Hello Today I Am Not Thirsting Over An Old Man But A Younger Version Of An Old Dude : Call This Character

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

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

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

(just jokes don’t cancel me)

i need a man to be like nanami

Spring cleaning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

can you tell i love domestic kento

Sick & Soup

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clearly, it worked both ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe Satoru Gojo isn’t all that bad.

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

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

Maybe you had it wrong all this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

@siythn all rights reserved!

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

Spring cleaning 2 - Clean up your mess

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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