#Shooting Practice Techniques

[theroguebanshee]

USPSA Shooting Tips: Pro Secrets from Dustin Sanchez’s Journey

Join competitive shooter Dustin Sanchez as he shares pro tips and USPSA secrets from his journey to Grand Master. In this episode, Dustin dives into essential dry-fire drills, USPSA strategies, and precision techniques that every shooter needs to improve. Discover the mental game, skill-building practices, and gear insights he’s using to reach the next level. Plus, get insider tips on working…

[theultimatecruiseship]

Milk baths and bad smells

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

usually im very content with my life and disability and chronic illness n stuff but sometimes i miss playing sports so much it hurts

[dejwritesarchived]

i was getting jumped by mongols so badly in this mission omg. until i died and then whole time norio was suppose to be fighting with me. i honestly don’t know where he was at the first time when i died 😭

[orcelito]

As soon as my arm recovers from the aches it'll be all over for that bowling alley

[historyofguns]

In the article, renowned firearms expert Massad Ayoob provides an in-depth guide on one-handed reload tactics, which he has been teaching to law enforcement and armed civilians since the 1970s and 1980s. Ayoob offers step-by-step pictorial instructions for reloading an autopistol with only the right or left hand, emphasizing safety by practicing with unloaded weapons under supervision. The guidance is relevant in situations where the shooter is injured and can use only one hand to reload. He additionally covers techniques for utilizing holsters and grip stabilization for effective reloading under stress and mentions historical examples such as the Battle of Mogadishu to illustrate the practicality of these methods. The article underscores the importance of having the correct mindset and preparedness to survive such challenging scenarios.

[ourceliumnetwork]

hey just cause i'm thinking about it: if you're struggling with feeling like you don't art so good, watch other, better artists do their art and take note of what they're doing. my whole Technique has been altered by doing this more consistently over the past like year or so. also talk to your art friends i bet they know how to do the thing you've been struggling with and if they don't they might know where to look that you haven't already. anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[ishouldreallybeelsewhere]

i really want to get a horse bow but i won’t even be able to shoot next year so what’s the point?

[tender-rosiey]

maybe jelly — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: gojo getting jealous? 👁️👁️

you arrive at jujutsu high, as you prepare for your guest lecture. you’ve given these talks before, but this time, something feels a little different—satoru is acting strange.

not that he’s ever normal, but today he seems extra…dramatic.

“you’re going to kill it, babe,” satoru says, draping his arm over your shoulders as you walk toward the classroom. his blindfold hides his eyes, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze, more focused than usual.

“you okay?” you ask, glancing at him with a teasing grin. “you seem a little... off.”

“me? off? never,” he replies, lips pulling into his trademark smirk. “just making sure no one gets too cozy with my brilliant wife. gotta make sure these kids remember you’re taken.”

you roll your eyes playfully, “I think everybody and their mother know that, satoru.”

time passes by, and now, you stand at the front of the lecture hall at jujutsu high, wrapping up your talk.

the students seem genuinely engaged, and one in particular, a young sorcerer named ren, is practically bouncing with enthusiasm, asking follow-up questions.

“and how did you manage to seal that curse without any physical confrontation?” ren asks, his voice brimming with admiration and curiosity.

before you could respond, satoru appears at your side with his usual confidence, his presence instantly commanding attention, “well, she is the wife of the gojo satoru. kinda comes with the territory,” he interjects, flashing his signature grin.

you shoot him an exasperated look, “I’m pretty sure my skills had something to do with it.”

satoru leans in close, nuzzling against your cheek affectionately before pulling back slightly. “oh, of course, sweetheart. you’re amazing, but it doesn’t hurt to be married to the strongest sorcerer around, right?”

ren blinks, clearly caught off guard by the interaction.

he glances between you and satoru, his expression a mix of confusion and awe. “I wasn’t aware you were married,” he mutters, his gaze flickering between you and satoru as if trying to process this new information.

you smile and give satoru a jab into his ribs that he takes like a champ, “yeah, he likes to remind people. it’s kind of his thing.”

satoru, never one to miss an opportunity to make a grand statement, leans down and places a soft kiss on the top of your head.

his arm slips casually around your waist, “just keeping things clear. y'know, in case anyone forgets that I get the honor of calling you mine.”

ren tries to steer the conversation back to his question, “so, about the sealing technique…”

satoru cuts him off again, stepping slightly in front of you with a playful yet firm stance.

“hey, hey, let’s not bombard her with too many questions now. she’s been on her feet alllll day, talking about all the cool stuff she’s done and showing everybody just how badass she is.”

you roll your eyes but can’t suppress a small smile. stepping around him to face ren again, you continue, “ignore him. the technique I used requires focusing on—”

satoru clears his throat dramatically, pulling you back to his side and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, eyes boring into the poor boy even through his blindfold.

“you know what I think? I think my lovely wife deserves a break. maybe some alone time with her handsome, strong, and incredibly talented husband?”

you raise an eyebrow at him, your tone teasing. “handsome and humble, I see.”

satoru’s grin widens, and he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I can be both when it comes to you.”

you are about to retort back, but then you remember that ren is still here.

you turn to the boy with a smile and assure him, “anyway, ren, if you want to chat more about techniques, we can catch up later. after my husband gets over himself,” you hiss at the man who raises his hands in surrender.

ren, now visibly flustered and unsure, mumbled, “uh, I’ll… catch up with you later then. thanks for the talk!”

ren dashes out the room, slamming the door behind him. you tap your feet against the ground for a few minutes, before you elbow satoru again.

he stays standing up, chest puffed out and a big grin plastered on his face. you deadpan as you stare at your husband, “you really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

satoru shrugs nonchalantly, still holding you close. he hums, giving you a kiss on the forehead, “what can I say? I don’t like sharing. besides, you are the wife of the strongest sorcerer; it’s important to make sure that’s clear.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile helplessly at your husband. your fingers find their way through his hair making him instantly melt. you giggle at your puddle of a husband, “you’re so lucky I love you.”

he tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I love you more, soooooooooooo—”

“oh my god, I get it,” you laugh as you try to push him off. he resists with a whine as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder. you yield and let the silence fill the room.

he hums softly as you both sway mindlessly.

“but y’know,” you pull back slightly, smiling up at him, “you really do like to make an impression.”

he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mischief, “just doing my part to ensure everyone knows how lucky I am and how lucky they should feel to be in the presence of my extraordinary wife.”

he intertwines your left hands together and raises them slightly, showing off the rings. the sun makes them shine quite brightly, and it makes you sigh with a smile and satoru let out a huff of laughter.

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[earthtooz]

x : BANDAGED HEART :*+ﾟ

in which: blade finds out you're injured and can't contain his anger.

warnings: gn!reader x protective!blade, fluff, mentions of blood and injuries, 'who did this to you?' trope with blade LOL, slight manhandling, did i mention that he's protective?

a/n: blade debut, omg? this sucks btw but this was inspired by this comic that i saw the other day :> it just reminded me that the 'who did this to you' trope existed and i went YES and took my own spin onto it so, i hope you enjoy!

the smell of antiseptic wafts heavily through the air, bandages sit tightly rolled beside you, and you hiss at the sting of the antibacterial ointment slathered over the open wound on your arm. 

it hurts. 

blinking the tears away and gritting your teeth to bear with the pain, you reach for the unused roll, clumsily unravelling them with shaking hands and a blurring vision.

“oi.” a raspy voice from behind catches you off guard and you turn around from where you’ve seated yourself in the corner of the medical wing, having helped yourself to a supply of ointment and bandages. 

a familiar swordsman and fellow coworker towers above you, glowering at you through the streaks of his bangs. maybe if you weren’t on the verge of fainting, you’d have the energy to fear him.

“oh, it’s just you,” you mutter, “can i help you?”

his eyes glance you up and down, as if scanning you for any indication of misadventure. feeling uneasy under the intensity of his gaze, you return to trying to rip the bandages with bare hands since you had not brought scissors or even a blade with you in your haste. 

feeling the blood from your wound drip down your arm and onto the floor beneath you, you cringe, hurrying up so you don’t make a mess. this whole patching-yourself-up-thing should have been easy, but without something sharp and half your strength evaporated after a gruesome mission, it was much harder than usual. 

the growing frustration you were feeling was not offering much aid either, and with blade practically towering over you, you try not to let your fluctuating anger overwhelm you. 

aeons, it was as if you were sent on this mission with elio praying for your downfall. you’re lucky that you managed to get out with only a scratch on your arm and a missing weapon. it’s going to be hard finding a replacement for it, but when you just looked death in the face, you can’t say you have much to complain about that a weapon was the only thing you lost. 

suddenly, two hands sneak underneath your arms to lift you up, breaking your train of thought with a tight, unforgiving grip as you’re effortlessly placed onto a hospital bed right beside you. meeting the ruby eyes of the swordsman, your breath lodges uncomfortably in your throat, and you have to rip your gaze away from him; the intensity would paralyse you otherwise. 

“where are you hurt?” he asks, sounding more like a demand than a question. 

“i can do it myself,” you grumble. blade takes the bandage out of your hands, holding back your wrist that instinctively reached out to grab it back. the glare he shoots you from the corner of his eye placates any complaint you have.

“show me.”

reluctantly, you present your injured arm. he mutters a very quick and quiet ‘stay here’ before stalking off. a faucet is turned on, water begins running from a nearby sink, and blade returns with a wet cloth. 

grabbing your wounded arm, he cleans around the area, rubbing the blood that has trickled down your arm as well. he’s scarily gentle with you, attentive to your every wince and hiss, halting momentarily every time you let a noise slip. 

he makes quick work of patching you up, flawless and effortless in his technique. makes sense, you suppose, since he is covered in these. 

you wonder how many times he’s had to do this on himself. a small part of your heart aches thinking about it.

“thank you,” you whisper when he’s done, gratitude silently swirling inside you. grabbing the bandages and cloth, you slide off onto your feet. “i’ll put these away.” 

stepping in front of you, his body intercepts your path and you’re pressed against the bed, frozen under him. there’s an indescribable look of fury in his eyes, his red eyes seeming even angrier than usual. 

“what happened?” he asks.

you have hold yourself up, suddenly weak in the knees. “just a typical mission, it’s nothing you should worry about.”

the fellow stellaron hunter does not look satisfied with your response. “what do you mean ‘nothing you should worry about’? who did this to you?” he asks, punctuating each word with a dark expression. 

“blade- please, can we not talk about this right now?” you mutter, “i’m tired and i just want to sleep.”

he narrows his eyes. “who. hurt. you?”

“why? what can you do about it now?”

“kill them.”

you scoff. “yeah, right.”

blade wedges a leg between yours, hindering your escape even further by leaning himself closer to you. “i’m serious.”

“so am i. if you’re thinking about hunting them down, then please, don’t bother. let it go.” you mutter.

“but you got hurt.” 

“i get hurt all the time.”

his brows scrunch together, a small indication of the dangerous protectiveness growing within him. you interrupt his train of thoughts, placing a brave hand on his chest; right over his heart. ‘i’m fine. you don’t need to worry about me.”

“i’m not worried,” he grumbles lowly. 

“oh. i see.”

he grabs your hand and takes it away from his chest, holding you gently. “i’m angry that you got hurt.”

you’re speechless, blinking at the swordsman who raises your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it. it feels like a promise- not that you know what said promise is, but with that look in his eyes, you know it’s not a peaceful one. 

“so why don’t you tell me the truth? who did this to you?”

the answer slips past your lips before you can help it and when the words are spilled, a creeping guilt invades you. whatever he’s planning, you know that bloodshed will follow.

“see, that wasn’t so hard.”

in a blink of an eye, blade is gone, taking the intense pressure with him. he left so quickly that you wonder if he was ever here to begin with. the lingering brush of his lips is the only indication that he was not a figment of your half-aware conscious.  

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[writingbyshiloh]

Who Fell First vs. Who Fell Harder, ft. The Boys

Featuring: Butcher, Hughie, and Frenchie

WC: 500

CW: General The Boys world, confessions, fluff etc

AN: Struggled on the parts for my girl Kimiko and MM so I had to leave them out. Mon ange means my angel, no beta

Billy Butcher - Butcher knows how you feel about him. It’s hard not to see the way you look at him after a few too many beers, and how you care about Ryan. How you frown and scrunch your brows together when he comes back hurt and you treat his wounds first. But it’s dangerous. Hunting down supes and his morals makes it hard for him to imagine a life with you. Butcher doesn’t even venture into the possibility that he could like, let alone love someone, in case they leave him or worse, die. He realizes his feelings when you get injured in the field. As Butcher wipes blood from your nose he can’t help but admire how pretty you are that all of his feelings hit him at once. And he knows he's fucked. 

Hughie Campbell - Hughie knows he is in over his head. He can’t even handle half the stuff Butcher does let alone take good care of himself. But you think he's so cute and smart, it’s hard to not be a little in love with him. Your feelings only grow the longer he's on the team, becoming more confident in himself and his capabilities. You’re in love with him but it doesn’t hurt unless you really think about it. Hughie is focused on surviving, not wondering why his pretty teammate always goes out of the way to help him, even at his lowest. Hughie comes to his feelings about you at the WORST possible time. Arms poised, ready to shoot a gun (with improper technique but if you both live then you can teach him later), his feelings bubble up to the surface and he blurts out how deeply he loves you, while you're both trying not to get shot.

Frenchie - Frenchie falls first. He assumes it’s lust and that one night with you would get it out of his system. He swears to MM that one night is all he needs, a man can’t be tied down, right? Until it becomes two until it’s three. Until it morphs into a friendship. Even after sleeping with you three times, your pretty smile still sends his heart reeling. You just think he’s being sweet, giving you French pet names that make you smile, letting you choose what show for the both of you to watch. It happens one night, both of you practically sitting on top of each other to watch your favourite show, and it hits you. You’re in love with your best friend. And you need to let him know immediately. Tipping your head back against his shoulder, you catch his eyes. 

“Frenchie?” you ask softly 

“Oui, mon ange?” 

“I want to kiss you.” You tip your head back against his neck to look at his eyes, then his lips. They curve into a small smile. You can’t help yourself, overcome with emotion that you twist and manoeuvre Frenchie until he is flat on his back and you’re lying on his chest. 

“You have already, mon ange. We’ve done a lot more than that,” he says, one hand coming up to stroke your face and the other on your back. 

“Yeah, but I love you.”

[anantaru]

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ hit it till you catch a cramp

synopsis. ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ being intimate with wriothesley doesn't always go as planned. // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡

cw. rough syx, sweaty, awkward sex moment with the duke himself, fem! reader ♡

soft lips press against your forehead as wriothesley drags his hips against you with one heavy roll forward— and he's greedy, what more was there to expect when he hasn't seen you all week and could only dream on how you'd feel wrapped around him, with your walls twitching as your erect nipples scratch at his solid chest.

you feel your arousal drip out from each smack of his balls hitting your skin as it slid down your ass, turning you utterly absorbed as his hands freely roam over your naked body, your pussy rewarding him with a good squeeze due to his attentive ways of giving each and every part of you enough attention.

"t-that's good angel?" wriothesley drawls out a slow whisper before completely thrusting himself into you without warning, his weight dipping against your body as you're being pressed between his sweat afflicted chest and a doused mattress.

you're too much— and in his eyes, you're being way too irresistible tonight as well— no matter if it's due to the fact that he's been practically awaiting this ever since monday. not only that but the duke was forcing himself not to masturbate to the thought of you and instead, patiently sit still and focus on work until he was able to taste you again.

it had been utterly worth it in the end. always.

you're panting out, arching your back and gripping at his shoulders as he thrusts into you with an impossible pace, tossing his head back and exposing his adams apple upon swallowing thickly. you were certain that wriothesley had to be carved by gods, that his body was a work of art, meticulously drawn with blood, tears and passion, he was beautiful, and the love he gave to you was ravishing in its own rights.

he was yours, yours and yours and he makes you go crazy— yet, if only you were aware that you managed to make him become even crazier and more addictive to your complete person.

your personality, your beauty, your taste.

your skin feels sticky as wriothesley continues to drill the rummaging thoughts straight out of you, clenching his jaw in concentration as he wiped his forehead to get rid of the tousled bangs sticking at the glossy skin.

it's like time has stopped for the both of you, and your stomach was sitting heavy with a coil that was awaiting to be broken when in a trice, wriothesley's hips stutter in midst a long thrust, his previously rough technique turning messier when he tries to regain it, "ahh— wait, fuck," the duke chokes out, shooting you an aching look on his face before placing a palm against his flexed thigh, "just a second baby, yeah,"

"w-what's wrong?" you ask, dusted in lust and sweat as he slowly slides himself out of you.

instinctively, you pout and wince at the sheer loss of him, the fullness of his shaft melting into your softness that never failed to ignite a heat, a need, what it took to nurish your wanting, "is everything okay?"

your voice was firm as your eyes focus at your boyfriend, precisely his hand furiously rubbing at his thigh. he clears his throat as quietly as he could, as to not make a big deal out of it, "— a cramp, i got a cramp, fuck, hold on, okay," he frowns, his strawberry red cheeks refusing to face you before he climbs out of the bed.

his cock was still painfully erect with a condom wrapped around the shaft, glossed with your arousal. you grab onto the blanket to cover yourself a little before grinning at him cheekily, your body propped among pillows as you watched him.

"you're getting old, baby," you jest, smirking as his fingers dug into the plush of his skin, massaging the muscle, "i might need to go easier on you in the future," you add on playfully as at last, winning back his intrigued eye contact.

"you think so?" he clicks his tongue, his cheeky smile all set this time as he crawls back into the bed, his weight forcing the mattress to bounce a bit.

wriothesley finds himself in between your legs again before you welcome him back into your arms. there was so much love in his eyes, a pleading love— hand in hand with an unwavering loyalty as his breath wafts over your lips.

"you know what?" he asks.

"what?"

"it still hurts,"

you laugh to the point where your belly was starting to actually hurt, the blunt admittance said with a gentle tone might've been the best way on how to deliver this sentence to you, "i'm pretty sure i pulled a muscle,"

"i'm sorry but—," you snort before hiding your face in his neck to laugh out, pulling him into your hug tighter, "hey! i'm being serious, don't laugh, it's not funny," wriothesley speaks in both earnest and amusement before silently resting his head against your own.

your hands fall against his precious hair as you stroke over his scalp sensually, the both of you getting carried away by the soft, intimate moment of embracing each other in a raw, playful way.

by that time, you've long since forgotten about the couple minutes prior of skin clashing against skin as you cradle his cheeks to make him look at you softly, "lay down," you command, his marvelous eyes staring back at you, "i'll give you a massage grandpa," you laugh as he hums with a playful roll of his eyes before you frel his lips place a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"what did i ever do to deserve someone so beautiful such as you?"

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[txrully]

hii! I was wondering if i could request request a professional/upcoming volleyball player reader w blue lock boys?

thank you! do this whenever you free💕

ahhh tysm for your request anon!

actually my first time getting a request 🥹🩷

BLLK BOYS WITH A VOLLEYBALL PLAYER!

chars.: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin, hiori yo, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, alexis ness x gn!reader

( although reader is specified as fem in reo, shidou, and kaiser's parts.)

isagi yoichi

this man is obsessed with how you spike. like, borderline analysis mode every time you land a killer shot.

tries so hard to cheer you on during your games, but he’s also yelling tips from the sidelines like he’s your coach.

“nice spike, y/n!! BUT WATCH YOUR BACK LEFT—"

you once invited him to play volleyball, and he absolutely faceplanted while diving for the ball. his soccer instincts don’t always translate well.

lowkey jealous of how you dominate the court but 100% supportive—he’s your number-one fan, and he makes sure you know it.

bachira meguru

oh, he’s playing volleyball with you whether you like it or not.

turns every warmup into an opportunity to spike balls at you for fun.

“c’mon, y/n! block this one! oh, wait—oops, too fast?” giggles maniacally

definitely tries to incorporate soccer dribbling into volleyball. ( spoiler: it doesn’t work, but he thinks it’s hilarious )

somehow, he convinces you to play beach volleyball with him, and he dives into the sand just to make dramatic saves.

chigiri hyoma

he thinks volleyball is artistic—the way you move across the court? beautiful.

he’s not one for loud cheering, but his quiet, supportive claps when you win a point mean everything.

if you challenge him to play volleyball, he absolutely crushes it. His speed makes him terrifying at the net.

you might tease him for being too graceful, and he’ll shoot back with, “at least I don’t trip over my own feet, y/n.”

secretly memorizes your favorite post-game snacks and brings them to every match.

nagi seishiro

volleyball? too much effort. but watching you? sure, he can do that.

if you manage to drag him onto the court, he still dominates because his height makes him impossible to block. he doesn’t even try that hard, which makes it even more annoying.

“huh? i didn’t even jump that high…”

lowkey flexes how good he is when he wants to impress you though.

your games are one of the few things he’ll willingly stay awake for—he’s surprisingly proud when you win, even if he doesn’t say much.

mikage reo

treats your volleyball career like a business venture—he’s always hyping you up to sponsors and teams.

“did you know y/n scored 15 points last game? absolute MVP material.”

if you’re stressed about a big game, he’ll find a way to rent out a fancy gym for you to practice in.

when you win a match, he spoils you—dinner, gifts, whatever you want. you deserve it.

totally brags about you to the blue lock boys, claiming, “she could beat all of you on the court, no question.”

itoshi rin

at first, he doesn’t get why you’re so into volleyball—it’s not soccer, so why bother?

then he watches you play. big mistake. now he’s hooked. he won’t admit it, but he’s insanely proud when you dominate on the court.

refuses to join any friendly volleyball matches because he’s hyper-competitive and will lose it if he makes a mistake.

“volleyball isn’t even my sport, so why would I care if I mess up?”

( spoiler: he cares. a lot. )

secretly watches your games to pick apart your technique, then casually suggests improvements.

“you could be faster on your back-row defense.”

if someone mocks you during a game, rin’s death glare activates, and you have to hold him back from starting a fight.

hiori yo

he’s your calm and quiet supporter who loves the strategy of volleyball.

offers to help you study your opponents before big games and creates detailed notes about their playing styles.

if you’re feeling down after a tough match, hiori has the perfect playlist to cheer you up—it’s borderline magical.

you two bond over the mental aspect of sports, discussing how to stay focused under pressure.

lowkey amazing at volleyball when you play casually together. his precision makes him an insane setter, and he always puts the ball exactly where you need it.

your games are one of the few things he actively looks forward to, and he’s not shy about letting you know how proud he is of you.

shidou ryusei

this menace turns your volleyball practices into pure chaos. he spikes every ball like he’s trying to break the sound barrier.

“c’mon, y/n, don’t be scared! It’s just a little power spike!”

he has zero chill when watching your games.

he’s yelling from the stands, making the wildest comments, and hyping you up louder than anyone else.

“THAT’S MY GIRL! DESTROY THEM!!”

shidou’s energy is unmatched, and while it’s chaotic, it’s also incredibly motivating.

if anyone talks smack about your playing, they better run because shidou takes it personally.

itoshi sae

in the beginning, he acts indifferent—volleyball isn’t soccer, so why should he care?

but once he sees your precision and skill, his interest is piqued. he starts showing up to your games, claiming he’s “just passing by.”

he’s annoyingly good at volleyball when you play together. his smug smirk when he blocks your spikes is enough to make you want to scream.

“was that your best, y/n? try harder.”

despite his teasing, sae respects your dedication and often gives you genuine advice on handling pressure during big matches.

after a win, he’ll give you a subtle nod and say, “good job.”

( that’s basically a love confession coming from him. )

michael kaiser

volleyball? amateur sport. but you? an exception. he’s intrigued by how passionate you are about it.

always finds a way to make everything a competition—“i bet i’d be better at volleyball than you in a week.”

ends up eating his words when you destroy him during a friendly match. he’s so salty about it but tries to play it cool.

“i let you win. don’t get cocky, liebe.”

he calls you his “queen of the court” and insists on showing up to your games in the flashiest outfits, drawing attention everywhere.

secretly loves seeing you in your element and is constantly impressed, though he’ll only admit it in private.

alexis ness

the most polite and supportive fanboy you could ask for. he’s always clapping and smiling during your games.

if you’re nervous before a match, ness is the one calming you down with his soothing words and quiet confidence in you.

he’s surprisingly good at volleyball basics and helps you practice when you need a setter. his gentle encouragement makes training with him a joy.

“you’ve got this, y/n. i believe in you more than anyone.”

keeps a journal of your games where he writes down highlights and his favorite moments—it’s his way of showing how much he cares.

gets a little flustered when you thank him for his support but brushes it off with a shy smile.

© 𝘁𝘅𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆 :: 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰

𝘥𝘰 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴.

[sonotpattismith]

gee willikers, batman!

pairing: boxer!choso x nurse!reader word count: 11k content: fluff, always a lil angsty w/ me, commitment issues, mentions of toxic relationship dynamics, for my girlies w/ a fearful-avoidant attachment style, big brother choso, mentions of abuse and domestic violence, smut, 18+ a/n: not sure if I like how this turned out but alas we shall persevere :')

You desperately needed to develop a better taste in men. Or a therapist. Whichever came to you faster would be best. 

In reality, it should have been a sign early on into your career when you were so drawn toward the Emergency Department specifically that perhaps you had a certain… affinity for the more chaotic things in life. It was evident in your job, and it was evident in your disaster ex-boyfriend who you’d just broken up with a mere week shy of your one year anniversary. 

He, like the many other men you’ve let waltz into your life, might as well have had ‘RED FLAG’ tattooed across his forehead, but it seemed you were never satisfied unless you were on the brink of a complete crash out— at least that was how you’d always felt until now. Maybe you were getting too old for it, all the bad boy types who had you clinging onto your phone in a furious rage most nights arguing over god knows what. It was never simple, but you seemed to enjoy the thrill of the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ types of attitudes. 

Again, at least until your latest wannabe edge lord candidate had had you so fed up with his overbearing possessiveness that you were sure your nervous system was completely fried. It wasn’t until that last fight though, that ended with your phone screen shattered after he’d tossed it across the room in a child-like tantrum that was just so like him— the one after which you found yourself having to practice the very same fucking grounding techniques you’d show your patients when experiencing panic attacks prior to procedures— you thought perhaps it was time for a change. 

Which was precisely why you couldn’t for the life of you understand why your coworker insisted on taking you here of all places. Ierie had been working with you for a few years now, so she had already heard about every argument, block, and makeup between you and that disaster of an ex-boyfriend of yours. Though she tried (not very hard but tried nonetheless) to conceal her unbridled excitement when you told you that you had ended things, she was practically bursting at the seams. 

After the poorly concealed praise to a higher being she performed following the news, she did still want to be there for you. That was why she insisted on hanging out tonight so you wouldn’t have to be alone on what was supposed to be your one year anniversary. The catch was though, she seemed to have forgotten that she had already promised one of her long time friends from highschool that she’d be at his fight that same night. 

Which led you to the very predicament you were in now, damn near overstimulated by the hollering and sweaty bodies pushing against you in the overcrowded, modestly sized arena that looked like it hadn’t been maintenanced in at least ten years. Ierie’s cold hand was dragging you by the wrist to assure you didn’t get swallowed up by the crowd, claiming that her friend had already reserved two spots toward the front. 

“I know I came here to support him, but I don’t think Suguru is winning this thing.” She shouted over the crowd once you two found your spots, watching as a burly man stalked around the area taking bets for the fight. 

“Geez, some friend you are.” You snorted with an amused shake of your head. “Does he suck or something?”

Truthfully, you knew nothing about boxing. It was never really your thing, even though you seemed to have quite a few mutual friends involved in the local boxing scene. You weren’t sure of the big names that everyone threw around, who was good and who was mediocre. Despite the fact that you’d much rather be rotting in bed, wallowing in your own self-pity right about now, you figured you should at least try to enjoy yourself and understand what you were watching. 

“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head, her neck craning up to watch as the boxers began making their way out. “The guy he’s going up against is like a fucking machine. He never loses— at least I’ve never seen it.”

“Crazy strong?” You assumed, watching as the man you recognized as her friend hopped into the ring, his long hair pulled back into a neat bun out of his face. Shoko hummed unconvincingly. 

“Nah, I heard he’s got a kid or something. So, I think he’s just crazy determined is all.” 

You hummed, suddenly intrigued to see someone going against Geto— who was already scarily large in your book— with nothing but pure motivation to provide under his belt. As they announced his name— Choso— and he ducked into the ring across from his opponent, you realized that he definitely had more on his side than Shoko let on. 

“Holy shit.” You muttered under your breath, lips parting as you watched him shed his jacket. He looked fairly young for a father, but the dark circles under his eyes surely fit the bill. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so shocked given his line of work, but the man was built like a tank, insanely broad shoulders to carry around those down right dangerous biceps of his.

“Eh? Didn’t I say this would take your mind off of what’s his face?” Your friend grinned knowingly with a teasing nudge of her elbow. She jutted her chin toward the ring. “Think his kid needs a step-mom?”

“Ierie,” You flushed with a breathless laugh. Suguru and Choso met in the middle of the ring, touching their gloved fists together as they awaited the match to begin. “Did you not hear me when I said I need a little bit of peace in my life for once?”

She didn’t respond to your rhetorical question though, because the opening bell was ringing and the boxers began dancing around the ring faster than you could process, administering and dodging blows so fluidly it almost looked choreographed. You noticed how Choso protected his face the majority of the match, ducking and dodging far more than actually swinging. When he did swing though, he swung hard. You wondered with your limited knowledge of the sport if his strategy was just tiring his opponent out. 

A few minutes in, you found yourself flinching back with each punch that was thrown his way, but Geto rarely landed one on his opponent. 

“I knew you’d go gaga for this!” Shoko shouted with a delighted laugh. “You love the dangerous ones!” 

“Shut up!” You grumbled back at her, chewing at the side of your thumb anxiously as the two grew closer to the side of the ring you and Shoko were stationed at. 

Of course, they likely knew what they were doing, but you couldn’t help but think of worst case scenario where these two two-hundred plus pound fighters toppled over the ring and onto your unsuspecting and unprepared body. You abruptly stood from your seat as Geto was cornered against the ring, his back facing you just a mere couple feet away. 

From up close as Choso was landing calculated blows on his trapped opponent, you were able to see that subtle pout in his lips that contrasted against the big and scary vibe every other part of him emanated. The mark across his nose scrunched up in sheer focus, stray bangs from his haphazard bun falling across his forehead. 

It only took a second, your abrupt movement shifting in his peripheral. His dark eyes drifted up just over Geto’s shoulder and met yours. The gloved fists that had been raised and shielding his face for nearly the entire match slowly faltered, drifting down in hopes of getting a better look at your wide eyed expression. 

Those glossy eyes were locked on him, and perhaps he was too awestruck to note that— yeah, everyone was looking at him right now— because it truly did feel as though you were the only one in the room for even just a moment. The whiplash hit him straight in the ribs harder than any opponent could land, knocking the air from his lungs as he watched your face morph in horror. It was just milliseconds following the abrupt change that Geto’s glove was hitting him smack-dab in the center of his face. 

You yelled out in surprise as Choso was instantly knocked back, falling onto the unforgiving ground below him while the arena erupted in hollers, because shit, everyone had bet on him. Even Suguru looked taken aback by how quickly his opponent dropped, because he’d fought with him before and definitely knew that he usually kept his stance stiff enough so that blows like that didn’t take him down so easily— and they certainly never kept him down.

The referee had knelt down beside him to count him down, but you were more concerned by the way blood had begun to trickle out of his nose and even the corner of his mouth. His eyes were barely open, squinting blearily at the blinding lights above him. 

“He’s gonna aspirate if they don’t move him off his back.” You shouted desperately at Shoko, clutching anxiously onto her elbow. 

“They have to count him down— rules are rules.” She stated absentmindedly, getting on her tiptoes to get a better look. “You’re off the clock.”

Ten seconds. He could get through it, you tried to convince yourself as you bounced on your heels. Time was moving too slow though, and you watched in dread as his chest heaved with a cough, the blood that had gathered in his mouth sputtering up to paint his chin and cheeks. 

“They’re gonna kill him.” Your frantic declaration had barely processed in your friend's mind before you were hopping through the ropes and hoisting yourself into the ring. She was yelling out to you, and one of the boxer’s cornermen shot forward to stop you, but you had already slid onto your knees beside the referee, who was also trying to push you back. “He’s choking on his blood!” 

They paused at your sudden, furied response, too startled to do anything as you grabbed his shoulder and mustered all your strength to roll him onto his side. Finally on his side, you reached over to pull the guard from his mouth. At once, Choso began sputtering up and coughing, coating the floor with the blood that he had been drowning in.

As he continued clearing his airway, your fingers carefully dug into the back of his head, threading through his hair to check for blood. With the sudden movements, he was slowly beginning to come to, though all he could hear through the ringing in his ears was the muffled uproar from the crowd. Blinking back his delirium, he lazily shifted onto his back once again, eyes drifting back shut.

“No, no, no— sit up for me.” Your voice instructed him through the haze of his attempted slumber. 

Even Geto had shed his gloves and was kneeling down to help you get him upright. 

“I didn’t even hit him that hard.” He explained in bafflement, the most subtle layer of guilt twinging his tone. “It’s like he completely ragdolled for a second.”

It took all the energy Choso had remaining to blink up at you. The sight of you— the same girl who had thrown him out of his zone for likely the first time ever in his career— his consciousness seemed to come flooding back to him. Sitting up quickly with your’s and Geto’s urging hands under his back, he looked around frantically in an attempt to grasp what had happened. 

“Do you feel nauseous?” You asked him as he watched your lips form in a frenzy around the words. 

Blood was beginning to pour from his quickly bruising nose into his lips, and the thus far useless cornermen bounded over with a small towel. Bunching it up, you carefully placed it onto his nose before tilting his head forward to allow it to flow out. 

“I-I don’t—” Choso was stammering, as was so very common for him, but never in the ring, and he was coming to the mortifying revelation that the insanely gorgeous girl just watched him get the lights knocked out of him with a single blow. 

Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words. You moved the towel aside to hear him better. 

“I don’t usually, uh—” He gulped, face flushing embarrassingly dark for someone who was on the brink of a possible concussion. You tilted your head at him. “Y’know, lose that easy— hah.” 

His attempted nonchalant laughter sounded more like a nervous sigh, but his slurred explanation had an amused smile curling through the concerned pout of your lips. He found himself smiling along with you, blood coating his teeth. 

“So I’ve heard, hot-shot.” You quipped with a shake of your head, pressing the towel back into his nose just as the medic finally hopped into the ring. Your eyes remained on his dopey expression as you tilted your head to the side to address them in a hushed tone. “Check him for a concussion, he’s looking crazy.”

Choso did not, in fact, have a concussion. At least that’s what the medic deduced in the back after having assessed him. Given that there, for some god forsaken reason, only seemed to be one medic present, you aided in transporting him to the back where you stuck around for support. Shoko was rolling her eyes in exasperation, mumbling something incoherent about your never taking a day off. She was however thoroughly entertained by the notion that the Choso Kamo got knocked onto his ass for the first time solely because he got a glimpse of you. Despite the evidence that was pointing there, you vehemently continued to disagree with her on what caused his little hiccup in the ring. 

The medic was packing his things up as you were not-so-subtly re-checking his pupil reactions, because you seriously were questioning the credentials of the supposed medical professional that was about to let the man aspirate right in the ring. Choso didn’t question your insistence on double-checking, his wide, chocolate eyes following your pen light obediently— any excuse to be at the center of your attention for a little longer, right?

“So you’re, um—” His gaze fluttered as you clicked the light off before switching it to your other hand and turning it back on. “You’re a doctor?” 

You smiled fondly and shook your head. 

“An ER nurse— my friend over there’s a doctor though.” You explained, nodding your head back to where Shoko was speaking to Geto. She shouted something about being off the clock before continuing her conversation. 

Choso hummed, blinking away the spots in his eyes left behind by the light. Upon closer inspection, you noted that the mark running jaggedly across his nose and cheeks was a scar, and not an oddly placed tattoo as you had assumed when first seeing it. If he noticed you staring, he made no indication of it— not with the puppy-dog like gaze he still had on you, a small smile on his blood-stained lips. 

His attention was pulled away from you as a ping rang from his dufflebag. Tearing his eyes from yours, he quickly fumbled through his clothes before procuring his cellphone. In a last-ditch effort to make it seem like you weren’t just staring at the man, you busied yourself with cleaning up the blood-soaked towels and tissues that had begun surrounding him. 

“Is everything okay?” Choso had barely glanced at the screen before quickly taking the call. “He’s still not asleep?”

You watched his brows furrow from your peripheral, and you desperately tried to mind your own business. In the louder corners of your mind though, Shoko’s words rang in your mind about his having a child. Despite only having spoken a few words to him, you just couldn’t see how this young, gentle-giant of a man was a father. 

“Yeah,” His voice had become lighter suddenly, an amused smile painting his face so affectionately it damn near gave you baby fever. “Tell him I’m fine— I should be home in a little bit.”

You quickly averted your sidelong glance once he hung up the phone, moving to wash your blood stained hands in the dingy sink that sat in the corner. From the mirror, you could see him digging through his bag to grab a shirt. 

“Sorry— my babysitter called.” He explained as he tugged a baggy, graphic tee over his head. As if it took him a moment to realize how that sounded, his frantic face was quickly popping out the neck of the shirt to clarify. “I take care of my little brother, I mean. I’m not um— y’know, his… dad.”

With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you could have cursed yourself for the subtle excitement brewing in your stomach at the fact that this man was likely single—  and he wanted you to know it, too. Reaching down to grab your bag from the bench, you slung it over your shoulder.  Jumping into action, Choso was quickly picking up his own bag to walk beside you. 

“Big brother’s a boxer, huh? He must think you’re a god.” 

“Oh, he doesn’t know, actually.” He corrected with a subtle flush, his hand fiddling with the strap of his bag. Noting the way your brows rose in surprise, he offered a meek smile. “I just don’t want him getting caught up in all this.”

“And how does he suppose you get all those bruises then?” You teased, but you were quickly putting two and two together that keeping his job a secret from his little brother was likely the reason for his oddly calculated boxing approach. He never seemed to make risky moves, always preferring to protect himself above all else and only striking when he was sure to land it. 

Suddenly, a bashful expression overtook his face, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly as his eyes darted away from you. It was undeniably endearing to see such a tall and muscular man so easily flustered, especially considering how solemnly terrifying he appeared in the ring. 

“Well, he…” He scratched at his head before huffing out a chuckle. “He kind of thinks I’m Batman.”

A choked laugh attempted to hide itself within your throat, but it, of course, failed miserably. Choso turned away from you in hopes that you wouldn’t see the maroon color that painted his neck and cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. That’s just really cute.” You explained through uncontrolled giggles, not missing the way Shoko rose a knowing brow at you as the two of you drew closer. “Well, uh… good luck with that bruise then, Batman.”

“Y-You should let me grab you dinner— y’know to… thank you for not letting me choke.” You turned as Choso chuckled nervously, the hand you had placed on your friend’s arm to head out with her falling. 

 Your gaze fluttered as you looked back at his hopeful expression, but all you could think about was the fact that you’d just broken up with your boyfriend just a week prior because he was no good for you. Staring back at the crusted blood at the corner of his mouth, along with the way his nose was blossoming with a vibrant black and blue hue, you shook your head with an apologetic smile. 

“I’ve got a shift in the morning.” You explained, having to turn away lest your heart break at the way his face seemed to fall ever-so-slightly. “But I hope you feel better!”

As you and Shoko left, she was whisper-shouting over her shoulder an apology to him about your only liking assholes with a feigned subtlety. It was the subdued goodnight that he still called out to you even in the midst of his rejection that had you staring up at your ceiling that night wondering if you’d always be hard-wired to make things difficult for yourself. 

You wished you had had the opportunity to forget about the interaction altogether the following morning at the start of your shift. Typically, working in the ER meant fast-paced, constantly needing to be on edge, and certainly not having the time to think about anything else other than what might be walking through those doors at any moment. As fate would have it though, today was one of the rare instances that your shift was absolutely dragging. 

It was already nearly a quarter of the way into your shift, and all you had triaged so far was an elderly woman with a mild cough, a kid trying to get out of his school’s testing day with a feigned stomach ache, and a hungover college student in desperate need of IV fluids. Needless to say, you were beginning to grow restless. 

You were a mere ten minutes away from throwing in the towel and taking your lunch break early, a luxury you were almost never privileged to, when your pager pinged alerting a new patient. Sitting up with a start, you quickly clicked at your computer to wake it up and check the chart. 

Possible head injury; rule out TBI

Maybe if you hadn’t been so eager to just get up and do something, you would have read into their chart more. For now though, you were avidly collecting your things to check in the first patient you’ve had in the last two hours. Lugging the vitals machine behind you, you offered a soft knock on the wall as you glanced over the chart one more time and slid the curtain open. Your mouth popped open as your eyes finally landed on the name. 

“Choso?” You muttered under your breath, brows furrowing as you looked up from the chart to see the very man you suspected perched upon the sterile bed. 

He almost looked surprised to see you at first, those dewey eyes of his widening ever-so-slightly at the sight of you before a smile spread across his lips. Upon first glance, he looked to be the picture of health (save for the now diabolical bruise spread across the center of his face), smiling and bright eyed with no visible reason for why he’d be complaining of a head injury. As if noting the way your eyes began to narrow doubtfully at him, he quickly attempted to wipe the smile from his face. 

“Um— I was… I was starting to feel symptoms of a concussion.” The burly man stammered out as though rehearsed. 

Barely able to bite back your own amused grin, you tucked the chart under your arm before leaning against the wall expectantly. You made a go on motion with a wave of your hand, but Choso hadn’t expected to be so distracted by the sight of you in your scrubs. Rolling his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, he gulped nervously. 

“Y’know, like a… headache a-and uh…” An anxious smile graced his face as you raised a skeptical brow at him. He couldn’t help it though— not with the way your jogger-style scrub bottoms hugged at your curves so tantalizingly, and you looked so cute with your stethoscope hanging around your neck, the one that would surely catch the way his traitorous heart was racing against his rib cage. 

“How did you know which hospital I worked at, Choso?” You finally interrogated once he’d been stammering a little too long to come up with other relevant symptoms. 

He cast his eyes to the side as you moved to pull the sleeve of his t-shirt up to wrap the blood pressure cuff around his bulging bicep. Though you had already deduced that he was likely fine, he had still been registered as a patient, and now you needed to go through the typical procedures. You wondered if he was even aware of how attractive he was, because the way he remained oblivious to the manner in which you ran a hand unnecessarily down his arm on your way to the pump told you that he had no clue.

“Lucky guess.” He tried to come off as cool, hoping you wouldn’t see through the fact that this was the third emergency room he’d been to today. It wouldn’t let him rest though— the memory of you hovering above him as he came to, the thought that you had jumped into a boxing ring for a stranger and essentially saved his life. “You didn’t let me thank you yesterday. You saved my life.”

“Don’t you have a kid to be taking care of?” You quipped teasingly, a bit flustered at his gratitude as you undid the cuff from his arm. This time around, he did notice the way you rubbed soothingly at the mark left behind by the cuff, and whether conscious or not, he found himself flexing his arm ever-so-slightly just for you.

“Yuji? He’s at school.” Choso explained dismissively before quickly veering back on topic. “I wanted to make sure you were coming to the rematch, but I didn’t have your number.”

He opened his mouth obediently as you nudged the thermometer against his lips, lifting his tongue for you to rest it underneath. The way his pretty, pink lips wrapped around the thermometer made your breath hitch, and you forced yourself to tear your eyes from his as they bore intently into you. You hummed once it beeped, shedding the sterile cover into the bin by the bed. 

“Rematch, huh?” He nodded, fervent eyes following each of your movements as you turned to confirm his vitals into the machine before turning back to face him once again. “I hate to disappoint, but I’m not actually into boxing.”

“You were front row at the match last night.” He rationalized, and his shoulders were slowly falling in disappointment. After a moment, he shook his head before continuing his pursuit. “Then let me take you to dinner at least.”

“Listen, I’m just not really—”

Your excuse was cut off when, after barely a moment of contemplation, Choso grabbed the chart from your hand and tossed it to the floor. A few owlish blinks were sent his way.   

“Your friend said you like assholes.” The man explained simply, but it was clearly eating him alive, evident in the way his determined eyes darted between you and the clipboard that had just got done clattering on the floor. A couple, painfully silent seconds passed before he kissed his teeth quietly, sliding off the bed to pick it back up for you anyway.

Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for your sanity, that little failed stunt worked on you, and Choso bounded out of the ER that afternoon with your contact in his phone. Still, you made it clear to him that you’d reach out to him when you were ready. He nodded along intently as you explained that you had only just gotten out of a relationship, and you didn’t exactly feel that you trusted your ability to pick a man right now. 

It didn’t matter to him though, because you had saved his number under Batman on your phone, and he had never been so proud of the silly persona his baby brother had assigned to him. So, he assured you not to worry, that there was no rush, and that he owed you a dinner whenever it was that you felt like having him.  Sure, the next few days may have been spent glued to his phone in hopes that you’d get over your idiot of an ex-boyfriend sooner rather than later, but he could be patient, right?

It wasn’t until nearly a month later that he began to worry that perhaps you had only taken his number with the hopes that he’d leave you alone. Perhaps you were just letting him down easy. After all, he had shown up to your job after already having gotten a no from you. Choso had never been great with women​​— he’d never had the opportunity to, what with his taking over care for Yuji so early on into what were supposed to be his prime bachelor days. 

Up until now though, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t had the chance to grow out of his awkward, teenage boy cadence, he’d never thought much of it. Sure, he was a man, and he had needs too, but there were always more important things to worry about— like putting food on the table and keeping a roof over the head of his baby brother. His job certainly didn’t require him to be a smooth talker, or a talker at all for that matter. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read the body language or social cues that women threw at him— not until it was you that he couldn’t get a read on. 

What he didn’t know was that you had spent the month waging war on yourself. The battle consisted of the you that wanted to remain in the familiar arms of men who your commitment fearing heart was sure to see no future with and the you that wondered if taking the hot, kind-eyed boxer’s offer of taking you to dinner and treating you like an adult human being was such a bad thing. 

The decision was proving to be more difficult than you could have ever anticipated, because it was as if your man-child of an ex-boyfriend could smell that you were contemplating doing better for yourself once, and he had been texting you for weeks now. There were apologies, paragraphs sent about how your constant arguments only meant that you two were passionate about one another— ones that had you rolling your eyes while simultaneously thinking that this was the safe option. 

You had come to a fork in the road though, as you stared down at his text asking if you’d meet him at the place you two met— some dingy arcade where you always had to hold your breath in because it seemed none of the men in attendance knew what soap or deodorant were. It was the same place where you remember finding it charming how heated he’d get over losing a game— it was quirky and hot and you couldn’t possibly see how that short-temper might pose a challenge to your relationship. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, your thumbs hovered over the cracked screen that had lain witness to just how un-charming that temper could get. Glancing up at your carefully placed makeup in the mirror, you realized that you had missed getting all done up— missed going out instead of sulking in your apartment and contemplating where your abysmal attachment style could have possibly manifested from. With a shake of your head, you decided that you had put far too much effort into yourself to end up in that cesspool of a joint by the end of the night. 

The cool wind nipped at your cheeks as you tried to borrow yourself deeper into the collar of your coat. You thought that perhaps you should have just waited in the car, but, then again, you weren’t exactly familiar with the protocol for proper dates. The dim lighting offered by the awning outside of the quietly buzzing restaurant cast a soft glow onto the wooden bench you were sitting on as you anxiously peered at the parking lot. 

Just as you were on the brink of losing a toe to hyperthermia, an older looking, black cat peeled into the parking lot, barely coming to a stop before the driver’s door was swinging open. Choso’s frantic gaze caught yours almost instantly, and he almost appeared relieved that you hadn’t left.

“I’m so sorry, I know I’m late.” He babbled, shutting his door firmly before glancing into the back of his car. “Look, I um… I understand if you’re not cool with this, but my babysitter canceled on me last minute.”

In the midst of his hesitant explanation, he was tugging the backseat open, offering you one last apprehensive glance before ducking his head in. When he emerged once again, it was with a pink-haired, bright-eyed toddler in his arms. You stood up as Choso walked your way, whispering something that, by the look of the softly stern expression on his face, looked to be a warning to behave to his little brother before setting him down.

“I’m really sorry about this. If you want to go I—”

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to my date, Choso?” Your mockingly stern tone halted his mortified rambling. 

The boy, barely reaching his brother’s mid-thigh, was looking up at you with that fiercely curious expression that only a toddler assessing your danger level could pull off. His small, gloved hand was clutching onto Choso’s pointer and middle finger as the fake fur on his tiger beanie swayed with the gust of wind that whipped his way. 

It certainly wasn’t how you had expected to spend your night off, but something about that exasperated guilt in Choso’s tone made your heart clench. All these years you had spent worrying about which douchebag you’d be picking yourself back up over, and this man, who couldn’t have been much older than you at all, had never had that stupid privilege. Such a miniscule act as not raising a fuss over his bringing his baby brother to dinner with him had him staring at you as though you’d hung the stars in the sky, and you suddenly decided that you had made the right decision that night. 

A small, delighted smile tugged at his lips, and he quickly looked down to nudge the boy forward.

“This is Yuji, and he promised he was going to be on his best behavior for our friend tonight, right?” Choso urged with a subtle desperation hidden in his eyes. Your heart nearly melted as he nodded ardently with a soft sneeze.

“Niichan never has girl friends—” 

“Okay, Yuji! Why don’t you show her how you open the door like a gentleman?” He eagerly cut off his brother’s innocent confession with a rapidly flushing face, scooping him up so that he could reach the handle. You offered a knowing, sidelong glance at the flustered man, unable to bite back your tickled smile as you nodded to Yuji in thanks as he held the door open for you with a prideful beam.

Choso had just about jumped out of his skin when your name randomly popped onto his phone. He must have re-read your text twenty times to assure he was understanding correctly, because the girl who had been radio silent for nearly a month was asking if tonight was a good night for her to cash in on the dinner he owed her. 

Truthfully, it wasn’t a good night. He had been expecting to stay home with Yuji tonight given he didn’t have a match, and his brother didn’t have school the next morning. Because of that, he really didn’t have anyone lined up to babysit tonight. He frantically called his usual babysitter, practically begging her to come on such short notice, and he nearly did a backflip when she agreed. 

Yuji was following him around the house with that lighthearted laugh, the kind that made Choso think that maybe he wasn’t doing such a bad job at taking care of him after all, asking him why he was practically bouncing around the house as he rushed to shower and dug recklessly through his closet for something decent to wear. 

It had all come crashing down on him just ten minutes before he was supposed to leave, already having explained to his little brother that his babysitter would be coming tonight, when the woman in question called to let him know that her shift at her full-time job had gone over schedule. He sat hunched over his phone on the couch for what seemed like eternity as he contemplated what to do.

It had taken you an entire month to finally agree to a date with him. Would you change your mind if he canceled on you with such short notice? Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he noted that he was already going to be late, and the thought of leaving you waiting for him at the restaurant had him making the executive decision to bundle his little brother up in his winter clothes and pack him in the car with him. 

Halfway to the restaurant was when it hit him that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, but it was too late now. He wasn’t sure anything could have prepared him for how quickly you’d let it slide off your shoulders, and certainly not for how easily you’d work Yuji into what was meant to be a date with just you two. 

Here he was though, lips parted stupidly as he watched you allow the boy to steal bites off of your plate (despite how many times he’d already swatted his hand away in mortification) and follow along with all the longwinded stories that toddlers were so good at telling with no real conclusion in sight. It seemed impossible for him to have found you anymore beautiful than he already did, but you were proving him wrong with every affectionate smile sent his way each time Yuji would innocently reveal another humiliating detail about his older brother to you.

“If I had known he was going to woo you so hard I would have left him in the car.” Choso joked with a timid smile, already having had his fill of embarrassment for one night following Yuji’s announcement that he cried everytime he watched Brother Bear with him.

You thought having the five-year-old around helped lessen what typically would have been a painfully awkward first date. Additionally, the seemingly tight-knit relationship they had made you wonder how Choso had found himself with such a responsibility so young in the first place. Of course, with Yuji around, it was hard to veer onto the topic. 

“And how else would I have found out so much about the big, bad Choso Kamo?” You teased as Yuji busied himself with a coloring page the waitress had brought over (much to his brother’s relief). “Brother Bear, huh? Can’t blame you, that one used to get me too.”

“I don’t cry everytime.” 

“Mhmm,” With an unconvinced hum, you peered up at him through the rim of your cup as you took a sip. “So, what turned you into a bear then, hm?”

The fond smile on his face slowly dissipated, leading you to believe that what you thought was a harmlessly joking question held more depth than you gave it credit for. Soon, your smile was quickly falling too as you sat up a little straighter.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” He reassured, attempting to bring that same lighthearted nature back around, but his eyes were heavier as he regarded you kindly. “I just… had to be.”

It was the only explanation he offered you, and somehow it was enough for you to understand the gravity of whatever their situation must have been— at least for now.

“So,” Your gaze fluttered about his chiseled face as you tried to rectify the now solemn energy at the table. Glancing toward Yuji, you noted that he was still concentrated on his coloring, a crayon clutched in one hand and a fry in the other. Still, you lowered your voice a bit as you leaned in closer to Choso. “How did your rematch go?”

“Thought you said you weren’t into it.” 

“Didn’t say I wasn’t into you.”

This caught him off guard, whatever fleeting confidence he had to banter back and forth with you flying out the window just as your own words processed back to you. For a fleeting moment, you almost allowed yourself to be embarrassed by your own forwardness. Something about how easily he could be rendered speechless made it worth it though. After a moment, his lips twitched up nervously as he tried to reign in control of the conversation once again. 

“Thought you liked assholes.” Choso whispered, praying his little brother wasn’t going to absorb that word into his subconscious to spring on him later. 

Pursing your lips, you looked down at the cracked phone screen that had pulled you out of your stupor just hours prior. The man followed your eyes, taking note of the way you ran your finger absentmindedly down the shattered glass. You didn’t say anything, but he seemed to have heard it all, his face falling in quiet recognition. He had seen it before— that look of silent defeat in your eyes fighting against a cycle all too familiar to him.

“The rematch was good.” He offered with a soft, knowing smile, hoping to pull you from wherever your thoughts had wandered to. You peered back up at him. “Kicked his ass. I can be an asshole too— just… not to you, yeah?”

Choso couldn’t have known how deep his words burrowed themselves into your mind, replaying on repeat that entire drive home as your heart pounded against your chest. He had walked you to your car after dinner, Yuji clinging onto his back as he drifted off into what looked to be a nasty food coma. The look on his face said that he wasn’t sure what to do next, but you could certainly guess what was on his mind. 

So, you were grateful when his little brother stirred away and tugged at his hair, pouting about it being too cold and wanting to go home. The man’s shoulder’s deflated ever-so-slightly, and he offered an apologetic smile and a promise that he’d text you.

You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

Choso Kamo scared you unlike any other raging hot-head had ever managed to in the past. At least with your past… distasteful selections, you could predict their moves, you knew it would only go so far. With him though, you could feel yourself wanting more, because he was sweet and genuine, and he was the type of guy that would make a nest in your heart so as not to disturb your peace rather than shatter it with an attempt to mold it to accommodate the jagged edges he refused to file down.

Without the expected downfalls of the disasters you set yourself up for, how could you prepare yourself if he disappointed you in a way you hadn’t already premeditated? Other men filtered in and out of your life, never leaving an impact heavier than a break of routine in their wake— but Choso? If you allowed him to stay, you knew it would ache in ways you’d never known if Choso left. 

Despite your fear of falling, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore him when he texted you later that night asking if you'd made it home, or even the next morning when he wished you a good shift. With each affectionate-smiled reply, you could feel your stomach twisting in fear as you hoped you’d snap out of this haze before the shoe dropped. 

It was the very reason that you hesitated when your phone rang just two days later, his name lighting up your phone at an hour far too late at night to be considered friendly. Blinking back the tired haze in your eyes from staring at your television for too long, you felt that familiar anxiety swimming in your throat. Your thumb trembled nervously as it hovered over the button to accept the call. Shaking off your nerves, you swiped to answer the call. 

“Hey, Cho—”

“Hello?” His voice was panicked on the other line, making you sit up from where you had been vegetating on your couch. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it’s late— I need your help.”

Muffled in the background, you could hear the distinct wailing of a child you assumed to be his little brother. The sound made you kick the blanket off your lap, already breaking out into a nervous cold-sweat. 

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Yuji— he’s sick, and his fever won’t go down, and he’s not keeping down any of his medicine, and—”

“Okay, calm down.” You cut off his nervous rambling as you shoved your boots on under your fleece pajama pants. “How high is his fever? You should take him to urgent care.”

“I’m trying, h-he has a thing with hospitals.” The man sounded as though he was on the brink of tears, panting subtly in a manner that had you wondering how long he had been wrestling with the boy in order to get him to an urgent care before he gave up and called you. “Please, I don’t know what to do.”

Choso could barely hear your knocking over his brother’s incessant crying, and had he been more alert of his surroundings he would have wondered how in the hell his neighbors hadn’t sent in a noise complaint yet. After nearly a minute with no response, you knocked again, more forcefully this time. 

When he finally opened the door, you would have assumed that he was the one battling a flu— what with his flushed face, disheveled locks, and red waterline. Having to endure his brother’s suffering alone was killing him, and he’d never felt more useless than he did tonight. 

“Choso…” You sighed regretfully, nearly reaching up to pull him into a hug, but he was quickly latching onto your wrist to pull you into the living room where Yuji was bundled up on the couch, his little face flaming with a mix of the exertion from his pained wails and the fever that was still ravaging his system. 

Kneeling down beside the couch, you touched your hand against his forehead. Even with the frigidness that still nipped at your hands from the chill outside, it was clear that he was practically scorching.

“He’s burning up, Choso.” You muttered frantically, making quick work to pull the countless blankets off of him. He was kicking out in protest with each layer you removed, and his brother was quickly moving to push his legs down lest you get kicked in the face. “You need to cool him down.”

“He— he kept shivering…” The man was gulping down tears of frustration, because all he was trying to do was to get him to stop crying. It was breaking his heart with each octave he reached, and he was sure that he’d find a way to make the sun rise early if it meant he could have stopped whatever it was that was making Yuji so uncomfortable. 

“It’s okay,” You reassured, taking note of the fragile emotional state this situation had put him in. It was becoming clearer by the minute that Choso was new to doing this on his own. “We need to put him in a cold bath.”

The man nodded in a haze, reaching down to scoop the flailing boy into his arms as he cried out in protest. You followed closely behind him as he made his way to the bathroom and flipped the light on. 

“I’m cold!” Yuji choked out, only making his brother feel that much more guilty as he pried his clothes off of him. You stepped around him to fill the tub with cool water. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Choso mumbled despondently, dodging each of his kicks with stunning precision. “We’re trying to help you, buddy, okay?”

“What have you given him?” You questioned, finally shedding your puffer jacket you began to sweat with the frantic movements. 

“Nothing, he’s spitting everything out.” Choso’s voice raised in exasperation, though you knew better than to think it was directed at you. 

You paced out the restroom as he lowered Yuji into the frigid water, and you thought surely his throat would start to bleed soon from the way his screams were scratching it raw. It didn’t take long for you to find the medicine cabinet after rummaging through the kitchen, and you made quick work to toss a fever reducer into a plastic bag to begin crushing it. Peeking your head into the refrigerator, you grabbed the carton of apple juice that was sitting on the shelf. Once your child-proof cocktail was thoroughly mixed, you made your way back down the hall.

“Please, Yuji, just sit still.” You heard Choso pleading desperately, followed by the frantic splashes of the attempted escapee. 

“Let me go!”

“It’ll make you feel better—”

“I want Mom!” 

You paused in the doorway at Yuji’s sobbed request, unsure whether or not to intrude. Clutching the cup to your constricting chest, you leaned against the wall just beside the bathroom door as you heard Choso sigh despairingly.

“Mom’s not here, Yuji. We’ve talked about this, please. Don’t do this to me.” His tone wavered notably, and it was clear that the dam holding up the strongest parts of him was weakening by the second, but his younger brother only repeated his request. 

“Yuji,” You called out, finally stepping in to kneel beside Choso. He quickly cast his gaze down, but not before you caught the tears slipping down his face. Brushing back the pink hair that clung to the boy’s forehead as he panted up at you through choked cries, you showed him the cup. “Look, if you drink all your juice then we’ll get your bed nice and ready for you, okay?” 

He sniffled messily as his blubbering slowed, eyeing you skeptically. 

“It’s apple juice, see?” You tilted the cup closer toward him so he could see the familiar yellow color. Noting his apprehension, you leaned in closer to whisper to him in feigned secrecy. “Niichan can’t protect the city if you don’t get better.”

Through dewy hiccups, he slowly released the grip his little hands had on Choso’s wrists to take the cup from you. Beside you, his brother heaved out a sigh of relief watching as he quickly downed the cup, eager to get into his bed and under the covers as promised. The both of you held your breaths until the last drop was sucked up. 

After running a few more handfuls of cold water over his head for good measure, you nodded at Choso to take him out once his skin was finally a bit cooler to the touch. As he dried and dressed his brother back up to prepare him for bed, you busied yourself with cleaning up the puddles of water Yuji’s thrashing had created on the floor of the bathroom. A good couple of minutes had passed before apprehensive footsteps finally made their way back to the bathroom where you remained kneeled on the floor. 

“I’m sorry.” Choso whispered, slowly lowering himself down beside you. 

You peered over at him as he buried his head into his hands. The t-shirt he wore was clinging to his chest as it still dripped with leftover bath water along with the ends of his loose, tousled hair. His shoulders shook every so often with the sniffles he was trying so desperately to conceal, but it had all been too much for him. 

“I know the last thing you wanted to be doing on your day off was working.” He continued as he finally looked up at you, tears of frustration swimming in his dark, tired eyes. “I just— I didn’t know—”

“Choso?” You whispered, resting a careful hand on his raised knee. He blinked at you in question, swiping furiously at the tear that raced down his flushed cheek at the motion. “How… how did you end up with Yuji?”

His eyes quickly fell, observing the way his knuckles whitened as he clenched and unclenched his hands pensively. 

“He’s my half-brother.” He began quietly. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he looked back up at you. “Wanna talk assholes? My step-dad— Yuji’s dad— was just…”

You gulped, watching the way his jaw seemed to clench unconsciously at the memory of him. A gradual sense of dread twisted in your stomach as you began to guess where his story would go. 

“We fought all the time. Our mom hated it, but I couldn’t stand the way he treated her, and it—” Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the ceiling to calm the way his tears seemed to continue to betray him. “It killed me that she let him.”

Your gaze fluttered with their own misty haze as his words sunk in, an unnecessary guilt clawing at your chest. Shuddering away the tremble in his tone, he finally looked back down at you. Swiping at his nose with a quick sniffle, he continued. 

“We got into a huge fight a while after I finished school. He was mad about— god, I can’t even remember what had him so heated, but h-he threw a bottle at our mom.”

“Choso…” You sighed shakily, shifting forward to grasp at his hand. Though he made no attempt to halt his story, he accepted your hand, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as another tear raced down his face. 

“I told him that if he wanted to throw shit to throw it at me.” With red-splotched eyes, he offered a humorless laugh and gestured toward the jagged scar that ran across his face. It was now you who was failing to hold back stinging tears. “I thought after— I don’t know, twenty stitches that she’d leave, but she didn’t. So, I did.”

His head dropped down toward his chest, shaking side to side regretfully. 

“I left. I wasn’t there for her when she died— I wasn’t there for Yuji.” You quickly climbed over to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his face into your chest as you allowed yourself to cry silently along with him. “I left him. He was only three. I left him, I—”

“You came back for him, Choso.” You quickly interjected. 

“I should’ve never left in the first place.” His fingers drifted up to dig into your back as you settled onto his lap. “I thought if I learned how to fight— y’know, got bigger and stronger that he couldn’t hurt me anymore, he couldn’t hurt my mom anymore cause I would finally be able to do something about it, but I was just scared. I was scared, and I left.”

“You were just a kid.” You clarified, sliding your hands down to grip his face and force him to look at you. “And you’re here now.”

The grip you had on his cheeks forced his lips into a smushed pout, his wet lashes emphasizing the dark circles that surrounded his irises. Your thumb grazed gently over the scar on his face, and it broke your heart even more as you pictured it on a smaller, more defenseless version of him. You could see that Choso still ever-present in the fear that lingered in his eyes, in the doubt that clung to his frown that told him that nothing he could do for Yuji would ever be enough. 

“And I’d like to see someone try to lay a finger on Yuji now.” You encouraged with a soft laugh. The tiniest of smiles cracked through his solemn gaze, but he was still searching your eyes with an intensity that nearly knocked you on your ass. 

“Why do you do it?” He questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head at him curiously. “I mean, you have a good job, you’re smart, and pretty, and you’re kind— why give it to people who don’t deserve you?”

His hands dug firmly into your waist as you attempted to lean away from his raw stare. You felt naked— humiliatingly exposed as though you had just been the one to air your dirty laundry out. The hands on your sides drew you in closer and closer with each pathetic open and close of your stammering lips.

“I think I came to terms a long time ago with the fact that I’d never get to understand why my mom stayed. I had to be okay with it.” Choso’s brows were furrowing as his gaze drifted down your face before meeting yours once again. “Then I met you, and… I feel that same frustration I felt when I was a teenager.” 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” The scarred bridge of his nose grazed against yours as the two of you drew closer. With a strained gulp, you shook your head. “Do you—” He paused as his face flushed, but he fought to push past his timid nature. “Do you want someone to be mean to you? Is that what it is?”

“Choso—”

“Because if that’s the case then let it be me, okay?” His plea had you biting back a wanton whine, because his lips were brushing against yours with all the anticipation of a building promise. Your fingers tangled into the drying hair on his nape. “I’ll be rough with you, and I’ll make you want to cry.”

Leaning forward, he slotted his mouth around your pouted bottom lip, pressing you closer against him as you two pulled at one another despairingly. 

“I’ll be an asshole, but I’ll never hurt you— it’ll always be for you. Is that what you want?”

You could only nod hazily, too lost in the desperation in his tone and the craving he’d instilled in you for the lips you’d only come to know just minutes prior. Without so much as a grunt of effort, he was lifting himself off the ground with you in tow, stumbling toward the hallway in a craven pursuit of his bedroom. The hand holding you up against him squeezed vigorously at your ass, pinching at it until you yelped out into his lips.

“Shh, Yuji’s sleeping.” He still had the nerve to chastise you lowly, using your back to press the door shut. 

With you squeezed between him and the door behind you, he allowed his hand to dance up and grip your jaw, hooking his thumb into the corner of it as his forefinger dug into your bottom lip and pried your mouth ajar. You panted against him, eyes half-lidded as you awaited his next move with baited breath, but as he’d promised, it felt as though he wanted you to cry for him, his lips exploring your neck and jaw at an agonizing pace.

“Choso—” Your plea was cut short by your gasp as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder that had been left exposed in the flimsy tank you had been wearing to bed prior to his call. He moaned against your skin, digging his canines ever-so-slightly deeper into the flesh to feel the way you jolted at the sting. “Ah— ahh!”

The man only hummed contentedly, arm hooking under your thighs once again to pry you from the wall and drop you onto the disheveled covers of his bed and pull the damp shirt from his back. He surveyed the way your eyes ran down his body, your reddened lips parted and your brows drawn softly together, and he deduced that he couldn’t possibly look at you if he was to ravage you like he hated you. 

Dipping down, he flipped you easily onto your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pajama pants. Pausing for a moment, he leaned down, and you shuddered at the feeling of his warm chest pressing you against the bed.

“Is this what you wanted?” He whispered into your ear, knowing it would only take a shake of your head for his resolve to crumble. 

Your ribcage expanded and deflated beneath him in tandem with your anticipatory panting, and you could only nod through your flushed face, too embarrassed to confirm your desires aloud, yet your senses too lit ablaze by every inch of muscle you could feel on him to deny yourself the pleasure. There was a longing kiss pressed against your temple— an unspoken promise that he meant it when he said he wouldn’t hurt you— before he slowly pulled away from you to yank your bottoms down. 

Choso bit down on his bottom lip, rough enough to draw blood as he fought to maintain his composure. Running his hands up your thighs until they met the swell of your ass, he raised a knee to rest beside your hip before hiking your ass up. 

“Make me understand it.” He pleaded, a subtle growl laced into his tone as he drew teasingly close to where you were throbbing for him. 

“I don’t know, Choso—” Your voice had raised to an embarrassing pitch as you fisted his sheets between your fingers. They smelled just like him, and it was by no means aiding in your coherent thought process.

“Do you need someone to tell you you’re worth more?” At once, his fingers plunged into your incandescent center, twisting mercilessly as he continued to ration with you. “Because I’ll do it, I’ll remind you every fucking day if I have to.”

But his words were quickly becoming background noise that harmonized sweetly with each of your slack-jawed moans. Reaching back, your fingers barely grazed his wrist in an attempt to gain any semblance of control over his pace, but he quickly collected both your hands in his free one to pin them at the small of your back.

“Is that what you need?” He asked again, and his fingers curled up with a striking precision, drawing a pathetically pitched squeak from the depths of your throat. 

You buried your face into the sheets to conceal the way your eyes began to water at the growing warmth pooling overwhelmingly fast in your stomach. After a moment of your whimpering silence, his fingers abandoned you in favor of a resounding smack against your sensitive core. Your legs seemed to snap shut involuntarily, but it didn’t last long before he pried them open once again. 

“Answer me.” Choso demanded. His tone was barely stern— the fervent desperation to understand more present than anything. He threaded his fingers into your hair to pull your head to the side and reveal your face. “I said is this what you needed?”

“Yes!” You gasped, your hearing feeling as though it had increased tenfold as you listened to his sweatpants rusting while they hit the ground. “Please, please, Choso.” 

Despite his insistence that he’d be rough with you as you so pleased, he couldn’t bring himself to stop the gentle way in which he eased into you, savoring each hitch in your breath. Hooking his arm under your neck, he pulled you up to press flush against his perspiring chest, the slow descent up aiding in burying the last few inches of him into you. 

There was a crack in his resolve, evident in the broken moan that his lips pressed right against your flushed ear. The tears that he had promised you finally slipped down your cheeks. His eyes tracked it with a sharp vigilance, the sight making him pull you in that much closer. With a hand gentler than what he had planned for you, he swiped at the salty stream before allowing his fingers to settle around the column of your throat. 

“Keep crying for me.” 

And he made sure you did, his pace relentless as his sculpted hips slapped against your ass. For each overwhelmed tear of pleasure that escaped you, Choso chased it with a kiss; to your cheek and your jaw, to your helplessly parted lips and temple until there wasn’t an inch of you within his reach that his lips hadn’t become acquainted with. You thought your back would snap in two as you arched against him through your high, yet his furious pace didn’t slow until you slumped back against him, only held up by the hand at your throat and his will. 

The man watched as your head fell back onto his shoulders, eyes half-lidded as they stared at the way his gaze never seemed to falter. Only then did he pause, carefully lowering you to lay on your back against his cool pillows. Crawling over you, it was clear that his intent had shifted with the fulfillment of his goal. 

His hair tickled your cheeks as he leaned down to capture your lips tenderly. Reaching down, he caressed the side of your neck with the same hand he had used to restrain it as he entered you once again, this time with the intent of proving that it didn’t always have to be so merciless. With each purposeful roll of his hips into you he proved that you too were worthy of being handled with all the gentleness he had never been on the receiving end of. 

Choso clung onto you as he finished, and he didn’t leave when you allowed yourself to wrap your arms under his shoulders and press your cheek against his heaving chest. Instead, he pulled the covers up and assured they reached your shoulders that had since broken out into goosebumps— though you weren’t sure you could blame them on the cold. 

He brought your hands up to kiss the parts of your wrists that had been locked in his fierce grip. For the first time in years you weren’t itching to leave before he had the chance to leave you, because all the weight and muscle he’d worked so hard for in order to protect that scared, teenage boy in him were enveloping you with a crushing safety while his faint snores into your ear lulled you to sleep. 

Perhaps Yuji wasn’t so naive in believing his big brother was a superhero.

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[bookshelf-dust]

no trace of skin left unkissed

art donaldson x fem!reader

gif by @jennacrtega

word count: 2,072

warnings: swearing, flirting, a little suggestiveness/allusions to intimacy/sexy stuff, but otherwise this is pure fluff

synopsis: art wants you to play tennis with him. and when you do, it only cements how whipped for him you really are. only in competition with how whipped he is for you, of course.

a/n: hello!!! i’ve been sitting on this idea for at least a month now, simply because i just couldn’t get my fingers to do the typing and my brain to do the storming! but alas, i have finished it, and i’m super super soooo happy with how it turned out. this is the first thing i’ve written for art, but i think i got a good handle on his mannerisms. i’m all giddy just because i enjoyed writing this so much. i hope you enjoy reading it!! <33

————

“What are you doing? Why are you blushing? Stop blushing. You are not into this.”

Your boyfriend removes his hat from where it sat perched the wrong way round on his head. He shoves it on yours instead, his warm fingers brushing your forehead as he tightens the strap for you. 

His grin is downright sinister. “You’re into it when it’s me. I don’t look nearly as good in a skirt.”

Your hand shoots out, on a mission to slap the shit out of your boyfriend’s arm, but he senses the rift in space and time, catching your wrist before it makes contact with him. Art uses that leverage to pull you forward, his lips crushing against yours. 

“Mm!” you yelp, suddenly way too interested in his mouth to fuss over his choice in distraction technique. 

Art has this way of kissing where it’s like he needs you to consume him, like he needs to press all of his affection for you directly into each slot of his lips over yours. He needs you to know you’re the only person in the world, and when he kisses, he’s determined to lose sight of anything other than you. 

The only downside to this is that each time he pulls away, you’re forced to recalibrate. 

“But seriously, does it fit okay? ‘Cause I looked at the labels for some of your leggings and stuff and then had Tashi help me pick it out,” Art breathes.

You look down, smoothing your hands over the pleats of your skort. “The fact that Tashi supervised makes me feel a lot better.”

Art’s expression shifts, his brows scrunching and his lips taking a downward turn. “What, you don’t trust me?” The lilt in his voice is nothing short of teasing. 

“I trust Tashi’s ability to pick out something practical for the tennis lessons you’ve decided to give me.” 

You shoulder your bag, push your sunglasses up your nose so they settle right into that little sweet spot. You smell like sunscreen and vanilla shampoo, and Art can’t even process the fact that you're giggling your way out the front door. 

That and his eyes are glued to the way your skirt bounces with each of your steps. Tashi picked out a lightweight, baby pink tennis dress for you. It has shorts built in, and the sweetest little ruffled hem. 

“Wait, you think I’m gonna put you in something all flouncy, a-and,” he snaps his fingers, “what’s the word for it?”

“Slutty? Yes, Art. You see something short and scandalous and your eyes bug out of your head.” Your hands shoot out in little bursts like baby fireworks. “See? They’re doing it right now,” you laugh. 

Art pouts. Literally. His plump bottom lip juts out and you have the urge to bite it. “Hey. Don’t be mean to your tennis coach. I’m a gentleman.”

You snort. “Then open the door and lead the way, Mr. Donaldson.”

————

“You know, I think I like watching you play tennis a whole lot more than I enjoy actually being on the court.”

Art catches the ball you’ve just smacked in his direction. Your brows furrow, confused as to why he’s stopping. 

“Hold this for a sec,” Art says, a suspicious lilt to his voice. The tacky grip on his racket is damp from his sweaty palms. You almost want to make a joke about how you're holding the Art Donaldson’s tennis racket. Almost.

But then the man in question pulls off his shirt. It takes a little effort, considering the heat of the day. You watch as he peels it away from his sweat-slickback, revealing the prettiest spattering of freckles across his skin. 

The sunlight reflects off of his pale complexion, making him look almost…ethereal. You’re starting to understand why Icarus flew directly into the sun. 

Art flips his hat so that it’s backwards and tosses his damp shirt on top of your bag perched sweetly in the corner. The smile he gives you is sick. 

He looks down, nodding at his own bare chest. “This help, baby? A little motivation for you?”

Art picks up another ball, bouncing it up and down as he struts your way. He grabs hold of the net separating the two of you and leans into your space. His blonde hair sticks out in little tufts around his ears and forehead. 

You fan yourself with your hand. “Hmm. Maybe. Gives me motivation to kick your pretty ass.”

He laughs, pearly white teeth reflecting the bright afternoon sun. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You press your lips to Art’s in a quick fashion. You can taste the sweat on his upper lip, smell his deodorant when he raises his arm to cup your jaw. “It’s not fair that you get to be pretty and good at tennis.”

Art feels your clammy fingers brush his as you take the ball out of his hand. He backs up, grinning endlessly. 

“Remember what I told you. Put the ball against the racket like that. Feel it out. You gotta figure out which serve feels best for you. What works for me won’t be the same for you.”

It feels so strange to hold the ball in your non-dominant hand, knowing if you even want the ball to reach Art’s side of the court you’ll have to toss it high enough that you can successfully hit it. 

Your hand-eye coordination surely isn’t winning you any awards, but your first toss isn’t horrible. A little low and definitely not a straight shot, but it’s high enough that you manage to both hit it and have it reach Art. 

He doesn’t say anything, not when he recognizes that look in your eye. This is something he wanted to try with you, something you could do together without any of the stress or socializing that usually accompanies tennis. 

Your tongue pokes out from between your lips, the skin much more swollen and plump than usual due to the heat. They look like they do early in the morning, when you’ve coaxed each other awake and he kisses you until you can’t breathe. Full and slick and enticing. 

Art goes decidedly easy on you, but you’re having fun. 

The longer you play, each time a breeze hits the backs of your knees and Art lets out one of those noises you love to tease him about, you start to see why he and Tashi and Patrick love this so much. 

There’s a solid ten minutes where neither of you lose the ball, lose your rhythm. You’re completely focused on making sure that ball hits your racket. It’s almost liberating, being somewhat mediocre at this. 

Art, on the other hand, isn’t focused at all. He’s doing his best to keep up with you, but he can’t get over how good you look right now. 

The pleats of your skirt bounce with each of your steps, each of your little hops when he hits it just too high. There’s a sheen of sweat glistening on your neck and collarbones, making you look like a fucking goddess. 

Not to mention how pretty you look in his hat. In clothes he bought for you. And he can’t help himself each time you bend to pick up the ball or get a sip of water, because he gets to see the slightest bit of skin at the tops of your thighs, the little creases left permanently in your skin where the fat of your ass meets the slope of your leg.

You catch on after a while, seeing his eyes drag over your bare legs, your chest, your neck. You smack the ball particularly hard, a hit Art should’ve taken in stride, but instead, he misses. The ball makes a pinging sound as it hits the chain link fence and bounces down the court. 

You toss your head back and laugh. 

That’s all it takes for Art to drop everything and grab hold of your legs, tossing you over his shoulder. You’ve been poking at his ribs, telling him how you can’t concentrate when he’s looking at you, but he was insane to think he’d be fine to play tennis with you. 

He can’t concentrate worth a shit. Not when you look like that and are looking at him like that and you’re smacking his ass and laughing so hard and fuck—he could marry you right now. 

————

A wet towel slaps against Art’s ass. “You look like a slut in those underwear, Donaldson.”

He looks at you over his shoulder, hands in the dresser drawer. “Are you complaining?” he asks. 

You splay out across the mattress, feeling the cool comforter against the soft of your belly where your shirt has ridden up. 

“Me? Oh no, just complimenting you,” you quip.

Art lets out a small snort, pulling a pair of plain cotton pajama pants up his legs. You watch as his fingers tie a quick knot at the waist. 

His eyes are on you, blue irises unforgiving, but there’s the tiniest lift at the corner of his mouth. It’s not something you’d notice if you hadn’t spent so much time learning his mannerisms. 

“I like your slutty underwear,” you say. 

Art moves toward the edge of the bed, lowering himself onto his knees so that he’s level with your face. You watch his collarbones shift under his skin as he reaches up to cup your cheeks. 

“I like your slutty underwear too, princess.” He reaches one arm behind you to smack the swell of your ass. Your panties aren’t really slutty. Just dainty. Lace and whatnot. Art’s hand lingers on your bum just long enough for him to give it one good squeeze. 

His chest is directly in your face. You take the chance to lean forward, nipping at the skin over his ribs. His hips are soft beneath your hands, freckles covering almost every inch. 

Art’s brow furrows as he looks down at you. “Hey, hey. Why are we so bitey tonight?” he asks, lowering himself back onto the rug in front of you. He starts peppering your face with kisses. They’re gentle and sweet, yeah. But the way he paces them, the way he makes sure you can feel the drag of his nose, his lashes, against your face makes them sensual. They give you goosebumps. 

When he kisses your lips, you make sure to gently pinch his bottom one between your teeth. “They’re called love bites for a reason, lovey.”

You let your arms stretch out in front of you, your chest hitting the mattress. Your hands smooth over Art’s shoulders and up to his neck. You pretend not to notice the flush your chosen pet name has given him. Patrick would have his ass if he heard that. 

You raise your gaze to meet his. “And you deserve so many of those sweet bites for giving me such a fun day today.”

Art’s nails scratch over your neck and you stifle a moan. “Yeah? You enjoyed it?”

You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. Art taps his thumb on your jaw, signaling for you to quit before you hurt yourself. 

“Maybe we could do it in one of those air-conditioned places next time? It’s too fucking hot for that.”

He chuckles, slotting his lips over yours once again. His brow furrows, and you can practically feel him pressing his affection into you. When he pulls away, he wipes the dampness from the corner of your mouth. 

“You know we can,” he starts. “It’s always better in the fall, too.”

Your stomach flips with the urgent need for him. He’s too perfect, and he’s too far away from you. He should never be that far.

You put your hands on his sides and add the slightest bit of pressure, as if you’re going to hoist him up. He gets the memo and stands. 

For a moment, the image of him towering over you, looking at you with those doe eyes, makes you forget every thought that was previously in your head. Art’s hands fall to your sides, mimicking your moves from seconds before, and you allow him to maneuver you onto your back so he can settle on top of you. 

“And next time, princess?”

You hum, preoccupied with the weight of him above you. His hand cups your chin, encouraging you to make eye contact with him. 

“Next time, that cute skirt stays on when we get home.”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

rb banner by @steph-speaks

[thoughtssvt]

trying to match the jjk men's eating pace

that one tiktok trend where you try to match the pace your partner eats bite for bite

featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji

g. satoru

Satoru was actually shocked when you told him you were going to get as many burgers as he was, joking that he was going to have to finish your leftovers (not that he minded). everything was going smooth as he calmly unwrapped the first burger, taking a bite that didn't seem to under or over fill his mouth, giving you a false sense of security as you chewed your food like normal. panic began to set in by his third bite, practiced hands picking up a pinch of fries to add to the bite he was working on.

you weren't sure if his bites were getting bigger or if he was starting to chew faster, but before you knew it your cheeks were full and he was already crumpling the wrapper to start his second burger, taking a casual sip from his soft drink.

it was laughable, honestly, the way you were still holding half your burger, cheeks almost painfully full, sauce extending your smile, unable to match his sip of burger-filled mouth as you tried your best to hold in your laughter. satoru none the wiser. effectively making you choke on a crumb that had you keeled over, shoulders jumping with your silent chuckles.

"woah, baby. baby, slow down." His voice full of concern, unwrapping his third burger before patting your back in attempt to clear your throat.

g. suguru

suguru always savored his food no matter what it was or how many times he's eaten it. it was great, you were glad he found solace in food considering the toll his curse technique had on his body and his relationship with food. you'd never ask him to change it, but now that you've decided to partake in this silly internet challenge the rumble of your stomach has given you some regrets.

all you wanted to do was dig in, salivating at your steaming bowl of ramen. suguru sitting in front of you, a soft smile on his face as he carefully crafted a smaller ramen bowl in his soup spoon. chopsticks steady and meticulous as he let two noodles coil onto the spoon, dipping the edge of the ceramic into the soup until the noodles just barely peeked through. you sat there, noodles pinched by your chopsticks though still submerged in the broth as he slowly arranged green onions, garlic, pork, fermented bamboo shoots and strips of dried seaweed onto the utensil.

"ah, here we go." he finally said, setting his chopsticks down making you bring your noodles out of the broth and up to your mouth until he reached for a small spoon full of chili oil.

"not that hungry yet, love?" he quirked his brows at you when he noticed your creaky movements as you waited for him, finally bringing his mini bowl of ramen into his mouth, letting the flavors melt on his tongue before starting his slow chew. you followed suit, taking a bite and a sip of the broth.

"so hungry, suguru," you comedically sniffled to yourself, averting your gaze when he began repeating the process all over again.

n. kento

kento was quick skewer the contents onto his fork or scoop his rice onto his spoon, but slow to chew. he'd been excited for this meal after all, waltzing into the kitchen with a pep in his step after leaving work on time, still in his tie as he rolled up his sleeves to begin cooking. the table ending up with a beautiful spread of new dishes that caught his attention in the magazine he picked up last weekend.

unsurprising, the conversation would be about his thoughts on how all the components melded together, how one highlighted another, what it reminded him of. always a memory of a place you two went to together, then a small smile gracing his lips as he tells you that the two of you should go there again in the future. he'd ask you your thoughts, lips forming a small o as he listened to your suggestion of adding a little bit of that the next time he wanted to cook the dish.

the only thing surprising about trying to match his pace was actually how much bread he consumed, which you hadn't realized before until you felt like bursting at the seams when he picked up his forth roll-- a new recipe with his homemade garlic oil painted on top. you'd given up a while ago, choosing to enjoy the food he cooked, his love for bread unmatched. your head in your hand as you watched him chew, anyone on the outside would've assumed that he was eating out of necessity, but under your gaze you were blinded by the sparkle in his eyes as the flavors danced on his tongue. the momentary pause of his jaw as he conjured up a tweak in the recipe to bring it to the next level.

f. toji

you honestly weren't even going to try matching his pace. he devoured. the short skewers of yakitori disappearing into his mouth in an instant, the only thing able to pull you from your amazement was the soft 'ahhhh' he let out as he widened his mouth to accept the food. he barely took the time to finish chewing before bringing another skewer to his mouth. meals with toji usually ended with him running a lithe tongue over his lips, patting his stomach before eyeing whatever was left on your plate.

"gonna finish that?" he asked, hand already reaching whether you were done with your food or not.

he hummed to himself as you walked side by side just having left the restaurant.

"a branch from a sendai restaurant just popped up, want to try their gyutan with me?"

ah, toji's bottomless stomach and his love for meat.

A/N : aahhh i'm sorry toji's section is short, not much to write when the food is gone before you can even look at it LOL i just had suguru's so clearly in my mind and i had to stop myself from writing kento actually cooking. lowkey don't think i'm equipped for these mutli character posts lol

picnic divider by @/thecutestgrotto

line divider by @/firefly-graphics

jjk men x reader masterlist