Worth The Wait

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!

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

CHANNEL ONE: DITTO

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

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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!

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

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)