Siythn - Tumblr Blog

Cruel Summer (feat. Megumi Fushiguro) [Limited Edition CD]

MEGUMI X READER! It seemed like summer just brought the both of you together somehow. Although, you and Megumi had always been kind of attached. Maybe it was the hot summer days, or the secrecy of your relationship. One thing was for sure, you wouldn't mind it being longer than a summer fling. ❝AND I SNUCK THROUGH THE GARDEN GATE, EVERY NIGHT THAT SUMMER JUST TO SEAL MY FATE❞ ᥫ᭡ LOVER; MASTERLIST

The mission had been brutal, it’s obvious by the bags starting to appear under your eyes. As you and Megumi walked back to Jujutsu Tech, you couldn't help but notice the deep frown etched on his face, his brow furrowed in that all-too-familiar expression of annoyance.

"What's so funny?" he asked, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You stifled another giggle, trying to compose yourself but failing miserably. "It's just. . .you look like you ate something sour. I can't take you seriously when you're making that face."

Megumi's frown deepened, as if to convince you to feel sorry for him. The glint of amusement in his eyes spoke louder. "I'm injured, you know. A little sympathy wouldn't hurt."

You nudged his shoulder playfully. "Oh, poor Megumi. Should I get you some candy to cheer you up?"

He huffed, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile. "You're impossible."

Unable to contain your laughter, you burst out giggling, slightly turning away from him to hide your face; trying to stop the attack. "And you're grumpy. It's a perfect match."

Without warning, Megumi shoved your shoulder lightly, causing you to stumble forwards. "Hey!" you exclaimed, still laughing. "What was that for?"

"For being a pain," he shot back, but his tone was light, and you could see the humor caught in the corner wrinkles of his eyes. He slowed his pace, letting you catch up, and you walked side by side in comfortable silence for a few moments.

As you entered the nursery at Jujutsu Tech, Megumi's steps became more deliberate, you quickly picked on the limp every two steps. Concern replaced your laughter as you saw the extent of his injuries, before it came to a stop. "Come on," you said gently, guiding him to a comfortable chair. "Let's get you patched up."

Megumi sat with stillness on the padded chair, wincing slightly as he shrugged off his bloodstained jacket. "You don't have to do this, you know," he muttered, eyes flicking to the side as he watched you gather the first aid supplies. Despite his words that came off in embarrassment, it was clear he was appreciative of the act.

You smiled, unfazed. "Someone has to take care of you, and it's certainly not going to be you." You knelt beside him, carefully dabbing at the gash on his arm with antiseptic. "Hold still."

He hissed slightly at the sting, and you couldn't help but chuckle. "Oh, come on, Megumi. You've faced curses that would make most people faint, and you're flinching at a little alcohol?"

"Maybe I just like the attention," he retorted, a smirk playing at his lips. His dark hair fell into his eyes, but even through the strands, you could see the mischief he carried within himself.

Rolling your eyes, you began wrapping the bandage around his arm, deliberately pulling it a tad too tight. He cringed, making you grin up at him. "Oops, sorry about that. Guess I'm just nervous being so close to a big, tough sorcerer like you."

Megumi's smirk widened. "Oh, really? Because it seems to me you're taking advantage of my weakened state."

You shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe I am. Someone has to keep you in check."

As you finished securing the bandage, you gave his arm a gentle pat. "There, all done. Now, let's see if we can get rid of that pain." Leaning in, you pressed a light kiss to his bandaged arm, looking up at him with a tease in your eye. "Better?"

Megumi's gaze softened, and in a swift movement, he reached out, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Not quite," he murmured before capturing your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.

Caught off guard, you felt your heart race, a deep warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the hot summer day. As you kissed him back, you couldn't help but smile, breaking away just enough to whisper, "People are going to see us." You cast a quick glance around, but the nursery seemed as deserted as ever. But still, that itchy feeling of paranoia gnawed at your mind.

You can’t really place when you officially started to like the black-haired male. It just sort of came to you one hot day in July, watching him train with his divine dogs. As odd of a sight it was, you couldn’t help the admiration in your stare.

It wasn’t long before Megumi picked it up. While the both of you shared a meal, you slipped up and confessed. One look from him confirmed your feelings, and the both of you accepted the terms of this new relationship. The both of you sworn to keep it hidden, although. Plus, it made your skin crawl to think of Yuji and Nobara pestering the both of you about it.

You couldn’t help but like the secrecy, moments like these made it more exciting to experience young love. It was obvious Megumi probably liked it more.

"Let them," Megumi replied, his voice low and firm, pulling you back into another kiss. This time, you let yourself let go the moment, forgetting the thoughts that intruded your mind. His lips were soft but insistent, and you melted into the embrace.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless, faces mere inches apart. The reason why the both of you ending up in the nursery long forgotten. The golden sunlight filtered through the shutters of the window above, casting a warm glow on Megumi's features. His usually stoic expression was softened by the tender moment, his dark eyes holding an emotion you’ve had the chance to see with this new profound relationship.

"You're really something, you know that?" you said softly, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

He smiled, a rare genuine smile that not many had the privilege to say they see everyday, it made your heart skip a beat. "I could say the same about you."

For a moment, you both just stared at each other, time not seeming to bother the both of you. The sunlight highlighted the contours of his face, making his eyes appear even more intense. You felt a giggle bubble up inside you, unable to contain the joy of the moment.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you let out a soft laugh. "We're a mess, aren't we?"

Megumi chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Maybe, but I wouldn't have it any other way." He wrapped an arm snug around your waist, holding you close.

As you sat there together, the sun setting and casting long shadows across the garden, you couldn’t find the motivation to care if the both of you got caught. As long as you were here, wrapped in his arms, what would really hurt you?

BONUS SCENE: The sun was setting, casting a warm golden hue over the Jujutsu Tech pool. It wasn’t used much, but when it was, it had always been a field day.

Clearly that reflected on you and Megumi sitting on the pool's edge, thoroughly exhausted from your splash fight and playful wrestling in the water. Both of you were soaked, bathing suits clinging to your bodies, but the laughter and joy in your faces made the discomfort worth it.

A half-eaten watermelon slice lays on a plate between you, the perfect refreshment after the exertion. You picked up the watermelon, the sticky juice already running down your fingers, and took a bite before offering it to Megumi. "Your turn," you said, squealing when the juice started to drip onto your lap.

Megumi leaned in, taking a big bite and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "This is a mess," he muttered, but the gaze he held with the fruit clearly suggested he wanted more. He leaned down one more time to finish it off.

"You think?" you replied with a laugh. "It's worth it, though."

Megumi picked up another full slice, holding it up to your lips. "Here, let me."

You leaned forward, taking a bite and trying not to laugh as more juice dribbled down your chin. "You're terrible at this," you teased, your eyes meeting his as you leaned up to continue chewing.

Just as Megumi was about to feed you another bite, you both froze. The sound of footsteps approaching quickly gave you no time to act, and you turned to see Yuji standing at the edge of the pool, his mouth agape. You slowly wipe your face in shock.

"Uh, hey," Yuji said, his eyes wide with realization. "Am I interrupting something?"

You and Megumi exchanged a glance. The both of you knew there was no getting out of this, especially with how close the two of you were. Megumi cleared his throat, his usual stoic demeanor faltering. "It's not what it looks like," he began, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

Yuji's eyes lit up with understanding, and he broke into a wide grin. "Oh, I see! You two are dating!" His excitement was palpable, and you could see the gears turning in his head as he connected the dots.

You couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation hitting you. "Well, I guess the secret's out," you said, looking at Megumi with amusement.

Megumi sighed, but there was a small smile on his lips. "Yeah, I guess it is." He puts down eaten slice of watermelon before intertwining your fingers.

Yuji's grin only widened. "That's awesome! I had no idea. You guys make a great couple."

"Thanks, Yuji," you said, still chuckling. "Just maybe keep it on the down-low for now, okay?"

"Of course," Yuji agreed, his excitement undimmed. "But seriously, this is great. I'm happy for you guys."

Yuji spent one last on gaze the both of you one last glance before walking away, leaving you and Megumi to your watermelon and your quiet moment by the pool. With a moment of silence, you felt a warm glow of contentment. You leaned your head on Megumi's shoulder, closing your eyes and savoring the closeness.

”He’s not gonna keep his mouth shut, is he?" you murmured, echoing your earlier words.

Megumi chuckled softly, his arm wrapping around you. "Probably not."

You smiled, the sun setting behind you and casting long shadows over the pool. In that moment, everything felt okay. Just right, in your words.

Is what you would’ve said before you heard the heavy steps of running and the shouts of Nobara quickly approaching, Yujis screaming echoing down the halls. In the corner of your eye, you glance at Megumi, conveying the message in the stare.

“It’s fine, let her see.”

leave it up to fav mootie to always write the best smut known (currently blushing giggling kicking my feet i want nanami so bad)

Spring cleaning 2 - Clean up your mess

You couldn’t be happier that spring cleaning was coming to an end, your reward now at arm’s length. Unfortunately for you, Kento wants to torment for a little longer and not just with household chores. cw : +18, detailed smut (face sitting, edging, unprotected sex, squirting) please MDNI ; part 1 here

For the first year of living together with Kento, you can proudly say spring cleaning was a resounding success. Who knew the only incentive you needed to fully cooperate was the promise of being thoroughly cared for by your dear husband. 

Even Kento was taken aback by your eagerness, slightly amused by your boisterous shrub trimming in the early morning hours. He watched you fondly as you waved at him from the yard, all smiles and mussed hair, with comically large gardening scissors in your hands. Although your pruning left much to be desired, your effort seemed genuine and Kento took it as a chance to soak in the delightful sight of your bent form whenever you’d vigorously attack dead growth. The delicious curve of your arched back and your zeal were enticing enough for Kento to overlook your mediocre performance, then remedy it himself.

He spent the day quietly checking on you, always pleasantly surprised to find you wholly focused on whatever task you threw yourself into. The highlight of his day was probably seeing your exuberant strut up and down the corridor leading from your bedroom to the laundry room, accentuating the sway of your hips and the rhythmic pitter patter of your bare feet against the wooden floors whenever you sensed him coming closer, huffing and puffing about the “gargantuan” amount of laundry you were putting away. Kento came to find that, by gargantuan, you meant barely enough for two rounds of laundry as you only took a handful of clothes from your hamper to the washing machine at a time, more focused on putting on a show for him than actually getting anything done but it didn’t matter. Nothing really matters when Kento gets to see you so joyful, mischief only adding to your childlike charm, and he knew he was growing entirely too soft even though he’d promised to be implacable with you. 

Kento had steeled himself in not giving into your pleading or puppy eyes or less orthodox, more daring negotiation - or really, extortion - methods and strangely, you didn’t even subject him to any of it. So he fared well, starting strong when he’d easily outsmarted you, having you at his beck and call for the whole day and Kento rode the heady high of an easy victory for once. He could really get used to finally being listened to without protest.  

By the end of the day, you were brimming with energy, both from the prospect of getting your reward and the pride of a job well done.

Sitting on the living room carpet, you admire your handiwork and smile proudly at how the neat piles of Kento’s and your own folded clothes completely cover the white woollen rug, eager to stun him with the results of your honest work and get the praise you craved.

You skip happily towards the kitchen in search of him, head peeking in just enough to get a good look at Kento prepping for dinner, and stalling for a moment to take in the sight of the muscular ridges of his back under his tight shirt. Slowly, you creep towards him, light-footed and conspiratorial, fully intending to scare him but you only manage to get two footsteps in before he pipes up, tone light and knowing, “Did you need something, darling ?”; 

You audibly huff, evidently disgruntled to have been found out so easily, plodding along the rest of the way, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed at him as you hoist yourself up on the countertop by his side. “You’re no fun, I wanted to surprise you”, you mumble, lightly punching his arm to get his attention. He merely hums and smiles, gaze not straying from the courgettes he julienned with impressive precision. Kento only turns to face you once he is done, and when he catches you staring at his hands with lidded eyes, he’s barely able to contain his snicker at how easy you’ll be to toy with.

“Your idea of surprising me is scaring me, not sure you’re any fun either”, he starts and you shrug innocently. “Besides, it’s hard to miss you ; I could smell you before I could even hear you, honey”. He extends a large palm to smooth your hair out and pull out a small twig still stuck in your ponytail, waving it around in your face. You remain unfazed, pushing your chest out proudly and retorting, “I smell like hard work”. He laughs and corrects, trailing off, “You smell like plumeria, and..”

He moves closer, hands on your knees to part them gently and stand between your legs. Kento’s feline gaze locks on yours, his usually cool amber irises set ablaze in the dying light of the sunset. One hand leaves your bare knee to cup your jaw and tilt your head back, and Kento’s scrutinising eyes make you squirm.  You are suddenly very aware of how you must look in this light, a day’s worth of grunt work leaving you sweaty and unkempt. Kento doesn’t seem to mind though as he ducks his head lower to brush the bridge of his sharp nose along your jaw, then even lower to the column of your throat. He inhales deeply, every little breath he takes against your skin magnified tenfold from how much you want him.

You hadn’t expected your reward to come so soon but you have no complaints about Kento’s generous mood, so you close your eyes and let his hand cradle the back of your head. He takes his time making his way up to your face, the soft pecks he lavished on your collarbones and neck turning hungry when he reaches just below your ear, licking a long stripe and nibbling on your earlobe. By then you are a goner, your little breathy whimpers of pleasure filling the otherwise silent kitchen. You only open your eyes when you feel him pulling away, brows furrowed once you notice his wry smile. What’s so funny ? you want to ask but he beats you to it, the hand at your nape retreating to show a bright crimson petal stuck in your hair.

“Plumeria and bougainvillaea”, he declares with a self-satisfied, lopsided smirk. You stare at him, mouth aghast. “Ken, what the fu –”, you start but he silences you with an open-mouthed kiss, the faintest brush of his tongue against yours easily lowering your defences again.   “You smell divine, hard work really suits you.”

You don’t know how to respond, you’re not used to being denied or teased like this. Kento can see the cogs turning in your lust-addled mind, confusion clear as day in your disappointed little moue.  “What did you want to tell me ?”, he interrupts your unspoken musings. You blink your confusion away, sniffling before answering, “The laundry…I wanted to show you, I did it and folded it, and –” He hums along, listening to you talk about folding laundry like you’ve just done the unthinkable. In a sense, you really have. Kento can’t remember a time when you had to do it since you’ve lived together ;  the burden of virtually every household chore always befell him. He loves taking care of you, so even the most menial and mundane tasks were softened in the glow of his affection for you. He just thought he could claim a little reward for all his efforts, even if it meant retribution on your end.

He does an impeccable job at maintaining an apathetic façacade as he lets you drag him from the kitchen to the living room, his resolve unwavering even when he notices how the enthusiastic bounce of your step is reduced to the uncertain drag of your feet.

“Well ?”, you try with a meek little smile, hopeful eyes fleeting between Kento’s impassive expression and the neat piles you spent your afternoon sorting. “Well ? I thought you would’ve put them back in our dresser by now”, Kento deadpans. Your smile immediately falters and he can see disappointment slowly morphing in frustration. It shouldn’t affect him the way it does, but he rarely gets to see you like this - so eager to please and so afflicted by his denying you. He feels himself twitch in his trousers as your hands ball into fists and your rosy lips jut out in clear discontent, your pout alone enough to tug at his restraint. Too engrossed in your fuming, you don’t notice the pleasure he takes in tormenting you and he uses your confusion to make a quick exit, vaguely telling you to “clean your mess” and get ready for dinner. 

Kento is amazed by how well-behaved you are, actually doing what you’re told even when he leaves you to your own devices, your promised reward undoubtedly thawing at your irritation. He watches you curiously as you move in a daze, putting the laundry away then slipping quietly in the shower, not even daring to invite him in with you. 

The billowing steam curtains a lone body instead of two, but you don’t dwell on it. Instead, you focus on washing away the remnant of hard work and letting the scalding stream of water soothe your nerves. As you step out of the shower, you think you are ready to brave Kento’s uncharacteristically cold demeanour.  Unfortunately for you, dinner is barely more fruitful, and the lauding you expected never comes. Kento is laconic at best, the insipidity of the conversation seeping into what was supposed to be a delicious meal, and there is no mention of what he has planned afterwards. You reason that he might’ve forgotten or maybe that he’s tired, too. 

He’s never like this but you reckon slaving away doing house chores can’t be ideal, even for someone like Kento who gets off on scrubbing away at coffee stains. It’s fine, you’ll just have to remind him and claim your reward. 

You do your best to quell the tremors of apprehension thrumming through you, waiting patiently for Kento to join you. He arrives moments later in all his after shower glory, sandy blond hair still damp and clinging to his forehead. Clad in nothing but low-hanging chequered sleeping pants that’d look awful on anyone but him , Kento has never looked better. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of crystalline droplets travelling the length of his torso down to his navel, and lower to catch on the hint of golden hair peeking out from the dangerously low hem of his pants. Kento can feel you staring and it takes everything in him to not mirror your hunger with his own, the glimpse he caught of your silk camisole and flimsy little shorts already enough to fan the coals of his lust. Instead, he quietly slips into his side of the bed, his back to you. The disbelieving scoff you let out is music to his ears. He feels you shuffle closer to him on your knees, poking his shoulder insistently as you simper, “Babe, I think you forgot something”. He sits up slowly, blinking at you before planting a chaste kiss on your forehead and mumbling a ‘good night’. You loop an arm around his bicep before he can even fall back on the mattress, forcing him to stay upright. “Not that, I meant what you promised this morning”, you try again, pressing your chest into his arm and resting your face against his shoulder. “What did I promise ?”, Kento inquires, blond brows arched in confusion.

“You know, you said you’d help me with the thing."

“What thing ? You’re going to have to be more specific honey, I’m very forgetful”, Kento taunts, scratching the back of his head in faux thoughtfulness. You scoff again, this time more irritated than incredulous, but you don’t relent. You rub your face against his shoulder affectionately, grasping at his hand and not so subtly pushing your chest out harder against his arm to drive your point across.

“This morning, when I told you about those hum, aches, you said you would -”, you stop suddenly, meek and bashful like you’re not rubbing your breasts against the corded muscles of his bare arm, nipples already hardening under the thin silk of your top that does nothing to conceal your growing arousal.  “I’d what ?” You can’t even answer, groaning into his bare chest to hide your fluster. Instead you try to show him, taking one large hand and guiding it to your face, kissing his palm and nuzzling into it, offering him a little smile that’d be demure if Kento didn’t know better. You peer up at him only to meet a hard, unimpressed gaze that suggests you’re going to have to try harder. “You promised, you said that if I was good you’d take care of me”, you huff out, dropping the meek act altogether as you sit back on your haunches, mulishness and petulance taking over. His laughter rumbles deep from within his belly and cuts through the leaden silence of your room. Somehow, it sounds foreign and mirthless coming from Kento. It makes you shiver, something halfway between apprehension and lust stirs deep in your loins. “Do you even hear yourself ? All I do is take care of you, darling”, he admonishes.  You shrink in on yourself, feigned meekness quickly turning into genuine timidity. You try to come up with an acceptable retort, but the prospect of being denied any longer fuels you with a sense of urgency that makes you snap. “I know, of course, I just mean…This is different, you promised and I was really, really good so you have to make good on your word, too !”

Kento’s expression quickly turns dour as he crosses his imposing arms over the chiselled expanse of his chest, reminding you that you are in no position to demand anything. Despite your less than ideal predicament,  you can’t help but stare. He’s so close, at arm’s length really, but you have a sneaking suspicion that if you were to try and touch him, it’d be his ire and not his desire you’d stroke. So you behave.

For the umpteenth time today, you keep your hands to yourself and your mouth shut. The longing in your eyes betrays everything you try to reel back in anyway. Kento knows that look. He’s grown familiar with the slight furrow of your brows and the way your doe eyes narrow in a wistful gaze where you somehow skilfully blend unrestrained pining and shyness: the ‘fuck me’ eyes that have his cock stiffening to life alarmingly quickly in his sleeping pants. At this rate, he won’t be able to keep his little game going for much longer.

“I suppose you have been pretty good”, Kento starts, a single finger drumming against his sculpted bicep. You nod eagerly, mouthing an enthusiastic ‘yes, yes’. He hums, seemingly deep in thought. Mindlessly, you slither closer to him, taking his silence as an invitation. He lets you run a tentative hand up his arm. Emboldened, your touch grows more insistent and your fingertips press into him to savour the sinewy muscle shifting beneath his warm skin. Your eyes seek his again, your pleading gaze chipping away at his austere exterior. “Please”, you try again, tone nothing short of beseeching. A flicker of warmth flashes in Kento’s stony eyes. He relents, but not how you’d expect him to, because he’s gently disentangling himself from you, fluffing his pillow and lying down. You look at him curiously, head tilted to the side and brows furrowed. “You deserve your reward. So take it.”

He vaguely motions to his face, lips stretched in a sardonic smile. Your mouth falls open and your cheeks bloom in different shades of red - shame, lust, unbridled curiosity. “I-I…We’ve never…” you stutter, suddenly shy and unsure. Kento rubs at the bridge of his nose and sighs in feigned exasperation. “I thought you’d be more eager, it’s too bad to see you don’t actually want it”. Lust supersedes any second-guessing and you’re quickly pushing him down when he tries to sit back up. Kento smiles lazily at you once more, making a show of settling comfortably back down. 

“Strip”, he whispers, terse but warmer than before. You quickly comply, trembling hands pulling your camisole off and tugging your shorts down. When you move to peel your underwear off, Kento puts a hand over yours, eyes zeroed in on the growing wet patch between your legs, a silent plea for you to leave it on. You somehow feel more exposed this way, the flimsy material betraying your arousal as it dampens further and sticks to your puffy folds.  Kento beckons you closer, hands on your thighs as he guides you to straddle his abdomen, running his lidded eyes over your mostly naked form. He knows he’s being selfish when he denies you and pulls at the already taut string of your patience, but he wants to commit the sight of your desperation to memory. You’re so beautiful when you’re needy, with your cheeks flushed - not from shyness, anticipation has long taken over - and your soft skin bared just for him. 

Just for me, Kento thinks as he pulls you toward his face, heart leaping out of his chest and cock leaking in his pants when your clothed cunt is just above his face. He traces the curve of your thighs then presses in the dip of your hips, any pretence of remaining soft long forgotten. His once conversational touch now covets ; his clever fingers sink in a sensitive spot until you shiver above him before they move to the next, goosebumps budding in their wake. 

You’re still not close enough though and Kento brings you dizzyingly closer to his awaiting mouth, feeling the heat of your core against his face and getting high off your scent. You truly smell divine and look even better, and he can’t help but crane his neck to lick a tentative stripe from your clothed entrance to your thrumming clit, swallowing back a groan of pleasure at the faint hint of sweetness and slick catching on his tongue.You go rigid above him, the lithe muscles bracketing his head taut from the effort of keeping yourself up, timidity undoubtedly adding to the painful strain on your legs. 

Kento is patient in his exploration of your body, he works at your reserve with small kisses trailing from your inner thighs to your covered clit, whetting his appetite on your airy whimpers and gasps. The phantom brush of his lips against your heated flesh is reverent, barely there but already enough to make you clench around nothing. “Kento, please – I need you”, you whine, trying to press yourself into his face but your feeble attempts are easily contained by his large hands. Kentot’s thumbs dig into your hip bones and his long fingers are outstretched to press into your lower back. “What do you need ? Tell me, honey”, Kento whispers right into your skin, voice hoarse with desire. He’s never made you ask for anything, so discerning and attuned to your needs that he senses and caters to them unprompted. It’s not surprising that voicing your needs has you whimpering from frustration above him. Still, you are nothing if not malleable, Kento’s soft kisses and honeyed voice lulling you into obedience. You let your head drop to look at him between your legs, misty eyes transfixed on Kento’s heavy-lidded gaze, your lips quivering. “I need you to touch me more, please Ken, you know what I want.”

Of course he knows. Kento always knows what you need and how to give it to you. Above all, Kento knows you don’t beg and he almost feels bad for tormenting you but your slick-covered panties tell him the helplessness you feel only heightens your arousal. Finally, he pulls your underwear to the side, baring you to his hungry eyes. You’re so pretty, little hole clenching and clit throbbing right over his mouth. The visual combined with your breathy whimpers has his cock so stiff it borders on painful. “I know, my love, I know." He soothes you when your whines get louder with delicate kisses to your puffy folds. It’s so good, soft and reverent but not nearly enough. You whimper, fighting against his bruising hold. “Kento –” “My pretty girl wants to cum”, he croons, now kissing right under your clit, shutting you up. “Isn’t that right ? You want to cum all over my face, with my tongue deep in your needy little cunt”. Kento doesn’t expect an answer, already pushing his tongue into your fluttering, finally tasting you - you taste heavenly and feel even better, clenching around him to keep his tongue inside your slick pussy. You cry out above him, babbling about how good it feels already and pleading for more. He looks up at your face to catch how it contorts in pleasure, your jaw dropping in a soft whine when he pulls out of you. “Above all, you want to be a good girl for me, right ?” His voice is taunting, you know he’s testing you but your devotion is boundless and you’re nodding frantically. “Yes, yes – that’s all I want, I want to be your good girl." Kento smiles and rewards you with a kiss to your clit. “Then hold yourself open for me while I taste you. Can you do that for me ?”

You let out a shuddering breath that threatens to melt into a sob and it gets him impossibly harder. Your face is bashful, clearly hesitant, yet your cunt drips more of the gossamer fluid he loves onto his lips. “Come on honey”, Kento encourages, searching for your hand with his own and bringing it to your slick sex. He guides your fingers on either side of your puffy folds, voice deceptively calm when he instructs, “Just like that – that’s a good girl, let me see you when I eat you out. Don’t be shy now, you know I love looking at you; you’re so beautiful everywhere, I could cum just from this.” 

The praise he withheld all day long starts pouring. Every groan of appreciation, every hot breath fanning your glistening pussy makes you slicker and your mind grows fuzzier at Kento’s lauding. You keep yourself spread for him, showing your swollen clit without even being told to. His cock weeps at the sight, the painfully erect length twitching whenever you beg for more, so worked up your slick leaks right into his open mouth. Your tone is laced with eagerness and desperation - not for a release anymore, just the need to be good. It makes him want to be good to you in return.

Finally, Kento uses his hold over your hips to bring you down right where he needs you. The first lick of his tongue against your swollen clit has you choking on a moan of his name. Tired of denying you, Kento pulls more wanton moans from your parted lips with well-aimed flicks of his tongue against your clit, groaning when more arousal seeps onto his chin. He quickly grows hungrier, gentle flicks giving way to the insistent suckling of your clit in his mouth, tongue rolling around the pert bud until you gasp and keen in delicious agony. It’s too much and somehow not enough, your hips chasing his touch even when you feel yourself licked raw.

Kento offers you a reprieve from his voracious mouth when he feels the telltale sign of a painful orgasm starting to oscillate in you, nipping at your inner thigh to bring you down then slipping his tongue inside you to raise you back up again. This time he’s gentler, slowly fucking his tongue in and out of your greedy pussy. He takes his time with you, savouring how the almost pornographic moans he pulled out of you mellow into soft little mewls of pleasure. Easing his hold on you once more, he lets you ride his tongue, groaning whenever you bump your sensitive clit against his nose. You both fall in a rhythm, Kento lapping up into your sloppy sex and you riding his face in measured rolls of your hips, this time slowly creeping up the steep hill of your release. Kento is blissed out, head full of you - your scent, your saccharine arousal coating the better half of his face, your little hands grasping at his hair to help your ride out your pleasure - and he can’t help the way his hips jut up, his weeping dick untouched but already so close to release. Snaking a hand down his pants, Kento grabs at the base of his cock, stifling his own pleasure to draw out yours. 

With his free hand, he reaches out blindly up your abdomen to grab at your breasts. He brushes against one with the back of his hand, squeezing it appreciatively, then treats the other with the same reverent gentleness. You clench even harder around his tongue at that, teary eyes rolling back into your head when his hand spans over your chest, his thumb on one nipple and his pinky on the other. Everything becomes overwhelming, you want to tell him how good everything feels, how big his hand is against you and how you’re dangerously close to cumming on his face. Instead, cry out his name, pulsing around his tongue and gushing into his mouth, clit throbbing where it rubs against his nose. Your thighs shake violently on either sides of his face but you don’t pull away, and amid your incoherent babbles, Kento discerns your pleading for more, don’t stop it feels so good. He fucks his tongue into your harder, quicker - stroking your spasming walls so he can drink up everything you have to offer. He lets go of your breasts and his cock, using both hands to keep you firmly against his face even when your orgasm blooms into painful pleasure. His palms are hot against your ass as he spreads you open to lick you down from your climax, and you distinctly feel how one of them is covered in so much precum, adding to the already sloppy mess of your cum and his spit smeared on your lower half. 

Way past overstimulation, you shudder uncontrollably and your moans melt into pitiful sobs. Just as you are about to go boneless above him, Kento gracefully manoeuvers your body to help you lay by his side. He can look at you properly now and he marvels at how beautiful you are with your tear-streaked cheeks and heaving chest, your underwear back between your folds soaking up the mess he’s made of you. You look so fucked out, sniffling and blinking at him with misty eyes, the waves of your orgasm still ricochetting throughout your body.

“How’s this for a reward ?” Kento quips, lovingly brushing strands of hair from your sweaty forehead. You smile lazily at him, too tired to actually laugh, then you nuzzle into his palm and kiss it in silent appreciation. His heart clenches at that, incommensurable love entirely eclipsing lust. Kento litters your cheeks and forehead with small kisses until your laboured breathing evens out, then he slowly moves to stand up. 

“Where are you going ?” you mumble in a drowsy voice. “I’ll be right back to clean you up, don’t worry my love” he tries to get away from you at an awkward angle, hiding his precum-covered pants but your little hands grasp at him, a disapproving pout on your face The sight of Kento’s ill-hidden affliction chases the bleariness from your eyes, and you smile at him knowingly. “No you’re not, we’re not done.” “I know you’re tired, you don’t have to force yourself sweetheart, really I –”, Kento starts, the face of abnegation even as his cock aches to sheath itself in your warmth, but he stops when you slip off your spoiled panties and spread your legs for him again. It seems like he’s fucked the shyness out of you because you suddenly have no qualms about reaching both hands to your sloppy sex, spreading it like you’d just done for his mouth. His jaw drops open when you trail a delicate finger to your fluttering hole, circling it before sinking in agonisingly slow, breath hitching. You must be so sensitive, so warm and tight, he thinks. Primed for his cock. Kento searches your face again for more reassurance.

“You really don’t have to.” “I want to. I want you inside me, don’t you want to reward me for being your good girl ?”; your smile is deceptively innocent, finger still steadily pumping in and out of yourself.

Fuck it.

Kento all but clambers to kneel between your spread legs, strong hands holding your thighs to open you more to him, pushing them to your chest. His breathing quickly grows erratic, pupils so blown they eclipse the amber of his irises. You want to spur him on further so you reach a curious hand to run the length of his bare chest, raking your fingers along his happy trail until you reach his pants. Then, with a devious little smile, you slowly sneak your hand to his aching cock. Kento’s moan is guttural when you ghost your finger of his leaking tip, and he grunts in agony when you wrap your soft palm around him, pumping him to add to the mess he’s already made of himself. If your hand already feels so good, just how much better will your cunt feel ?

With his patience running thin, Kento bats your hands away and tugs his sullied pants down just enough to free his length. Shuffling closer to you, he strokes himself over your spread sex, lidded eyes transfixed on the beads of precum leaking from his tip onto your pert clit. You crane your neck to watch him add to the mess between your legs, eyes fleeting between the angry red head of his dick and his face contorting in uninhibited desire. Kento swipes at your slippery clit with his thumb, reaching to your hole to gather more of your slick and your cum, then stroking your thrumming pearl with it. 

“So messy”, Kento muses to no one in particular, entranced by how sloppy he already got you. “But I need you wetter”, he concludes, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You whine in protest when he takes his hand away, missing the gentle pressure that was already building your pleasure back again. Your protest dies in your throat however when Kento repositions himself above you just right, guiding his cock to rub the drooling slit of its head on your clit, coating you in his essence. Somehow, that’s still not enough and your eyes go wide when he gathers spit on his tongue, letting a hefty glob drop where you’re connected. You blush furiously at the sight, wanton moans only getting louder when Kento cups the back of your head to make you watch how messier his spit gets you. 

“Think you’re ready for me now, my love ?”  When you nod frantically, holding onto the back of your thighs yourself in an unspoken plea for him to take you, Kento knows you are. Slowly, he arches over you, one hand rubbing his cock over your sloppy sex, the other sliding under your head to tilt it and make you watch yourself get fucked like you’d begged for.

Kento sinks his cock into your awaiting hole excruciatingly slowly, feeding it to you inch by inch, his eyes trained on your face. So fucking pretty, he thinks. The most breathtaking woman he’s ever seen is somehow even more beautiful like this. Kento starves off the need to slam himself into you, quelling his hunger on your shuddering gasps and the deliciously painful bite of your nails into his biceps. He only stops when he’s fully sheathed into you wet heat, cockhead grazing your cervix and making you gasp like he’s just punched the air out of your lungs. He remains inside you, unmoving, letting you adjust to being stretched thin all over gain. Cupping your cheek with his hand, he finally kisses you and you sob into his mouth, kissing him back messily and trying to tell him how good it feels already. I know, I know, he soothes, the velvety baritone of his voice heightening your pleasure. When he feels you relax around him, Kento pulls out cautiously and revels in the whimper it earns him. Slowly, he starts rocking into you, first in measured rolls of his hips into you, but his gentle pace picks up into something more frenzied. 

You spur him on, moaning right into his open mouth and drooling into the large palm he cradles your face with, telling him how good it feels, I won’t last like this Kento, I need to cum on your cock.  Everything is so filthy from your words and the way your slick runs down your ass and coats his balls, to the obscenely loud squelching of your pussy trying to keep him inside you whenever he pulls out. You do ineffable things to Kento and he already feels his orgasm creeping up on him but he needs to thwart it, he needs to feel you cum around his dick like you did on his tongue.

Loosening his hold around your trembling body, he sits back up, the frantic rutting of his twitching length in your heat unfaltering. Kento brushes his thumb to your clit and pushes onto your abdomen at the same time, cursing when you get impossibly tighter around him. His gaze is nothing short of adoring as he watches agony and pleasure swim in your glassy eyes -  you’re so close, right at the edge and Kento knows just how to send you over it. Curling over you once more, he keeps a firm hand pressed on your lower stomach, resting his weight on his forearm so he can hide his face into the crook of your neck. Kento bites, licks, nibbles on every unmarred spot of skin there, cock still drilling into you at a dizzying pace even when you try to warn him that you’re dangerously close.

“That’s it, give it to me, cum on my cock and make a mess like the good girl I know you want to be”, Kento moans right in your ear and your shivering body treats it like a command. You wail as you cum, taken aback by the force of your own orgasm, the walls of your pussy contracting painfully around Kento’s cock. Your high sends him tumbling over the edge too, with a pained gasp of your name. All you feel is Kento - his seed flooding you in long and thick spurts, his twitching cock still fighting against your spasming cunt, and above all, the heavy weight of his scorching hot palm over your lower stomach - and something breaks in you.

Kento feels it before he sees it ; the faint stream of liquid that sprays out of you as he fucks you through your orgasm steadily growing stronger to soak his stomach. He pulls away from you to watch you squirt all over him, eyes closed and mouth drooling, the picture of pleasure. He fights through the pinch of overstimulation that creeps up his cock and balls and fucks more out of you, only stopping when you have nothing more to give. 

Utterly spent, Kento pulls out of you with a wince and watches his cum leak out of you as if in a trance. You’re not faring any better, now completely limp and still soaking the comforter you had just washed this morning. As you fall in and out of consciousness, you weakly mumble to him, “Are you going to make me clean my mess this time too ?” Kento laughs, embracing you and kissing the crown of your head.

 “Spring cleaning is over so you’re off the hook for now.”

For @foreverthelonelytraveller, I hope it's to your liking!

Disclaimer : I'm not a smut girly but I tried really hard and wanted to share something that'd be at least decent :)

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."

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 - ???

I AM SCREAMING this is fucking insane (keep writing more i need MORE)

Betrothed

Naoya can barely keep up with his duties as the next head of the Zenin estate and threatens to crumble under the pressure. Thankfully, his fiancée knows how to make everything better. cw: smut - MDNI, rough and degrading sex, oral (m! receiving), afab reader, choking, power imbalance and toxic relationship

Your eyes dart furiously around the room, taking in the blinding lights of the low-hanging gold leaf chandeliers, endlessly reflected by the tacky sequinned dresses of women swarming around the room. Everything's unbearable, the smell worse than the view, perfume barely covering the sweat of bodies intermingling together, with the added edge of lukewarm champagne and stale tobacco.

You hate it here, but above all you hate the heavy weight of Naoya 's hand on your lower back, steering you through the crowd. Naoya is insistent on showing you off to everyone. His latest, shiniest prize. His soon-to-be bride. Each introduction feels like an eternity, each handshake clammy and intrusive.

"I need a breather", you tell Naoya when the latest canine old geezer finally lets go of your hand after holding onto you for far longer than it is appropriate. 

"No you don't", Naoya retorts without even looking at you, his eyes fixed on another one of his acquaintances, a cordial smile on his lips. If it wasn’t for the vice grip he had on your waist, it'd almost feel like he doesn't even acknowledge your presence. You try to wriggle out of his tight embrace, parting your lips to protest but he's quick to silence you and he digs his fingers cruelly in the silk of your gown, wrinkling the delicate material. "Behave yourself, don't even think about causing a scene", he hisses, looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile on his face. To Naoya, everything you do out of your own volition is akin to causing a scene. You relent, gaze dropping to your trembling hands, steeling yourself into following him again through the swarm of warm bodies.

For the umpteenth time tonight, when Naoya finds an audience of new faces, he spews his spiel about how your betrothment was fated. He’s good at it, paints a vivid story of how two snotty kids’ puppy love has grown to cement the relationships between their families’ businesses. Naoaya’s like a master at work, his little speech perfectly tailored to both appease skittish shareholders and entertain the overly-sentimental penchant of their wives. "It's kismet, her and I", Naoya says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

What Naoya doesn't share though, is his lingering resentment for you. You may have become more pliant now, more accepting of your place, but you haven't atoned. There's still an edge to the way you address him, and it serves as a bitter reminder of your initial reserves about the whole ordeal.

Still, the onlookers smile at him but he doesn't miss how their expressions falter ever so slightly when their inquisitive eyes settle on you.

They must notice how your attempt at a genial smile ends up resembling a twisted moue, and how you cower into his side as they bid you goodbye. Naoya notices the slight tremor rocking your hands and the rapid rise and fall of your chest. Despite your repeated blunders tonight, Naoya thinks unease is a good look on you. It makes you more malleable. Tamer. Eager for any escape, any reprieve he'll offer and, being the benevolent man that he is, he takes pity on you and drags you out of the ballroom and into a secluded corridor.

His hold on your wrist is unforgiving, blunt nails digging into your skin, but you still babble mindless 'thank you's with whatever breath you still have as you try to keep up with his long strides. He ushers you inside the first bathroom he finds before locking the door behind you.

Immediately, you crouch over and hold your face in your hands, spilling an incoherent string of apologies and frenzied thanks in between labored breaths. "Naoya, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to burden you - I mean, I didn't even think I'd end up like this, I was fine – in the car, I rehearsed, I was doing good but – " you try to explain, but he cuts you off. 

"What's new, you fuck up and I have to clean up your mess." He scoffs, not even sparing you a glance. Instead he stares at himself in the mirror hung above the sink, appraising his reflection with pursed lips. His eyes linger on the protruding vein on his forehead, widening at the sight of his face's sudden pallor. All your fault, as usual.

"Do you have any idea how you make me look ?", he starts again, massaging the bridge of his nose. "It's one thing if you want to ruin your own reputation, it's another now that you're my fiancée for God's sake - you're an extension of me, do you fucking get it ?". 

He kneels to be eye-level with you, fine eyebrows pinched together and nose wrinkled. He's fuming and you're starting to spiral. Just as you're about to hide your misty eyes again, he cups your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to face him. His thumbs press into your cheeks, creeping up towards your lash line. "How am I supposed to manage a company if I can't even deal with my wife ? You make me look incompetent, darling", he presses and the pet name makes you shiver. 

You sniffle and try to steady your uneven breaths, pleading with urgency, "I'm sorry, I'll be better, I just need to breathe, please". He cocks his head to the side, "And what about me in all of this, mmh ? Think you can fuck up my night because you couldn't just shut up and smile, then cry your way out of your responsibilities ?". His tone is low, his words biting. 

You know he's right. 

Noaya's formal introduction as the heir of the Zenin estate with you by his side was supposed to be flawless. It was a desperate bid designed by Naobito and his darling boy to control the narrative around the succession of the group, and to nip in the bud any stories about a possible carve-out to make the task of taking over the Zenin conglomerate more manageable, but you might've just fucked it up. You can already see the headlines, the rumor of the once revered Zenin conglomerate falling to the hands of a temperamental heir and his unstable wife will be echoed endlessly in every paper. It wouldn’t be the first time either of you ended up in the news, but this time is different - much worse than any previous petty attempt at dragging you through the mud. 

You shake your head fervently, eager to sooth his irritation, "No of course not, I'll make it up to you".  He sizes you up, mulling over your words, then he stands up and you all but clamber to your feet. "I'll make it right", you repeat with more confidence. He looks you up and down again, still irked but mildly curious. "How ?", he inquires, leaning against the sink, hands gripping the cool marble behind him and eyes narrowed at you. You hesitate for a moment before relenting, "I'll do anything".

Ah, there it is. The night’s highlight. It’s not the first time this happens, by now it’s a well-practiced routine between you but it still feels heavenly every time he gets to push you into that overzealous, servile state of mind. He might not be able to control the narrative around the shitshow his dad’s company has become or what every last geriatric investor thinks of him but in the grand scheme of things it might not even matter. He has other, better things to look forward to anyway.

Naoya takes two long strides to back you up against the cool wall. He looks down at you curiously and raises a graceful finger to trace the curve of your jaw. His hand moves up to wipe a lone tear that spilled past your lash line, and his lips stretch in a cryptic smile at the sight of the little crystalline droplet, now tainted black from your mascara, rolling down your flushed cheek. Naoya likes the way the streak of charcoal watercolor dirties you. You always look best with a tear-stained face. 

You can’t say much now, you’ve sealed your fate already and you’re not sure you’d want to tap out even if you could. You like to watch the anger in Naoya’s eyes dissipate, a dark lust slowly weathering down the storm of his ire. All because of you. He looks so handsome like this, when he lets you take care of him. 

Naoya barks out a laugh at your lovesick expression, grabbing your cheeks and shaking your face to snap you out of your daze. “On your knees”, he spits at you. The change in demeanor is immediate. You lower yourself onto the hard tiled floor, the cold seeping in your skin even through the heavy taffeta of your dress. You fold your hands neatly in your lap and look up at Naoya with a poignant fondness that makes him sick. Something odd stirs deep in his gut at the sight of your obedience. A two-headed monster, half resentment and half lust, makes him want to hurt you then reward you for your willful servitude.

You watch him, mouth aghast, as he undoes his tie with one hand, the other slowly encircling your neck. He barely applies any pressure, content to keep his touch light around the soft skin of your throat. You know better than to trust this fleeting softness. Soon enough, he pushes his fingers into the sides of your neck and squeezes. His touch is anything but conversational now - the dig of his nails in your skin is vindictive. You merely gasp but don’t back away. Naoya seems mildly displeased at that, uncurling his hand away from your neck and lightly shoving your face to the side as he snarls, “Can’t you play along ?”. You want to play along. You crane your head back, exposing more of your throat. He smiles. 

“That’s better”, Naoya croons. You melt into nothing at the faintest hint of praise. 

His pace is leisurely when he loops his tie around one hand and dangles it in front of you, brushing the expensive silk deceptively softly against your heated skin. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation when he finally winds it around your neck, fastening a tight knot and wrapping the loose end around his fist. The first tug is tentative and barely makes you drop your jaw open. Naoya tuts, tugging harder this time, and he finally seems content when you let out a panicked gasp. Using his tie as a make-shift leash, he jerks your face into his crotch. He’s half hard already, cock stiffening to life embarrassingly fast when you shamelessly rub your face against his too-tight trousers. The effect you have on him emboldens you enough to look right into his eyes as you brush the outline of his length straining against his thigh, the dark fabric of his suit doing nothing to conceal how much he needs this. Naoya lets out a muffled groan when your nimble hands move to undo his pants, his breathing strained from the faintest brush of your fingertips against the head of his cock. You probe at the wet spot darkening his boxers, mouth watering when his cock twitches weakly under your hands. For now, you’re just content to stroke him over the ruined fabric of his underwear, doe eyes widening at how every brush of your hand against him has his cock leaking more and plastering the wet fabric to his sensitive length. 

“Stop fucking teasing”, Naoya warns you with another tug of his tie. He was never really one for foreplay, you reckon. Reluctantly, you peel down his boxers and free his cock, gnawing at your bottom lip at how heavy it looks when it springs free and slaps against his white shirt. Any reservations you might have had are quickly forgotten when you wrap a small hand around him, swirling your thumb around the messy head of his cock, while you fumble around with the buttons of his shirt, eager to see the trail of dark hair leading to his pelvis and Naoya whines - guttural and genuine, for once. Pride simmers low in your gut and you eagerly pepper small kisses down his stomach, scratching your nails lightly against his pearly white skin before brushing into the neatly-trimmed patch of pubic hair, your own mind growing hazier at every little breathy sound of pleasure bubbling past Naoaya’s pretty lips. Looking up at him sends another jolt of arousal to your core. He looks so disheveled already, a light pink blush dusting his high cheekbones and you’re not sure if it’s desire or the shame of breaking down so easily in your hands that has him closing his eyes tightly. He still has the presence of mind to pull harder on your leash, hissing through gritted teeth, “Think you have the upper hand, you fucking slut ? Do what you’re good for, finish what you started”. 

His words are devoid of their usual bite, and even as he towers over you and shoves your face right in his cock, he looks uncharacteristically weak. You still oblige, not before shooting him a knowing small smile that has his blood boiling and his dick jumping in your hand. Closing your eyes to offer him a reprieve from your piercing eyes, you lick a long stripe for his base to his messy tip,  laving it with kitten licks to coax more of his precum out of his already sloppy dick. You smear the mixture of pre and spit over his whole length, your free hand cupping his balls, and Naoya actually moans, high pitched and needy when you twist your wrist and start jerking him off quickly, taking his overly sensitive head in your hot mouth and suckling on it so sweetly he thinks he’s falling for you all over. You’re so good to him, zealous and eager to please, that he doesn’t even have to ask before you’re moving your hand away and slowly sinking his dick in your mouth. It feels like heaven, the pent-up stress of the earlier fiasco already melting away as you take more and more of him into you, and he breathes a sigh of relief when his length hits the back of your throat. Naoya finds himself in a generous mood, you’ve been so good to him after all, so he remains unmoving for a while as you adjust to his girth stretching your swollen lips wide. That kindness is short-lived though, and soon enough he tugs the tie back, tugging you off him before guiding himself in your mouth again. He sets a rhythm of deep, long strokes that’d be painful if you weren’t so used to it already. How many times have you done this by now ? Dropping to your knees and letting him fuck in your awaiting mouth, making a mess of your throat, has become second nature to you. 

It’d be demeaning if it didn’t earn you so many pretty sounds of pleasure from Naoya, stifled groans fading into breathy whimpers and whines, and you commit all of them to memory, each one a token of his covert affection for you. 

Naoya’s pace picks up when you start echoing his labored breathing with choked moans of your own, each time pushing in deeper in your mouth until his aching cock breaches into the tight sleeve of your throat. You gag around him a little, instinctively trying to pull away from the foreign intrusion, but a mean tug on his tie keeps you there. He doesn’t even offer you the reprieve of pulling out this time. You let out a pained moan around his cock, misty eyes pleading wordlessly for him to pull away but he doesn’t. Naoya just smiles, an odd sense of serenity settling over his usually scrunched features, and reaches one hand to your throat to feel himself there. His touch is cooling, every graze of his fingertips against the column of your throat thawing at your panic and you slowly even out your breathing, even with how deeply he forces himself in your mouth. 

Something entirely different takes over now, lust brewing deep in your gut. You shift a little, trying to quell the embarrassing throbbing of your core by grinding down on your own heels, and Naoya actually laughs. He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face to get a good look at your glassy eyes and the fine lines of drool falling past the seams of your lips. 

“So messy”, he tuts, catching your spit then smearing it on your cheek. You choke around him, a feeble protest quickly silenced by the cruel push of his twitching dick even deeper into your throat. 

“You actually like this, don’t you ?” He doesn’t expect an answer, doesn't even really need one. Naoya just pulls out slightly and drives himself into your mouth, hard. You cry out incomprehensibly, helpless but so aroused, and reach a shaky hand to his thigh to steady yourself when he starts a cruel pace. In and out, in and out - Naoya is a man possessed, taking as much pleasure from how your throat squeezes down on him as he does from your choked moans. He wants to bruise you, cover your face in so much of his pre and your spit that you become unrecognizable, but above all he wants you to like it. You certainly seem like you do, the once subtle rocking of your hips now shameless.

“My good little slut”, he praises, patting your head in an unusual display of fondness.

The word goes straight to your untouched cunt, its bite heightened by the punitive push of his cock in the tight sleeve of your throat. It shouldn’t feel so good, and it shouldn’t sate an unspeakable want that addles your mind but it does. You’re not sure why, maybe because it’s soothing to anchor yourself in the knowledge that you can be good, at least for something or to someone - an indisputable gauge of your worth. Affection is fickle and hard to grasp but the certainty of this - the hefty weight of a cock in your mouth, the promise of it stretching your cunt - is unassailable. On your knees, eyes rolling aimlessly and drooling uncontrollably, you’ve never felt so seen. 

Naoya pulls unexpectedly out of your sloppy mouth , grasping your chin to look right in your lidded eyes as he snickers, “Didn’t think you’d enjoy whoring yourself out so much”. You blink slowly at him, coughing and choking on your own spit and he has to squish your cheeks together, swaying your face side to side to fight off your haze. “So fucking stupid just from sucking cock, what will you be like when you actually get fucked ?”, he snickers, slapping your cheek with his leaking tip. The idea has your mind reeling. 

You look at him like you’re asking him to find out for himself and he stares right back at you with the hint of a promise - a threat ? - in his eyes.

He pulls you to feet once more, ignoring the growing burn in his loins and the painful rush of blood to his cock, the skin of his aching length now feeling taut from your spit drying under the cool air. Pushing you to rest your upper body against the marbled sink, he kneels behind you, fumbling with your skirt until he gets a good hold on it and pulls it up to expose you. You whimper in embarrassment when he whistles and runs a curious finger along your covered slit. “So you really are a slut, huh ?”, he muses, tone light and detached even when he pulls your soaked panties down your legs and circles your entrance with a finger. “Thought I’d just fuck your throat, let some steam off, but this -” he cuts himself off, slicking two deft fingers with his own spit before plunging them in your neglected hole, “ How could I not fuck you now ?”, he barks out a laugh when you immediately squeeze around his fingers and keen. Naoya is almost in disbelief at how wet you are already, slick pouring out of you and coating your thighs every time his fingers graze a sensitive spot in your pussy, his cock leaping and aching to bury itself in your warmth. He pulls his fingers out when your cries get louder, standing up to his full height behind you and tapping his cock against your ass. One hand guides his dick between your puffy folds, rubbing the mix of spit and precum you coated him in from your hole to your clit, the other fumbling to pull your neck back with your makeshift leash. He forces you in a deep arch, watching your face in the mirror. 

Naoya waits for your glazed eyes to focus on him before slowly sinking himself in your pussy. Your jaw drops when the bulbous head of his cock breaches past the first ring of muscles, and even with how wet he got you, your still hiss at the burning stretch. Naoya can’t be bothered with being gentle though, and he fucks the rest of his painfully hard length into your weeping hole in one, fluid motion. It knocks the air out of you, renders you completely boneless for him to fuck into as he pleases. Each thrust sends a jolt of pure electricity coursing through your limp body, white hot arousal running from your already sore cunt up to your spine. Everything feels so good, his cock so thick and long it grazes effortlessly into that tender spot deep inside you, then bruises your cervix. You do your best to stifle your moans, acutely aware of where you are - what if someone heard you ? what would people say ? - but Naoya isn’t having it. He lets go of his tie in favor of forcing a finger in your mouth, coaxing you into moaning for him loudly and accentuating the slapping for his pelvis against your ass.

“Don’t act shy now”, he laughs breathlessly, pressing his finger against your tongue and watching you drool. “I wouldn’t mind being caught like this”, he continues and, to your absolute horror, pulls his finger out from your mouth to slip under your dress and circle your pert clit. You break up in pitiful sobs, clenching impossibly harder around his cock, as if trying to keep him inside you whenever he pulls out. Naoya hisses and throws his head back but his pace doesn’t falter and he pinches your clit between two fingers, rolling it to turn your sobs in keening moans. “Want to hear you – aah, fuck, you’re so fucking tight– want everyone to hear you be a good girl for me”, he pleads, delirious and so hungry for you, you can’t refuse him. You give into it, letting out wanton moans at every devious stroke of his dick into your sore insides, and in turn Naoya only fucks you faster, pressing into your clit harder. You’re so fucking close, your whole body flashing with white hot pleasure and what sends you over the edge is Naoya’s fevered praise when he lets out incoherent strings, barely audible over the loud sounds of his skin on yours ; “Come on, be good, make a mess on my cock - you’re taking me like it’s nothing, fucking hell, this pussy was made for me”. 

It’s so filthy, unusually desperate and raw, that it sends you tumbling over the edge with a strained sob of his name. Your orgasm has your cunt squeezing around Naoya’s length so tight, he stills and arches over you, the rhythmic spasming of your walls coaxing his own climax out of him. He comes with a guttural groan, his seed bursting in long and thick spurts and filling you so deliciously it lengthens the ebb and flow of your high. 

For once, Naoaya is quiet. He rides out his high and rubs a soothing hand over your stomach with a strange tenderness that somehow feels more intimate than the rest of the evening. He shifts behind you, still buried deep inside you but now with his arms holding you to his chest, and he clears his throat to say something. Looking at him through the large mirror, you watch his face contort in a boyish expression. Almost bashful. He never does this, never lingers behind or clings to you. 

“Thank you”, he mumbles into the crook of your neck. It should sound wrong, off-kilter or entirely odd to be thanked for sex like a common whore. To you it sounds like love in bloom. You’ll take it for now, and hope that, maybe once Naoya learns to be a good heir, he’ll learn to become a good husband.

:)

UM GUYS

Um guys

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!

Bon Appétit

NANAMIXREADER! When your husband comes home tired and in need of rest, the last thing you want him to do is further care for you. When he's clingy and in need of your attention, what can't you resist? _________ ♫ TELEPATÍA - kali uchis ❝ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ? ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴡᴏ❞

TAGS - @skadee @dottedsilktie @gopher-gal

The door creaked open, announcing your husband’s return from a long day of exorcising curses and dealing with paperwork. As Nanami stepped inside, you could see the weariness etched into every line of his face, the exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders.

Using a towel to wipe your hands, you quickly abandoned the dinner you had been cooking. In a few steps, you find yourself standing in front of him, feeling your nose crunch up at the sight of his fatigued attitude. "Kento, you're home," you greeted with a softer tone, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

Without a word, Nanami pulled you into his arms, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His warmth surrounded you, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held you close, seeking solace in your presence.

You wrapped your arms around him, returning the embrace with equal fervor, understanding the silent message in his hold. I mean, who couldn’t?

But here, close and personal, you could feel the weight of his exhaustion, the heaviness of his burdens, the uncomfortable intakes of breath. 

A minute or two goes by and Nanami seems pleased enough as he releases you. His tired eyes met yours, expressing silent gratitude. 

Releasing a breath you were holding, you took his hand in yours and led him over to the chiffon couch, pushing him down and guiding him to sit. “You should sit for a bit, you’ve been working hard.” 

Nanami didn't protest as he sank into the cushions, his eyes drifting shut as he let out a long sigh of relief. You watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he tilted his head back, seeking comfort within the cushions.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at the sight. As tired as he was, he never failed to amaze you with how handsome he’d always been. You can’t help but brag whenever given the chance. You had the privilege to call Nanami Kento your husband.

And what a husband he is.

Reaching out, you brushed a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, tracing the lines of his face with tender fingertips. "You know, you shouldn’t always overwork yourself," you whispered, cupping the side of his face while stroking his cheek with your thumb. "It's okay to let yourself rest."

Nanami's eyes fluttered open, the curves of his mouth curling into a smile. "Thank you, love," he murmured, sneaking a glance at your lips before returning his gaze to yours.

Giggling, you leaned in to press a gentle peck upon his lips. "Of course.” Taking one last glance at him, you walk yourself to the kitchen to finish up the dinner the both of you were going to share.

Taking out a cutting board, you grab the onion and place it on top; cutting it into small squares with a large knife before scraping it off onto the side.

Before you can start on the garlic, you hear lousy, heavy footsteps approaching.

Moving to turn your head, Nanami's arms wrapped swiftly around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. His warmth enveloped you, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

"Ken—what are you doing?" you questioned, putting down the knife while leaning back into his grasp.

"I just want to be close to you," he murmured, voice muffled against your hair as he nuzzled in closer.

You couldn't help but go red at his words, feeling the trickling warmth rise your neck. "I know, but you need to rest," you insisted gently, turning to face him and placing your hands on his chest.

Nanami didn't argue, but he didn't move away either, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist, as if he couldn't bear to let you go. He’s known to be stubborn, anyone knows he would never give up that easily.

"Alright, you can stay," you relented, giving in to his clinginess. "But promise me you'll sit down and rest when I finish this." You motion to the vegetables being chopped with your hands. He gave you a slow nod in response, eyes shut.

Chopping up the ingredients, you feel the slight weight of his body fall onto yours as his hold on you loosens. It’s not that you’re complaining, if he’s getting rest here, it’s better than nothing. But, the warmth that radiated from him against your back made you suppress the urge to shiver. 

Even if it’s embarrassing to admit you occasionally sneaked glances at Nanami over your shoulder, it’s not like you could help it, especially with his breaths brushing up against your neck. 

As you moved to grab the thyme, you felt Nanami's chin rest on your shoulder, his breath now tickling your ear as he whispered, "You're amazing, you know that?"

“I know.” You replied, trying to hide your suppressing grin from his face. Sliding your hands down to his, you unwrap the grasp he has on you. “Sit down at the table, or anywhere—I just need you to relax.”

“But I am relaxed,” he mutters with furrowed brows, scanning your face for what seems to be an annoyance as he connects his hands back together.

“It won’t take that long, I need to move around to cook, Kento.” 

It takes a why won’t you listen to me look and a minute to get him to unleash the hold. But yet, you still feel eyes watching. From your peripheral vision, you see him watching you prep the meal with a focused gaze. When he catches you staring, he gives you a grin, knowing all too well you won’t protest.

For the next few minutes, you worked in silence, the only sound in the kitchen being the sizzle of cooking on the stove. The one that seems to be the loudest is Nanami's presence behind you, leaning against the countertop. Despite his words, you could feel him watching you, his gaze not broken.

"You know, you're not very good at listening," You tease, sliding the food from the cutting board onto the hot pan. 

You hear his deep chuckle echo throughout the kitchen, “I guess not," he admits with a small shrug. "Need to make sure my foods aren’t poisoned, though."

"Oh, shut up," you quip with a playful smirk, suppressing a roll of your eyes as you turn off the heat on the stove. "Could you get the plates?"

Nanami offers a tired smile as he nods. "Of course," he replies softly, moving past you towards the cabinet where the plates are kept.

But before you can even step aside to let him through, Nanami gently nudges you out of the way with a small shake of his head. "I've got this love, you can sit down," he insists, his voice warm but firm.

You sigh, feeling a mixture of appreciation and frustration at his stubbornness. "Ken, you don't have to do everything yourself," you groan, reaching out to touch his arm. "It’s my turn."

But Nanami simply shakes his head, his expression determined as he retrieves the plates and moves to set them on the table. "I want to do this for you," he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. "It's the least I can do.” 

You sit at the table, watching your husband move around the kitchen with ease. Despite his exhaustion, his movements are precise and deliberate, it’s freaky the more you take in how steady he is, even when tired.

Finally, Nanami returns to the table, a contented smile gracing his lips. In his hands, he carries the plates, each one carefully arranged with the meal you’d had prepared earlier.

With gentle grace, he sets the plates down in front of you, and before you can thank him, he’s walking to the kitchen again. Now holding two glasses and a wine bottle. The both of you share excited looks once you realize what he brought you. 

He sits down across from you, not before pouring a glass of wine for each of you, the deep red liquid sparkled in the soft light of the kitchen. 

"Bon appétit," Nanami murmurs, raising his glass in a silent toast.

You smile and raise your glass to meet his. "Cheers," you reply softly, hearing the clink of your glasses meeting one another as you take a sip. 

“Maybe I’ll make dessert, treat us to something swe—”

“Absolutely not.” 

@siythn all rights reserved!

AUTHORS NOTE!- not my best by ANY means i just have to get something out oops!

news flash it’s actually YOU CALL THE POLICE

hellllllooopoooo

if you ever see this woman saying "hellopo" dont ever answer her and report it to the police, those r not jokes okay shes dangerous do not approach 🚫

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)

That feeling when you finally found the perfect pencil for sketches

hello today i am not thirsting over an old man but a younger version of an old dude : call this character development

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)

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!

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

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!! 💗💗

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!

i need a man to be like nanami

Spring cleaning

Nanami Kento is the perfect man. At least, he would be if he wasn't so hellbent on dragging you into his maddening cleaning routine. Luckily, he knows just how to get you on board. cw : tooth-rotting fluff ! a little suggestive if you squint

You used to be partial to spring, looking forward to the last days of March when the prospect of warmer days thawed the chilly remnants of winter. Then you met Kento, and spring was no longer associated with flowers in bloom and sunny days ahead. Ever since you moved in together, you started dreading the last two weeks of March. 

Kento had a peculiar way of welcoming the new season and it involved a day of thorough and almost debilitating spring cleaning. The first time he told you about it, you waved off his detailed plan for the day as a joke. Now, years later, you still cower at the thought of the back-breaking, mind-numbing and, quite frankly, infuriating cleaning programme he puts together every year to test your patience.

You've tried everything to get out of it - faking an illness, 'inadvertently' scheduling a conflicting business trip, crying and grovelling at his feet - but nothing worked. So you've come to accept your fate and gave up on throwing a tantrum first thing in the morning when your alarm rang at 6 AM sharp on that dreaded day. Kento was already out of bed, probably gearing up for a long day of power raking the yard and getting off on it. You were almost tempted to snooze it but you knew he would just slither in your room and snatch you out of bed himself. So you steeled yourself to get up, get ready and get cleaning. Kento was waiting for you in the kitchen, brows furrowed and deep in thought as he went over the printed plan he'd stuck on the fridge. He barely acknowledges you when you croak out a hoarse 'good morning' and kiss his cheek, only humming and squeezing your waist in passing. A glance at the plan he perused was enough to send shivers down your spine : it involved raking, watering, trimming everything in the garden, followed by never-ending laundry and finally channelling Kento’s Marie Kondo obsession to sort through your closets and get rid of enough junk to appease his vendetta against unworn clothes.

Once you settle on your high chair in front of the marble countertop,  Kento pushes a cup of coffee towards you, and when you wrinkle your nose at the uncharacteristically potent smell, he explains with a small smile, “Blond roast ristretto - you’re going to need it, darling ” before kissing your forehead and standing up to his full height in front of you. 

You just stare at each other for a while - you sipping the sewer water he called a coffee, and him shooting you a sharp scrutinising glare that’d have you squirming the right way any other day. “You are usually quicker than this, almost feels like you’re stalling for time”, he observes with the slightest amused upwards twitch of his mouth. God why must a man this handsome be so insufferable. “Just savouring the exquisite coffee my darling husband made for me, is that wrong ?”, you retort, tone dripping with sarcasm that only makes his smile wider.  You think you might just be able to charm and laugh your way out of this but he’s quick to pinch your nose to distract you and snatch your mug from your hands, fine blond brows quirked and rosy lips stretched in boyish mirth. He doesn’t have to reprimand you, you’re already raising your hands in defeat, mumbling in a tone nothing short of dejected, “Okay, okay – no need to get handsy,  it’s not easy giving up on my freedom”. To drive your point home, you make a show out of slowly sliding off your high chair, hissing and groaning as you stretch your arms over your head and crack your knuckles right under Kento’s nose. “I’m not fit for these things, Kento - every time I move I feel my body cracking and all, I’m not made for physical labour”.

He listens intently, amusement shifting into mild concern as his hangdog gaze dart between your cup that he rinses off and the pathetic stretching routine you’re performing. Kento moves to dry his hands on a kitchen towel before cupping your cheeks. His amber eyes are so soft and he looks at you with a fondness so genuine, so poignant you’re sure he’s going to let you off the hook. You inch even closer to victory when he bends down to brush the tip of his nose against yours and ghost chaste kisses along your cheeks, your jaw, then your temples. He stays like that for a while, one hand at your nape brushing the delicate hair there, the other cradling your face and rubbing soothing circles against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers right into your ear, his voice smooth and comforting, then he’s back to peppering your temple and cheek with small pecks that make you melt against him. “It’s fine, I know you wouldn’t want to put me through that now that you see just how bad it’d be for me to — " “I’m sorry that you thought this would be a convincing performance”, he cuts you off, biting down on your earlobe, making you gasp at the unexpected nip of his sharp teeth against your sensitive skin.

He pulls back to appreciate how your pretty face contorts in fluster, then surprise, before twisting in an angry pout. You’re gnawing at your bottom lip, arms crossed over your chest, truly defeated this time and the shame of being played only adds to your growing irritation. “My petulant little thespian is at her wits’ end”, he taunts you in a singsong voice, his usually inflectionless baritone voice sounding uncharacteristically chipper. You stare at your feet with the vexed mortification of a child caught red-handed and Kento has to hook a finger under your chin for you to look him in the eyes.

“Do a good job cleaning today and I might just help you work out those aches that make you ‘unfit’, mmh ?”, he offers, the swift flicker of his gaze between your eyes and your lips sullying the apparent innocence of his offer. He doesn’t give you time to answer as he brushes past you, a smug smile playing on his lips, and you all but scurry out of the kitchen, hot on his heels and bursting with energy. Needless to say, the house is spotless by the end of the day, your assigned chores crossed off at record speed.

can you tell i love domestic kento

Eternal Sunshine

CHOSO X READER! Cold mornings weren’t something you had been quite fond off. To be honest, you just weren’t a morning person. But waking up in the arms of your boyfriend has you rethinking. _________ ♫ INTRO (END OF THE WORLD) - ariana grande ❝ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ʀᴇꜰᴜꜱᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜɪɴᴇ, ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ? ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ?❞

The first hint of dawn barely illuminated your room, it cast a gentle yet slightly noticeable yellow glow through the thin blue curtains. The cold air made its presence known by the slight frost that crept on the sides; as if trying to seep through it.

Outside, the world seemed still but content. Occasional cars passed by the road, and birds and their flock chirped, it disturbed the quiet but nothing too noisy, not too hush.

But inside, beneath a mound of thick, warm blankets and heavy duvet, were you and your boyfriend, Choso. Both of were you found to be snuggled deep within the layers, taking coverage to hide from the chill of cold mornings as you both held onto each other.

Choso's arms were wrapped snugly around you, body heat mingling with yours, creating a pocket of warmth that neither of you wanted to escape from just yet.

His sharp breaths tickled the back of your neck every time he exhaled; making you slightly squirm at the feel. Each one cast a whisper against your skin as Choso slept.

These wintry mornings, when time seemed to stand still and the rest of the world felt distant, are what you cherished most. In sleepless nights, leaving you to arise weary, you craved nothing but this; love in the way of touch.

Choso stirred first, his movements drowsy as he adjusted his position to face you. With a raspy grunt, his sleepy eyes blinked open as he adjusted to his surroundings. Eyes jaded, he fixed his gaze onto yours, staring deeply that made your stomach flutter. "Morning," he voiced, sounding hoarse while lifting a lazy arm to grab you closer to him.

"Morning," you replied barely above a whisper, not wanting to startle his relaxed self. It felt as if speaking louder might shatter the delicate, peaceful bubble that surrounded you both.

Without a word, you moved as close as possible to Choso, seeking his warmth against your skin. You lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady, slow beat of his heart, hearing a soft hum of content when doing so.

Moving his arm up to your spine, his calloused hand gently caressed your back, movements languid and tender. You twitch at the sudden sensation, but when feeling his hand move up and down your back, brings you a sense of solace. “It’s too cold to get up,” he retorts, almost in protest, while shifting around to make your body feel more secure in his grasp.

Your throat makes a noise in agreement, the sound vibrating gently against his skin. “Then let’s just stay here,” you suggest, looking up to meet his eyes as you await his answer.

The thought of even leaving the bed and its warmth while Choso is holding you with such care and closeness makes it sound unfathomable at this moment.

“Best plan you’ve ever had,” Choso chuckled lightly, stopping the caressing on your back to focus using his available hand. Before his hand comes up to brush a loose strand of hair away from your face, he lifts your chin to lock eyes; an imitate act he was fond of doing.

During releasing, he stroked your cheek once, twice, and on the third, he let his touch linger. Grasping the side of your cheek where he held a small part; interlacing his fingers through your hair, all the while holding you down back onto his chest.

You’d be lying if you said his touch wasn’t smooth, a stark contrast to the huge, scary man he was known to be. But here, in this quiet morning showing vulnerability, he was just Choso. The man with a tender heart and eyes that spoke of unspoken depths; your significant other.

A grin spread across Choso’s face, curious and endearing as he watched you through half-lidded eyes. The affection in his gaze was yearning for. Whatever he was doing to you was working with how badly it drew you in, compelling you to hold him onto you. You feel a small, yet noticeable squeeze he responds with.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his hand trailing from your cheek down to trace the line of your jaw, then resting softly at the base of your neck.

Nodding, you melted into his touch, savoring the comforting warmth of his skin against yours compared to the cold room. “Only because you were here," you muttered slightly embarrassed at the confession, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“You know,” Choso’s voice was a faint, hushed tone. His lips grazed against the shell of your ear, making you quiver for a moment. “If I could stop time, it’d be right now.”

A smile tugged at your lips as lifted your neck to peer up at him, sharing eye contact. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but open enough to stare fully into you. They softened further as he looked at you, and it was in moments like this, that you saw a side of Choso that was for you and you alone.

The thought made you feel hot in your neck, as it arose to flush against your cheeks.

“Me too,” you whispered back, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips, feeling this delicate skin there. He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before laying it back down on his chest, over his heart. The steady beat under your hand was a comforting reminder; deja vu in some sort, of the quiet mornings you had shared just like this one.

Neither of you spoke for a long while, simply enjoying the closeness and the rare opportunity to linger in bed. As the sky outside lightened from dim yellow to soft blue, the silence between you was filled with shared smiles and lazy, contented sighs.

Choso was the first to break it, shifting slightly, pulling you to get a good arm around you. When given the okay, you nestled your head against his shoulder; feeling your messy hair nestled beneath you while feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took.

“I wouldn’t mind cold mornings every morning,” he grunted, his hand returning to stroke your back under the blankets. His touch was gentle and soothing, tracing patterns that made you relax even more in his hold.

“You tell me,” with a whisper of a giggle, you make out the sound of Choso’s chuckle responding to you, vibrating through his chest, a low, warm sound that erupted butterflies everywhere around.

Fluttering your eyes closed for extra rest, you’re interrupted by someone lifting your cheek for the second time. Raising your head to meet his gaze, and what you saw in his eyes—a mixture of adoration and sincerity—made you stop your plans of complaining for intruding on your “beauty sleep”.

Choso leaned in, closing the small gap between you, and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was slow and unhurried, evident by the lack of sleep you both got. Moving his hand from your cheek, he slides it into your hair, intertwining the soft strands with his fingers. His lips moved against yours tenderly, pulling away only to steal another, deeper this time, as if he couldn’t get enough.

When you finally broke the kiss to catch your breath, Choso chased your lips with a small, needy peck that made you laugh against his smooth lips.

With the hand grasping your hair, he pushes it towards his face and together, connecting your foreheads to touch as you both collect your breaths. Choso’s fingers moved down to trace the contours of your face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear that escaped due to his holding as your eyes remained shut, taking in the pleasure. “I love these quiet moments with you,” he confessed, matching the smile that was gracing your lips.

“I love them too,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through your body and up your spine. It was all Choso—his presence, his touch, his love. You knew that no matter how cold it got outside, how horrid the night had been before, with him by your side, you’d always feel the safest.

“You know,” he mused after a moment, his forehead leaving yours to gaze at your drowsed eyes. “we should probably think about getting up eventually. Can’t call out again this week.”

“A few more minutes,” you protested, not ready to let go of this peaceful interlude. The thought of leaving this comforting sanctuary seemed almost a crime.

Choso laughed at your desperate expression. Moving his head to lie on the pillow, he encouraged you to lay back on his chest. “A little longer then,” he agreed, and you could hear the cocky smirk in his voice.

As the morning lazily drifted by, you both lay there, wrapped up in each other. There was a comfort in the silence, each breath and touch a language only the two of you understood.

Occasionally, one of you would whisper something trivial—a comment about the weather, a thought about breakfast—but it was the silence that carried the weight of your words, filled with understanding.

With a final breath, you lifted yourself, quickly making pace. Knowing yourself, if you sat there on the bed for a short time, you would fall back into his embrace.

Sorting through the day’s necessities, you hear the creeks of the floor, telling you Choso has risen as well. Walking to use the bathroom, a gentle tug on your hand stopped you from moving further. “Hey,” he said, drawing you close against his chest, “thanks for this morning. It means more than you know.”

It was your turn to smile up at him. “Always,” you promised, giving him a reassuring squeeze to show the sincerity in the words you were telling him.

As he lets you return to your doings, Choso leans down to give you one more gentle kiss, which you return, smiling against.

@siythn all rights reserved!

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!

via kaliuchis on instagram

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)

CHANNEL ONE: DITTO

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

❝말해줘 say it back, oh, say it ditto❞

WANT MORE TO VIEW?

₊⊹ CHECK THESE RECOMMENDATIONS! ₊⊹

→ carrd, main masterlist, jjk lover; masterlist

❝stay in the middle, like you a little❞

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

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.