place what it is until late that night, when they’re both going to sleep and Paige is, for the first time in ages, strangely quiet. She glances over to find Paige lying on her stomach, face turned away, breathing too quickly to be asleep.

And that’s when Azzi notices it. The gap between them, the sheer amount of space from Azzi on her side all the way to Paige, who is almost on the edge of the bed.

Paige always sleeps close to Azzi.

And she always sleeps with her head turned towards her.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

lmk if u wanna be on my tag list btw!!

#pazzi #pazzi fics #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wbb #wcbb #fake dating #paige buckets #the people's princess #wlw

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notafunkiller · 11 months ago

Text

not made of glass

Summary: After shopping for your Christmas tree and running into an old acquaintance, Bucky's mood completely changes.

Pairing: director!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 24, Bucky is 36), degrading, praising, chokíng, teasing, dirty talk, language, pet names, come eating, jealousy, a little metal arm kínk, daddy kínk, no condom (but they are both clean and r is on birth control), implied aftercare, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.3K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: An extra thank you @lavenderhaze967 for her help and support!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

He’s sulking. You don’t know what happened since you came from the tree shopping, but he’s been like this for hours.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can try to take over,” you offer for the fourth time from the living room.

You don’t know how to cook. And even if you tried, you wouldn’t be as good as him, but you don’t want him to do it if he doesn’t feel alright.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

You sigh when you hear his voice. He sounds so off... but he refuses to tell you what’s happening, and you can’t push him more. Maybe it’s work.

“Bucky, you know you don’t have to do anything, right? We can order something. If you don’t feel like it, I can even...” But you pause, knowing better than to continue the sentence. Both: give you some space or leave you alone for a bit would be wrong. “Did something happen? With the project I mean.”

You drop the ornament on the couch and make your way to the kitchen.

Without waiting for him to answer, you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pulling his back even tighter against your chest.

The Christmas tree and the food can wait. And you definitely don’t care about his covered in flour apron. You just want him to know you’re there.

You feel him tense for a few seconds, but you don’t move, instead you place your palms on his chest and hug him harder. That’s when he melts, his shoulders dropping a little. You smile before leaving a small kiss below the back of his neck.

“Who made you mad? Who do I kick?”

“I’m not... I told you I’m not mad,” he murmurs, but you don’t buy it.

“Ever since we bought the tree, you’ve been acting strange. You’re so tense, bubba.”

Bucky sighs, shaking his head at the same time as he decides to cover your hands with his. They’re warm and a little sweaty.

“I am just nervous about the food. I don’t want to screw it up.”

“Did I do something wrong? Tell me, don’t lie to me when I clearly want to solve this.”

You take a step back, upset, dropping your hands. This is not going to be a good conversation if he isn’t going to really talk. You don’t even know what you did wrong.

“Hey, hey! You didn’t do anything wrong. I am so sorry, but it’s really-”

“If you say it’s nothing one more time!” You snap, unable to keep your voice down. You don’t want to fight with him, you never do. It’s the worst feeling in the world, but he refuses to share. He is so stubborn!

“I am sorry.”

“Just tell me what happened. What made your mood change like that?”

“It’s silly,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron. “Nothing happened. Just... you know, it happens.”

Of course mood changes can just happen, but, in his case, unless it’s something that is really bothering him, it doesn’t last for so long. And he always talked to you about it, so it must be something you did.

“Did I do something Bucky? Did you,” you bite your lip when you feel yourself starting to get teary. You’re not going to be a cry baby. “Feel embarrassed by me?”

He jumps, bringing his hands to cup your face gently. You don’t move, enjoying his touch so much. “Bubba, no! No, no, no. I told you, you’re perfect. Fuck,” he curses, looking away. “I should be the one asking you that... if you feel embarrassed to be seen with me”

“What?”

“When we met with your... friend. I know we talked about our age difference before and all of that, but-”

You interrupt him before he can finish that sentence, still shocked. He was sulking for hours because he thought you’re unhappy to be seen with him all of a sudden? “When have I ever been embarrassed to be seen with you, bubba? I thought I made my feelings quite clear from the beginning. Did I say something today to make you feel this way?”

You’re trying to remember anything that could have triggered this type of thought, any gesture... anything, but you genuinely can’t find anything.

“This is the thing... you didn’t. You were just yourself: sweet, funny, and amazing. You reunited with your friend and all I could think was how much I want to...” He closes his eyes as if he’s fighting something inside his mind.

“Wanted to do what?” You push him to continue, happy he is finally opening up. You hate when you don’t know what he’s thinking about because you can’t reassure him like this.

“I’m a jerk, baby. I wanted to wipe off the smile on his face and take you to the car to fuck you. It’s immature, I know.” He brings his hands to his hair and he pulls. And pulls. “But I’ve never had this urge before. It was eating me alive.”

“You were jealous of Mickey?”

“I was, yeah,” he admits immediately. “The way he looked at you, the familiarity, the jokes... you giggled at his comments, and I thought I am gonna make a scene right there and then fuck you until you’re so full with my come you start dripping.”

That surprises you even more. You didn’t expect him to be jealous, especially not on this level since he’s always calm and collected, and you’re the one going crazy. And him wanting to fuck you with this urgency? It makes it even more interesting.

“He smiled quite a lot, didn’t he?” You bring your hand casually to his chest again. “Well, we know each other after all. He was one of my professors’ assistant, remember?”

Oh, how can he forget?

“Yeah, I remember very well, baby, trust me.”

“Should I tell you a little secret?” You move your fingers up until they reach his bottom lip. You want to distract him, to push him to get what he wants, ao you can see more of this side of him. “I kinda had a crush on him. He was like the hottest guy in my classes, you know?”

She immediately notices a flicker of darkness in his eyes, as if she’s just touched a nerve.

“You had a crush on him, huh?” He asks through his teeth, but not aggressively at all, more like challenging. He probably knows what you’re trying to do, but he still responds.

“Yep.” You grin playfully. “A huge one. My first real crush to be honest.”

“You’re enjoying this.” Bucky shakes his head, smiling.

“I don’t enjoy you thinking I’d be embarrassed to be seen with you.”

Surprisingly, he grabs your waist, pulling you toward him. You whimper when your breasts crush against his chest but stay still.

“You know exactly what I meant, don’t play.”

“And I see your mood changed all of a sudden.”

“Are you horny because I got jealous? Is that it, baby? You want me to-”

You groan, interrupting him, as you move your hips a little to meet his.

“I am horny because you were so close to going feral on me.”

Bucky smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve seen him smile before. It’s playful in a different way, as if he’s hiding something, and the fact you’re in the dark brings him endless satisfaction. Then he grabs your cheeks with his left hand, the coldness making you jump a little.

“You wanted me to go feral on you, huh?”

You don’t let him enjoy the moment for too long as you cover his hand just to move it lower until it rests on your neck, nothing you’ve never done before. But he surprises you again by actually squeezing the sides teasingly without taking his eyes off you.

You can’t help but whimper. You’ve wanted him to choke you for so long, but you didn’t want to push. It looks like he did too.

“Want you to go feral on me now too.”

You expect him to tease a bit longer, maybe even make you beg for it, but he doesn’t. He quickly rips your shirt in half, buttons flying eveywhere in the room, but he doesn’t give a fuck.

At least you aren’t wearing a bra, otherwise it would be ripped, too.

He’s not gentle when he turns you around by your hair, and you groan, the pain bringing pleasure, when you feel his fingers close to your roots. Your knees are suddenly weak too, but his grip on your waist as he pushes down your pants and panties at the same time keeps you on your feet.

He’s never been so fierce with you... always so careful. But you wanted this. You craved this.

“You’re gonna get it, don’t worry.” He pulls your hair again, and you moan. “Gonna make you my comeslut in a sec. Walk.”

You don’t say anything as you move to the living room quickly, with his hand still in your hair. You step out of pants and panties right before you reach the threshold. You don’t him to slow down, you want him to fuck you the way he craved it when you ran into Mickey.

“Hands and knees.”

You turn your head as much as his grip allows it and smile. “Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll consider it since you held back today. Why should I-”

But he doesn’t let you even finish your sentence as he is pulling your hair to guide you down. He’s not even doing it hard, but it makes you so wet. You love this side so fucking much.

“I’d advise you to do what you’re told.”

Even his tone is more demanding and deeper. You close your eyes and, despite your urge to be a brat again, you get on hands and knees as he told you. You want his cock more than anything.

“Like this?” You tilt your head enough so he can see your smirk, knowing the patronizing tone will drive him crazier.

“Need to fuck the attitude out of you, don’t I?” He smiles back, lowering his sweatpants. You turn your head, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you blush.

“You can try, but we both know that’s-”

He’s not just at your entrance, he’s pushing inside you.

You gasp, surprised he did this without warning you.

“You okay?”

You nod, hoping he can see you, when he grabs your ass. He pushed only a bit, waiting for your approval.

“Bubba?” He whispers, and you can sense the worry in his voice. But you’re really wet and horny, and you want to be fucked.

“F-fine. I’m fine, keep going. Please.”

“Who?”

“James?” You try, unsure, feeling him getting inside you deeper and deeper.

“Sweetheart, that’s not what you usually like to call me, is it? Don’t lie to yourself.”

“W-what?” The way he’s filling you makes it impossible for you to focus. You can barely breathe properly.

“Aren’t you a comeslut for daddy? Why do you prolong your suffering?”

“I’m not...” you whimper, playing around. “I’m not a comeslut.”

“You’re right, you’re not. Yet.”

He starts thrusting pretty slowly, probably wanting to make sure you’re getting used to it, but his hand in your hair shows you that things aren’t going to be so tame for long.

“God, look how fucking wet you are, doll. Taking me so well, hungry for my cock.”

You whimper, thrusting your ass back because, as he speaks, he slips out of you completely, letting you empty.

“Daddy, please.”

You don’t care if your neediness is evident in your voice, Bucky already knows you’re desperate for him. And after he’s been sulking and refusing to tell you why, he owes you this.

“What?”

“Come on, fuck me. Gimmie... gimmie your cock. Pound me. Didn’t you say you were gonna go feral?”

He doesn’t need another invitation, and you realize immediately he is not going to hold back as he grabs your hips with more force than before and slams inside you. His balls hit your clit over and over again, and you moan even louder, tilting your head so he can get the hint you want him to pull your hair. But he ignores it.

He continues to fuck you without stopping, making sure to almost pull out completely a couple of times just to push back in hard, driving you crazy.

“A crush, huh? Your first real crush.” He sneaks his metal arm under your body and squeezes one of your breasts.

Jesus!

“B-Bucky!”

“Try again or I stop right fucking now. I’ll use your mouth, and you won’t get to come.”

You gasp and almost tell him he wouldn’t dare, but wouldn’t he?

“D-daddy, please. I love you.”

Even though you can’t see him, you know he’s smiling.

“Do you?”

“So much, please don’t stop.”

He’s slowing down a little so you can speak, matching his thrusts with the way he is playing with your breasts.

“You’re so adorable when you’re cockdrunk. But should I-”

“Please, I had a crush on you too.”

When he frees your breast, you want to scream. You didn’t lie, and he knew it. You had a huge crush on him as you were filming, but it was innocent and cute. The dirty thoughts started after, so why is he so annoying?

He doesn’t drop his hand, though. He moves it higher, wrapping it around your neck.

“That’s it?” He playfully squeezes the sides of your neck, and your eyes roll back in pleasure. He knows exactly what buttons to push, and the more you fuck, the better it gets. “Just a crush?”

“I love you, daddy. And I need it faster, please.”

He doesn’t just fuck you faster as you want, he also somehow fucks you deeper, his fingers tightening instinctively on your hips. You’re a moaning mess at this point, unable to say anything else but his name, and even that comes out stuttered.

You can barely keep your head straight when he starts really choking you. You expect to feel like you’re suffocating, some panic or discomfort, but his cold grip on your neck only makes it hard for you to focus on anything... impossible to think, and a little dizzy.

“You’re a fucking tease, aren’t you?”

Tears. You feel many tears leaving hot trails on your cheek. You can’t even open your eyes.

“You just wanted to be pounded so hard that you taunted daddy with his jealousy. Bad girl.”

You’re so, so close, you can barely even hear him. Your ears are ringing and you moan loudly. You have no idea how he even can speak.

“Fuck,” he whimpers when you unconsciously move your hips back to meet his thrusts, desperate for more before he slaps your ass twice. The moan you let out is so high pitched even you are surprised. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You’re a whore for a bit of pain.”

You are. You love it with him because you trust him. You know he’d never go too far even when he’s wild and crazy like this. And that only turns you on more and more. You’re so close that you can almost taste it.

“But you’re my little baby, aren’t you? I’m the one y-you need. Fuck!”

You’re screaming before he can even finish speaking as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever experienced takes over your body. It’s a blinding pleasure you can feel everywhere: from your pussy to your head and even fingers. And the way he keeps thrusting in and out of you at the same speed prolongs it.

“D-daddy, please,” you groan when the pleasure turns into sensitivity. You want him to feel at least half as good as you do. You try to open your eyes as you tilt your head back so he can see you, but the tears make your sight blurry. “Please... c-come inside me. Give me your come, fill me up, I neeeed it.”

And while he moans your name, he does, making you realize he’s been really holding back his release all this time. He drops his hand from your neck just to grab a handful of your tit and squeeze as he comes. And comes. And comes.

“Jesus, d-doll. Take my come. Got so much for you. So, so much.”

You love how feral he is, how it feels to be used like this. You want to be his toy.

“Thank you, daddy. Thank you for your come.”

You feel the pressure and weight of his chest pressing against your back, but he doesn’t let go of your breast, fondling it gently.

“Fuck, this was...” He doesn’t even finish his sentence, trying to catch his breath. You are both sweaty and warm, but you don’t care. You love being so close to him.

“This was so fucking good, bubba. Why did you hold back all this time?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, instead he leaves a trail of kisses from your neck to the middle of your back, rising at the same time.

“Didn’t want to hurt you, bubba.”

“Told you I am not made of glass!” You try to stand up, too, but your knees are so wobbly that Bucky has to help you, wrapping his metal arm around your waist. You feel his come start to drip out little by little and you moan, scooping some of the come with two fingers and then bringing it to your lips.

You whimper the moment you get a taste, looking at Bucky to show him exactly how you feel about it. Quickly, you bring your index finger that is still covered in come to his lips, wanting to share with him.

Without hesitation, he opens his mouth, letting you smear some come on his tongue before he cleans it all by lapping at your finger.

You smile. “Promise you won’t hold back, and that you’ll talk to me the next time you feel like this. I could never be embarrassed by you or to be seen with you, bubba. You’re my baby, okay?”

Bucky smiles too, letting your finger out of his mouth with a pop. “I’m sorry, you’re right. And you’re my baby, too.”

“I know, but I was scared I did something really wrong and I didn’t...”

You don’t know how to continue, but you don’t have to as he pulls you into a tight hug, your head resting against his chest.

“I am sorry. I let the jealousy blind me because I felt insecure. I sometimes wonder if I’m enough for you.”

“Enough?” You sigh, kissing him all over his chest T-shirt. “You are everything, and you make me so happy. Please, don’t ever doubt that!”

“I’ll try, bubba, and thank you.” You feel his lips on top of your head, so you close your eyes, enjoying this moment. You’re gonna show him how much he means to you even more. “Do you feel sore?”

“A little,” you snort. “But it was soooo worth it. We have to do that again. Gosh, and the way you choked me, Mr. Barnes!”

He starts laughing at your tone, which makes you laugh too. This is your Bucky. You love him so much that you wish you could take away all of his fears and second thoughts. He is yours, and you are his.

“Noted, baby. You’re not made of glass.”

“Nope.” You break the hug just to take a step back and look around. You made a mess, and you haven’t even finished with the Christmas tree.

It’s gonna be a long evening.

“Gonna run you a bath, then we can continue with,” he waves around. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfic #celebrity!bucky barnes #dilf!bucky barnes #dilf!bucky #director!bucky barnes #director!bucky #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #my stories #my fanfics #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #sebastian stan

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riacte · 16 days ago

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Unconventional format / mixed media / meta / epistolary fic ideas:

Script format but the characters slowly break fourth wall until they grow self aware and scream to leave but the script confines them.

Mock up notes of an author's fic outline only for a "fan favourite" / "author's darling" character to gain sentience and influence the story. The character changes the outline to suit their own agenda, and their changes are marked with a different colour whereas black text means it's the author's will. Maybe another character using another colour gains sentience. The different colours fight for dominance. Mom says it's my turn with the keyboard hey what the fuck man excuse me I'm literally trying to save my family can you guys let go and let me write your character arcs in peace OH FUCK OFF

Recipe fic. The story is told via those unnecessarily long backstories on a recipe blog in which you learn about someone's grandma or a breakup or literally anything. Bonus points if the actual recipe deals with worldbuilding (what ingredients are available? What utensils are used? How to serve this meal? Woohoo Dungeon Meshi) or in-cheek recipes (eg. "Recipe for making up with your estranged mother - Step 1: Mix patience, nostalgia, and filial piety and let it marinate for ten years. Step 2: Throw that shit into the trash because you're better than that")

Travel fic. A character is lost and trying to find their way somewhere. GPS directions, googling "x place to x place", tickets and dates, train station maps, leaflets. It gets weirder and weirder. You never get closer to your destination. You're walking around in circles. It's always 10 meters away. Where are you going and where have you been?

Receipts. Try to infer what a character is doing judging from the weird things they buy together. Also yipppee inflation tracker. On the other side, maybe it can be about a cashier/ shop owner getting to know their customers and what they order.

Written from the pov of an non-native English speaker, all the English words are italicized whereas their native tongue are the only words not italicized. Inspired by Kupu rere kē by Alice Te Punga Somerville. This is because I got salty about people from Ao3 Reddit saying they won't read a fic in all italics.

Murder mystery / "Among Us" style impersonation fic strictly using the chatfic format. Characters and readers will have to figure out which character has been killed and replaced from the way they text and use emojis. This is also because I got salty about Ao3 Reddit being a wee bit pretentious about emoji usage in fics. Maybe emojis can be important plot devices! Some people prefer to sign off messages with a heart emoji of their signature colour, so won't it be weird if they use another coloured heart? How about someone using lapslock suddenly using proper capitalisation and full stops? Can you tell if someone's phone has been stolen? What if someone's mother is pretending to text like their child? Why is someone suddenly only using UwU speak? Is it a bit, or have they been replaced?

Innocuous second person POV until the last line where it's suddenly revealed to be first person POV all along and the "I" has been stalking and narrating "you".

Other fun bits / Easter eggs / secrets to hide:

Decoding within the text itself. Maybe we get given instructions to find a word in x chapter on page y on the nth line. And when we as readers collect all the words, they form a sentence that spells out an important fact which the characters are oblivious to. Or maybe the in-universe characters find a book with the same title as the irl fic with a bookmark in it, and if you go to where the bookmark is stuck irl, you'll find the murderer plainly stated. The rest of the fic is about the readers having hard confirmation of who the murderer is while characters don't know.

A phrase is subtly repeated throughout the text of the fic and is spelled out with the letter that begins a sentence. It gives off the effect that the narrator is screaming and crying into the void (to the readers in the fourth wall) while trying to avoid detection. Bonus points if the same word is repeated for pages and pages to the point the lack of sentence variation feels weird and clunky.

Morse code!! I love morse code! Using onomatopoeia to convey the dots and dashes! The sound of rain pattering on the tin rooftop— drop, drop, drop. A low whistle of a train rumbling in the distance. He slowly sharpens his knife, creating a shiiing sound. A lengthy, high pitched squeal from his kettle. A dog barks. A sharp knock. His heart thumps. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. SOS. Maybe a character's death scene spells out the name of their mysterious murderer. Maybe a character is reminiscing their deceased loved one and the scene spells out what the deceased person would've wanted to tell them— "LIVE ON" or "I LOVE YOU" or something.

#ria.txt #writing #writeblr #i love unconventional formatting and whimsy #the morse code thing is from a spopera fic i never finished lol #ao3 reddit makes me creative in an annoying and contrarian way

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hedgehog-moss · 6 months ago

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I finally planted my garden last week! We had a couple of days of sun which gave me hope, but it's once again raining every day. Thoughts and prayers for my tomato plants, but I couldn't keep everyone in the greenhouse forever, I had to make room for other plants.

(In the fourth picture above you can see what's inside the hügelkultur mound—it's a pile of branches + llama manure + compost + potting soil. One thing I find great about it is how well it retains moisture! Well it's not a problem this year so far but during heat waves I water these plants a lot less than non-mound plants.)

In the greenhouse my seedlings have been struggling due to lack of sun. Impossible to get courgette plants so I had to buy a few from the young couple in town who recently started a plant nursery—they didn't have many either, and I had to share with the mayor who also came looking for courgette plants because slugs devoured all of his.

He must have seen on my face that I thought my plants didn't stand a chance if slugs don't even respect municipal authority, because he kindly advised me to place crowns of bedstraw (see above) around my plants to protect them. I didn't dare to ask "If it works so well why do you have no courgette plants left?" I just said thank you, and then spent an entire evening last week weaving this sticky weed into crowns and whatsapping photos of my art to the mayor, who always replied "More! More! It needs to be thicker! Like a doughnut!"

Meanwhile 1 leek in the greenhouse suddenly grew a lot thicker while the other 3 remained skinny and fearful-looking and I'm not sure why. They share a pot, so maybe it's like vanishing twin syndrome. My bell pepper seeds had the same asynchronous development issue—one pot is just now starting to have timid seedlings while the other (right next to it) already contains a grown-up plant with baby peppers:

By far my happiest greenhouse plants are the potatoes and lettuce. They shot up so fast! I've been eating a lot of lettuce lately but I can't keep up with how quickly they grow in this cold, rainy spring. And I haven't had any slug raids in the greenhouse so that's great.

My greenhouse squash, onions and pickles are still tiny and not worth a photo (harsh, but this post already has too many photos). My strawberries in the aquaponic towers are beautiful despite the lack of sun and I've been getting mini-harvests of 2-3 strawberries a day for two weeks! They're done now, but I started more seeds so maybe I can get a second round at the end of the month.

Three more things:

1. Morille helped a lot as I was planting the garden. She kept an eye on my gardening tools so no one would steal them, and sometimes used them as cheek-scratchers. At one point I put one of my beautiful bedstraw crowns around her neck so she looked like Philip III of Spain in that painting where he wears a big ruff, but tragically she ran away in outrage before I could take a picture, and when she returned she'd got rid of her collar.

2. At the cow parade the other day there was a lady at the market who sold jars of homemade pesto sauce made from all kinds of different plants, and it opened up my mind to entirely new pesto horizons!! I always make the traditional kind with basil, but I have plants that grow much faster than basil, like my rocket, so I tried making pesto with 1/3 basil 2/3 rocket (plus garlic, olive oil, parmesan, cashews) and it was so good! I have to explore all of her recipes now, like plantain or nettle or sage pesto...

3. There's a monster in the greenhouse. It appeared practically overnight and is quickly claiming more and more territory. Unlike last year it's not a parsley monster—it's my lemon balm. One day it was growing in its vertical tower, luxuriant but tidy, like a normal plant, and the next it had quintupled in volume and was threatening to swallow the nearest planter. Look at the tiny tomato plants, they look terrified of it!

I urgently need to fight back against this giant mélisse (as we call lemon balm) but I've been really busy and I keep putting it off, and then remembering anxiously at 11pm that I still have this creature to take care of, which is ironic seeing as lemon balm is supposed to relieve stress and anxiety. This is the exact opposite of why I planted you. Anyway if you never hear from me again after this post it's because I finally engaged in battle against this year's vegetal menace, and lost.

#crawling along

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mydarlingclaudia · 2 months ago

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I will love you ‘til the end of time

note : divider is from @/toastray. I have nothing to say this was supposed to be a couple hundred words but yk.

wc : 2.7k

tags : @lottiies @luvrgreyy

desc : he’s been in love with the memory of you for too long, falling back in love with the newer you took a matter of seconds. fluff, bit of angst (?), au, re4rLeon, fem!reader, not proofread, I talk a tiny bit about sex at the end but there’s no smut.

Leon doesn’t remember the sound of your voice, it’s been too long, too many years have passed since the day you died.

Six years was all the time the two of you had together. Six good years. All a really, really long time ago. Leon hates it, he knows he’s forgetting, memories are serving less and less of a purpose to him everyday. How is he to remember lying under the trees with you when those trees have been cut down and turned to homes and firewood? How can he remember you gutting fish for the two of you to eat when the fish have left the river you lived by?

The home you originally lived in had been torn down and rebuilt dozens of times by now, Leon wasn’t always there, even when he was, it wasn’t very lived in after you died. He’s been around the world more times than he can remember, before you, with you, after you. No place looks the same. Leon has many homes, stays there for a few decades, packs up, and moves to the next house in the next country.

He had been gifted with everlasting life for being some hero, for fighting monster when those were still a thing, it was well after he had married you, he didn’t tell you, but he thought you’d spend forever together. Didn’t happen, obviously. You got sick, he took care of you, nothing helped.

Leon prayed to whatever God that had bestowed his immortality to him to give it to you too, to keep you alive, to make you healthy again. He received no answer and you died not long after, Leon was left to spend the rest of his eternal life alone, but the world was his, and he has all the time that the universe has to offer. But what had he done to not be granted the one thing he wanted in the world? Why would some God reward him just to let him live the rest of his life miserable?

Leon’s seen everyone fall in love, but love evolved from courting to dating apps, he’s seen an embarrassing amount of shitty first dates. But he’s also seen a lot of good ones, ones where the first date turns to a second one, then a third, then a fourth, then before he knows it, those twenty-something-year-olds he had seen fall in love in a small restaurant were now taking their teenagers to the mall and going to high school reunions.

You would have loved this, or he hopes you would’ve. Because he really wishes that you were there to cuddle up to him on the couch and watch tv with him until midnight, he wanted to take you on cute dates, he wants to buy you things and renew your vows once every few years.

He wishes that the memories are clearer in his head, he can really only see them when he closes his eyes, or when the weather is a certain way, or when a certain smell hits his nose. Leon wants to feel your skin against his again. he wants to hear you talking directly into his ear and see that smirk on your face when you suggest something you know he won't refuse.

But it's been so long and he knows that your body has long since decomposed and your grave has been swallowed up by the ocean, a good half of the time since then he's been living on auto-pilot, the other half he's painfully aware of your absence with each day that passes.

He's not even sure he'd be able to hold you correctly, should you fall back into his arms one day. Would you still love him despite that?

He's gone so long without a lover, would he remember how to kiss? The Hollywood movies don't do it justice, kissing. But no one in those movies kissed like you had, Leon's seen all kinds of romance movies, read all kinds of books, he's always imagined you and him as the main characters, but you never kiss him the way you used to.

Would you even choose him? There were so many different men out there and so many new ways to meet someone and stay connected, there was no rush to get married or have kids, would Leon be the man you'd pick once again? He hopes so.

He doesn't remember Beowulf having a wife, and Beowulf had been great. He knows that many heroes aren't able to keep their wife and their glory at the same time, the decision is often made for them, and they go on fighting until they die. But Leon stopped fighting with the same determination when you passed, he still did it, people needed protecting, but if he wasn't there to protect you, then was there really anything to fight for?

Despite all of this, he's still here. Leon looks the same as he did all those years ago, some things have changed, a lot, really, but not just about him. The world around him has grown, he's watched generations come and go just to get to some shitty grocery store in Raccoon City twenty minutes before they close at eight.

Leon doesn't like to have to work all the time, he thinks it's crazy how he went from hero to cop, more money was needed to live now than he ever imagined would be possible. He has money saved up from years and years of work, but he can't keep using the "generational wealth" excuse when he's got no family.

He doesn't like being bugged much, either. Maybe that's why he's buying his dinner when he's already supposed to be in bed, could be why he works so much even though he can't stand it sometimes, too.

Leon should have grabbed a shopping cart, the basket he carries is overflowing with shit he doesn't even need, when has he ever even eaten Devil Dogs and Zebra Cakes? He really needs to eat more than just pasta and steak every other night, maybe stop getting deliveries from the pizza place, too. He's looking over the ingredients on the back of a cereal box he knows he's going to get no matter what when there's a soft tap on his shoulder, he sighs and stops, turning around and preparing to be asked a question a cashier would know the answer to rather than him.

But Leon freezes the second his eyes land on your face. He must've gone crazy, it can't be you, can it? You're not really standing in front of him with a basket in your arms, wearing a winter jacket over your sweatshirt and smiling at him as if you're some stranger to him.

"Where did you get those?" Your voice is quiet when you speak, his gaze doesn't even follow your hand when you point at the sweets in his basket, he just stands there and admires you for a few seconds.

Leon wants to cry, he wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, tell you to run away with him, find someway for you to become immortal and stay by his side until the world ends. But he doesn’t, you look at him like he’s a stranger.

"Oh- Th-the uhm, the Zebra Cakes?" Leon finally asks after a few seconds, you only nod. "The e-end of aisle six." Why is he stammering? He's thought about all the things he'd say to you for hundreds of years, and he's instantly throwing every single word out the window the second you come out from whatever corner of the world you've been hiding in.

"Alright, thanks." God, it really is you. Your smile's the same, you look the same, you smell the same, you sound the same, you just- it's you. He remembers the way you sound again, God, please don’t ever take your voice away from him. He stops himself from reaching for your wrist when you walk away, knowing that you don't remember the things he does and that it'll only make you feel weird about him. But he'll settle for knowing that you're alive and that you're in the city, and that hopefully this won't be the last time he sees you.

—

The next time Leon sees you is on the subway a few weeks later in December.

You're not really looking when you step into the train, reaching up too high for the pole to hang onto and instead grab onto his hand. Your hands are so cold, you really need to wear gloves. But you gasp and pull your hand away when you feel his warm hand touch your skin, instantly holding lower down on the cold pole and looking at him.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" It's cute how quickly you apologize, it brings a smile to his face.

"No- No, you’re fine." He wants so badly to wrap his hand around yours, to hold you close and keep you warm, but he couldn’t, he was still a stranger to you. Being in a crowded train and standing a few inches apart was enough for now.

Leon just watches you, you don’t notice because you’re too busy staring down at your shoes, but his eyes are tracing over the curve of your nose, the way your eyelashes look when you blink, how kissable your lips look. He missed this view, although he'd much rather have you looking back at him with the same adoration in your eyes.

Neither of you speak again for the rest of the ride, you can feel him staring at you, though, you don’t entirely mind, you’d probably looking at him if his eyes weren’t burning holes through your skull.

You haven’t left his mind since he saw you at the grocery store, he’s been trying to figure out ways to find you again without getting put on some kind of radar, he’s too impatient to let things happen naturally, but it’s really the only choice he has.

He knows you recognize him, he can’t help but wonder if you’re getting some kind of vision from the past of him kissing you, of you resting on top of him in the sunlight, of him looking at you with awe in his eyes as you laugh at a story he told you.

But he can’t think about that for long, the train comes to a stop and you leave again, looking back over your shoulder at him and giving him a small goodbye smile. Where have you been all these years?

—

Sometimes, shitty dates were a good thing.

Both parties normally end up having a bad rest of their night, but if some man-child asshole you had been put on a date with hadn’t just thrown a whole tantrum and stomped out of the bar, you wouldn’t be sitting next to Leon.

He didn’t know you’d be here tonight, he was just here because he wanted to grab a drink after work, but this was better.

It’s awkward, he really, really doesn’t hope you think he’s stalking you. How small could a city be? Is it really so odd that the man you said a few words to at a grocery store and bumped into on the train would be sitting next to you at a bar?

Leon’s always had a staring problem when it came to you, he’s sure you’re too pretty for him, not that you were really his anymore. And Christ, you’re still beautiful, maybe even more so now. Modern clothes look good on you, he likes your dress, your shoes, the way you did your hair, the color you painted your nails.

He has to stop staring, because now you’re looking back at him. Leon expects for you to yell at him, or slap him, or something, but you just smile at him and turn towards him a tiny bit more.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare, zoned out.” Leon apologizes once his eyes snap up to yours, you had moved from your table up to the bar a few minutes ago, most likely embarrassed. You brought your drink over, too, though you didn’t really pay attention to it, just circling the lip of the cup with your fingers and taking a few sips every few seconds.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Your smile only grows, Leon has to bite back a grin threatening to stretch across his lips. Once again, he’s not sure what to say. Does he ever really know what to say now, though? You take the words right out of his mouth and turn them into broken mumbles that he tries to cover up with a fake cough or forced chuckle.

That didn’t use to happen, he’d still get nervous around you, but seeing you now made him feel like he was falling in love again.

“I’d feel like I’ve seen you before…?” You say, you know you’re right, you just want him to talk to you because you haven’t been able to get him out of your head, for some reason.

“Oh, uhm, yeah- Yeah, I think I’ve seen you around, too.” Is he seriously fucking blushing right now?

“Hm, small world.” You take a sip from your drink, he does the same.

“So, uh, bad date?” Leon asks before he can stop himself, he knows the answer, but you were probably going to get mad at him, get offended and ignore him if he sees you again.

“Yeah,” You sigh, “It’s fine, though. Blind date.” Leon nodded, staring down at the ring of water his glass left on the countertop. “You just here for a drink?”

“Mhm,” Alcohol was like water to him now, not the way that he drinks it everyday, but that it hardly has an effect on him anymore. But he can’t sit here and drink glass after glass unless if he wants people to get concerned, so he just sips on one or two for an hour and leaves. You’re drinking the same drink as him, though, so he decides to stay for longer than usual.

And to his amazement, you stay, too. You laugh and nod at the stories he tells you, he listens intently to the ones you tell in return. Of course you’ve been living a different life than the one he had with you, but this is already getting better than the last. And you seem… into him? More into him than you were with your actual date, he’s not complaining.

By the time you and Leon go your separate ways, it’s pitch black outside, well, not really, it’s never completely dark in a city. The lights of driving cars and buildings illuminate you beautifully, like you’re something holy.

Leon finds a napkin with a phone number scribbled on it in his jacket pocket, it must’ve been yours, he couldn’t be happier.

—

Whatever higher being blessed him with another chance with you, he’d praise for the rest of eternal life. Because after a few hour-long phone calls and a couple more coincidental meetings, he’s taking you out on dates and you’re holding onto his arm and kissing his cheek.

It’s better than he remembers, the city offers more things for the two of you to do, and he’s up for anything you suggest.

Leon is finally able to feel your skin underneath his fingertips, feel your lips against his, listen to your voice in his ear, buy you nice things, have you cuddle up with him on the couch, he has you back.

You look so peaceful when you sleep, your head resting on his bicep, his naked skin pressed against yours. It’s been a year, you both still look the same, but he knows you’re changing. Leon hadn’t had sex in so long that he was sure that he would’ve fucked it up, you had taken charge, and it had been soft and slow, anyway. Nothing for him to worry about.

He’s been awake for an hour, just looking at you, trying to imprint this memory into his mind in case you were to disappear soon. But you finally start to stir, blinking your eyes a few times as you start to wake up.

“Leon…?” You mumble, he pulls you closer.

“Go back to sleep,” A kiss to your eyebrow, then the bridge of your nose, your lips twitch up into a sleepy smile.

“Mm… ‘kay. Love you.” You yawn, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes again and nestle into his shoulder. He hasn’t heard that from you in ages, he doesn’t know if you meant to say it, but he’s thankful you did.

“… Yeah, love you, too.”

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy

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venerawrites · 8 months ago

Note

For Gaara, shino, sai, neji

A cutesy girly s/o but really great at fist fighting and overall has great strength and durable in any mission.

Like she can literally lift a whole man who harassed her and shit (maybe snap his spine into two 😔✌️)

author's note: can I just say how excited I am to finally get a request involving Neji? Like, my boy is super underappreciated :/ anyway, writing this one was so fun and I do hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for requesting! <3

Gaara

Gaara liked you the first time he saw you.

You were so innocent and sweet looking, he was greatly surprised once you mentioned you were a shinobi.

Now, of course, he has met dozens of strong women who were excellent ninjas (such as Tsunade or Sakura), so it's not like he did not believe females could be good fighters.

But with your well-put outfit (that looked beautiful but highly impractical for fighting), soft skin, that looked free of any battle scars, and delicate hands, that seemed too gentle to be the hands of a warrior, he found it hard to believe you.

So during the Fourth Shinobi War, he gave a piece of his mind to the Hokage for letting you on the battlefield. You were supposed to be safe in the village, something he specifically asked his friends from the Leaf to ensure.

Naturally, he tried to keep an eye on you and protect you as much as he could during the battle...

But when he witnessed with his own two eyes the way you picked up one of the enemy's soldiers, lifted them over your head, and slammed them into the ground, thus resulting in their body being cracked in two, his jaw dropped.

And if possible, he found himself even more attracted to you!

So after the war it didn't take long for you two to develop a relationship, with him finding an excuse to travel to Konoha every two weeks before he asked you to move to Suna.

Now... Maybe a bit shocking, but both his siblings were definitely NOT fans when they first met you.

Temari thought you were too girly and shallow, and openly voiced her opinion that it is "ninja-wannabes" like you that give a bad name to female shinobi. Like how could you be a warrior if you are so into your looks?

Kankuro also shared her opinion, but his disapproval was based on his concern of how sincere you were about his brother. Like did you like him for HIM or did you just like his title?

Both quickly changed their opinion, once you managed to defeat Temari during a sparring match. Not only did you earn their respect that day, but it was also the beginning of two beautiful friendships.

Gaara, on the other hand, secretly loved the fact that instead of letting people's opinions get to you, you used their doubt to your advantage.

He is definitely the dominant half in your relationship - I imagine that no matter how strong you are, you enjoy being taken care of. Also, he is still a stronger ninja than you, so I don't really think he would be threatened by your strength in any way.

Gaara loves to treat you like a princess - he pampers you, buys you gifts, and lets you have anything you want.

I can't help but DO imagine him with someone who is very girly and feminine, maybe a little bit spoiled as well lol..

He would have great respect for you as a shinobi, but I feel he would still be worried about sending you on missions, so when he can he would try and send Kankuro with you.

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

Shino

To be honest, I don't really think he cares that much...

Like, in order to start dating in the first place, you need to know each other at least for a few years. By then he was well aware of your strength, so it was not really a surprise for him.

I think the shock element with Shino is actually falling in love with someone who is very girly and cute.

I feel he would naturally always be more attracted to tomboy-looking girls, who were quiet, reserved, and shared similar interests to him.

You were the complete opposite of that - not only your style was very feminine, but you were also loud, bubbly and were not particularly fond of anything related to insects or nature.

The fact that you were polar opposites, however, is what made you so compatible.

I imagine you would start hanging out after you were assigned a mission to retrieve some scrolls from the Hidden Stone Village.

Like I said, he would not be surprised by how strong you are, but seeing you in action during a fight would be a completely new experience for him.

He would be very impressed with your skills and would compliment them, making you blush crimson red.

I always imagined Shino as quite blunt guy, so I think he would be totally okay with sharing with you the fact that before being assigned to a mission together, he thought of you as a rather ignorant girl.

Do not get offended tho, boy just always speaks out loud his thoughts...

It would be a surprise for everyone to see you coming back from your mission hand in hand.

I feel out of all of the boys on the list, Shino would be the one who would rub his influence on you the most - after getting with him, you are more interested in joining him in his little expeditions of discovering new species rather than doing your usual Friday shopping routine.

He doesn't really like discussing work or anything relating to his missions with others, but after a drink or two on a night out, he WOULD boast about you and your abilities.

"She is both very beautiful and also an extremely skilful ninja... Of course, I feel lucky to have her, Kiba!"

His favourite thing is watching you deal with men that try to flirt with you... usually, it takes only 5 minutes, before they are laying flat on the ground. He wouldn't admit it, but he finds it rather funny.

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

Sai

LITERALLY the first thing he said to you after Naruto introduced you to each other was: "I find you very physically attractive and I would like to get to know you more."

You, usually pretty confident and self-assured individual, immediately started blushing, nervously twirling the ends of your hair.

What happened to "Hello?", "How are you?", "My name is.."??

He would compliment you a lot, about how cute you are, how he likes your style, and how you have to be the most beautiful girl in Konoha.

I totally see him as someone with 0 social awareness, so very probable to make you uncomfortable at the beginning.

When you got paired with Team 7 for a mission, he saw your true strength for the first time.

He always thought you were some type of sensory ninja or a medic... but definitely not a fighter. You were too sweet and innocent-looking to be a fighter.

Yet, here you were, punching rogue ninjas left and right, making them fly in the air from the impact.

Now, Naruto and Sakura pay you no mind - you have been training with them for years, and they know very well what are you capable of.

Sai, however, is utterly shocked and terrified.

Who were you and what happened to the sweet Y/N?

He would probably distance himself a bit, feeling scared that if he says or asks something inappropriate, you wouldn't hesitate to knock him out just like Sakura had done before.

You would have to be the one to seek him out, showing him that you are not a violent person and there is no reason for him to be scared of you.

After that, he would get back to his old ways of always complimenting you and showering you with gifts.

This guy is OBSESSED with you. Literally.

He would always make sketches of you, shyly giving them to you once they are finished.

He is also the only one who I see actively taking part in your hobbies, such as shopping, spa days or/and reading romantic books. Sai wants to get to know you as much as possible and he is not ashamed to be caught doing "girly" things with you.

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Neji

Enemies to lovers type of story here...

While you were growing up, Neji thought that you were both very weak and annoying - probably the worst combination of traits for a person to have.

Constantly fixing your appearance and thinking more of having a cute outfit, rather than being safe, he would constantly give you side eyes and mutter degrading comments about you under his breath.

You, on the other hand, would think he was stuck up and rude, thus resulting in quite severe bickering between you two. At some point, it will get so bad, that they would have to keep your teams apart and with as little contact as possible.

For the next few years, you would have very minimal interactions with Neji (most of the time consisting of you passing each other on the street or somehow resulting in the same company during dinner).

One day you were both hanging out at Ichiraku Ramen, when a man decided to come next to you and start complimenting you. You politely accepted his first few compliments, but the more he kept going, the more uncomfortable you got.

Now Neji may dislike you, but he was raised as a gentleman and he was not about to let a lady be harassed.

He had just started walking toward you when the man tried to grab your arm and in response, you punched him so hard, that he literally flew through the wall.

Neji froze in his place, completely dumbfounded at what he had just witnessed.

You, on the other hand, just dusted your hands, fixed your hair, and joined your friends again.

He would not admit it, even way after you were already a couple, but this was the day when his opinion of you changed completely.

He started to join some of your training practices with Lee, always saying that he did not expect you to be there (he totally knew, that's the reason he was there in the first place).

He would soon start to train with you, impressed by how well you held yourself against him.

He would probably still win. Despite you being so strong, he was still the better strategist between you two.

Would totally enjoy pinning you down, forcing you to surrender though.

I imagine both of you would keep up the façade of pretending to hate each other till the tension gets too much and you just end up kissing after one of your fights.

He would totally still make fun of you for being so girly and cute looking, but now instead of mocking, it was more of a flirty teasing.

He would be very proud of you and would always watch in amazement at the way you were dealing with your enemies, but secretly, he would always be worried for you and would try to intervene in your fights and protect you.

Just like Gaara, I imagine that he would be the more dominant one in the relationship and would take his roles as your protector and provider very seriously.

His family totally loves you tbh, which would definitely boost his ego even more.

cc artwork: Joshua Raphael

#sabaku no gaara #gaara of the sand #shino aburame #sai #neji hyuga #naruto imagines #gaara x reader #shino x reader #sai x reader #neji x reader #naruto headcanons

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