With only days away from the derby, you and Levi both prepare to see each other again. Has your absence truly made Levi's heart grow fonder?
Chapter snippet:
In the two and a half months you've been gone, Levi's had two goals: to train as a jockey and to bury his feelings for you; however, as time went by the latter seemed to be an impossibility. He worried about your welfare constantly, wondering if you were staying healthy and safe. He took solace in the fact that Onyankopon was there with you, because if anyone could keep you safe out there, it would be him.
Levi imagines that by now Onyankopon had probably told you about a dozen stories. The man was handsome and charming — everyone loved him. You probably did too.
A tinge of jealousy shot through Levi like a jolt of lightning.
So much for thinking of you only as a friend.
--//--
North Star Masterlist | Levi Fic Masterlist
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Pairing: Boxer!Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader [Jujutsu Kaisen]
Word count: 5.8k
You decide to trust Choso and he commits to helping you. But it might be more than either of you bargained for.
Author's notes: Like the Jujutsu Kaisen world, this story is set in Japan, and there is mention of yen as currency and yakuza as organized crime groups. Thank you to my beloved @littlerequiem for beta reading.
Series content/warnings: No curses AU, bare knuckle boxing, violence (in the boxing ring and out), mentions of blood and broken bones, eventual smut
Chapter content/warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. Unprotected sex (wrap it up irl, everyone), oral sex (fem receiving), light biting, soft couple intercourse, gambling, yakuza
Part 1 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist
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There’s rarely been a time in Choso’s life when a physical connection didn’t involve pain.
A mother who was practically unknown to him.
A father who was as verbally manipulative as he was physically abusive.
A boxing coach whose view of encouragement was a wooden sword across Choso’s back.
The only exceptions were his three younger brothers. They’d always been his one, loving constant.
When they were little, he remembers play-wrestling with them in the house, always letting them win. Their skinny, gangly arms pinning him down, Choso laughing uncontrollably when they’d dog pile him.
All those years, they’d only had each other to depend on.
He knew sending them to boarding school was for the best, but it didn’t make the choice any easier. The day Choso saw them off at the train station, he pulled them into the tightest, longest hugs.
After that, his life changed. It was lonely without his brothers, so Choso began to focus his time and attention on fighting, training, and eventually, on his matches at night. He lived as frugally as he could so he could send the money he earned to the three younger siblings so far away. How long had it been since he’d seen them? Would they even recognize him now?
Some days, Choso felt more like a machine than a man: going through the motions of his day, beating up others and getting beaten upon. But when his skin would break and the blood would flow, it made him feel alive. Sure, it was a shitty way to live, but he accepted it as his own.
And then, everything changed when he walked into your office.
Your touch was so soft that night, so gentle—when you held his head, checking for signs of concussion.
He felt his heart race every time you pulled him close to check on his wound, or looked into his eyes and asked how he was feeling.
And when his lips finally met yours for that kiss, Choso thought he had to be dreaming. He waited for you to push him away or slap his face; but instead, you returned his kiss with the same fervor, opening your mouth, and inviting his tongue to mingle with yours, a faint taste of blood from the cut on your lip.
He practically ran down the hall after his fight, hoping to find you waiting for him.
(You were.)
It felt like a risk to reach his hand out to you. Would you trust him, let him protect you?
Your hand in his was all the answer he needed as you both walked to your apartment.
On the street, the two of you now pass by anonymous faces, the night still young for those searching for a vice. Choso is alert and on edge, still coming down from that rush of adrenaline he gets when he fights, but also from the possibility that the blue-haired freak might have decided to follow you.
“I don’t live far from here, just around this corner.”
It’s the only thing you’ve said to him since you left your office, but he can almost see the wheels in your head turning, trying to make sense of all this. Choso was trying to understand too: why he was so drawn to you, why he couldn’t get you out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.
(But let’s face it, he hadn’t really tried that hard).
Sure, there was so much he still didn’t know about you, but he could feel you opening up to him, little by little. You seemed so strong but delicate, serious and sad. Besides his brothers, he’d never cared much for anyone else, but now…
….All that was starting to change.
A card key beeps and the door to a dingy brick building clicks open. You let go of his hand as you start walking up a narrow, stuffy stairwell, the sound of your shoes scraping against the concrete. When you get to the third floor, you turn and walk down a dimly-lit hallway.
Keys jingle, the door creaks open, and you take three steps inside, but Choso stays just outside the doorway.
You’re home safe, like he wanted, and it’s late. He should say goodnight, walk down those stairs, and head back to his place.
But then you turn to him.
”You wanna come in?”
His body suddenly won’t move.
”Just for a moment?” you add.
“Y-yeah,” he says, crossing the threshold tentatively, as if you might change your mind at any minute.
It’s a small, one-room apartment, with a bed in one corner and a cafe table in the other. The space is neat and tidy, but bare of any personal touches: no pictures of friends hanging on the refrigerator, no trinkets or knick knacks. There’s nothing that connects you to anyone or anything, as if you are just passing through.
”You want a beer?” you ask as you walk over to the refrigerator.
“Sure.”
You hand him the can and he sits at your table while you situate yourself on the bed across from him.
You’re not quite sure why you invited him in; all you know is that you didn’t want him to leave just yet. You’d been debating on what you’d do when you got to your place, and now he’s here, drinking his beer, with eyes keenly focused on you. You take a drink as silence fills the room until Choso says your name, softly.
”What’s going on? Why did that man hit you?”
You hesitate. “It’s a long story.”
“I figured that.”
“When I tell you, you’ll think differently of me.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that for myself.”
When you shift uncomfortably, Choso closes the gap between you and sits on the bed. He places a hand on your thigh.
“You can trust me.”
How long had it been since you’d actually trusted someone’s word? Perhaps it was finally time to open up to someone, and Choso seemed willing to listen without judgment. The burden had been heavy for so long.
“My father is a gambler,” you start, your eyes cast down and your hands folded in your lap, picking nervously at your nails. “But not just casually. It’s a compulsion for him. Been that way ever since I was young. He was constantly selling things in the house to pay his debts and sometimes, he’d be gone for days at a time. My mother and I often wondered if he’d ever come back; if the loan sharks he’d borrowed money from had finally come to collect.”
A complicated family life. Choso could understand that.
“I left the house as soon as I could and went to university to become a doctor. I promised myself I’d leave my nightmare of a family behind and only rely on myself. But turns out, that’s easier said than done.”
You swallow, thinking of how to phrase the rest of your story. “I was in the first year of my doctor’s residency when my father showed up at my apartment. He said he owed ‘some bad people’ millions of yen in unpaid loans. Of course he didn’t have the money, so he came to me.”
“Your father expected you to pay off all that debt for him?” Choso interrupted.
You shake your head. “He knew I didn’t have the money on me, but since I worked at the hospital, I had access to drugs – strong painkillers that could be sold on the black market. He begged me, said they were gonna kill him if he didn’t start paying them. I saw the fear in his eyes – I knew what he was saying was true. And yeah, he was a shitty father, but I couldn’t just let him be killed. His life weighed on my conscience. So I agreed to help him. I started stealing drugs from the hospital and giving them to the organization that was threatening my father.”
“You started working for the yakuza?”
You shift uncomfortably. “Yes.”
“Instead of just making your father sell it?”
“I couldn’t trust him with that kind of thing. If I was going to do this, then I was going to deal with the group directly. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I told myself that it was for a good reason. That surely after this, he’d change his ways. For a while, I actually thought it was all gonna work out.”
“But…” Choso can feel the climax of this story.
“But the hospital found out. They wanted to keep it quiet and avoid any bad press, so they silently let me go. I should consider myself lucky, I guess, but it’ll be impossible for me to be a licensed doctor now.”
“And that’s why you’re working at the arena?”
“I had nowhere else to go and still had so much money to pay off. The organization runs this arena - What else could I do?”
Choso can see tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes, but you quickly wipe them away.
It surprises you, how much you’ve allowed yourself to say to this man you’ve only known for a week. Long-guarded family secrets seem to flow faster than you’d realized was possible and hearing it out loud makes you feel even worse.
“I’ve resented my father for so long, but in the end, I’m just like him. Just some worthless piece of shit.”
“That’s not true.”
Choso’s large hand moves from your thigh to your hand, squeezing it gently. “You did what you thought you needed to do. You were put in an impossible situation. But we are not our fathers.”
“We?” you say, a puzzled look on your face.
Choso blinks, looking down. “My father is a terrible person. He was manipulative and abusive to my mother, me, and my brothers, although I took most of the physical blows. I remember just lying in my bed and wanting to kill him. And then he just…disappeared, and left me and my brothers to fend for ourselves.”
Choso struggles to continue, and so you give his hand a squeeze.
“I try to be a good brother, and a good man, but there’s this anger, deep inside me. And I’m scared that I might become just like him. Like it’s some kind of curse.”
He turns to look at you. “But I know I have to be better, for the sake of my brothers. I’ve made a lot of mistakes because I had no one to guide me; but I’m not gonna let that happen to them. That’s what keeps me going.”
That large hand now suddenly feels hot and sweaty in yours. Choso sighs.
“There’s just one thing.”
At that, your brow furrows. “What’s that?”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you stitched me up that night. It’s starting to become a bit of a problem.” His words make you chuckle. “Seriously, I thought I was gonna have to get beaten up every fight to ever get near you again.”
Choso feels your hand squeeze his again, just a bit. You look up at him with your sad eyes and he can’t help but move closer.
“You have no idea what you do to me..” he confesses.
Then he says your name in that low voice you’ve come to yearn for.
“Choso…you don’t know what you’re saying. I’m no good for you.”
“Good…bad…I don’t care about any of that.” His body is now shifted even closer. “All I know is I want you. All of you. The good and the bad.”
The words you want to say to him hang just on the tip of your tongue:
I feel the same.
I want you, Choso.
But you’ve never been good with words. They’re too permanent, too binding. They create promises no one can ever keep.
Instead, you busy your lips by pressing them against his. You don’t notice his eyes going wide, as if he wasn’t expecting this to really happen. But it doesn’t take long for him to pull you closer, meeting your anxious kiss with his own determined energy.
Perhaps a little too determined, as the eagerness of his kisses press too hard on the cut on your lower lip. You suck in a breath and pull back, noticing that the wound has reopened.
Choso immediately cups your cheek. “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Just a bit tender.”
Choso stands up, takes your hand, and leads you to your bathroom. Closet-sized, the two of you barely fit, but Choso doesn’t seem to notice as he immediately grabs a washrag and wets it.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
“Taking care of you, for a change. Now keep still.”
He gently and deliberately dabs the washcloth on your swollen lip. His brow is furrowed and his eyes serious, and it gives you this flutter in your heart; a heart that for so long has known only the sting of pain, loss, and disappointment. Suddenly there’s a desire within you to experience more of this new feeling.
You place your hand on top of his and pull it away from your lip, then lightly kiss the corner of his mouth. One kiss is followed by another, then you start moving down his jaw to his neck - slow, sensuous kisses that make his breath hitch. Lips parted, your tongue draws in the salty taste of his skin, and as you move further down, you feel the beating of his pulse.
Choso can barely contain himself. His hands move under your shirt, cupping your breasts over your bra. When he hears your hum of approval, he pulls the shirt up and over your head.
His eyes rove over your collarbone and bare chest, where skin meets the cotton of your bralette. It’s now his lips exploring your neck and chest as he pushes you against the sink. You try to adjust, but the space is too cramped, so you pull away from him.
Choso’s face contorts in concern. “Did I hurt you again?”
But you’ve completely forgotten about your injured lip as you push him out of the bathroom and toward your bed. Getting the gist, he moves backwards, bumping into the table and chairs as he pulls off his sweatshirt, then t-shirt, and finally his pants.
It’s clumsy and awkward, but both of you smile between kisses as you grope and pull at the other’s clothing. You even laugh a little when Choso stubs his toe on the edge of your bed as he unhooks your bra.
It’s as if the heaviness of the night has been lifted away and all that’s left is the dark-haired man before you. Choso. He stands over you now in only his underwear, his chiseled chest and abs marked with scars and bruises. Black hair leads lower down, disappearing beneath the waistband of his underwear, his growing arousal evident.
He looks over you as you lay on the bed with his shy smile, only to be replaced by something more serious.
The small bed creaks as he positions himself over you.
“Is this ok?”
“More than ok,” you reply, attempting to keep calm but unable to hide the nervousness in your voice. Your very core is screaming to be consumed by this man, but this feeling of desire is so new and unknown. To be so vulnerable with someone - physically and emotionally - is territory you’ve rarely explored, if ever.
His dark eyes seem to look through any walls you’ve built up around yourself. You look away to avert his gaze, your cheeks burning.
“…it’s just…it’s been a while and I…”
Choso can’t help but smile. He cages you in with his arms and moves close to your ear.
“I told you, I’m taking care of you tonight. Will you let me do that?” he asks, before his lips start moving down your neck, then your chest. The trail of kisses make it to your breasts, his tongue flicking one nipple while his fingers pinch the other. Your eyes meet and you nod.
“Yes…” you breathlessly reply.
With that answer you see a change in him: a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It makes your heart pound even faster.
His mouth moves even further down, stopping just as he reaches your core. By now your whole body is shaking in expectation and desire.
Choso doesn’t contain the growl that escapes his mouth when he pulls down your underwear. He has to taste you, to feel your heat, but he also wants to take it slow, to make sure you’re completely satisfied.
So instead of diving between your legs, he lifts one up, resting it on his shoulder before kissing along your calf. When he reaches your inner thighs, the light kisses turn to biting and sucking, which elicits a moan from your lips. Choso stops and smirks against your soft flesh.
“You like that, huh? I’ll remember that.”
Choso has never been one for studying or books, but he knows how to read people and the subtle tells their eyes and body give. Years of fighting in and out of the boxing ring taught him that when facing an opponent for the first time, you have to test out the waters - find their weak and strong points, and what gives you the better advantage.
He’s not in the ring right now, and you’re not his opponent, but he is studying your body, taking note of every twitch, listening to every sigh and moan. By the time he’s made it to your upper thigh, leaving kiss marks along the way, your breath has sped up and the leg hitched on his shoulder is pulling him closer to his intended goal.
“Choso, please…”
It doesn’t take a genius to know what you want.
And so he moves to your center, starting with a gentle lick at your folds. You’re so wet and you taste so good, it compels him to keep going, his tongue moving around your clit, your moans getting louder. Each moment you get wetter and wetter, and he’s lapping it all up like a man dying of thirst. When your hands grip his hair and your hips start bucking into his mouth, he knows you’re close.
Hell, he’s about to cum just from your moans alone. He begins to rut his hips against the bed, to temporarily appease his aching cock.
Because no matter what he wants right now, it’s your pleasure that comes first tonight.
It’s been a while since you’ve been sexually intimate with anyone, but you can’t remember anyone ever eating you out this good. The way he moves against your swollen clit has you seeing stars, and you find yourself moaning his name, begging for more before he finally plunges his tongue deep inside you. Your hips now move of their own accord, desperate to reach that sweet orgasm that you know he can give you.
When it finally comes, you can barely think straight. A warmth from deep within your core begins to radiate through your whole body, making your legs tremble. You buck against his mouth one final time before you finally release the grip you have on his dark locks.
“Shit,” is all you can manage to say at the moment.
Choso sits up on his haunches, a smirk on his face as he sees you blissed out beneath him. His hands on your quivering thighs, he rubs them up and down, reveling in the softness of your skin. Your body spread out before him like this, he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.
“I’m not finished yet,” he says as he pushes his underwear down, his hard cock springing free. Precum drips down his hand as he grips his girth and pumps once, then twice, before leaning over to align with your center. He searches your face for any objection; when he sees none, he pushes in.
Choso isn’t religious, but he swears he sees god in that moment. Your warm, wet walls envelop him so fully that he has to take a moment just to be able to think straight.
“Ah…you’re…so…tight…”
He says each word with a thrust, each one deeper and harder than the next. Eventually, your body adjusts to his size and he moves faster, his abs flexing with the movement. Sweat from his chest drops down on your stomach as he pushes even deeper.
“Choso!” You cry out as your arms pull him against you. Again and again he buries his cock in you with an intense, steady rhythm.
“Mmmm….you feel so good…”
Choso takes both your legs and hitches them over his shoulders and as he pushes in, you cry out. His cock is deep now, hitting that place inside you that makes you arch your back in ecstasy.
“Don’t stop…” you plead.
“I won’t…” he answers, “…I can’t…”
He lifts you up to sitting and you both look at each other, breathless and sweat-drenched, his black hair sticking to his neck and forehead. Neither of you seem to be able to form coherent words, so instead, you press your foreheads together. The brief pause allows you to catch your breath and in that moment you have a realization:
The stream of negative thoughts that constantly bombard your brain have stopped. Years of having to rely on yourself had forced you to always be thinking two or three steps ahead, but right now, there’s only this moment with Choso. You take a deep breath and even the air in your lungs feels different.
He leans back slightly and you begin to move your hips, riding his cock as the two of you grind against each other. It’s all too much and not enough - his body as it moves with yours, his staggered breaths. You never want it to end.
Then you feel that tell-tale flutter building up inside you as your second orgasm releases in a spectacular climax; the sensation has you holding onto his neck as if your life depended on it.
When Choso feels you clenching around his cock, it takes everything within him not to cum right at that moment. He barely lays you back down before he pulls out, his warm seed releasing onto your stomach.
You’re shaking, holding onto him just as tightly as you were moments before.
“Choso…Choso…” you whisper his name in the dark.
“I’m here…” is his quiet reply, “…I’m not going anywhere.”
——
The two of you lie on your bed, exhausted and completely spent. You stare up at the ceiling and he does the same, both expectantly waiting on the other to say or do something.
Choso breaks the silence first.
“Use me,” he says.
“What?”
“Make wagers on my fights. Let’s beat them at their own game.”
You’re quiet, contemplative. Surely he’s joking.
When you make no reply, he continues to press the issue. “I’ll win for you. Every time.”
”You can’t guarantee that,” you counter.
”Yes, I can.”
You sit up in bed and gather the sheets around you, your back facing him.
“I’m not going to pull you into my shit. It’s my burden to bear.”
There’s a shifting and you can feel him directly behind you.
“I figured you’d say that. But I’m winning, regardless. You might as well make money off of it.”
Your mind weighs all the possibilities that this could go wrong. What if he doesn’t win and you get deeper in debt? What if the organization finds out you’ve partnered with him?”
But at this point, what other choices did you have?
There’s a warm, strong hand on your bare shoulder.
“You can trust me,” he says, his voice resolute.
There’s that word again. Trust. But trust takes time, and you barely know him. It’s a gamble, in every sense of the word; a gamble you’re not sure you should take.
As you turn to face him you can see that he’s already looking at you expectantly.
“I can tell you how much to wager based on who I’m fighting. This can work.”
Your father had always said that a gamble always takes a little bit of faith. Perhaps it’s time to test that theory. And from the look in Choso’s eyes, you can tell that he’s not giving up on this idea any time soon.
“Ok. Let’s try it,” you concede, before he pulls you back down and into his arms.
——
The following day you walk to the bookie’s office alone. You both knew it would be too risky going together, so he prepped you on what to say.
“My next fight is in a week against a man named Naoya Zenin,” he instructed. “You can earn more by placing a bet on exactly when I can bring him down, so wager that it’ll be a knock out in the third round.”
Choso spends the rest of the week training in the evenings while you work at the clinic; but in that dark time between night and morning, when you take care of the last injured fighter and lock your office door, there he is, waiting for you without fail. You walk past one of the custodians who is sweeping away scraps of betting tickets that litter the floor, while another is mopping blood off the ring. When you finally make it outside you see him standing, soldier-like, just outside the entrance.
He insists on walking you home every night. “For your safety,” he says, “Just to make sure no one is following you.” But the two of you barely make it through the door before you’re both pulling off each other’s clothes and fucking on your tiny bed, or against the kitchen counter, or over the table.
It feels good, being fucked senseless by this man you barely know, letting all your cares and worries wash away with each climax he gives you. You’re certain he feels the same way just by the way he acts around you: protective and gentle, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.
But you know it can’t last; It is a transactional relationship, after all, a means to an end. You and he are both getting something out of this that the other needs, and that’s all there is to it.
By the end of the week, the muscles in your thighs and ass are aching and you wonder if Choso’s body is just as sore from the sexual exploits. Probably not - he is an athlete in peak physical condition, after all.
He tapes up his hands as you busy yourself in your clinic. The week passed more quickly than you thought it would, and now, it’s time to see if Choso’s plan will actually work.
“Are you going to watch the fight?” he asks as he finishes wrapping his hands.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Why not?” He walks over to caress your cheek. “Are you worried I’ll get hurt?”
“No,” you reply curtly, turning away from him in an attempt to avoid his gaze. “I’ll just be busy with the fighters before you.”
”Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles as he wraps his arms around you. “Just admit you’re concerned about me.”
You want to melt into his arms, like you do every night, but your nerves are on edge. You’d wagered over half your savings on this fight, and putting this amount of trust in someone else’s abilities was something you were still getting used to.
(Choso’s welfare was also heavy on your mind, but you weren’t about to tell him that.)
“I’m just concerned about my money, is all.”
“Both me and your money will be coming back to you safe and sound,” he assures, putting his head on your shoulder, “Just listen for the third round bell.”
When he leaves your office, you don’t look back.
There’s a heavy stream of injured fighters into your office that night, just as you thought there would be, but through the stitching and wrapping, you hear the first round bell ring for Choso’s fight.
He’ll be fine, you tell yourself.
But as the second round starts, you’re rushing to the arena.
It looks like Naoya Zenin was able to get some hits in on Choso - a punch to his cheek and a hit to the ribs - but from the bruising on his forearms and biceps, it seems that Choso has been able to deflect most of his opponent’s attacks. Zenin, on the other hand, has a swollen eye and cheek, which you know must be messing with his depth perception. The young man barrels towards Choso, putting his arms around his chest.
“What’s he doing?” You don’t realize that you’ve asked this out loud.
An old man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth answers. “Zenin is using a clinch against Choso, trying to slow down the action and keep him from punching. It’s a desperate move on his part.”
Zenin holds on tightly to Choso until a referee shows to break it up. Almost immediately after that, the bell rings for the end of the round.
Both fighters go to their respective corners while a bikini-clad woman walks across the ring to announce the third round. When the bells ring again, Choso is already up and making his way toward his opponent’s corner. He punches Zenin hard in the nose and the young man stumbles back, but before he can gain composure, Choso hits him with an uppercut that brings him to the ground.
“Winner!” The referee says, taking Choso by the arm and raising it high in the air.
A knockout in the third round, just as he’d said.
That night, after bandaging Choso’s ribs and icing his cheek, you both go to collect your first winnings.
It’s now a set routine: every week or two, you place a bet in Choso’s favor and every week he takes down another opponent. Sometimes he’s covered in blood just like he was the first time you met him; other times, it’s only a few bruises. But no matter what condition he’s in, he always comes home with you. In fact, he’s practically moved in at this point. His clothes are nestled in your chest of drawers and his toothbrush is right next to yours. It’s a strange kind of domesticity neither of you expected.
Week after week goes by, and by the third month, Choso is still undefeated. His fights are now the headliners of every match night, and wager rates soar in his favor. You still refuse to watch the fights, but you can hear the crowd cheer his name as every opponent meets the same end.
”Blood thirsty.” “Relentless.”
That’s what they call him.
It’s hard for you to believe they’re referring to the same man who stays with you every night; that the strong hands that just brought a man close to death are now gently cupping your breasts, or positioning your hips on top of him. He loved it when you took control and rode his face or his cock, and was always eager to please you.
You keep telling yourself that it’s the sex that always brings him back to your place every night, or that keeps him fighting for you, but when those deep, dark eyes look into yours, you know it’s more than that.
And something changes in your heart as well; you feel empty when he’s away, or when he can’t come home with you right after a fight. Your stomach drops when an opponent gets a good hit in.
Perhaps this isn’t transactional for you anymore.
——
The next night, as another night of fights comes to an end, you hear the door to your office open.
“I’m closing up,” you say as you put away your instruments.
“Just here for your monthly payment,” the blue-haired man called Mahito says, leaning against the entrance to your clinic.
With a sigh, you reach up into your cabinet, take out a small bag, and throw it at his feet.
“Here you go. Now get out.”
”Tsk tsk, all these months and you still treat me so coldly. We should be friends by now.” He opens up the bag to see the bills stashed neatly inside. “Wow, another big payment. Miss Doctor. You certainly are lucky these days. Did a rich aunt die or something?”
“You’re getting your money aren’t you? That’s all you should care about.”
Mahito smiles a toothy grin that makes your skin crawl. “But you’re also our precious employee. I’d hate to hear that you’ve gotten into more trouble.” He slinks towards you and you move backwards, hitting the edge of an examination table. He picks up a piece of your hair and lets his fingers move through it. “Maybe you’re becoming just like your father, huh?”
“Get away from her.”
Choso stands at the entrance, hands in fists and bracing to attack.
Like a child that’s suddenly interested in a new toy, Mahito turns from you and walks towards your lover. “Ha! Like a dog to a whistle! Just the person I wanted to see. Walk with me, Choso.”
The two men walk down the hall and amongst the crowd exiting the arena for the night. Of all the men that Choso has fought these past months, he’s never wanted to beat someone to a pulp more than the man next to him. Mahito is slight of build with wide, child-like expressions, but one look in his eyes and Choso knows that this bastard has killed others just for the enjoyment of it. He’d love to smash that smug face in.
“What do you want?” Choso asks coldly.
“I have a proposition for you. One that could solve all of Miss Doctor’s problems.”
Mahito stops to see if Choso will react. When he doesn’t, he continues. “We want to set up a fight. A big one.” Mahito’s eyes glance towards the man walking beside him. “With you and Ryomen Sukuna.”
That stops Choso in his tracks. “Sukuna’s out of prison?”
“He is indeed. Seems that they couldn’t get that manslaughter conviction to stick because of some kind of legal error.” Mahito smirks devilishly. “And he’s ready for a comeback. What do you say?”
“What does this have to do with her?”
“Oh come on…you think we don’t know that you’ve been helping her place bets on your fights?” He laughs and it makes Choso’s skin crawl. “I must admit, it is rather romantic, and it’s made your popularity soar these past few months. But it’s time for both of you to remember who you really work for.”
Now outside, Mahito takes out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a long drag as if he has all the time in the world. Choso just wants this conversation to be over with.
“Do this fight, and Miss Doctor can consider her father’s debts paid in full, with our thanks.”
Choso’s instincts tell him there’s more to this plan. “What’s the catch?”
a big thank you to the lovely @gothic-pumpkin for tagging me in this. i had a lot of fun with this 🩷 and i mean...mine fit me pretty fucking well lmao 🤭 a lil' pink, a little bit of my spooky side, things that come up on my pinterest purely because of searches related to my oc...we've got it all lmao. p.s. i wanted to be thorn when i was growing up (and I still do 🙂↕️).
rules: go on pinterest, type in the prompts down below, and whatever image pops up first is your image: color, quote, character, hobby, accessory, song lyrics, & flower
no pressure tags for the homies: @devileyeswriting @angelicarlert @holdmytesseract @5lutforeddie @autumn-rain-embers @lavandine @sire-levi @mrsackxrman @starryackrmn @amywritesthings & anyone else who wants to join in 🌸
With only days away from the derby, you and Levi both prepare to see each other again. Has your absence truly made Levi's heart grow fonder?
Chapter snippet:
In the two and a half months you've been gone, Levi's had two goals: to train as a jockey and to bury his feelings for you; however, as time went by the latter seemed to be an impossibility. He worried about your welfare constantly, wondering if you were staying healthy and safe. He took solace in the fact that Onyankopon was there with you, because if anyone could keep you safe out there, it would be him.
Levi imagines that by now Onyankopon had probably told you about a dozen stories. The man was handsome and charming — everyone loved him. You probably did too.
A tinge of jealousy shot through Levi like a jolt of lightning.
So much for thinking of you only as a friend.
--//--
North Star Masterlist | Levi Fic Masterlist
Taglist! (Please send me a message or ask if you'd like to be added!)
I'm doing a bit of cleaning and reorganizing on my blog and will be deleting my old tag list. If you would like to be tagged in any future works from now on, please send me an ask or message. You can request a tag for any current fic or for upcoming one shots. Currently, I'm only writing for Levi Ackerman, but that might change in the future. ;)
Current fics:
North Star - postwar!Levi x OC - 14/25 chapters
Two years after The Rumbling, a mysterious man comes to live in your boarding house. His body maimed and scarred, you wonder where he’s from and what he’s running from.Even more so, you wonder if he's hurting as much as you are.
Can fate and love heal two broken people?
dark side of the moon - yakuza!Levi x F!reader - cyberpunk/yakuza au - 3/? chapters
Neo Tokyo, 2235. You’ve escaped the festering wasteland that is Earth for Mars, to a city where only the strong survive, and everybody has secrets. Taking on a job as a hostess, you woo the city’s elite, your smile hiding your own dark past. When your path crosses with Levi Ackerman, said to be the strongest member of the Ackerman yakuza clan, you’re not sure whether to consider him a friend or a foe. Because in this city, nothing is what it seems.
And the past never stays buried.
Pairing: Boxer!Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader [Jujutsu Kaisen]
Word count: 4.5k
Summary:
Choso's life is simple: eat, sleep, train, fight. But everything changes when a mysterious doctor comes into his life.
Author's notes: This is me, branching out and writing for something other than Attack on Titan! But I just love me a dark-haired, misunderstood man. Thank you to my beloved @littlerequiem for beta reading.
Series content/warnings: No curses AU, bare knuckle boxing, violence (in the boxing ring and out), mentions of blood and broken bones, eventual smut
Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist
AO3 | Playlist
Line dividers: @saradika-graphics
The first time you meet Choso, he’s covered in blood.
It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’re a doctor.
Or rather, you used to be. It was all taken away from you. Now you’re forced to treat fighters in an underground fighting ring, patching up broken bones and open wounds.
This was your life now, and you’d resigned yourself to that.
You hear your door slide open. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” you say, your back turned.
“Ok...” you hear a low voice respond, “but can I sit down? I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
You look over your shoulder to see a tall man, blood oozing from a wound to his head, the rag he has pressed against it drenched.
“Oh - yes, of course! Let me just...”
You grab sterile gauze and your other instruments from the cabinet and run over to him as he sits down. He looks lethargic, and a little disoriented. You remove the soaked rag, assessing the large gash along his eyebrow.
“That’s deep,” you remark, “you must have been hit pretty hard.”
“Wasn’t too bad. I just bleed a lot,” he answers nonchalantly.
The blood from his head runs down and mingles with blood on his chest.
He notices your downward glance. “That isn’t all my blood.”
“Ah,” is all you can think to say.
You’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.
“Well, let’s get you stitched up then.”
He follows you to your examination table and sits down. You start by cleaning off the blood around the wound, gently dabbing the area while keeping pressure on it. His eyelid is already starting to swell, the deep purple bruising spreading under his eye and to his cheekbone. As you clean his face, you notice that he has a long, dark scar that goes across the bridge of his nose.
“Have you had any blurred vision? Vomiting?” you ask, going through the checklist of a concussion.
He shakes his head. “Nope. I just need you to stitch me up and then I’ll be out of here.”
“There’s a bit more to it than that. I need to check that you’re ok.” You turn on your examination light and he squints, then you prepare a needle with local anesthesia.
“This might sting a bit,” you warn, and when the needle goes in, he winces for a moment, but his stoic expression soon returns.
You get right to work on the wound, silently putting in one stitch, then two, then another, concentrating on mending the skin together.
“I haven’t seen you before. You new?” His voice breaks the silence and your concentration.
“Yeah…I’m just here for a little while.”
He hums a response, and you can feel his eyes glance up at you.
“That’s good. Nobody should stay around here for too long.”
“And how long have you been fighting here?”
He sighs. “Too damn long. But fighting is all I’ve ever known….I can’t really do anything else.”
There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice. You know what it feels like to be trapped, to not have any other recourse. It’s what got you here, afterall.
You make the final stitch, tie the knot, and cut the thread.
He makes to stand up, but your hand on his shoulder stops him.
“I need to check for any signs of a concussion,” you say.
He sighs, but with a nod, he settles himself back down. You put your hands on each side of his head, turning it from side to side gently.
“Any pain?”
“N-no..” His dark brown eyes are looking everywhere but at you.
You go through the rest of the list, checking his vision, coordination, and balance—-he passes it all without a hitch.
This guy can really take a punch, you think to yourself.
“Am I good, Doc?”
“It would seem so, but you need to let that wound heal for a week or two before you fight again.”
“Nope, can’t do. I don’t get paid if I don’t fight.”
He jumps down off the exam table and walks towards the door.
But you grab his arm, pulling the man towards you.
“Hey. You might not care what happens to your body, but I do. And if you’re going to be under my care then you’re going to follow my instructions. No fighting until you get the all-clear from me.” Your voice is forceful and authoritative, and the surprise in his eyes shows that it was not what he was expecting from you.
“Yes…ma’am…er, doctor…” His phrasing is suddenly polite. “I understand. No fighting.”
At that, you let go of his arm. “Good. Come by next week and I’ll see if I can take out those stitches.”
“Next week. Will do, Doc,” he says before walking out the door.
But the following evening, he’s back in your office, straddling one of your chairs and leaning on its back.
“I’m bored...” his low voice whines.
“And so you decided to come here,” you reply dryly while wiping down your examination area.
He doesn’t take the hint, merely watching you as you do your work. Last night, his hair was up in two pigtails that spiked at the top of his head; today, his black hair flows down, almost touching his shoulders. Cleaned up, he’s handsome, even with the swelling from the black eye.
You walk over to him with a small bag of ice. “Here. If you're gonna just hang around here, we might as well take care of that swelling.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He takes the bag, putting it on his still tender bruise.
“I’m not a doctor.”
He furrows his brow at your statement.
“Not fully, anyway. I’m a doctor in residence.”
Was a doctor in residence, but you leave that part out. It’s better not to tell him too much.
Your words seem to be an acceptable explanation. He leans his arms on the back of the chair, then his head. “Well then…what’s your name?”
You tell him. There’s an awkward silence.
“And what’s yours?”
“Choso. Choso Kamo.”
Normally, you don’t bother learning the fighters’ names, or even asking. What would be the point? They’re either too punch drunk to answer you, or they’re in and out of your office without a backwards glance.
But it wouldn’t hurt to get to know this guy a little more, right? The night’s been slow, and it doesn’t seem like he means to leave any time soon.
“And you said you’ve been fighting for a while?” you ask while attempting to grab a jar of cotton balls on a high shelf.
“Yeah. A couple years. I’m paying for my brothers to go to a boarding school outside the city. The public schools are shit here, and I want them to have better opportunities than I did.” He suddenly becomes quiet, contemplative. “I don’t want them to end up like me.”
That was not the answer you were expecting from him. You’d assumed all the fighters here were adrenaline junkies or extreme pain addicts, with overinflated egos to match. But Choso didn’t seem to fit any of your preconceived notions. He’s fighting for his family because he feels he has to.
So you’re not the only one who feels trapped in their circumstances.
He walks over to you, looking down and smiling. “Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I chose this life.”
There’s a silent energy between the both of you as you meet his gaze, but it’s gone in an instant when he looks away, reaching up and getting the jar.
“Did you need this?” he asks, his voice suddenly low and sweet.
“Yeah.... thanks.”
Your fingers graze his as you take the jar and there’s a flutter in your stomach. For someone so beat up and bruised, there’s a gentleness about him; you can see it in his eyes.
The moment between the two of you, however, is cut short when the door is kicked open and a bloodied and bruised fighter is rushed into the room.
By the time you get them bandaged and stitched, and your workspace clean, Choso is gone.
Ah well, you think, better not to get too attached anyway.
But the next evening, he’s back in your office, just like clockwork, leaning in a chair or sitting on a counter, just ever so slightly in your personal space. You use it as an opportunity to check his wound, reprimanding him for not regularly putting on antiseptic ointment.
Your leg brushes his as you dab the ointment on, attempting to ignore that he’s once again watching you silently.
You clear your throat. “You need to take better care of your wounds, Choso, or the scar isn’t going to heal properly. Or worse, it’ll get infected.”
”I don’t really care about scars. I’ve always had them, it seems.”
You look into his eyes, then down at the scar across his nose.
”How’d you get that one?”
“That?” He points to his nose. “That was an unfortunate incident with my father and a metal baton.”
He then tells you about his life, about having an abusive father and an absent mother, and about raising his younger brothers practically on his own. As a teenager he’d given up on school but had found an aptitude for fighting, first in back alleys and parks, and now, in his early twenties, in the underground bare knuckle boxing matches run by various shady gambling organizations.
The gambling here was somewhat legal, but the matches were anything but, pitting fighter against fighter in a bloody free-for-all where the only rule was don’t hit them hard enough to kill them. The fact that Choso was still alive and fighting after all these years was impressive.
Slightly masochistic, but impressive.
From here on, every evening, Choso would come like clockwork. He’d find his way to your office, where you’d assess his wound, put on more ointment (he would always forget), give him some ice for his bruising and just listen to him talk. The man was an open book to you, and after a few days, you felt you had a good idea of who Choso was and what made him tick.
Like how he hates confined spaces but has no problem with heights; that if he’d gone to college, he would have been a preschool teacher because he loves kids; how he likes board games but gets too competitive.
He was odd but sweet, carrying himself in an unassuming way that contrasted vastly from the other fighters that passed through your door. Even though he was part of such a cruel world, he seemed so… innocent, as if he was experiencing life for the first time.
You, on the other hand, kept information about yourself general and brief during your talks with Choso. To tell him about yourself and your life would mean that you trusted him; that he was more than just another fighter coming through your door.
Even moreso, you were afraid of what he’d think if you told him what got you here in the first place.
And so every question Choso asked was met with a quick answer or total silence; that didn’t seem to stop him from asking questions, however; the man was as relentless with curiosity as he was with fighting stamina.
And when seven evenings had passed, you could tell the man was aching to get back into the ring.
“It’s itchy,” he said, gently patting the healing wound with his fingers, just like you’d taught him to do when he felt the urge to scratch it.
The bruising and swelling around his eye and the side of his face had gone down considerably in the past week, faster than you were even expecting.
Something else you didn’t expect was the fact that you really enjoyed his presence in your office every night, so much so that you felt a small pang of longing every time he left.
“Come here, then. Let’s have a look at it.”
He walks toward you, reaching up to pull his hair back into a ponytail, his shirt raising just enough to show his toned stomach. You quickly turn away to reach for your glasses.
There’s a crinkling sound behind you as he sits on the tissue paper covering the examination table. You can feel his eyes on you and you take a few breaths before turning around, avoiding his gaze.
You’ve been this close to him countless times, but why does it suddenly feel different now?
There’s cheers coming from the arena down the hall, and that usually brings commentary from Choso about the fighters, but right now, he’s quiet. You wonder what he’s thinking about.
“You look cute in your glasses,” he says in a low voice that sends vibrations to your core.
“Stop it. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“But it’s true.”
”Shhh...” you command, but his comment has you visibly flustered. You clear your throat as you assess Choso’s wound.
“I’m going to take out the sutures now. It shouldn’t hurt.”
Your examination light clicks on above the two of you and you tilt his head up slightly. He smiles boyishly before looking away.
Realizing it’s pointless to ignore whatever is happening between the two of you, you prod, “Was that your way of flirting?”
”I’ve never been very good at that,” he confesses. “Just stating the facts. One of my many observations of you this week.”
”Oh yeah? And what else have you observed?”
”You purse your lips when you concentrate.”
You suddenly relax your lips as you start cutting the threads of his suture. “I don’t do that.”
He smiles. “And you do this little throat clearing sound when you’re nervous.”
As if on cue, you clear your throat. He smirks triumphantly.
”See?”
”So you’ve discovered every one of my physical ticks. You have them too, you know.”
His eyes glance up to you. “And they are?”
”Well…you...” you snip a few sutures, pausing to pull them out and put on a tray, “...sigh loudly.”
”I… sigh loudly?”
”Yeah…as if you’re bored or tired or something.” Snip goes another suture. “And you have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. I don’t think you’re physically capable of hiding any of your emotions.”
”Unlike you. You’re like a stone wall. You get defensive and distant every time I ask a personal question.”
“I do -” your words come out clipped and harsh, and he gives you a knowing look, “-not..”
Snip.
Silence.
“Ok, fine. What do you want to know?”
“You’re not wearing a ring, so you’re not married. Boyfriend?”
“No.” You want to leave it at that, but that would just prove him right. “I don’t really have time for…relationships.”
Desperately wanting to deflect, you ask, “What about you? I’m sure you have a hoard of fangirls.”
“Me? Fangirls?” He laughs at that and you give him a reprimanding look to keep still before you continue your work. “You clearly haven’t been to any of the matches. It’s mainly old men drunk off their asses. And I don’t really talk to…girls.”
You take out the last suture and dab at the slight bleeding.
“I’m a girl.”
“Yeah, but you’re different.”
Your brow furrows at that, and so he adds, “I want to talk to you. And it’s a challenge.”
“A challenge? In what way?”
“No matter what I ask, you’ve barely told me a thing about you. But there’s some things I can tell.”
His hand reaches out and pauses for a moment, before his fingertips caress your face.
“You seem sad,” he says gently, “and alone.”
“What does that mean, alone?” You back away from him. “I’m perfectly fine, and I don’t need you to pity me.”
“That’s not what I meant -”
He walks toward you, but you turn away.
“Your wound is healed and your bruising has gone down. You should be fine to fight now, so there’s no more reason to come here.”
You can feel his presence right behind you. He says your name but you don’t turn around.
It’s time to stop this. There’s no use in letting someone into your life.
There’s a loud sigh, and then you hear the door to your office open and close.
——
“Goddammit, Choso, why are your hands not taped? Where’s your head been lately?”
Choso stays silent. Was he really gonna tell his trainer that he’s been sidetracked all week because he was thinking about you every moment?
That would get him a slap across the face, and he’d like to avoid that.
This is the first time he’s been back to the arena since that last night he saw you. And every day he’s thought about whether he’ll catch a glimpse of you walking to your office, or in the hallway. After things fell apart so terribly, he wonders if he’d even have the nerve to talk to you again.
Choso’s trainer pushes him out the door. ”Go to the doctor and ask to borrow their tape. Surely she has some.”
Shit.
The cheers and boos of another fight echo against the brick and metal of the hallway as Choso makes his way to your office, each step making his heart beat just a little bit faster.
Would you even want to talk to him? Maybe you’ll turn him away.
(Of course, if he got injured tonight, you’d have no choice but to treat him, that thought had crossed his mind.)
Just as he makes it to your door, it flings open, nearly hitting him in the face. He stops it right as a man with long blue hair slinks out.
”Oh! Sorrrry man!” His voice is innocent, child-like. “You almost got knocked out before you could even fight.” He smirks while holding open the door ceremoniously. “The doctor will see you now.”
Confused, Choso watches as the man practically skips down the hall but his concern quickly changes when he sees you slumped over your counter.
”Doc…”
He cautiously walks towards you.
”Go away.” The words are harsh but your voice is weak and defeated.
Choso gently puts a hand on your shoulder to turn you towards him, but you refuse to look him in the eyes. He lifts your chin up to look at him.”What happened?”
That’s when he sees it. Your bottom lip is split and bleeding.
Choso’s eye squint, studying the wound. “Who did this to you?”
You say nothing, but with the freshness of the wound, he puts it together. And suddenly, he’s seeing red.
He turns on his heels, ready to burst out the door and catch that blue haired bastard who hit you, but you grab his arm, pulling him back to your side.
”Don’t, Choso!” You plead. “Please...”
Your eyes well up with tears and Choso’s hand instantly cups your face.
“What happened?”
You hesitate, as usual, but then, “…I’m in trouble...”
”What kind of trouble?”
You look down, grabbing some gauze on the counter to put on your lip. Once again, Choso is met with silence to his questions.
”Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”
”Why do you keep coming here, Choso? No matter what I do…you just keep coming back. I don’t get it.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I like you.” The words come out of his mouth so naturally, words he’s wanted to tell you for days. “You are one of the only people here who is kind to me. I could tell that you really cared. I don’t get that often, if ever.”
He moves closer, placing his hand on top of yours. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”
Outside the doors of the office, the voices of the gamblers in the arena raise to a crescendo. A muffled sound announces the next fighters.
But here, it feels as if time has stopped. Choso can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart in his ears getting louder and louder. His focus becomes completely on you, as if the rest of the world has melted away. It’s the same feeling he gets right before a fight, but this time he’s not looking to conquer anything.
Or maybe he is.
He brings your hand off your face and leans down, his lips mere millimeters from yours.
“Let me in.”
Your breath is ragged and uneven and if he closed his eyes, he swears he’d be able to hear your heart beating as well. But after a few seconds, when neither of you move, he begins to doubt himself.
Then your voice - your sad, soft voice - breaks the silence.
”Choso...”
That’s all he needs to hear to have his lips crashing into yours. It’s a desperate kiss, a hunger arising in him that he’s never felt before. Your arms wrap around his neck and he lifts you up and onto the counter, pressing himself between your legs. He can taste the blood from your lip and it seems to spur a deeper want of you inside of him. His hands roam under your shirt and you moan into his mouth. He wants to touch you, taste you, know everything about you -
“Choso!” A loud voice resonates outside the office.
Both of you break away from the kiss, breathless.
“Shit. I’ve gotta go.” He looks at the door, expecting his coach to barge in any second; when he doesn’t, he looks back at you. You look so vulnerable right now, he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to see how much further this can go, how much more you’ll open up to him, but he knows he can’t miss a fight.
“Wait for me. It’s not safe for you to leave by yourself tonight. I’ve just gotta.…go do this real quick.”
This. As if his livelihood doesn’t depend on it.
“Alright,” is your answer.
And with that, it feels like Choso has been hit with a shot of adrenaline. He kisses you again, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically, because he hears you suck in a breath.
“I’ll be right back.” He looks down and sees some medical tape on the counter. “And I’ll return this.”
He runs out the door and down the hall, the tape in his mouth as he winds it around his palms and knuckles.
You’re gonna wait for him.
He’s never wanted a fight to finish so fast.
”Choso! Where the hell have you been? You’re up!”
He ignores his coach and starts warming up, jumping a bit and then throwing a few punches. Just outside the door beyond are the lights, the cheers, and his opponent.
But right now, all he wants is you.
”And weighing in at 187 pounds….the man who always brings a bloodbath…CHOOOOSOOOOO!!”
——
You hear the announcer scream Choso’s name and the cheers that follow.
Let me in… he’d said.
You’re not sure if you’re shaking from being hit in the face or from the intense kisses that you shared with Choso just moments before. Maybe it’s a little of both.
You wring your hands and pace the floor, your mind racing, trying to understand everything that just happened. Sooner or later, you knew the people you agreed to work for would come to collect - but no matter what you did, it never seemed to be enough. They take and take and take…
And that man with the blue hair - it seemed like he’d taken such joy in hitting you, seeing the fear in your eyes when he made his threats.
Maybe you should just leave, right now. Pack up your stuff and get out of the city, leave everything behind.
But it would be no use, you knew they’d eventually find you.
And Choso…he told you to wait for him. It felt so good to be in his arms, touching you, kissing you. He made you feel wanted and safe, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.
You’ve never been interested in watching the matches before, but now you find yourself walking down the hall and into the dark and crowded arena. The crowd is lively, throwing out words of praise and curses at both the fighters. You stay in the back, and through the clouds of cigarette smoke, you see him.
It’s only been a few minutes since the fight started, but Choso’s body is already coated in a layer of sweat. There’s a wild look in his eyes but his face is serious, almost calm. He weaves and bobs in between his opponent’s punches, getting his own punch across his cheek, then one to his chin. Choso takes a few steps back as the man ambles forward, shaking his head a few times while his trainer yells something to him from the ropes.
The opponent lunges toward Choso but he puts him in a headlock and starts punching his face repeatedly. In an ordinary fight, a referee would break them up, but there are no referees that you can see. The man eventually works himself free from Choso’s grasp, his nose bloody and more than likely broken. He attempts a jab but Choso counters; he hits him hard across the cheek and the man falls to the ground.
”Finish him off!” “Beat him to a pulp!”
”Choso! Choso! Choso!”
The voices raise higher and higher, egging the victor on. But Choso merely walks to his corner, drinks some water, spits it out, and leaves the ring.
In a matter of minutes, it’s all over, the loser in a pool of blood.
You rush back to your office, knowing you’re going to have to set that man’s nose.
——
True to his word, Choso comes to your office at the end of the night.
You’ve just finished treating his opponent and stitching up a cut on his right cheek before sending him away with his trainer and crew. You’d also noticed that the bruising on the man’s knuckles was deep purple and swelling fast; no broken bones, but it looked as if he’d hit something hard and immovable, not another human body.
When you look at Choso, who’s freshly showered and wearing a grey hoodie over a white t-shirt, leaning against your office door, he looks as if he’s just had a walk in the park.
You put on your jacket and grab your things before making your way toward him.
”Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”
His hand, that just moments before had beaten someone to a bloody pulp, was now outstretched toward you.
@alizha your tags made my night last night! I love writing mysterious readers, so I’m glad you’re enjoying the intrigue. And yesss I’ve always seen Choso as a little childlike but can kill you at the same time. 😅
Thanks for giving PDL a read and I hope you enjoy the the next chapters. ☺️
i know i say this often but i cannot say it loud enough: people who comment on fics, people who reblog posts and engage with fanworks are the people who generate community and without them fandom would be nowhere, so truly thank you for your presence, you make the world go 'round <3
dark side of the moon | ongoing | yakuza!Levi x f!reader | cyberpunk au
North Star | ongoing | postwar!Levi x oc | post canon
The Better Man | completed | Levi x f!reader | MDNI
Make.Believe. | completed | actor!Levi x actress!reader | actor au | MDNI
{𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬}
Hands on You
Levi has an...unusual request.
Heart. Strings.
Levi has never cared for or been interested in music, until he hears you play. But when he meets you, it’s not only your music that he wants more of. MDNI
Still I Wait
A season 4!Levi one shot based on the song, Still I Wait, by Anne Leone.
Mine.
Possessive Levi - everyone's favorite. MDNI
Say My Name
Captain Levi has only ever called you by your nickname, but all you want is to hear him say your name…
A Hero’s Lament
As Levi grows older, his love for you stay evergreen.
{𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬}
}The Little Things | Levi x pregnant widow!Reader | Drabble Challenge 2024
}mightier than the sword | veteran!Levi | Drabble Challenge May 2026
}𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 | MDNI
Closer | Levi x exotic dancer
Posing in Bondage | Artist!Levi
Forbidden Fruit | Young Lover!Levi
Please (Me) | Husband!Levi
Make You Feel My Love | body worshipper!Levi
Skin | body worshipper!Levi
}𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬
Tiny Titans | Dad!Levi | fluff
Badass | Levi x pregnant!s/o | comfort, fluff
Business Time | CEO!Levi | slight NSFW
Attack on Snack | Levi x pregnant!s/o | fluff
Freedom | young adult!Levi, Underground | hurt/comfort
Don’t You Dare | Canon!Levi | fluff
Spring Awakening | fluff
I Wish You Wanted Me | Yakuza!Levi
Never Have I Ever, Part 1 | Part 2 | Drunk!Levi
}𝐒𝐞́ 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢 | short thoughts on Levi in different worlds
