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nanamiskentos · 3 months ago

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pick your love story °🍵⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ jujutsu kaisen edition (sfw)

gojo satoru ☆ childhood friends to lovers

loves to tease you, and he'll always poke your cheek, ruffle your hair, or steal your food just to get a reaction. if you're shy or quiet, he lives to make you flustered. buys the most ridiculous gifts, including matching sunglasses and designer items that cost more than your rent. acts like your personal heater, always draping himself over you, wrapping his long arms around your shoulders, or sneaking his hands under your sweater to press them against your skin. if someone flirts with you? well, he's throwing him arm around you so dramatically, calling you his 'beloved' in the most obnoxious way possible. if the person doesn't back off, his carefree tone disappears and he gives them a chilling smile. loves late night drives and cafe dates, he's so the type to blast music in the car and sing off-key on purpose, always laughs when you tell him to zip it. his love language is definitely physical touch and words of affirmation, and he needs to be touching you at all times, and he constantly reminds you how much he loves you in different playful and heartfelt ways <3 he's even softer when he's sleepy, nuzzling into your neck and shit, voice always dropping to a quiet murmur as he spills whatever's on his mind.

geto suguru ☆ best friends to lovers

pretty chill, protective and a faux deep thinker type of guy. gentle and attentive, always knowing what you need before you even ask. if had a rough day, he's gonna run you a bath and try to get your favourite drink. tries to sit still and listen patiently while you rant. lowkey a bit overzealous when it comes to jealousy, but never petty. he doesn't get outwardly possessive. but if someone flirts with you, he'll wrap an arm around your waist and give the person a pretty sharp look, enough that they'll back off and shit. always takes pictures of you, and he has an entire album of random shots of you reading, laughing or even just existing bc he really does think you look beautiful in every moment. loves bookstore and vinyl shop dates, and he enjoys those sweet peaceful moments with you (flipping through books, aka arguing about different genres). he's super big on quality time + acts of service, and if he sees you struggling with anything, he'll try to take care of it before you even have to ask. loves running his fingers through your hair, and he claims it calms him, and sometimes he just gets so lost in thought while doing it, that you have to snap him out of it. he's the type to whisper sweet things in your ear absentmindedly, like 'you have no idea how much i love you' when he thinks you're not paying attention. goes all red and dismissive when he realises you actually did hear that :D and he says he's not in gossip and drama but no one talks shit like he does, lets be real

ryomen sukuna ☆ prob sum weird enemies to lover shit

claims he doesn't date, but somehow ends up trying to figure out your favourite flower. calls you stupid shit like 'brat' or 'pet' more than your actual name, but if someone disrespects you, he tears them apart without hesitation. gets jealous easily, but he won't admit it, and if someone looks at you wrong, he'll grab your chin and kiss you (not that you mind <3) his love language is physical touch and dominance, expect him to always keep a hand on your waist, neck or chin because as much as he pretends otherwise, he loves feeling your skin against his. gaslights you over silly things for fun ('i literally told you that' 'no you didn't' 'oh, so you're forgetful now). also whispers absolute nonsense in your ear just from time to time, 'did you know that octopuses have three hearts? bet you didn't, but now you do. you're welcome'). will open a jar way too aggressively to try and show off his strength but breaks it, and now you're left with no pickles and a sulking sukuna with pickle juice on his hand. carries you like a sack of potatoes on his shoulders if you piss him off. pretends he doesn't gaf, but always shares his food with you and tries to order what you like.

toji fushiguro ☆ reluctant friends to lovers

grumpy but soft for you typa boyfriend who doesn't believe in using full words in texts. only texts in 'ya' or 'nah' and he accidentally replied 'k' to you saying 'i love you' and he called you immediately afterwards because he knows he messed up. loves pda but in the most lazy way possible, and will always drape himself over you like a weighted blanket and refuse to move. always steals bites of your food (half the meal) but will act offended if you do the same. once won you a stuffed animal at a carnival and acted like it was no big deal, but he actually used up all his carnival tickets trying to win you the biggest prize. spoils you in a reckless way, and he'll hand you a wad of cash and refuses to tell you how he got the money. he just tells you to go buy something nice. love language is acts of service and physical touch because he claims he's not amazing with words, but his hands always find their way back home to you. loves lazy mornings, and grumbles when you try to get out of bed, pulling you back in with an arm around your waist.

nanami kento ☆ love at first sight

exhausted but devoted you get me, and he claims that you energise him and light up his life. lectures you when you only sleep for three hours a night. replies to the tiktoks you send with corporate replies 'that was humorous. thank you for sharing. i love you.' he thinks you're absolutely the most beautiful person on the planet, and always lets you know. pretty gentle, mature and devoted. shows his love in sweet, meaningful ways. always puts your comfort first, and he tries to take things off your plate without asking. loves cooking for you, and believes cooking is its own love language. hates unnecessary, brash pda but loves quiet intimacy. holds your hand, brushes your hair against your ear. lingering kisses on your temple. reads to you at night, and he'll sit beside you if you have trouble drifting off. his love language is absolutely acts of service and quality time, and he doesn't just say he loves you, he'll prove it in every little action of his. loves taking you out to scenic parks and hikes, and just stares after you with so much love as he tries to adjust the focus of his camera lenses to try and capture you as well as he can.

choso kamo ☆ strangers to lovers

kinda awkward but genuinely, really quiet sweet. overthinks everything, and at the start of your relationship, he even started overthinking how you said 'goodnight!' and wondered if you were mad at him, because there was no heart or emoji. would die before making the first move idk, like you're going to have kiss him first or else, otherwise i fear he's going to have a stroke. holds grudges as long as he can, and will bring up little shit (like you stealing his lunch) six months later 'remember that time you betrayed me?'. but he can only really give you the silent treatment for two whole minutes when you tease him, and then immediately apologises because he feels bad. a lot of friends tease the two of you because they think choso is too quiet or a pushover but the truth is that he's actually pretty snarky, clever and observant. very determined and always sticks to his morals, even at times when you disagree with him, he's able to put his foot down. love language is quality time and gift giving, because he's the type to remember everything you like and surprise him with it. loves watching movies with you, and pretends not to care for 90s chick flicks, but he's digging them deep down. loves holding your hand, and even in public, he'll reach for you quietly.

higuruma hiromi☆ coworkers to lovers

overworked but loves you so bad. he sometimes reminds you of a tired, single dad but he's truly joyous to date. if you call him baby in public, he immediately malfunctions and blushes. you once kissed him in a courtroom (not even when court was ongoing!) on the tip of his gorgeous nose, and he almost choked. will 100% object to random things just to irritate you, with topics like takeout for dinner, 'objection. we had sushi two days ago.' takes everything pretty seriously, until you do something cute. then he just sits there, hiding his smile behind his hand like an adorable anime protagonist. tries to be strict or protective, but you just make him super soft. secretly likes pda but pretends that he doesn't. grips your hand so tight like he fears you might disappear. loves when you rest in his lap or against his chest as he reads over cases and paperwork. you told him that he'd look hot with glasses, and you caught him browsing through lens frames.

naoya zenin ☆ arranged marriage (kinda ooc naoya btw, bear with me)

sort of a menace who should have been left on read a long time ago, but this wasn't your first choice. somehow, he folds for you almost immediately but you think he'd rather dig his own grave and neatly fold his hands over his chest as he buries himself at his own funeral before he admits that he likes you. calls you annoying but will drop everything if you text him that you need help. always saying dumb shit to you, or trying to make fun of you, but if someone else does? they're gone, like he's going to stalk them, find where they work, and get them fired from their job. texts you the stupidest things like 'if i was ugly, would you still love me?' 'i just saw an ugly baby. damn' 'what would do if i got arrested? be honest.' saw someone flirting with you once at like a fancy event, and rolled his eyes, pretending that he didn't give a flying fuck. ended up at the bathroom mirror, gripping the sink and trying not to throw up. if you ignore his texts, he's gonna send vaguely ominous messages, like 'answer me' followed by 'this is how it ends?' 'i'm leaving btw, i'm going to pack up and leave you forever and go live on my own in the wild.' you check his location and he's still at home. naoya thinks he's the prize in the relationship, he's not. definitely a pda menace, and he loves just kissing you in public.

hajime kashimo ☆ enemies to lovers but in that 'we met when we were fighting' way

your relationship is just him being reckless with no survival instinct, and you trying to keep your boyfriend alive. aka trying to stop him from licking the power outlet. will randomly challenge you to fights for no reason, never mind the fact that he'll feel bad and back out at the last minute. has no concept of personal space, and will stand nose to nose with you just to make you uncomfortable. if you back away, he's gonna follow you and ask where you're going. if someone flirts with you, he's not even going to do too much, just laugh in their face and ask the offender if they really thought they had a chance. kashimo has no concept of an inside voice at all, so god forbid you try to take him somewhere quiet. energy level always at 200% and it's a mission to even take him someplace like a grocery store. if you said 'i love you' first, it might have been the only time that someone else has bested him in something. hajime physically can't process emotions and goes green and pale (he loves you so much btw) and he looks vaguely ill at your confession. stares for five minutes before throwing himself at you. definitely a words of affirmation type of guy, instead of actions, because sometimes, he's all bark and no bite.

noritoshi kamo ☆ sweet, rom-com crush

he's actually a bit traditional, but very sweet. unfortunately, he's also so formal that it hurts sometimes. but it's fun when he asks you things like 'would you like to accompany me for an evening meal?' or 'shall we go for a stroll?' if you hold his hand, for the first few months, he sweats profusely but acts as though he's totally cool (narrator: he was not cool). lowkey believes that he doesn't deserve you and he absolutely treats you, the love of his life, like royalty. super observant and determined to make you as comfortable as possible, so you're never really left wanting for anything. if someone flirts with you, he doesn't really get jealous, but rather gets philosophical. 'it is natural for others to admire beauty such as yours. however, they must know it's not theirs to claim.' a key forefront runner of the sassy men apocalypse, even though you wouldn't be able to tell at the start. super quick-witted, but he's the type to keep his thoughts to himself, but luckily, he gets more comfortable sharing his jokes with you as times go on. blushes super easily, and he hates it because he thinks it ruins his aloof/mysterious guy persona.

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customautotrim11 · 2 years ago

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autostyleppf · 3 days ago

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godihatethiswebsite · 8 months ago

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Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Four - Hamster ball

See? The last update wasn't a fluke! :) Bit of a more easygoing chapter compared to the hecticness I've been subjecting our poor omega to. Bit more background on our girl. Give her a bit of breathing room before hopping back into more chaos.

Also: I've added a change to the reader's physicality. There's a reference to being underweight for medical reasons so I'm sorry if that takes any of you out of the experience. I try to not mess with that aspect, but I just felt it necessary given everything I put this girl through.

Trigger warnings: angst, depression, customer service, malnourishment

The dog survived.

Life had apparently decided against throwing you any more curveballs on your way back to the apartment – slushy roads and bad drivers notwithstanding (honestly, how could this many people forget what front wheel drive did on black ice and wet pavement?).

Densely populated areas gave way to suburban life as you drove the twenty minutes it took to escape the city center and arrive back into a world a little less crowded.

The area you resided in could generously be considered lower middle class. The crime rate was on the lower end of the spectrum though still a tinge too high for most members of polite society. Nothing too terribly outlandish; juvenile gang violence typical of a sizable city and the occasional asshat who decided the stuff in your car now belonged to him. But there was a police station a few blocks down the road from you that ran frequent patrols and the low level violence kept the rent at a decent affordability.

There were less and less brownstones the further east you traveled, row house opulence giving way to multi level apartment buildings interspersed amongst a smattering of mid century moderns. Grass became a thing again, but only in long strips running parallel with the sidewalk – unless you were fortunate enough to own a modest front lawn on a small corner lot. Not that it was visible beneath the eight inches of snow that’d accumulated since it started falling late yesterday morning.

It was only late afternoon by the time you were back in familiar territory, but this close to the impending holiday the local residents left their Christmas lights on 24/7 it seemed. Most abodes were adorned with at least humble decorations.

Community members wrapped battery powered twinkle lights around the sparse barren elms, evergreen garland candy caning down metal street lamps, interlaced tinsel glimmering from passing headlights. Cheap vinyl stickers of cartoon snowmen and Santa's little helpers splattered across glass windows and sliding balcony doors in haphazard childish fashion. Mesh reindeer lawn ornaments and creepy animatronic statues recreating Saint Nick’s undertaking in kaleidoscopic – if not positively garish – displays.

Muddied coir welcome mats proclaiming ‘Blessed Yule!’. A giant inflatable dinosaur taking up way too much space and spinning an oversized dreidel. You even gave props to the guy with a grinch head popping out the top of his chimney, smirking deviously at the passersby down below as if they were in on the secret.

All walks of life celebrating the winter season in their own special ways.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you bothered to hang a simple wreath.

You were fortunate enough to find decently close street parking as you pulled up to the curve, grateful the black Kia behind had left space enough for more than just a clown car. A group of rowdy boys bundled snug in thick mittens and hand-knit toques called for a ceasefire, taking your nearby arrival as an excuse to catch their breaths and stockpile more ammunition for the fierce battle they waged. Childish insults flew from behind snowy barricades as you stepped out of your car and onto the icy sidewalk.

It was a more than usual hassle making the trudge inside your apartment building. Normally you kept your grocery list light; manageable for the haul up three flights of stairs despite the fully functioning elevator. But with the previous week’s illness eating into more of your food supply than normal you’d been forced to compensate for the barren cupboards.

Could you make multiple trips? Sure. Did you want to be outside in the blustery cold for longer than necessary? Nope. Hence the sight of you iron-manning your way through the building’s exterior entrance, clusters of bags biting into your arms even through your heavy winter coat, overstretched plastic really field testing its weight requirements and lumbering your already lethargic pace.

You were grateful that you’d remembered to double bag some of the heftier items, having almost made that same mistake the month prior if not for the shredding sound alerting you to the seam's fatal flaw. That’s all you needed was to be spending your evening on hands and knees mopping up shattered glass and pickle juice from grime-laden steps.

There's a sense of accomplishment as you haul the purchased goods over the threshold to your apartment, carefully depositing the burdensome load on the tile in front of your refrigerator, far too many to overwhelm your bite-sized kitchen table with. Doubling back to re-check the numerous door locks and deadbolts, you finally let loose a sigh as you kick off your snow boots and shuck the weighted material from your weary shoulders, hanging the ratty scarf on the hook next to it and giving your neck a chance to breathe again.

Rubbing the irritated skin hurt more than it helped. The damn thing was sensitive to abrasive material – only concealing it when absolutely necessary. Winter was easy; warmer months made the task trickier. Thankfully most people didn’t stare much at an omega with a patch of gauze taped over her neck. Newly bonded designations wore it as a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming to the world at large that they’d finally found their place amongst the upper echelons of packdom.

You, meanwhile, would have to be more careful in the future to wear turtlenecks if bombshell interactions were to become a normal occurrence. The last thing you needed were prying questions from nosy alphas.

A half gone tube of medicated ointment called your name from the bathroom counter, but the inflamed mating mark would have to wait until after you got the bulk of groceries put away. Canned items and other non perishables could be dealt with tomorrow. There was only so much strength left in your bones after a day like today.

The knock on your front door would have startled you worse if not for the preceding text message hailing the arrival.

‘Paranoid’ would be the appropriate term. Practically overnight you found yourself turning into one of those god awful annoying conspiracy theorists that hide in the dark cobwebs of the internet, spouting schizophrenic ravings of lunacy and government surveillance, too wrapped up in their straight jackets for oxygen to reach their corrupted brains.

It was hard not to be distrustful to any and all intruders of your dwelling, knowing full well the consequences that come from letting your guard down in a stunning display of naivety. The pinched tether on your bond reassured you of his distance, but he was far from being the only ill-intentioned alpha in a thousand mile radius.

Pulse fluttering like a baby bird and fingers flexing into trembling fists, you creep up to the peephole with all the finesse of a one-legged cat – despite knowing the face that would greet you on the other end. Per usual, the kind beta didn’t take it personally when you opened the door with barely enough space to let her inside, squeezing through the gap provided and scooting out of the way while you relatched your pacifying security measures.

All she offered was her usual glowing smile and a box of double stuf oreos.

“Hard day at therapy?”

Chloe had been an unexpected addition to the chaos of your life. For lack of in-unit appliances, the apartment complex housed a small laundry facility on the ground floor – free of charge, but awfully stifling come the summer months. Enough square footage that multiple people could use it at any given time, but not enough to hold even a quarter of the residents. On the weekdays, that damn thing could be packed tighter than a dented can of sardines (and smell just as fishy). It wasn’t unusual to find your neighbors making the trek of shame back to their rooms, hefting a still-soiled bag of clothing, waiting another hour or so in hopes of trying their hand at the laundry lottery all over again.

You were embarrassed to say you avoided the place like the plague for the first month after moving in. After all, what did it really matter?

You didn’t leave your apartment at the time. There was no need for decorum – no call to impress. And as an unpacked omega with disabling agoraphobia it sounded like the worst sort of torture porn experience. It had taken running out of febreze and being on the phone with your dads to finally venture down there at three o’clock in the morning on a random Tuesday in hopes the facility would be barren enough that your musky basket could stop reeking up your closet.

The scream you screamt upon turning the corner and finding another human being skulking around in the unlit void had you so sure your father’s were a hairs breadth away from calling down the fucking feds.

Turns out Chloe was a skittish thing a few years younger than you. A recent college graduate, this was her first real apartment outside of campus dorm life. But where you were up at the ass crack of dawn due to an anxiety-inducing aversion to civilization, she was down there to keep from running into the cute nerdy alpha across the hall and risking mortification at him peeping her dainty underthings.

Honestly you hadn’t been sure the smell of urine was coming from either laundry basket.

Once you’d calmed down enough to pull your fathers off the edge of booking the next flight down there to rough up some nonexistent predator, you’d managed to finish your chores on opposite sides of the room, neither engaging in any conversation beyond muffled apologies of humiliation.

What followed was an uneasy truce born out of necessity, a silent acknowledgement that this would be a weekly safe space free from judgment and criticism. Silence turned to whispered greetings, whispers became timid banter, until eventually you were confessing in therapy to eating homemade peanut butter cookies on the floor in front of the laundry machines.

Now she was the only other person in this whole entire city besides Dr. Miranda that you could go to for advice and needed companionship.

Originally you had no intention of exhausting any more of your social battery than had already been consumed. But therapy wasn’t for another week and you had too much bubbling inside to be contained by the cramped confines of your studio apartment. And Chloe was considerate enough that she knew not to overstay her welcome, her own introverted alarm clock ringing about the same time as yours.

“If only that had been the hard part,” you replied with a sigh, taking the parcel of outstretched goods and moseying on over to your butt shaped indent on the far end of the couch.

The sound of creaky hinges and clattering plastic informed you of Chloe’s detour to the kitchen. “Has that rust-bucket jalopy of yours finally gone to the great big scrap metal in the sky?”

Everyone’s a critic.

“How about we don’t put that out into the universe thank you very much.” Shoving a whole cookie in your mouth, you gratefully accept the cold glass of milk she passes over before taking up a spot on the cushion next to you, grabbing at her own treat from the open pack.

The mess of red curls atop her head and the loud pattern of her knit rainbow sweater deceptively implied a boisterous personality. Bright green eyes. A healthy dusting of freckles. Blue corduroy pants still smudged with gold leaf. One look at her 5 foot 11 stature and you’d think she was some sort of artistic fairy, flitting about from flower to flower like a social hummingbird. In truth she’d gone to school for fine arts, but in preparation for a career in conservation – something quiet and away from the harsh critics where she could help express someone else's ideas instead of her own.

Her soft hazelnut scent matches her sympathetic smile, always patient and warm with you. “Does it have something to do with why you smell like a latte? Oh dear–please tell me no one spilled hot coffee on you today!”

You duck your head from her doe eyed worry and concerned frown of dread, focusing on the cold bite of milk on your fingers as you plunge another sugary morsel into your clear plastic cup.

As toxic as it might have been, you couldn’t bring yourself to wash the scent of alpha from the pores of your skin.

“Chloe, I…” Here goes nothing. “I met someone yesterday…”

For the second time in less than four hours you found yourself spilling your heart to a friendly ear.

She heard all of it. The supermarket run-in. Tantalizing lemon. Silky coconut. Devastating chocolate. Therapy. The coffee shop mishap. Being gentled by a complete stranger.

The promise kept safe in your electronic device.

Where Dr. Miranda had broached the topic with a level-headed sense of therapeutic resolution, Chloe had all but clutched her pearls the longer your tantalizing tale was spun. She wore her expressions the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, squeezing the life out of a proffered couch pillow in a way that made you hope she didn’t have any pets at home.

“How could he possibly expect any of this to not come crashing down in a fiery hellscape of cataclysmic fury that would put Dante’s inferno to shame?”

Can you tell she went to catholic school?

“I mean… it's not like I caught him off guard technically,” you try to bargain. “Like yeah, today’s meeting wasn’t exactly on purpose, but they would’ve had a whole night to discuss things amongst themselves. Maybe they just reached some sort of weird agreement with her?”

She bites her lip to hide the sympathetic frown. “Do you really believe that though?”

No. No you didn’t.

It wasn’t hard to put yourself in her shoes considering the thick iron cable anchoring you to another. If that bond came with passion... if you knew the cloying taste of devotion – the idolatry that comes from having your molecules grafted onto a lover’s DNA – you’d shred every muscle strand in your body, tear skin from bone with bloodied teeth to keep what was coveted.

And here you were. The other woman.

Suddenly the chocolate dessert didn’t taste so appetizing.

At your lack of a meaningful answer, she unknowingly goes for the throat.

“Perhaps you should tell them–”

“No.”

The ice in your tone brokers no room for argument, instantly regretting the bite behind it as you watch her flinch back into the cushions with a meek whine.

Your expression softens in guilt. Chloe is just trying her best to help you navigate an otherwise impossible scenario. Her suggestion doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, only one of care. Even if it does speak of ignorance.

Not that she didn't still try.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if the roles were reversed?”

“And what good would that do?” you press far more gently this time, the acid of pain climbing up the back of your throat. “No matter what they say there’s no tangible future for us. That ship has well and truly sailed – I know that now. My destiny was signed with an iron pen and the deed says I belong to him.”

Your voice quivers on the last word, the sting of acceptance cutting into flesh with a rusty barbed wire. You never thought there could be a feeling worse than hopelessness.

“Telling them will only ensure that both parties suffer for another’s twisted scheme,” you continue past the lump in your throat, “and I won’t subject them to the burden that should be only mine to bear. I refuse to let them live with that guilt.”

Maybe it’s her beta upbringing that keeps her from fully understanding the colossal weight of putting your bonded through such inner turmoil. Chloe will never know what it means to share someone's emotions across an unwavering connection. Pack life isn’t barred from her, but the same primal urges that draw us towards our mates are nothing but strings of thread easily pruned.

Truthfully most betas never want it. To them, we all drew the short end of the straw; being forced into subjugation by ancient instincts that never shed their skin after the last ice age.

After the eternally looping rollercoaster that's been holding you prisoner the past four years, you can't say you disagree with them anymore.

“...maybe they chew with their mouths open.”

The huff she pulls from your chest is genuine, catching you off guard with the attempt at levity, the small roast doing its job of diffusing the atmosphere. Her extemporaneous remark reflects the giggles in her eyes begging you to play along.

“Bet they don’t wash their buttcracks either,” you add with a half-grin after a few moments of quiet, relishing in the way she covers her mouth to stifle a snort. Her energy is endearing, granting you leave to feed off the sunrays of her carefree aura, unblemished by the malice of a hateful underbelly, continuing for the next couple minutes that her presence lingers.

If only laughter was all it took to make everything better.

Consciousness greets you like a lifelong friend – one waiting to welcome you into outstretched arms, promising comfort and geniality with its disarming smile, swaddling you in a blanket so thick and plush it cradles you like a pregnant mother’s womb. It beckons with a silvery tongue, promising a joyful reunion as you give yourself over freely under the guise of a fresh start.

All the easier for it to slip a knife between your ribs.

You should’ve known better.

Sleep hasn’t been your ally since the night before the incident. Rest is not restful; it is a time where the walls between protection and abuse are at their thinnest. Where the toxic sludge of your connection oozes through the cracks like bubbling tar and coats your insides with its virulent adhesive. It chokes you with its noxious miasma, seeping into dreams and disturbing the regenerative process vital to your health.

Each day starts the same – dealing with the consequences of life on a strained leash.

Awareness comes into focus next like a camera in the exclusion zone, grainy and crackling under the effects of radioactivity while spreading like the beginnings of cancer through the pores of your skin. It clings around the edges, lethargic in its letting go, giving way only to the melodic chiming of your phone’s alarm that might as well be set to a booming fog horn.

Eyelashes crusty with dried salt crystals peel apart like fly paper, pupils fully dilated as the blackout curtains remove the need for constriction. The rumpled towel beneath you leaves tender spots on your back from where it bunched up in the night – a result of the fitful writhing when the nightmares your mind guards you from remembering leave your body feverful and drenched, soaking through the lightweight sheets and condensing in a thin layer of slimy moisture.

And the nausea.

God, the nausea.

The condition was a constant in your life, but its disruption was the worst during the early hours of the day.

Movement requires a delicate balance first thing in the morning. Jostle your body too much and the empty bin wedged between your bed and your nightstand gets reacquainted with the bile of your stomach (they’re apparently in an intimate relationship that you’re just sandwiched between like an awkward third wheel).

Problem is, barring the use of hefty restraints, it's impossible to know which side of the bed you’ll be waking up on. Literally.

Some days you find yourself facing the drab interior of your studio apartment rather than covered window panes, knowing the energy required to roll over towards the small nightstand will likely result in the emptying of your insides. Sleeping on your back had potential, but your form preferred to curl in on itself for lack of anything else to bring it comfort.

Lady Luck had apparently seen enough of your mental breakdowns the past forty eight hours to grant you a reprieve, taking pity on your string of misfortunes as the first thing your eyes take in upon blinking free from sand is the heavy satin of your window coverings keeping in the dark – some lavender pattern to help match the rest of your nesting materials. They’re still fresh out the box after all these years, though the accumulation of filth would tell you otherwise, dust bunnies taking up residence on the weighted linen.

Your furnishings haven’t been bathed in sunlight since the moving van.

The well-loved bottle of Zofran sits in its spot on the corner of your nightstand, next to your still ringing phone and a robin's egg stanley, a glass picture frame shoved in the far corner on the other side of your table lamp.

Still wrapped in a thick fog of drowsiness, leaden muscles flex and groan as your arm stretches the short distance, ears taking priority and fingers tapping at the illuminated screen until they locate the damn snooze button. Popping the small oval pill comes next, chasing it with lukewarm water before burrowing back down into the soft minky goodness of your comforter.

You're awake an hour before you need to be, but not to get anything done. No rejuvenating shower. No balanced breakfast and a half hour of yoga. Just adjusting to the abject misery your bond greets you with every day as a not so gentle reminder of the alpha you left behind.

It’s a constant struggle to remind yourself that the suffering is worth it for the lifetime of abuse from which you escaped. Better to be tormented by a path you chose than one unwillingly taken.

About forty minutes go by before the medication kicks in enough to allow you freedom of movement, pulling yourself from the tangles of your bedding with aching joints and low fuel reserves. Walking into the bathroom, you squint against the blinding overhead fluorescents, rubbing the spots from your eyes as you take in your frumpy reflection.

There’s a photograph next to your bed that you haven’t glanced at in a few months. Six familiar faces beaming into a camera lens somewhere high in the mountains. A family vacation from eight years ago; the best summer of your life.

That girl in the picture is nowhere to be found.

Spiritless eyes meet your gaze in the glass, early crows feet forming from periods of prolonged stress. A bone deep exhaustion reflected in your undereye bags, the dull pallor of your complexion. The frizziness of unmoisturized locks begging for a drink. Wind chapped lips and an eternal frown.

The oversized shirt hangs baggy on your form, once belonging to your brother but now in your possession. If you lifted up the garment you could practically count the ribs, a once healthy layer of fat and muscle cannibalized by famished cells and underutilization. It's hard to keep on weight when your stomach rejects the nourishment you try to provide.

If this is the empty shell you’ve become a full continent away from him then it’s hard to imagine what lifeless husk of a creature you might’ve deteriorated into under his brand of care.

There’s no more energy left by the time you do your business and finish brushing your teeth, knowing what few bolts remain will have to go towards the impending headache of customer service. Taming your unruly hair will just have to wait until later – if at all.

You flick the lights on as you pass, trudging on shaky legs to the cabinets above the microwave. There’s still too much unease in your tummy for your usual coffee order, opting for a mug of herbal tea to help settle the irritated organ, a spoonful of honey cutting through the mild bitterness. Settling on a sleeve of poptarts for a lazy breakfast, you lumber your way over towards the couch and the awaiting annoyances.

Opening shifts were always the worst.

Originally you’d approached the company with open availability in hopes of bettering your chances at landing a remote job. In those days, commuting to a location had been out of the question. It took months of submitting applications – relying solely on your family for all your expenses – before someone finally gave you an opportunity to rejoin the workforce.

(You wept the day you received the offer from HR. Having even a sliver of autonomy returned to you after a tumultuous period without it was as the first melting snow of a long envisioned spring).

Unfortunately it meant you were handed the hours no one else wanted to take. Most days that was the early shifts.

It’s not like you work a whole hell of a lot. The job itself is only part time after all and fairly easy; fourteen hours max per week. But you’d quickly learned that the later you were scheduled, the clearer your brain was to focus, the better you performed overall.

Now if only the big wigs at corporate would allow you to update your availability. When last you’d scrounged up enough courage to broach the topic to your immediate supervisor you were promptly informed that there was no current flexibility to your role and, when pressed, sent a look via Zoom that clearly said don't push it.

So much for ‘warm family environment’.

A small rolling side table acts as your makeshift desk, the apartment too cramped for something proper no matter how many attempts to tetris the layout. One of your fathers had come up with the brilliant solution while shopping at ikea for new end tables, spotting the piece of furniture and shipping it out to your location. You’d had to brave the awkward visit of the buff delivery man for a signature – hiding behind the door jamb like a sketchy criminal – but the purchase had been well worth it for how cluttered your poor kitchen table had previously looked, a jumbled mess of pens and wires, certifiably hazardous with its lengthy extension cord.

Armed with soothing chamomile and a warm knit blanket thrown over your lap, you boot up your laptop and log onto the program that would keep you chained to it for the next six hours.

Ask anyone that deals with customers directly: Christmas is the least wonderful time of the year.

Garbled phone calls over shitty receptions. The droning monotony of preplanned scripts. Old bitties recounting eight decades of family drama. Mass hysteria around shipping delays. ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ and the audible slick of his palm. Entitled socialites for whom the word ‘please’ never came preinstalled in their gold filigree hoity-toity dictionaries.

The fifteen minute break is almost insulting. As if anyone can decompress in such a meager timespan. It’s no wonder why people used to chainsmoke their way through the stress of their jobs.

You try to remind yourself of the before times – the trials and tribulations that came from previous employments. Long grueling hours spent pent up in bustling kitchens, the dinner rush on crab leg nights testing your arm strength and patience for slow steamers. Pushy roofing salesmen harping over impoverished neighborhoods. Car guys calling you toots and insisting on being assisted by a ‘real professional’.

This job was by far the most laid back. No fussing over business casual, no extroverted coworkers crowding your space, no bosses micromanaging for the sake of being assholes. You were living a cushy life by comparison.

But then your mind wanders to Jose on the third floor kitchen, busy doing prep work for the various departments; a kind man once he warmed up to you and found you competent enough to last. Always sneaking you tender bites of grilled meats and a bowl of creamy lobster bisque.

Nyle bringing you ladies in the office a round of Starbucks when he came in for mandatory meetings. Sharing music with Stacy and gabbing about just aired episodes of your favorite tv show. Heather bringing in fresh blueberry bear claws from the local bakery near her home.

Going to the irish pub across the street with the guys in finance that knew the owners, getting drunk off free whiskey and cider on Friday nights. All smiles and laughter as you twirl across the dance floor to a live band performing hits from musicians like Flogging Molly and Great Big Sea…

…and you realize just how much you took for granted. That there’s a palpable difference between surviving and living.

You don’t even notice you’re six minutes over break until your laptop pings from someone trying to get in touch with you, startling you out of melancholic reminiscence and bringing you back to a somber present that longs for the taste of livelihood.

That time has ended; those figures mere ghosts of a past better left forgotten in the vaults of your memory.

Now, you make a small but tidy living solving other people's problems a few hours a week. Enough to pay for personal bills, groceries, and the occasional indulgence while your fathers provide the bulk of your utilities and the sum of your rent. Your lost independence used to bother you more, but the thought of a homeless shelter quickly silenced your tongue.

Your cellphone reads one o’clock by the time you're freed from servitude, happy to be logging off as you push the rolling setup back out of the way. The air bubbles between the contours of your spine pop and crackle as you rise to your feet, ignoring the rush of lightheadedness from six hours remaining stationary. Resisting the urge to itch at the healing scab on the side of your neck, you pad into the kitchen to whip up a turkey sandwich – cautiously optimistic on the inclusion of juicy pickles – before plopping back down in your usual spot.

The acidity doesn’t seem to upset your stomach any further, allowing you to munch in peace on the simple scrapings of lunch, scrolling through the kindle app on your phone for something to occupy your time with.

There’s never much to do around here when the people in your life are busy living their own. Your family checks in on you every so often, catching you up on the goings-on in the quiet neighborhood, your father taking the opportunity to gush about his lego collection to someone other than his partner for a change. You miss the camaraderie that came with building the Death Star.

Despite living hundreds of miles away, their calls always made you feel as if you were gathered around the sectional in the warm lit interior of the sprawling living room, Christmas tree glowing by the light of the fire, a hot cup of cocoa and the merriment of family.

The same couldn’t be said for your younger brother Alex.

Ever since moving out at eighteen he'd become quite a prick, a beta complex a mile wide that only got worse when he surrounded himself with the wrong kinda crowd. The loss of his once fervent companionship had devastated you. After the accident that brought your parents to an early grave, you’d kept each other afloat through turbulent waves of depression, tidal waves of grief. Six became four, but – even though that wound would never fully heal – you still had the strength of their love to turn to when forgone memories played like black and white film.

But after that last argument…

Four became three.

It's been years since you last had any type of contact outside the occasional cheap greeting card – just another notch added to your mile long grinchmas belt come the holidays.

Fuck him.

Shaking yourself out of that spiraling rabbit hole, you turned back to the task of entertainment at hand. Since you didn’t feel like spending any more time on the phone listening to idle chatter than you already had today, you settled for choosing a book at random from your extensive TBR, diving into a medieval fantasy where brave warriors slayed evil dragons and an honorable knight could still save a princess.

The minute hand goes round and round.

Dinner is as simple an affair as lunch; a cheap frozen pizza popped in the oven adding an extra layer of warmth to the already balmy interior. There’s no need for a plate as you pull it off the wire rack onto the cardboard box it came in, gooey cheese bubbling hot and steamy, sizzling toppings shiny with bright orange grease, savory aromas wafting as they ride the circulation of the antiquated heating system.

Years of battling chronic fatigue have made you crafty, cutting corners on labor with gathered tips and tricks accumulated over hours of lengthy research. There’s no need to add to your pile of dishes; no plates or utensils to scrub free of dried food particles. Just you and your fingers tearing through the saucy meal chunk by chunk.

Dr. Miranda tells you it's all about the little victories. The moments of accomplishment no matter how insignificant. Doesn’t matter how you get the job done so long as it happens. Roll out of bed? That’s a win. A sleeve of ritz crackers for a meal? Glad you got sustenance. Just because you weren’t claiming a nobel prize didn’t mean your triumphs were any less important.

Didn’t leave much in the way of riveting stimulation though. Just acclimatizing you to existing in a hamster ball where the difference between day and night is as little as the am or pm on the clock.

After all, it wasn’t like your body signaled a change in energy levels. There’s no ‘getting tired’ when you never wake up.

The only time you ever felt a sense of normalcy was when you started the process of getting ready for bed, pinpoint focus narrowing in on the task of fixing your nest. Logic shuts down and gut feeling takes the reins. You lose yourself in the fussing over placement of plush fleece and textured sherpa, jersey knit sheets and squishmallow plushies. Weighted quilt blankets and cloud-fluffy pillows of various shapes and sizes, the assortment of pastel pinks and lush earthy greens giving off the enchanted forest vibes held dear to your heart.

It wasn’t large or luxurious by any means, but the few modest pieces you did have were plenty enough for the cozy space, strewn across the full sized bed in an organized haphazard chaos understood only by the omega instincts that dictate your actions.

Only, there’s something wrong…

You lament the smell of mildew as your nose breathes in the cloth of your pillowcase, whining in dejection at the offense to your delicate olfactory senses and pawing at the material in shame.

An omega’s nest is a vital part of the care and keeping of their fragile emotional state. Oftentimes they’re seen as a reflection of their owner's inner consciousness and a handy tool to monitor their anxiety levels on a day to day basis. An unkempt nest can not only signal deeper depression, but if neglected for too long may result in bodily dysregulation that can affect them even right down to a molecular level, throwing hormones out of whack and causing real physical illness.

Your nest hasn’t been properly cleaned in far too many months – no doubt adding to the high levels of stress that already permeate your everyday life. The sacred space that’s supposed to be your safe haven acts as just another graphic reminder that he’s taken everything from you. There's no true relaxation in your life because of it.

For what was the point of washing the sweat-stained fabric if there’s no stopping it getting soiled again the following night?

Pulling the musky sheets up to just below your chin, you stare blankly at the evidence of what happens when you get your hopes up, sitting plugged into the charger on the corner of your nightstand.

The phone hasn’t rang once.

You’ve been religiously checking the screen all day. Turned the volume from vibrate to blaring. Unclicked ‘do not disturb’ mode (turns out even telemarketers think you’re a waste of time). The device went everywhere with you, whether it was ten feet to the bathroom or six inches across the couch. Your desperation might have been otherwise embarrassing, but there was no worry of judgment besides your own in the guarded solitude of your apartment.

He'd given you a thimble of hope, and you were clinging to it like the last drop of water.

Whether it be a call or text; you didn’t know. But he promised you... promised you… that you’d be hearing from him soon. Threatened you against inaction on your part. And you’d just believed him. Believed that even for a moment – some tiny fraction of oblivion – there could exist a world where you didn’t have to feel quite so fucking alone.

What exactly has he been up to? Some prior commitment that pulled him from his phone? Maybe he’s just stuck at work all day? But then surely he doesn’t pull twelve hour shifts. Not like you found out their given occupations yet. Which means he’s gotta be sick, right? The weather’s been atrocious and you hadn’t physically seen him get in a car when he left.

Shit! He went home smelling like you. How did the pack react?

How did she react?

They didn’t get into a fight did they? She probably forced him to delete your contact info. God, you were so selfish putting them through this mess. But hadn't John been selfish too in wanting to keep you around? Was that really a pack decision?

The tears culminating in your eyes were pathetic. Acid rain bleaching your pillowcase in big caustic globules, seeping into the fabric and burning through the thin membrane of your cheeks. Bitter rage tainted the half formed excuses, corrupting like malware into personal betrayal.

How could you be so foolish? What part of ‘you’re not allowed to be happy’ did you not comprehend? Hadn’t you already learned not to shoot for the stars, much less the occupants of unit 2B?!

Poor, stupid omega.

You grasped your chest as if that could stop whatever clawed beast was burrowing its way past your ribcage to dig out a hole and lay its clutch. Flicking the bedside lamp off brought you as much darkness outside as there was feasting on your entrails and gorging itself for a long unforgiving winter.

Curling up in your repugnant nest, you couldn’t keep your heart from shattering as each teardrop extinguished the sputtering flame of hope.

You never got around to fixing your hair.

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kingzkustomz · 5 months ago

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Car Detailing: What is included?

The term detailing is quite commonly heard from car owners, but there is always confusion as to what exactly it means. Well, in its simplest form, having a basic level of understanding of the vehicle is the detailing of the vehicle. However, the detailing is of utmost importance in making a car just like a brand new one. There are also instances in which the detailing makes your car even better than a new one. Detailing is another part of improving the performance of the vehicle not only while driving but with the appearance both internally and externally.

#Car Customization Leicester #Car Modification Leicester #Car Wrapping Leicester #Vinyl Wrapping Leicester #Roof Starlight Leicester #Car Detailing Leicester #Paint Protection Film Leicester #Ecu Remapping Leicester #Ambient Lighting Leicester #Car Upholstery Service Leicester #Steering Wheel Modification Leicester #Car Security System Leicester

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xfandom-fairyx · 6 months ago

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marching band au

bakugo fic

here goes nothing..

—————————————————

My car slowed as I turned the corner onto the road that held the dorm house I would be staying in for the next 4 years of my life. The sun was already going down, not quite setting, but the sky was already turning pinkish orange, rays of golden light peeking through the trees that were scattered amongst the houses I passed by. I took a deep breath, trying not to gape at the building at the end of the cul de sac, as I pulled up the cement driveway— where no other cars were parked. I sighed thankfully. Being the first person here meant I got first dibs on the bedrooms, the thought alone sending a wave of excitement through me. The house was gorgeous, and freaking huge. (How many roommates was I supposed to have, again?..)

Double checking I had the correct address from the email in my phone, I pulled my keys from the ignition, fumbling to find the key to the front door. The heat outside was suffocating compared to the cool AC from my car, making me want to quicken my pace a bit to get inside. Deciding to grab the rest of my luggage after a quick look around and picking my room, I grabbed my backpack and purse before heading up the stairs to the front door. The entrance was framed by a beautiful wrap around porch, a few chairs, benches, and a porch swing adorning the wooden planks on each side of the door. Gently swinging the painted blue door open, I took my first steps inside my new (temporary) home, my chest tight with emotion.

The foyer was a bright space, a few meters wide, but felt cozy. Along the wall to the left was a deep blue, cubby-like bench with coat hooks, cabinets and a shoe rack, while the right wall had an oak table with a beautiful crystal decorative bowl, a fake potted plant and a circular mirror. Placed on the table beside the bowl was a slip of paper that had a list of utilities with passwords, app suggestions, and numbers for the local emergency services since we lived off campus. I quickly snapped a picture of and saved it to my favorites album, a subtle reminder to download the security app for the house, and a separate app for the security cameras. I moved to the left again and placed my keys on the cubby hook on the far right, kicking my slides off to set them on the shelf below my keys, my fingers gently grazing the navy stained wood. I was in no real rush as I stepped to the end of the foyer, taking it all in.

“Holy shit.. wow..” was all I could muster in my awe. The house smelled like oak wood and vanilla— the sweet woody combination fit just right in my head and sent me reeling to see the rest of the place I would call home. The bottom floor had a completely open floor plan where I could see everything from almost every angle across the house. To my right, a deep sectional sofa fit for 10 sat in a semi U shape, a chaise piece attached to run parallel with the longest side of the sofa, the whole thing facing a wall with a 75” flat screen, and a decent sized electric fireplace below it. Sat in the corner about 10 feet away from the sofa was a sleek, black grand piano, surrounded by a corner bookshelf that was full of sheet music, vinyl records, CD’s and memorabilia. My eyes flickered to the other side of the space to a grand kitchen, granite countertops, a huge island with a second barn sink, beautifully crafted cabinets, stainless steel appliances (which were huge, by the way! An 8 range stove?? A fridge big enough to hold food for a football team?! Christ!), and a walk-in pantry to top it off? I was in absolute heaven, daydreaming of the cooking and baking I would have so much fun doing in this kitchen.

I made my way to the left, because behind the formal dining table that sat 6 feet from the giant island in the kitchen, was a wide staircase leading upstairs to a loft area, where I assumed the bedrooms were also. There were a few more doors that I would get to later, assuming one was another bathroom or bedroom, and at least one of them led to the garage.

The loft area sat mostly above the kitchen, dining room and above the piano, leaving a full view of the living room area, and the ability to see at least half of the kitchen and dining room from the side opposite the stairs, and the hardwood floors throughout the entirety of the main and second floors. The loft itself had a study area with a few desks lined against the wall; all 4 of them fit at least two chairs, a work lamp on each surface, and a table in the corner that had a computer with a printer, which I quickly assumed was going to be strictly for homework.

As I made my way down the hallway to our bedrooms, I opened each door to peek inside and see which room I would like most. There were 2 spare bathrooms and 8 bedrooms total on this floor, with the two at the very end of the hallway having their doors 45° angled into the hallway. I opened the bedroom to the right first, and immediately fell in love with the wide space, huge windows, walk-in closet, and a third door that I could only guess was my own bathroom. Giddiness flooded my system as I opened the door and saw I was right. I set my bag on the queen sized bed in the space I couldn’t wait to decorate, and decided I should go get the rest of my stuff and start unpacking. It was dusk now, which meant I didn’t have much more time to get my stuff before night fell over the house, so I slipped downstairs and back into my sandals, flicking the porch light on.

The first load I needed to bring upstairs was my bedding, and if I had enough hands, I could grab my laundry bag. I still didn’t have a clue where the laundry room was, but I figured I would figure that out later. Getting back upstairs and to the end of the hallway had my lungs and legs burning, and I groaned out loud at the several other trips down and back up those stairs I would have to make tonight.

“Ugghhh, fuck!” I groaned, pulling my shirt away from my body rapidly, trying to fan myself. By the 5th trip to my car, I was sticky from sweat, out of breath, red in the face and regretting life, but it was my last load to carry before I could stay inside and relish the cool air of the central cooling system. My last suitcase of clothes and a medium sized box that had my favorite dog’s ashes amongst other sentimental items were in my arms as a big black truck came down the road and to a stop in the driveway next to my Camry. I looked away, trying to juggle the box and suitcase around so I could shut the door of my car, the box slipping from my grasp. Just as I was about to drop that super important box, a second pair of hands reached out to help.

“Woah! Careful! Do you need some help?” A voice asked. My panicked eyes met kind vermillion, that gentle tenor voice belonging to a boy with long red hair that was tied back, a touch of black at his roots. His smile was just as sweet as it lit up his face.

“Yeah,” I said breathlessly, “some help would be great!” He grinned wider, gesturing for me to go ahead of him.

“Lead the way, pretty lady,” he charmed. As if my cheeks weren’t red enough from the exertion, more heat crept up my neck and bloomed in my face. I huffed out a giggle, making my way around the car, leading the redhead up the steps and through the house to my room. I opened the door for him to come in and set the box on my bed, and he let out a low whistle.

“Nice space, can’t wait to see what you do with it,” he commented, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Oi, Shitty Hair, you gonna get your shit out of my car or what? Stop flirting, you just met her,�� a voice came from behind him. I peeked around the redhead’s shoulders to catch a glimpse at what looked like Adonis himself. A tall, sculpted blonde with gorgeous ruby eyes was scowling in our direction, his gaze narrowing as he saw me.

Shaking the scrutiny from his gaze off my shoulders, I turned my attention back to the redhead in front of me, trying not to let my gaze wander to his bare arms that were shown off from his cut off t-shirt.

“I’m y/n, by the way. Thank you for helping me with my stuff,” I grinned, holding my hand out for a handshake. He grinned back widely, but instead of shaking my hand, he held his arms out and pulled me into a hug, shocking me at first, but I absolutely hugged back. He felt so warm and his chest was cushioned, (not to mention he smelled amazing! Like marine moss, citrus and driftwood..)

“Name’s Eijiro, but you can call me Kiri, if you want,” he said over my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze before letting go, turning to head back downstairs. As I stepped into the hallway to follow him, two more boys came sauntering into view, one with sunny blonde hair and a black streak in it, the other with raven black hair. They were laughing and giggling at the top of the stairs, trying to trip each other to get to their rooms first, but stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw me. Eijiro chuckled and went around them to get back downstairs. The blonde one dropped all his bags, holding up hand to point a finger at me before shouting,

“GIRL! THERE’S A GIRL IN THE HOUSE!” Like I was some kind of 1600’s witch. The raven-haired boy cracked up, and I could hear Eijiro cackling from downstairs. The ash blonde was coming out of his room from behind me, coming to a halt a few inches from where I stood. I could feel his body heat radiating off of him, the smell of warm honey and sea salt floating to my nostrils.

“Yeah, Sparkplug, she’s a fucking girl. Stop ogling and get back to getting your shit out of my truck.” He said gruffly, grumbling out, “fucking idiot” as he passed us all on his way back downstairs.

Snapping out of my trance, I looked between the new boys in front of me, offering a small smile.

“Anyone up for some pizza and we can do introductions when it gets here?” I suggested, making them grin widely.

I got a, “for sure, man,” from the ravenette, and a, “heelll yeah, brother,” from the new blonde to cement my decision, and I grabbed my phone to open up the Domino’s app.

. • ° * ° • . … . • ° * ° • .

A/N: first part might be a bit awkward, I haven’t written in a while. (Help me out with tags?) Next part is in the works, hopefully as I get back into it, I’ll be more comfortable and it’ll get better. I can come back and edit later if I feel like it’s missing something. Hope you enjoy 🤍

#bakugou x reader #bnha #katsuki bakugo

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yumelatte · 18 days ago

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let's try it (dying for love) together - chapter four

a night to remember

In which Lighter meets you in his underground fighting days and develops long-lasting feelings for you; you don't fare much better.

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Spotify Playlist

cw: smut, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, piv sex, vaginal fingering, biting, scratching, service top lighter, scent kink

hey, i have no excuses. i was just thirsty for the man, ok??? also this was my first time writing smut, so erm...

<- previous chapter | 4: a night to remember | next chapter ->

The motorbike before you stuck out from the dozens of vehicles in the parking lot. Its two wheels were big and suited for rough terrain—unlike the ones from the cars. The white vinyl of the seat was smooth and clean, big enough to fit two people. At the front, there were two yellow headlights to help light the road at night. The bike was littered with motors and contraptions you didn’t even want to think about, but you did think about the cute white word on the red bars connecting the wheels and handles. On the cold, smooth crimson beams, there it was in clear white lettering—Lighter. This man had his name imprinted on his motorcycle, and it wasn’t enough on one side—it was on two sides. You couldn’t suppress your grin when noticing that detail.

“What are you smiling about?” Lighter’s eyebrow raised, in the middle of mounting his bike, and he wondered if there was something you knew that he didn’t.

Standing by him, you fiddled with your fingers—nervous about getting behind him, but the thought of him having his name on his bike was amusing. “Was it your idea to put your name on your bike?”

“Yeah, it’s something that belongs to me.” Lighter gestured with his hand for you to get on, and you tried to fight your anxiety while throwing your leg around the seat behind him. You ended up standing over the seat with shaky hands on his shoulders. He let out a chuckle, half-turning to face you. “What are you doing? C’mon, sit down.”

You sat down, unsure of where to put your hands, so you kept them on his shoulders.

“You’re gonna fall off like that.” His hands found yours, moving and fastening them to his waist. “Here.”

With your hands wrapped around him, you buried your face in his back, the leather cool against your skin and scarf soft against you—mind and heart racing from his presence. “...You…” you said quietly.

“Hm?” He started the engine, one hand gripping both of yours for a moment before gripping both handles.

“It’s hard to think with you being so near me,” you confessed, closing your eyes in embarrassment and nervousness.

Lighter smiled, flipping up the side stand to drive towards the parking exit. “I’m the same with you too. Now, hold on tight.”

Your arms wound themselves tighter around him, bracing yourself for an impact that never happened. As the bike exited the parking lot, you felt the wind rushing against you, the strong gusts tousling your hair. When you realized that nothing bad was going to happen, you opened your eyes—and were met with the sight of the moving cityscape. The scenery was beautiful; You never noticed how vast and lively the place you lived in was. You took in the sights of the city against Lighter’s back, enjoying the refreshing breeze and the gentle vibrations of the engine.

It was not long until you and Lighter arrived at your apartment complex. Lighter steered the bike into the underground parking lot, and you didn’t want to say goodbye to him even as the date drew to a close.

After parking the motorcycle in an unoccupied space, Lighter turned off the engine, but he didn’t move to get off the bike. Instead, he placed his hands on yours—the ones still on him. You basked in the feeling of contact with him—him doing the same. “I can walk you up?” His statement sounded like a question, one that was very tempting.

You didn’t hesitate, wanting to hang around him a little longer. “Yeah.”

Getting off the bike before Lighter, you extended your limbs out, letting out a pleased sound at being able to stretch. You turned back to Lighter, seeing him midway in dismounting his bike and staring at you. Noticing what he was doing, he quickly looked away from you as he finished getting off the bike. As he approached you, he said, “Lead the way.”

You walked to the elevator with him following behind you, not knowing what to say. Well, you knew what to say, just not how to say it.

The elevator ride was silent with no words exchanged between you and Lighter, standing next to each other and listening to the jingle of the tune coming from the speakers. The silence lingered on the journey to your apartment door.

Staring at the keypad next to the door, you thought whether it was a good idea to enter your passcode with Lighter watching. It’s not like you minded him knowing the code… Actually, you did mind. You minded about the contents of the code, not if he had access to your home. You trusted him that much, but it was a little embarrassing… It was silly—when you first got the apartment, they had asked you to set a passcode. Make sure to not make it easy to guess, make sure not to set it as a date, as a string of repeated numbers, or as a birthday. No, you did something worse, and if anyone knew you, they would probably know your passcode.

The electronic keypad glared at you, bright screen waiting for your input. You entered the numbers into the screen, body blocking the little screen to prevent Lighter from seeing. With each press of a number, you could feel yourself sweating. Five, four, four, four, eight, three, seven. The door beeped with the last number in the sequence, and you heard Lighter laugh slightly. You knew trying to block the screen would be no good; he was too tall to be deterred from looking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you turned around to save face, but when you opened your eyes again, you let down your guard because of his soft expression.

“You need to change the pass to your lock.” Lighter gazed down at you, amusement embedded in his voice. “Does anyone know how bad you have it for me?”

You stared up at him with half-lidded eyes, slowly getting near him. “...Not really,” you whispered.

“Does anyone else know your passcode?” He asked quietly, tugging you closer to him—your hands landed on his chest, the zipper on his jacket digging into you—his hand on your back.

You answered honestly, “Just my brother… and now you.”

Lighter’s other hand was keeping your chin upright, gloved thumb barely brushing your quivering soft lips. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“I meant it. You’re welcome to my place any time. Even now.” You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to stay with you tonight.

“Are you…” Trailing off as he studied your face, lips twisting into a frown—searching your eyes for some kind of sign. It seemed like he found what he was looking for because he lifted up his sunglasses to perch them on his hair.

Without another word, Lighter cupped your face with one hand and bent down to slot his lips with yours. You were taken aback by how rough he pressed them into you, but you couldn’t blame him. He licked your lips, asking for permission to enter, and you responded by sticking your tongue in his mouth. You felt like one of those people in a romance movie—when they say sparks flew when their lips touched. That’s how you were feeling—you could get high off the taste of him. He tasted like grapes and strawberries, you were curious to know why he tasted so sweet, but you couldn’t ask—you were too busy devouring him. His tongue twisted along with yours, both exploring each other’s mouths with him overpowering you. His hand moved to your ass, squeezing it, causing you to jump—only succeeding in invading his space. But there was nowhere else to go because you were already that close—you hooked a leg around his hips and placed a hand behind his head to keep him against you and an arm around his neck to stabilize yourself.

When the kiss was broken, he rested his forehead against yours, heavy breaths leaving him in pants. His eyes were swirling with lust, and you were sure yours must be the same.

“Stay...” A breath, “Come in and make the trip back tomorrow,” you begged softly.

Lighter should say no. He shouldn’t give in to you. “I have to go back to doing my job.” Lie. His life as a champion was laid back because there were few tasks to do. Surprisingly, Big Daddy left him to his own devices. And lately, no one wanted to challenge the Red Scarf, so he had time to be with you. He was also supposed to serve as the leader’s bodyguard, but the boss was perfectly capable on her own, so there was no need to be back any time soon. But you didn’t know all that.

“Lighter,” you breathed his name, gaze locked onto his. “I’ve been waiting forever for you…”

You have, haven’t you? His eyes flickered with realization. You have been waiting patiently—yearning for him ever since then. It made him feel special, made him feel wanted, made him feel greedy. He had been yearning for you too. He had rejected many love letters in the Outer Ring, desperately clinging to the memory of you. He had never imagined to see you again, but here you are. In the flesh, begging him to stay. Begging him to come inside your apartment with you. Oh, you sly vixen . You knew what you were doing. He knew how this was going to end; you did too by the heavy look that you were giving him. He could never say no to you.

His searing kiss was all the answer you needed to drag him into your apartment.

The door slammed loudly, and you were sure you locked it, but you were preoccupied by Lighter’s lips, so you weren’t sure. The cold steel bit into your back as Lighter crowded you against the door, thigh sliding in between your legs, the ridges of his pants doing wonders on you. Sharing the same breath as him was making you feel dizzy. All you could focus on was him. His smoky scent, his sweet taste, his scorching touch. It was all too much. All you could think of was Lighter.

He wasn’t any better. All Lighter could think of was you. His senses were filled with your scent, the sweet and floral jasmine scent clouding his mind. He had missed the taste of you, and he couldn’t help but notice you didn’t taste like grapes anymore. He wasn’t disappointed; however, he was curious about the new flavor you had. He was exploring the roof of your mouth, trying to figure it out when you moaned. He broke the kiss, staring at you with bated breath.

With him pulling away from you, you fought the urge to follow him. You had made an embarrassing sound just now, but you couldn’t help it. How can you when he was moving his thigh against you like that? Or were you grinding yourself against him? It didn’t matter either way; it felt good. You needed more—you needed more of him.

“L-Lighter…” you stuttered weakly, gripping the sleeve of his jacket.

He understood what you wanted, sliding his hands under you and lifting you—your legs framing his hips. “...Where?”

Nodding in the direction of your bedroom, you murmured, “...Through that door.”

With your full weight on him, he carried you past your bedroom door and stopped by your bed, dropping you gently on the soft mattress and taking off his boots. Your stare had such heat behind it, that your habit of biting your lips came out once again, and Lighter couldn’t stop gazing at you while he took off his gloves, sunglasses, and pouch, placing them on your nightstand. His mind was racing as he removed his scarf and belts. You slipped out of your shoes and socks, pulled off your shirt, and unclipped your bra as he made haste in shrugging off his leather jacket, leaving him in his black slightly torn undershirt, dog tags, and gold chain. You watched as he rid himself of the undershirt as well—not once did he take his intense eyes off you. Left in just his dog tags, gold chains, and pants, you licked your lips, half-lidded eyes roaming the expanse of his broad chest and sculpted muscles. You could never get tired of the sight of him.

He approached you, bending down slightly and giving you a chaste kiss, coming right back up to look at you again. Your hands reached out to meet his exposed skin, exploring the smooth and raised textures. With his upper body out on full display, you noticed the scars that decorated him. There was a sizable one extending from his right shoulder to his pectoral muscle. Another one was in the area where his neck and shoulder connected on his left side. Tracing the criss-cross of the healed tissue on his left bicep, you admired his strong will. He must have gone through so much, and you wanted to cry for him—cry because you could only imagine what he was feeling.

“My scars.” His quiet voice broke through your stupor.

You peered up at him, wondering what he was going to say.

“They don’t turn you off?”

Saddened by the thought of him being insecure about his scars, you leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the one on his lower waist. “No, why would I be? They’re just evidence of your overcomings.” Your eyes returned to his, blinking slowly. “I still love you all the same.”

Lighter said nothing; he smiled softly, kneeling down, and his big hands landed on your naked sides—almost encompassing the full width of your body. Your eyes fluttered as they caressed you with their warmth. His hands slowly made their way up to your breasts, cupping and massaging them. You closed your eyes in pleasure, skin prickling and feeling yourself getting turned on from the way his fingers were rolling your nipples. He leaned in and took one between his teeth, lightly grazing it while continuing to rub the other with his deft thumb. His teeth turned into tongue as he lapped at you. You squeeze your thighs together to create some friction to alleviate the tingling feeling between your legs.

He noticed, taking his tongue off you and stopping his thumb to stare at you—to commit the sight of you into his memory. You opened your eyes, wondering why he stopped, and you saw that he was just looking at you. “Why’d you stop?” you huffed, unable to ignore the heat at your core.

“Just enjoying the beautiful view.” With his admission, Lighter’s hands fell to your waist, slipping his fingers into the waistband of your skirt and sliding them down. You lifted yourself up to help him take it off, revealing your black lace underwear. Standing up to strip his pants off, he watched as you were also appreciating the view. Left in his boxer briefs, he saw you eyeing the imprint of his cock. Fuck, he was so hard—and the way you were biting your lips with such a seductive expression didn’t help.

His shadow fell over you as he met your lips again, climbing into your bed and pulling you into his lap. The dog tags and chain on his neck felt cold against your back as you and Lighter kissed passionately. Feeling his hand trace a path down your body to your nether regions, you spread your legs for him, head spinning from his warm tongue. The fabric of your panties dipped in as he ran his hand slowly over you through the damp material.

“So wet…” he breathed into your mouth. “Haven’t even touched you yet.”

You rasped, hand on his cheek. “...Then touch me…”

Slipping his hand under the gusset of your underwear, he sank the tips of his fingers into your entrance briefly before finding your clit. He circled his fingers on the bundle of nerves, rubbing it with your slick. Overwhelmed with the feeling of his fingers and him stealing your breaths with his kisses, you moaned—him swallowing your sounds as he moved back to your cunt. You shuddered as his middle and ring fingers nudged your entrance again, fully breaching you. He grinded his palm against your slippery clit while his fingers continued their assault. It was heavenly—the way he was making you feel. You couldn’t think straight when he handled you like this. You tried to remove your mouth from his, but he kept your head from moving—the white heat spreading throughout your body. It was all too much, and you found yourself barreling toward your release.

“A-ah, Lighter!” you mewled loudly, severing the kiss.

He felt your body tense up as wetness coated his hand, the slick—sticky between his fingers.

The thin fabric covering your pussy felt uncomfortable—from the heat or your arousal—you didn’t know. All you knew was that you needed it off now. You pushed off him and slid off the remaining article of clothing you had, turning around to face the man who undid you.

Gently cupping his face with both your hands while on your knees, you examined him. His swollen lips were parted and lustful eyes regarded you, a flush coating his skin. His hand—the one that was smeared with your arousal—made its way up to his mouth, fingers slipping in and tongue savoring your taste. He relinquished his digits out of his mouth with an audible pop. The blood rushed to your cheeks at his sinful behavior, eyes curiously shifting down to his crotch. His cock was hidden beneath the soft fabric of his boxers, but you could tell he was just excited as you are—his large erection straining against the material. Your hand reached down to uncover him, wanting to see what you’ve been waiting for. He doesn’t stop you, letting you take it out. Lightly grasping it, you felt the heavy weight in your hand. He jerked at your touch, but you couldn’t stop your actions—mesmerized by him. A patch of dark green hair lay below his stomach. He was well-endowed—your hand halfway around him, becoming light-headed, thinking about how it was going to fit in you. Mindlessly stroking him, you noticed there was a prominent vein starting from the base of his shaft. Trailing up your hand, the mushroomed tip was flushed red, already leaking precum. Letting go of him, you licked your lips as you bent down to get a taste, but Lighter’s hands landed on your shoulders, stopping you.

“Another time. I need to be in you now,” he grunted as he shucked off his boxers, shedding the last piece of clothing between the both of you. “Condom?”

You froze, realizing you didn’t have any because you never found the need for them. “O-oh, I have none…”

Lighter froze too, worried eyes meeting yours. You could tell he was hesitant, but you didn’t want to stop. You had him where you wanted, refusing to let him go. “I’m on birth control,” you blurted out quickly.

Immediately, he answered apprehensively, “You’re on birth control…?”

“It’s not like I had any other partners…” You averted your eyes from him with your hands in your lap. “...The pills help me with making my periods stable.”

Lighter relaxed at your explanation, mentally wiping the sweat off his forehead.

You encased his neck with your bare arms, whispering into his ear, “Besides, you can cum inside me all you want like this…”

Before you knew it, you were on your back; his one hand pinning down both your wrists above your head—him hovering above you and expression difficult to read because of the hair hiding his eyes. Eyes wide—you stared up at him, surprised by the suddenness, but you recovered with a lop-sided smile. He has it just as bad as you do, and you feel like you can’t breathe at the realization. With a hand still holding you down, he propped one of your legs on his hip—movement causing the tip of his dick to lightly kiss your clit. You gasped helplessly as he slid it up and down your slit, coating it in your slickness, and your desperate sounds filled the room. You wanted to cover your mouth with your hands to prevent the noises from leaving you, but Lighter wanted to hear you, so he kept his hand on your wrists.

Through your haze, you could barely hear him choking out your name, “...I want to hear you. I’ve also been waiting a long time for this.”

He slowly entered you, tip prodding you as he fed you his length. He stretched you, carving space for himself, and all you could do was take it. At first, it burned but the stinging sensation transformed into white-hot pleasure as his cock was fully sheathed inside you. Tears formed on the corners of your eyes, and he kissed them away, comforting you by intertwining your hand with his as he found his pace. You cried—not because of pain or pleasure, but because you were touched by how sweet and romantic he was being.

He removed his hand from your wrists, freeing you. You took the opportunity to wind them around him, splaying your hands on his back. You were consumed by him as he brushed his lips upon yours and initiated another kiss. Lighter nipped at your bottom lip before lowering his head to your collarbone, lips latching onto your naked skin and sucking marks onto you. You raked your nails across his back; he hissed against you but didn’t stop. You wanted to mark him too. You buried your head in the space between his head and shoulder and trailed your tongue on his salty skin before you dug your teeth in, and soothed the red blooms with little licks. His hips sped up, and he rested his forehead against yours—darkened green eyes gazing feverishly into your eyes. There was pressure building up in your lower stomach—it was bundled up together in a knot—the pleasure was unbearable, and you were almost there. Sensing you were close, Lighter’s hand reached down and rubbed your clit as he kept up his momentum. The coil in your abdomen finally snapped, and you shivered, mind going blank and nerves on fire.

Lighter wasn’t that far behind you from his peak—he chased his own release through you, and even though you were oversensitive, you didn’t stop him. With one last strong thrust, you felt warm liquid spill inside you. Moaning loudly into your ear, your name left his lips as he painted your walls white with his cum. He was still moving his hips slightly after he came, and you whimpered his name, oversensitive from recently experiencing your orgasm. It was a moment before he stilled, keeping himself inside you.

He held your hands as you stared at one another—breathing heavily and wondering what the other was thinking.

You blinked up at him, unable to stop yourself from confessing, overwhelmed with emotions. “I love you.”

Lighter cracked a grin, teeth flashing before resting his head on your shoulder. “I love you too.”

Shutting your eyes, you laid there—with his full weight on you, sated, exhausted and sore. Eventually, he withdrew himself from you, and you were taken back by the emptiness you felt without him. You missed him inside you already. Feeling his cum leaking out of you, you opened your eyes to see him going into your bathroom and returning with a small damp towel. He used it to clean you up—the cloth made you jump, but you relaxed as you got used to the feeling. Discarding the towel on the floor, he climbed back into your bed and kissed you before wrapping his arms around you—getting you to lay against him. You made yourself at home against his broad naked chest, and he rested his head on the top of yours. Tangling your legs with his, you smiled happily. His heartbeats lulled you into a deep sleep while he fell asleep to the sounds of your breathing.

#lighter x reader #female reader #short reader #reader insert #x reader #zzz x reader #zzz lighter x reader #lighter x you #zzz lighter #zenless zone zero #lighter smut #yumelatte writes

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