#Char Writes

[lovebugmusings]

price kisses like a man starved. no matter how long you’ve been together, when he kisses you proper, he leaves you breathless and a little messy.

hand on your jaw keeping your mouth open while he bites and licks at your lips, a mess of spit as he groans into your mouth.

when his hands are on your waist and hips he’s using them to pull you as physically close as possible while he sucks on your tongue.

if you bite his lip and tug it while pulling away, his eyes will roll back and will lick at your mouth.

when you’re straddling him, he’s obsessed with the way some of your spit dribbles into his mouth while you lean back. if you actively spit into his mouth he gets a feral look in his eyes.

sometimes when he has you by the jaw, he will suck your tongue into his mouth to ensure a delicious mix of saliva, perfect to let slowly drip into your mouth off his tongue.

price Does Not know how to kiss you any way other than leaving you panting and with swollen lips.

[arget-star]

Birthdays are, historically, just any other day for Sakura.

He doesn’t go out and buy a sweet treat, he doesn’t make a wish while blowing out a candle, and he doesn’t feel any older or wiser or whatever the hell they say you’re supposed to feel.

As a kid, his only celebration consisted of whispering happy birthday to himself in the relative safety of his room. Sakura never did figure out if his guardians genuinely forgot or if they felt acknowledging the occasion was dangerously close to acting like they cared.

Even Nirei—who, to Sakura’s recollection, was the first person in his life who asked for his birthday—initially wanted information for data collection, not out of true interest. (Sakura had initially answered all those inane questions in the hopes Nirei would go away, **but the subsequent celebrations more than made up for fifteen years without.)

Until, of course, Sakura met you.

He still remembers the way you’d asked, eyes bright and curious. Like some damn date on the calendar mattered.

Two years into dating and you haven’t done anything with that information beyond baking him a cake and gifting him a small present. Quiet. Understated. Just how he prefers it. (Nothing like those rowdy Bofurin celebrations that, deep in his heart, he cherishes deeply.)

So this year, he has no qualms about following you to Café Pothos for a relaxed dinner. Changing up a routine every now and again is a good thing, and he knows you won’t go blabbing to everyone within earshot the reason for this little outing.

You’re more energetic than usual on the walk there, practically vibrating. Sakura frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”

The casual shrug you offer is betrayed by the unconscious way you squeeze his hand. “Just excited, I guess. We’ve never had a dinner date celebrating you!”

He huffs in reply. Your effortless positivity is boundless, and not for the first time, he thinks he’s so incredibly lucky he hasn’t scared you away.

“I still don’t see why birthdays are such a big deal.”

“Because!” You halt, rounding on him with an expression filled with so much conviction it makes his chest ache. “It means you’ve been alive for another year. You’ve made memories and met new people and ate good food. And, it’s another year I’ve gotten to love you.”

Well. That’s. Damn.

Flustered, he tucks his chin into the collar of his jacket. You bump your shoulder into his in silent apology. He huffs again, but returns the gesture.

He's quiet the rest of the walk, and you don't try to fill it. Nerves tingle just below your skin; your palms begin to feel clammy once you turn the familiar corner leading to Pothos. Subtly, you wipe your free hand on your pants and hope he doesn’t comment on the one he’s holding.

"Why're the lights off?" Sakura wonders aloud, head tilted as he considers the dim building.

Indeed, no warm glow emanates from the windows. The sign on the door is flipped to Closed. Momentary guilt feels your stomach; you are taking advantage of his gullible streak, however briefly.

"I dunno," you hum, fighting to keep your voice steady. If Sakura notices the off pitch, you hope he attributes it to your earlier excitement. "Think Kotoha-chan's alright?"

He tries the door, startled when it swings open with a welcoming chime of the bell. You slip inside first, catching a flash of someone's smile--Nirei's, you think--before the lights flick on.

"Surprise!!!"

The shout is deafening; people are squeezed into every available spot in the dining room. Nearly all of his former classmates are in attendance. You spot Nakamura-san and a few other members of Roppo Ichiza crammed into a corner.

Sakura makes a noise, torn between surprise and outrage at being caught off guard. He staggers back a step and raises his fists as if to ward off an oncoming blow. Anzai, unafraid of any potential lashing out from his friend, peels away from the crowd, a party hat held in his hands. A matching one sits crookedly atop his disheveled hair.

You’re almost positive Sakura will punch the poor guy if he tries anything. Spinning on your heel so your back is between the two men, you gently place your hands atop your boyfriend’s fists. “Happy birthday, Sakura.”

Bewildered, he looks between you and the assembled gathering, like he’s convincing himself it’s not a dream. Pink tinges his cheeks.

"W-w-w-what the hell is this?"

"A surprise party!" You supply helpfully. "Everyone deserves to have a surprise party once in their life."

Shit. He wants to be mad, and he is, but you're looking at him with such open love and compassion, he finds the anger doesn't last long. He lowers his fists. "They do?"

Later, once Sakura's calmed down and the chocolate cake has been distributed, you pull him aside with a gentle tug on his jacket sleeve. He dutifully follows you to a relatively unoccupied corner of the dining room.

A fork presumably full of dessert sticks out of his mouth, and a party hat sits atop his head. Looks like Anzai wrangled him into it after all; a miracle Sakura’s still wearing it.

"Hey. Having fun?"

He nods. Slowly removes the fork, setting atop the paper plate in his other hand. His throat works as he swallows. A smear of cake mars one corner of his mouth.

"I know I should have discussed this with you. I am sorry."

"Nirei said you two are the ones to blame for puttin' this together."

You smile at that, relieved. There's no anger in his voice. He sounds a little awed. "Yeah, well. We figured you'd be willing to forgive us for shocking you."

He's quiet a moment, tapping the fork against the plate like he's contemplating what to say. "I'm used to these assholes shockin' me. Didn’t think they’d get you involved, too.”

Laughing softly, you reach up, thumbing away the remnants of cake. Sakura watches you, eyes unreadable in the dim light. Subtly, he leans into your touch. You leave your thumb where it is once the crumbs are gone. “You love it. Us.”

The light shifts. His expression is stripped bare, no mask of anger hiding his innermost thoughts. Such open honesty makes you breath hitch in your chest. No words are needed; you know his answer.

He still doesn’t feel taller, or wiser, but he does feel a deep seated sense of belonging, so long as he’s by your side. “Tch, not so loud!”

[charredbun]

Neat Little Domestic Dream - Clinical Trial

Angel/Lee, fluff, automatic T rating for being Clinical Trial but no content warnings needed.

3830 characters

"Is it a lie if I was previously unaware of a piece of information?"

Angel peeked up from behind their sketchbook, seeing Lee immediately avert his gaze in favor of darting his eyes to the wall, then the floor, and back to the wall again. It wasn't anything unfamiliar, Lee always seemed to avoid eye contact even in the most comfortable of situations.

This wasn't an aversion to eye contact this time, however. No, this was an expression Angel had come to see as Lee's 'please don't leave me' face, one that had become less frequent as their relationship has grown.

They pulled the end of their pencil they'd been chewing on out of their mouth, instead tapping it against their cheek in thought. "No, I don't think that counts as a lie." Angel shifted where they sat, setting their sketchbook down and instead just holding their knees to their chest. It had always been comfortable sitting somewhat strangely like this. "To be a lie I think you'd need to like... purposefully hide something from me or something." The topic of truthfulness and trust was always important when it came to their history, so they made sure to give their boyfriend the most undivided attention they could as a guy with unmedicated ADHD.

It had been some time since the events that led to the pair fleeing across the country, living in a cottage Angel could only have ever dreamed about owning. It had given the two of them a lot of time to think about things, about themselves, about what they were together.

And it ended up with time that Angel realized after everything was done, Lee was still the guy he started falling for even before that life-changing Friday. The "this guy is kind of your doctor" had never been a turn-off, it certainly didn't keep Angel from inviting him into the bathtub with them.

And that guy he sat in the tub with, who didn't lay his eyes on them, the guy who joked with them, who shared things about himself that Angel was almost certain that no one else knew... He had never been fake. At the end of the day, after all the lies and the horror, Lee was Lee and that was what they liked about him.

No one had ever looked at them like he did. Paid attention to who Angel really was. And for fuck's sake, he was the first and only guy who didn't misgender them.

This was real. Their relationship was real. Their biggest fear had been that they'd find out that all Lee was after was their body, to use them. But it never happened. The least they could do was listen to what their boyfriend was so worried about.

"Sooo... What's the 'lie' you're so worried about?"

Lee swallowed the lump in his throat and wrung his hands. One, two, three, he squeezed down his left hand's fingers with his right. Proximal, middle, distal. Three separate phalanges to make up a single digit, save for the two in the thumb. The repetitive and rhythmic motioned to help calm his nerves.

"...I had lied once before. About my childhood dreams. The first answer was.. sanitized, to say my main dream was to be a doctor. It was true, but so was the fact that almost all I wished for as long as I can remember is death. I thought it was my greatest desire. But.." He finally laid eyes on his partner. "I don't think I want that anymore." Angel moved closer to Lee, the two of them now sitting on the bed together. They gently laid a hand on his hand, and slowly he relaxed enough to allow them to join together. The smaller man's hand was cold, but grounded him so well.

"I think what I wanted most of all.. It was probably to feel loved. Not empty, forced love, but to be truly cared for." Angel rubbed his hand gently. Lee didn't cry often, but his eyes seemed fuller as he spoke.

"Angel.."

They reached up, gently wiping a single tear that was threatening to fall with their jacket sleeve.

"Thank you for making my dreams real."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

song that inspired the title

my first finished clinical trial fic and first posted fic! i don't currently have an ao3 but i plan for this to end up there. just wanted to write a nice bite of cotton candy before i get into my fics with heavier themes. thank you to my husband for reading this over💜

[fangirlofallthefanthings]

heard you have headcanons on ody and dio meeting again after he returns. how does that go? how does penelope feel?

Ooooo!!! Boy, do I have ideas [insert shakey turtle of excitement here]

So, it's a little bit complicated, and I don't want to give too much away since it relates to what I'm currently working on, BUT!

I GOT YOU, FAM!

Basically: after Diomedes gets kicked out of Argos (it's very sad, the poor man), he realizes he has nowhere else to go except literally anywhere but the Eastern Mediterranean. So, he sets off for Hesperia (aka modern Italy) to start a new life there. But in this time of heartbreak, he's missing Odysseus even more (they had a sad goodbye on Crete; it's a long story), and he decides to stop at Ithaca on the way to get some supplies and maybe visit Ody. But when he gets there, he finds that Ody is MIA and Penelope is running things. So he hangs out for a while and gets to know Pen and Telemachus (who is about 11 or 12 by this point), and quickly figures out why Ody would talk about her literally any chance he got. She's beautiful, yes, but she's also just as cunning and wise as Odysseus is... The same qualities Dio fell in love with. And Pen is curious about Dio, too. She's heard many stories and news about her husband's schemes with Dio, and she starts falling for him a bit, too. But Diomedes doesn't want to dishonor the Bro Code by getting with Penelope. Ody loves Penelope! Dio could never hurt Ody like that. So... He leaves. He says goodbye to Pen and Telemachus and heads off to Hesperia. He and Penelope wonder what could have been since they believe they will never see each other again.

BUT THEN ODY RETURNS TO ITHACA!!! YIPPEE!!! Diomedes hears this news, but he has his new city to run, so he doesn't return immediately. After a few years, though, he gets usurped and kicked out again, so he's like, "Welp. I have nowhere else to go," and he goes back to Ithaca. He and Ody reunite and there's hugs all around and it's really sweet. Dio soon finds that OdyPen had another kid, a daughter (I haven't figured out a name for her yet, but she's two when Dio shows up). This part of the story is very loose, but I do know they all put two and two together about all their feelings eventually (Odysseus is very happy about this as you can imagine lmao!) It's little slice of life stuff from there. A little hc I have about the three of them is that Dio teaches OdyPen's daughter how to box because she's a little firecracker and needs to get rid of excess energy somehow, but she can't stay still long enough to weave (plus she's really little and doesn't have the fine motor skills for that yet). Dio and Ody also work together to hone Telemachus's and Diodotus's skills (who Diodotus is... you'll know soon enough lmao). I also hc that Pen frequently tricks OdyDio into wrestling each other so she can watch for her own entertainment. She's just sitting to the side, eating her bowl of table grapes, enjoying the show okasdfhsdugif- I also hc that... Once OdyPen passes on, Diomedes leaves again. The kids don't want him to go, but he can't stay. He wants to honor Ody's wish for Tele to be king. If he stays, people will think he wants to take over. He doesn't want a war among Ody's people so... he leaves. He establishes one last city in Hesperia and feels his life coming to a close. He climbs a nearby cliff by the sea to enjoy the view, looking east. Then Athena shows up, and he accepts immortality. Sorry... Got sort of sad toward the end there, but that's a few things! I have a lot of thoughts, but I'm very scattered rn. If you have more specific questions, feel free to ask! I don't bite, I promise! :D

[chaosnojutsu]

the lovely @banbansparkly made this fantastic Reliance artwork, and (with permission to post) i thought today would be the perfect time to share it since one of the illustrated scenes from chapter 12 fits a nejiten month prompt! thank you so much again for making this <3

Nejiten Month 2024, Day 14: Déjà Vu

Then Tenten walks toward her bedroom — toward him first; Neji’s heart can hardly handle it — and she stops in front of him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

If she only knew. She’s one to be asking; she’s giving him a peculiar look, too, so Neji returns the question. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tenten stares for a beat longer, then shakes her head. “Fucking weirdo.”

She rises to her tiptoes, her hands landing on his shoulders to brace herself, and before Neji can process what’s about to happen, Tenten presses a tender kiss right in the center of his forehead.

“G’night,” she says, lowering back to her feet in full.

Neji does not move from that spot for quite some time, reveling in the ghost of her lips on his skin. He can’t decide whether he wants her to remember this in the morning or not.

[…]

Her expression pitches into something even stranger when she rounds the bar and approaches Neji due to him being in her path. She stops and meets his eyes, perplexed.

Neji humors himself. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tenten stares for a second longer, and Neji thinks she might remember after all. He’ll know she does if she returns the question like he did last night. And then…

And then what? He’ll kiss her forehead in turn?

It’s out of the question. Isn’t it? People don’t kiss other people without a specific reason in mind. Is simply wanting to kiss Tenten a valid reason to do so? Has it been all along?

Oh no. Neji does want to kiss Tenten.

Then Tenten shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Déjà vu,” she says, and she walks right past him again.

[characcoon]

Living a Red Life - Chapter 22 - Passing of the Torch

Doc has a lot to catch up to after being 10 years away, and hopefully Mumbo doesn't feel like leaving his side anytime soon, so let the gossips roll!

[rolandtowen]

what's up nerds, new fanfiction for yall!

I went on hiatus for three years and came back with Cherik brain rot. Read it on ao3 or under the cut. Chapter two will be up shortly.

It started innocently enough. A chess game, two glasses of scotch, what could go wrong?

The topic of conversation this night was the hypotheticals of their powers.

“Do you think you could control the iron in a person’s blood?” Charles moved one of his knights forward.

Erik hummed noncommittally, moving a pawn forward one space. “I think it’s possible. I haven’t truly had the opportunity to try it.”

“But, could you sense people by their blood perhaps? Not manipulate it, but recognize it the way I recognize minds?”

Erik smirked. “That seems like something I could try without a certain someone getting mad at me.”

Charles put up his hands in mock surrender. “Not saying I want you to mess with people’s veins, but it’d be good to know in case we run into anyone else with your mutation.”

Erik knocked a rook off the board with one of his bishops. “I’ve always wondered, do people have to be alive for you to get into their minds? Hank was telling me the other day that scientists think there can be electrical activity in the brain for a few minutes after death.”

Charles scoffed. “I don’t really make a habit of trying to commune with the dead, darling.” He moved his queen. “Check.”

“Well, what if you could tell those scientists for sure? Connect with someone before they die, and see what all that activity afterwards is about?” Erik moved his king.

Charles stiffened. “I find that highly unethical.” Charles slid his rook to protect his own king.

Erik glanced up at him, gauging his emotions as he moved his last knight. “Just speaking hypotheticals, liebling. Check, by the way.”

Charles made a wasteful move with another pawn, clearly uncomfortable with Erik’s line of thought. “I wouldn’t advise any telepath to stay connected with someone during their death. I did it only once, and never again.”

“What do you mean?” Erik thought that perhaps Charles had reached out to Raven before she died, perhaps to give her some comfort.

Charles’ eyes grew hard. “When you killed Shaw.”

Erik’s hand froze in the middle of moving his rook. Charles saw his confusion immediately.

“What, did you think I was able to keep him frozen and not be connected to him telepathically?”

Erik began to feel a sinking feeling in his gut. “I guess, I thought—I thought you let go when I..”

“When you started driving a coin through his head?” Charles forcefully moved his queen forward. “Had I done that, he could have killed you.”

“So you tied yourself to a dying man?!”

“It’s not my fault you were killing him! Fucking slowly, might I add.”

What?

“You felt him die? Why didn’t you tell me?” The chess game was forgotten.

“When would I have had the time? You shot me and left with my sister.”

Charles regretted his words instantly as Erik lowered his eyes. “To be honest, Erik, I wasn’t entirely sure what happened. It took me weeks to come to terms with the fact that I felt Shaw die. No other telepath has felt another’s death, at least to my knowledge.”

Erik was quiet for a long moment, before speaking in a whisper. “Show it to me.”

“What? No!” Charles sputtered. Erik still wasn’t meeting his eye, so Charles grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. “Erik, I am not about to force the worst pain I’ve ever felt into your mind.”

“You aren’t forcing me,” Erik countered. “I’m asking you to show me.”

“Why? So you can make some demented penance? This is new level of masochism, even for you.” Erik’s jaw clenched, but his eyes betrayed his emotion. Charles softened his grip on Erik’s chin, scraping a thumb over his cheek. It was wet. “My love, I’ve already forgiven you, for all of it.” He wanted to run his fingers through Erik’s hair, talk him down from this ledge, and forget this whole conversation.

Erik caught Charles’ hand, holding onto it like an anchor. “How am I supposed to forgive myself, Charles? When I never even knew what I did?” Erik brought Charles’ fingers up to his temple. “Show me. You carry so much of my pain, let me carry some of yours for once.”

Charles’ hand was shaking, but Erik sent a mental message, inviting him in, begging—

Please.

Charles’ answer was agony.

***

Immediately, Erik was flooded with voices.

“Now, Charles!”

“Are you okay?”

“Moira, be quiet—I can only control this man for so long.”

Erik was in Charles’ head, in his memory, yet at the same time he was in his own head, as well as Shaw’s. He could see his past self, picking up his helmet.  

“Sorry, Charles.” His own voice, haunting him.

“Erik, please—be the better man—Erik, there will be no turning back!” And just like that, the connection between them was severed as his past self donned his helmet. This was where Erik’s own memory had previously ended their conversation, but now Erik could hear every word that Charles had screamed at him, willing him not kill Shaw.

He felt Charles’ fear when his past self revealed the coin. It was like the floor dropped out from underneath Charles. Chills ran down his spine. He wanted to run, to fight, but Charles knew that if he let go, Erik could die.

For the first time, Erik could also hear Shaw. For a man who presented himself as so superior, his final thoughts were frantic and pleading.

Xavier, please, unfreeze me. Please, I can help you. I have resources, anything you want—you can have it. Please don’t let me die like this—

But overriding Shaw’s babbling was Charles, still focused on Erik, still pleading with him, despite their severed connection.

“No, please, Erik, no.” Charles’ voice was quavering but his power remained strong. Erik could see through Shaw’s eyes as the coin approached, could feel Shaw screaming, but most of all could feel Charles begging to be heard by him. “Please, Erik.”

Erik finally understood the fear. It wasn’t that Charles was so afraid of Erik killing Shaw—Charles was afraid the Erik was going to kill him.

Charles thought he was about to die, but held onto Shaw anyway.

As the coin drew nearer and nearer to Shaw, Erik could hear Charles whimper one last “please”. And then the pain started. Charles could only scream, but even in his agony, Erik could still hear him mentally calling out for him.

Erik, Erik, please, it hurts. Erik could feel Shaw’s skin splitting and his skull cracking, could feel the shards of bone impaling nerves and skin. When Erik killed Shaw, it felt like no time at all passed between the moment the coin entered his head and passed out the other side, but to Charles—this was an eternity. Erik could pinpoint the exact time Shaw’s screams finally cut out, but Shaw was still feeling, which meant Charles was too. After what felt like years, Charles’ connection to Shaw cut out, and Charles’ mind went black.

[segernatural]

The confession was not a whim. Cas knew exactly what he was doing and what would happen. He specifically chose to summon the Empty. On purpose. He told Dean he loved him on purpose.

He chose to save Dean's life on purpose.

This was not a risk he was taking. He knew there was only one thing that would be his true happiness.

He couldn't even consider it not working. For being there for the after of telling Dean.

When do you think he stopped walking on eggshells?

Because of course. Of course right after it was top of mind all the time.

How many things did he choose not to participate in? How many times did he leave? How often did he lock himself in his room? Alone. Just to not risk it.

And while yes he said he didn't have to worry about being happy anytime soon. It still would've plagued his thoughts.

How happy is too happy? How much is too much? What is gonna trigger it?

And when did he finally realize what it would be?

Dean cracks a stupid joke. And Cas just smiles. And they're smiling at each other and Cas feels warm because Dean's smile is like sunshine and--

It's like ice across his body. And he has to leave. He can't have this happen in front of Dean. So he locks himself in his room. No fanfare, no explanation. He has to get out of there. He can't do this to Dean. And he just waits for the Empty to show up. The minutes click by and he can hardly breathe. It wasn't supposed to be now. He can't. He doesn't want to die.

Maybe if he thinks sad thoughts it won't come for him. So he starts reflecting on each of his regrets. And it's a spiral of sadness and despair and grief, with a splash of paranoia in is he really feeling bad enough to dissaude the Empty.

Who knows how long it will take. If he's at the top of the Empty's priority list. It haunts him. He spends hours in that room. Staring at the wall, waiting for the eruption of the black goo.

And finally. He knows it isn't coming today. But now, he knows when it will. What will trigger it. The only thing that ever could.He doesn't know if thats comforting or terrifying

The age old question: would you rather know how you die or when?

[char-writes]

Finally finished editing my first full-length fantasy novel!

Dandelion, Dandelion follows a nobleman’s daughter on her runaway journey into a conflict of mad mages and devil’s bargains. Accompanied by an immortal, a bird-shifter, and a strange girl knowledgeable of all things magic, Cylindra defies the rumors of what happens to stray girls of nobility.

First in a duology, join Cylindra, Elysia, Faye, and Oleander as they face off against Rowan, the King’s Mage.

This work explores different forms of freedom and captivity, themes of discovering one’s own purpose and finding the power to recover from past traumas.

Be sure to follow for more content and updates!

[lovebugmusings]

I’m glad you enjoyed ☺️

Hmm what do you think about Price being possessive over you when it comes to sharing you with his boys? Like, sure he’ll let them watch. He might even let them make you feel good. But letting them cum in you? Never. Because at the end of the day, you’re the Captain’s lover/partner (or whore if you want).

Which means Price’s cum will be the only cum filling up your cunt and dripping down your thighs 😌

- 🪤

AHHHH BARRACKS BUNNY BUT PRICE IS POSSESSIVE?!

when price first introduces you to his men, he doesn't miss the way they all look at you - with hunger, with desire. but he also sees the way you look at each of them. so he knows that you won't be entirely opposed to helping them destress.

so it becomes routine, to invite them over to the humble home you and price share after a mission. he is always the first to make you cum. has you against the sofa or the bed and worships you with his mouth. makes sure you know how much he loves and appreciates you and what you do for him and for his men before they're allowed to touch you.

i would say "cuck chair" but you've definitely ridden all of them on that chair, and there have definitely been occasions of two of the guys helping each other out while you were being eiffel towered by the other two

of course there are standard boundaries and rules in place, to keep everyone safe and comfortable - things like everyone has to be tested before they touch you, even though you're the only person other than each other that they fuck - but the biggest rule, one that price reminds them of often, is that they aren't allowed to cum in your pussy. ass? sure. mouth? absolutely. but pussy is for price and price alone. they're allowed to fuck you there, but they have to either pull out or wear a condom

(johnny always opts for pulling out because he'll be damned if he doesn't get to experience the feeling of your pussy walls against his bare cock)

and "might even let them make you feel good"? HA price gets some sick ego and power trip watching his pussy-drunk men eat you out. simon once came in his pants after you squirted on his face, but instead of embarrasment? bro was so proud that he was the first of him, johnny and gaz to make you squirt

@glossysoap

[arget-star]

As Complicated As We Are

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

Summary: Celebrating your first Valentine's Day with Sakura! (Reader and Sakura have graduated high school! They are around 20/21)

tags: fluff, surprise v-day gift

a/n: I did NOT intend for this to be anything longer than a short drabble, but once more, I think about Sakura receiving love and affection and black out and when I come to this happens. This piece is a bit rushed and messy but it's still written with love.

wc: 2.5k

You treat the day like any other.

Wake up beside Sakura, offer a whispered good morning as he slowly rouses. (He’s been working on Keisei Street until dawn for the past few days; the upcoming holiday brings more trouble than it’s worth.) Make omurice he’d once told you is even better than Kotoha’s, then subsequently made you swear to never, ever share such information.

You wouldn’t dare betray his confidence like that. The memory of his flustered face and the quiet way he’d complimented you make you smile every time you crack open the eggs. Sakura appears in the kitchen, summoned by the scent of fried rice, dressed in his beloved white t-shirt and black sweatpants, yawning and scratching absently at his chest. Slowly, he makes his way to the kotatsu, folding his legs underneath him with another yawn.

“Just a few more minutes,” you assure him, tossing in a handful of scallions into the pan. He hates vegetables he can see; mixing in a few here and there to be buried underneath more overwhelming flavors usually works. You even managed carrots once, though he’d caught on to your scheme and quietly picked them out, leaving them in a small pile at the edge of his plate.

He’s quiet as you work, propping his elbow on the low table and resting his head against a closed fist, watching you through hooded eyes. He perks up once you deposit the plate of steaming omurice in front of him. “Looks amazin’,” he murmurs, fingers curling around his spoon.

“Thank you!” You beam, sitting down with your own plate. He’s already chomping away by the time you take your first bite—and it is delicious, if you do say so yourself.

Halfway through, he speaks around a mouthful of rice. “They gave me the night off for patrol.”

“Oh?” You take another careful bite, grateful for the excuse to hide your reaction. Nakamura-san deserves the biggest box of giri-choco for this favor alone.

Sakura sets down his spoon. Stares at you, briefly, then looks away. “Ya ain’t plannin’ some big thing tonight, are ya?”

You’re planning something, but nothing grand. As much as you’d love to spoil him, make up for all the years he went without being loved, smothering him would only scare him. You swallow your food and shake your head. “Nope. I promise, Haru.”

Red spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You use his nickname sparingly; mostly when emphasizing some emotional point or to remind him that with you, he’s safe. (And, selfishly, you enjoy the knowledge that name is for you alone.)

He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like good as he swipes his spoon from the table. Pressing your lips together, you reach for your water, afraid your expression may give you away.

Sakura doesn’t mention the holiday for the rest of the morning as you get ready for work. For your part, you chat aimlessly about the latest drama between market owners on the street, grateful the florist you work for stays out of the petty antics.

It’s the kind of conversation you’d normally have while prepping dinner together, followed by Sakura suiting up for his patrol. With all the extra foot traffic, however, he’s been leaving about the time you come home.

You miss those evenings together. Things should settle down after tonight, thankfully.

Drowsy, Sakura nods in all the appropriate places, scoffing when you describe the band of young kids—high school first years, you assume—thinking they can stir up trouble. All they’ve managed so far is knocking over some display signs and stealing merchandise from the grocer.

“The new generation of Bofurin has it well in hand,” you laugh, catching the way his reflection rolls his shoulders in the bathroom mirror. “You know you’re the first person I’ll call if I’m ever in trouble.”

“Bunch’a lame idiots.” Sakura huffs, stretching his neck first on one side, then the other. The crack is audible even from across the (small) room.

You hum in agreement, rummaging through a drawer for your hairbrush. Item in hand, you turn from the mirror to Sakura, watching fondly as he stretches his arms overhead. “Hey. Promise me you’ll try to get some rest today.”

He startles, that crease forming along his brow. An involuntary reaction, you’ve learned, ingrained into his very soul by an unfeeling world. He’s better at hiding it these days, unless you manage to catch him off guard.

“Wha—I ain’t sick!” Immediately, he presses a palm to his cheek to check his temperature. He only naps when he’s under the weather (or recovering from a particularly nasty fight.)

“I didn’t say you were.” You point your hairbrush at him. “You are exhausted. This is the first night you’ve had off in a week, and I’d like to avoid you falling asleep at the dinner table.”

Realization flashes across his expression. You miss him. He misses you, too, as a matter of fact, and now he understands why he’s been feeling extra irritated on recent patrols. It’s not just lack of sleep getting to him.

He lowers his hand. “…I’ll be fine.”

Your entire plan culminates in a small, wrapped box tucked neatly inside your purse. Sakura working all evening did have some advantages—namely, leaving you free to come up with something for your first Valentine’s Day together.

Initially, you’d waffled on the idea of a gift at all. This is a holiday lauding love and relationships, after all, which is not a topic Sakura’s all that fond of having shoved in his face. Yours is a quiet love affair. Safe. Neither of you need elaborate gestures or grand proclamations showing the world how in love you are. (Genuinely, you’re happy for those who do that kind of thing. The romance of it all is easy to get swept up in. But it also sounds a little exhausting, and you are more than content with more subtle gestures.)

Sakura’s contradictory nature wasn’t lost on you, however. You know how desperately he wanted to be included in said lauded holiday, if only because it meant he was accepted by his peers.

After voicing your concerns to Kotoha, she’d encouraged you to proceed with a gift. Something simple. Traditional. And wasn’t it a stroke of luck she had a kitchen you could use? And furthermore, with Sakura working from dusk ‘til dawn, you had plenty of time to perfect your gift! In return, you promised to help her try out a new recipe or two for Pothos’ menu.

All that was left, then, was asking Nakamura-san if he could spare Sakura on what would undoubtedly be a busy night. It spoke to everyone’s belief—everyone who knows your boyfriend, at least—that he deserves to enjoy these special moments, as Nakamura-san agreed without hesitation.

Now, every step closer to home fills you with a giddy sort of nervousness. Your fingers wrap tightly around the strap of your purse. Will he like the gift?

What a silly thought. You know he will, no matter how his temper rises. It’s just another involuntary reaction, one you’ve seen slowly but surely soften.

The last few blocks on your route home pass by in a blur. You’re unlocking your apartment door before you know it, slipping your keys back in your purse with a cheery call of, “I’m home!” Bracing a hand against the wall, you remove your shoes, then neatly place them next to Sakura’s.

“Welcome back,” comes his delayed reply, followed by the sound of water splashing. You peek around the corner to find Sakura standing over the sink, holding a small pot presumably full of rice, gently swirling it the way you’d once shown him. He’s taken to cooking quite well; if you had to hazard a guess, you’d say he even enjoys it.

Padding over to him, purse hanging from your fingertips, you gently brush your arm against his. “Thanks for the starting the rice.”

Sakura ever so slightly leans into you, his body heat a welcome change from the chill outside. A smile blooms along your face, and as if in response, the beginnings of one soften his features as well. He’s absolutely radiant when he allows himself to relax like this. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re askin.’ Just walked around a bit.” Slowly, he tilts the pot over the sink again, watching as the last of the water trickles over the rim.

It’s then you notice he’s in a fresh t-shirt and actual pants. He must have showered, too, because you catch the faint scent of soap as he moves. Satisfied the rice is clean, he again turns the tap on, filling the pot with water.

You take a moment to really assess him while he focuses on the water levels. His eyes are more alert than they were this morning, his cheeks returned to their natural color compared to the sleepless pallor they’d been sporting. Warmth curls in your chest; he’s the type to push himself until he can’t give any more, never advocating for his own well-being. He took it easy today only because you said so, and he hates disappointing you more than he hates being idle.

Sakura shuts off the tap. Lifts the pot from the sink, placing it gently in the rice cooker. He looks at you funny once he turns the device on. “What’s wrong? Didn’t ya wanna make chicken katsu?”

That is the plan—you’d mentioned as much before heading out the door.

(”Unless there’s something else you’d like me to make,” you said, buttoning up your jacket.

Sakura, hands shoved in his pockets, shrugged. “’S your favorite. And today’s….it’s fine, alright?” Flushing, that was the second and last acknowledgement he’d made about the holiday.)

“You look well-rested. I’m glad. And yes, I still do. However,” you reply, pulling the small box out of your bag and turning to face him, “I can’t wait any longer.” The festive red wrapping crinkles in your hand. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Haruka.”

The box hangs in the space between you both. Sakura, stunned, stares at the box, then slowly lifts his mismatched gaze up to you. Color rises in his cheeks. You don’t move, don’t speak, don’t do anything beyond gently smile and wait patiently for his thoughts to settle. He’s grateful for it, once the blaring alarm bells of ‘romantic intent’ cease ringing.

Sakura snatches the box from your hand with a harshness he doesn’t mean. You retract your arm while he murmurs an apology. “It’s alright. I know this is a surprise.”

He’s fixated on the box again, clutching it with both hands, fingers digging into the wrapping. “Thought ya said you weren’t plannin’ anythin’!”

“Well, to be fair, you asked if it was some big thing, and it’s not.” Your purse thumps dully when you set it on the counter. Sakura frowns.

“Sha—shaddup,” he retorts, thumb tracing a rapidly forming tear. “….Can I open it?”

“Please.”

The sound of paper ripping fills the space, until the last of it flutters to the tatami. He glances at you, as if still seeking permission. You dip your chin and he pries open the lid of the box, tossing it carelessly next to the rice cooker. He tilts his head. Six circular chocolates stare back up at him. “Chocolate?”

Well. You counted on him not knowing the finer points of today’s tradition, but him not knowing anything sends a pang through your chest. “Mhm. Girls give gifts to the men in their lives—”

“I know that!”

“—and traditionally, it’s chocolate. For romantic relationships,” and now your face heats, “tradition dictates it should be homemade. While you’ve been away, I spent the evenings at Pothos with Kotoha. She helped me find the recipe and ingredients.” You rock back on your heels. Fidget with the buttons on your jacket. Explaining it all makes you suddenly nervous; you’re surprised Sakura hasn’t cut you off and removed himself from the situation entirely.

Sakura’s mouth parts. “Ya did all that for me?”

“I know they’re not gourmet or anything. Some of them are a bit lumpy.” Regret comes sweeping in; why didn’t you just buy some fancy chocolates instead? He wouldn’t have felt obligated to pretend to like them. You could just laugh it off, say you attempted normal couple things and then forget about it.

“…fine.”

You didn’t realize Sakura was talking. “Huh?”

“Said they look fine.” He’s holding one up, examining it in the kitchen light. All your self-doubt comes to a screeching halt. Sakura doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean. If he doesn’t see any flaws in them, then this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

“Really? The molds took some getting used to. Oh! I know you prefer savory things, so they’re all dark chocolate. Three of them have a raspberry filling.” You point to the row on the left side of the box. Sakura considers this a moment, then pops the one he’d been holding—a pure dark chocolate—in his mouth.

You can’t bear to stand quietly while he chews. You open the cabinet next to the sink, removing a cutting board. A bowl follows. Sakura swallows just as you step towards the fridge.

“Thank you.” His voice is soft, full of wonder and adoration.

“You’re welcome.” Your voice is equally soft. Sakura has set the box on the counter by the time you spin around to face him. He’s staring at it with something close to reverence, a fingertip tracing along a corner.

He whips his head up at your approach, eyes wide, like a child caught in the act of breaking a rule. If only you could ease that latent fear so deep within him. Slowly, you reach your hands out, cupping his still-pink cheeks between your palms. He tenses. You gently stroke your thumbs along the curve of his cheekbone, waiting for his shoulders to ease.

They do, after a handful of heartbeats. He blinks, easing back to the present. Only when you’re sure the shadow has faded completely from his eyes do you lean up and press a soft kiss against his lips. Sakura never reciprocates right away. He always hesitates, like his mind just cannot process the fact he’s being touched so lovingly.

He kisses you back gently. Chaste, nothing more than a faint pressure before he pulls back. The faint taste of chocolate lingers on your mouth. You remain in place, still idly smoothing your thumbs on his skin. He’s on the verge of saying something; courage pools underneath his skin, determination flashing in two-toned irises. “I missed havin’ dinner with you.”

“So did I,” you whisper, as if admitting a long held secret.

Steam hisses out of the rice cooker. You both jolt, shocked out of your little bubble. Laughing, you release Sakura from your hold, feeling like you’re floating as you retrace your steps to the fridge. “Guess we should actually make it then, hm?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and something in his voice makes you look back at him over his shoulder. Another chocolate is held delicately between his thumb and pointer finger. A raspberry one, if you’re not mistaken. The corners of his lips are turned upward. “Mind if I have another before dinner?”

“Not at all.”

[fangirlofallthefanthings]

Please ask me questions! I love questions! :D

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[fangirlofallthefanthings]

[Man. it's been way too long since the last part, but don't worry! I'm hoping to write much more often.]

“Four days?!” Odysseus exclaimed.

“Yes. Your arm is broken, and we need to make sure it doesn’t fester,” the royal doctor explained, “You must be monitored closely for any signs of illness.” 

“But it didn’t break the skin!” Odysseus pouted, “You said it yourself yesterday! It was a clean break!”

“Yes, but it’s still dangerous, Odysseus,” the queen replied, “We’re just making sure you’re alright.” 

“I’ve been through worse!”

“I know, Sunshine.” 

“So why are you laying me up again?” Odysseus demanded. 

“Just because you survived a boar doesn’t mean you’re impervious to sickness,” the king replied. 

“So you’re just going to lock me away for a few days, even more than I already am, just because a horse bucked me off?” 

“We’re not locking you away,” the queen said gently as she sat on Odysseus’ bed. “We just want you to be well. So please, My Sunshine… Endure our worry. Just for a little while.” 

Odysseus leaned back into the soft pillows behind him and frowned. “Fine…” 

“It’ll be over before you know it. I promise,” the king said as he ruffled his son’s hair, “I give you my word as king.” Odysseus tried to keep his scowl (more of a pout, really), but he couldn’t help but crack a small smile. 

When his parents and the healer left, he noticed Ctimene peeking into his room from behind the door. “You can come in, Sis.”

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it as she entered, but she couldn’t seem to look Odysseus in the eye. “I’m sorry…” she mumbled.

“What for?” Odysseus asked as he tilted his head. 

“I should have suggested something else,” she replied in a shaky whisper, gripping her skirt, “You got hurt because of what I wanted.” 

Odysseus sighed softly through his nose and frowned. “Come here.”

“Huh?”

“Come sit next to me, Sis,” Odysseus said as he opened his good arm up to her and gave her a small smile, “Before I change my mind.”

Ctimene hesitated momentarily but eventually took off her shoes and crawled onto her brother’s bed with him. Odysseus put his unbroken arm around her, and she hugged him tightly, curling up to his side and burying her face into his shoulder. They stayed that way for a while until Odysseus noticed wetness seeping into his shirt and felt Ctimene’s breath getting shaky.

“It’s not your fault, Ctimene,” Odysseus whispered into her hair, “I was the one who was stubborn and picked a horse that wasn’t ready to ride.”

Ctimene didn’t respond and curled closer to him. Odysseus moved her hair and kissed her temple. Ctimene sniffled in response. After a moment, she finally looked up at Odysseus, her eyes watery. 

“Sorry…” she mumbled. 

“Don’t be,” Odysseus smiled as he wiped a tear from her cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for, you know.” 

Ctimene smiled back and wiped her face with her sleeve. “Come on. I’m trying to be sad over here, Ody! That’s not fair! You know your smile is contagious!” 

“What?” Odysseus hummed slyly, “Would you rather me do this?”  

Odysseus pulled a silly face, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes. Ctimene burst into a fit of giggles. “Rude! Am I not allowed to have a bit of sadness?” 

“Nope! Sadness is illegal for princesses in my bedroom kingdom!” In his best king voice, Odysseus said, “For your transgression, I sentence you… to tickles!” 

He grabbed his sister around the middle before she could get away, and Ctimene screeched in delight. 

“No! No! Don’t do it!” She squealed with laughter. 

“Sorry, Sis! I don’t make the rules!” Odysseus said as he tickled her as best he could with one arm. He couldn’t quite hold her down, but he made sure to get the spots he knew were her most ticklish. It kept Ctimene down well enough until her tears of sadness slowly turned into tears of laughter. She wiggled and rolled to escape, but Odysseus was relentless. It was nigh impossible for Ctimene to catch her breath. 

“I yield!” She gasped, “I yield!”

“I don’t know if I believe that, Sis!” Odysseus said in a sing-song voice. “I know your tricks!” 

“Please! I can’t breathe! Mercy!” 

Odysseus halted his one-handed onslaught, and Ctimene sat up, still giggling up a storm. “There’s the happy Ctimene I know. I was wondering where she went!” 

“Thanks, Ody!” Ctimene said as she hugged him, careful not to jostle his broken arm. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Sis,” Odysseus replied in kind as he wrapped his arm around her. “Could you do me a favor, though?” 

“What do you need?” She asked, sitting up and tilting her head. 

“Could you get my writing stuff off my desk?” 

“Sure!”

Ctimene scooted and hopped off of the bed, and she gathered the things Odysseus needed in short order. She returned with a lap desk, stationary, an inkwell, and a pre-cut quill. Ctimene put the lap desk over Odysseus’s legs, setting it down with a huff of effort. Then, she opened the inkwell for him—careful not to spill anything, lest their parents become cross at the mess.

Once she finished, Odysseus took the quill and began to write. Ctimene slowly moved to Odysseus’s other side and laid her head on his shoulder. She began to read along as her brother wrote, and her eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.

“Who is this for, Ody?” Ctimene asked.

Odysseus smiled down at her. “The boy who saved my life.”

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Part 1

[chaosnojutsu]

the things she carried: Tenten comes out of the war changed in more ways than she anticipated. For Nejiten Month Day 6: Promise

[characcoon]

Living a Red Life - Chapter 28 - "Roar of the Abyss"

[rolandtowen]

I did not anticipate this fic ending up with Cherik talking about communism in the shower but here we are