#ꜱɪʏᴛʜɴ

[siythn]

˚◞ HAIRCARE! - SUGURU GETO

SYNPOSIS. with geto being your boyfriend, a morning routine was established. but some say sitting between his thighs as he does your hair; fingers running through strands, removing knots, and stying might be unusual. but to you, it was everything.

WARNINGS! tooth-rotting fluff

WC; 1.05K

THE LIGHT OF THE MORNING SUN filtered through the white curtains, casting a warm glow throughout the shared room. You sat cross-legged on the floor, a small, circled-shaped mirror propped up before you.

Your eyes weren't on your reflection though. Rather, they were closed, too focused on enjoying the sensation of Geto running his fingers through your hair, gently untangling the strands than to bother checking your morning face.

He sat behind you, legs laying on either side of your frame, thighs dangerously close to your face. Your boyfriend's presence brought a comforting weight as you rested your cheek against his upper leg.

You felt a slight tug as he pulled the brush through a particularly stubborn knot, but it was more reassuring than painful.

Honestly, Geto had always been careful with your hair as if it was alive. He always took his time, making sure each stroke was slow and deliberate, muttering sorry under his breath if he tanked on a strand a bit too hard.

It was adorable to see the black-haired male so engaged in a messily task you asked him to one random Tuesday morning that soon became an everyday routine. Even on days, you protested that it was fine—you found yourself in the same position from the day before, getting ready with all the supplies needed seated beside him.

The cherry on top had to have been when you walked in on him practicing hairstyles that you mentioned you liked. Your boyfriend never found out, and you brushed it off as a mere coincidence since he also had a length to his hair.

You had to stop yourself from geeking when the same hairstyle was on your hair two days later.

The scent of his shampoo filled the space between you, a mix of something herbal and earthy. It was familiar to you, seeing as you stole it and used it for yourself a couple more times you would like to admit.

Hearing the soft rustle of his clothes as he shifted slightly, adjusting his position for better access. His fingers were nimble and practiced, and you couldn't help the admiration at how effortlessly he managed your hair, a task that always seemed to take you ages.

"You've got a lot of patience for this," you remarked, your voice soft in the morning quiet with faint blinking eyes; sneakily peering at him through the mirror.

He chuckled lightly, the sound vibrating through the room to you. "Well, someone has to keep your hair in check."

You laughed the sound blending with the peaceful atmosphere. "Hey, I try my best."

"I know you do," he said, his tone gentle. "But sometimes you need a bit of help."

He didn't speak much more, and neither did you. The silence was comfortable, punctuated only by the occasional hum of approval from him when a particularly tricky tangle came free. You felt the coolness of his rings against your scalp, a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands.

As Geto worked, you let your mind drift; eyes shutting once more, focusing on the rhythmic pattern of his movements. He sectioned your hair, clipping some of it up to keep it out of the way. You could feel the slight pressure of the plastic clips, holding everything in place.

"You always take your time with this," you mused, feeling the brush glide through the length of your hair, each pass smoothing out the strands.

"I like taking care of you," he replied simply, his voice low and sincere.

Feeling your body warm at your boyfriend's words, you slightly straighten up, cheek moved up from his thigh to sit at the front. Geto not bothered by the sudden movement switched to a finer comb for the finishing touches, feeling the difference between the bristles.

"Any plans for today?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Not really," he said, his fingers deftly weaving your hair once more. "I was thinking we could just relax. Maybe watch a movie later."

"That sounds nice," you agreed, smiling at the thought.

When the male finally finished, he gathered your hair in his hands, twisting it into a loose braid. His fingers worked quickly, securing the end with a hair tie that was on his wrist. You opened your eyes and looked in the mirror, admiring his handiwork. The braid was neat and tight, but not too tight, and you could see the pride in his eyes as he looked at it.

"You did a great job, Sugu," you said, turning slightly to face him.

"Glad you like it," he replied, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

Geto leaned forward, resting his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. You could see his reflection in the mirror, his dark eyes soft, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your forehead, a tender gesture that made your heart flutter.

"Thanks," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't need to respond; the gentle squeeze of his hand on your shoulder said it all. The two of you stayed like that for a moment longer, savoring the moment of the morning, the quiet connection between you.

"Want some breakfast?" he asked after a while, his arms had now found their way across your body; secured in his hold.

"Sure," you replied, leaning back into him. "What are you in the mood for?"

"How about pancakes?" Geto suggested, head resting between the crook of your neck, making you squirm in response with sensitivity. You could feel his lips curl to a smirk. "I can whip up a batch pretty quickly."

"Pancakes sound perfect," you agreed with a laugh, playfully taking his face and gently shoving it away from you as if to hide your neck from him.

He grinned and, with a swift motion, scooped you up into his arms. You squealed in surprise, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

"Suguru—put me down!" you laughed, but there was no real protest in your voice as you "tried" to escape.

He carried you effortlessly toward the kitchen, his steps steady and sure. "Nope. You wanted pancakes, and I'm delivering you straight to them."

You giggled, leaning your head against his shoulder as he carried you through the house in defeat.

Maybe you didn't mind this being an everyday routine.

© All Rights Reserved, owned by SIYTHN.

all interactions are appreciated!! love you all lots, take care of yourself ༯

[siythn]

no words

satosugu! but they’re frat boys at a party for an upcoming game LOL (someone plz write a frat stsg fic I NEED IT)

[siythn]

Sick & Soup

GOJOXREADER! You hate Gojo. Gojo hates you. It's the way everything's always been. But when you wake up in the middle of the night desperate for something to help your aching body, Gojo being the one to help makes you rethink your distaste for one another. _________ ♫ MASTERMIND - taylor swift ❝ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ? ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀᴡ ᴍᴇ, ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴀꜱ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴍᴇ.❞

TAGS - @dottedsilktie @ophelias-fate @skadee @augaws @bruhm0mentum

When you feel that itchy feeling scratching your throat when you wake, you’ve never wanted to throw yourself out the window more.

You toss and turn in your bed as if it’s supposed to cure the discomfort, but the weight of unease presses down on you like a suffocating blanket. 

The darkness of the night feels more congested than usual, and an unshakable feeling of irritation gnaws at your insides. With a frustrated sigh, you reluctantly push aside the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

The dormitory is eerily quiet, with no quiet footsteps or words exchanged, the only sounds being the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Everyone else seems to be on a mission, leaving you alone in the silence of the night. Normally, the loneliness would be a break from the chaos Jujutsu Tech brought, but tonight it only adds to your sense of isolation.

You make your way to the kitchen, the cold tiles sending shivers up your spine—you would kill for some fuzzy socks at the moment. Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway, the sound bouncing off the walls with your faint sniffles. 

As you reach the kitchen, you rummage through the wooden cabinets in search of the medication you desperately need on tippy toes, knocking over a few bottles in the process. The darkness and thinking you could search for it without a light doesn’t help. 

“Oh thank god,” you whisper with a rasp just as you find the blue bottle, titled Bold with Ibuprofen. Pouring out a glass of water, you’re interrupted by a sudden noise that makes you freeze in place. 

Sure, you’ve had your fair share of horror films, but today, especially now, were you going to deal with something near that.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you slowly turn around, your eyes widening in alarm as you come face to face with the last person you expected to see at this hour.

"Gojo," you breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t tell if it’s in relief or frustration.

He stands before you, his white hair catching the moonlight filtering in through the window. His blue eyes, normally holding mischief and arrogance, now pique a hint of curiosity as he stares you down with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you doing up so late, huh?" Gojo asks, his tone laced with amusement.

You bristle at his casual demeanor, the tension between you palpable in the air. Despite being classmates at Jujutsu Tech, you and Gojo have never seen eye to eye. His cocky attitude and reckless behavior never failed to get on your nerves, and you make no effort to hide your disdain for him.

Clearly, it worked both ways.

"I could ask you the same thing," you retort, lazily crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

Gojo chuckles, taking a step closer to you until there's a foot or two of space between you. Not to boost his enormous ego—but you can’t help but quiver at his presence. Being around him just feels suffocating, like a looming shadow threatening to engulf you whole.

"I couldn't sleep," he admits with a shrug, his voice softer now. You pick up on how it sounds, almost vulnerable? "Too much on my mind, I guess."

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief and scoff at his words. You refuse to let your guard down despite the sincerity in his tone. 

You've learned the hard way not to trust someone like Gojo, someone who thrives on chaos and unpredictability.

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?" you snap, turning away from him to hide the unease flickering in your eyes. 

You pick up the cup, swallowing the blue pill before drinking a mouth full of water. Turning around to put the glass into the sink, you ignore the blue-eyed male, slightly brushing shoulders with him. As much as you hate his presence, the feeling of his eyes watching you is worse.

You can feel the air between the both of you crackling with some type of tension as you avoid his gaze, hoping he'll take the hint and leave you alone. But to your dismay, he doesn't budge, his curiosity only growing stronger with each passing moment.

"Come on, seriously, what are you doing up?" Gojo persists, leaning down to get closer to you, insisting on getting an answer.

He wasn’t stupid, he could probably pick up a hint or two from the pill you just swallowed. But of course, it’s Gojo, he would never just let you off without his snarky remarks.

You grit your teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as you struggle to keep your composure. "I told you, I couldn't sleep. Is that such a crime?"

Gojo's eyes narrow slightly, a grin sneaking upon his lips. He knows his teasing is working, and you hate how you’re feeding into it. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

You roll your eyes, refusing to dignify his accusation with a response. But Gojo is relentless, his persistence wearing down your defenses like waves against a stubborn rock.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks suddenly, his tone softening as peers over your shoulder, watching you clean the cup with soap and a sponge.

You pause your movements, caught off guard by, what seems to be, concern in his voice. "I'm fine," you mutter, brushing off his question with a dismissive wave of your hand.

But Gojo isn't convinced, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of weakness. "You don't look fine," he observes, his brow furrowing. "You look more pale than usual, and you're trembling. Are you,” he pauses, gaze attentively looking over you again. “—sick?"

You bite back a retort, unable to deny the truth of his words. Despite your best efforts to hide it, the stillness of your body gives away the answer to him without words. 

"What's the matter, little Miss Perfect? Catch a cold from all that attitude?" Gojo taunts, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

You let out a huff of annoyance, swallowing back the retort that threatens to spill from your lips as you scrub the already clean cup harder. You try and block his presence out, but it’s seemingly impossible.

You know your silence doesn’t help you with his mocking, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your cool again, even if his incessant teasing is enough to make you want to scream.

Rinsing the cup, you dry it off with the nearest towel, trying hard not to give in and smack him straight with it. You can’t hold back your words when you hear his deafening laugh as you put the cup away. 

"What's this?" you demand, turning around to face Gojo, who now leans against the counter with a smirk on his face. "Why are you still here?” you voice, glaring at him as you continue. 

“I mean, don’t you have better things do to than just pester me? Is that seriously how boring your life is? I’m starting to be convinced you’re worrying about me.”

Gojo chuckles a second time, his laughter ringing out against the walls. "Please, like I'd waste my time worrying about you," he scoffs, his tone present with disdain. "I just thought you might want some company since you're too weak to take care of yourself."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much," you snap while taking a breath.

But Gojo just shakes his head, his grin widening into a deeper smirk. "Sure you are," he says, his tone mocking. "Which is why you're up at the crack of dawn, looking like death warmed over."

You open your mouth to fire back a insult, but before you can get a word out, Gojo interrupts you with a wave of his hand. "Enough chit-chat," he declares, his tone surprisingly authoritative compared to his childish personality. “Sit. Stay."

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. "Excuse me?" you sputter, too shocked to form a coherent response. You’re not a little kid, and you’re definitely not one to be ordered around.

But Gojo just nods towards the couch, his expression leaving no room for argument. "Sit," he repeats, his voice firm.

With a begrudging sigh, you do as he says, sinking onto the couch with a exaggerated sigh. Arms across your chest, you watch in bemusement as Gojo disappears into the kitchen, his movements loud and purposeful as he now rummages through the cabinets.

All you can hear is the clatter of pots and pans, punctuated by the occasional curse word muttered under Gojo's breath.

When a few minutes go by, you can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity as you wonder what he's up to, but before you can investigate further, Gojo emerges from the kitchen with a steaming bowl of soup in one hand and, a spoon in the other.

"Here," he says, thrusting the bowl and a spoon into your hands. "Eat this."

You blink in surprise, too taken aback by his unexpected gesture to formulate a response. Gojo just watches you expectantly, his arms crossed over his chest as he waits for your reaction.

With one last hesitant gaze at him, you take a sip of the soup, the warmth immediately spreading through your body like a comforting embrace.  It's delicious, and for a moment, you forget all about the animosity that usually exists between you and Gojo.

"Thank you,” you murmur, your voice soft but still heard enough to pick up the gratitude that comes from your words. 

Gojo shrugs, you don’t know if it’s the moonlight playing tricks on you—a faint blush colors his cheeks as he looks away. "Don't mention it," he mumbles, suddenly bashful.

You take another spoonful of soup, the cozy feeling spreading through your body and easing some of the discomfort you've been feeling. But as you do, the weight of Gojo's unexpected kindness hangs heavy in the air, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions inside you.

Despite the warmth of the soup and the comfort of the moment, you can't shake the resentment that still lingers between you and Gojo. Your hate for him runs a little deeper than some soup. 

"I still hate you, you know," you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to Gojo.

But he hears you loud and clear, his expression shifting from bashful to contemplative as he regards you with a thoughtful gaze. "I know," he replies simply, his voice surprisingly gentle.

There's a brief moment of silence between the two of you. But then, it’s interrupted unexpectedly as Gojo lets out a soft chuckle, his laughter echoing off the walls of the dormitory.

"Well, lucky for you, my soup has magical healing powers," he jokes, flashing you a playful grin.

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress the small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that," you retort, your tone teasing despite yourself.

Neither of you seems to know quite what to say, so you both fall into a comfortable silence, the only sound filling the room the soft clinking of utensils against bowls as you eat and his occasional heavy breaths.

As you finish the last spoonful of soup, you set the empty bowl down on the coffee table. That icky feeling in your throat is now gone but replaced with a strange mix of gratitude and confusion swirling inside you. 

Gojo wordlessly takes the bowl from you and carries it to the kitchen, his movements fluid and silent. You watch him go, feeling a pang of guilt tug at your conscience.

You try your best to maintain your animosity towards him, but his unexpected sincerity has left you feeling unsettled; and unkept. You don’t like it, at all.

When Gojo returns from the kitchen, he catches your eye and gives a small nod towards the hallway. 

It's a silent invitation, a gesture of understanding, that the both of you could hate each other later. But for now, you can just pretend. 

Nodding in response, silently grateful for him taking the push and making the first move. You push yourself up from the couch, and within a few seconds, you find yourself falling into step beside Gojo as you both make your way down the dimly lit hallway.

The silence between you is comfortable, the tension of earlier dissipating with each step you take, shoulders coming close to touching.  You can’t help but steal a glance at him, noticing the way the moonlight filters through the window, casting soft shadows across his features.

For the first time, you find yourself seeing him—not as the arrogant troublemaker you’ve always known him to be, but as a person, flawed and complex, just like you. That this is him. No stupid glasses, no stupid grin, no stupid remarks.

As you reach the end of the hallway, Gojo slows his pace, coming to a stop in front of your room. He turns to you, his expression unreadable within the dark corridors. 

The soft glow of the light spills through the window, casting a gentle illumination over the hallway, enveloping you both in its ethereal embrace. There's a moment of quiet stillness between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

You turn to face Gojo, intending to express your gratitude for his unexpected kindness. But as you open your mouth to speak, the words get caught in your throat, your voice failing you when you need it most. 

Instead, you find yourself simply staring at him, truly captivated by the way the light dances across his features, casting shadows and highlights that only serve to accentuate his natural charm.

Gojo's gaze meets yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. His blue eyes, ones that you resent to gaze at for too long— now hold a depth of emotion that makes you lose any sense of voice. 

In the silence of the night, you find yourself lost in his eyes, forgetting everything else but the brief connection that exists between you tonight. 

As the seconds tick by, neither of you says a word, as if content to simply bask in the warmth of each other's presence. You find your eyes trailing to the illumination that catches the strands of Gojo's white hair; ones that look soft to the touch.

Maybe Satoru Gojo isn’t all that bad.

His gaze lingers on your face, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of your lips for a brief moment. It's a subtle gesture, one that goes unnoticed by anyone but the two of you, but it sends a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins.

You feel your breathe stop as you catch the fleeting glance, your heart pounding in your chest as you wonder if perhaps, just maybe, there’s something more between you and Gojo than just petty distaste.

Maybe you had it wrong all this time.

For a moment, it feels as though time slows to a crawl as you wait with bated breath, half-expecting Gojo to lean in and close the distance between you.

But just as quickly as the moment comes, it passes, and Gojo takes a small step back, his expression unreadable as he breaks the trance you find yourself both in. 

You watch him closely, unable to tear your stare away from his face as you search for any sign of what he might be feeling. But Gojo's mask is firmly in place, keeping you from knowing his true intentions. 

You’re left with nothing but questions and the memory of that brief, thrilling moment between you.

But before you can dwell on the thought any longer, the sound of approaching footsteps as you both realize where you are, that it’s not just the both of you. With a start, you turn away from Gojo, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over you.

"Mm, thank you," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you glance back at him over your shoulder.

Gojo offers you a small smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he nods in response. "Anytime," he replies softly, his voice warm with sincerity.

And with that, you turn back to your door, the moment between you and Gojo fading into the past. 

With a shaky exhale, you feel a flush of embarrassment color your cheeks as you try to shake off the moment. It was in the heat of the moment, you try and convince yourself. 

But as you slip into your room and close the door behind you, you can't help but wonder what might have been if Gojo had chosen to act on his impulses. Would you have kissed him back? Would you have liked it? 

No, of course not. Why would you? The only real reason why you might even consider kissing him back was to get him sick, to get him back. 

Right?

AUTHORS NOTE! - pretty pls request stuff !! love to hear what you guys want me to write / gives me motivation and inspiration ᰔᩚ

@siythn all rights reserved!

[siythn]

Aftercare

LEVIXREADER! Coming back to headquarters after a challenging expedition pained you. After all; the grime combined with the tightness of your muscles wasn’t a good pair. But, Levi's hands in your hair, with a cozy hot bath running, was a perfect one. _________ ♫ IT'S NICE TO HAVE A FRIEND - taylor swift ❝ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ. ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ❞

The walls of Trost loomed overhead, but the weight on your shoulders felt heavier as you walked through the gate. The journey you'd just completed had been long and brutal, soldiers' bodies and souls pushed to their limits.

After yet another grueling mission with the Survey Corps, your body ached in ways you didn't know were possible. Every bone felt heavy, every muscle screamed for rest, and all you wanted was a moment of peace.

As soon as your feet hit the headquarters’ courtyard, every step grew heavier, every breath more labored. Putting your horse away to rest at the stables made you weary. All you craved was a sanctuary, a moment of peace far from the chaos and the carnage that surrounded your body and mind.

Your body ached at joints you hadn’t noticed before. Arms tight by your side, legs begging to give out while dragging yourself. You bypassed the bustle of the other soldiers returning and made your way directly to a place you knew would be quiet, secluded, and safe— Levi’s quarters.

You can’t recall when going to Levi’s room was a place for comfort after a mission. It just had been a silent agreement between the both of you. Maybe it was his unwavering strength or the craving to have someone there to lean on, but his space always seemed to offer the tranquility you so desperately needed.

Which is why you found yourself walking in a familiar path.

Levi’s quarters were quiet and meticulously organized, nothing different from his nonchalant personality. You didn’t bother knocking, knowing he wouldn’t mind your intrusion.

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open, and you peered inside to find Levi at his desk, paperwork scattered in front of him, yet he looked up the moment you entered. It always amazed you how he looked so put together after such a reckless expedition. But this was the Levi Ackerman, nothing was expected less.

He must’ve arrived a few moments before you have; and is already shoving himself into paperwork. You’ve tried countless times to try and pull him away from his (what you like to call it) workaholic behavior, but he never budges. 

“What are you doing here?” Levi’s voice was stern, but his eyes softened when you saw the state you were in. You must have looked as bad as you felt, worn out and on your last threat. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about your dirty state in the front of a higher-up.

“I just need somewhere,” you pause, breaking the eye contact you both held to look at the cozy, neatly made bed in the corner. “Peaceful to rest,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper as you slowly shuffled towards his bed.

Without a word, he stood up, his chair scraping lightly against the floor. With a long stride, he approached you, gaze scrutinizing as he took in the full extent of your fatigue. You picked up the tiniest scrunch of his nose as he did so. 

“You look like hell,” he commented, taking in your body one final time as he looked back up to meet your eyes. You knew he didn’t mean anything to come off as rude, his tone carried more concern than insult.

“Thanks,” you managed a weak smile, too tired to come up with a witty response.

Instead of his usual reprimand, for your state, Levi guided you gently by the hand. With being drained you still managed to hold his, following him to wherever he took you.

“Come on, you need a bath before you crash.” Despite your initial protest at first; wanting to sleep the ache of your muscles off, the thought of a warm bath was too comforting to resist.

Guiding you to the bathroom, Levi turned on the faucet, adjusting the temperature until steam rose in gentle curls from the water’s surface. He added a measure of soap that filled the room with a clean, soothing scent. “Get in,” he instructed, stepping out to give you privacy.

As you stripped down, the steam-filled bathroom was a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world outside. You sat in the warm bath, tendrils of steam curling around you, creating an intimate cocoon. 

Your muscles relaxed involuntarily, a sigh escaping your lips as you submerged yourself up to your shoulders. Moving your fingers to touch the top layer of soap across the water, you sink into its warmth. 

You’ve been in this position more times than you can remember, but you love it more than the last time before. Levi always needs to care for you, even when it’s not reciprocated.

Hearing the door creek open, Levi steps in. With a curt nod of consent given from both of you, he arranges everything needed for washing your hair with his usual quiet efficiency. His movements were precise, a trait that bled into every aspect of his life, but his eyes held a softness reserved just for moments like these.

“Alright, lean back,” Levi instructed, his voice faint in the confines of the small room. He waits patiently as you adjust yourself, finding a comfortable position with your head tilted back to the rest against the rim of the tub.

As he poured a dollop of shampoo into his palm, the familiar scent of lavender filled the air, mixing with the steam and creating a calming atmosphere. He began to work the lather into your hair, his fingers skilled and gentle. 

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” he murmured, though you knew he wouldn’t be; he’d never had. Levi’s hands might be capable of deadly precision in battle, but here, they were nothing but tender.

"It's perfect," you sighed, closing your eyes to better savor the sensation of his fingers massaging your scalp. The stress of the mission began to melt away under his careful ministrations. "Where did you learn to do this?"

Levi paused for a fraction of a second, his hands continuing their motion. "Old memories," he replied quietly. "Used to help someone, long ago."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken depth of his words. Silence fell between you again, comfortable and easy. His hands rinsed your hair with water warmed to just the right temperature, washing away the suds along with the remnants of the day’s grime and worries.

"How does that feel?" Levi asked after a moment, tuning out the quietness that enveloped the both of you.

"Like I could fall asleep right here," you responded with a laugh. You were half-joking, but you were truly relaxed under his touch, ready to drift to sleep.

"You wouldn't be the first," he admitted with a rare, small chuckle. "But try to stay awake for just a little longer. I'm not done pampering you yet."

The word 'pampering' coming from Levi might have felt odd to anyone else, but between the two of you, it felt right—special even. His hands worked through your hair once more, giving you the second round of shampoo.

"Keeping my hair in good shape for the next mission?" you teased, eyes still closed as you enjoyed the sensation.

"Something like that," Levi agreed, dismissing your banter. "Can't have you going out there with anything less than perfect."

"It's more than just being clean," you commented, tilting your head to the left slightly to give him better access. You reminisce on when he said he was pampering you. "It's like you're—taking care of me." 

"That's exactly what I'm doing," Levi confirmed, voice distancing out as if he was grabbing something. "You take care of everyone else. Who takes care of you?"

You smiled, eyes still closed. "You."

Levi's hands stilled once more in your hair, and you opened your eyes to look at him. There was a softness there, rarely shown to others. "I always will, if you let me."

"Then I will," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the bathwater. "Let you."

With a smile, you lean back, exposing your neck and shoulders as he begins to wash your hair. His fingers were more tentative than his usual brisk touch, exploring the texture before massaging your scalp deeply. You couldn’t suppress a hum, relaxing under the surprisingly sensual touch of his strong, careful fingers.

“You should take it easy,” Levi spoke up after a moment, his voice low. “You push yourself too hard.”

You briefly nodded in response, too relaxed to form words. His concern made your heart swell a bit—Levi was not one to coddle, at least not to others, so his attentiveness spoke volumes.

Levi, Humanity’s Strongest, most vulnerable in your presence. It was laughable to others, to you, it was adoration.

“You should take your advice,” you say, peering up to see his face. “No seriously, you work yourself out. Maybe I’ll give you a hair treatment with how stressed you always look.”

His grin was small at your words. Almost imperceptible, but it was there, and it warmed you more than the bath ever could. He grasps onto your shoulder, moving you to be back in place.

He continues to wash your hair without complaint, his touches now filled with an unspoken promise, each stroke and rinse carrying a tenderness that spoke more than words.

As he finished and began to rinse your hair, his actions were deliberate, ensuring not a trace of shampoo was left behind. “But, I’ll always be here whenever.” He muttered as he gently raised your head back to rinse thoroughly. 

"Thank you, Levi," you whisper, hearing the water flow as your knees come closer to your chest.

"There's no need to thank me," he replied, rinsing your hair and ensuring no suds remained. "Just promise to take better care of yourself."

"I promise," you said, knowing well that your promise was as much for him as it was for you.

The assurance in his words wrapped around you just as comfortably as the water did.

When he finished, he rinsed the last of the conditioner from your hair, then helped you stand to get out of the tub.

“You can sleep in my room tonight,” he commented as he handed you a towel with an averted gaze, modest despite the many times you’d fought and bled together.

Now wrapped up, you followed him back to his room, too drained to converse. Pulling a shirt from his closet, he hands you a baggy black pullover, then steps out to the bathroom; probably going to tidy up the place. 

Back in his room, you felt a thousand times lighter. Levi watched you as you crawled into his bed, his sheets cool and crisp against your clean skin. He didn’t say anything, just watched you with an unreadable expression.

As you drifted towards sleep, you felt the bed dip beside you. Expecting to be alone, you murmured a confused protest, going to rise but it died on your lips and body as Levi settled behind you. His body was a solid line against your back, an arm carefully laid over your waist, not confining but reassuring.

“Rest now,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your ear. It was the most delicate of invasions, and you found yourself relaxing into his embrace.

As sleep began to pull you deeper, Levi shifted slightly behind you. His movement was careful, calculated not to disturb, but purposeful. You felt him lean over you, his presence enveloping. Then, a gentle pressure—a soft, fleeting kiss—touched your forehead.

It was a simple act, yet it carried the weight of all the unspoken things between you: protection, care, and maybe something even deeper. Levi’s kiss was a silent vow in the stillness, a moment of tenderness offered with the solemnity of a confession.

Comforted by the gesture, you sank further into sleep, a content smile curving your lips. In a world that demanded so much from you both, this small, quiet act spoke volumes of your shared sanctuary.

@siythn all rights reserved!

[siythn]

I Forgot That You Existed (feat. Satoru Gojo) [Limited Edition CD]

GOJO X READER! You'd long forgotten your ex-boyfriend Satoru Gojo is what you'd like to tell yourself. No, you didn't miss him, not one bit. But, when running into him at a club, is that what you can keep telling yourself? Or was it just the shots and high emotions you keep endorsing in? ❝IT ISN'T LOVE, IT ISN'T HATE, IT'S JUST INDIFFERENCE❞ ᥫ᭡ LOVER; MASTERLIST

The neon lights of the club pulsed in time with the heavy bass of the music, casting a colorful glow over the crowded dance floor.

You sipped your drink, trying to enjoy the party your friends had dragged you to. It was a welcome distraction from the routine of exorcising curses and the loneliness that had settled in your heart over the past year.

Going to grab a shot for your friend from the bar before suddenly freezing, feeling a familiar—powerful presence behind you. You turn around, now face to face with the one person you never expected to see here—Satoru Gojo. His striking white hair and signature sunglasses made him impossible to miss, even in the dim, flashing lights.

"Is that you?!" he shouted over the music, his voice a mix of surprise and excitement.

"Satoru?" you responded, your voice barely audible over the thumping beats. The crowd jostled you both, pushing you closer together.

"Long time no see!" he said, leaning in so you could hear him, grin lighting up his face. His breath brushed your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"Yeah," you replied, slipping a fallen strand of hair behind your ear; trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. "What are you doing here?"

"Got dragged here by some friends," he shouted back, his lips getting dangerously close to your ear. "You?"

"Same," you said, feeling the tension build as the crowd pressed you closer. His proximity was intoxicating. You can’t help but reminisce on the memories where he had been this near; you’d been trying to bury for weeks.

The music changed to a slower, more sensual beat, and the crowd around you shifted, swaying to the rhythm. You and Gojo were pushed even closer together, your bodies almost touching.

"It's so crowded," you muttered, eyes slightly starting to glare at the people around you. You failed to pick up the tone of your voice, and how it tinged with frustration and something else—something you didn't want to admit.

"Yeah, it is," Gojo agreed, his eyes locking onto yours after taking a glance at the crowd. The playful smirk you remembered so well danced on his lips. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," you lied. The truth was, being this close to him was stirring up a whirlwind of emotions you thought you’d be done with a long time ago. It’s why you’re out here at a club, trying to get wasted, right?

The crowd surged again, causing Gojo to stumble slightly. He reached out to steady himself, his hand landing on your waist. The touch was electric—a faint shiver went up your spine from his cold hands. You could slowly feel your promises breaking.

Opening your mouth to respond, you get interrupted by your friend, who had lost track of you earlier, appearing out of nowhere from the back of you. Shouting over the music with two new drinks found in her hand.

"Hey! There you are!" she yelled, grabbing your arm. "Come on, you have to get on the dance floor! It's insane out there!"

You turned to her, trying to explain, but before you could get a word out, she noticed Gojo standing in front of you. Her eyes widened, and a sly grin spread across her face as she recognized him.

"Oh," she said, her voice taking on a teasing tone. "Never mind, enjoy yourself. Text me if you need me."

She gave you a wink and a knowing look before disappearing back into the throng of dancing bodies. You would murder her if you could. Not even the beaming lights could help your embarrassment. Slowly turn back to Gojo, who was watching the exchange with a bemused smile.

"Friends," he said, leaning in closer so you could hear him over the music. "They always know, don't they?"

"Yeah," you agreed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "They always do."

He lets out a hum. "Look," he said, his voice softer now, almost lost in the noise around you. Almost like he was now embarrassed, but not enough to break eye contact. "I've missed you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Satoru, this isn't the time—"

"Maybe not," he interrupted, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as another wave of people pushed you together. "But I've been thinking about you a lot. About us."

You tried to pull away, but the crowd was relentless, and his touch was making it impossible to think clearly. "We ended things for a reason, Satoru."

"I know," he said, his voice full of regret. "But maybe we were wrong."

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for the sincerity you needed to hear. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he replied, leaning in closer, "that I don't want to forget you. That I want to try again."

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sunk in. The music, the lights, the crowd—all of it faded into the background as you focused on him. It was too much, the drinks, the overwhelming about of people, him. "What if it doesn't work out?"

"Then at least we tried," he said, his voice full of conviction. "But I have a feeling it will. Because we belong together."

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, hear rushing up your neck. This is so stupid. So so stupid. "Satoru, I—"

Before you could finish, the crowd surged once more, pushing you into his arms. He held you tightly, his lips brushing against your ear. "Just think about it, okay?"

You nodded against his shoulder, unable to find the words. The music shifted again, and the crowd began to thin out as people moved to different parts of the club. Gojo loosened his grip but didn't let go entirely, moving back slightly to stare at your face.

"Let's get out of here," he suggested, his eyes never leaving yours. "Someplace quieter, where we can talk."

You took a deep breath, looked around as if to find an answer to your problems, feeling a mix of hope and fear. "Okay."

ᥫ᭡ᩚ

The bar was a welcome change from the chaotic club, with a more relaxed atmosphere and soft jazz playing in the background. You took a seat at the bar, and before you could say anything, Gojo waved the bartender over and ordered a drink.

"A classic margarita please," he said with a confident smile, as if he was bragging.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You remembered."

"Of course I did," he replied, turning to you with a grin. "Some things are hard to forget."

The bartender quickly returned with your drink and a whiskey for Gojo. You took a sip, the familiar taste bringing a small smile to your lips. "Thanks you"

Gojo clinked his glass against yours. "To new beginnings?"

"Maybe," you said, dragging out the word with a hint of caution in your voice. "Or to understanding the past."

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink before setting it down, turning to face you. "Fair enough. So, how have you been, really?"

You sighed, staring off to the arrow of alcoholic bottles while swirling your drink in your hand. "It's been a tough year. A lot of work, just trying to keep busy."

"I know the feeling," he noted, arms crossing against his chest. "I've missed you, more than I realized."

You looked at him, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes. A part of you wants to take him up on his offer immediately, your past with him was unlike any other. It was intimate, it was love. "Why now, Satoru? Why reach out after all this time?"

A mix of a sigh and hum come out his throat as he runs a hand through his white hair. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you. About us. There was just so much going on—and I realized that maybe we gave up too soon."

"It wasn't easy at all," you admitted, feeling a lump form in your throat as you slightly wince at the memories. "I had stuff going on—you did too. It just got to a point where none of us had time for each other. It wasn’t healthy, Satoru.

"True," he muttered while nodding. "But I've been thinking. . .that it wouldn’t hurt to try again. For us to try again.”

You looked down at your drink, the emotions swirling inside you as chaotic as the crowd you'd just left. "But, what if it just turns out like it did before?"

"We did something, we tried at the most,” with a soft tone, he reaching out to gently take your hand. "But I have a feeling it will. Because I still care about you. And I have a good feeling you still care too.”

You felt your practically melt at his words. You hate to admit, but the walls you had built around your feelings started to crumble. Starting to let him in once more. "I do care, Satoru. I mean, I never stopped."

"Then let's not waste any more time," he stated, a hopeful smile spreading across his face. "Let's go on a date. A proper one. And make up for lost time."

You took a deep breath. Being honest, you didn’t know how to feel. If truthfully nothing worked out to plan, how bad would it hit you? Would you be okay with that? But looking into Gojo's eyes, you saw the sincerity and the longing, and it made you believe that maybe, just maybe, this time things could be different.

"Okay," you squeeze his hand twice. "One more try."

Gojo's smile widened, and he raised his glass again. "To new beginnings."

Clinking your glass with his, you can’t help the massive smile that breaks out on your face. The redness on your cheeks doesn’t make it any better.

“To new beginnings."

[siythn]

Worth The Wait

LEVIXREADER! Working for the hit T.V show, Attack on Titan has truly given you many memories and opportunities. You knew you got along with your Co-Star, Levi Ackerman, a bit different than everybody else. The question was, did he notice it too? _______ ♫ LOVER - taylor swift ❝ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ꜱᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅɪʀᴛɪᴇꜱᴛ ᴊᴏᴋᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ, ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ꜱᴇᴀᴛ❞

You were four years old when you got your first acting gig. It was a commercial for a clothing brand that you've long forgotten; to say you'll never forget what it soon brought you later on is an understatement.

The grandeur of Oscar night welcomes you the moment you step onto the red carpet, the flashes of cameras and people calling out your name create a symphony of blinding lights, and clicks, with overbearing noise you can't quite make out.

Your assistant guides you and your "plus one" (a teasing nickname that arose when someone recognized you and not Levi when grabbing lunch), who just is your co-star and closest friend; Levi Ackerman, past the shouts of photographers trying to capture a moment of two well-known actors for Attack on Titan's critical acclaim.

To say Attack On Titan wasn't a huge hit was an insulting statement. It's proved itself by its many awards won over the years. It's bringing home one or more Oscars tonight to sit pretty for the rest to celebrate.

But for you, the real turmoil churns inside your stomach and into your already existing nerves as you await the category of Best Supporting Actress—your category. 

Working with the cast who's seen you grow as an actor, most importantly; a person from the start is enough fulfillment for you. To share experiences that are one of a household is short of a blessing.

But when you heard the news you were nominated for an Oscar, nothing could've prepared you for the rush of emotions that was to come. With the satisfaction you already gained with Attack On Titan; being considered to be a real winner was the cherry on top.

The famous show has been your haven for years now. It's where your career took one for the books; where your name became one familiar. You remember your first day on set, the bundle of anxiety that sat in your stomach and never quite left until you got to understand the people you would be calling your family in interviews.

One person clicked differently from the rest. Levi Ackerman is someone you'd consider a best friend or even more. To be real, you couldn't even figure out your feelings for yourself, which led you to swear you'd never admit it due to sheer embarrassment. Plus, it seems quite scandalous to have a "crush" on a co-star you've been so dear with.

It never stopped the fans though.

They have long picked up on the chemistry between you two, both on-screen and off. Your characters, connect in ways of war, along with the unspoken tension that fans adore. You weren't complaining since it brought more media attention, but the cast always had a field day when an interviewer brought it up. 

Long over the years of working together, your bond became inseparable. Close moments in the set transcribed to real life with the both of you.

Meeting him for the first time is always a funny story since both of you seemed to hold distaste for the other. When you sucked up the courage to confront him at his trailer as to why he hated you so much, you received a dumbfounded look. With crossed arms, he claimed, "I thought you hated me, so I just assumed you wanted space."

You two become closer and closer from that day on. Not to boost his ego—but his presence alone is a force in itself. The familiarity of his nearness is a comfort you've latched onto.

And, with the way you're latched onto his arm, grip tightening as the minutes fly by, anyone could pick up a clue.

You've been grasping his arm for who knows how long, but not a word of complaint has come from Levi yet. You feel bad, but your nerves are a title wave compared to the guilt.

Levi, ever the calm, senses how tense you are as he stares. "Just breathe," he whispers, leaning close enough that his words only reach your ear in the chaos.

You feel his breath grazing your neck, before pulling away with a soft nod; making sure his comforting words reach you. With a brief nod, you continue being directed to your seats.

As you and the cast find your seats, located in the middle with fancy chairs and decorum; you thank every high being you can think of when you see your name tag, then Levi's name, sitting right next to you.

"Oh no, look who's sitting next to me," Confused, you look to see Hange pulling in her chair as she sits. Levi, noticing your gaze, nudges your shoulder to redirect your stare. Following it, you find yourself looking back at your name.

"Shut up," You mumble, releasing the hold you have on his arm to smack him slightly, in return he gives you a grin. 

Being sat at one of the tables, in the Dolby Theatre, is as surreal as it might sound. You can't take your eyes off the gravitating stage. You wonder if you'll be standing up there in a bit.

As the night progresses, the time for Best Supporting Actress draws near. You haven't moved from your seat in the dim glow of the theater, too hot and overwhelmed. Levi's hand finds yours again under the table, his grip firm. It feels different this time, probably considering how you're holding his hand rather than grasping onto his forearm.

From the corner of your eye, you can see him watching you, not bothering to watch what's happening on the big stage. "No matter what happens, we celebrate tonight," he assures you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I think that's just an excuse for drinking." With a suppressed laugh and a smile matching Levi's, he gives you a snarky glare, he responds with a "watch out" kind of look, and a squeeze of his hand.

The lights dim and brighten, continuing the show even though you feel stuck in one. In this grand theatre, spotlighting the famous and the influential, there you are, seated next to Levi, your hand clasped tightly in his.

It's comical to think about.

As the category for Best Supporting Actress shows up in big bold letters, your heart pounds like it's trying to beat right out of your chest. You can practically hear your blood pumping.

You're nominated this is it; is what goes through your mind over and over, and the reality is as daunting as it is thrilling.

Your palm sweats against Levi's, but he gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. When you glance at him, he offers you a small, confident nod, as if he knows a secret you don't.

The presenter takes the stage, envelope in hand, and the murmur of the room hushes. "And now," the presenter begins, her voice echoing throughout the grand auditorium, "the nominees for Best Supporting Actress."

Your heart skips a beat as your face appears on the screen, a well-known clip from Attack on Titan, Season Four. It shows an emotional moment, a scene that took you weeks to prepare for; and fuck did you do it well, the tears pouring down your face add to the dramatics.

You can hear your cast and others cheer and clap, long before it's interrupted by another face, one of your competitors.

In your peripheral vision, you can see a cameraman waltz towards you, ready to get your reaction to who wins the Oscar. Hopefully, the tablecloths are long.

Your heart pounds in your ears, drowning out the next few moments until the sharp sound of your name cuts through, clear and irrevocable. "And the Oscar goes to. . .,"

The presenter takes so long to open the envelope, to the point where you don't care who wins or loses. You want the anticipation to be over with.

With a tiny cough to clear up her voice, the presenter's voice is loud and clear and she presses her lips close to the mic. ". . . with Attack on Titan!"

At first, you don't even hear your name. Not even realizing you won, you open your closed eyes; that you didn't know were shut, to see multiple eyes staring right at you, the camera now shoved into your face.

A surge of disbelief washes over you, followed swiftly by adrenaline that rockets through your veins. As reality sets in, tears well up in your waterline, a few escape, running down to meet makeup that took your stylist a good hour.

You can't care though, it's a testament to the journey and the struggles that brought you here.

You can't even get up from your seat at first, you just sit trying to process this tremendous wave of emotions. You look to the left of you to see that Levi is already feet before you, his applause thunderous, joined by the cheers of your peers.

As you stand, overwhelmed, he reaches out, cupping your checks gently wiping away your tears with a laugh. "Hey, no tears now, get up there," he teases gently, pulling you into a hug, as you choke up a laugh and hold him right, slightly rocking the both of you right to left.

Letting go of the warmth of his embrace, you give him a smile, ear to ear; hoping it can express the amount of gratitude you hold for him in this moment.

Moving from your seat to approach other members of the cast you love, you hug and thank each one of them that's near as they shout congratulations at you. You know your time is limited; you give one final hug to Armin who's in your reach before speed walking towards the stage.

Making your way up where your face is plastered and a few new clips play, your dress falls long behind you as you rush up the steps, making quick work but not enough to trip and fall over your heels. Walking up to the presenter, you first greet her with a hug and kiss on the cheek. With a few words of congrats, she hands you the award.

Its solid weight feels real in your hands, it's something you'd never imagine having the privilege to hold let alone have. It'll forever be a tangible reminder of the years of hard work and passion you've poured into your career.

Approaching the microphone, you look out at the sea of faces—some familiar, some not—all smiling at you. There's so so so many people, is all you can think of as you release a sigh.

"Wow, um," you let out a laugh, wiping down the tears that continue to flow down. You pause, taking in the light that beams down before you start your speech.

"I honestly don't even know where to start. Thank you so much to the Academy for this incredible honor, to our director, and the amazing cast and crew of Attack on Titan. This is a dream I've never dared to dream."

You pause, collecting your thoughts and the courage to articulate the depth of your gratitude. That's when it hits you.

Your eyes scan the crowd until they rest on Levi. "And I need to say a special thank you to my co-star, Levi Ackerman," you continue, your voice already starting to crack. "Levi, you have been my rock through this entire journey. On-screen, you challenge me to push harder, and off-screen, you keep me sane. I can honestly say I wouldn't be standing here without your friendship and support. Thank you for being so, so amazing."

With a side glance, you see the camera cut from you to Levi, capturing his slight blush and proud smile, expressions that send another wave of cheers through the audience.

"Most importantly, my family and friends. I can't make up the words to describe all my love for you. My parents, who supported me always, and my siblings who even though always tense me," you smile at the memories, "were the ones always there. And as always, the fans. I would never be here without all of you, I love each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart!"

As you finish your speech, the crowd erupts into applause. The noise is so loud, and with the few people yelling their hearts out, it's a moment of realization that this is real. You feel a hot blush rising your neck as you take a few bows, before hushing off backstage.

You are greeted with a glass of champagne, as camera crews gather around, calling your name in all different directions to try and snap a photo of you still holding the Oscar before you take off for interviews.

There, it seems like a press conference. More people are there than before, and many of them are out with microphones and notepads already prepared. You hear a few clicks of photos being taken as you answer questions, but you can't help but laugh when they ask about Levi and the special shoutout you gave him. "I had to give what was due," was your answer.

Finally being released, you're escorted backstage to your seat, in doing so, a few give you bright smiles and nods of compliments for your win. You return them all with smiley whites.

As you arrive back at your table, some of the members of your cast excitingly greet you, reaching out their hands with yours to give praise.

When the previous moments seem to have died down, you can focus on Levi. Who's been patiently waiting for his turn. When your eyes fall on him, you know the words before it comes out of his mouth.

"Told you," he murmurs, as he takes your free hand in his, his pride in you shining brightly. "I still can't believe it," as he places both of your hands onto his lap, you take the next step to intertwine them.

You don't know what his reaction was to it, since you looked away as soon as you made the move, embarrassment written across your features. You feel accomplished when he doesn't show any sign of breaking it.

Levi leans over, whispering, "How does it feel, Oscar-winning actress?"

You chuckle, a light, bubbly sound that matches the champagne bubbles you'd enjoyed earlier. "It feels like I'm dreaming. Don't let me wake up, okay?"

Levi's response is a soft, genuine laugh. "I won't. We're just getting started, you know."

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

The shots you took with Connie, Sasha, and Jean are taking a toll on your body now. You feel tipsy, well that's what you're hoping. It's not that dizzy, but the occasional bumping into people/things and apologizing with slurred words shows you're not sober.

As the glittering after-party unfolds around you, the music thrumming and laughter echoing under the luxurious chandeliers,

You can feel someone's intense gaze fixated on you. When you move your eyes to search for the culprit, you find Levi's eyes rock hard on you.

Realizing you're now straight directly at him, he excuses himself from a group of producers and makes his way to you. Your heart races a bit, a reaction you're still getting used to despite the months of filming together.

"Need some air?" he asks, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as if he can read your mind. Without waiting for your reply, he nods toward a quieter balcony area. You follow, grateful for a break from the overwhelming crowd.

The cool night air is a welcoming relief, the city lights below providing a soft, romantic backdrop that you try not to read too much into.

The cold air feels blissful as it hits your skin, you know you should have something to cover yourself, but the feelings to nice to let go. Plus, the way Levi's aligned shoulder to shoulder with you making his body height seep onto yours, you know you can last a few more moments here.

Yet, there's an undeniable tension at the moment, made clearer when Levi turns to you with a look of admiration. "You did amazing tonight, by the way. That speech was something else."

You smile, touched by his words. Trying to hide the obvious attempt of panic, you knew he was going to bring up the shoutout you gave him. You just didn't know if you were ready to face it. "I was just speaking from the heart. But thank you, Levi. I couldn't have gotten through tonight without you."

He nods, his gaze lingering on yours. "It's not just tonight. You know that, right? You've got this energy about you. It's like—infectious, and makes everyone around better. Made me better."

His words seem to send a shock through your body as you slowly digest his words. As silence warps around the two of you, you quickly change the subject in hopes he won't can't a glimpse of your body becoming suspiciously flush.

"Remember that time during filming when Sasha accidentally set fire to the catering tent?" you ask, a fond smile playing on your lips.

You turn your head from the view to look at Levi. Who has yet to say a word in the comfortable silence, keeping his eyes fixed on you? He snaps out of it quickly, seeming startled by your words before making his face fall back into one normal.

His lips quirk into a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "How could I forget?" he replies, a hint of laughter in his voice. "It took hours to put out the flames, and poor Hange nearly lost their eyebrows in the process."

As your laughter begins to subside, Levi's expression turns thoughtful, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Remember that time during the blooper reel when Marco accidentally tripped over his own feet and knocked over the entire set?"

The memory hits you like a wave, and you can't help but burst into laughter, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Oh my gosh, yes!" you gasp between fits of laughter. "And then Petra tried to save him, but ended up falling on top of him instead!"

Levi joins in your laughter, the sound filling the air with a warmth that seems to wrap around you like a comforting embrace. And as you both stare at each other, a few tears of laughter streaming down your faces, you realize just how lucky you are to have someone like Levi by your side—someone who knows you inside and out, who can make you laugh even in the darkest of times, and who is always there to wipe away your tears, whether they're from laughter or something else entirely.

The moment stretches between you, filled with unspoken words and hints of tension that seem to hang in the air like a delicate tapestry, woven from the threads of friendship and maybe something underlying more. As Levi's hand brushes away the tear from your cheek, you reminisce from when he cupped your cheek when facing the shock of winning.

You feel a fluttering in your chest, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the cool night air as you feel your eyelids become jaded.

His touch lingers, the pad of his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, your eyes now fluttering closed at the sensation.

His other hand finds its way sneaking to your waist, pulling you softly a fraction closer, and you feel the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your dress.

With a shy, tentative smile, you reach up as your hazy eyes open to meet his. Your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his jet-black hair. The gesture is instinctual, a silent invitation that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

Yeah, you'd had your hands in his hair for multiple shots in Attack on Titan, and as much as it was a familiar feeling, it was one way more intimate.

Levi's eyes darken slightly at the touch, his gaze dropping to your lips before flickering back up to meet yours, seeking permission with his eyes.

You can feel your heart pound in your chest as you nod, the movement barely exaggerated but enough to convey your consent. And then, finally, he closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that feels warm; it was worth the wait.

It starts slow, a gentle exploration of lips and breath, each touch sending sparks flying through you like fireworks. You can't think of anything but him, Levi, and how his lips touch yours.

His hand cups your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring, while the other settles at the small of your back, drawing you closer until there's barely an inch of space between you.

The kiss deepens, fueled by a growing hunger that seems to consume you both, a fire that burns brighter with each passing moment. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip on your waist tightens, anchoring you to him as if afraid to let go.

The both of you pause for a moment, catching your breath but not making any move to interrupt the position you're in. As Levi grips your waist tightly, he pulls you in for a kiss.

For a moment, the world falls away, leaving just the two of you suspended in a bubble of time and space, a universe unto yourselves where nothing else matters except the warmth of each other's touch and the softness of each other's lips.

You slightly move your head to the right, permitting him to go deeper than it already is. He gets the message, lips moving together, faster, as if they were made to be locked on one another.

And oh, do you wish you could last here in this moment forever.

Just as suddenly as it began, the "spell" is broken by the discreet click of a camera shutter from somewhere inside. You pull away, breathless and flushed, your eyes meeting Levi's in a silent exchange that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

Silence greets you both, as you both catch your breath for the second time. You ignore the camera, only focusing on what's more important. Levi breaks first, grinning as he stares at you up and down, then moves his eyes to peer up.

"Guess we should have checked for paparazzi," Levi murmurs, a playful glint in his eyes as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face that fell.

You laugh softly, the sound a mix of nerves and excitement as you lean against him, arms wrapping around his neck. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around your waist tightly. In the stillness of it all, you can feel the steady beat of his heart. "Yeah," you agree, your voice barely above a whisper. "But no regrets."

"None at all," he confirms, his arms giving you one more reassuring squeeze.

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

The next morning when you wake up, you feel as if your head is about to pound out of your head. It's like you can still hear the remnants of champagne and laughter (and multiple shots sitting in the back of your throat that you drank down) You turn annoyed to find your phone buzzing relentlessly on the nightstand.

Squinting, you pick it up to find a barrage of messages and missed calls. The top one from Hange captures your attention with its flurry of emojis and exclamation points.

[glasses]: "YOU TWO ARE TRENDING!!! BTW, when TFFF did this happen OMG!!!!

Attached is a link to a gossip site, the headline screaming about the 'intimate moment caught between AOT stars at the Oscars after-party.' The photo shows you and Levi on the balcony, mid-kiss, a moment that felt intensely private now splashed across the internet.

Your heart sinks a bit at the intrusion but warms at the memory. You knew this was bound to happen, but couldn't it have waited a day or two? You're about to type a response when another message from Hange pops up.

[glasses]: "Prepare for paparazzi madness today! 😂 And call me! Need ALLLL the deets!!!!!!!"

You toss the phone aside, landing on your bed as you groan into your pillow. The weight of the newfound public scrutiny settling in. But then you remember Levi's lips on yours, the genuine connection in his eyes, and you can't help but slightly smile.

No matter what the public says or thinks, last night you found a new depth to your relationship with Levi, one that went beyond cameras and scripts. And for now, that was enough to face whatever the day would bring.

@siythn all rights reserved!

[siythn]

Espresso

GETO X READER! Sure, work had been a constant reminder of the painful hours that were to come, but when a rather cute black-haired man starts becoming a familiar face, work doesn’t sound as bad. _________ ♫ ESPRESSO - sabrina carpenter ❝ɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴ' 'ʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴏʜ ɪꜱ ɪᴛ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ? ɪ ɢᴜᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴏ❞

It's one of those lazy, rain-splattered afternoons where the world seems to move in slow motion, water makes constant noise hitting onto the roof and platting on the windows.

The little coffee shop where you work part-time is unusually quiet. Not like you’re complaining, a quiet workplace is something you’ll take over rush hour any day. The soft murmur of jazz mingling with the rhythmic tap of rain against the window adds onto the atmosphere of the shop.

It’s mismatched chairs and book-lined walls, becomes a haven for anyone seeking refuge from the drizzle and the chill outside. You, wrapped up in your favorite oversized sweater, find solace behind the counter, the hum of the espresso machine your steady companion.

Within a minute of admiring the place, you grow bored. A groan fills the room as you yourself walking away from the counter; mind begging to occupy yourself until the end of your shift.

As you wipe down the already spotless table, the bell above the door chimes its cheerful greeting. Heavy footsteps already gives you an idea who it might be. Scratch it, who you want it to be. Glancingly up, your lips automatically curve into a smile.

It's him again-Suguru Geto; the regular who somehow always manages to brighten your day a bit more than you would ever bring yourself to admit.

"Afternoon," you call out, the familiarity of his presence bringing warmth to your greeting.

"Good afternoon," Suguru replies, his voice smooth. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles at you, that charming, effortless smile that had caught your eye from his very first visit.

He's dressed in a simple black sweater and baggy denim jeans today, but somehow he makes the casual outfit look deliberate, almost elegant. You can't stop your eyes from checking him out. "The usual day for the usual, I suppose?"

"Of course," you laugh, reaching for the oh-so familiar cup that's become his favorite. "Espresso, right?"

"That's right," he nods, his dark eyes following your movements as you prepare his drink. He's always been a keen observer, you've noticed. Not in a creepyway, but in the kind of way someone genuinely interested in the little details that others might overlook. You can’t help but hide the redness creeping up your neck every time it occurs.

As a small silence fills the air, he overtakes it without a beat. “How’s your day going?” he asks, his tone casual but curious.

“Pretty quiet, with the weather and all,” you reply, pouring the steamed milk into the freshly brewed espresso with practiced ease. “But it’s nice, makes the shop feel even cozier.”

He nods, letting out a hum as his gaze remains on you. “It’s nice to find places like this, you know? Somewhere you can just relax and feel at ease, especially with someone nice to talk to.”

Your cheeks warm at the subtle compliment, hidden thankfully by the steam from the espresso machine. “I’m glad you think so. It’s always nice to have regulars like you. Makes working here even better.”

As you press down the filter, separating the grounds from the dark, aromatic liquid, Suguru props his elbows up on the counter, raising a brow. "You know, l've always wondered," he begins, moving his left hand to rest aside his cheek, "what brings someone like you to a place like this?"

You pause, a smile playing at your lips. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, the sound warm and inviting. "You always seem like you're dreaming of something beyond this place. Not that it isn't a nice spot, but you have a look that seems meant for larger things."

Flushing slightly, you pour his coffee into a clean mug, the steam curling up like tiny wraiths in the cool air of the shop. "I guess I'm just figuring things out. Books, writing, maybe travel. . .But for now, this is good. It's cozy, it's comfortable."

Suguru accepts the mug, his fingers brushing lightly against yours, sending an unintended shiver up your spine. "It suits you," he admits, taking a sip of his coffee before his eyes meet yours again. "The coziness, I mean. You make the place seem welcoming."

Ditch the idea of even attempting to hide the obvious blush that covers your face. With one last desperate attempt, you glance at what seems to be anything but him; the idea of looking up and locking eyes with Suguru makes you feel hotter than ever.

All your ears pick up is his small chuckle that seems to block out anything and everything. It’s like your body wants hear more, feel more. Your mind seems to have more dignity.

All the gods above must’ve been on your side, as everything comes back with the sound of the door chime ringing. You lift your chin, giving him a small smile before rushing yourself behind the counter once more. Within the corner of your eye, you see him respond with a nod; trailing to a seat in the corner that he's acquired for himself.

The quiet shop now becomes one busy, replacing the atmosphere with a sense of rush. As more customers trickle in seeking refuge from the rain, you busily fill orders. But your mind stays tethered to Suguru, to the gentle cadence of his voice, to the intriguing look he gives you that you crave to explore.

Finally, as the rush dies down and the last customer leaves, dabbing raindrops from their coat, Suguru is still there sitting politely without complaint, nursing his half-finished coffee. You hate to admit, but his presence leaves a tone in the air. As much as your mind tried to keep busy, you couldn’t ignore his attendance and stare.

Trying to appear normal and not that desperate, you clean up a bit, wiping down tables and cleaning stained dishes before making your way back to him.

"Not rushing off today?" you ask, settling onto the chair next to him.

"No," he smirks. "I thought I might stay a bit. If that's alright with you?"

"Of course," you say, your heart thumping a little harder (and hopefully not any louder) in your chest.

"I’ve been thinking," Suguru starts, his eyes locked on yours, "about asking you if you'd like to go out sometime. Outside of this coffee shop, I mean. Maybe see what's beyond these cozy walls together?"

Your breath catches slightly at the sincerity that reaches his eyes, at the hopeful note in his voice. "I’d like that," you manage to say, your voice soft but clear. You give yourself points for staying composed.

"Great," he grins, breathing out a sigh as his smile lights up his whole face. "It's a date then."

As he stands to leave, he reaches out, his hand lingering over yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." you confirm, trying to keep your face as straight as possible, the huge urge to smile is getting harder to maintain.

The urge is replaced with a frown as he places his hand back into his pocket. You realize how bad you want the warmth of his hand as soon as it’s taken.

With a final nod, Suguru steps out into the rain, the bell chiming after him, you squeal. Letting out a little giggle, you leap over to your phone, not missing any time to update your friends on what occurred.

Your boss later questioned why you looked so happy while you were closing.

@siythn all rights reserved!

[siythn]

SPILL YOUR GUTS! - SATORU GOJO

SYNPOSIS: as you and gojo grow closer by the seasons, it seems the two of you notice the underlying tension ready to burst. but, it's better to ignore it. . .right? pretending to be just friends when carving pumpkins is nothing short of a hangout—yeah.

WARNINGS! mentions of carving with sharp tools, fluff

WC. 1.5k

THE AUTUMN BREEZE carried a hint of chill, but the sunlight kept you warm as you sat next to Gojo on the porch, pumpkins scattered around the two of you like blank canvases waiting for a masterpiece. You picked up a carving knife, rolling it between your fingers as Gojo leaned back, arms stretched lazily behind him.

“So,” you started, eyeing the pile of pumpkins, “you ready to actually carve these, or are you just going to sit there and supervise?”

He smirked, his sunglasses glinting in the light. “I’m thinking about it. Pumpkin carving is serious business, after all.”

“Serious?” you raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You? Serious?”

He chuckled, the angle he sat at pushing his glasses down slightly to meet your eyes. “Hey, I can be serious when I want to be. I’m just considering my options.” He turned his back to you and picked up the biggest pumpkin of the bunch, turning it over as if to judge its worth. “This one looks promising. Classic shape, good color.”

You snorted. “It’s a pumpkin, Gojo. They all look the same.”

He grinned in response, setting the pumpkin down in front of him. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. A true artist appreciates the subtle differences.”

“Oh, so you’re an artist now?”

He flashed you a playful look, grabbing a carving tool. “I have many talents. You should know that by now.”

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered under your breath, focusing on your own pumpkin as you began sketching out a design. “But I’m willing to bet my pumpkin turns out better than yours.”

Gojo shakes his head, a hint of a laugh meets the brief silence. “Oh, you want to make this a competition?”

“Isn’t everything with you a competition?” you teased, drawing the first line into the orange skin.

He didn’t deny it. “Alright then. Let’s see who can make the most impressive pumpkin.”

You both got to work, the sound of scraping and cutting filling the comfortable silence between you. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Gojo, his brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully cut into the pumpkin. He was taking it seriously, which only made you smile.

“What are you going for?” you asked after a few minutes.

“Something classic,” he replied, still focused on his pumpkin. “But with a twist.”

“You always have to add some dramatic flair, don’t you?”

He shrugged, not looking up. “It’s who I am.”

You shook your head, turning back to your own work. “I’m going for simple but cute. Something that actually looks like a pumpkin—“, you pause to glance at Gojos art. “unlike whatever you’re doing.”

“Oh, this is going to look like a pumpkin,” he said, his voice teasing. “Just. . .a better one than yours.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. “We’ll see about that.”

Quiet minutes passed, and the pile of pumpkin guts between you grew. You were almost finished with your design when Gojo let out a dramatic sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead as if to prove his point.

“I’m pretty sure I’m a genius,” he said, leaning back to admire his work.

“Modest as always,” you muttered, setting your carving tool down and wiping your hands on a towel nearby. “Let’s see it then.”

Gojo grinned, turning his pumpkin around for you to see. It was surprisingly good, compared to other works he’s done. The lines were clean, the design intricate but not overdone. He’d carved a sharp, fierce face into the pumpkin, with jagged eyes and a mischievous grin.

“Okay,” you pause, tilting your head as you inspected it. “That’s actually not bad.”

“Not bad?” he repeated, his voice full of mock offense. “Come on, you can give me more credit than that.”

You crossed your arms, fighting the smile that creeps up on your lips. “It’s alright. But mine’s still better.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Alright, let’s see it then.”

You turned your pumpkin around, revealing the cute, simple face you had carved. It was a classic jack-o-lantern design—nothing too fancy, but clean and neat. Gojo stared at it for a second before letting out a low whistle.

“Cute,” he said, leaning in to get a closer look. “But safe.”

“Safe?” you repeated, your eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, still smiling. “Just saying, you could’ve taken a few more risks. Gone for something a bit more—,” he stops for quick second to look up at your eyes. “exciting.”

“I don’t need to overdo it to make something good,” you shot back. “Sometimes, simple is better.”

Gojo chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. “You really think that’s going to win against my masterpiece?”

“I’m not trying to win,” you said, tossing a piece of pumpkin guts at him. “I’m just trying to make something that doesn’t look like it’s about to eat someone.”

He caught the pumpkin piece, tossing it aside with ease. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t hide your smile that toned your voice. “Fine, Mr. Genius. Let’s call it a tie.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think it over as he sat still for a moment. “A tie, huh? I don’t know. I feel like I came out on top here.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “You just want to win everything.”

“I mean,” he said, flashing you a grin, “can you blame me? Winning is fun.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you still hang out with me,” he pointed out, leaning a little closer.

You bumped his shoulder with yours, smiling softly. “Yeah, well, somebody has to keep your ego in check.”

Gojo chuckled, his voice softening just a bit. “You’re probably the only one who could.”

The air between you shifted slightly, the playful banter fading into something a little more comfortable—more personal. His arm brushed against yours as you both sat back, looking out at the sunset. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, a little closer than usual, but neither of you made any effort to move apart. Seemingly a silent mutual agreement to soak it in while it lasts.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter, “as sappy as it is, we do make a good team.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, like he was seeing more than just the pumpkins in front of you. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “We do.”

Gojo’s hand brushed yours, the contact lingering for just a second too long, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more; not if your heart beating out of your chest did it for him first. But instead, he smiled that same playful grin, breaking the tension with a wink.

“You’re not gonna get all sentimental on me now, are you?” he teased.

You shoved him lightly, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “As if. I just didn’t want to crush your spirit too much after beating you in pumpkin carving.”

Gojo laughed, the sound light and easy, but there was something in his expression that stayed soft, even as he joked with you. “You really think you won, huh?”

“I know I did,” you said confidently, standing up and stretching. “But you can have your little victory if it makes you feel better.”

Gojo stood up as well, his height towering over you in a way that made your heart skip again. He reached out, ruffling your hair before you could stop him. “You’re cute when you’re competitive, you know that?”

You swatted his hand away, glaring up at him. “I’m always cute.”

He chuckled, leaning in just a bit closer; making his features more vibrant. He grinned at your flushed face and stepped back, picking up a couple of candles to place inside the pumpkins.

It was a known thing for Gojo to be a flirt. But as time passed between the two of you, it got more personal. He seemed to love to take advantage of the fact.

As the two of you lit the pumpkins, the soft glow of the candles flickering through the carved designs, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Gojo. The way the warm light played off his features, the subtle smirk that never seemed to leave his face—it made your heart race in a way you weren’t quite ready to admit.

“Alright,” Gojo said, breaking your trance as he stepped back to admire the glowing pumpkins. “I’ll give you this—you did a good job.”

You smiled, leaning into his side as you both looked at your creations. “You too, Gojo.”

He glanced down at you, that familiar playful glint in his eyes. “First compliment of the evening, could get used to this.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened. “Don’t expect much.”

“Too late,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in closer. “You’re stuck with me now.”

And even though you playfully pushed him away, you didn’t move too far. Because maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind being stuck with him after all.

© All Rights Reserved, owned by SIYTHN

finally back for spooky season—sorry for the long break but ready to be back!!! make sure to take care of yourselves, lots of love ᡣ𐭩 Ѽ

[siythn]

Lover, Taylor Swift (Siythn's Version) [feat. Jujutsu Kaisen]

WHERE: Chlo writes eighteen oneshots based off each song of the Lover album! ❝I'VE LOVED YOU THREE SUMMERS NOW, HONEY, BUT I WAN'T 'EM ALL❞

TRACKLIST

1. I Forgot That You Existed - SATORU GOJO

2. Cruel Summer - MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

3. Lover - YUJI ITADORI

4. The Man - ???

5. The Archer - ???

6. I Think He Knows - ???

7. Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince - ???

8. Paper Rings - ???

9. Cornelia Street - ???

10. Death By a Thousand Cuts - ???

11. London Boy - ???

12. Soon You’ll Get Better - ???

13. False God - ???

14. You Need to Calm Down - ???

15. Afterglow - ???

16. ME! - ???

17. It’s Nice to Have a Friend - ???

18. Daylight - ???

[siythn]

Survivors Guilt

LEVIXREADER! You typically know how to contain your emotions. But when an expedition goes horribly wrong, leaving you scarred with remorse, the only person that knows how to guide you through it is Levi Ackerman. _________ ♫ FRAGILE - laufey ❝ɴᴏᴡ ɪ ꜱɪᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴜꜱᴛ ɪɴ ʀᴀɪɴ, ᴛᴜʀɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴅᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ❞

Today was shit. The expedition was shit. You feel like shit. Shit is the only word you can make out in your overstimulated head. You want nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry; to scream and fight. But you have more decorum than that.

Getting off your horse, you move to put her into her stables, but you’re stopped by an arm holding your shoulder. “You can just go rest,” Petra mutters, voice low as if to keep noisy peers from eavesdropping, “but if you ever need me, you know where to find me.” 

She gives you a small squeeze on the shoulder her land lays on as you muster a shallow smile to express your gratitude.

Choking out a small thank you in return she grabs the reigns, directing the horse towards the barn. Without sparing Petra another look, you gradually make your way back to your quarters. 

You must look as bad as you feel with the sudden act of sympathy. Eyes dark, body cramped, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, your mind stuck on reminiscing from the horrid mission a few hours ago. 

It was a disaster – so many lives lost, so much blood spilled. And yet, somehow, you made it out alive. You. The guilt gnaws at your insides, a relentless monster that refuses to be silenced. As much as you try to reassure yourself, the unpleasant feeling in your stomach remains.

What you can remember most was the blood. That ugly, vile color that still stains the clothes you’re wearing now.

The longer it stays on, the stronger the smell, the more memories of the events that took place come back. You’re ripping it off you when you have the chance.

Your feet walk you down the long, quiet hallway. A few soldiers are scattered around here and there, some faces you recognize, some pass by you with an abrupt glance, a silent message saying they understand.

A minute to two passes, and your wooden door left closed is what welcomes you back home. You don’t do anything for a while, just stare at the lumber without thought. The footsteps of others approaching break your focus and let you pull the door open.

As you step into your room, the weight of the world hangs heavy on your shoulders. With trembling hands, you close the door behind you, the click echoing in the empty room.

It feels suffocating, the silence deafening in its intensity. You're alone with your thoughts, and they're threatening to consume you whole.

Without warning, a surge of anger courses through your veins, hot and fierce. You lash out, sweeping your arm across the table, sending papers and trinkets flying in a chaotic whirlwind, crying out when you do so. The room becomes a battleground, the remnants of your rage strewn across the floor like fallen soldiers. 

With hard, shaken breaths, you start ripping your clothes that reek or have a hint of blood. You throw them onto the floor, adding to the chaos issuing. When you’re left in your undergarments, you feel the cold breeze slide across your skin; making you get goosebumps.

But as quickly as it came, the anger fades, leaving behind only a hollow emptiness. You sink to the ground, knees buckling beneath you as you crumble under the weight of your grief.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you grip yourself tight. Tears spill from your eyes in a torrent, your sobs echoing off the walls in a symphony of pain.

You're not sure how long you stay like that, shaking as you’re curled up on the cold floor amidst the wreckage of your room. Your hair falls in front of your face, tickling your cheeks while they start becoming damp. Time seems to lose all meaning, the world is reduced to nothing more than a blur of tears and broken dreams.

And then, like a light in the darkness, you hear it – the soft sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway. You know without a doubt who it is, even before the door creaks open to reveal him standing there, a silent sentinel in the doorway.

Levi.

He takes in the scene before him with a single glance – the shattered remnants of your room, the tears streaking down your cheeks, the brokenness etched into every line of your body. And then, without a word, he crosses the room in three swift strides, dropping to his knees beside you.

For a long moment, he simply sits there. His body next to yours; is one of warmth (that you can’t help but wish you were closer to) as he faces the door, knees up as he rests his forearms against them. Levi’s presence is a comforting weight at your side. He doesn’t seem to mind the lack of clothes as he sits still. Waiting for you. 

And then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder in a gesture of silent solidarity, using his thumb to stroke your skin back and forth. 

You turn to him then, your gaze meeting his in a silent plea for understanding. And in that moment, as you look into his eyes, you see it – the same pain, the same grief, mirrored back at you in equal measure. It’s not just you suffering. The thought makes you feel better about the now dirty mess you created in the high of your emotions.

Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you bury your face against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a lifeline in the darkness. 

You can feel your tears starting to dampen his shirt, but all you can focus on is trying and match your breath to the slow and steady heartbeat. As you cling to him, you realize that maybe – just maybe – you're not as alone as you thought.

His presence is a comforting anchor amidst the raging tempest of your emotions, his steady heart, a soothing rhythm against your ear. Yet, even as you cling to him desperately, the weight of your grief bears down upon you with a crushing force, threatening to suffocate you beneath its suffocating grip.

Even when Levi holds you close, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace, you feel a tumultuous wave of emotions crashing over you again like a relentless storm.

The memory of the mission – the chaos, the loss, the fear – floods your mind with an overwhelming intensity, threatening to consume you in its wake. In response, you tighten the grip you just realized you had on his shirt, tighter.

It comes in hot, not giving you time to digest what’s happening before you notice more brutal tears coming. Your crying stream comes down your cheeks unchecked, each one a poignant reminder of the lives lost, the sacrifices made, and the wounds that you’ve bestowed to yourself.

You try to hold back the flood of emotions, to push the memories away, but they claw their way back into your mind with relentless ferocity, tearing at the fragile threads of your composure. Your broken weeping fills the room, only stopping for you to catch your breath before continuing.

The burden of survivor's guilt presses heavily upon your shoulders, its weight almost too much to bear.

You were one of the few who made it out alive, and yet, you can't shake the feeling that you don't deserve to be here, that you should have done more, been better, and somehow prevented the tragedy that unfolded.

And then, just when you think you can't bear it any longer, Levi's hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring against your skin. His fingers weave through the tangled strands, a silent gesture of comfort and understanding that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

For a moment, you allow yourself to lean into his touch, to lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace. 

His presence offers you a measure of solace, a brief respite from the storm raging within your soul. Yet, even as you find momentary refuge in his arms, the pain of the past still lingers like a shadow, casting a pall over your heart.

You bury your head into the embrace, your head meeting the crook of his neck as tears cascade, hiccuping quietly. In response, his grip on your hair tightens ever so slightly, before continuing his gesture.

You feel Levi’s lips press softly against the top of your head, a tender peck that sends a tremble down your spine. In a different situation, you would tease him for such an intimate act. But his affection surrounds you like a protective shield, his strength a steady beacon in the darkness of your despair.

And as the tears gradually subside and the storm of emotions begins to ebb, Levi remains by your side, his presence a steadfast anchor in the sea of turmoil that rages within you. With a trembling sigh, you lean back fully against him, exhaustion seeping into your bones as you find solace in the warmth of his embrace.

"Look," Levi's voice is soft, barely above a whisper, yet it carries a weight of understanding and empathy that pierces through the darkness of your despair. "I know it hurts. I know it feels like the weight of the world is crushing down on you like there's no escape from the pain."

You listen, your breath catching in your throat as Levi’s words wash over you like a ball for you wounded soul. His hand now continues to run soothingly through your hair, his touch a silent reassurance of his unwavering support.

"But you're not alone," He mumbles, pausing the petting of your hair to cup the back of your head gently. "I'm here with you, always. And together, we'll get through this."

You feel a shudder go down your spine at the word we’ll. You know he’s hurting as much as you are, and he’s opening up to get through rough times, with you.

His words offer you a measure of comfort, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to consume you. Yet, even as you try to hold onto his words like a lifeline, the pain still lingers a sharp ache that refuses to be silenced.

“It’s okay to feel hurt,” His tone is faint, you don’t know if it’s from his tone or the fatigue that’s hitting you from crying. “It’s okay to cry, to grieve, to mourn for what’s been lost. But don’t let it consume you. Don’t let it define who you are.”

His words strike a chord deep within your heart, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is still light to be found, still hope to be held onto. Slowly, you release the grip you have on his now wrinkled shirt, letting it fall limply onto your lap.

And as you listen to Levi's reassuring words, you feel a flicker of strength stirring within you, a determination to rise above the pain and find a way forward. But as always, the guilt consumes you whole. 

Even as you try to speak, to voice your gratitude for his unwavering support, you find your voice catching in your throat, your words choked with emotion. Levi's hand tightens ever so slightly in your hair, his touch a silent reassurance that it's okay to let your guard down, to show your vulnerability.

“I’m here for you,” Levi’s voice a whisper, but it seems to echo across the disheveled room. “Always.”

As the weight of his words and exhaustion settles over you like a heavy fog, you feel your eyes beginning to close as much as you try and fight off the craving for sleep your body needs. 

Without uttering a single word, he rises from his place beside you, understanding your drained body. He gathers you into his arms, carrying you bridal style, making your head fall onto his shoulder.

You find yourself gravitating into his warmth, the tension in your body melting away as he holds you close, his arms a home of strength against the storm raging within your soul.

With each step he takes, carrying you effortlessly across the room, you feel a sense of weightlessness settle over you as if the burdens of the day are being lifted from your shoulders one by one. 

He gently sits you on your bed. You don’t bother seeing where he went, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. What does he think of me now? Is a reoccurring question that pops up in your brain.

His actions make your worries disappear one by one, as he slips on an oversized shirt onto you. One that came presumably from your closet, onto you.

There’s a tenderness in his actions, a silent acknowledgement of the pain and exhaustion you’re feeling. He lays you down on the bed, tucking the blankets around you with a care that tugs at your heartstrings.

Levi settles in bedside you, drawing you close until you’re nestled against his chest, your head resting on the left side. The warmth of his hold envelops you like a protective cocoon, his steady heartbeat letting the promise be known that he’ll always be here.

With a soft touch, Levi slips an arm around your waist, drawing you closer to him. His touch is firm yet gentle, the calluses on his palm remind you of prior events.

His fingers move in a soothing rhythm as they trace a path up and down your back, each stroke a balm for the ache that lingers within you. There's a quiet strength in his touch, a steadiness that anchors you in the present moment.

With each gentle stroke, you feel the tension in your muscles begin to melt away, the knots of stress loosening their grip as you sink deeper into Levi's embrace.

It's a simple gesture, sure, yet it carries volumes of the depth of his care and concern for you. In the softness of his touch, you find a sense of comfort and security that you've been desperately craving, a respite from the chaos and uncertainty of the world outside.

The more his fingers continue their gentle motion, reacting soothing patterns along your spine, you can’t help but linger in the moment. You attempt to fight off the darkness that wants to take you away. You need - not want, to savor the warmth of his touch and the tranquility of his embrace.

In the quiet of the room, with only the sound of Levi's steady breathing to accompany you, you find yourself lingering on the edge of sleep, reluctant to let go of the comfort and security that his presence provides.

You feel your eyelids grow heavy with sleep, your breathing slowing as you begin to drift off into a peaceful slumber. You surrender to the embrace of sleep, wrapped in Levi's arms.

But eventually, exhaustion overtakes you, pulling you down into the depths of slumber, wrapped in Levi's arms, cradled in his comfort.

@siythn all rights reserved!

AUTHORS NOTE! - yes i know this is similar to aftercare. . .i just can’t help myself!! promise next oneshot will be with gojo (can u guys tell i love soft levi caring for reader yet Ü)

[siythn]

Hi, love your writing style and stories. Would you be be able to take a request for a like enemies to lovers with Choso? Just a thought.

Scars Written Deep

CHOSO X READER! You've fought with enemies plenty of times. But when defeated, waking up in their bed is the last place you want to find yourself in. _________ ♫ GILDED LILY - cults ❝ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʟᴏᴡᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ❞

Pain explodes through your body, white-hot and searing as an unknown force of a blast slams into you. It felt like being struck by a thunderbolt, the power immense and merciless. You were hurled backward with brutal force, your body flung like a ragdoll into the wreckage of what had once been a formidable barrier.

The impact was devastating. A wave of intense pain exploded through you as you crashed into a heap of twisted metal and broken concrete. The agony that followed was sharp and all-consuming, shooting through every nerve in your body with unbearable intensity. Your ears rang with a high-pitched whine, the sound of your pulse loud in the unsettling silence that followed the blast.

You can't quite remember how you came to be here. All your brain can pick up are you leaving home, coming here, fighting Choso, then an explosion. With the agony you find yourself in, you're surprised you can even think.

As you open your eyes, coughing slightly as dust tries to find an entryway into your lungs, you start to squirm to get up. It isn't over like this, some stupid explosion from who knows where. If you were to die, you'd rather it be in the hands of an enemy than be one unknown.

It only takes you a few seconds to realize you can't move, as you twist your head to look back, you're greeted with a slab of metal meeting your torso, down to your legs, covering half your body. Gasping for breath under the oppressive weight of the debris, you now feel the pain. It's hot and searing, radiating from your legs, trapped beneath the rubble.

The sharp, jagged edges of slabs of metal dig into your skin, the pressure is immense and immobilizing. Every attempt to move sent new waves of excruciating pain coursing through your body, each more punishing than the last. With a gasp of hope and widening eyes, you try and twist your body to no avail.

Beneath you, the ground was littered with rubble and broken glass; an uncomfortable to your stomach, reminding you of the force pressing into your back, pinning you down. You try to move, to escape the prison of debris, but torture lances through your body, anchoring you in place.

A minute falls past and a desperate cry leaves your lips, drowned out by the ringing in your ears, the sound of your distress is soon lost amidst the aftermath of the explosion.

Tears of frustration now fall down your cheeks as you try and move the metal. It won't budge, it's stuck on you; and now it's slowly starting to click, that this will be your fate. Either Choso will leave you here, making you run out of needed resources, or you die at his hands. You can't accept both, you'll find a way.

Every breath seems to be a battle in your body, chest heaving to draw in air through the crushing weight pinning your legs. You try to move once more, a whimper escaping your lips as a sharp pain lanced through you, the world tilting dangerously.

It seemed like pain engulfed you, immediate and overwhelming, its claws digging into your flesh with merciless intensity. Your head throbbed violently, a pulsating rhythm that matched the sharp, jagged breaths escaping from your crushed lungs.

The world around you started to blur into a chaotic swirl of dust and shadows, each particle of air heavy with the scent of destruction and cursed energy.

Your vision is now hazy, tears of ache and anger welling in your eyes, making the dusty air around you seem to swim. The dim, shadowy outline of the warehouse wavered in and out of focus, the sturdy walls now nothing more than a crumbling tomb.

In the disorienting aftermath of the explosion, your thoughts turned briefly to Choso, not out of concern (you'd rather be caught dead than ever show a hint of worry for that man), but out of a wary calculation.

If he was down, it could be your chance to escape, or if he approached, you'd need to be ready to defend yourself, even in this weakened state. But your thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by the raw, physical pain dominating your senses.

Your tiny glimpse of hope diminished as the realization started to set in.

Through the haze of dust and debris, a figure began to take shape, moving steadily through the chaos. You couldn't feel the massive amount of tears that you cried, mistaking it with dust. You feel your heart sink in a pit in your stomach at the sight.

It was Choso, appearing seemingly unscathed by the explosion that had incapacitated you. His posture was upright, his steps measured and calm—a stark contrast to the chaos around him.

The rivalry between you had always been fierce, a clash of power and wits, testing each other's limits at every encounter. But now, as your consciousness flickered dangerously low, you saw him differently.

There was a sway in his step, a slight falter that betrayed his disorientation from the explosion. His usual composed demeanor was shattered; even from a distance, you could sense his confusion.

Your heart sank further, not just from fear or pain, but from a deep, ugly seething resentment. There he was, your enemy, walking freely while you lay pinned and powerless. The sight of him, so composed amid the destruction, fueled a surge of anger through your veins, momentarily overshadowing the pain.

You strained to keep your eyes open, to keep him in sight, not willing to be caught off-guard. His figure became clearer as he approached. There was no sign of hesitation in his steps, no flicker of concern across his features—just the same cold, detached expression he always wore when facing you.

The familiarity made you want to die.

Your breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, each inhaling a battle against the pain and the weight crushing down on you. It took up too much strength to keep your head lifted; finally giving it a few moments of peace as you felt your cheek meet the cold ground.

You tried to muster the strength to call out, to taunt or threaten him, to do anything to affect that stoic demeanor. But your voice faltered the words dissolving into a pained groan as darkness edged your vision. You tried to lift your head for a second, gritting your teeth against the surge of pain. "Choso," you managed to gasp out, though it felt like speaking through a mouthful of glass. Your voice was hoarse, barely audible above the settling debris.

He paused, his head turning sharply in your direction, his eyes—those deep, unfathomable pools—locking onto yours. There was a pause, a heartbeat of silence that stretched between you two. Then, surprisingly, his footsteps resumed, this time more deliberately, closing the distance between enemy lines. It was like you could feel the vibration of his footsteps, telling you your ultimate fate.

As Choso came closer, your determination faltered, the edges of your consciousness fraying under the onslaught of pain and imminent defeat. The world around you began to dim, the sounds of the crumbling warehouse fading into a distant echo.

With the last of your strength waning, your head lolled to the side, your eyes struggling to focus on Choso as he continued his approach.

Your mind screamed to stay awake, to remain vigilant, but your body betrayed you, sinking deeper into the cold, encroaching shadows of unconsciousness. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the blurred image of Choso bending over you, his hands reaching out—whether to help or to harm, you couldn't tell, you didn't care.

The sight of him, an enemy moving unchallenged through the debris toward you, was the last image that burned in your mind before the darkness finally claimed you, swallowing everything into silent oblivion.

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

Consciousness returns to you like a slow, creeping tide, pushing through the haze of disorientation and throbbing pain. Your eyelids flutter open, revealing a ceiling that is unfamiliar—smooth, white, and utterly foreign. Panic grips you instantly. Your heart races as you try to move, but agony lances through your body, anchoring you to the spot with its fierce intensity.

With a groan, you grip the sheets as you turn your head, inspecting the room you find trapped in. You're lying on a soft surface, a bed, most likely, but the comfort it promises is overshadowed by the confusion swirling in your mind.

How did you get here? The last thing you remember is the explosive clash with Choso, the pain, and then darkness. Now, here you are, in a room that looks nothing like the battleground you last saw.

The walls are plain, adorned with only a few pictures, and there's a window with curtains partially drawn, letting in just enough light to illuminate your surroundings. Attempting to sit up, a sharp pain shoots through your stomach, forcing a gasp from your lips. It's then you realize you're bandaged heavily, your movements restricted by the swathes of gauze wrapped around your chest and legs.

You lift the sheets to be met wearing an oversized t-shirt with baggy sweatpants. Under it are bandages wrapped around what seems to be every inch of your torso, while some are found on your left and right legs. A hint of red bleeds through the plaster, making you reminisce on earlier events.

"Easy. You're not ready to move yet."

The voice is startlingly familiar, causing another spike of panic. Your head snaps to the side, and there he is—Choso, standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable. How? Why? When?

"What are you doing here?" Your voice is a hoarse whisper, fear mingled with confusion. "Why am I here?"

Choso doesn't move closer, respecting the distance between you, perhaps understanding that his presence alone is enough to unsettle you further. "You were injured. I brought you here to heal," he explains, his tone neutral. It's unsettling.

"This is a trap," you accuse, though the effort of speaking sends a fresh wave of pain coursing through you. You're not even sure of your own words, but the distrust has deep roots, hardened by past conflicts.

"It's no trap," Choso replies calmly, face not marking any emotion. "You were in no condition to be left alone. Whether you believe me or not, I couldn't just—" He stops, seemingly searching for the right words. "I couldn't leave you there."

Your mind races, trying to process his words and his actions. None of it makes sense. Why would your enemy choose to save you? What for? Is he lying? Why? Why, why why? The suspicion lingers, but your body betrays your desire to act on it, too weak to even sit up fully.

Choso watches you struggle briefly, his gaze intense. "You need to rest. Your body hasn't healed enough for you to be moving around."

"I don't need anything from you," you manage to grit out, though the pain is draining, making it hard to focus. Giving up, you lock eyes with him.

For a moment, neither of you speaks; the air is charged with a tense silence. 

Then, without another word, Choso turns and walks towards the door. Before exiting, he pauses and looks back. "There's food and water on the nightstand when you're ready," he says, indicating a small wooden table nearby laden with a jug of water and a bowl covered with a cloth. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

With that, he exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. The sound of his footsteps recedes, and you're left alone, grappling with a cocktail of emotions—confusion, anger, vulnerability.

Each breath you take is a reminder of your physical state, the pain a constant, nagging presence that refuses to be ignored. If you could, you would run up and take him out from behind, give him a piece of the pain you've found familiar too. Your confusion of why runs deeper than your anger though.

Lying back against the pillow, you take a moment to assess your situation. The room is quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves outside and the distant clatter of utensils. Choso's presence in the next room is unsettling yet strangely reassuring in a way you can't quite understand. Why would he help you? What did he stand to gain from your survival?

The questions swirl in your mind, but the exhaustion from your injuries and the effort of the brief interaction weigh heavily on you. Despite your distrust and your instincts screaming for you to get up and leave, your body has other ideas. The pain pins you down, and the fatigue is overwhelming.

As minutes tick by, your eyelids grow heavy, the edges of your vision blur, and despite your best efforts to stay alert, sleep begins to claim you once more. Before you drift off, a part of you acknowledges the need to heal, to regain your strength. You'll need it if you're to confront Choso about his motives if you're to escape this place. If you're still willing to fight him after this.

But for now, your body wins the battle against your mind, and you sink into a reluctant, uneasy rest, the sound of Choso moving quietly in the kitchen a distant, almost comforting background noise. As sleep envelops you, it's with the faint hope that when next you wake, you might be strong enough to seek the answers you need—or ready enough to fight if it comes to that.

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

Weeks passed in a strange, silent routine as you slowly recovered in the unfamiliar house. Choso was a constant, albeit quiet, presence. Each day, he would come into your room to check on your wounds, his movements precise and methodical.

He hardly ever spoke during these visits, only offering brief nods or the occasional instruction on how to care for your injuries. You, trapped in a mixture of convalescence and confusion, the only response you would give him was a curt nod. You watched him in a wary silence, your mind buzzing with unasked questions and unvoiced suspicions.

One afternoon, as the sun filtered through the curtains casting long shadows across the room, Choso entered with his usual tray of medical supplies. He approached your side, his eyes briefly meeting yours before focusing on the bandages wrapped around your torso. As he began to unwind the soiled bandages with careful hands, the silence felt heavier than usual.

You watched his focused expression, noting the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of the bandages and your shallow breathing. Something about the stillness of the moment, mixed with the weeks of pent-up confusion and frustration, made the words bubble up inside you, unbidden but unstoppable.

"Why are you doing this?" you blurted out, propping your arms up to get a good look at him. Your voice is a little hoarse from disuse in such conversations.

Choso paused, his hands stilling on the bandage. He didn't look up immediately, and for a moment, you thought he might just ignore your question and change of position. But then he straightens up slightly, meeting your gaze with a steady one of his own.

"Because it was necessary," he said simply.

"That's not an answer," you pushed back, your confusion turning into frustration. "Why me? Why save me, care for me, when all we've done is try to destroy each other? What do you want from me?"

Choso sighed a deep, almost inaudible sound. He resumed his task, breaking eye contact as his fingers deftly replaced the old bandage with a fresh one. "I don't expect you to understand. Not yet. But know this—I don't want to see you destroyed. Our enmity. . .it doesn't have to define everything."

"You expect me to just accept that? After everything?" Your tone was incredulous, expressing your anger and frustration, eyes searching his for any answer or hint of deceit.

He finished taping the new bandage and finally looked up, his expression earnest. "No, I don't expect acceptance, not immediately. But I do hope for understanding, eventually. There's more at stake here than our grievances."

You lay back against the pillows, processing his words. The idea that Choso, of all people, might have reasons beyond what you could immediately understand was difficult to grasp. It didn't erase the history or the pain, but it added a layer of complexity to a situation you had wanted to view in black and white.

"So, what now?" you asked after a moment, your voice softer, tinged with a reluctant curiosity, eyes drifting towards his.

"Now, you heal," Choso replied, his voice firm but not unkind. "And when you're ready, we'll talk. There's much to discuss, about why this all happened, and where we go from here."

As he packed away the medical supplies, you lay in silence, staring at the ceiling but seeing nothing, your thoughts a whirlwind.

There was so much you still didn't know, so many questions yet to be answered. But for the first time since you woke up in this unfamiliar place, you considered that perhaps there might be reasons worth listening to—even from a foe.

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

Gradually, as your strength returned, the walls of the room that had confined you began to feel less oppressive, more like boundaries that could be pushed.

With cautious steps, you began to explore the house, curiosity tugging at you with each discovery. It struck you as odd, seeing Choso in such a domestic setting contradictory to the view you've always seen him as.

The house was simple and modestly furnished, but there were personal touches—a framed picture here, an old, well-loved book there—that made you reconsider the man you thought you knew only as a rival.

One afternoon, feeling stronger and more sure-footed, you ventured into the kitchen. It was neat and organized, with pots hanging in orderly rows and spices lined up like little soldiers. You touched the counters, the cool stone grounding, as a thought blossomed in your mind—a quiet thank you could be expressed in the universal language of a shared meal.

If you told yourself two months ago you'd be willing to cook Choso food, you would've cried from the hysterical shock of the statement. But as the days seem to pass, you can't ignore it any longer. The care he's bestowed onto you, you have to give something in return.

You found ingredients in the refrigerator and pantry—vegetables, herbs, some rice, and chicken. Cooking was a familiar, almost comforting routine, and as you chopped and stirred, you found a rhythm that felt meditative, healing in its own right. The aroma of herbs and simmering sauce filled the kitchen, weaving a warm, inviting atmosphere.

By the time you finished, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the house had grown quiet with the deepening evening. You set the table, placing dishes of steamed rice, herb-roasted chicken, and a side of vegetables neatly arranged. A note beside the plate simply read, "Thank you," a token of gratitude from someone who still harbored doubts but was learning maybe not all was as it seemed.

Exhaustion from the day's activities caught up with you, and after setting everything up, you retreated to your room, your body demanding rest. Sleep came surprisingly easy, a deep, restful state that enveloped you wholly.

When Choso returned, it was much later. The house was silent, save for the soft ticking of the wall clock in the hallway. He paused as he entered the kitchen, a hint of surprise registering on his features when he saw the spread on the table. A small hint of a smile graced his lips, rare and fleeting, as he read the note you'd left. He sat down, alone yet somehow not by your presence, and served himself.

As he ate, the flavors and care put into the meal spoke silently of bridges being built, even if those bridges were tentative and unspoken. It was a small gesture, but for Choso, it was a significant acknowledgment of the complex, shifting ground between you. 

Tonight, the house felt a little less like a battleground and a little more like a home, even if just for a moment.

In your room, you slept on, unaware of the small breakthrough, the smile you'd brought to a weary face, and the silent thanks returned in kind for a meal shared in spirit if not in presence.

@siythn all rights reserved!

AUTHORS NOTE! - i tried best i could, ngl it was pretty challenging to fit a way to include enemies to lovers, but i hope you enjoy! ღ

[siythn]

CHANNEL ONE: DITTO

⮑ ᯤ ꒰THE BROADCASTER꒱ CHLO, 9TEEN, SHE/HER

❝말해줘 say it back, oh, say it ditto❞

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❝stay in the middle, like you a little❞

© All Rights Reserved. Written Works Owned by SIYTHN ˊˎ-

[siythn]

JUJUTSU KAISEN

- SUGURU GETO

Espresso; As you see the face of a regular, Suguru Geto, who's presence is known in the coffee place you work at, you can't help but crush.

- SATORU GOJO

Sick & Soup; You and Gojo were known enemies. Nothing could stop hate you both held for each other, but when you fall sick, Gojo’s seems to be the person to be first to take care of you.

- CHOSO KAMO

Eternal Sunshine; You were definitely a night person. But you start budging on the idea whenever your boyfriend holding you close in his arms as you awake. Or is just a change of scenery?

Scars Written Deep; You've been enemies with Choso for as long as you can recount, but when knocked unconscious, being cared by him is not what you find yourself waking up to.

- NANAMI KENTO

Bon Appétit; You love your husband, sure. But you hated how stubborn he gets. Even when he’s exhausted, he always insists on caring for you first. You couldn’t decide if you hated it or loved it.

ATTACK ON TITAN

- LEVI ACKERMAN

Worth the Wait; Working alongside Levi Ackerman as your co-star in Attack on Titan was enough for your plate. But when being nominated for an Oscar becomes a plan, you can't help but realize your underlying feelings.

Aftercare; You hated having to wash up after a mission, all you wanted to do was fall into your bed and sleep. Levi never let you though, persisting you to let yourself get the care you need. You were never compliant when his hands were in your hair, though.

Survivors Guilt; Knowing yourself, you would've destroyed your room with your crash of emotions if it weren’t for Levi. Who’s silent, yet loud presence was known to be your anchor in times of sadness.

[siythn]

Hii! Correct me if I'm wrong but i was assuming that you are kind of a new blog and new to writing but!! The way you write is insanely good! I loved your levi fic and it will definitely be a story that I would want to reread from time to time 🤧 I've read a lot of novels, fics etc. and I was just really impressed while I was reading your levi fic because I thought it didn't seem like it was written by someone new to writing 💕

hii!! thank you so much for the sweet words!! even though i’m new to tumblr, i’m not new to writing!!

i’ve written on wattpad for a hot minute before moving here since it was getting pretty inactive 😭

my writing has most definitely been through it, and it’s taken a good amount of time, tips, and trial and error!!

(gotta be honest the levi one i wrote took me a WHILEEE)

again thank you so so so much for the sweet and kind words, i’m super happy to hear you find my writing well!! 💗💗

[siythn]

I LOVE YOUR NEW THEME AHHHH 🫶🫶🫶 NEWJEANS 🔛🔝

OH MY GOD UR SO SWEET IM CRYING 😭😭

no joke it took years to figure out how to format it but i’m so so so happy to hear you like it!! (currently blushing and geeking)

IM NOT LYING WHEN I SAY I WAS ABOUT TO DM YOU TO ASK FOR TIPS but then i chickened out LMFAOO

ur the sweetest ever i will be thinking about this for the month of july

(newjeans world domination 🐰)

[siythn]

can yoy write soemthing about richard x choso but its angst cuz richatd's ex wife finds out

i don’t know i don’t take asks from homosexuals 💗

(just jokes don’t cancel me)