#and don’t get me started on certain people deciding the r slur is cool

[iamchickenhearmesquawk]

Seeing gen z being ableist on social media usually in comment sections is always a shock to me, maybe it shouldn’t be. (Maybe it’s not gen z it could be alpha but that’s the vibe it gives) it mostly surprises me cause generally the gen z circles I’m in are like, the opposite of that idk.

(Also awareness being spread about adhd and autism etc. on social media isn’t a bad thing. It’s literally helped people I know irl get a real diagnosis in adulthood and it has helped them understand themselves and figure out their needs. Literally gen z and millenial autistic adult advocates on tumblr and tik tok were life changing)

The worst part is that these people all think they’re so funny and clever dunking on disabled folks.

It’s embarrassing.

[sentientpaperbag]

So this not only ended up being longer than I meant, but most of it is lore related because I changed some stuff involving the lore of magic in this universe. So you get to learn about Dark and Light Husks a little more

Also i might have gone on a bit and rambled in the tags, whoops~

Under the cut!

                                                           --------

Zonta was tired. She’d gone a little overboard with the spellcasting practice. She just desperately wanted to get her spells right without causing too much trouble. She knew using Dark Magic was dangerous, and usually using it as much as she had would result in some form of permanent change in her appearance or even becoming a Dark Husk.

But... she hadn’t had any side effects. She was actually, weirdly enough, good at it. To her knowledge, every witch had a specific form of magic that they excelled in. For example, Zonta knew a nice girl who lived outside of town in the forest, and her specialty happened to be plant based, although she usually used mostly fungi.

Zonta, however, learned pretty quickly that she was very good with Dark Magic. It wasn’t necessarily forbidden, but it was frowned upon to use this kind of magic, due to the very dangerous consequences of overuse.

Zonta supposed it could be worse. She could be in the cult of Light Magic. Or she could be a Light Husk, those were far worse than a Dark Husk, and Zonta decided long ago that if she ever turned into a Husk, she’d go for the less depressing Dark version. At least that way she knew people would leave her alone.

“What exactly are Light Husks again?” Markus, who had come over to help her as best he could with her practice, had absolutely no idea how magic worked. Zonta liked being able to explain things to her friend, even if he didn’t really get it. She supposed it was only fair, however. After all, she hardly knew how werewolves worked and he had done his best to explain that all to her.

“Light Husks are people who used Light Magic. It’s far more powerful than Dark Magic,” she explained, “It’s also more unstable. If you have to use any kind of frowned upon or illegal magic, it’s better to use Dark instead of Light, even if people seem to be more scared of the former.”

“So since it’s unstable it’s easier to turn into a Husk, right?”

“Mm-hm,” Zonta sat down on the long couch in her living room, propping her feet on her friend’s legs as he sat down beside her, “Light Magic, being incredibly unstable and dangerous, usually tends to turn a person into a Husk pretty fast. You get like… the weirdest God complex, too. I went to a gathering with some other witches one time, and there was a Light Husk there in this like… I wanna call it a tube but it wasn’t really one. Anyway, they were in this anti-magic container thing, because if a Light Husk got loose, the world would probably be in a shit-ton of trouble. Light Husks have a whole cult following, cuz they’re usually thought of as godlike. It’s… really creepy, actually.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly. Anyway, this Light Husk was a woman, probably like… three, four years older than us, and she’s all glowing and ethereal and it’s absolutely terrifying. But like… these people are coming up to the container and they’re asking questions and she’s answering them and her voice is absolutely mesmerizing. Really echo-y and unearthly. Honestly if she looked more like a horrifying creature made of eyes and flaming wheels and wings she could have passed as what people thought angels looked like. I don’t like it. People are obsessed with Light Husks.”

“I hope there’s not that many out there…,” Markus looked a little worried for a moment. Zonta smiled reassuringly at him, shaking her head.

“Nah, there’s like seven. After the seventh person turned into a Husk, people kinda realized that hey, this shit is dangerous and probably lethal, let’s not turn ourselves into ethereal beings of light and energy.”

Markus frowned, lost in thought for a moment. Zonta glanced out the window behind them, silently thinking her own private thoughts, mostly about how grateful she was that the two of them were comfortable with one another to talk about the less appealing sides of their abilities.

“What about Dark Husks? Are you worried about becoming one? If you use your magic too much, I mean,” Markus finally said.

“I mean, I used to worry about it. But I usually can feel when I’m going a little too far and I think that stops me from going overboard. So it should be fine, as long as I remember to take breaks and stuff. Gotta let my magic replenish or I would definitely turn into a Husk.”

“What do they usually look like?”

Zonta shuddered, thinking about the depressing forms she once saw roaming the countryside, “They look like ghosts. Or at least what I think ghosts look like. To my knowledge, Jason is the only one who can see the dead, and I’m too afraid to ask if they look like Dark Husks.

“But they like… they have hallow eyes and sunken cheeks, their bodies are usually thin and bony. Their whole body takes on a monochromatic color scheme that matches their magic. So, for example, if I turned into a Husk, my body would turn different shades of purple,” she explained, shrugging slightly.

Markus tried to envision that for a moment, furrowing his brows together. Zonta thought he looked cute when he tried to imagine something she explained. He usually looked very serious like that.

“You keep furrowing your eyebrows like that and you’ll get a crease in between them,” she teased. He relaxed his face, a small smile forming.

“I think you’d be a pretty color, but I also think you’d look scary if that happened,” Markus said.

“You think my magic color is pretty?” Zonta tried to stay calm, her heart fluttering. Usually her magic color bothered people. Magic usually was a bright color, but hers was a darker purple, almost an indigo of sorts.

“Well yeah. I mean… I think your magic is cool. And the color is kinda nice, it suits you.”

She smiled, “Thanks dude, that means a lot to me. Usually when people find out my magic color, they freak out. And then, when they find out I specialize in Dark Magic of all things, they start thinking I’m like, evil or something.”

“Do you know what kind of magic your dad did?”

She shook her head, “My mom said she can’t remember, and he left before I was born. She told me she just remembers what color his magic is. It’s red. I’ve never seen that color for magic before, it’s kinda unique. Like the dark purple for my magic. Guess weird colors run in the family.”

“Maybe he did Dark Magic like you and that’s why you’re good at it.”

“Haha, maybe.”

Zonta fought the urge to yawn, her eyes heavy. She wanted to keep talking to Markus, but she had really worn herself out practicing.

“You look tired, Hummingbird,” Markus said softly, “You should probably rest.”

“Nah, I’m.. fine,” she mumbled. She knew she needed to rest, she just didn’t want to.

“At least close your eyes. You can still talk to me, but with your eyes closed.”

She complied, closing her eyes. It was fine for a moment until she felt fingers gently brush across her face and her eyes shot open.

Markus looked embarrassed, “Ah, sorry. Should’ve said something. You had a stray hair in your face and it was bugging me. You can close your eyes again, I won’t do that without asking next time.”

She chuckled, shutting her eyes again. She tried not to think about how soft his fingers had been when they moved across her cheek.

“Your accent popped out for a minute there,” she said, laughing when Markus replied, “Howdy, ma’am,” in the most Texan accent she’d ever heard.

“Hey... If I fall asleep, don’t let me sleep too long. I have to make dinner for my mom when she gets home in a few hours. The flight she was supposed to work on next got cancelled or something, so she gets to come home for a few days,” Zonta mumbled, her words slurring a little as she felt sleep start taking over.

“Or, you could sleep and I could make your mom something. She knows you practice a lot and wear yourself out, I’m pretty sure she’d be fine with my cooking.”

“She liked that one thing your mom made,” Zonta replied, opening one eye slightly, “Those tamale things. They were really good.”

Markus grinned, “I told you. You didn’t wanna try them.”

“I didn’t wanna end up not liking them and disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me, Zonta,” Zonta felt her face heat up at how sincere he sounded. She opened her eyes fully, sitting up a little more and moving slightly so she was closer.

“That’s nice to know,” she said quietly, wondering if what she was feeling was genuine or just because it’d been so long since she’d dated that any form of kindness from a cute guy sent her into a romantic frenzy.

He smiled gently at her, pushing her slightly on her shoulder so she was lying back down, “You need to rest, Z. Close your eyes again.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, “Hey, you think you could you try teaching me Spanish again sometime?”

“Only if you try teaching me how to dance.”

Zonta snorted, “You have two left feet.”

“And you can’t roll your R’s.”

“That’s fair,” she laughed.

Her mind started wandering as she felt sleep start drifting over her again. Her mind drifted to thinking about what holding Markus’ hand would be like. It was such a specific thought, and she was fairly certain it was because she was a little touch starved, but she just wanted to hold his hand sometimes.

She was half tempted to say something, but felt herself grow nervous at the thought of asking, instead opting to stay quiet.

She felt herself drifting off to sleep, and she swore she heard Markus say something, but her mind was foggy and she was pretty out of it. She felt herself growing limp as sleep overtook her, and she hoped that maybe she’d have a decent dream for once instead of the weird and sometimes frightening dreams she commonly had.

Markus quietly and gently moved her so her legs weren’t on him anymore, and he found one of the small blankets she kept around the house, covering her with it. He smiled softly at her and walked into the other room to go find something to make for her and her mother when she returned home.

[produce101imagines]

Live, Laugh, Drink?

R E Q U E S T !

Genre: Fluff

Member: Kim Jaehwan (ft. Park Woojin)

Summary: After a cool, casual drinking night at the house, an unexpected moment happens between Jaehwan and Woojin.

•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•

Clink.

“And one more sip for our guest of honor: Y/N!” Daniel had heartedly laughed after announcing that statement for the fifth time already.

The six men cheered on as you rolled your eyes. Within the past hour, the legal-enough members had been drinking glass after glass, bottle after bottle. It wasn’t even your birthday, so why were they drinking in my name? Nothing big had happened; Jisung just threw this get-together so we could all spend time with each other. All 12 of us.

“Ok. Ok. Enough drinking. Let’s do somethi-” You were cut off by the slurring of a certain boy with the unique laugh.

“NoOOoOoo Y/N. The night- *hiccup* The night just... Uhhh,” Jaehwan trailed off and laughed a bit after forgetting what he said.

“Idiot... ‘Started’,” Minhyun lowly said with a playful tilt of his head as he lazily swayed in his seat.

“Ok and?? I’m ready to get waSTED. WHOOOO,” Jaehwan hollered and laughed, followed with the laughter of a few other members.

“As I was saying, before someone interrupted,” you paused to glance at Jaehwan who seemed to be laughing at his shoes or something at the ground.

“We should do something with, you know, all the members.” You explained to the more-than-tipsy members, hoping the underaged members were listening. After all, they weren’t doing anything anyway so they had no choice but to listen.

Daehwi popped up from the couch he was just laying on.

“Yeah! I’m so bored. I need to do something. No one wants to play the games with me. These people are so bori- O. M. G. I just got lightheaded from getting up so quickly,” Daehwi spoke quickly and carefully laid down.

“Pfft. Are you sure you got lightheaded from getting up so quickly or from firing words too quickly, chatterbox?” Daniel called out to Daehwi as Seongwoo gave Daniel a high-five. 

“Ughhh. Daehwi what should we do?” You asked the boy so he doesn’t feel too bad for getting picked on a bit.

“I don’t know. Guanlin and Jinyoung went to sleep already,” sighed Daehwi from the couch. 

“Jihoon! Go upstairs and sleep with them,” Sungwoon said to Jihoon who was already falling asleep.

“What? No. I’m gonna play whatever you guys are playing,” Jihoon sleepily trailed off. 

You heard Daniel and Jisung laughing quietly between each other. You raised your eyebrow at them and they straightened up and tried oh so hard to stop laughing but it wouldn’t work.

Jaehwan was still looking at something on the floor.

Jisung announced, “Ok. We’re playing truth or dare. I’ll start. Jihoon, I dare you to go sleep upstairs right now.” Everyone giggled a bit as Jihoon huffed and got up from the couch. He dragged his feet and heavily made his way to the room to sleep.

Daehwi popped up from the couch again. “My turn! Minhy-” Daehwi had already started to talk before Daniel cut him off.

“Uh, no. It’s my turn,” Daniel said as Daehwi frowned but still let him talk.

“Daehwi, I dare you to follow Jihoon and go sleep as well. It’s too late for you youngsters to be awake,” Daniel teasingly dared Daehwi.

Daehwi rolled his eyes but still made his way towards where Jihoon went, muttering something about how the older members aren’t fun with him and mocking Daniel.

As soon as you heard the door shut, you turned to the two MMO boys.

“What was that all about? Don’t you want to hang out with everyone?”

No one replied at first and the atmosphere turned a bit dull.

Seongwoo spoke up.

“One sip in honor of the underage members not being able to experience such a wonderful drink?” He sheepishly smiled after.

The whole table started to laugh and so did you. Seongwoo always managed to brighten up the mood in the right way.

After drinking a bit more, (you may or may not have drunk a bit of the alcohol) you started to hear Jaehwan’s laugh. He was, again, looking down at the ground and was wondering what he was laughing at. You decided to peek under the table.

You screamed as you saw Woojin crawl his way to you, wearing a scary mask.

“AHHH STOP! STOP! I’LL STOP DRINKING JUST PLEASE STOP!” You screamed and could’ve sworn you felt sober in that split moment.

Jaehwan and Woojin laughed. Woojin, being your best friend, knew how much you hated being scared. You easily got annoyed and sensitive whenever you got a bit spooked but this was a little too much.

“We got you!! We’ve been planning this for soooooo long,” Jaehwan laughed, slurred and hiccuped all at the same time. Woojin got up from under the table and laughed along with Jaehwan. Needless to say, you made quite some noise as everyone stared at you in a peculiar way.

“Ugh. Don’t do that. You guys are annoying. Why don’t you guys do something together that’ll make you two shut up,” you angrily spoke as you glared at the laughing pair.

Jaehwan seemed to have heard you and shrugged with a big smile on his face.

“Ok.”

Jaehwan then leaned up, exaggeratedly swung his arms around Woojin, pushed the hair out of his face and pushed his lips on to Woojin’s. Woojin had his eyes wide open, as did everyone else. The kiss, as still as a picture, lasted for about ten seconds. Before Jaehwan pulled away, you took a quick picture of the kissing scene, planning to use it to remind Jaehwan of what he did that one blurry night. The room was definitely quiet now.

“EW THE TASTE OF JAEHWAN’S LIPS AND THE ALCOHOL IS NASTY,” Woojin complained as he wiped away his lips, cheeks blooming into a deep red color.

“My lips taste better without alcohol. You can try a taste tomorrow,” Jaehwan playfully winked at Woojin. Woojin groaned and went to the kitchen to find something to wash the taste out of his mouth.

You were shocked. The members drinking had their eyes fixed on Jaehwan, with the exception of Jisung, Seongwoo and Daniel laughing and telling each other “I told you!”

“Uh... That was unexpected,” you carefully said.

Jaehwan shrugged and said, “But it did make us shut up, and that’s exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?” He sunk back into his seat and lazily glanced around the room.

You heard shuffling and muffled “Go. Go. They’ll see us. Hurry!” from Daehwi and Jihoon. They had witnessed the kissing scene and as soon as the door closed, you heard laughing, cheering, a bit of mock-gagging and lots of kissing noises. 

“So... Y/N. Wanna shut up together?” Seongwoo asked with a smirk and sent a flying kiss your way.

“Ok anyway, this night is over. I’m going to sleep with the younger members. Have fun,” you hurriedly spoke and made your way to the room with the younger members.

After washing up and laying down on the bed, you closed your eyes. Before you fell asleep, you heard the older members saying something but it was muffled. You then heard a distinct, loud kissing noise, followed by a series of cheers, hollering and Jisung, Daniel and Seongwoo laughing their butts off.

Jisung laughed in between his words as he said, “Woojin liked it so much that he went in for a second one!!” 

You rolled your eyes for the last time that night.

•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•

Hey guys! Thank you thank you to the beautiful soul who requested this and waited patiently for my procrastinating-self to post it. I was busy studying for my DMV stuff but now I’ll be back on a roll! I start school this Monday so I know it’ll be hard to update but I’ll try to do my best to provide you guys with new stories! We both greatly appreciate requests as it gives us stuff to write about and makes it easier to update.

Hope you liked it!

❀Admin Malaysia

[grimmseye]

Like a Good Neighbor

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki / Kirishima Eijirou

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Izuku (brief)

Other tags: Alcohol, Meet-Cute except Bakugou is drunk, (like a good neighbor Kiri is there), Bakugou’s p fucking gay

For @feylampchild​ whose request followed the lines of: Drunk Bakugou, showing up on Kirishima’s doorstep, “Oh no he’s hot”

Read on Ao3 here

-------------------------

Dim lights. Shitty, half-assed music and overpriced alcohol. This is the best night of his life. 

Bakugou knows it. He says it. Loudly, and with a slur in his voice as he flings an arm around Uraraka’s shoulders. “This,” he cackles, “‘s the best fuckin’ nighta my life!”

He's a little unsteady, though, and nearly falls before an arm wraps around his waist. Uraraka is a true friend. He loves her.

Deku looks a little bit pale as he looks their way and says, “Kacchan, you’re drunk.”

And that is impossible. Because Bakugou hates alcohol. It tastes like shit, and it makes him feel like shit if he drinks more than two glasses. So, no alcohol, meaning he’s definitely, absolutely, indisputably not drunk.

Kaminari is standing off to the side, laughing through tears as he holds up his phone. He’s taking a really long time to take a picture, Bakugou thinks. Probably because he's drunk, and drunk people can't do basic things like take pictures. Idiot.

“Uraraka drank him under the table!” Kaminari wheezes. “He actually took the bait!” Bakugou cranes his head around to try to get a glimpse of whoever he’s talking about. No one looks particularly drunk off their ass, which they would be if baited into a drinking contest against Uraraka.

“Who th’fuck would do that?” He rolls his eyes. It makes him dizzy, and he has to sag against Uraraka. “Whadda… fucking idiot. I should kick that jackass to fucking… out of here. Just cuz they're stupid.”

Kaminari makes a gurgling sound. He's definitely had too much. AUraraka is covering her face, but she’s smiling, so Bakugou grins, too.

The moment is ruined, of course, when fucking Deku decides to be the worst. As always. He doesn't get why cool people hang around Deku, who is absolutely lame. “I-I think,” he stammers, which is lame, “that we should take Kacchan home. He doesn’t look good.”

Bakugou snorts. “Yeerr protecting, Deku. You look like ass .”

“I think you mean ‘projecting’, Bakugou.” Uraraka presses her arm into his back, forcing him upright, and slips out from beneath his weight. He's rather proud of the fact that he stands on his own just fine, but it's dampened because Deku is ruining things and people are agreeing with him. “Who cares,” he drags out, rolling his eyes.

God they’re all just so fucking stupid. Deku is the worst of them all. His dumbass curly hair and stuttering voice. It’s lame. They’re lame, and Bakugou is not.

He’s outta here.

“You’re right, though,” Uraraka is says. “He really does need to go home. Before he starts a fight, or crying.” Because both have happened in the past. Sober Bakugou really, really hates alcohol.

“G-guess we better say goodbye to everyone then,” Midoriya muses. “Kacchan, let’s —”

He stops. Uraraka stops. Even Kaminari, who had still been wheezing with laughter, stops.

“Where’s Kacchan?” 

 -------/////////////-------

There are certain rules to be followed when living alone. Kirishima wasn’t very good at following them, as was indicated when he answered a knock on his apartment door at ten past midnight.

The guy outside doesn’t say hello. He squints at Kirishima from beneath a mass of explosively fluffy hair, the same kind of expression you get when walking from a dark room out into the sunlight. And, with the eloquence of a person drunk off their ass, he growls, “Why th’fuck ’r ya in my apartment.”

“Uh. Cause this is…” Kirishima glances around, just to double check, “ my apartment. Who are you?”

Definitely drunk. He’s teetering where he stood, even as he tries to square up. “Geddout,” he slurs, probably trying to glare but falling short at the mouth. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”

“I’d really like to see you try,” Kirishima snorts. “Seriously, it’d be hilarious. Take your best shot.” He spreads his arms, the universal come at me posture, and waits. Unsurprisingly, nothing happens, so he asks, What’s your room number, man?”

That doesn’t get a response, either.

“Well ,” he sighs, “ I am D-15. As you can see here on this nifty plaque.” Kirishima taps the metal set next to the doorframe. The man’s eyes roam over it. He can see the exact moment it registers, his expression wiping blank.

“...Mm.” Is the final response. The man glances at him, glances at the plaque he's pointing to, repeats the motion just to confirm. Then he nods firmly. “Mmkay. Thanks. Sorry.” He makes to turn in about three different directions before spinning to the left and walking away.

Kirishima’s eyes follow him as he totters down the hall. “This is some first impression,” he murmurs to himself. He wonders if that guy always has explosive blonde hair or if that’s just a result of his apparently-wild night. And, if it’s common for him to bang on strangers’ doors when he’s drunk.

Not twenty seconds later, there’s another knock. Kirishima raises his eyebrows and cracks it open again.

The man is still there. He’s staring at the ground, hands in his pockets.

“I…” he begins. His voice seems to crack, and Kirishima’s heart leaps. “I don’t have my fuckin’ room card. Stupid, shitty Deku .”

And, well. What kind of guy would Kirishima be if he just left the guy to sleep in the hallway? Or try to drunkenly get down the stairs and end up dead, thus leaving Kirishima with an unwitting hand in the murder of a near-stranger.

He gives himself a moment to deliberate. There were certain factors to take into account: things like how likely it was for this guy to be a murderer and, in that scenario, whether or not Kirishima could fight him off. He came to the conclusion that, yes, if it came down to sheer strength he could, in fact, overpower him. With how inebriated he was, Kirishima can’t bring himself to feel concerned.

Nodding to himself, Kirishima reaches for the man’s arm. He blinks, surprised and somewhat impressed. The man’s clothes do not do his body justice. That’s hard muscle beneath his fingers.

Hot, Kirishima thinks, before hurriedly wiping it out of his brain.

“Come on, you can crash here,” he offers. The man offers no resistance as he’s tugged inside. The pull is a little too hard; he stumbles and crashes against Kirishima’s chest. And then goes very still.

For a moment, Kirishima thinks he’s passed out. Then he hears a quiet, “ Holy shit.” A hand comes up, pressing against his chest. And then he squeezes.

Kirishima yelps . “ Dude!” He drops him because, yeah, fuck that, sexual harassment is not his style. Unfortunately, the man has learned how to stay on his own two feet. “One more move like that and you’re camping in the hallway.

He all but shoves the guy to the couch. Maybe he shouldn’t give the guy a blanket. That’d serve him right.

Only the thermostat tells him it’s below 50 outside. Kirishima sighs, and gets a blanket. When he returns, the stranger is sprawled over the couch. He has his phone in his hands, jabbing the screen aggressively, and looking like he’s about to drop his phone.

That was another thing Kirishima was not about to deal with. He plucks the phone from the guy’s fingers, taking a brief glance at the screen. He’d been messaging someone titled Round Face, which seems like a rude thing to call someone. Maybe it's an inside joke, though. He has to give the benefit of the doubt.

The man is staring at his now-empty hand. There’s a confused look on his face, like he hasn’t quite grasped what happened to his phone.

Kirishima puffs out a breath, throwing the blanket over him. “Goodnight Kacchan,” he mumbles, heading to his bedroom. He switches off the light on the way. 

 -------/////////////-------

Bakugou wakes up on a comfortable couch. Given that his own couch provides the same amount of comfort as a literal rock, he immediately knows he’s not in his apartment.

The room he’s in is cluttered, cups left on the table, a pile of unfolded laundry on a chair. There are dumbbells on the floor, lying in wait for some unsuspecting victim to stub their toes. He immediately despises whoever lives here.

Alongside the cups on the table is Bakugou’s phone. He reaches for it, grumbling, hoping it would give him some clue as to where the hell he is and why he’s there. And whether or not he needs to find a knife. For murder.

His phone opens to the messenger, his chat with Uraraka. The bottom messages are absolutely not in his writing, because while Bakugou may litter every single text with curses, they’re grammatically correct and properly punctuated curses. Whoever was using his phone doesn’t have a grasp on things like proper capitalization.

He scrolls until he reaches messages he recognizes.

[11:44]

Round Face: Where are you??

Round Face: Bakugou?

Round Face: We’re getting worried

  [12:06]

Bakugou: Shut up I’mm tryibng to sleep

  Round Face: it’s me, kacchan

Round Face: i’m borrowing uraraka’s phone

  Bakugou: DUEKKU

  Round Face: um

Round Face: yes

Round Face: are you okay?? You’re pretty drunk right now

  Bakugou: I’M FUCKIBG FINE DEKU THIUS IS YOUHJR FAYULT

Bakugou: yo hey sorry i took his phone

  Round Face: ??????

  Bakugou: sorry he just came to my apartment?

Bakugou: hes okay i just got him on my couch

  Round Face: who is this?

  Bakugou: oh my names kirishima

Bakugou: nice to meet you!

Bakugou: i guess youre kacchans friend?

  Round Face: he wouldn’t agree but yes

  Bakugou: okay great!

Bakugou: hes totally fine so dont worry about him

Bakugou: oh here let me show you

 [Attached: Image (1)]

 There’s a picture of Bakugou: sprawled out, tangled in the blanket, drooling.

  Round Face: oh good! i’m glad he’s okay

Round Face: he didn’t harass you did he??

  Bakugou: i mean he groped me

  Round Face: oh no

Round Face: i’m so sorry

  Bakugou: does he normally do that?

  Round Face: i don’t think so??

  Bakugou: then its fine

Bakugou: ish

  Round Face: i’m really sorry

Round Face: he just moved into a new apartment so we were celebrating

Round Face: and then my friend goaded him into a drinking contest and he did it even though he can’t hold his liquor for shit

Round Face: oh my god he’s gonna read this later

  Bakugou: holy shit

  Round Face: but um we just lost track of him??

Round Face: oh where are you by the way we’ll come get him

  Bakugou: its fine! i kind of just wanna get to sleep

Bakugou: im room D-15 in the apartment complex

Bakugou: the one near the big grocery store

  Round Face: oh!

Round Face: he’s room D-13

  Bakugou: no way

Bakugou: hes the new neighbor??

Bakugou: that would explain why he was trying to kick me out of my place

  Round Face: oh no

  Bakugou: its fine its fine!

Bakugou: do you have his key card? He said he cant find it

  Round Face: check his pocket

  Bakugou: ok

Bakugou: its in his pocket

  Round Face: classic Kacchan

Round Face: are you sure you’re okay with him staying overnight?

  Bakugou: as long as he hasnt murdered anyone in the past its all good

  Round Face: i

Round Face: i can’t actually guarantee that

Round Face: but i’m 99% sure he hasn’t

  Bakugou: good enough i guess

Bakugou: anyway good night!

  Round Face: good night!

Round Face: and thank you again!!

 Bakugou puts the phone back down.

He stands up and contemplates if he can get away with two murders. Three tops, since Uraraka also has access to that chat. Subtlety isn’t really his thing so probably not.

And, he realizes, he doesn't have the energy to do anything requiring physical strength — he hasn’t eaten. So triple murder is definitely out of the question. His stomach is empty and twisting in on itself. Bakugou pushes himself off the couch, glancing over to the room’s kitchenette. If this guy is really so damn hospitable, he won’t mind Bakugou making himself at home.

Within minutes, he has a full meal cooking: a pot full of rice, eggs in one pan, vegetables sizzling in another. He’s nosing through the cabinets for anything spicy when he hears another voice chime out.

“I really hope you're making enough for two.”

Bakugou rears back, head swinging. The owner of the apartment, he assumes, is leaning over the opposite end of the counter. Red hair hangs around his face, nearly brushing the cutting board from how low he slouches.

A grimace etches onto Bakugou’s face. “Guess you're out of fucking luck, then.”

The man — Kirishima, he remembers from the text log — raises his brows. “So do you always get drunk, crash in a stranger’s apartment, and steal their food?”

Scowling, Bakugou cracks another egg into the pan. Kirishima smiles like the smug bastard he is. He pushes away from the counter and saunters over to Bakugou, whistling low at the sight of his stove. “You a chef or something?”

“This is basic shit.” Bakugou gives him a disdainful look. It fails to make Kirishima’s awful, friendly face fall into shame. “You must be fucking incompetent if this is impressive.”

“Well I’m definitely not good at cooking.” Kirishima breezes on, utterly unperturbed by Bakugou’s commentary. That, or incredibly dense, which wouldn’t be surprising given the color of his shitty fucking hair. It’s obviously dyed, an obnoxious fire-engine red that’s impossible not to look at.

Similarly impossible to ignore is the definition of his body. Wearing nothing but red boxers, Bakugou gets an eyeful of toned muscle, not exaggerated in the least but blatantly visible. They flex when he moves.

Bakugou would call him out for being an exhibitionist freak, only he is in Kirishima’s apartment and is also guilty of walking around in boxers each morning, regardless of company. He’s a lot of things, but a hypocrite is not one of them.

“Tell me you have something with spice in here,” Bakugou grumbles instead, “otherwise this shit is gonna be as tasteless as your apartment.”

It’s the first proper reaction he gets out of Kirishima: a slight frown and a defensive expression. He’s pouting. “My apartment is manly as hell,” he insists.

“Your clock has biceps.” Bakugou’s eyes flicked to the item in question.

“Yeah? That’s way manly. It flexes on the hour.” Kirishima looks proud of this particular detail. He’s completely ridiculous. “If you’re looking for spice, there’s sriracha in the fridge. Get sausages out, too, would you? I need to have some meat with my food. Uh, middle drawer.”

“Make it yourself, then,”  Bakugou says, even as he finds them. He sets the package of sausage links and a red bottle out on the counter. “Turn the heat on the rice down,” he commands. 

When he puts the plates out, it’s one of the most unconventional meals he’s ever made. Kirishima devours it like an animal, zero table manners except for the gracious way in which he thanks Bakugou. He at least has the decency to cover his mouth as he exclaims, “This is really good!” around a mouthful of rice.

Kirishima sets down his fork with a noisy clink when he’s finished. He’s grinning, plate empty, chin propped up on his knuckles. “Dude,” he starts, “my man. Cook for me.”

Bakugou gives him a flat look. “What.”

“This is good. And like, way healthier than eating out. I need to keep a decent diet, you know. So. Cook for me. We’re next door neighbors, after all.” Kirishima tapped the table, contemplating. “I don’t really have the money to pay you each day, but I could like, do chores for you? Or I buy the groceries and you cook, so you’re pretty much getting a free meal?"

His impulse is to reject it. But, then, it’s actually a pretty good deal.

The thing is, cooking is one of the few things Bakugou doesn’t actually mind doing. He’s good with knives and has a decent sense for flavor. Kirishima isn’t a picky eater. He gets a maid out of the deal.There’s no reason to reject it, except for the fact that he’s sentencing himself to regular interaction with his neighbor.

His admittedly-tolerable, well-muscled, smiley neighbor.

So what he says is, “Full cleanup in my apartment once a week, and you do the dishes that I use when I cook.”

Kirishima flashes him a thumbs up and a toothy grin. His teeth are unusually sharp. Not just the canines, but the molars and incisors, all of them with a point that is as unnerving as it is attractive. “You’ve got a deal, Bakubro.”

“Don’t call me that, shitty hair.

“Pffff. My hair is fantastic, especially once I’ve styled it.”

“Your hair is a fucking eyesore.”

“You’ll learn to love me.”

He would, in fact. Learn to love Kirishima. But for know, he’s stuck with headache-inducing red hair and a laugh that’s too damn loud, but at least he gets a maid out of the deal.