Hii! Correct Me If I'm Wrong But I Was Assuming That You Are Kind Of A New Blog And New To Writing But!!

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!! 💗💗

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)

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

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!

That feeling when you finally found the perfect pencil for sketches

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!