#Char Writes

[arget-star]

This was SUPPOSED to be just a short lil thing and then I realized I can’t shut up. A continuation of this that somehow ended up at 1.3k

In which Sakura teaches you the beginnings of self defense

Cw: none! Just fluff and the obligatory Sakura teasing

“I’m not punching you,” you tell him stubbornly, hands planted on your hips. Sakura snorts in agreement.

“No, you won’t. Just throw one, will ya? I’m tryna teach you the basics, that’s all.”

Ugh, he’s so annoying sometimes. You huff, then release your hips, curling your fingers into loose fists. You know you won’t actually cause him harm—he’ll dodge anything you toss his way. It’s the principle of the thing that bothers you; everyone in Sakura’s life leading up to Furin did whatever they could to hurt him. Logically, you know this isn’t close to the same thing. Yet standing here, now, with the intention of aiming your knuckles directly into face…it’s harder to reconcile your emotions with good sense.

Sakura, oblivious to your internal struggle, gestures to your hands. “C’mon, defend yourself.” Perhaps he’s a bit more in tune with your emotional state than you realize; he sounds like he’s making a conscious effort to be patient.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you comply, trying to copy the easy way he raises his own fists. Your shoulders are practically by your ears, and you feel too stiff, but at least your thumb isn’t tucked underneath your knuckles and your body is at a slight angle. Heterochromatic eyes assess you; it still baffles you, how anyone could see something so beautiful and immediately try to snuff it out.

He steps closer, placing his palms atop your shoulders. “Relax,” he murmurs, gently pushing down until he’s satisfied. “You’ll make yourself sore bein’ all tense like that.”

Honestly, you’d expected him to be a little gruff, given how he’d spiraled over your lack of self defense skills last week; this surprising tenderness is welcome. In fact, you do relax, some of your nerves melting away as he takes a step back.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he gives you a look you would call bored if you didn’t know better. His eyes flash with hidden excitement. The thrill of a fight—even teaching the mechanics of one—runs through him.

It’s cute, really, and you bite your bottom lip on a smile. Now’s not the time to tease him.

“Alright. Front hand, go.”

You stare at him. His cheeks no longer tinge pink whenever you do so, and privately, half of you mourns the loss. The other half is proud he’s growing more comfortable with your relationship. Inhaling through your nose, you tighten your fist, then unleash it straight for his nose with a sharp jab of your elbow.

Naturally, it doesn’t land. Sakura easily leans away, black eyebrow raising with a meaning you can’t quite discern. Is he impressed? Disappointed? “Too obvious where you wanted to punch. Couldn’t keep your eyes off my nose.”

You retract your arm, poking your tongue out at him. “Don’t I get a well done for my first attempt?”

Now a faint blush spreads atop his cheekbones. You don’t bother hiding your smile. He looks away with another scoff. “It wasn’t bad. Now stop teasin’ me! Ya wanted to learn, didn’t ya?”

Well, this had been his idea, one you readily agreed to if only to soothe his anxiety, but you refrain from pointing that out. A small glow of pride blooms in your chest instead; he praised you, in his own way, and that’s worth enduring a few of his prickly outbursts. “I did.” Truly, after you’d said yes to this, you realized just how much you did want to learn, especially to see the look of surprise on some jerk’s face the next time they tried hitting on you. Hardly anyone expects the girls in this town to defend themselves.

Sakura puts you through a dozen or so punching drills, correcting everything from how you twist your hips to how to best hold your other fist up while punching. Once he’s finally satisfied you’ve got the basics down, he stands in front of you again, looking completely unruffled. Meanwhile, strands of hair have come loose from your ponytail, hanging limply around your face. You flick away a particularly annoying piece dangling across your nose.

His pointed chin dips in silent go ahead. You’re prepared, this time. Mostly. You know where to focus—forward, but not lasered in on any one thing. Another inhale. You’re about to throw it, even have your hips half twisting, when a sudden idea strikes you.

“Wait, wait, hang on—can you pass me my sweater, please?” Oh, he’s going to be so mad. It will be absolutely worth it, if you can pull this off. Indeed, Sakura looks at you like you’ve gone crazy, but he still stomps over to the park bench you’d draped your sweater over earlier, picking up the garment with all the inherent gentleness everyone refuses to see in him.

“Tch, you can’t stop and ask for your sweater in the middle of a fight! You cold or somethin’?”

“Something like that,” you reply, fighting back a grin with every ounce of self control in your body. His fingers brush against yours as he passes you the sweater. He gives you another look, assuming his former position while you slip your arms into the soft material. Once situated, you resume your fighting stance, all trace of mirth gone from your expression. “Alright, take this!”

It’s a good punch, all things considered. You remember everything he told you, and you barely hesitate as you watch your hand inch closer to his (pretty) face. Sakura neatly sidesteps it, though not before you notice the approving little curve to his lips. Triumph makes the prideful glow inside your chest glow sunshine bright.

However, instead of throwing your arms up in success like he anticipates, you grab the lapels of your sweater and give it a little tug. “And that’s why I can’t stand weaklings,” you intone, in your best impression of Sakura, complete with a self-satisfied smirk.

The real Sakura tilts his head, confusion flickering across his face—and then it hits him.

Las night, you’d accompanied him and his vice captains to dinner at Café Pothos. Suo and Nirei, in clear disregard for their lives, had regaled you with tales of his first few fights with Bofurin, off-base impressions included.

His ensuing blush is a brilliant shade of crimson. You do feel a slight twinge of guilt; you’ll have to make it up to him somehow.

He takes a step back, launching an accusing finger in your direction. “I do not sound like that! ‘Nd I told ya to stop makin’ fun of me!” Notably, he makes no defense about the jacket tug. (You find that particular quirk of his incredibly endearing.)

Despite your best efforts, you can’t help the laughter bubbling up in your throat. Were it anyone else, it’d make him angrier, enough that he’d knock them out cold. But it’s you, and you’re murmuring out apologies in between peals of mirth, and well, he’s never able to stay mad at you. Sakura stands down, lowering his finger, unamused as you gather yourself. That glower of his is rather impressive.

“I couldn’t resist,” you finally say, giggle fit over. Stepping into his personal space, you drape your arms around his neck, curling a finger around a strand of hair. “Sorry, Haru. I promise you look way cooler than that.”

“How do you know, huh?” Sakura returns your hug, tugging you closer, until you’re flush against his chest. Incredible that only a week ago you were apologizing for calling him Haruka, and now his nickname flows so easily off your tongue, like you’d been saying it for years. He wonders, not for the first time, what his life would have looked like if he’d met you earlier.

“’Cause. I have seen you fight before. And you’re the strongest in Bofurin.”

Sakura rests his chin atop your hair. One day, he will be, and he knows it’ll be because you’re by his side.

[vgilantee]

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.

[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 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

[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.

[saglaophonos]

He knows why Crowley — who had not so much as picked up a book since the invention of the printing press — had done all that, and done it to save the fragile, insignificant human items that Aziraphale reveried with such vital importance, without even having to be asked. He knows, with a feeling of exhilaration like a live wire throughout his body, why Crowley had always saved him, had always thought of him, and had always treated him with such kindness, the likes of which Aziraphale had never received from anyone else, and never would, or had thought to extend even to himself.

Season three opens on London, 1941, and the end of a long night.

and what if the good omens s3 opening scene was a continuation of the 1941 flashback? and what if i wrote it? in script format? what then?

[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!

[chaosnojutsu]

seeking discussion/feedback about a technical writing choice. the links lead to examples in my existing catalogue of different story starter categories, which include:

1) strong, immediate dialogue or action

2) insight into the main character(s) or theme(s)

3) enough context to establish the very specific thing i want to write

acknowledging that every story is not for every person, different opinions etc., and i’m gonna do what i want regardless, is one of those more or less compelling than the others? what kind of details suck you (yes, you, not an ambiguous audience) into a story vs get skimmed over so you can get to the good part?

i’ll fess up first: i catch myself skimming lengthy physical/outfit descriptions, especially if there are several block paragraphs detailing every character’s appearance. if that’s the case in an original work i try to clock distinguishing features so i can keep track as i meet new characters, whereas in a fanfic i assumedly already know what those people look like and i’m here to see the situation you put them in! regardless, i’m trusting that important signifiers will be emphasized or repeated or even plot-relevant at a certain point. it’s the theatre training in me but i stand by the idea that less is often more; give me fewer, more important details, and then when you give me a vivid description i’ll lock in.

and shoutout illustrators fr i love y’all too

[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?

[charturnus]

Diversionary Tactics pt. 1

Ships: Wanda x Female!Reader - Natasha x Female!Reader

a/n: For Magda, here's to your 25th, and another year of growth, happiness, laughter, and love. I would have given you the world, but you won't let me so here is some smut instead. I'm so grateful to be your friend, and I cannot wait to watch you grow in the next year. Remember that I love you to the moon and to Saturn. @stonemags you did ask me to post it at the end of the day, doesn't get more the end of the day than a few minutes before midnight.

Summary: Everybody is pretty sure you're on a path to destroying yourself. You're pretty sure all you want is your strap down Wanda's throat. Opinions differ.

Warnings: 18+, top!reader, bottom!Wanda, face fucking, throat bulge, strap on, degradation, honorifics, vaginal sex, self loathing, angst. No beta we die like men.

Word count: 5k

‘’Alright kids, now remember, stick to plan,’’ Tony says severely, rising from his seat on the quinjet, ‘’no improv, no games, no funny business.’’ His eyes sweep across the room, and I feel his gaze lingering on me. I don’t look at him, instead pretending to be very interested in the map of the hydra base we’re about to invade. ‘’I want you all back here safe and sound, ready to be tucked in by Rogers and Hill at the end of the day, capiche?’’ From my periphery, I’ve been watching him move closer and closer, but now I can no longer feign ignorance. I look up slightly, Tony in his shiny red and gold suit, ready to close the armour over his face. When he speaks, it sounds like he’s addressing the whole group, but his eyes are locked firmly onto mine.’’

‘’And remember, don’t play the hero.’’

***

One by one, my colleagues jump from the jet, after they don their suits, and grab their parachutes if necessary. I watch as Steve checks Sam’s suit before allowing him to jump. Sam has barely disappeared from view before Tony grabs me by the scruff of my neck, pulling me away from the opening in the floor.

‘’Why aren’t you in your suit?’’ Annoyed, I bat his hand away, my bone hits the metal of his armour, and pain shoots up my arm, but I fight to keep my expression neutral. ‘’It’s not really my style, you know, with all that colour.’’ I’m well aware that I’m being difficult, but I can’t put a stop to it. I’m so exhausted that I’m ready to burn a whole city to the ground, myself along with it. The suit is incredible, but also flashy and extremely heavy. And maybe I enjoy making things harder than they need to be, so what? Tony stares at me incredulously, before turning to Steve as if to check if he heard my comment too. Steve just holds up his hands in defeat, ‘’I’m not getting caught up in this, Tony, handle it yourself.’’

Coward. 

‘’Not your-’’ Tony halts, breathing sharply in utter annoyance, ‘’you know people have committed murder to get a hold of one of my suits.’’ 

‘’I’ll pour one out for them.’’ 

‘’Romanoff, help me, before I duct tape the kid to the wall,’’ Tony grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose with his shining red fingers. The last thing I need right now is Nat with her lectures about what’s good for me, and while I know she means well, and I love her so much, I want nothing more than for her to just shut up. Both of them, actually. 

Before she gets a chance to speak, I hold up a finger in the air. ‘’Actually, you know, this thing has been really bothering me lately.’’ Nat looks genuinely interested and concerned, and I almost feel bad for fucking with her. ‘’There’s this little bone in your jaw, apparently, I never knew about it before.’’ I use my fingers to pretend like I’m looking for something in my jaw. ‘’There,’’ I say, stopping near where my wisdom teeth once sat. ‘’Can you feel that?’’ Nat goes along with it, trying to mimic where I’ve placed my own fingers. ‘’I think I can feel something, yeah.’’ 

‘’Yeah, right there. Turns out, that bone allows you to shut the fuck up.’’ 

Both of them look furious, and I decide that this is my cue to get out. I hold up my hands in an imitation of Steve, walking backwards like I’m retreating and admitting my defeat. The parachutes are now right behind me, ready to be snatched up by my willing hands. 

‘’Nat, I love you, I really do. And I respect the hell out of you, Tony, but it’s not going to happen.’’ Quick as a flash, my fingers secure one of the chutes, and with two quick steps, I’m at the edge of the open floor. ‘’I don’t need your suit, I’m feeling brave.’’ 

Nat and Steve both dive at me, but I’m too fast for them, letting myself fall backwards into the open sky. 

Falling…

Falling…

Falling…

***

The fight was a disaster, to say the least. The mission was accomplished, but barely. Clint and Bucky both got wounded pretty badly, and everyone else has seen better days. I myself would have been crushed to death along with Peter and Natasha if Wanda hadn’t kept the bricks from falling just long enough so that we could make a quick escape. Still, one of the Hydra agents got me in the head with the but of his gun, causing blood to stream copiously from the wound, coating my face. I shot him in the foot for his trouble, though. 

Tony has called us all to the medical bay, no doubt to lecture us all on our performance. Even I can’t find a reason not to obey this command, so I slow down my pace deliberately in order to fall behind the group. 

Jumping from the jet without my suit wasn’t my best idea, but I made it to the ground in one piece. The landing was rough, though, and I seriously hurt my left leg in the process. My knee and ankle are still killing me now, but I try not to show too much of it. The injury seriously impedes my ability to run, slowing me down enough to be an easy target for the hydra agents. Nat and Tony had to save my ass more than once, and the thought of facing them after that show I put on in the jet is beyond embarrassing. 

I need some way to recover from this bruise on my ego. I wouldn’t say I have a God complex per se, but I put a lot of stock in my fighting ability, and my performance today was severely lacking. I need a reminder that this is not who I am. 

Instantly, my eyes find Wanda in the group of people walking ahead of me. 

It’s almost accidental. Almost. 

Her hair is in a ponytail, and she looks to be amongst one of the most unscathed team members. Wanda’s magic has been growing incredibly strong recently, and she most certainly doesn’t need a suit to keep herself safe. Still, her attitude doesn’t reflect her powers. In battle, Wanda is fierce, throwing around grown men like they’re rag dolls. Back at the compound, it is she who prefers to be thrown around like a rag doll. 

I think that’s just what I need. Wanda gagging on my cock so loudly that the voice in my head calling me a failure finally shuts up. 

‘’Hey,’’ Peter calls from behind me, breaking me away from the images in my head. The poor kid looks pretty beaten up, but he’s smiling in spite of it all. ‘’That was a tough one, huh? I almost thought Mr Stark was gonna call off the whole mission.’’ Peter’s limping, his right leg clearly too tender to stand on. My own leg feels like absolute hell, but I can’t let Pete struggle his way over to the med bay without help. ‘’Yeah, it was a tough one for sure. You got your leg hurt? Here, let me help.’’ I scoop one of his arms over my shoulder, helping him take some weight off of his leg. In turn, that puts extra weight onto mine, sending tendrils of pain shooting up all the way to my hip. This is no time for weakness, though, no time for pain or tears. I just grit my teeth and help Peter over to a bed in the medical bay, while he chats to me about how he saw a guy’s shoes get blown off his feet by the force of an explosion created by Strange. 

To everybody’s surprise, and horror, it isn’t Tony giving us the lecture. Once we’re all grouped in the medical bay, surrounding our hurt team members in their beds, Maria Hill emerges from the side entrance of the bay. Behind me, I hear Scott curse, and Peter gives me a concerned look from where he’s sitting with his leg elevated. 

‘’She looks really mad,’’ Wanda whispers, and a few of us who heard look over to where she stands with her back to the wall, nervously picking at the hem of her dress. Wanda is always so self-assured in battle, making seasoned warriors lose their minds with her magic. But out here it’s like she draws into herself completely, always needing reassurance and protection. 

So, naturally, I go to her. Compared to me, Wanda looks like she just got out of a spa. There isn’t a spot of blood or dirt on her. Her knees are dusty, and she has a scrape on her forehead, but there’s no sign of it breaking the skin badly enough to actually release any blood. She’s just a little dusty. Meanwhile, the whole right side of my face and hair are covered in my own blood. Head wounds always bleed like they’re going to end your life, even if they’re not so serious. This one certainly doesn’t feel too bad, but that might be the adrenaline talking. 

‘’You’re okay, dove.’’ I tell her, ‘’Hill might be mad, but she didn’t see what it was like out there. And besides, you did so well out there.’’

‘’Really?’’ She looks up at me with those pretty green eyes, full of innocence and disbelief, as if she can’t remember how she single-handedly saved three of her colleagues’ lives. I wonder how much of it is an act, but then, even if it is, do I really care? She gives me those same eyes when she sucks me off, and I certainly don’t care then. 

For the most part, I manage to tune out Hill’s shrill voice as she lectures us like a bunch of naughty school children. I’m too occupied with Wanda trying to cuddle up to me, moving to stand with her back against my front, pressing her ass into my crotch.

She’s always desperate to be fucked after a fight. 

‘’And next time, remember. Playing the hero doesn’t pay off, if I hear of anyone going into battle without a suit, you’re getting pulled from the team.’’ This most certainly catches my attention. She has enough grace to not address me by name, but everyone is looking at me anyway, so I decide to make use of the stage provided for me. ‘’Will you kick out Tony if he keeps making those ugly suits?’’ The reaction is a real mixed bag. Shuri doubles over with laughter, and Scott and Strange are fighting their smiles. Hill looks furious, and so does Nat, but I think the latter has something to do with my hand being placed firmly on Wanda’s midriff. 

***

I act like Hill’s commentary doesn’t bother me, like Tony’s disappointment doesn’t sting. Fake it until you make it, right? I know I was wrong for doing what I did, but I seem to be rapidly losing control of any and all rational decision-making skills. I’m not trying to get myself killed, like my teammates are probably thinking. I don’t want to die, not yet, there’s still so much for me to see and do. But barely scraping the edge, coming face to face with it and walking away alive, that is a feeling like no other. It makes me feel untouchable, godlike even. 

It’s almost as good as having my fist in Wanda’s hair as she tries to take my cock down her throat. She’s so desperate to please and be comforted that it’s almost laughable. The promise of getting tucked in at night, and fucked how she likes it, is enough to turn her into a desperate little whore. 

She’s on her knees for me on her pretty white rug. My boots flank her on either side, some enemy’s blood visible even over the black of my combat boots. I can see my own face in the mirror on the opposite side of the room, the whole front of it is covered in my own blood, now dry and flaking off. Wanda didn’t even let me wash myself first, insisting that she likes me fresh from the fight. 

She’s a pretty sight, kneeling between my feet like this, but she’s slacking off on taking my strap. I’m not in the mood for niceties today. I need to remind myself of the power I wield, before I allow myself to become overrun with weakness. 

Wanda has one hand at the base of my cock, and she’s suckling prettily on the head. ‘’That’s cute, dove.’’ I say, leaning forward to grab her by the throat, ‘’but you know that’s not what I want.’’ 

I lay her down on her desk, so I can stand up instead of hunching over undignified on the bed. Her head hangs over one side, and her open mouth, wet and waiting, is much too inviting. The sound of her gagging is like music to my ears. This isn’t wholly selfish either, I have to remind myself. Poor Wanda, so tired of having to be a big girl all the time, just needs someone to put her in her place. Who am I to deny her?

She lays there so prettily, mouth wide open and willing, her legs spread and her hips bucking up in search of non-existent friction. I’m obsessed with the way my cock bulges in her throat, bobbing up and down along with my thrusts. I could cum just from the sight of this, and the noises Wanda makes below me as I take her. This harness has a soft silicone grinder that is made especially to sit snugly against my clit, and with the combined friction from the strap, and the sight of my cock deep in Wanda’s throat, it’s enough to put me right on the edge. I won’t let myself fall though, it will take me right out of this high and then the self-hatred will settle in. I’m not ready to face that. Even just the thought of it makes me shiver, and I have to ground myself in the moment to push those thoughts to the back of my mind.

I place first one, and then both of my hands over her throat, feeling the movement of my strap. My hands are large enough to cover her whole neck, and it’s nothing short of satisfying to be so utterly in control. At least with Wanda, I’m always the one standing tall. Her face is all red and saliva is running down her cheeks, gravity pulling it dangerously close to her eyes, where tears are dribbling steadily into her hairline. 

Still, the strap isn’t all the way down her throat. We’ve been working on it, but she’s not quite there yet. I try to push her a little bit every time, and she’s been doing better and better. But it’s still hard for her. She lets out one gag so bad that I have to pull out completely for a second, allowing her to spit out a mouth full of saliva onto the floor. I’m not phased by this. Once you’ve seen men die in the worst ways possible, a little spit is nothing. 

I squat down, holding back the stream of swears I want to let out at the horrible pain in my leg. I use my thumbs to wipe the saliva and tears away from her eyes, and I give her a kiss on her sweaty brow. ‘’You’re doing so well, princess. Can you try again for me? Just a few seconds, I want you to take all of me. You can do that for me, can’t you pretty girl?’’ She catches her breath slowly, her mouth still open. Already fucked dumb, and I haven’t even gotten to her cunt yet. She nods at me blearily, ‘’wanna make you proud, daddy.’’ 

Something in my chest contracts at that, but I couldn’t name the emotion if my life depended on it. For now, I try to focus on how wet the sight of her like this makes me. ‘’Good girl,’’ I say as I stroke the strap lightly, rubbing the head over her luscious lips. ‘’Just a few seconds, and then I’ll let you cum, okay?’’ She nods, and obediently opens her mouth further for me. ‘’Good, now relax your throat and let daddy do the work.’’ 

I hold her head securely, making sure it’s tipped back enough, before sliding my hands back over her throat, I’m going to want to feel this. I’m not gentle, and I really can’t find it in me to be sorry about that, not when this feels and looks like complete and utter euphoria. I fuck my cock into her with one sharp thrusts. She gags instantly and sputters, her hands reaching for my thighs trying to push me away, but I don’t let her. I reassure her softly that she’s doing great and that it won’t take long, which seems to make it easier on her. I push against the last bits of resistance, sliding the strap all the way in. I rut into her mouth, as deep as I can. The sounds coming from her are obscene, but I cannot bring myself to pull back. In the back of my mind, I’m counting seconds. I’ll allow myself to stay here and soak this in for 20 seconds. With my fingers, I press lightly on her throat to feel the bulge of my cock inside of her. The zip of my trousers digs into her skin, and I know it’ll leave a mark there. 

The pressure against my clit threatens to undo me, and I let myself get dangerously close. I even grind my hips, fucking her throat lightly. One day, I’m going to hook a cum reservoir onto my strap and cum down her throat, along with my own orgasm. But not now. I have to control myself, so when the count in my head reaches 20, I pull out. 

Wanda is back to spitting out saliva and gasping for air. She coughs a few times, and it sounds pretty rough. I help her up, cradling her in my arms. The hard work is done now, I assure her. For a few minutes, I sit with her draped over my lap on her bed. I cradle her head into my chest, petting her hair and whispering praise to her. ‘’You did so beautifully, dove. You’re getting so much better, do you remember how you couldn’t even take half of me when we first started?’’ She’s gone too far into subspace to really speak, but she’s still responsive, and I feel her nod. 

‘’One day I’m going to be able to fuck you like that for 10 minutes straight, princess, and you’ll love every second of it.’’ This seems to stir something in her, because she mewls into me, spreading her legs slightly. We’re both still clothed, and I must say it’s a thrill to fuck Wanda with her dress still on. But not today. I strip her of everything except for her thigh highs, as they make her look like the slut I know she is. 

She’s incredibly wet, her cunt swollen and red, moisture running down between her cheeks. I consider for a while if I should make her wait, but I don’t want to deprive myself of watching my cock disappear inside of her. 

Instinctively, she tries to get on her hands and knees, but I’m not having that. I grab her by her waist and lay her down underneath me. I could almost laugh at her pained expression. She’s moaning already, and I haven’t even touched her yet. Using both of my hands, I part her thighs and push them up to her chest. Her breasts bounce slightly as I manhandle her into position, and my mind has already skipped ahead to watching them move in time with my thrusts as I fuck her. 

I keep both hands steady on the backs of her thighs, folding her almost in half. I look down to where my strap stands at attention, teasingly I slide it over her slit, enjoying the way she writhes when the slightest pressure is applied to her clit. 

Who’s going to tell her this is for me, and not for her? 

In sharp contrast to how I fucked her throat, I slide myself in gently, allowing her some time to adjust. She’s gasping, and clawing at my clothed back, and I’m slightly upset that she’s not leaving deep red marks all over my bare back. Oh, well. 

After a few short minutes of light teasing

She’s trying to move her hips against me, but I have her in such a tight hold that she’s getting nowhere. ‘’Tell me what you want, pretty girl,’’ I goad her. She huffs and puffs, her face still bright red, her hair sticking to the sweat on her brow and the semi dry salvia on her cheeks. ‘’Please, please, please,’’ she whines breathily, ‘’ruin me, daddy.’’

How am I supposed to deny a request like that? 

I take my chain necklace into my teeth, so it doesn’t hurt her by smacking into her face, and I set a punishing rhythm for us both. My leg is killing me, but Wanda underneath me like this is such a captivating sight that I cannot stop myself. She holds me against her tightly, like she’s afraid I’ll let go. In her defence, I’ve left her like this multiple times, so the poor girl probably has trust issues. 

Tears are falling freely from the corners of her eyes now, and I’m so focussed on that, that I don’t notice one of her hands leaving my back. She snakes it in between our bodies, so she can reach her clit. When she moans sharply and her body seizes up, I realize what she’s doing. Quickly, I reach down to snatch her hand away. 

I pull my strap out in one swift movement. With my free hand, I squeeze her cheeks and force her to look me in the eye. ‘’That’s a shame, I was going to let you cum, but now you’ll have to work harder for it.’’

I decide to make her ride me. 

It’s hilarious to watch her try to mount me with her shaky thighs. The poor thing is actually crying now, her tears dripping down all the way to her chest, along with her salvia. With one hand I hold both of her wrists tightly, with the other I rub her spit over her hard nipples, enjoying the way her hips twitch when I rub them in just the right way. 

Once she manages to sink herself down on my cock, she thinks she can get away with grinding her way to an orgasm, but I disillusion her of that idea quickly. ‘’Nuh uh, baby, if you want to cum you’re going to have to work for it properly.

After a small fit of crying and whining, she gets down to work. Fucking herself until her already shaky thighs are on the verge of giving out. She has let her head hang forward, absolutely exhausted. All that I can hear now are the obscene, wet, sucking noises that come from between her thighs, and the exhausted little moans and pleas to relieve her of her ache. 

She holds out for a heroic 15 minutes, until her thighs quite literally cannot keep her upright any longer. I had taken pity on her about 7 minutes into it, but it’s still impressive to watch her fight for it so hard. I take her face in both of my hands and kiss her forehead tenderly. ‘’Alright baby girl, you took that so well. Are you ready for your reward now?’’

In spite of her exhaustion, she nods, a soft whimper coming from her red and puffy lips. I put her on her elbows and knees, but within the first few thrusts she collapses under me. I hold her upright easily, fucking into her like it’s the last time I’ll be able to. She’s a bit too loud, and I know the others will have dirty looks for us tomorrow, but I really don’t care. 

I place a sloppy kiss on her back as I finally reach down to rub her clit. ‘’You can cum whenever you need to, princess.’’ I grunt, as I use all my focus to keep up with the thrusts and the rhythm of my rubbing fingers. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long. It’s impressive, really. In less than ten seconds, she’s cumming all over my fingers, her cunt clenching so tightly around my strap that it makes it hard to move as firmly as I would like. I fuck her right through her peak, and I’m prepared to push her into another, but Wanda is clearly done.

She’s shaking and shivering, her muscles weak and tired, she still tries to push me away. I’m tired myself now, so I don’t need any more incentive. I pull out of her and cover her tenderly with a blanket. She wants to go to sleep, and I don’t blame her. But I force her into a shower, sitting on the lid of the toilet, I watch over her to make sure she doesn’t pass out. 

Once she’s freshly showered, I tuck her in. I lay on top of her sheets, which feels wrong in my state, covered in dust and dried blood as I am. Wanda doesn’t seem to mind, though. She begs me to stay, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I won’t. So, I comb my fingers through her fair, and kiss her slowly, telling her how good she’s been for me, and that it’s time to rest now. It doesn’t take her more than 15 minutes to fall asleep.

Once I’m sure she’s out, I tip toe my way across the room, and out into the hallway. Stupidly, I have my back to the hallway as I close the door. I try to shut it as softly as possible, not wanting to wake Wanda. I’m so tired after all of that, that my eyes feel heavy. I’m ready for a hot shower, and bedtime, before the thoughts of the mission can overwhelm me. 

My room is next to Wanda’s, so I don’t expect any trouble, but really, trouble always shows up when you least expect it. In this case, trouble comes to me in the shape of Natasha Romanoff. 

*** 

Nat corners me as soon as Wanda’s door is closed. 

‘’What the hell have you been doing?’’ 

I narrow my eyes at her, not sure if she’s serious. I look down to the harness and strap in my left hand, and then look back to Nat. ‘’What do you want me to say, that we were braiding each other’s hair and talking about boys?’’ 

She crosses her arms over her chest. ‘’I don’t care what you get up to with her.’’ 

That’s debatable. 

‘’I mean the mission today, and every mission we’ve been on this past month. What the hell has gotten into you?’’ 

I try to sidestep her, to get to my own bedroom door, but she blocks my path. ‘’You were out there trying to get yourself killed.’’ Nat hisses. 

At this point I’m too tired to deal with this, so I snap back at her, ‘’Well, I’m clearly still alive’’ 

Nat’s eyes are boring into mine with such intensity that I would shrink away if I didn’t have a reputation to uphold. ‘’You going out there without a suit on? What do you call that?’’  She fumes. 

I shrug, a genuine half smile creeping into my lips in spite of the dire circumstances, ‘’an adventure?’’

‘’That was attempted suicide,’’ Nat says severely, clearly not as amused as I am. I just snort, unable to keep myself from cracking a joke ‘’I’m going to show you attempted suicide’’ 

Her mouth forms a hard line, ‘’that’s not funny.’’ I know it’s not, and I can tell she’s upset, but I can’t wipe the stupid smile off my face. 

She’s on the verge of saying something when the sound of a door opening makes us both turn around. Peter is standing in the doorway of his bedroom, wearing only a Captain America branded shirt and a pair of boxers. I quickly hide the strap and harness behind my back. ‘’Hey guys,’’ he says cheerfully, in spite of the limp in his step. ‘’I was going to make myself a freezer pizza, you want anything?’’ 

Nat gives him a tight smile and shakes her head. ‘’No, thanks, Pete,’’ I tell him, ‘’I still haven’t cleaned up, I’ll get something after.’’ 

Seeming to pick up on the uncomfortably loaded energy, he pulls an awkward face and shoots a pair of finger guns at us. ‘’Okay, well I’ll hide a margarita pizza for you underneath the ice cubes, so you won’t get stuck with the Hawaiian.’’ Peter really is a good friend, I decide. ‘’Thanks, kid, I owe you one,’’ I say, watching him limp clumsily towards the kitchen. Once the door has fallen shut behind him, Nat grabs my upper arm and tries to pull me towards her own bedroom. I shrug her off. 

‘’I want to shower, Nat, I’m covered in blood.’’ 

‘’And Wanda’s cum.’’ 

‘’Jealous it’s not yours?’’

Her eyes are ablaze with fury now, and there’s no hiding it. ‘’You’re trying to kill yourself, and I’m not going to sit here and watch you lose yourself.’’ 

‘’Nat, I’m fine.’’ I say, slowly losing my smile. 

‘’You don’t look fine.’’ 

‘’Then stop fucking looking at me.’’

It comes out much louder than I had intended for it to, and it startles me slightly. I can see Nat is taken aback by it too, but she’s not afraid. Her expression shifts from anger to concern in a matter of seconds. ‘’

‘’Can you just listen to me? Please, if not for your sake, then for mine. I’m not your enemy’’ 

I can’t argue with this, not when she looks so upset and my conscience is screaming at me after that outburst. I weigh my options in my head, I can go to the kitchen with Peter and god knows who else, and face all of their questions about why I went into the fight without a suit, and why I haven’t showered yet. Alternatively, I could try to barricade myself in my room, and ignore Nat, but I have a nasty feeling that this won’t take me very far. 

‘’Fine,’’ I say, deciding this will be the least painful option in the long run. ‘’Fine, Nat, whatever, but I’m tired, so please keep this short. And don’t lecture me any more about the suit, Hill already did that plenty.’’

‘’Just put that thing away,’’ she says, waving vaguely at my strap. 

‘’And here I was thinking you wanted a round too.’’

[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!

[arget-star]

By Any Other Name

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

A/N: Alright SO. I know I am primarily a Fire Emblem blog. however, Wind Breaker took over my life in the span of like a week and I could not get this thought out of my head and well. here we are. Not beta read, this is my first xreader fic i've ever posted. i hope you enjoy!

tags: fluff, a tiny bit of blood, feelings

wc: 2k

about: You met Sakura about six months ago, and have essentially wormed your way into his little walled off heart. He comes home to your now (mostly) shared little apartment, battered and bloody after saving a girl who looked like you

You’re not living together.

That’s what Sakura says, despite the fact you stay over four nights out of the week, and somewhere in the six months you’ve been dating, half your stuff has ended up in his ramshackle little apartment. “You deserve better than a leaky faucet”, he’d said, cheeks red and nose scrunched in a scowl. You’d merely laughed, kissing his forehead before replying, “It adds to the charm.” And that was that.

You’re not living together. So why does he hope you’ll be there, curled up on that cheap little couch you’d insisted on bringing over, that lovely smile on your face as you greet him?

Those assholes must’ve hit his head harder than he realized. Sakura grits his teeth, an arm banded around his throbbing torso as he wobbles along the sidewalk. Weaklings, all of them. Acting tough solely because they have nothing better to do with their time. Seriously, it’s just plain pathetic.

He spits out a glob of blood into the nearby bushes. He doesn’t remember biting his cheek; maybe he’d ground his teeth against it after taking a particularly nasty kick while dodging someone else’s punch. Wasn’t he past his body locking up, his muscles moving with all the speed of a turtle?

The girl had been clutching the long strap of her purse with all her meager might while surrounded by leering thugs. The type of guys who coast by on looks rather than action. Intimidation instead of respect. At least now he’s able to articulate—better yet, understand—what pisses him off so badly about guys like that. Sakura would’ve leapt in regardless, but then he caught sight of her underneath the lamplight, and her shade of hair matched yours. The purse even had a keychain dangling from it, the charms jingling in faint alarm.

She wasn’t you, obviously. You were already home, had probably cooked something simple yet delicious and were keeping it warm until he arrived.

So he froze, mismatched eyes wide as a new type of fear unfurled within his chest, and then all hell broke loose. He knew how to protect someone in a fight, finally, and while the poor girl flattened herself against the side of a nearby building as he sent the idiots flying, his attention still kept flicking to her. He kept thinking what he’d do if it was you, and on one such slip of his concentration, that bastard’s boot came out of nowhere.

He’ll have to report this to Umemiya in the morning, and tell you all about it tonight, and—

Sakura looks up. He’s nearly there; the derelict building doesn’t seem so foreboding, especially once he catches sight of the warm yellow light on in his apartment. Maybe, just maybe, things won’t be so bad after all.

The doorknob wiggles. You carefully place your bookmark inside your book,  sitting up properly in your seat. Sakura’s home a bit later than usual—he probably got stuck eating at Café Pothos with everyone else. Good. You’re grateful he has so many friends, even if he acts like a cat who fell into a puddle of water about it.

“Welco—Sakura!” Your book tumbles from your hands in your haste to stand up. He stands in the doorway while you catalogue his injuries as if in slow motion. Blood drips down the left side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow. His nose is bleeding, too, running down his chin and staining his white shirt red. His knuckles are raw. It’s subtle; yet he sways, quickly placing his right hand against the wall to brace himself. The motion is enough to jolt you from your surprise.

You’re at his side in a blink. His reaction is sluggish; lips parting in belated surprise when you loop his right arm around your shoulders. Normally, he reads your movements almost before you make them, bracing himself for whatever contact you’re about to subject him to so he’s never caught off guard. But slowly, like water eroding rock, he’d learned that he can let his guard down around you, even at his most vulnerable.

Especially then.

“‘M fine,” he mutters out of reflex. You only scoff, walking him over to the couch with a small huff of effort. “Just a small fight.”

Carefully, you help ease him down onto the cushions, releasing your hold only once he’s settled. “A small fight?” You echo, disbelief in your tone. There’s no reprimand or ridicule, just a healthy doubt. He doesn’t know exactly when he stopped looking for the irritation he’s so used to hearing. Leaning his head back, he sighs. “Some guys were causin’ trouble. A new gang, I think. Trying to rob a girl—” he cuts off abruptly, and you watch his cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red, nearly blending in with the dried blood caking his skin. Sakura immediately looks away; he misses the knowing glint entering your expression.

Spinning on your heel, you head for the kitchen. The faucet doesn’t leak as badly now, after you’d finagled a temporary fix with determination and a healthy amount of internet research. He deserves more than a crappy sink, even if he won’t admit it. “You were by yourself?” You ask, opening the drawer and removing a towel. (Yet another item that had miraculously wound up in his space one day. When Sakura confronted you, you’d shrugged, then asked what he wanted for dinner.)

Sakura watches you for a moment, ignoring how something deep within his chest settles as you run the towel under cool water. It’s a familiar scene, enough that he no longer feels the urge to yell and raise his fists in defense. “Yeah. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle on my own.”

Strange. Suo-chan and Nirei-chan always shadow Sakura. Unless Sakura is going home—they haven’t invaded his space since the day they’d discovered him sick on the floor. Now, especially, Sakura would rip their heads off if they came snooping around while you were home. The faucet shuts off. You wring out the towel once, twice, then pad back over to the couch.

“I never doubted that, Grade Captain,” you tease, arranging yourself so you’re sitting on your knees. Drops of water drip down your wrist and onto the cushions below. His blush deepens, and you don’t bother hiding your smile. “Now hold still.”

“Shaddup,” he mumbles without heat. Instinct makes him shift back an inch; he’s always taken care of himself, alone. Sick, bruised, bloodied—he proved time and again he didn’t need anyone else. Then you breezed into his life, upending his entire world with your musical laughter and patient touch.

This is far from the first time you’ve patched him up. He no longer hisses and rages and scowls, a teenage version of a toddler’s temper tantrum, yet neither can he completely disregard a lifetime of gut reactions to others extending a hand in his direction.

You never minded when his hackles rose. You understood him, remaining endlessly understanding while he let his fear run its course. The damp rag hovers in the space between you and him. Sakura zeros in on the blue material instead of your face.

“Ready?”

That’s another thing. You ask him about things. Wait for his brain to catch up with non-dangerous situations. It’s weird, and scary, and wonderful.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“You always are.”

The smile you give him is radiant. Your free hand cups his less bloody cheek, keeping him steady, while you tenderly press the rag to his chin. He hisses out a breath through clenched teeth.

It’s quiet, as you slowly clean him up, beyond the soft scrap of material against skin. There’s a rhythm to your movements. Sakura finds it soothing, despite the circumstances. You both study each other; Sakura, like you’re a puzzle he’s still trying to solve, and you, like he’s something precious.

His golden eye truly is beautiful. He told you others have compared it to twilight, but you think it’s more akin to burnished gold. Rare, and infinitely treasured. He closes it, keeping it safe from harm as you run the now pink-tinged cloth over his browbone. A shame, you think, he keeps himself so locked away.

The slight pressure leaves his face. You move back, giving him room to breathe, holding the rag loosely in your hand. His eye opens again, a coin glinting in a riverbank.

“There,” you say, unfolding yourself from the couch, brushing your thumb across his cheek before you release him completely. “I’ll be back with the first aid supplies.”

Sakura just nods. He never says the words thank you; but you hear it in the way he lets you take care of him, how he takes your hands so reverently in his once your all finished, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll snap in half if he squeezes too hard.

You’re opening the cabinet underneath the sink when he speaks again. “She looked like you.”

He says it so quietly, you nearly miss it. You freeze, half-bent down to reach for the ridiculous amounts of bandages and antiseptic bottles stashed neatly in their respective baskets. (Another thing you’d changed one day, much to Sakura’s initial chagrin, until he’d stumbled home covered in half a dozen cuts on the rare day you weren’t waiting for him, and found everything he needed without cursing his lack of organization.)

Mechanically, you grab the necessary materials. You’d assumed as much, based on his reaction when you told you the cause of his current state. A shudder runs down your spine as you imagine what the other guys must look like, lying defeated in the street. Sakura doesn’t fight just on behalf of someone else—at least, that what helps him sleep at night, though you know his tune has changed after all his experiences with Bofurin. For him to fight on your behalf, however tangentially related, makes your heart flutter.

Kotoha will practically jump for joy when you tell her.

For now, you let this newfound knowledge settle into your skin, your fluttering heart, smiling to yourself as you exit the bathroom, arms loaded with supplies. “Did she, now?”

Sakura’s sitting upright, head down, once again avoiding your gaze. His fingernails dig into the fabric of his school pants. Beneath the curtain of two-toned hair, you can see the blush sitting high on his cheeks. It’s a miracle they’re not permanently stained pink.

“Y-yeah. I knew she wasn’t you, but for a moment…I need to teach you how to defend yourself. I can’t patrol everywhere, and I’m not the strongest yet. Anyone from Furin will keep you safe, but if we’re not around—”

This is new. You swallow, setting the first aid supplies down on the tatami, sitting down with your legs crisscrossed. (One day, you’ll convince him to buy a table, but there’s only so much furniture you can squeeze in such a tiny place.)

“Sakura,” you say, but he doesn’t hear you.

“—I need to know you can take care of yourself until I get there—”

“Sakura.”

“—and send them all flyin’—”

“Haruka.”

That shocks him into silence. He inhales, then looks up sharply, lips curling into the angry snarl you know so well. It’s his only defense mechanism, beyond his fists, and he’d never raise those at you. (That thing lodged within his chest stirs again. No one’s called him by his given name in years. It feels right, that here, in this space you two have created together, you should use it.)

He’s quite the sight, half patched-up and spluttering mad. One eye darkens like a storm at sea; the other kindles into molten gold, ready to burn any who get in his way.

You’re surprised, too. But you didn’t know what else to do. He’s never spiraled like this before, and it hits you that for perhaps the first time, he was genuinely scared for someone else. You shake your head, breaking eye contact, and reach for the gauze. “I’m sorry, Sakura. I should have asked before using your first name.”

Your fingers shake only a little when you grab the nearest antiseptic, flipping open the cap with your thumb. He watches it all, struck dumb. He doesn’t want an apology. He wants you to say it again, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

All of the fight leaks out of him. His shoulders slump forward. Haruka. Haruka. You hadn’t said it in disgust, or fear, or hatred. If he had to guess, you sounded concerned. Haruka. “I liked hearin’ you say it,” he replies.

A laugh bubbles out of you, born from nervous relief. You nearly spill antiseptic all over you instead of the gauze. “Really? May I call you Haruka, then? Not all the time…just here.” Rising to your knees, you crawl over to him, taking one battered hand in your soft one.

His throat tightens. An odd pressure builds behind his eyes. “Fine.”

“This’ll sting,” you murmur in warning, almost like an afterthought. “You can use mine, too. If you want.”

Sakura’s about to respond, tell you he’ll do it if it’ll make you happy (and make his own heart beat a little faster), but then the gauze descends onto his split knuckles. It’s not like eating a kick to the face; it barely registers in comparison.

Maybe it’s the emotions he’s kept bottled up since the fight. Maybe it’s the fact you called him Haruka and the world didn’t explode. Both things, he assumes, and that’s why your healing touch hurts worse than a dozen roundhouse kicks.

It fades, after that first bright burst.

Neither of you say anything again while you continue your ministrations. Once his knuckles are taken care of, you move on to his face, tenderly smoothing his bi-colored bangs off his forehead to ensure no strands get caught underneath the small bandage you apply to the cut above his eyebrow.

The entire time, he replays this strange evening over and over again in his head. It all leads back to you, caring for him, using his first name like it’s nothing when it in fact means everything. He hates himself, a little bit, for not being better at this.

For your part, your focus on him turns clinical. You can deal with the emotional part of it later. When you’ve finished with the last bandage, you stare at him a moment. Take in this boy who pushed away the entire world when it wrote him off, the very same boy who harbors no malice in his heart, just kindness hidden by anger.

You press a soft kiss to his lips, then slide away before he can reciprocate. He splutters again, blush back in place, and it’s such a Sak—Haruka thing to do, you bite back a laugh.

“Are you ready to eat, Haruka? You get hungry after a good fight.”

He offers you a rare smile in return.

[vgilantee]

simon "ghost" riley x reader

MINORS FUCK OFF. 18+ CONTENT.

warnings: afab reader, fem petnames, unprotected sex, piv sex, light choking, Simon calls the reader "little" because he is fuckin huge, simon is running his mouth, possible implied ghostsoap, reader isn't prepped enough

words: 1.0k

a/n: this is... i have no idea what the formatting is. it is what it is. most of this came from the shit i sent @glossysoap in her dm's today. also there are a couple of words that i purposefully had to not do australian so y'all would understand wtf i was saying lmao

not edited, thoughts left my brain and were typed. not my best work by far...

Sometimes when Simon was home, it was fun to poke the bear (though he thoroughly disagreed). It wasn't to be a brat, or to piss him off, just satiating some boredom and trying to get him to pull that cute little expression where his brows are pinched but he's trying not to smile.

You'd spent most of your Saturday pestering him: throwing balled up paper, poking him in the side, licking his arms when he was stood too close, just small annoying things. The final straw was when you pretended to be on the phone with a friend.

"Yeah no I'm not busy, just at my friend's place." That caught his attention. He stalks over to the sofa with a low growl, grabbing your phone off you and tossing it on to the other seat. Before you had time to react more than sitting up, suppressing a giggle, Simon had grabbed your ankles, dragging you to the edge of the sofa before he had you thrown over your shoulder, carting you off to the bedroom while groping at your ass and thighs.

He drops you onto the bed, quickly pinning you to the comforter.

"A friend couldn't fuck you like I do." The words were growled against your jaw, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

Simon's hands quickly push under you shirt, making you shiver as his large hand glides across your stomach and breast.

"Gonna fuck that silly thought out ya head, love." Simon nipped at the skin of your throat before leaning back, staring darkly down at you. "Can't 'ave people thinkin' you're single, might try steal you away from me."

Pulling your shirt quickly over your head, Simon flipped you onto your stomach, unhooking your bra before running his blunt fingers down your spine.

"Simon." You whined out his name, shivering and pushing your ass back against his hips.

"Beggin' for your friend's cock, love? Desperate little thing." He tsk's at you, pulling your pants and underwear down over the swell of your ass in a quick motion. You helped him remove them completely, kicking them off and tossing them off the side of the bed with a kick, your bra following suit.

Behind you, Simon had pulled off his shirt and pants, rubbing his bulge through his boxers at the sight of you so hastily stripping. You dropped back down, presenting your ass to him while Simon nudges your thighs apart, settling himself between them.

He places a hand between your shoulder blades and pushes you down, forcing your chest to drop down to the mattress. You give a short exhale at the pressure, but the sound quickly turns to a breathed moan as Simon pushes two fingers into your cunt.

There is a pinch and a burn, but it quickly gives way as his fingers find that spongy spot just inside your hole and teases it. The precision and speed Simon works his fingers inside of you has you quickly whining and moaning, pleading with him to fuck you properly.

"Moaning like a whore for your friend? Begging your friend to full you up?" You blubber an apology at his words, the emphasis on the word friend, but Simon ignores you, instead working as quickly as possible to get you to come on his fingers.

You feel the coil tighten, the pressure building before you whine into the comforter, hips pushing back against his hand to try and take his fingers deeper.

Slowing his fingers, Simon helps you ride out your orgasm, leaning down to nip at the top of your ass with a smirk.

While you catch your breath, you hear a wet sound behind you, and shift to look over your shoulder, watching Simon as he sucks his fingers.

When he finally sinks his cock into you, Simon keeps talking, running his mouth while his keeps harshly meet yours.

"Clenching around a friend's cock, huh?" You whine, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts while Simon grabs at your ass cheeks to pull you back.

One arm snakes around your hips, hand resting on your mons and fingers rubbing at your clit, his other reaches up to your chest, grabbing at your jaw to have your back meet his chest, letting him mutter his filth directly into your burning ear.

"Maybe 've taken too long to put a ring on your finger, is that it? Haven't asked to make you m' wife so you're actin' up? Can fix tha', but first gotta remind you who you belong to." Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, panting as Simon's cock ruts against your cervix. The idea of marrying you seems to make it even harder for him to stop talking. “Gonna make an honest man outta me? be my pretty wife?" Simon grunts as your nails dig in to his forearm resting between your breasts. "Hell, can’t wait to fuck you as your husband. Mrs Riley, eh? Could cum just thinkin’ about you in a pretty white dress.”

You choke out a moan, clenching hard around Simon's cock at the thought of being his wife, but he nips at the side of your throat before tsk-ing.

“But ‘m just a friend, hm?” and you sob because not only does he emphasise friend with a cruel bite to your jaw, but his fingers move away from your clit. You whine, tears welling in your eyes as his pace slows too.

“‘f you let your friends fuck you like this I might have to keep you home.” as he groans into your ear and you shudder on his cock. “maybe should invite johnny ‘round, he’s a friend yeah? know he wants to feel your tight cunt, and if you let your friends bruise your cervix, he’s volunteering." Your head falls back against his shoulder as Simon picks up the pace again, a gasped moan pulled from your chest.

"Oh? I felt that, love. Wan' Johnny to fuck you?" Simon chuckles, the sound almost cruel. "Bet you'd make all sorts of pretty sounds split open on his cock." Simon lets go of your throat, letting you fall forward again, hips pushing back against his as his fingers return to your clit and his now free hand to grip your hip. "Talk 'bout tha' later. Gotta fuck y' good 'nd proper first. Be a good boyfriend, yeah."

bonus (because i'm price's whore): “hmm maybe let captain ‘ave a go. stretch you out all pretty on his cock. ‘s what friends do innit, love? yeah like the sound of that? sure john’ll take good care of your cunt”

terrible formatting but we move!

(moot tagging @patchmates-ad @xxshadowbabexx <3)

[fangirlofallthefanthings]

[Things are finally starting to get interesting! And Odysseus gets a divine visitor 👀]

That night, Odysseus was fast asleep—or as asleep as he could be with his arm wrapped in a sling and throbbing with dull pain. He was in uncomfortable unconsciousness, his sleep neither deep nor filled with dreams—just pitch darkness.

Then, a soft buzzing blossomed in the back of his skull. The darkness behind his eyes gave way to bright gray. He looked down and realized he was standing in a grassy field. Turning around, he found a tall lady sitting in a chair. A hood obscured most of her face, but Odysseus could tell she was beautiful underneath.

A vast blanket of fabric spilled over her lap, and she passed a needle with thread through it. Her embroidery gave birth to colorful images that Odysseus was certain could amaze even the most incredible seamstresses in the castle.

Odysseus had this dream before, but he couldn’t move in the past. This time, he was determined to know what it meant, and he could feel his limbs and feet solid beneath him. He slowly walked up to her, taking in her skill.

Odysseus watched as she stitched swirls of vines, blades of grass, and forests of trees. The tapestry taking form in front of him was grand and embellished with golden twine. Rich colors deeper than any he had seen danced across the cloth.

“Hello, little one.”

Odysseus nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He didn’t think she noticed him, but her sly smile peeking from underneath her hood told him she had been aware of him for a while now. Odysseus felt his face heat up with blush, and embarrassment gripped his chest.

“You were a challenging mind to contact. I was concerned this would take much longer to get through,” she said as she finished outlining a leaf with gold.

“You were… Looking for me?” Odysseus asked hesitantly.

“Unless I am visiting a different boy that defeated a boar of my creation,” she replied with a shrug, “and you received that scar on your leg from elsewhere.”

Odysseus took a few steps back. “How did you know about that?”

The hooded lady just smiled. “I know many things,” she said, “Especially concerning challenges I have issued.”

“So you sent that boar?” Odysseus’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Who are you?”

“I am a being of many names. Many titles.”

“You speak in many riddles, my lady.”

The woman chuckled. Her laugh was refined and proper. Her hand politely covered her mouth, but Odysseus could see that her smile had a hint of danger to it. “And you are a very clever boy.”

“So I’ve been told,” Odysseus shrugged.

“I can teach you how to use that cleverness to your full potential.”

“Full potential?”

“Yes,” the lady said, “I would like to be your mentor.”

“But who are you?” Odysseus asked sternly, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The tapestry on the lady’s lap disappeared in a flash of gold. Odysseus gasped and took a few steps back as the lady stood up from her seat and grew to twice her original height.

She removed her hood, revealing wavy crimson hair decorated with precious pearls that shined like stars, and a silver circlet resting just above her brow. Her eyes opened and stared at him. They were completely gray and reflective, like the finest polished silver. Her cloak wrapped tighter around her, transforming into magnificent armor. The needle she wielded grew into a brilliant spear, its shaft decorated with gold.

A knowing smile spread across Odysseus’s face from ear to ear. Now, he knew it to be true. The appearance in a dream. The disguise. The gold in the tapestry and the skill of her embroidery. The cryptic words. And now this transformation.

It all pointed right to his suspicions.

“I knew it!” Odysseus shouted with glee.

The lady tilted her head, bird-like and confused.

“You’re one of the old gods!” Odysseus laughed as he jumped around the lady, “I knew you were!”

The goddess watched as the little prince jumped and danced around her. Odysseus could have sworn he saw the faintest smile on her lips, but he paid no mind. He had tricked one of the old gods into a false sense of security and made her drop her disguise.

“Very good… Now, who am I?”

Odysseus stopped celebrating in an instant, frozen in place. “What?”

“If you knew I am one of the old gods, who am I?” The goddess asked, “What is my name?”

Odysseus tilted his head and put his hand to his chin. “Well… You’re very tall.”

“Yes,” she laughed, “And?”

“You have armor and a spear! So you must have something to do with war. But… you were making a tapestry before. So that can’t be it.” Odysseus looked up at the goddess again. “Can it?”

The goddess shrugged. “The world is not so simple. Neither are the gods.”

Odysseus hums in thought. The goddess looked familiar to him, but something was missing about her.

“This is a trick question.”

The goddess smiled, dangerous yet curious. “And what led you to that conclusion?”

“You’re not giving me all of the information. With all due respect, there is a reason we call you the old gods, my lady. Very few people still give you worship,” Odysseus replied with a triumphant smile, “You’re not in the full regalia that is present in your statues. You look familiar, but you’re not specific enough for me to know who exactly you are.”

“Right again,” the goddess said as the circlet around her head began to glow.

The light melted and molded itself around the goddess’s head in dripping splashes like water sparkling in the sun. A drop landed on her chest plate and grew in tendrils in the center of the metal piece. Large shapes sprouted from her back in a shower of sparks, painting the dreamy sky above with thousands of stars for a blinking moment. Then the glowing stopped, revealing a helmet, a monstrous emblem of a lady with snakes for hair on her armor and magnificent, silent wings.

Odysseus stared in awe at the figure before him. She was like a more detailed version of the vine-and-moss-covered statues that sat high in the mountains, the stone smoothed and cracked with time. But the goddess was real. Intimidating. Her polished, silver eyes seemed to know his every thought. A strange power radiated from her—pure knowledge.

“Athena,” Odysseus said, “goddess of wisdom, strategy, and craft. That’s who you are.”

“Well done,” Athena said, “Though you are still very young, your logic is impressive. Enlighten me, what is your name?”

“Two can play this game, goddess. You know that as well as I do,” Odysseus said as he folded his arms with a smile, “You tell me. Who am I?”

Athena smiled. “Good answer. However, I already know who you are, Prince Odysseus.”

Odysseus’s smile slowly left his face, and he looked down at his feet. This was the goddess of wisdom, and she was looking for him. Of course, she would know who he was.

“Do not take my knowledge too harshly,” Athena said, “You passed my test and learned your first lesson: never reveal your true self unless necessary, and let your opponent think they made the first move.”

“So… You’re serious about training me?” Odysseus asked hopefully.

“Of course. As I told you before, I see great potential in you. Will you accept my offer?”

“Yes!” Odysseus exclaimed, but he quickly schooled himself to a more calm demeanor and cleared his throat.

“I mean, yes. I accept your offer, my lady,” he said with a slight bow.

“Good. Training starts the moment you are well. I will do all I can to make your recovery swift.”

“Thank you, my lady!” Odysseus said with a beaming smile, “This is amazing! A Goddess and human, the best of friends!”

Odysseus held up his forearm for Athena to bump, something he often did with Polites and Eurylochus. However, the gray-eyed goddess stared at him. Whether she was looking at his arm in hesitation or amusement, he did not know. Her polished eyes gave away no emotion.

“We shall see,” Athena mused as she turned to walk farther into the gray dreamscape, “For your next lessons, we will focus on patience.”

“Okay…” Odysseus said quietly. He put down his arm and quickly made his way to match Athena’s walking pace.

She seemed to almost glide with every step. Each movement looked calculated to be as efficient and silent as possible—the mark of a warrior in every aspect.

“This is where our meeting ends,” Athena said, “I have other matters to attend to, but I will not be far.”

“What should I do until we meet again? And how will I find you again?”

“Rest. I will make your sleep more comfortable tonight and complete our connection. Though you may not see me, I will be watching.”

“A connection?”

“You will know it when you wake,” Athena said vaguely, “I expect great things from you. With my guidance, you will achieve those great things. Until we meet again, little one.”

With that, the world around them melted like quicksilver, and Odysseus fell into deep sleep.

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Part 1

[rolandtowen]

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

[saglaophonos]

i know this is crazy but my cousin works at amazon and he sent me this exclusive script excerpt from season 3? from an alternative universe where aziraphale and crowley manage to get together and work together before the end of the series and annoy everyone about it? weird idk. it's probably fake

[characcoon]

"Living a Red Life" Chapter 14 - "Happiness"

HAPPY PRIDE IT'S FINALLY TIME FOR SOME GAY SHIT!