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

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

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

TRACKLIST

1. I Forgot That You Existed - SATORU GOJO

2. Cruel Summer - MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

3. Lover - YUJI ITADORI

4. The Man - ???

5. The Archer - ???

6. I Think He Knows - ???

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

8. Paper Rings - ???

9. Cornelia Street - ???

10. Death By a Thousand Cuts - ???

11. London Boy - ???

12. Soon You’ll Get Better - ???

13. False God - ???

14. You Need to Calm Down - ???

15. Afterglow - ???

16. ME! - ???

17. It’s Nice to Have a Friend - ???

18. Daylight - ???

Worth The Wait

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It never stopped the fans though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's comical to think about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@siythn all rights reserved!

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

Betrothed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know he's right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

:)

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

news flash it’s actually YOU CALL THE POLICE

hellllllooopoooo

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

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)