#cherrywrites

Pilot .ᐟ LUKE SKYWALKER had become a name people said with something close to reverence.

You remember the first day he arrived at the Rebellion as clearly as if it were happening now. He had that fresh-faced, wide-eyed look—something achingly sincere that could only be described as hope. He wasn’t the tallest among the pilots crowding the Yavin IV hangar, but he didn’t need to be. The sun-kissed warmth of his skin and that unmistakable shock of golden hair made him stand out instantly, especially against the blaze of his orange flight suit.

The hangar had been its usual chaos; mechanics shouting over engines, droids weaving between boots, the scent of fuel thick in the air. But through all of it, your attention kept drifting back to him. 

The rookie, and you were right to watch.

He was the one who made the impossible shot; the one in a million. The one that reduced the Death Star to stardust. After that, everything changed.

You watched him climb the platform during the ceremony, bright lights glinting off polished medals, dressed in that sharp yellow jacket that seemed made for him. Every pair of eyes followed his ascent. His smile was wide, almost bashful, only made the cheers louder. By the time the celebration began, Luke Skywalker was no longer just a pilot.

He was a symbol of hope, defiance—of the future.

To the galaxy.

To the Rebellion.

To you.

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Hoth, however, is not Yavin IV. Hope doesn’t feel as warm here.

The planet is merciless; white, blinding, and so cold it feels personal. The air bites at exposed skin, creeps into your bones and settles there stubbornly. But freezing on Hoth is still preferable to kneeling before the Empire, so you learn to adapt. You layer up after layer to fend off the cold and you endure.

Luke endures too but fame follows him even here. His reputation has only grown since Yavin IV. Pilots, commanders, recruits orbit him constantly and Luke, with that easy grin and earnest charm, never seems to push them away. If anything, he draws them in. Now that you’ve been assigned as the primary mechanic for his X-wing, you see more of him than most or at least—you’re supposed to. In reality, you often get the short end of the stick.

You try not to blame him. You really do.

But it’s hard not to feel a slight flicker of resentment when he’s the last to land before nightfall and you’re left waiting in the frigid hangar, fingers stiff inside your gloves. It's hard not to feel slighted when he promises to walk you through the adjustments he noticed during pre-flight checks only to be swept away by a crowd before he can finish a sentence. 

All he ever manages is that apologetic smile. “I’ll make it up to you!” He always says it like he means it and it wouldn’t be the first time this has happened to you. 

Which is how you find yourself here now—alone in the hangar long after most have turned in for the night. His X-wing sits before you, frost clinging to its hull. You huddle deeper into your jacket as you work, breath fogging in pale clouds with every exhale. The cold gnaws at your fingers, makes your joints ache as you tighten bolts and recalibrate wiring.

If you’re lucky, you might make it to dinner before the kitchens close. But that depends on what you’re dealing with and with Luke’s ship, that can mean anything.

You sigh and keep working.

You’re so focused on the delicate circuitry behind the maintenance panel that you don’t notice the shift in the air. Don’t notice the sound of approaching boots muffled against the hangar floor. You continue your scrutiny inside of the panel and you know that you need a specific tool for this kind of problem and you know for certain that you have it in your tool kit. 

And when you turn, you nearly collide with him.

“Fuck!” The curse bursts out of you before you can stop it, heart slamming violently against your ribs.

Luke startles at your reaction, hands lifting instinctively in surrender. A sheepish, apologetic smile spreads across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I should’ve said something.”

The shock drains from you slowly, leaving behind irritation that feels far warmer than the cold ever could. You wave him off with a sharp huff and turn away, already moving toward your tool kit. You don’t trust yourself to speak, after all, he’s the reason you’re still here. You allow yourself that small pettiness. You’ve earned it.

“C’mon,” he says softly, your name following in that familiar voice. He trails after you like a shadow, close enough that you can feel the heat of him despite the freezing air. He doesn’t need you to say anything to understand. He can feel the tension rolling off you in waves and if the determined look settling over his features is anything to go by—Luke Skywalker has every intention of making good on his promise this time.

“I’m sorry I brought the ship back so late.” Luke’s apology is earnest—too earnest. It would be easier if he sounded careless, if there was something to justify your irritation. But he sounds soft and sincere and that only makes it harder to stay angry. So you don’t look at him. You keep your eyes on the open maintenance panel, fingers stiff inside your gloves as you adjust wiring with careful precision. If you meet his gaze, you’ll fold. You know you will.

“Give me a chance to make things right,” he tries again, hope threading through his voice. He keeps a respectful distance, hovering just far enough away not to crowd you but close enough that you can feel his presence like a persistent warmth at your back. “I’ll make it up to you. I said that, didn’t I?” The reminder only grates on you more.

The cold has been merciless. Your lips feel numb, possibly blue now, and you’re certain dinner has ended almost --if not completely finished at this time . You should be asleep by now, tucked beneath layers of blankets. Instead, you’re in this frozen hangar, fingers aching, because the galaxy’s favorite pilot can’t seem to land on time and now he’s following you around like a guilty tooka.

“You can have my share of dinner for a week,” Luke offers quickly, scrambling for leverage. “All of it.” he adds, hoping that can sweeten the deal but; 

Nothing. Not even a glance his way so he tries again. 

“My blanket,” he adds, more desperate now. “It’s yours. If you want it.”

But you continue working, the sound of tools against durasteel fills the silence, and Luke visibly searches for something, anything, that might crack your resolve just to get back on your good graces.

“Please,” he says finally, your name falling from his lips in a tone that forces you to inhale deeper than you mean to.

He steps closer. “What do you—”

“Luke, just—”

You turn sharply to cut him off, but your gloved grip slips. The tool in your hand clatters loudly to the floor, the metallic echo ringing through the hangar far longer than it should.

“Fuck me—!,” you snap in frustration.

The words hang in the frozen air and both of you go still.

The tool finishes its noisy descent, settling against the durasteel with a final clang. When you look up, Luke is staring at you and something in the atmosphere has shifted. The irritation from moments ago has dissolved into something heavier, something thicker. 

“Well,” Luke says slowly, a teasing grin tugging at his mouth, “if that’s what you want.” The amusement in his eyes is unmistakable. He’s seizing the opportunity, trying to lighten the mood now that you’re finally looking at him.

Your brows lift as realization dawns and frustration floods back in all at once; the cold, the missed dinner, the stubborn ship, the gloves, the tool—and this insufferably handsome pilot.

Something in you snaps.

“Yeah,” you answer simply.

His grin falters at that. You watch the amusement drain from his expression, replaced by something uncertain but definitely not unwelcome if he’ll be truly honest with himself. Heat creeps up his neck, blooming pink against pale skin. He hadn’t expected you to agree and he definitely hadn’t expected you to mean it.

“You wanted to make it up to me, right?” you ask, stepping closer now. Your voice is steady, now that you’re so fed up with just about everything, you feel bold and that was enough to make you throw all rational thought out the nearest viewport now that you're the one daring him.

Your hand catches the front of his jacket and tugs. Luke moves instinctively, one palm bracing against the hull of his X-wing above your head to keep from stumbling into you. The shift traps you between him and the cool metal of the ship but you’re the one who pulled him in and you both know it.

“C’mon, Skywalker,” you murmur, mimicking his earlier pleading tone but yours is layered with something far more dangerous, provocative, and interesting. You tilt your head up at him, your eyes tracing the line of his jaw and you watch closely as your gaze follows the path to the tips of his ears flushing red under your scrutiny. You like knowing you can do that to him.

“I wanna fuck,” you say plainly, voice low and unwavering. The bluntness steals the air from his lungs. It makes his throat bob and his breathing changes to a more conscious effort now that you’ve managed to steal all of the air in his lungs with just a couple words. 

For a split second, he looks stunned then something settles over him; something steadier. His hand remains planted above your head, but his posture shifts like he was grounding himself and now all of his focus is on you. 

“Okay,” Luke answers, nodding once and he wasn’t hesitant at all even as he tried to shake off that flustered feeling creeping onto him.  There’s determination in his eyes now along with desire. His gaze darkens as it drags slowly over your face, your mouth, lower.

“Okay,” he repeats, quieter now.

The cold still bites at your skin but suddenly, it’s the last thing either of you feel.

Please don't hit me I'll update my Invinble fic maybe hopefully soon 🥹

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Cosmic Genesis

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Loneliness, a feeling you never really experienced with him by your side. He was always there, your other half, your twin brother. You had no one else, and that was okay.

It was okay, traveling across the skies, just the two of you. You would pick the next, eye-catching world to explore, and he would make sure it was safe. You weren't gods, although that's what many treated you as, actually you don't even really know what the two of you are.

All you know, is that you needed him to survive just as much as he needed you. You could only conjure your true strength together, and you could only depart from worlds together.

Which, is what brings you to your current problem.

👇🏽

Thorin sat back down. Dwalin, noticing this, grunted in his direction, as if to ask what he was doing. Thorin shrugged, and nodded his head in the direction where his sister-sons and the burglar were. Dwalin hummed in acknowledgement, and went back to sharpening his axe.

He then saw Fili lie on the floor, and Bilbo put his hands on his legs. He got up again, irritated. How dare this stranger put a hand on his kin! He stalked over to give a piece of his mind—

And stopped dead in his tracks, towering over the halfling. Fili looked so…peaceful. Thorin was sharply reminded of Fili as a pebble, tuckered out from a day of causing mischief and lying on his bed, his face free of any worry. His face almost looked like that again. Almost.

He noticed Kili smiling at his brother, and he felt his heart break even more. His sister-son, however, was more observant than the halfling and looked up at him, eyes wide. Thorin looked at Kili, and his glare eased. He walked away, content to let the halfling take care of his sister-sons.

He wished he didn’t have to be so harsh on them. He wished that they could never face a day of difficulty in their lives; that he could take the role of an uncle that spoiled his nephews, played with them all day, and never had to chide them too much (how easily Frerin would have fit that role, he thought briefly). Yet, he couldn’t put the burden of mother and father on Dis, he’d be doing her a disservice. Not to mention they were his heirs, and he had to equip them well to take his place one day, whether that be in Ered Luin or Erebor.

That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t blind to the toll it took on them, especially Fili. They were still early on in their journey, and he could see the beginnings of change in them. It wasn’t easy to see, but it was there.

Despite all this, Thorin had to set an example. He couldn’t dare let his sister-sons be vulnerable in this world that would cut you down the moment one showed weakness. He needed them to be as tough as stone, just as he was. Just as all dwarrow were.

my first fic!!! hope ya like it

cardi x self insert one shot 18+

it's cold and my insert just wants her cardinal to keep her warm

Just imagine Steve rocking up to the Hawkins Community Pool on those first days of summer break, and he just so happens to see Billy looking like this, all bleary eyed and stumbly and squinting in the sunlight.

And- because he's neither blind nor an idiot- Steve notices that something is wrong with him. Very wrong. So he stands there, right by Billy's chair, with his hands on his hips and an incredulous look on his face and he tuts and shakes his head and he says, "Rough night, huh, Hargrove? Cause you look like shit. What's up, you hungover or something?"

And when Billy looks at him, eyes not even fully open, and lets out a confused, pained little mumble about how he doesn't know what's happening, Steve gets even more exasperated and snaps, "Jesus Christ, you're a mess. What the hell were you thinking, man? You can't do your fucking job like this. You're a lifeguard, there are kids here! Dumb little kids who need real, actual, proper supervision, not some guy who's gonna be falling asleep or running off to puke every five minutes."

And he's still mid-rant when Billy whimpers in pain, sounding so utterly pathetic that Steve can't help but feel a little sorry for him. And even though he's still pissed off, Steve softens his voice and says, "C'mon, dude, come on down and get Heather or Alex or whoever to cover you. I'll drive you home."

And Steve doesn't even give Billy time to protest- not that he's even trying to, which really should be red flag number one- before he's summoning up his full Country Club Brat attitude and snapping his fingers until another lifeguard does appear to take Billy's place, and then it's just a matter of bundling Billy into the passenger seat of the BMW, encouraging him to take small sips from a can of ice cold Coke and hoping he doesn't puke until Steve's managed to shove him out to sleep it off on the driveway of Cherry Lane.

Or at least, that's all it should be.

And Steve's dealt with enough hungover guys that he's not really surprised when Billy pitches forward, grabbing at his head with a sudden gasp of pain, twisting his hair between his hands like he's trying to tug it out. Hell, if anything, Steve's a lot less worried about Billy than he is about the upcoming fate of his freshly-valeted interior. So he glances over, about to ask if Billy wants him to pull over. And that's when he sees it.

The blackness crawling its way up Billy's arm. The veins, dark and pulsing, spreading across his skin. The way Billy's holding himself so tightly that he's vibrating with it, lips curling into a snarl and his nails drawing blood where his hands are clamped down on his thighs.

It's not good. Definitely not good.

And then Billy turns to look at him, the blue of his eyes almost lost to that same, spreading blackness. And his voice is just a whisper. Rasping. Choked and utterly, utterly desperate.

"Get out. Oh god, please, Harrington, run. Please. Just run."

Rating: E   Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke It was now almost eight in the evening. The Uchiha house was completely deserted, just as Sakura had planned. Sarada was away at her best friend Chocho and Sasuke— he had spent the last two weeks on a mission and, according to his last message, would be returning that very night. He had not specified any time, but usually the dark-haired would never pass through the gates of Konoha if not in the evening, heading to the Hokage's residence to report and only then finally returning home, ready to indulge in some well-deserved rest.

And for this evening, Sakura had decided to welcome her husband with a special surprise, one she knew he would appreciate.

Wearing her kitchen apron and nothing else, the pink-haired allowed herself one last glance at the clock. Eight; she still had time.

On the surface, the Uchiha couple might have seemed definitively chaste in their displays of affection. It rarely happened that they showed themselves in overly intimate attitudes in the eyes of others, even more so if they were strangers. Still, no one was really aware of what was going on within the walls of their home, the passion they shared, the eagerness with which they sought and loved each other, and the funny ways they entertained each other. Not to give in to boredom, Sakura sometimes repeated to herself, aware that this was just an excuse. She knew that, even after years of marriage, their desire for each other had never waned even by an ounce.

At least one more hour and then Sakura would be found at the stove in the kitchen, intent on preparing a delicious meal for her beloved husband, knowing, however, that the main course would be something else entirely.

She smiled to herself, Sakura, extremely pleased with her idea, her body already quivering with anticipation for the night they would finally spend together after weeks apart.

She shivered as she reached the living room, assuming the breath of fresh air was due to her fully exposed body. She would warm herself with a cup of tea, waiting for Sasuke to then infuse her with the warmth she needed.

"Sakura, I'm ho—" She jolted, losing her grip on her cup and turning her head toward the entrance of the room, there where stationed motionless and incredulous was the frame of her husband, whose only visible eye had already slipped from the usual black to the deep red of the sharingan. "—me."

They both stood for a few instants contemplating the moment. Sasuke unable to look away from her exposed back, Sakura mentally cursing herself for her now ruined surprise.

It was he who moved first, advancing toward her as if his muscles were moving on their own. And he was behind her in an instant, his lips pressed against her exposed neck and his one arm snaked around her waist.

"You're early, Sasuke-kun—" She couldn't regret it, not with his body pressed against her own, his lips tickling her skin.

Sasuke nibbled the base of her neck as his gloved hand continued upward until it closed on one breast. A gasp left her lips, impossible to hold after days apart. She wished she could have shown more annoyance at that sudden change of plans.

"Isn't it me you've been waiting for?" the dark-haired teased her, exhaling each word against her ear in a successful attempt to totally shut her mind off.

"Dinner— not ready." Not that she really had any idea of consuming it, not after welcoming Sasuke like that, ready and bare for him, eager for his touch, his lips, his—

"No?" he asked, tormenting her lobe with his teeth, her nipple with his fingers, in a perfect harmony of movements which could make her legs tremble. "It seems to me that the main course is ready."

Sasuke guided her to the wall not far away, to which the pink-haired propped with her open palms. His, on the other hand, caressed her exposed ass before crashing against her cheek with enough force to cause the bruise that Sasuke so adored to glimpse on her skin and that would infuse him with enormous satisfaction the next morning.

"Look at you—" He turned her to meet his gaze, and Sakura could read in his the same burning lust which ignited her, from her lower belly down to every fiber of her body. "My perfect wife in her apron, ready for me." Sasuke whispered the last words, which broke against her lips an instant before his replaced them, finally kissing her.

As they savored each other with greedy eagerness, they explored each other's bodies with their hands, the memory of every muscle, every curve etched in their quivering fingertips.

Sakura inhaled deeply to catch her breath, abandoning her head against the wall behind her. As if truly she was the most exquisite dish which had ever touched his lips, her husband continued to taste her skin, scattering with hot, wet kisses down her neck, descending to her chest. He leaned down on his knees to tickle her belly with his tongue, granting from her what she knew was the first in a long series of moans.

His fingers found the slit between her thighs, running it and collecting her arousal there. He smiled smugly to himself, but even before Sakura could protest or whine, his fingertips were replaced by his lips and with them his tongue, sinking between her folds, licking wolfishly at her sensitive nub.

No night had passed in which the pink-haired had not thought of her husband, and in the moments when absence was at its peak, she had ventured to seek that irreplaceable pleasure for herself. Her fingers could never compare to Sasuke, to whatever part of him he decided to offer her. It was a different kind of heat, a complete and filling ecstasy. It was additive.

Sasuke sucked her clit and she could not stop herself from violently arching her back, already close to the release her body so desperately demanded. Sakura moved her hips spontaneously, chasing that immense pleasure by fucking herself against his face, and she was so close— she should have anticipated that her husband would not be so benevolent as to grant her an orgasm so easily, without first allowing him to be able to catch a glimpse of her completely out of it and exhausted, begging him to rail her.

"Do you want to cum already?" the dark-haired taunted her again, looking at her from below for a few moments, before standing up to overwhelm her again with his most imposing figure, trapping her between his body and the wall.

His gestures were quick but not quick enough, so with ruthless urgency Sakura helped him slip off the heavy black cloak, which fell back to the floor with a dull thud.

He kissed her again, invading her mouth with his tongue, soaked with her taste and his, which mingled and complemented each other to perfection, like an exquisite blend.

Sakura's hands found the waistband of his pants and began to palm the blatant bulge. Now it was her turn to enjoy his groans, to have him in her hands and do with his body what she most desired.

Sasuke groaned against her lips, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against hers, lowering his gaze to her hands, already intent on unfastening his pants. When her seemingly delicate fingers, but capable of great feats, in surgery as much as in their most intimate moments, closed around the dark-haired's throbbing cock, he closed his eyes, mimicking the gestures in which Sakura herself had performed just now, moving his hips to fuck her hand and imbue himself in every drop of pleasure he could muster.

"Do you want to cum already?" the pink-haired teased him, then emitting a mocking giggle. Sasuke grunted, trying to express a nonexistent dissent, impossible to voice as he was overwhelmed by ecstasy, by arousal. He brought his one hand to hers, guiding her strokes with it when they threatened to slow. "No, darling— you have to fuck me first."

He did not let her repeat it, barely allowing her to finish her sentence. They shed the last of the clothing which stood in their way together, which prevented them from finding themselves skin-to-skin, then Sasuke pounced on her like a feline on its prey, grabbing her leg to lift it up.

They had always been adept at teamwork, able to read each other's intentions under all circumstances. It wasn't just happening on the battlefield or on missions. They could take advantage of that intimate privilege in sex as well.

In fact, her body acted spontaneously, her muscles moving according to their own memory, guiding his hard dick to her entrance, and Sasuke buried himself in her without delay. The couple moaned in unison, finally fulfilled in their most visceral desire; to be together, to merge and unite until they became one, making up for all the lacking due to distance.

They remained for a few moments like this, motionless, basking in the pleasure, in each other's warmth, in the feeling of wholeness which entangling instilled in them.

Sasuke then began to thrust, slowly at first, tightening his fingers in her skin, in the buttock against which his hand was pressed.

"Fuck—" exhaled the dark-haired, hastening his pace, slamming into her cunt with greedy eagerness, hard enough to slap her pelvis with his own, causing pops as indecent as they were arousing.

Trying to stifle his groans, Sasuke leaned down to her chest, closing his lips around her nipple, sucking her mound and reddening her skin wherever he could reach. He continued to thrust inside her, fucking her relentlessly

Sakura, on the other hand, was almost totally abandoned against the wall behind her, supported only by his arm, as her whole body succumbed under the weight of ecstasy, nearing its climax.

She sank a hand into his hair, grasping his raven locks as he reached the peak, imposing him with that single grip not to stop, to continue until she had enjoyed every ounce of pleasure.

Their joint moans soaked the walls, and after only a few moments, Sasuke joined her, releasing his load into her pussy, painting her walls white with warm, dense spurts, familiar and intimate, reserved only for her, just as every essence of Sakura belonged only to him.

Tired and out of breath, the couple remained entwined, indulging in a new kiss, lazier and less urgent, but no less heartfelt, less passionate.

"I've missed you," Sasuke admitted, in a whisper so inaudible it sounded more like a thought mistakenly spoken aloud. He kissed her neck, before pressing his face to it to inebriate himself with her scent. "Home at last."

"Welcome back, Sasuke-kun."