#but i usually spar people with more of a boxing background so i have to get creative

[peridot-tears]

I know I clown Ratohnhaké:ton for his bad posture, but when you fight a LOT, that tucked-chin, slightly-hunched fighting posture REALLY creeps into your everyday life. The AMOUNT OF TIMES I've had to stop and remember to pull my shoulders back like Ratohnhaké:ton when he's idling on the street, eye --

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter three: the truce

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!SHIElD!reader

masterlist

summary: being a SHIELD agent, you have a knack for analysing people, particularly when it comes to attraction. you have everyone figured out, sorted away into the boxes you've created. But there's one man you can never seem to figure out, the very bane of your existence -- Bucky Barnes. On the field, he is a saint, helping you dodge bullets and taking knife wounds in your name. Around the building? Public menace number one, always poised to insult or to spar with you.

After being sent on a 6-month-long torture-cum-vacation with the very man, could all this change? Could you finally figure out what has been bubbling beneath the surface for years between the two of you, the juggernaut that you know you cannot stop?

warnings:  language, mention of being fostered and it being terrible, more hints to reader’s past, dead mother, mentions of sex and reader being dom

word count: 2.7k

taglist: @cjand10 @mcira @calwitch

PREVIOUS PART

A/N: I enjoyed writing this sm! as always, please let me know what you think, all comments and reblogs and likes are heavily appreciated!! love u all <3

You didn’t expect moving to be so much work, and…so much fucking tape. Ever since you escaped the hellhole of your foster house, you’ve been living in the Tower, only ever having to unpack a duffel and a suitcase full of clothes and shoes and makeup. 

The good news that comes from being so tired is that you barely have the energy to argue with Bucky, often falling asleep on the couch halfway through dinner. The TV will continue to blare in the background, and Bucky will continue to chew silently. He lets you take the naps, gently waking you up once he’s done, and handing back your freshly heated dinner plate right back at you, just so you never eat a cold meal. In all honesty, it’s been wonderful.

Somehow, he’s nice to you, now. The two of you haven’t officially called a truce, but it goes unspoken, you suppose. You find yourself helping him more than usual, and certainly have stopped insulting him. You don’t know why. Why he’s being kind, and smiling, even in the privacy of your own home, where nobody else but the two of you have been, so you know for sure that there are no bugs or secret cameras.

The neighbourhood has been pretty quiet, and it seems the Senator is currently on a vacation of some sort, so you haven’t had the chance to profile him in person, or his house. Your own is quite nice, large with a swimming pool in the back garden. It’s modern, and neat, and oozes luxury. 

If you weren’t so fucked up, if you still wanted the ring and kids and picket fence, you would’ve loved it here. You can almost see it — a partner grilling an assortment of meats and vegetables that have been marinating in a secret spice mix for hours, kids splashing and playing about in the shallow end of the pool, you and other guests lounging on the chairs as the sun sets, washing everything in sight in hues of golden orange. Or if it’s just your family, maybe sneak some affection from your partner with a hand around their waist and a kiss pressed to the back of their neck. It’s perfect. Given that Bucky’s from the 40s, he must be losing his mind. He’s pretending, albeit, but he’s gotten the simple life he must’ve dreamed of and clung to. It’s a shame he’s with you.

Which brings you to right now, standing in front of the oven with your arms crossed, waiting for an old-fashioned timer to go off. You stare at it, at the minutes ticking by. There’s nothing much left to do. You’ve already unpacked all the kitchen crockery, throwing away the last of the cardboard. The blue frosting and white icing is mixed and ready on the counter, and you hate yourself. It’s March 10th, today. Bucky’s birthday. 

His kindness in these past two weeks has completely swayed you, so here you stand, baking him a fresh batch of cupcakes you’re going to be decorating, just for him. You don’t know why, it feels like you glanced at your new phone, registered the date, and all you did was blink and now here you stand. Bucky’s still fast asleep in his bedroom.

That was another relief of the house — there were two bedrooms. Thank God, the two of you sleep separately. You’ve shared a bed before, on several missions and attempts to get the two of you to enter a state of permanent civility, and oddly enough you missed those nights sometimes.

When you weren’t tired enough, so the nightmares ran rampant in the small area of your brain and the large expanse of your imagination. Sometimes you’d wake up pressed tightly against him, and you knew he must have held you to ground you. Other times, he’d still be fast asleep, and you would often trace all the intricate ridges and details of his vibranium arm. You’ve gotten adjusted to the sight of his brand new, human arm, but you miss the black and gold. You’d rather die than verbally express so, but you miss it. You miss the way it soothed you, distracted you. The way it created space in your mind for something that wasn’t torturous memories lashing out at you. 

If he knows about it, he’s never said anything. About the nightmares. Not even two nights ago when you had woken up screaming and trying to escape out the window, desperate to escape a phantom wielding a bloodied knife. He’d just calmed you down, talked you back to the centre of the room and held you.

He likes doing that a lot now, finding excuses to touch you. It’s comforting, like you’ve been on edge your entire life and are just now finding peace. You hate it. You hate everything about your current situation, but it’s simultaneously a humongous relief. To not have to constantly have your guard up and be ready to fire insults like they’re bullets. You can just be, and revel in the way he’s not treating you like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The timer goes off. The cupcakes cool. The recipe is something your mother taught you — your only remaining inheritance you carried with you. You smother them in frosting, writing HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUCKY with one letter on each cupcake, leaving two for free reign. You chose to simply put the number 107 on each of them, and arrange them on a wonderful, dark blue tray.

You let yourself smile, proud of the work you’ve accomplished so far, at only 9AM in the morning. And then, a voice grubbed over with sleep, yet not as annoying as you remember calls out.

“Whatcha bakin’ there, doll?” You turn to him, rubbing his eyes and yet thankfully wearing a shirt. His hair is still messy, and you move forward to fix it for him as he shoots you another lazy grin. This has become somewhat of another step of routine between the two of you. He always wakes up with messy hair he cannot be asked to comb, and you got tired of berating him for it. He’d complain theres no mirror around and being to pout until you huffed and fixed it for him.

You try and pretend like you don’t notice his conspicuous eyes fixed on your face like he’s desperate to memorise it. 

“Happy birthday.” You decide to keep your words simple, staring directly into his eyes, so blue that they make some long-forgotten muscle in your chest restart.

You turn around to ignore that feeling, heading back to the counter where your frosted treats await. You miss the desperate, aching look of longing on his face. It brings back memories of him, of how he acted the last time you bothered to remember one of the most basic facts about him — how he’d pretty much thrown your gifts across the room and stormed out of his own birthday party without so much as another word.

He swears to be different now. To be different to you. In all honesty, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why you dislike him so, but on the journey here, he was finally able to read between the lines. It’s pathetically embarrassing to admit why he acted that way towards you, especially now. He wonders if you’d laugh at him, shape it into another painful weapon to aim for his diaphragm.

“Happy Birthday, Bucky. I know being stuck with me isn’t ideal, well, let’s be honest, you’d probably rather be back in cryo—.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he replies all too fast, staring down at the tray in your hands. He tries to ignore the rampant beat of his heart as he registers that you finally called him Bucky, instead of literally anything else. He knows you do it to spite him, and admires that you’d still never call him the Winter Soldier, despite how deep the faux hatred between the two of you ran. Well, faux hatred on his part.

He’s been in love with you for years. And when he finally realised it, you’d already moved past trying to be nice to him. He’s missed his chance with you, he knows this. But he finds himself growing more and more desperate with every passing year to manufacture that chance. But every time he builds up the courage, it seems you’re too busy flirting or eye-fucking literally anyone who isn’t him. And it crushes him beyond belief, every single time.

Without fail.

“Oh, okay. Didn’t mean to bring that up. Erm, I made you these cakes. They’re my mum’s recipe, and as far as I know you’re not allergic to anything in here.” He plasters a grin right back on his face.

“Aren’t you gonna sing for me, doll?” God, you wish you could hate that nickname. But it’s a step above Butterface, that’s for sure. And as much as you hate him, it is his birthday. You don’t know how much you can bring yourself to deny him, especially what with all the kindness he’s been showing you recently.

“Do you want me to?” God, Bucky wishes you could love him back. That those beautiful eyes he dreams about so often, just stare at him with some warmth, some fondness. Like you did when he first got here, when he didn’t deserve your affection. But those versions of the both of you are long gone. 

“‘Course I do. It’s my birthday after all.” You roll those pretty eyes and huff, pretending to be annoyed. 

You grab the candles from the cutlery drawer you bought in a last minute impulse on your grocery shopping run, and stick them in two of the cupcakes, lighting them with your lighter — the only physical inheritance from your mother. You still remember that night, when she pressed it into your small hands and begged you to hide underneath the bed, before all hell broke loose. She always had a lit cigarette in her hand, and the smell of ashes always brings memories of her floating back to you. It’s a simple golden one, engraved with a venomous snake on the front and her name embossed — her name before she got married. It’s your most prized possession. Bucky watches as you run a thumb over it with that fond look in your eyes, and his heart catches in his throat. You’ve never been more vulnerable than you are in this moment, not even when you were on the floor crying over the thought of pretending to be married. All of your guards are temporarily lowered, and he sees how your hard exterior gives way to something softer and warmer, a version of you long buried under the stresses of your job and the malice you exude in his presence.

And he’s obsessed with the ring on your finger, the way you play with it when bored or pensive. Actually, he’s just obsessed with you. You begin singing with a small, yet seemingly genuine, smile on your face. He thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

You have a lovely voice, even if it’s reserved for showers and to be lost in impromptu choirs. But his heightened senses mean he can still pick your voice out of the crowd, can still feel the weight of it wash over him like a perfect blanket. He wishes you’d cling to him like that, like the songs you sing when you think nobody’s listening or paying attention.

And then you call him Bucky again, and his heart goes out the window. He’s practically vibrating where he stands and clutching his fists to his sides in trying not to kiss you. You wouldn’t like that. When you finish, he closes his eyes and wishes for you like he does every year. 

He guesses a lesser man would’ve lost hope, after seven birthday wishes asking for one person, and yet still having them so close yet so out of reach. But he’ll beg, every year, until someone out there decides he shall have no more. He’d beg for you any time, in any way you like. His heightened sense of hearing, and the two of you living on the same floor, means he already knows how much you enjoy being begged for pleasure. How much you enjoy being in charge.

When he first got to New York after Wakanda, the only room that was available was across the hall from yours. He didn’t mind. Even though he’d completely forgotten how to talk to people he finds insanely attractive, so insanely enigmatic that all he can do is try his best to not let drool drip out of his mouth when he watches you do even the most mundane things like eat cereal with your hair still messy from a long night, in a sports bra and joggers. Showing off every inch of that perfect body he’s worshipped so many times in his dreams. It’s why he hasn’t moved out of there, because of the perverted side of him. Something he’d rather die than admit.

And of course everyone in the damn building knows, how could they not? When they see the way he looks at you when you storm out of a room, how he almost misses the punching bag when he sees you training weights across the room with sweat slicking your hair to your forehead. He thinks you’ve never looked more irresistible, and he’d do anything to get his hands on you, in any way you allow. Why do you think he asks you to spar so often? 

You grin at him. “Bucky privileges are only for these 24 hours, then I go right back to James. And I got you something.” You hand him the tiny box, gift wrapped in blue as he looks at you with an adorable blush on his face.

“You really didn’t have to do all of this, doll.”

“I wanted to make you feel more at home. And I needed to talk to you about something.” You’re wearing one of his old flannel shirts, folding your arms across your chest. You’d requested some of his bigger, older shirts to wear, and had told him it’s considered a form of deep intimacy in the 21st century. And those six shirts are all you’ve worn around the house, often with biker shorts on underneath. You know, just to drive him to ridiculous heights of insanity, of course. 

“We should call a truce. Officially. I mean, we’re being civil, and it goes unspoken. But officially, for the record, we should call a truce. At least, not be mean to each other. I wanted today to be the beginning of it, end date TBD.”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me. Now, can I open it?” You nod, gesturing at the box. You watch his face as he delicately unwraps your birthday gift, for any signs of discomfort on his face. If he’s truly okay with the peace you’ve proposed between the two of you. 

“Come here.” He commands. You’re surprised how quickly you comply, walking across the counter to stand mere inches from him. You wonder if he’s going to treat this gift like he did the last, and make sure you end up crying this time. 

“This is a wonderful gift, doll. I really, really love it. Thank you.” Before you can protest, he pulls you in for a quick side hug. You don’t miss how his blue eyes glow as he takes the New York keyring out of it’s container, running his thumb over the Statue of Liberty. 

He feels…so warm. And so cosy, all perfect for snuggling up. You find yourself wishing he hadn’t pulled away from the hug, desperate to feel more of his warmth against you than ever before. You suppress the need as it emerges, but you’re not strong enough.

“Yeah yeah. Whatever. What do you wanna do today? We could go out.” You try to remain impartial, but it’s proving difficult.

Keeping up all of your guards and walls is becoming more and more difficult with each passing day, and you find yourself becoming soft. The one thing you despise, but you also crave. 

You have no idea what’s happening to you.

And it’s terrifying.

NEXT PART

[braininatankwithalaptop]

An interesting background detail implied but not exactly explicitly stated is that there is a tradition of open hand martial arts in Altazia. The way that Taiven has a sparring dummy even though she's a mage with a weapon, the poses that she has in the art, it points to some type of unarmed technique. "Well no shit sherlock, why bring it up?" I wanted to establish this because in most dialogue, her comments of knowing how to fight and physical fitness could be interpreted as her talking about using weapons in combat. And I wanted to establish that because I was trying to figure something out. Why is there an unarmed tradition in a world of mages? Martial arts are not born in a vacuum. Willingly deciding to train how to fight without a weapon instead of with one is usually done with other factors involved. Sure, most cultures in our world developed some type of unarmed combat, but most of the time it devolves into some type of sport overtime (like boxing and wrestling now) as weapons prove more and more effective (from what I understand). What usually kept unarmed martial arts alive for serious self defense is either a) a population that can't afford weapons or b) an oppressive government that bans weapons to disempower resistance (this is based on my limited understanding, I know there are gaps in it). I know that Okinawan Karate became as strong of a tradition as it did because Japan banned Okinawans from owning weapons and they had to find a way to defend themselves without them (some people argued this was with the goal of fighting in a secret resistance with guerrilla tactics but that's been heavily disputed). So, in the MoL world, why would weapons be banned? How useful would unarmed combat be in a world where organizations that can ban weapons can also have mages? Because unlike having a weapon, magic can be taught to any one, and probably be much more effective. I can personally only think of three reasons why. 1) Mages were much less common than they seem to be in modern day Altazia. Fighting other people with weapons when you didn't have any was still viable and learning magic from anyone at all (including non-giant power structures like witches and tribes) wasn't viable for most. 2) Weapons were important to mages, as it was hinted in the gods' boons to mortals magical artifacts and weapons were used to push back against the frontier. This suggests a significant portion of magic use was done through objects and weapons, and the banning of it meant that people had to learn how to cast without those objects and fight without them at the same time. (Of course overtime spellcasting without weapons/objects were adopted by everyone as all superior spellcasting does, and as the spellcasting tradition was separated from the martial art, all that was left was the physical techniques). 3) Martial arts aren't a method of self defense at all and are only regarded as a sport. Only useful for exercise, and most importantly, cements Taiven's character as a jock official as she is the coach's assistant to teach the sport and has dummies to practice at home.

[thefortressofscience]

Random tips for writing a martial artist!

The ruleset for the competitive form of their style (ie Tae Kwon Do, Judo, Wrestling, etc...) will inform how that character approaches fighting. For example, Karate where points are awarded based on how many hits you land means that fighter might prioritize keeping someone at a distance, whereas in Knockdown Karate where victory is achieved through a KO that fighter may prioritize trying to pummel someone with close range attacks

A mixed martial artist will often have a "base" style. This is usually their first style and then they build around it by taking techniques from other styles in hopes of creating their own effective blend. Common base styles in MMA include Boxing, Wrestling, Brazilian Jiujitsu, and Muay Thai. In the last decade there's also been a wave of Karate practitioners joining MMA as well.

Related to the first two points, no two styles are fully comparable and no style is better than another. However, styles that pressure test their practitioners with a healthy dose of sparring and competitions will generally produce more competent fighters. After all, you don't get good at what you don't practice! So if you're writing a fight, the fighter with a more pressure tested background will probably come out on top more often than not.

Disabled martial artists exist, and also compete in tournaments. For example, in Paralympic Judo, the only difference is the fighters start off grabbing each other's uniform and the referee saying certain commands outloud so the fighters know to return to the center or avoid the edge of the arena.

In real life, fights between two experienced fighters are less like in movies where two characters are constantly rushing each other with few pauses. Generally, two fighters will try to feel each other out, making on the fly risk assessments with periodic high intensity exchanges. This is generally known as "explosiveness" in martial arts. Those on the higher end of explosiveness tend to resemble all out brawls more but the characters are still doing risk assessment with periodic lulls in the action. That said, this is a stylistic choice for the author, so you don't really need to consider this one if you're more interested in Rule of Cool.

A blackbelt in Japan typically does not mean the same thing it means in the West. In Japan, the first degree blackbelt is usually just a sign that you are now competent (and thus tourney-ready). It is not uncommon for a Japanese martial artist to get their shodan (first degree blackbelt) at an early age based on how many training hours they clock. Furthermore, most Japanese martial arts only have white and black belts. The colored grading system is largely a western invention to serve as a motivational tool.

Size matters. You might hear a lot about how size doesn't matter but that's just not true. A larger person has an advantage that can't be ignored. However, there are ways around this and a smaller fighter can still win. Typically, this requires the smaller fighter to keep larger foes in mind when they're training. It also requires them to strategize around their larger opponent's advantage. This applies specifically to two trained fighters. A smaller well trained person is still much more likely to defeat a larger, untrained enemy.

I want to stress these aren't rules or a do's and don't list, it's just tips for writing martial artists. You can also just disregard everything here because you're free to go hog wild. That said, I hope this can be useful to people wanting to write fights.

[zukuist]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞

200 followers special

includes: multiple characters (would add more tags but.. i reached 30 ;;)

your name is shortened to y/n, they/them pronouns

notes: thank you for 200 followers! this isn’t really going to be that long, but im just doing the characters i really like so ;; ALSO I MIGHT’VE GOTTEN KIRI’S ENTRY A LITTLE WRONG so ugh sorry ;;

—

shouto todoroki

— THE OBSERVANT SIMP

from the start, he’s quite oblivious to certain things, (social ques, signs of romantic interest, etc.)

but when he’s observant with someone, then that totally means you’re special to him. does he realize how much he pays attention to you? hmm.. maybe?

he’s going to be the first one that notices you’re hungry, even if you don’t realize it yourself. he’s quick to grab a snack and break it open to you

same thing with being thirsty— if he notices that your water bottle is empty, he’ll quickly find the nearest vending machine and buy a bottle.

temperature is also no problem. he can immediately tell whenever someone’s cold; but he usually helps you first

too hot? he’s slowly putting down the room’s temperature

too cold? his left palm starts emitting some sort of heat in your direction, hoping it creates some sort of aid

if your shoelaces are undone, and/or he notices that there’s a button undone on your shirt— he’ll fix it for you

will ask to take your pictures on dates, and he’ll also help you pick out the best photo (not that any photo of you is short of any beauty)

in short— people will notice that he’s actually a big simp for you; because of how observant he is with you specifically.

katsuki bakugou

— THE TSUNDERE SIMP

just because he’s simping for you doesn’t mean he’ll treat you any differently. bakugou will be bakugou, and you eventually learn how to adapt to that.

but even so, his simp habits slip out sometimes.

when he’s cooking, he’ll accidentally make too much to eat, and he’ll coincidentally put the extras in another box and hand it to you

he’s a good student, even with studies. but would he say he’s a good teacher? hm. probably not

but if he notices you need help, he’ll sigh, feining annoyance as he decides to tutor y’all, because those ‘idiots’ are hopeless

rolls his eyes when he sees food on your cheek, but he’ll grab a tissue and wipe it off for you— claiming how you’re so messy.

he’ll act like he hates hearing your ‘annoying ass singing’ but he’ll lean against the doorway and listen to you rock out to whatever song you’re singing to.

denki will call him a simp for looking after you, and bakugou will just yell at him to “SHUT UP” >:T

he secretly likes taking care of you. his words aren’t the softest thing in the world, but his actions make up to it.

izuku midoriya

— THE DETAILED SIMP

as katsuki bakugou would call him; he is a nerd

he definitely meant that as an insult, but his input on detail makes it very useful in things like relationships

he remembers every detail of your quirk, your limits, potential secret moves.

it would’ve been stalker-ish, if it weren��t for the fact that deku does this out of admiration for his s/o

so if you so happen to collapse due to overusing your quirk— deku has a detailed plan on what to do. it’s almost scary.

he puts detail in a lot of things, anniversary gifts, birthday gifts, and so on.

deku’s also the type to plan things weeks before it actually happens. like.. planning out the perfect birthday gift

and with this, his memory is really good. so it’s very unlikely that he’ll just suddenly forget anniversaries and birthdays.

i hc deku as a bad cook, so he eats takeout food more than his homemade food

but he’s takes note of your allergies, your dislikes with food— and he finds himself mumbling small details to recall what you like

when you walk out in pretty/good outfits for dates

his face will break out into shades of red— suddenly rambling all the good details of your outfit, complimenting you while he’s at it

“y/n’s looks fantastic as always. i might die from their beauty”

if anyone calls him a simp, he’ll be really embarrassed about it. “me? a s-simp? is that a bad thing?”

just tell him it’s fine.

denki kaminari

— THE HYPEMAN SIMP

a big simp

like.. really big

he worships the ground you step on, and hypes up everything you do

y’all know when irene from red velvet literally breathed in north korea, and the crowd just

*claps*

yeah, that’s denki to you

it’s so blantly obvious that he’s simping over someone, and everyone’s just kinda used to it at this point

he’s just a big fanboy sometimes

whenever you’re sparring with someone, he’s always in the background like

“go s/o!!” 🤩

and he has tendencies to go a little easy on you like.. what’s he gonna do when you get electricuted??

but that doesn’t mean he’s never serious— nah.

there are times where he’s just a little bashful just being in your presence

sneaking glances your way, as he silently fanboys about you in general.

“s/o looks really good today. they always look good but !!”

when y’all weren’t together, the bakusquad was just tired of the constant romantic pining

it was really obvious that he was simping back then, and they’re not so sure as to how you didn’t say anything about it

mina always called him a simp

so yeah!! it was a big relief when you got together with him. he never makes you feel terrible, because he’s always your #1 hypeman.

eijirou kirishima

— THE HELPING SIMP (rip idk what to call this)

i didn’t really know what kinda name i went for this one but let me carry on

kiri upfront is very confident, and friendly. he never shows a mean side to anyone,

and there are rare cases of him being bashful

he’s kinda almost like a golden retriever? since he’s always nice and friendly to everyone

but then when you enter the room; he suddenly goes quiet, and he’s left alone with his rather loud thoughts about you

he didn’t really know how to properly approach you at first

but him being kiri, he’s still rather friendly to you (for now)

when he’s messing around, practically sharing one braincell with kami and sero

and then you suddenly walk in— he snaps out of his foolishness, and greet you with his very warm smile

“hey y/n!” he waves at you, and he hopes you don’t mention the teasing look on both kami and sero’s face

sometimes when he’s doing his close combat training, and he notices that he’s getting too close to you

he’ll be like “woah man, maybe we should move locations.” bc he doesn’t wanna hit you by accident ;;

kirishima prefers to not stand near you when his hair is all spiky. like he’s never conscious about it, until he’s around you

man poked sero with his hair before, and he doesn’t want to do that to you

kiri always looks at your hand, just to see if it’s occupied with something. his thoughts linger to what your hand might feel like

“their hand looks really.. soft. argh! i shouldn’t be thinking about these kind of things in public! im sorry y/n”

bakugou really only notices kirishima’s simping ways

bakugou always mentions the fact that kirishima goes really silent whenever you’re around—

and he’s secretly contemplating on having you around more so he can just shut up 。・°°・(＞_＜)・°°・。

moving aside all of that, kiri always carries your things.

you’ll beg him to give you at least one thing, and he’ll say no because it’s “not manly to let someone carry all of this.”

if you’re sad, he’s the first one to cheer you up— reassuring you that everything will be okay.

kiri’s just wants to be at your service at all times! it’s manly to help people, right?

hitoshi shinsou

— THE DISCREET SIMP

no one would be able to tell that he’s simping for someone

because unlike kaminari; he’s not like IM HITOSHI SHINSO AND IM ACTUALLY A SIMP

he’s a lot more discreet, and no one has really caught on, besides you and kaminari of course

he’s a lot less sarcastic with you, asking you about anything that’s happened instead of just being there

he prefers it to hear you talk. the way each word and syllable rolls off your tongue smoothly, and the way you use your hands to emphasize things

he’s amused.

oh and the way he looks at you? almost any normal person can sense the simp in him pop out (he’s so contained though)

he’s definitely the person that’ll get rid of any bug that’s terrifying you— even though he’d normally just leave it to them

he’ll do it, regardless if it’s the biggest fucking spider he’s ever seen, or the smallest spider

he’ll do it to make you feel safe.

he has these random spurs of compliments during the day

the source mainly comes from his staring habit

and they’re just so unexpected and out of the blue. hitoshi’s amused whenever he sees your reaction to his compliments

like.. you could be really frustrated about something, and he’ll just go “your eyes are pretty.” that’s his discreet method tO MAKE YOU TEMPORARILY DISTRACTED FROM THE ISSUE—

call him a simp, whatever. it’s true anyway so he doesn’t why should he be ashamed of it?

he’s discreet about it, since it’s your business and his business. but you can definitely feel his feelings loud and clear

neito monoma

— THE 180 SIMP

“i’m not a simp!”

[you enter the room]

*nervous laughter*

he had his last laugh, and he never thought he’d be this soft around someone.

especially if you’re from class 1-A like.. i became the thing i hated, ugh.

relentless teasing is amped but this is his way of making sure you remember him loud and clear

but he’ll never tease you in a condescending way— like how he torments the rest of class 1-A

that’s reserved for them 💅

always compliments you, that’s the first thing he does when he sees you—

and they’re never generic compliments either

“it’s nice to see you here, y/n! you make the world better day by day!”

“i’m still wondering what you’re doing in class 1-A, you’re much better than them!”

everyone secretly wonders how you got monoma to like you

monoma canonically likes pastels. spread the word

so sometimes, you’ll walk over to your desk— and you’ll just see this random pastel ornament sitting on your desk

you know who it’s from

whenever monoma starts becoming annoying, kendo will definitely use you as a weapon to make him shut up

he’ll be laughing at the expression on his face, thinking he’s absolutely winning at this

but the smile is wiped off his face when he hears “ok go on, i’ll tell y/n about your antics.”

“no, no! i’ll behave now, please don’t tell y/n.”

class 1-b literally use you as blackmail whenever monoma acts up, and it’s because of how different he is around you

like.. his personality takes a 180, (besides the obvious teasing) it’s alarming

—

©️zukuist 2021, bnha|mha belongs to horikoshi kohei. do not repost my work❕

[daisybeewrites]

Academy Blues

sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes to bag punches you

word count: 4.5k

warnings: none. heavy handed use of italics

ship: Dousy (Daniel Sousa/Daisy Johnson), background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

ahaha.. and the fun begins (the cryptic-ness is for a reason i promise)

“Ow!!” Daisy exclaimed. This was the second time today she had gotten distracted and let the punching bag swing into her. Sans Bobbi or Mack, her usual workout partners, there was no one to hold the bag still while she was pummeling it. Her side of the gym was entirely void of people, most opting to use the treadmills or other cardio machines lining the wall of large windows that faced the forest to the south, or stick to circuits on the resistance machines throughout the middle of the gym. The universe seemed to be telling her to get in some boxing, so she walked over to the bag with the intention of punching until her arms hurt.

Now her nose hurts, too.

“You need a spot?” May asked, silently crossing the padded floor to Daisy.

She nodded. Waiting for May to get into position, Daisy stretched out her arms over her head and across her body, twisting her torso to feel her abs stretch. When May gave her a thumbs up, Daisy started to punch the heavy bag again, this time with a little more force now that she knew it wouldn’t fly back and hit her in the face.

“Something on your mind?”

“No,” Daisy grunted. “Just slacked off the last few weeks. With everyone gone on break there wasn’t as much of... everything, I guess, to keep me in a routine.”

May nodded. “Breaks can be tough. No classes, schedule disrupted, more free time than you know what to do with. I get it. If you ever want a time-filler, text and I’ll be there.”

Daisy nodded, going back to silently punching. The breaks weren’t all bad. They only happened eight times a year, five two-week breaks and three three-week breaks. Enough time that those with families and lives outside of SHIELD could visit and vacation, but not fall behind. Plus, it gave Daisy the campus pretty much to herself. Only about forty students stayed at The Academy over breaks, and it seemed to decrease every time.

Another good thing about breaks was that Daisy got to know more people personally. Whether it was how the tall, fifth-year red head took her morning coffee or that the new group of first-years liked to run the same trails through the forest as she did. So, when an entirely new face had cropped up out of nowhere, Daisy was intrigued. He walked with a limp, had nice hair and kind eyes. She didn’t recognize him, and despite the fact that he had arrived the same day as the rest of the first-years, he was definitely the oldest of the pack. That was unusual, Daisy had thought, SHIELD almost always recruits directly out of high school or college. The last time anyone over the age of twenty-five had been accepted to the Academy was when Daisy herself had started. However, that was a bit of a… special situation.

Every morning, New Guy crossed through the computer lab and waved, smiling confidently at Daisy. His sudden appearance and amicable interactions confused her. Classes weren’t in session, but he always had a backpack with him. Maybe he had tutoring with one of the professors? A new student trying to catch up before the term even began — an enigma.

Once classes had started, he still came by everyday. Daisy liked to think it was because he wanted to see her. They had never spoken more than tired greetings to each other, and yet Daisy felt herself pulled towards him. She shook off the thought. It made her skin crawl, thinking about the last time she felt such a magnetic attraction to someone.

She realized May was studying her through the mirrors lining the wall next to the row of punching bags. She cleared her throat and asked, “Is my form okay?”

May gave her a long look that clearly said, ‘You know that your form is fine.’

Daisy pulled her eyes away from May’s stare, announcing, “I’m going to fill up my water, do you need any?”

May shook her head, pulling out her phone.

Daisy bent down to grab her water and headed to the back of the gym, towards the locker rooms. A couple of reusable bottle-filler stations were stuck into the wall, right next to the PT rooms. Daisy couldn’t help but peer into the closest one as she listened to the sound of water streaming into her bottle. It was filled with floor ladders, yoga balls, sports med supplies... New Guy. Huh.

Wondering why he would be sitting in a dark PT room by himself, Daisy took a swig of her water before continuing to fill it up. He hopped off the table as the lights came on, a young doctor-type walking in a smiling. She was reminded of his limp when he walked towards her, shaking her hand and flashing a large smile. Cute, Daisy noticed. Wait, no, what?

Daisy promptly turned and headed back to the wall of mirrors, choosing to ignore the smirk on May’s face.

“Ready?” Daisy asked.

“Actually,” May began, “Why don’t we get in some sparring? You’ve been at this for over an hour.”

Daisy caught the glance May threw at the half-assed wraps on her hands and nodded. With only a few jitters, Daisy quickly helped May unroll the sparring mats onto the floor. Daisy had only sparred with Yo-Yo since she got back from Columbia visiting her cousin. Sparring with May was an entirely different level.

After some warm-up drills, May silently took charge and got into a fighting stance. Daisy rose up on her tip-toes, then rocked backwards. The grey padding beneath her looked a lot softer than it felt while being slammed onto it. A quick lunge from Daisy and a swift deflection by May, and the two women were off.

Across the gym, Daniel Sousa and the doctor were chatting, watching Daisy and May.

“They look like they’re barely breaking a sweat,” Daniel commented after May leaped off Daisy’s leg, flipping forwards and attempting to grab Daisy around the shoulders. Daisy rolled backward, throwing May over her and getting to her feet as the shorter woman jumped up into a wide stance.

“You’ll get back to that level,” The physical therapist assured him.

Daniel shook his head. “Maybe. I hope so. If not, I’m a damn good shot, anyway.”

The doctor chuckled before motioning back to the PT room. “C’mon, you still have thirty minutes stuck with me before I release you from daily therapy.”

“It’s only been three weeks?” Daniel questioned, confused. They walked through a black door to a small room. Grey cabinets on one side, a black table on the other, physical therapy tools lined up in organized sections.

“Most of which was just assessing you. You already know the exercises and stretches, and you completed the physical therapy recommended by your primary care physician before you came to us. You have the strength mostly back in your residual limb, at least to the point where sparring shouldn’t do any damage. I still expect you to show up at least twice a week. Especially since you’re starting field training with May.”

He smiled. “How do you know about that?”

“I have access to your file, Sousa,” She reminded him, “I also know you were late to her class on the first day. Not a smart move, in my opinion.”

Daniel cringed at the memory of heads turning his way, watching him limp to the only open seat in the very front. May’s comment— “Thoughtful of you to join us, Agent Sousa,” —still turned his face a slightly embarrassing shade of red when he thought about it.

Noticing his uncomfortable silence, the physical therapist put on a sympathetic face. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I was late to my first class, too. Professor Martin, advanced physiology. Granted, I was seventeen...”

Daniel playfully glared at her.

“...but I suppose that’s no excuse. Let’s get started.”

The rest of the day went by without Daisy or Daniel seeing much of each other besides a fleeting glimpse while changing classes. Not that they were looking for the other, or anything.

A few hours later, before dinner, Daisy was sitting on the counter in the girls’ dorm bathroom, watching Jemma curl her hair.

Jemma Simmons was one of the only people she immediately loved at SHIELD, and the first person she had trusted on Coulson’s team. Over the course of a couple months, they became closer than Daisy had ever been with anyone, spending almost every waking moment together. Over time, Daisy had grown to love the rest of the team, too, learning that they had also been hand picked by Coulson. Though, technically, Daisy hadn’t been chosen for the team. She was picked up as a consultant. But it didn’t matter, as the ragtag team had quickly been disbanded.

Knives shoved into your back can have that effect.

After the end of the team, Code-named Bus Kids, Daisy, Fitzsimmons, Tripp, and May and Coulson had come to the Academy to continue working with SHIELD. Daisy and Tripp were assigned as partners in their ops training, Fitzsimmons were partners in the lab, and May and Coulson still checked on them as if nothing had changed.

But people get busy, and it had been awhile since Jemma and Daisy had properly talked to each other.

“Does the bruise on my nose look like it’ll go away any time soon?”

Jemma glanced up through the mirror, shrugging. “It should. What did you do to it?”

Daisy fiddled with her hands, only answering when Jemma turned to face her fully.

“I kinda, uhm, got punched...”

The stern look Jemma gave Daisy quickly melted into laughter as the brunette added, “...by a punching bag.”

Reaching up to turn Daisy’s face towards the fluorescent bathroom lighting, Jemma gently ran a finger along the angry red splotch on the top of Daisy’s nose. She jerked her head a bit, wincing at the contact.

“You should be fine, I’ll grab some of the good anti-inflammatory meds from the medical storage.”

Daisy thanked her, hopping off the counter to grab an eyeliner pen. “So, how is Fitz? Is this a real date night or are you guys ‘just hanging out’?”

Jemma smiled at his name and rubbed her neck. Daisy smiled back at the subconscious reaction.

“You two are so meant for each other,” She teased.

Jemma tilted her face up towards Daisy, allowing her to start applying eyeliner.

“He hasn’t really defined it. We’re ‘going out’, but we aren’t dating.”

Daisy finished the subtle cat eye, shaking her head. When would he learn that Jemma would only believe they were together if he said, ‘Hey, Jems, I’m completely and totally in love with you and I want you and I to live happily ever after!’

Daisy watched Jemma inspect herself in the mirror, touching up her mascara.

“You look amazing. He’s a fool if he doesn’t see it,” Daisy assured.

Jemma smiled. Her Sheffield accent had gotten thicker over break, Daisy noticed, as Jemma responded, “He does, I know he does. We both just have trouble, you know? Voicing our thoughts and feelings.”

Daisy definitely knew…

“Well, he could do with a good reminder sometimes. If y’all are going to keep going on these not-dates, you might as well show him what he’s missing by staying just friends!”

Jemma laughed, smiling gratefully. She took one final look in the mirror, swishing her knee-length royal blue dress and fluffing her hair. “Okay, well, off I go. Have a good night, Daisy.”

Daisy gave her a thumbs up and went to watch out her window as Fitz handed Jemma a hand-picked bouquet of (slightly squished) wildflowers and took her arm to lead her to the parking lot.

Daisy sighed and turned away from the gold and pink sunset. She opened her personal laptop, immediately bombarded by three windows running programs. One was running an innocent algorithm to clean all the useless, unused files from her computer, one was a simulation that could (hypothetically, no harm no foul) hack the Pentagon, and another was trying to find video and audio feed from Los Angeles, four months ago.

Daisy’s gaze lingered on the last one, not expecting anything new. She sighed and picked up her laptop, deciding to go visit Mack in the garage. It was only seven on a Friday, he’d probably be there working on the run-down, close to falling apart Harley he had bought off an old friend for $200. Mack had been working on it for months. Daisy wasn’t even sure it had half its original parts.

A short trip across the grounds and a trek over a winding path cut through a field of thick tallgrass later, Daisy arrived at the garage.

The monstrous steel and concrete building was like a plane hangar and mechanics lab forged into one. Workstations around the edge were strewn with tools, motors, and half-finished pieces of tech. Shining black SHIELD vehicles and even two quinjets sat in the middle, outlined by rectangular blocks of tape and paint. Catwalks crossed the upper level so that mechanics could reach the tops of planes when necessary, though SHIELD planes hardly ever came to The Academy unless they were being used for a lesson.

Daisy followed the sounds of tinkering and the quietly moving shadows to Mack’s workstation. She carefully leaned against a nearby SHIELD van, not wanting to interrupt his work.

Now, to say that Mack wasn’t easily frightened was an understatement. Daisy had hardly ever seen the muscled giant of a man so much as jump. Ever since discovering this, Daisy had taken every opportunity to try to scare Mack. It was not going great.

Daisy pulled out her phone, silently thumbing through emails and checking Instagram. She was about to walk over and tap him on the shoulder when Mack turned around and screamed.

Clutching his chest, Mack exclaimed, “Tremors, what the hell?!”

“I just wanted to come check in,” Daisy giggled, happy that she had finally snuck up on Mack.

Mack stood with his hands on his hips, smiling wide, before cocking one thick eyebrow and gesturing at her face.

“What happened to your nose?”

“Punching bag won this morning,” She shrugged.

Mack shook his head, laughing in a deep rumble. “You wanna help me with this?” He asked, pointing to the small device on his desk.

She didn’t answer, just reached out to take a small screwdriver from Mack’s very large hand. He showed her how to twist it to create leverage without it slipping while he messed with some wires, and eventually he seemed satisfied.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Mack asked casually.

Daisy nodded, her grumbling stomach betraying her.

Mack eyed her up and down. “Sure. Well, I’m hungry, so let's get something to eat and then we can take the bikes out.”

Daisy liked the feeling of being on a bike, the wind in her hair and steady vibrations from the engine soothing her ever-present headache. Ever since this revelation, if Mack went out on his motorcycle, he invited Daisy to ride with him.

At first, Daisy had been skeptical. What was so great about a two-wheel speeding death trap? One of her best friends had driven a gleaming 1969 Dodge Charger, and she had enjoyed riding with the windows down, but it still wasn’t the absolute best experience of her life, like most motorcyclists claimed a ride could be. However, once Daisy had finally taken Mack up on his offer, she was never hesitant to accept another invitation.

In the canteen, Mack piled a plate high with salad ingredients and baked spaghetti, scooping some off into a bowl for Daisy once he got back to the table. She took a fork and picked at it, chewing the crisp lettuce slowly.

Once they were both finished, Mack put his plate and utensils on the circling dish belt. He let Daisy lead the way back to the garage. She immediately grabbed two helmets and Mack’s gloves.

“That leather jacket gonna be enough to keep you warm? I have a couple old flannels in my bag if you want one.” Mack offered.

Daisy picked at a loose thread on the worn black jacket, nodding and throwing a ‘Thanks’ over her shoulder. She quickly rifled through his duffel bag, pulling out a faded black and blue flannel and shrugging it on under her jacket.

Mack mounted his black and silver bike, Daisy choosing a smaller SHIELD one. She kicked the kickstand back with her foot, finding her balance. She followed Mack as he revved the engine and took off out of the garage. Daisy heard him speak into the helmet’s mic.

“I upgraded the bikes, bigger tires and a better visor. It’s more efficient. Plus, when I’m out on the highway, cars don’t push me around.”

Daisy gave him a thumbs up, focusing on the feeling of air flowing around her. She sped up as she reached the road. She felt as if she was flying high into the air, fighting the laws of physics. On the back roads surrounding the Academy, as familiar as the back of her hand, Daisy relaxed and let herself fall into autopilot.

She heard Mack in her ear, still talking about the bike. She had heard it all before, but there was something centering about listening to Mack retell the evolution of his bike for the hundredth time, like a kid who begged to hear the same bedtime story every night.

It was freeing, speeding down a deserted road on the bike, stars above and pavement below. Pine trees reached for the sky on each side of her. Shrubbery and grass waved to Mack and Daisy as they raced forward.

A slight burn pricked her eyes that she knew wasn’t from the wind. Daisy needed this after a stressful first couple weeks back in class. To be honest, it was what she needed all the time. Daisy was exhausted. Her powers may not be visible, but they were always on, always bouncing around her body. Times like these, though, Daisy felt free. Releasing the constant grip she had on her self-control, she let the vibrations of the engine flow through her. Slowly, surely, Daisy let her guard down. A whispering warble crept into her ears over the wind. She could feel the way the pavement below and the humid late-August air around her absorbed the miniscule quakes, bouncing lightly off the tall trees like a quiet laugh reflecting off the walls of an echo-chamber.

About an hour later, Daisy and Mack were rolling back into the garage. Daisy couldn’t hide the slight redness in her eyes, but the smile on her face told Mack he didn’t need to worry. The pair silently did maintenance on the motorcycles, re-fueling them for later use and checking for any loose parts on Daisy’s.

Daisy headed back to campus, refusing Mack’s offer to walk her back to the dorms. She would be fine on her own. Besides, Jems might be back by now, she could ask about Fitzsimmons’ date. Or she could wait until breakfast tomorrow and tease them both.

Daisy stopped in her tracks. Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow slipped behind a building. Daisy felt her back tense, her hands curling into fists.

Any remainder of twilight light had faded while Mack and Daisy maintenanced the bikes. Daisy couldn’t imagine that any of the trainees that went to parties at the nearby universities were back yet, but no student in their right mind would want to simply walk around the dark campus of the Academy.

She kept walking, more alert. No sounds apart from her steady breathing and the rustle of grass beneath her feet reached her ears. She walked slowly toward where the shadow had disappeared. It looked as if it was headed to the biochem building. Daisy raised her hands, quietly running towards the white building, slightly crouched. She circled it once, twice, before deciding she had been imagining things, the shadow was only a trick of the light. It seemed so real though, so solid…

Daisy shook her head and crossed the courtyard, heading towards the dorms. It was late, and she had important things to do tomorrow. She was probably just tired from her ride with Mack.

Behind her, unnoticed by Daisy, the shadow quickly crossed the field behind the biochem building, slinking into the tallgrass.

The next day, Daisy woke to the sound of her alarm blaring 90’s RnB at six thirty AM, sharp. She quickly shut it off and stared at the ceiling for a moment before groaning and dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after her encounter with the shadow.

The sun was slowly ascending in the sky, golden light filtering into her windows. It was early, but she didn’t have the energy to go workout. Instead, Daisy stretched on her bed and sent a quick text to Jemma asking to meet up later to gossip about her date.

She grabbed shorts and a cropped sweatshirt, quickly dressing and making her way to the bathroom. She clipped her hair back, brushed her teeth, washed her face and headed back to her room. Trying her best to cover the bruise that had turned from red-violet to a blue-ish tinted black, she did minimal makeup. It’s not like it could get any worse, she thought bitterly. The concealer wasn’t much use.

Deciding to ignore the bruise, Daisy stood up, grabbed her backpack with her personal laptop and journal and headed to the canteen.

There weren’t many students around campus this early in the morning. Most were either asleep or nursing a hangover in their dorms. A few dedicated trainees were scattered amongst the different buildings, either in the gym or studying on their favourite bench. Daisy made a beeline for the canteen, hoping that no one had drank all the fresh coffee yet.

She slipped through the doors, sending small smiles to the students she made eye-contact with, faltering when her roving gaze reached a set of twinkling eyes the color of coffee. Maybe, she thought, I should go over and talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?

She quickly poured herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a cinnamon raisin bagel from the pastry cart. Checking to be sure he wasn’t sitting with anyone (she wouldn’t want to intrude), Daisy walked around to the back of the large room, sitting in a spot diagonal from him.

After a few minutes of silence where Daisy ate her bagel and pretended not to feel his eyes on her, she turned and faced him.

“Good morning,” she said.

He dipped his head and raised his paper cup of coffee at the same time in response.

Does he not want to talk to me? Daisy questioned herself. She tried again. “So, is the coffee good?” He glanced at her cup that she had been sipping. Daisy recovered, “You know, in your opinion. I love the coffee here, the slightly burned aftertaste goes well with cream and sugar.΅

To her relief, he smiled. “Yeah, it’s good. I don’t usually use cream or sugar.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Ah, more of a bare necessities, no-nonsense guy?”

His nose scrunched a little in thought, as if he was assessing his entire personality to see if it aligned with Daisy’s coffee psychology. He nodded finally, elaborating, “I was in the army. Most of us drank it black while deployed. I never got out of the habit. But, to answer your question, I like to think of myself as low maintenance.”

He sent her a small smile that had her insides melting just a bit. Daisy hid behind the rim of her coffee cup, trying to think of a response. Luckily, New Guy saved her.

“How do you drink your coffee?”

Daisy lowered her own paper cup, clearing her throat. “One half and half, just a bit of sugar. If I’m super tired I’ll add more.”

“So you probably adapt easily and have a deep hunger for answers to all your questions?”

Daisy’s eyes quickly flicked down to her coffee, wondering if her coffee order really exposed that much about her. Daniel laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “I’m kidding. I noticed how you’re always in the computer lab before class, and Yo-Yo told me that you use that time to research.”

Daisy felt a blush creep up her neck. Yo-Yo knew New Guy? And gave him information about her schedule?

Daniel quickly explained, “We see each other in the halls a lot. And we have a class together. She noticed me in the lab and thought I knew you.”

Daisy relaxed. Yo-Yo had become increasingly more friendly to strangers the longer she spent at the Academy.

“I remember the first time I met her. She was so angry that SHIELD had stopped her from exposing the police in her city as corrupt. Our team was sent in to help her finish what she had started, destroy weapons and take down the corrupt members of the department. It was fun,” She chuckled.

Daniel watched her through his thin clear-frame glasses. She winced a little as her nose scrunched with laughter, recalling another story about a mission gone awry that Yo-Yo saved.

“How did you get that bruise?”

“What?”

He pointed to the spot on his face that mirrored the position of the bruise on hers. “The bruise. It looks like it hurts.”

Daisy shrugged, “Not as badly as getting shot. But you know, sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes the bag punches you.”

Despite the playful nature of the statement, Daniel couldn’t help but hear alarm bells in the back of his mind. She had been shot?!

Daisy noticed the change in Daniel’s demeanor and switched tactics, “It’s just a bruise. I wasn’t paying attention and the punching bag flew back and hit me in the face.”

Daniel laughed, becoming more and more intrigued with the enigma sitting across from him. Well, at least this enigma was beautiful, even if she had lost a fight to a punching bag.

A look of pure confusion overtook Daisy’s features. “Excuse me?”

Daniel’s face flushed bright red. He said that out loud. Daisy was still smiling though, Daniel let out a nervous chuckle. The two lapsed into an awkward silence. Daisy was finishing her bagel when he spoke up again.

“It was good talking to you,” he said softly.

Daisy’s eyes wandered his face with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, it was.”

He resisted the urge to offer to walk Daisy to wherever she was going as she headed out of the doors of the canteen, coffee with one half and half and pinch of sugar in hand.

————————————————————————————

hi hellooo! whatd you think? comments and notes are appreciated! (will go back and edit this later, for now i sleep)

tag list: @jaanulore

[novasintheroom]

Hey its ray-jaykub! I saw that you did requests and i was wondering if i could get head-cannons on the turtles and what they like to do with their respective s/os

OMG I love you!!! Okay I gotta calm down hooo

Leo

·         Love love loves to carry you over rooftops and sit on high points to look over the city with you. This is one of his ways to calm down and think about things without his brothers’ around to stress him out, and having you there some nights, looking at the glitter of the lights – poetry for his heart

·         Speaking of poetry – you guys will have contests for who can make the worst poems. Just something to pass off to each other between visits, something you find in your bag or in his bed sheets. Cheesy, unrhythmic, stupid, whatever. You guys have cried laughing before b/c of this. However, every once in a while he’ll slap you with a real intimate and loving poem that just makes you melt.

·         You’ve started trying to sneak up on him. It doesn’t work. He still lets you do it, just so he can turn around and grab you at the last second. Sometimes he throws you on the nearest soft surface, sometimes he gives you a big kiss, sometimes he just starts carrying you around like a sack of potatoes – depends on his mood honestly. Your determination to spook him is cute.

·         Watching or listening to True Crime stuff becomes a quick couple’s hobby for you guys. Usually it’s playing in the background as you each do chores or work on some project, but you’ll each talk about the case throughout. You’ve hit him more than once for giving away what happened or who killed who. He’s too good at figuring this kind of stuff out!

·         He loves when you sit with him when he meditates. Even if you aren’t the meditating type, if you just sit quietly by him or read, he already feels much calmer. If he’s practicing balancing moves, he’ll sometimes grab you to hoist you up in the air, “to practice strength” at the same time. You’ve learned it’s a very bad idea to squirm when he’s got you planking above his head; he will start tickling you if you don’t keep still.

Raph

·         Once he gets a good enough disguise, he loves to ride around on his newly built motorcycle with you on the city streets. It’s fun to zip through cars and people and drive out to the sparser points of the city to watch ships come in and out of the bay or go to a park outside the city to watch the lights as they all turn on at dusk.

·         Loooovvess having movie nights with you. Seriously asks for it every week. You two get comfy on the couch with like 3 blankets thrown over your laps and watch something like Jurassic Park or Mad Max and gorge on buttery popcorn and chocolate. Sometimes you’ll slip in a chick flick like Pride and Prejudice. He acts like he doesn’t like it, but you’ve caught a goofy, happy smile on him more than once at the end of the movie, and then he starts lifting your hand like Mr. Darcy and adopting more “romantic” actions and it’s just *chef’s kiss*

·         You guys will spar together. It’s kinda required once you date him; he wants you to be able to kick butt if he can’t get to you fast enough. But these sessions usually end up with you and him wrestling/tickling each other and him holding you down with a foot while he lifts weights. Get comfy princess, he ain’t moving that foot ‘til he get 100 reps.

·         He has a really good eye for fashion and makeup. He’s actually the one that sews together all of his family’s clothes, as much as possible with the scraps they find around. It’s calming to make something instead of the stigma he has of destroying stuff. He’s the first person you SnapChat with an outfit just to make sure it looks good, and he sends back honest feedback, like “why do you still have that scarf, you know it doesn’t match anything in your closet,” or “try the red sweater with that long gold necklace you have.” Everyone compliments your outfits so much because of his input

·         Likes to go swimming with you. There’s a few clear, clean pools in the sewers (Donnie approved) where you guys go just to have a good swim. There’s usually some candles lit and music playing. More often than not, you’ll end up laying on his chest while he floats on the surface and just enjoy each other’s company. At least until he gets the idea to dunk you.

Donnie

·         Sneaking into the rafters of Broadway is a regular event for you guys. He manages to disable any security they have up around your “spot,” and you get a free show with your favorite person. He’ll be quoting his favorite lines for days after, all the while talking about the next show to see. He’d so be a theater kid if he had the chance.

·         One of the main things that got you guys together in the first place was you helping him put together tech he’s working on. It still continues now, since you have a steady hand and a willing ear to listen to his theories and ideas. You’ve even inspired him a few times with your comments! It’s a casual bonding activity for you both, and he values your thoughts.

·         Spontaneous dances are a must. Sometimes he’ll grab you and dance around the room – especially if an experiment of his goes well – sometimes it’ll be goofy dances to see how badly you two can embarrass anyone looking, and other times, you guys will just slow dance before you leave, just as a way to be close before having to part.

·         You guys form your own little potted plant collection in the lair. It’s both a hobby, and a way for you to check on how he’s doing. If he’s doing well, the plants are watered and taken care of. If he’s getting sucked into things and forgetting to care for himself, the plants suffer. He tries to get an auto-watering system for them, but you shut that down quick. It’s good to do some things yourself rather than rely on technology!

·         Cupcake Saturdays are a thing. He’ll take you to a bakery, where you’ll go in and get a box of cupcakes (extra frosting). You guys will then just chow down on them on the rooftop, often with him licking a lot of the frosting off the cupcakes before eating the actual “cake” part.

Mikey

·         Such a fan of trying every new restaurant you can find in NYC. It’s become a date-night tradition every Thursday to either order or pick up some hole-in-the-wall place’s food, meet up somewhere, and Gordon Ramsay the crap out of the food. He does a mean Ramsay impression, and you’ve snorted more than one ramen noodle out of your nose from laughing so hard.

·         If you aren’t a fan of video games, you will be once you date this guy. It’s not even just watching or playing video games with him, he’s just funny when he plays! He’ll make the most stupid comments about something going on in the storyline, or mess around, even glitch out a game. He’s managed to get out of the maps of Among Us more than once. You’re convinced if he started his own YouTube gaming channel, he’d be a quick star.

·         Game nights are a must for you guys. It usually turns into a family game night with you, the turtles, Splinter, April and Casey, which Mikey just adores because he gets to see everyone he loves having fun. You two will usually team up against the others, or turn on each other to stab the other in the back. Uno and Cover Your Assets have made you guys question your loyalty to each other more than once. That Uno Reverse card, man…

·         Arts and crafts are his favorite. Anytime a holiday is coming up, Mikey gets hyped ‘cause he knows you guys are gonna start making decorations for it. You guys will usually make decorations for each other. Mikey loves this, just because he feels like a normal person by having actual Halloween decorations around the lair instead of stuff he and his bros scraped together off the streets.

·         Loves to stargaze with you in the summer time. He’ll convince Donnie to let him drive the truck out of the city to the countryside of New York, bring you with him, and set up on the roof of the truck in the middle of a field (that he totally didn’t crash through a wood fence to get to). Fireflies will fly over your faces, and he’ll joke that they’re shooting stars and make a thousand and one wishes on each of them. He won’t tell you that all of those wishes are for you and him to be together forever, but it’s not hard to guess with how mushy he gets after each one.

[smilepal]

ooh 20, 31, 35, 69 for Hiro 😌

Character asks for @saevus-brutalis 🖤🖤

20.) Where do they currently live? Describe their home.

Hiro's currently living in an apartment he shares with Vic. (and depending on the AU/canon, former head-parasite Johnny Silverhand.) It's set up fairly similar to V's apartment, but there's a bigger bed, (as well as a couch that folds out) and a second bathroom/it's a little nicer. Between three people and two cats, they needed more space, and Hiro was tired of sleeping on a futon in the stash (of course, the second bed is usually for guests--they typically end up in the same bed, anyway.) The closet is mostly Hiro's clothing--he has so much of it, despite the fact he promises he's going to go through it and get rid of some. At least it's fairly well-organized. There's also a bigger kitchen with a small table, and actual stove. Both Hiro and Vic are decent cooks (and Hiro likes baking on occassion) and they insisted on it.

The space is usually fairly tidy. Vic isn't a slob, and Hiro is a little compulsive about it/cleans at night when he can't sleep or anxiety is bad, so there's seldom a mess--despite Johnny's best efforts. Hiro's always giving him shit for using the clean mugs as ashtrays, and he's threatened to start emptying them on his pillow, or in his guitar case on more than one occasion. It also looks like someone's baby-proofed it. Akira (one of the cats) knows how to open doors, and gets into stuff if you're not careful. There's almost always some sort of music playing, or windows open so the city sounds filter in. Hiro hates dead silence, so unless it's just Vic and the cats at home, there's usually some sort of background noise.

31.) Who are their closest chooms in NC?

If we're not including other OCs, Victor is a close friend/guardian figure to Hiro. He's one of the first people who helped Hiro after he left the Claws, and is definitely someone he looks up to. He used to be very close with Jackie, and would definitely have considered him one of his best friends. He's pretty good friends with Claire too. Both of them share a lot of interests and they like to work on cars/bikes together. Sometimes they'll just sit in silence with a couple of beers and do their own work, but they enjoy the company regardless. It's an odd friendship, but he's also become quite fond of the Animals (especially Rhino) who run the boxing gym. It's always good to have new people to spar with, and they're not that bad, either. Dum Dum and Brick are also unexpected friends. It keeps Maelstorm off his back though (for the most part), and that's always an added bonus.

35.) How would you describe their relationship with their family?

Oh boy. It's not good. Both of his parents died when he was fairly young, and he was mostly raised by his older brother. They were't good caretakers. Both were still in the Tyger Claws and running drugs/weapons for them. Hiro and his older brother (Avi) were certainly not planned for. Hiro also has a half-sister Ares, whom he's never met. His dad had a fling with a nomad woman, so the two of them don't know the other exists. After his parents death, Hiro and Avi were separated--Avi ran/Hiro got left behind and eventually wound up with the Claws.

There's a lot of resentment there. The two of them didn't have contact until they were older, after Hiro had been with the gangs for years and Avi secured himself a position with Arasaka. Hiro's threatened to kill the other, on more than one occasion. He's not kidding. Avi is just pleased with the attention, and is rather proud of him, or as much as he can be, anyway. He's aware Hiro hates him, and isn't bothered by it. If someone were to ask Hiro about his family, he'd deflect the question or just pretend he doesn't have any siblings. It's not a relationship he's particularly thrilled to have.

69.) Do they like having music on while they have sex? share three songs they’d play while getting down.

Hiro loves having music on in the background--it needs to be on the louder side if you want to hear it over him though, discreet isn't in his vocabulary. If he feels so inclined, or is asked nicely enough--he might even give his partner a show--a striptease or lapdance. He's not lacking in confidence--or skill, at any rate. Some songs that might play are:

Closer-NIN (it's a classic, so if it aint' broke, don't fix it)

Killing Strangers-Marilyn Manson

Change (In the House of Flies)--Deftones

Thanks for asking, I hadn't put much thought into Hiro's apartment, or talked about his family so this was fun! 🥰🥰

[hottestthingalive]

Hi I want to hear more about the tommy-with-a-camera agenda, or any ideas like it, or any concepts/headcanons you think about... just anything really

oh anon. oh anon the power you've given me. oh the sharing my dsmp headcanons power. oh good golly gee willickers

anyways, camera au:

-tommy's camera broke while he was dead -- it had been on its last legs already, but being in a chest in a very hot prison buried under all of tommy's other belongings did it no favors. it was tubbo and ranboo who helped him fix it: ranboo paid for the materials, and tubbo showed him how to make the repairs. they were going to buy him a whole new one, but tubbo knew as soon as he saw tommy holding it (like a lifeline, like a saving grace, like the way he held the discs, long ago) that that wouldn't be an option. it works much better now that it's been fixed, and they even repainted it! 

-speaking of the camera, i firmly believe that tommy puts stickers all over that thing, as well as everything else. c!tommy has stickers person vibes. someone got him a sticker machine once and he's been obsessed with making his own stickers ever since. he also has a sticker collection. something something the inherent impermanence of stickers and tommy managing to love them anyways, and painstakingly collecting and saving the ones that have fallen off or been torn in a box beneath his bed something something angsty fluff. anyways. 

outside of the tommy with a camera agenda hcs:

-you know how when you spend enough time around people you start to pick up on their mannerisms? spend enough time around bad and you'll eventually accidentally pick up his cursing aversion and his substitute cursing. there was a point where the whole eggpire called their enemies muffinheads. 

-tubbo and ranboo make a point out of always putting michael to bed at night. because they can't always both be there but want to make sure it happens, they'll coordinate ahead of time and message each other, but also have a calendar in the kitchen in snowchester to mark down whether or not they'll be able to do it that night. although the calendar was originally used solely for michael’s bedtime routine, they started using it for other stuff, too: holidays and anniversaries and events and everything in between. ranboo keeps that same calendar copied down in his memory book. they let michael decorate the days of it when he's bored.

-techno likes to joke about phil chronically adopting kids, and threatens to send him to adopters' anonymous, so in retaliation, phil pokes fun about how techno's got a veritable zoo of pets, and how he should “start charging admission to his house at this rate”. neither of them like to talk about tommy much, but both of them have just narrowly avoided bringing him up in their ribbing (techno as an example of phil's terrible taste in adoptive children, phil as an example of techno's issue with adopting pets -- "even tommy was essentially a raccoon!"). 

-i am a sucker for techno and tubbo's dynamic, and so i am constantly having thoughts about what might happen if they became friends in canon. think about that concept for two seconds and tell me it doesn't make you whether fear for your life and/or fill you with pure chaotic glee. anyways tubbo "battlebox ace extraordinare" "was beating tommy before the 'discs were worth more than you ever were' thing" "genuinely a brilliant pvper" underscore sparring with/being trained by technoblade is a very fun idea.

-i also love the idea of techno or phil trying to give tubbo a shovel talk and him giving them one instead. in general the idea of phil and techno being mildly terrified of tubbo but unable/unwilling to do anything about it fills me with glee because i just imagine a scenario in the far-off future where techno, ranboo, phil and tubbo are all standing off against someone and techno's just standing in the background letting tubbo do his thing because he genuinely believes that terrifying teenager could easily kill a man. all for c!techno being team "genuinely believes tubbo could do anything and would be surprised and a little offended if you said otherwise". i think these grown men who are colloquially considered gods should fear this 5′6 teenager. as a treat

-quackity keeps his engagement rings in a safe with the deed to las nevadas, his contracts with the members of it, and his old marriage papers to schlatt. only slime knows where they are. some nights, he’ll take them out of the safe and turn them over in his fingers, wondering what went wrong. 

-speaking of slime, i firmly believe that, in an attempt to introduce him to human culture, quackity sat him down in front of a tv and told him to go to town. quackity initially set the tv to documentary channels, national geographic and all that, but things went downhill as soon as slime discovered cable television. he's watched so many sitcoms. partially because of this, slime is CONVINCED that quackity, karl and sapnap are having some dramatic dispute that will be solved in "the next few episodes" or that they are secretly still together and have to hide their relationship for the time being for some unknown reason. also, slime now talks like someone in a 70s or 80s sitcom a lot of the time, and, because he's not human, can make Definitely Not Human noises, including playing a laugh track or a dramatic sound effect. this does not go over well when he's in political meetings with quackity. 

-karl's been doing not so great lately. he swears he's lost something, that he's forgotten something hugely important -- but any time he tries to figure out what it is, he gets distracted, usually by another bout of time travel. it's odd, he thinks, how often sapnap mentions quackity -- almost as if he's more important to them than karl remembers -- and then karl forgets again. maybe i should start keeping a memory book, he muses, and then wonders where he got that idea from, and then he's distracted by plans for a new build in kinoko, and he forgets about even his memory issues for the time being. he thinks that he might have lost something. and then he forgets even that. 

-puffy and sam, after breaking free of the eggs' control, could still hear it in their heads sometimes, promising things, screaming at them, threatening everyone they loved. puffy dealt with her nightmares by visiting her children and setting up an appointment with someone in another server for online therapy -- sam dealt with his by sleeping less and working at the prison more and more and more. one of those methods was far more effective than the other, and sam's lack of sleep has continued even with the egg gone, which has done him no favors.

-is purpled an alien? is purpled just some dude who likes space? what even is a purpled? no one knows but there’s loads of conspiracy theories running around about the guy. he’s just vibing and doesn’t really care but he does like to encourage some of the ones he thinks are funniest. 

-thanks to wilbur “how confusing and convoluted can i make my family tree” soot, people are, in fact, super fucking confused about wilbur & phil & fundy’s family. phil, after initially being annoyed about it, decided to just go with the chaos and has somehow made it worse. there’s a running joke in the smp now that if someone doesn’t know their family/doesn’t have a family/is just friends with wil, fundy or phil, they’re “on the soot family tree”. 

i’ve got more headcanons (i could ramble about dsmp stuff for ages, it’s truly insane) but i’ll leave it here for now. hope you enjoy, anon!

[hesloaded]

roleplay/fake. krp oc. n/sfw. tw: dark and mature themes. all profile information remains undisclosed unless plotted otherwise. faceclaim: ㅋㅏㅇㅣ written by rae.

code name: BULLET. birth name: 김 지 원 / kim jiwon. birthdate: 1994.12.21. birth place: seoul, south korea. korean age: 28. zodiac: sagittarius sun.

occupation: independent hitman, sniper. skillset: tactical shooting & combat (experienced with carbines, shot/handguns, sniper/rifles, machines under extreme circumstances. & hand-to-hand), boxing, krav maga, filipino stick/knife fighting. first aid.

weight: 76kg. height: 182cm. physique: fit. lean overall. languages: fluent korean, english. conversational japanese, mandarin, russian. religion: none. hails from a christian background. tattoos: example > arm sleeves, chest, back, and on his left hip to thigh. description of some pieces below;

nunc illas promite vires (now put forth that strength, in latin), in thick font, a vertical line on the left of his side, stops above the hipbone.

Buddha on the inner bicep of his left arm sleeve.

a gun on his right hip.

a large dagger on his left upper-wrist, the tip of it’s blade reaching for his middle finger.

‘i deeply belong to myself’, horizontally arcing down his left hipbone.

other mods: pierced ears, all basic holes and hooped silver rings. main earring holes are both gauged at 3mm, though he doesn’t wear them often anymore as he currently prefers earrings. sexual orientation: n/a.

Jiwon had been born with a well polished silver spoon in his mouth, which had remained wedged there until the day he’d personally witnessed his father’s murder. Their wealth had been abundant, but abundance did not always equal lawful, and Jiwon so happened to learn that the hard way. His father had been dabbling with the underworld for many years, and thus put him and his family’s life on the line since the very first contract he’d ever signed with the dons, the chiefs and the clans. After crossing certain boundaries of such dangerous people, as consequence, the father’s life had been taken away from him right in front of his only son, and the son had since been left in abandon while growing up with that gruesome memory, which never seemed to leave room for other nightmares in the night.

Quickly, the silver spoon grew rusted. Their family name had plummeted below the surface of the social class, and Jiwon had been forced into the other end of the spectrum without much time to grieve, or to adjust to his reality. They were suddenly dirt poor, as everything they once had was taken away from them upon the findings of his father’s illegal dwellings, and there was nothing they could say, or do about it. Jiwon, 15, and his younger sister, 7, getting by alongside their sickly mother on scraps and pity. Before they knew it, the hospital bills began to pile up in the drawers, court debt left behind by the father too much to handle, as well as basic expenses like food, education and rent.

At 17, Jiwon had voluntarily dropped out of school and decided he’d simply leave home, never to return again until he’d found a job that allowed him stable income. Enough cash to at least sustain his mother, and his younger sister. But there was also something else carried in the back of his mind, something poisonous that lead him astray along the way. He’d started with simple jobs in convenience stores, food delivery, the odd job here and there that could add at least an extra won for the month. But the greedier he got, the odder did the jobs as well. As if this was a sort of calling in his blood, he'd ended up at the edge of an industry where his late father had once been before. Maybe out of grief, and surely for revenge.

He knew he could never go back to the day after he had come across a certain individual he knows nothing of in present, who’d introduced him to a variety of "temp" jobs; mostly hands off at first, to prove he were trusty enough, before he’d graduated into the hands on part of the lifestyle where he’d learn how to fight, throw a knife, and shoot a gun. Professionally groomed by a veteran towards serious temporary positions and better money, by sparring until he were caked in bruises and blood, and shooting empty beer cans by the beach waves (trained in Jeju). And sooner than he'd thought, beer cans became human beings.

His initial aim was never to fall too deeply into dangerous affairs that had gotten his father killed in the first place, but there was something about it that was much too seductive to ignore, much too thrilling to escape- and so by the age of 19, Jiwon was engrossed. And he was really good.

He began working with the man who’d basically recruited him after seeing the talent and hunger for something dark in his eyes, and through him discovered some parts to the puzzle of what had lead his father to such a cruel fate some years ago. Then after reaching a certain point in his investigation and a number of paychecks (which he often sent home to his family rather than keeping all to himself), and with the (forced) help of a mysterious woman he’d met named Kim Yuna, Jiwon had disappeared. Gone to lay low (and train more/hone other skills) in Auckland, New Zealand, and had come back shortly after turning 22, to put his research and skillset into practice.

This is when he had come to surpass his father’s footsteps; solidified his place in the underworld, established as an independent hitman after finally reaching and murdering his father’s killer. Spilling the rage and thirst for blood that had slowly welled up inside him over the years. Known as Bullet, and despite his young age, wanted and feared simultaneously.

location: established in seoul, south korea; works worldwide. direct address: undisclosed. license: LvL 1, general korean license. drives a harley davidson motorcycle, his car a revamped vintage ford mustang. pets: none. takes care of stray cats in his neighborhood. relationship status: n/a. family: mother (alive), younger sister (alive), father (deceased). had severed ties with them and doesn’t talk about them.

hobbies: cooking. reading. sports (lifting, boxing). watching movies. gaming. optimist or pessimist?: neutral. introvert or extrovert?: introverted extrovert. "describe yourself": well-rounded. intelligent. versatile. worthy. surprising. creative. best-shot. "describe jiwon": precise. observant. intimidating. unpredictable. humorous. aggressive. cross. dreams/goals: learn how to properly wield a japanese sword, going drifting with his car in tokyo, sandboarding in the desert dunes, visiting the stray cats in italy.

— being an independent assassin would mean that his business exists sans any form of contract to whatever company or illegal organization at all. a lot of these do exist both in South Korea and overseas, but Jiwon is strict about steering very clear from all attempts of recruitment made his way. signing his life away with blood is something he never plans to do, unlike his father had.

— the underworld's presence also lingers within certain hotels, bars, offices and theatres; as well as underground establishments like boxing ranges and clubs of all natures. simply because people like him are everywhere, though only few of them could ever compete.

— his associates range broadly from Triad bosses to ballerinas, and everything else in between. police chiefs, escorts, seasoned veterans, boxers, racers, butchers, hotel managers. all associates of his, and the below surface's, of course.

— he values taking care of himself very highly, as it contributes to his work at times it matters. when he'd first gotten into working within the industry as a rookie, he could be often found doing small missions like escorting, as he'd been recognized to be visually appealing, and taught to wield it as though he were holding a sharp blade.

— he'd lived and trained in a secluded countryside farm in Jeju island for nearly four years, before packings his bags and disappearing to Auckland in the midst of night.

— owns too many pairs of sneakers, belts, button ups and turtlenecks. he's an expressive dresser; usually loves wearing pieces that stand out or glitter. his closets consist mainly of blacks, reds and whites, some greys, blues, purples, and plaid. when it comes to accessories, he will try it all but prefers simple rings and thick necklaces. finally, his cologne selection ranges broadly of fresh, pine and woody scents.

— surprisingly loves babies and kids. might or might not suffer from perpetual baby fever.

— believes in consequential punishment, global warming, ghosts or spirits, and aliens. the usual.

— not very keen on haircuts. enjoys dyeing his hair. sometimes find his many tattoos burdensome as he regularly has to cover up for the casual public (though he doesn’t try much anymore, really).

— he absolutely despises being lied to, have his skills doubted, being suspected, accused unjustly and seeing entitled pride in other people. it might sound obvious, but it’s all particular triggers for anger and hostility in him.

— can’t keep promises. a bit lackluster when it comes to romance. prefers relationships without titles, and sometimes emotions. but when he does fall, he falls hard enough to break bones.

— he wants to look into going to live in japan for a while in the future, to study kenjutsu, and acquiring a japanese katana of his own.

— he has a habit of getting new tattoos whenever he’s out of the country. or when he’s stressed—he refuses to destress with smoking.

— despite his job and the occasional requirement to travel overseas to rigorous tasks and obscure locations, or stay in Seoul apartments; living off scrap for months in both predicaments, he’s still a homebody. Appreciates when he can return home and sleep with a corn-chip in his mouth.

— his home is prepared for any kind of assault at any hour of the day, carrying hidden weapons hiding in plain sight.

— collects silencers/suppressors simply because he enjoys using them on his firearms.

[manggojooz]

Foolish Love, Fake Love (Part 7)

pairing: idol!Jungkook x bodyguard!reader

word count: ~2,900

genre: idol!au; angst; romance; drama; enemies to lovers sort of thing

warnings: none

previous part: Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 |  Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |  Part 6

summary: If all you can give me is a fake love, then I will be the fool to pretend that it is all true.

Taglist: @a-hopelessly-imaginative-girl  @dollwithluv @sweetcheeksdna @yeontanie21 @peachygiraffe14 @jeontaes-world

“Aigoo, when are you ever going to find a boyfriend at this rate... all the guys will be so scared after they see how you fangirl over this cook guy,” Ssamchun was this naggy even when he was younger.  

“It’s ‘Jungkook’, Ssamchun,” you glared at him while Yuri laughed silently.  

“What are you laughing at?” you suddenly diverted your annoyance jokingly towards Yuri.  

“Nothing... really... just wondering how you can be so invested in a guy who doesn’t even know you exist,” she replied.  

It had been more than a year since Yuri had joined the mixed martial arts school and it was natural that you two were growing increasingly reliant on each other given that most of the other people here were male.  

“It’s called true love, it’s real alright?” you retorted, gesturing at her to get ready to be taken down by you.  

“How can it be true love, when you don’t even know the real him? What if he’s super weird in real life? Or maybe he’s super snobbish... I mean he’s a celebrity after all...” Yuri was not planning to run away from a sparring session but she found the need to defend her position.  

You never really bothered to refute that point whenever Yuri makes it, and you never would have imagined that his conversation would actually be relevant one day.  

---

“Were you... one of them?” Jungkook’s voice trails off as he popped the question hesitantly.  

There was no answer and the air was brimming with awkward energy.

“I guess... I was a fan after all,” you answered weakly.

He felt strangely affected by your use of the past tense.  

“I guess this is why we always have to keep up an image... once people know the real us, they will just stop supporting us,” he murmurs as he turns to exit the room and once again, he was strangely affected when you said nothing to stop him.  

---

The company told you to rest at home the next day but somehow you found yourself back at the company close to evening time, after having spent the day doing nothing much.  

You were just about to change into your exercise attire but decided to sit down on the chair in the changing room and thought about the conversation you had with Jungkook yesterday.  

There is just something really pitiful about it. Who is he in the end? What the company wants him to be? What the fans want him to be? What he wants himself to be? What is the real Jungkook like, does he even know?

Everyone goes through this at some point; some may never find the answer. Who are we really? What are we living for? And in turn, what can we be happy for? Only when we know what we want to become, can we be truly happy when we achieve it.  

But for him... he probably has a lot to live up to, benchmarks that may not be what he wanted in the first place.

You took out your phone to send a message to him only to stop at the first word because you have no idea where to start. That was when you were reminded of the song that comforted you years back.  

You searched it up online and just as you had hit the send button, there was a knock on the door. When you opened the door you could see a frowning Yuri looking at Sejoon.  

“Can’t you just give her a break today? She just came to have dinner with me...” Yuri huffed.  

“It’s not that I don’t want to give her a break though...” Sejoon answers helplessly.  

“What is it?” you asked.  

---

The last thing you expected to happen was you sitting in a private room of a traditional but fancy sashimi restaurant across from Sejoon and Kijin – mainly due to the fact that you don’t even fancy sashimi.

“Sometimes I really want to slap some sense into him. It's been getting worse lately, he gets so sensitive whenever I ask why he’s doing all this for Yeonjoo” Sejoon suddenly lowered his volume as he spoke about the very two people who were sitting in the private room next to yours.  

Apparently, it was close to Yeonjoo’s birthday and this is a restaurant that she had wanted to visit for the longest time, which explains the need for you to be a decoy. Sejoon and you had to be really obvious when entering the restaurant, while Jungkook came later. On top of all that you heard that Yeonjoo had to really discreetly enter from the back of the restaurant.  

“I suppose this is another undercover operation? Aren't you afraid Director Lee would find out about this?” you were worried for Sejoon but equally so for yourself.  

Sejoon and Kijin both look up at you in surprise, “It was Director Lee who made the reservation, you didn’t know that?” Kijin blurted.  

“Oh really?” you tried to contain your surprise while glancing towards Sejoon.  

He seemed more interested in the intricately-plated sashimi platter that was just served.  

“... so, Director Lee is now OK with Jungkook meeting her in private?” you could not keep the curiosity in and had to ask.  

“Of course not. And it’s not even something I can fight for since Jungkook that brat wouldn’t even confirm if they are really together or not” Sejoon replied through a mouthful of raw fish.  

“Then what’s going on here?” you frowned from the confusion.  

“That jewellery store wanted him to do photoshoot with you but he wouldn’t do it... so Director Lee bribed him with one favour and this is what he asked her for... to give permission for...” Sejoon answers, at first matter-of-factly, but quickly ended the topic as he realises what this meant to you.  

So this was why he willingly did the photoshoot; it was weird that there wasn’t much protesting on that day given how much he must have hated the idea of taking “couple photos” with you. You were lost in all these thoughts and did not notice Sejoon clearing his throat awkwardly.  

“Are you... are you not going to have some?” he quickly tried to change the topic, hoping to distract you.  

“I don’t really like raw stuff” you answered curtly, only belatedly feeling sorry to Sejoon for being somewhat rude to him for no reason.  

“Oh, I guess Jungkook just ordered the same set for both rooms. Let me go get the menu and order something else for you...” Sejoon fumbled to get out from his seat.  

“It’s ok oppa, I’m not that hungry anyway” you replied with a customary smile this time.  

---

Kijin and Sejoon had no problems finishing the whole platter of sashimi on their own and giving you a rundown of the best types of sashimi during the different seasons when someone barges into the room. It was Jungkook.  

“Hyung!” Jungkook called out. Sejoon naturally responded but Jungkook looks past him to Yeonjoo’s manager instead, “Not you Hyung... Kijin Hyung... Did Yeonjoo’s sasaeng appear again?”  

Kijin looked visibly tensed when the question was asked and there was a long pause before he answered, “It was quiet for a while, but after your scandal with her, it started again.”  

Yeonjoo was now in the room too, telling Jungkook that it is nothing and that there was no need for him to worry so much.  

“Maybe you should hire bodyguards for her too...” Jungkook nagged at Kijin.  

“Hey Jeon Jungkook, we are working on that, we already have a few lined up, but we are just clearing background checks before we can officially use them... so stop saying these obvious things...” Kijin was his usual annoyed self.  

“Kijin Oppa,” Yeonjoo started to say something, “I wanted to use the washroom and they said it’s across the garden, can you come along?”  

“What? The washroom is outside?” Kijin responded exasperatedly and was cursing under his breath.

“I can take you there” Jungkook quickly volunteered.  

“Haha, that would be weird...” Yeonjoo laughed, “and we can’t be caught together again.”  

Jungkook wanted to rebut that, but he really couldn’t. The deal with Director Lee was clear – even if they were seen to be in the same restaurant today, the official story would be that he was here with you and Yeonjoo to celebrate her birthday, he can’t be captured alone with her... but what about you?  

“Wait... Y/N... why don’t you go with her?” Jungkook suddenly suggested.  

Your eyes widened and you were about to protest but Kijin has latched onto the idea, “Oh... oh oh, yeah since you are here... just go with her quickly and come back.”  

You looked towards Sejoon for some back up but you knew it was already a closed case, so when he only smiled sheepishly back at you, you gave a reluctant “alright” and dragged yourself out from your seat.  

---

The washroom was located in a separate building across the traditional Korean-styled garden. It was a beautiful path to walk through and you hardly had any complains. At the end of the garden to the left was a road that sloped steeply upwards to the carpark and the main entrance.  

As you approached the end of the scenic path, Yeonjoo suddenly decided to break the silence, “It must be quite tough for you to do your job and still have to keep up the fake relationship.”  

You quickly looked around in alarm, trying to make sure that no one was in the vicinity to hear the conversation even though she said it pretty softly.  

“Umm... yeah... it is” you stammered. “Should I wait for you outside or follow you in?” you asked her hastily to change the topic.  

“Mmmm...” she was was about to answer some kind of rattling noise alerted you.  

You turned sharply towards the sound and notices a humongous trolley stacked high with boxes hurtling down the slope towards the both of you. The boxes were tied to the trolley and the speed it came at you was incredibly fast.  

There was only a split second to make a decision so you instinctively pushed Yeonjoo away before trying to jump out of the way but there was just not enough time. Your shoulder ended up scraping the tower of boxes that came tumbling down heavily. Even though you were only hit by it peripherally, the force was enough to spin and throw you to the ground. A loud crash followed as the trolley topples over and some of the boxes falls onto you, the contents spilling everywhere, revealing that it had contained bags of rice and fruits.  

You turned to look at the top of the road – there was no one in sight. Where could this trolley have come from? You struggled to get back onto your feet and hastily made your way to where Yeonjoo was sitting in shock on the floor.  

“Are you alright? Are you able to get up?” you questioned.  

“What was that?” she uttered shakily.  

“I don’t know... Let’s go, quick... I don’t think it’s safe here...” you replied while reaching out a hand to help her up.  

---

Although you were in pain yourself, you let Yeonjoo rest her weight on you as you helped her back towards the traditional Hanok building that housed the private rooms. She was limping as she made her up the few tiny steps, and the moment Jungkook spotted her walk into the hallway he immediately rushed over. 

He started fussing incessantly, “Are you ok?! Did you get you hurt? What happened?! Is it serious, let me see it...”  

And suddenly the attention was all on you.  

“I told you to protect her... isn’t that your only job? Is this how you protect someone?” his tone couldn’t have been anymore accusing and you were mildly offended by that tone.

“Jungkook it’s not like that, there was a trolley that came out of nowhere and she pushed me aside to avoid it” Yeonjoo tried to explain and hold him back.  

“Do you not know how important it is for an idol not to get injured? If she sprained her ankle or broke an arm, what will you do about her upcoming activities?” Jungkook continued tearing into you.  

You remained silent, not because you did not want to respond, but because you felt offended that you had to respond.  

“Jungkook-ah, I think that’s enough... let’s find out what happened first... I’m sure she didn’t intend to hurt her either” Sejoon was stepping in and tugged at his arm to pull him away from you.  

Jungkook forcefully shakes off Sejoon, “Did you?” he hissed.  

There was silence all around. Nobody responded, he obviously took it too far. If you had any remnants of pity or feelings left for him, it vanished in that moment. 

The foolish fangirl was overtaken by the fearless fighter. You determinedly took a step closer to him and stared him straight in his eyes.  

“You can say that I did a bad job in protecting her, you can yell at me all you want for that, but don’t... don’t ever try to question my intentions. I know very well how important she is. And my job is to put my wellbeing and my life on the line to protect that. Do you think I'd joke around for something like this? For someone who is too cowardly to risk anything to protect the person you like, what right do you have to be saying all these to me?” you were almost gritting your teeth by the end of all this.  

Jungkook was clearly taken aback by your outburst and so was everyone else.

While they ravelled in your words, you turned to stalk off from the scene. There was a sharp pain in your ankles but it didn’t deter you, neither did the shouts from Sejoon calling your name after a few seconds.  

You somehow managed to make your way to the main road. Just as you raised your hand to hail a taxi, the throbbing pain in your left shoulder and upper back finally hits you hard. It was immensely painful... it must have been... because you broke down into tears at the roadside, crouching on the pavement.  

In that moment you questioned yourself – what is so important in this world that people risk their life and themselves for? No, at least they risk it for what is important to them. Why are you risking everything for what is important to someone else?  

---

“You know how it’s like, sometimes they are so noisy at the dorms, so I'd rather come to the company to do the recording on those days,” Yoongi was explaning to Myunghoon why he was at the office on an off-day from the backseat of their black van.  

“Fine... next time get one of the interns to come pick you up in that case” Myunghoon was griping as he drove towards the dorms but notices something queer on the roadside.  

“Oh?? Isn’t that Y/N? It looks like her...” he exclaimed.  

Yoongi looks out the tinted windows to see you curled up at the side of the pavement as Myunghoon drove past.  

“Should I turn back?” Myunghoon kept glancing into the side-view mirror.  

“Is that even a question?”  

---

The van stops along the kerb and Yoongi alights, checking again and again whether it is really you.  

“What’s going on?? What are doing here?? Please don’t tell me you are drunk...” his words were direct but his tone was somewhat timid.  

Just as his questioning ended, he catches on that you are crying.  

“Are... Are you ok?” he stammered.  

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” Myunghoon had walked over too. “Are you alright? Hey...”

Myunghoon reaches out to get you to stand up so that they can stop huddling over you but as he grabs your arm to help you up, you winced in pain.  

“It hurts...” you were crying really unglamourously.  

“What hurts? Did you hurt yourself?” Myunghoon asked you patiently.  

“Hey, we can’t keep standing here at the side of the road. Get in the car, we’ll take you to the hospital” Yoongi said rather gently and he notices the damage your jacket has sustained.  

You eventually got in the car. As they headed towards the hospital, you continued sniffling and you really wanted to whack yourself over the head for being such a weakling.  

Yoongi carefully hands you a tissue. You looked at him with your cheeks stained from all the tears, gratefully accepting it.  

“Thank you... again” you said. He just kept quiet while Myunghoon chattered away in the driver seat about how you should claim insurance if it is a work injury.  

“Are you always so nice to your staff? You usually look like the kind that wouldn’t really care much...” you asked Yoongi quite out of the blue.  

“I don’t know, the guy driving the car probably doesn’t think I’m very nice...” his answer was jokingly sarcastic.  

You laughed a tiny laugh while still dabbing away at your eyes and he too smiled a little.  

After a momentary pause, he said without looking at you, “You are right... I generally don’t bother making the effort to care... but you seem to be an exception.”  

[kyokushinpunk]

My new guilty pleasure is constantly landing low-kicks on american kickboxing people when they try K1 rules

I find it fascinating how a very small change in rules can throw off even great boxers. My full contact / american rules kickboxing club now does a K1 / oriental rules class and with my savate background I’m much much more used to low kicks and distance than they are, and my low kicks ALWAYS land. My feet actually hurt from landing so much of them. Even the black belts that usually slap me around where completely thrown off, and even if it’s just sparring, damage does build up in the legs. My boxing still has a long way to go especially after half a year of doing nothing, but i’m confident i’ll make progress with this club, the teaching is really top notch and i’ve noticed that the competitors are preparing for even more styles, one of them has started showing up with savate shoes.

So in short I’m now practicing three different styles of kickboxing : savate, american rules, and K1. This is awesome and everything I wanted when I was a child.

I’ll switch to MMA eventually but i’m currently having too much fun doing this. The instructor at my kickboxing club talked of opening a pancrace / MMA class within the club and i’d absolutely love it if they did.

Wait and see.

[halcyonmusings]

Ship thing for Astor and Gascoigne :^) ? spare astor/gascogine please?

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

After Eileen brought her to Yharnam and started training her, Gascoigne showed up in the middle of a sparring lesson. She almost smacked him with her wooden sword and even though she didn’t hit him, she apologized like, 283290 times.

What was their first impression of each other?

Gascoigne thought she was very kind, a little naive, and was wondering why someone like her would want to be a hunter. He immediately had this feeling of wanting to protect her. Astor thought he was intimidating just from his sheer size, but once they talked for a short while, she thought he was intriguing but also thought he looked lonely.

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Everyone wanted them to get together. Well, minus Eileen, but that was mainly her mentor/motherly instinct of looking out for her.

Who felt romantic feelings first?

They both did, but they both thought it was unrequited. They invented yearning/pining.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Gascoigne did when his beast side was beginning to come out more and more and did his best to avoid Astor, but another part of him needed to see her, be around her. Astor didn’t resist her feelings, but she never tried to tell him about them either. 

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

Well, for sure they’d both be really happy about it.

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

After he talked to Henryk and Djura who both told him to get his head out of his ass and make a move, life’s too short, etc. which.... the timing of it all because his beast form was becoming difficult to control, then Djura left to Old Yharnam, and everything was going downhill, so it was too late for him to say anything.

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

They weren’t dating, but they spent the first time alone together by hunting some beasts and while Astor watched Gascoigne in action, she got hurt so they spent the rest of that time with him tending to her wounds. He carried her home even though she kept telling him she was fine enough to walk.

What was their first kiss like?

After he escorted her back home, Astor quickly gave him a kiss on the cheek and was about to run back inside her house but he called her back out. When she came back, he gave her a proper kiss on the lips and was like “I prefer these sort of kisses” and she got flustered and ran again lmao

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

For her, he was her first kiss, love, (almost) relationship.

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

I... have no idea how old Gascoigne, so I’m assuming the age difference is... pretty high. For the height difference, she’s 5′8″ and he’s like 6′9″ ahahaha... :)

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Astor’s parents are dead way before she meets Gascoigne, so... but she’s met his daughters who both love her and who she later adopts.

Who takes the lead in social situations?

Astor. A lot of people get intimidated by Gascoigne’s stature lmao

Who gets jealous easier?

Gascoigne................... He’ll see Alfred talking to her and he’s in the background like >:( One time Alfred kissed the back of Astor’s hand and Gascoigne got so angry he broke a table by slamming his fist on it.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

Astor said it as she held Gascoigne while he was dying :)

What are their primary love languages?

Being in tune to the other’s needs/wants. Knowing each other’s body languages when they’re upset. Being there for each other.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

They do that thing where their hands brush against each other in passing, but that’s as far as they’ll go otherwise they’ll get teased by the other hunters.

What are their favorite things to do together?

Her reading while he’s resting his head on her lap, sparring.

Who’s better at comforting the other?

Astor! She knows to hold his hand when he’s feeling off, or if he’s become more quiet than usual. They’ll sit together in silence and she’ll wait until he starts to feel like himself.

Who’s more protective?

Gascoigne. He goes out of his way to make sure he never transforms in front of her, even on the night of the hunt when he bumped into her before her fight with the Cleric Beast, he ran off once he felt himself becoming unraveled.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Physical all the way. Astor was never shown any type of affection while growing up, so once Gascoigne brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she was a goner.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

heart skipped a beat by the xx, sweetest kill by broken social scene, pay no mind by beach house

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

Astor calls him “my love.” Gascoigne calls her “my heart.” 🤧

DOMESTIC LIFE (purely au so let me dream)

If they get married, who proposes?

Gascoigne!!! He places the ring in the music box that he puts on the nightstand for her to find and is giving her hints like “Hmm.. you should play the music box...” and she’s like ??? and he’s like “Yep... would be nice to hear it right now.......” Astor: “Then play it?” Gascoigne: “Yeah but I’d prefer it if you did... :)”

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

Everyone’s there :) your oc Evie is her maid of honor. Henryk is the ringbearer... manlet rights! I’m kidding he’s the best man most likely. The vault dweller is the one officiating the wedding, thank you. It’s a small ceremony, nothing extravagant.

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

Astor adopts Gascoigne’s two daughters. She tells them she won’t ever replace Viola, and dotes on them as best as she can. They’re both very playful and love to play with Astor and Gascoigne who make time for them whenever they’re able to.

Do they have any pets?

The girls have a bird that they like to let loose in the house. Gascoigne hates the bird because it chirps very loudly when he’s trying to sleep.

Who’s the stricter parent?

Gascoigne. The girls will whine about wanting to stay up a little longer but he’ll be like >:| no until they go 🥺🥺 and Astor will be like “Aww let them stay up for another hour...” He relents but he’s not happy about it.

Who kills the bugs in the house?

They both do, hello. They’ve killed beasts, they will definitely kill bugs no problem.

How do they celebrate holidays?

We’ll say there’s holidays and I’ll say that the girls and Astor decorate the house for every holiday.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Gascoigne. He’s a big cuddler and is very lazy in the mornings, so when he feels Astor getting up, he’ll reach out to grab her and be like “No... stay in bed a little while longer...” and she’ll be like “I have to make breakfast for the girls” but he’ll crawl over to her to bury his face on her lap and be like “Just for a few minutes, come on.” And she’ll give up and go back to bed. It works every single time.

Who’s the better cook?

Gascoigne. He has two kids okay, he had to learn how to be good at cooking.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

this is not a girlfriend (1/?)

Summary: Yagi Toshinori gets the wrong idea about his mentors. It is, as Nana earnestly frames it, of paramount importance that her young charge have a positive reference for relationships.

They should’ve known fake relationships never go according to plan.

*Shimura is Nana’s maiden name; no canonical husband, no Kotarou.

1 - 2 - ?

.

.

The thing was, Shimura Nana had never thought of dating Sorahiko.

They had met on the job maybe five years ago, and been work-partners since. Thrown into the same case, and then paired for patrols around the prefecture… the two of them had spent hours upon hours in each other’s space. Nana comfortably labeled him her best friend, surpassing even Megane Akira in best friend level (mostly due to presence, a little due to her level of synergy with Sorahiko).

He had helped her with One for All. Sacrificed a lot of down-time and goodwill with Recovery Girl to ensure that Nana had control over it. Didn’t ask for anything but a platter of taiyaki every training session.

Now, jokes and winks and nudges had certainly been made about their nonexistent relationship. Nana could retire if she had a yen every time someone assumed Sorahiko was her boyfriend, or if her parents hinted about ‘fertility’ and ‘handsome young man.’

Sorahiko never mentioned an interest, and so Nana gratefully moved through life only slightly infatuated with her partner. They’d seen each other’s ugly and ungraceful sides too many times to think idealistically, and had only ever shared a bed once. Because they were both cheap and were loathe to pay for an extra bed in the hotel.

(They built a pillow wall, and they pretended like everything was normal so well, Nana fell asleep between one word and the next. She woke up at the crack of dawn knowing that he’d broken the pillow wall; he’d entangled their limbs together; he was the one snoring weakly into her hair. Thank goodness Sorahiko wasn’t fully coherent and awake until ten in the morning.)

“Toshi-kun,” she says calmly, to hide the hysterical laughter. “Can you repeat that?”

Big blue eyes blink up. Calf-eyed. Guileless. Yagi Toshinori, even at thirteen years of age, is a charmer. “Are you getting Gran Torino-sensei anything for Valentine’s Day? I tried asking him, but he just said,” and here he puffs out his skinny chest and speaks like he’s gargling gravel, “‘We don’t need cheap gifts.’”

Nana gives up the ghost. “Bahaha! He would say that!” And completely neglect to cut the underlying problem, geez. Her young charge believes that they’re a couple. Should she correct him? “What does your mom usually do?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. She and otou-san… I dunno.”

Oh. Nana had done her research on Yagi Toshinori, even though a Quirkless thirteen year old boy shouldn’t raise any flags whatsoever, but even a routine background check won’t look into the marital health of the kid’s parents. She wonders if she and Sorahiko represent a legitimately healthy relationship.

“I could give him a box of taiyaki,” she muses, just to keep their conversation going. Toshinori’s invested in this, she can tell.

“How unromantic!” he cries out, looking for the first time like a doting son. Oof. That sends pangs rattling through her systems. She’s never wanted to raise kids; she thinks she’d be pretty bad at the whole domestic thing. Now, if Sorahiko could be the stay-at-home parent—wait, bad thought. “Oh, but most couples usually exchange chocolates, I think. That’s what I see girls do at school.”

“And do you have a girl? Or boy?”

Toshinori’s expression is pure hang-dog. “No, oshishou.” He brightens again. “What about… flowers? Can guys get flowers?”

She ruffles his sunny yellow hair. “Yeah, buddy. Guys can get flowers.”

//

Transcript: Shimura Nana to Torino Sorahiko. February 10th.

SN: Sorahiko!

TS: Shimura.

SN: Did you know Toshi-kun thinks we’re an item? It’s so sweet! [Choking noises, presumably from TS.] Turns out, he asked you about us a week or two ago, and you just went all, ‘hrghh we don’t need cheap gifts hrrgh.’

TS: I—I don’t sound like that.

SN: Ch! Sure.

TS: Did you correct him? Do you need me to correct him? The little brat—

SN: Aw, it’s fine!

TS: It’s fine?

SN: What’s a little bit of bromance? All matters aside, I think we’re role models for the poor boy. Role models in having a healthy relationship, I mean. [More choking noises.] I think it’d go a long way to prevent some resentment towards parental figures if we, y’know—hey, are you okay?

TS: Son of a—no, I’m not okay. Are you telling me we should start a fake relationship for some brat’s feelings?

SN: Yeah! How hard can it be? We only meet each other at the park to train and spar! And for meals out… but that’s because you two are awful at nutrition.

TS: Vitamins don’t exist.

SN: Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, it’s not like he’s ever going to find out we don’t live together!

TS: Ghhk. Okay. Fine. You win. We’ll have a fake relationship for the kid, and once you deem the kid emotionally stable enough to see how people break up and maintain friendship, we go back to a world where we aren’t a couple. 

SN: … Stop me if this is, um, invading your privacy, but…

TS: What, Shimura.

SN: You’ve had relationships before, right? Oh, shit, I didn’t even think about the possibility that you don’t like women. [Significant pause of five seconds.] Listen, listen, it’s fine! I’m, uh, into both, if we’re laying out sexualities, and I’ve been with both—

TS: Okay! I get it! Geez, Shimura. [Clearing throat.] No. I’ve never really—tried a relationship with anybody.

SN: General disinterest or…?

TS: Sure.

SN: Great answer! Very helpful! I won’t knock bed-sharing off the table, but I’ll make note of bed-warming, if you know what I mean.

TS: Has anyone ever told you off for innuendos?

SN: There’s a, snrrk, first time for everything.

//

She has an understated bouquet of yellow and red roses in one hand. In the other, she is holding a small, ribbon-adorned box containing two of her very-own taiyaki (which Sorahiko had been chasing for years, ever since she baked them after a case gone wrong). Currently, Nana was fielding questions from Toshinori, whose interest had reignited with a passion.

“So do you wear your ring on a necklace?” he asks, still in the early phase of his warm-ups. Otherwise, he’d be more focused on breathing and persevering.

Her heart skips a beat. Ring. Necklace. Wedding ring. “I keep it at home,” she answers. Smooth, Shimura. Your charge thinks you’re married. She’ll have to warn Sorahiko about the new development. “You never want to risk scuffing gold, eh?”

“Oshishou always thinks ahead!”

“If your oshishou always thinks ahead, she better have my goddamned breakfast,” Sorahiko calls out. Stomping across the field, duffel bag full of gear in hand, her very best friend in the world. Her fake husband. Who upon seeing Nana, comes to a sudden, bewildered stop. “Um.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Nana sees Toshinori pause his sets of push-ups. She bounds up from her seat with a grin, and flings herself towards Sorahiko. He catches her—she links her ankles at the small of his back—Nana kisses him for the briefest of moments. A childish ‘mwah!’ that gets her nothing but a low, strangled noise.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” she cheers.

“What the fuck,” he says against her cheek, dazed enough for his voice to be soft. Good. She hopes Toshinori didn’t hear that.

“Play along.” Sorahiko, despite his shock, sets her down gently. He stares at the box and the bouquet, and almost flinches back when she shoves them toward him. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she repeats, a little slower, hintingly.

“Ah. Right.” He cradles the bouquet in one arm, and pops open the box. He’s silent. Long enough for Nana to worry about overstepping boundaries, and perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed Sorahiko to enter his first relationship knowing it had an expiration date—he abruptly ducks down and kisses her. Misses the mouth almost entirely. “Thanks.”

.

.

[thatfanficstuff]

Though she be but little...

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: language (you should really expect that by now) um...beatdown of an asshole.

A/N: This was a quick little idea that turned into 2000+ words. My first time writing Frank and I did it from his POV. Hope I did him justice. 

***

The first thing Frank noticed about you was your size. You were tiny. There really was no other word for it. Of course, he wasn’t exactly a small man so you just looked that much littler in comparison. Some guy had been hitting on you at a bar where Frank had stopped to have a drink with Curtis. You just ignored the jackass no matter how persistent he was, but Frank’s protective instincts kicked into overdrive. Almost before he realized what he was doing, he was by your side and showing the asshole the door.

When he returned, he found you and a beer waiting at the table with Curtis. You smiled as your gaze fell on him and his heart sped. Just a little. Enough to remind him that he still had one. His steps faltered slightly but he recovered quickly. The two men fell into easy conversation with you. You were smart with a bright personality and a quick laugh. It was fair to say that Frank was smitten well before he walked you home that night.

The more time he spent with you, the more he found to admire. You owned your own business, though you just called it the shop, so Frank wasn’t sure what exactly you sold but he knew you worked hard and never complained about the time you put in. And when he’d found the courage last week to confess his real identity, you’d simply looked at him and said, “I know.”

Apparently, you’d known since the night you met him, but figured it was his secret to keep. And you’d still spent time with him and let him into your life despite knowing what he had done. You also seemed to understand him in a way that others did not. Unfortunately, he’d also discovered that you had some skills as a makeshift medic. When he’d asked you where you’d learned to make such clean sutures you’d simply smiled and said, “Around.”

The memory had the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk as he sat in the dark. He was waiting along the path you took home from work. You liked to keep your secrets and Frank had heard for the first time yesterday about the asshole that kept giving you shit on your walk home. He’d offered to walk you home on multiple occasions but you always turned him down. He scratched the back of his head as his smile slipped away.

There was something you were hiding from him and he was determined to discover it. You had let enough slip in the story last night that he knew the guy would come out to have a cigarette anytime you walked past the bar across the street. Frank had been in place for an hour, waiting for you to walk by so he could see this guy for himself and take care of him later.

Then he spotted you, that stride unmistakable. Sure enough, as you walked past the bar, a guy came outside and called after you. “Hey, sweetheart. Why are you always in such a hurry?”

Frank rolled his eyes. He was ready for you to disappear around the corner of your next turn so he could have a talk with this guy. His brows shot up when you came to a stop and turned to face the moron. “You really want to know why I’m always in a hurry?”

Frank stood on the fire escape he’d been watching from and gripped the rail in front of him. What the hell were you doing? Were you trying to get yourself hurt? His knuckles turned white from the strength of his grip.

“See, I knew you’d talk to me eventually,” the douchebag said, putting his arms out to the side while he leaned back. As if he had anything worth putting on display. Frank’s eyes stayed glued to the idiot, reading his body language. Ready to intercede if he caught even a whisper of a threat.

You tilted your head as you stared the man down. “I hurry past here because of you. Because every time I pass by here you have a comment to make. I don’t know you so what would make you think that I enjoy you calling me baby or sweetheart or doll?”

“Well, it’s not like you ever told me your name.” He took a step toward you.

Frank couldn’t wait any longer. He started down the stairs on the fire escape doing his best to keep you in sight as he went. He could no longer hear what was being said, but he did see the guy grab your arm and Frank picked up his pace. When his feet hit the pavement, he slid to a stop. With wide eyes he watched you bring a baton down on the man’s arm. He hadn’t even noticed you carrying the weapon.

The ass howled in pain and released his hold on you. Before he could retaliate, or even get a word of complaint out, you brought his head down to meet your knee then hit him across the back with the baton. Another punch followed by another kick and Frank was pretty sure the guy was down for the count. “What the fuck was that?”

The words came out louder than he’d meant for them to and your head jerked up. You sighed as you collapsed the baton and slipped it into your jacket pocket. “Hello, Frank.” You moved toward him and he covered the space between you in several long strides. You kept your arms crossed over your chest and your gaze averted. He didn’t like the change in your usual confident demeanor.

“What the hell, Y/N?” he hissed.

“Come on,” you said with a jerk of your head and started back the way you’d come. “We might as well get this over with.” Frank fell into step beside you. He gazed at you several times, but the two of you were silent as you walked. You’d gone several blocks before you stopped in front of a building and placed your hand on the door.

Frank stepped back to look up at the sign. The Body Shop. His brow furrowed as he looked into the brightly lit building. It looked like a gym. You opened the door and motioned for him to step inside. You came in behind him. Frank was in awe as he took in the room around him. The building was large and had obviously been converted into a gym from something else.

You brushed by him. “You can lose the hood. No one in here cares.”

His brow furrowed as he looked down at you. How could you possibly know that? But he trusted you and he hated wearing the damn hood all the time. He pushed it back and tore his gaze from you. A couple of guys were sparring in the boxing ring in the corner. Others worked on punching bags or equipment scattered around the room. This wasn’t a trendy state of the art facility. No, this was one of those places that had been around for decades. Where people were family and came in as much for the company as the workout.

He turned to ask you what this place was to you when some pictures on the wall behind you caught his eye. You sighed as he moved past you to get a closer look. He didn’t have to look hard to see they were pictures from a deployment. Or multiple deployments if the change of scenery in the background was anything to go by. He’d been in enough of them to know one at a glance. What struck him about the photos is most of them had one figure that was so much smaller than the rest. “This is you.” It wasn’t a question but he wanted an answer just the same. You’d known each other for months and you’d never mentioned this place. And you’d certainly never mentioned serving.

“Yeah. Marines.” Your voice was quiet but proud.

He turned to face you and you met his gaze this time. The look in your eye was one he hadn’t seen before. You appeared almost…resigned. “And this place?”

The corner of your mouth curled up in a half-smile. “This is the shop.”

His eyes went wide. “This is the shop you own?”

“Yeah. Dad bought a garage that went under cheap and turned it into this. I grew up here. Boxed in that ring. Learned some dirty tricks from a couple of unsavory characters that my dad played poker with on Thursday nights.” You walked over and tapped one of the pictures. You were smiling in it, but it didn’t reach your eyes. No, you looked scared even if you were surrounded by your squad. “This was my last deployment. Bullet ripped through the muscle in my thigh. Time came up while I was in rehab. Decided it was a good time to get out.”

You perched on the edge of a desk that was probably yours. “Came home and helped dad with this place. Vets doing rehab get free access.” You gestured to the other side of the room. He turned and realized two of the men he’d thought were friends earlier were actually a trainer and a client, the latter of the two visibly scarred.

Frank was stunned that you had kept all this from him. He’d told you his biggest secrets and, if he were honest, it hurt a bit that you didn’t trust him enough to do the same. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrugged. “Because I like you.”

He scratched his head. “Come again?”

You sighed and rubbed your palms along your thighs. “I attract a certain type of guy, Frank. I always have. I’m little. Guys think I need protection and they like that. It makes them feel manlier, I guess. I don’t know. What I do know is everyone I have ever dated has found a reason to leave when they realized I could take care of myself. That was never the reason they gave me, of course, but that didn’t make it any less true.”

Frank scoffed. “And you think I’d do that? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I literally met you when you rescued me from an asshole. You protect. You get justice. That is who you are. And I get it, you know?” You scraped your shoe along the floor and focused your gaze on the movement. “I just…I really like you, Frank. If it meant I got to keep you, I was okay playing damsel in distress.”

The sorrow in your voice superseded any hurt he felt in the situation. You hadn’t intended to hurt him. You’d simply wanted him to stick around. He stepped forward and placed his hand under your chin to lift your face. Tears shone in your eyes and tugged at his heart. Leaning forward, he kissed your forehead before pulling you against his chest.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. And I’m sorry a bunch of assholes made you feel that you couldn’t be your badass self around me.”

Your body shook as you laughed and he smiled in response. He leaned back and put his hands on your upper arms. He glanced around the building. “This place, this you, is cool as fuck. Given my past, I’m thrilled that you can protect yourself when I’m not around. You were amazing before and as far as I’m concerned, this just makes you fucking perfect.”

You blinked at him in stunned silence. “You’re not going to leave?”

Now it was his turn to laugh and he moved his hands up to cup your face. “Sweetheart, you’re never getting rid of me now.” And when he kissed you, he knew it was true. You’d been made for him and in his arms, in the middle of this gym, surrounded by your friends and pictures of your past was right where the two of you were meant to be.

[daisybeewrites]

Academy Blues — Prologue

word count: 1.8k

warnings: not any for this chapter

ship: Dousy, background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

okay y’all.. here it is. the first installment of my first LONG TERM SERIES!!!!!! ahhhh i’m so excited. literally i cant wait to continue this and see where it takes me. i have an idea and a few different planning sheets, but honestly i have no idea where exactly this will end up. i love each and single one of you <3 thank you for reading!! this is also posted on Ao3, and linked in the masterlist.

Daisy hated the sound of the bells at The Academy. Screeching, awful, way too loud, the bells were the bane of her existence. They all wore standard-issue watches from the lab that monitored vitals and gave them reminders, and also told the time, for god’s sake! Fitz had even modified hers so that she could play snake on the tiny watch face! There was no need for the bells to be so excruciatingly disruptive. Though, Daisy guessed, there were many things more tortuous than bells ringing every hour and fifteen minutes.

Daisy slowed to a jog, cutting her morning run short. The bright side to being a third-year was that you chose your schedule, for the most part, and that meant Daisy had a free first period for four out of five days of classes. She usually spent this free period getting an extra hour in at the gym, boxing or sparring with Mack or Bobbi, two fourth years that had reluctantly taken her under their wings, or sleeping in. She reserved sleeping in for especially rough nights where visions of ashes and earthquakes and lightning returned time and time again, no matter how many deep breaths she took or sheep she counted.

But this morning was not one of those mornings. She had been up before sunrise, a little before her usual alarm and silently headed out of her dorm for a run. It was humid this time of year on most Virginia mornings, but never so hot that it made Daisy feel as if she was being smothered. The cooler air chilled her sweaty skin, her chest rising and falling as she jogged up the three flights of steps to the second years’ dorms. Down one long hallway, and she arrived at her room.

Daisy had been given her own room at the start of last year, complete with poly-adaptic-proto-whatever panels, which she had painted a pastel shade of purple, to compliment the greens of her cacti and the dark purples and blacks of everything else in her room. Even May had agreed that the stark white was too ”psych wing” for a bedroom. Daisy was grateful for the space, but considering the panels and the private room were only necessary since...

She shuddered. Grabbing her shower caddy, Daisy set off to the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall, hoping no one else was spending a free first period at the dorms.

Her shoulder-length waves were wet from bouncing against her neck, and starting to become annoying now that the sweat had dried and was starting to itch. Picking the white tiled shower furthest away from the door, Daisy quickly turned the water on, checked the temperature, pulled her sports bra and shorts off and hopped into the shower. Shampoo, condition, soap body, rinse. Checking her watch, Daisy found that she had showered in record time, less than three minutes. After spending another five just enjoying the hot water, she hopped out and changed into her class clothes.

Dark purple leggings, Coulson’s grey vintage SHIELD tee and a pair of white running sneakers she had “borrowed” from Jemma completed her look. Passing the mirrors, Daisy tried not to glance at herself. If her hair was messy or her undereye bags a bit too dark, she didn’t want to know. Instead, she headed back to her room to pack her bag for the day.

SHIELD-issued laptop, extra hard drives and a charger, Advanced CS 3: Ethical Hacking: Theory and Application, Advanced CS 4: Secrets of The Coding Languages, Physics notebook, an essay that was three days late on some boring book about international laws, and her sparring gear were all thrown into the black bag. She gave a second glance at the Russian notebooks Bobbi had loaned to her, promising that she’d learn without taking the class. Oh well, she still had all of this term to start. Plus, would she ever really need more than the dirty words?

One look at the alarm clock that sat on her dark hardwood night table showed that she still had almost forty-five minutes before she had to be in the computer lab. Sitting down on her bed, Daisy ran a hand over the grey blanket May had given her.

Daisy’s relationship with May and Coulson had been something of a problem with other students when she first got here. Some had been okay with the obvious paternal love Coulson showed for Daisy, showing her around and checking up on her, scheduling lunch dates and reminding her of tests. May was more subtle, texting her links to tai chi videos when she noticed Daisy getting too stressed or letting Daisy do her own thing if she saw that she was overwhelmed. Of course, none of the other students knew her family history, what she had gone through just to realize that May and Coulson were more her parents than her biological father and mother could ever be. She would see them later today—May during field training and Coulson in between lectures in the canteen.

Daisy walked over to her window to open her blinds, staring out at the campus she had grown to love. The large brick buildings scattered around acres of the Virginia countryside; green fields meant for physical activities like sparring or obstacle courses, or simply basking in the weather to study or chat; the dorms—red brick and concrete melded together to upgrade and expand the charming style of previously-built homes.

Grabbing a protein bar, Daisy headed to the canteen to make a green smoothie (and maybe snatch a cup of joe before she had to listen to an hour-long lecture on the reason SHIELD must cooperate with the UN’s stupid rules at 7:30 in the morning). Smelling the pines and morning dew surrounding her, she smiled slightly. Maybe this term wouldn’t be so bad.

———————————————————————

Daniel Sousa was a man of honor. He was a man of great strength. Agent Daniel Sousa, previously Officer Daniel Sousa in the US Army, was a man who could fix his damn alarm clock on his own.

Just, not today. Or the day before.

So, Agent Daniel Sousa was now hurrying his way to class at The SHIELD Academy, books in hand and gym bag slung over his shoulders. Catching a glance at himself in the shiny glass doors of the bio-chem building, he groaned. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. And, looking down, he discovered he was wearing two different shoes.

This is the college experience everyone raves about, he thought bitterly. You see, Daniel Sousa had enlisted to the army straight out of high school, forgoing university. He climbed the ranks impressively quickly, earning his place as second-in-command and reconnaissance scout in the 28th Infantry Regiment. Unfortunately, after only four years in the army, Sousa was injured in the field, losing his leg and almost his life.

He came back to the US a war hero, and yet, he felt he wasn't finished. So, when a recruiter named Peggy Carter knocked on his door claiming to be from SHIELD (“Wow, you guys are still a thing?”), he leapt at the chance to continue fighti-...doing good. The Academy wasn’t exactly what he had bargained for, though. Trying to earn his B.A. and training to be an agent at the same time was grueling, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

No, six different one hour and fifteen minute long classes plus mandatory physical therapy every day wasn’t going to break him. Learning how to be a communications agent and re-starting field training and catching up on general college education was no problem. Pressuring himself to be the best, to break the limits, to get past all his weaknesses was just another miniscule feather to add to the pile.

Unless his stupid alarm clock broke. Then yes, Agent Daniel Sousa would fail, buckle under the weight and be left on the floor to die.

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic.

One bunny-slippered right foot and a sneakered left leg carried him forward, propelled by a quickly chugged orange Celsius and his sheer will not to be late.

Daniel heard the late bell ring out, understanding that, on his first day of class, he would be counted late. It wasn’t like him, not at all. Especially when his first class was a refresher course on field tactics and covert strategy, something in which he was already aces.

He let out a sigh, slowing as he rounded the corner into the comms building. At the Academy, most buildings were grouped into categories: the cafeteria, gym and pool, and student resource building all to the south; the gun range, obstacle course, and specialized gym to the east; bio-chem labs, tech labs, and smaller rooms for lectures to the west; the computer labs and comms buildings right smack in the middle; and dorms to the north.

He swiped a key card with his driver’s license picture and student ID, unlocking the sliding doors that led to the computer labs. It was quicker to short cut through them than to walk around the building to the entrance closest to communications classrooms.

It wasn’t because he knew a certain broody brunette spent her mornings in the lab.

No, it wasn’t, because she wasn’t in her usual seat in the corner, typing away.

He slowly walked through the rows of computers, searching for a familiar black backpack. Nothing was there.

“Hey, Sousa,” an accented female voice called behind him. He whipped around to see who it was, feeling just a twinge of disappointment when Elena, or, as most people knew her, Yo-Yo, was leaning against the door frame. Yo-Yo, a fourth year operations trainee, who was very close with Daisy.

“Hey, Yo-Yo. Good morning,” he called, “I’m running a bit late.”

Elena checked her nails casually, “Way to state the obvious. You were running faster than I could trying to get here before the bell.”

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. “Yeah…”

“Daisy’s running late today, too.”

Daniel looked around, pretending that hearing Daisy’s name didn’t make him want to smile. “Oh, of course. She’s usually here early.”

Elena nodded, chuckling a little at his response. She couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or just a bad liar. It was charming, really. “Right. See ya ‘round, Sousa!”

“See ya,” He replied. He thought he heard a quiet ‘Lovable nerds’ coming from the direction she left, but he couldn’t be sure.

And so, with a last look around the computer lab, Daniel set off to arrive late to May’s lecture.

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okay okay,,, what do y’all think?? like/reblog and let me know! it’s the best way to support writers and it only takes a second! stay tuned for more chapters!!