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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

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hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence.

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return.

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks.

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo.

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.”

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew:

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious.

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him.

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…”

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat.

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove.

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.”

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—”

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.”

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.”

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—”

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.”

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs.

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk.

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did.

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue.

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—”

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.”

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—”

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.”

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses.

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.”

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot.

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him.

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.”

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached.

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.”

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore.

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure.

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.”

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head.

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do.

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations?

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability.

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position.

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.”

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.”

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!”

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova.

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.”

You’re hearing will never be as it was.

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current.

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out.

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies.

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight.

He needed a fucking drink.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs.

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy.

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets.

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb.

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again.

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more.

Except… he’d been standing still that time.

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet.

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving.

“What the fu—”

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later.

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs.

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face.

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots.

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth.

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight.

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue.

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky.

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way.

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them.

Dynamight was here to get the job done.

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head.

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc.

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him.

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet.

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god.

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch.

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him.

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought.

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze.

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar.

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals.

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again.

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air.

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window.

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then…

Nothing.

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

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time.

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes.

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop.

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat.

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place.

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way.

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to.

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled.

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business.

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia.

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite.

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least.

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers.

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst.

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things.

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself.

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps.

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself.

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good.

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet.

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help.

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful.

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful.

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own.

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone.

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train.

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you.

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.”

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief.

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.”

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts.

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking.

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away.

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out.

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments.

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes.

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass.

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms.

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms.

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash?

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs.

That sounded… closer.

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky.

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals.

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person.

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth.

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack.

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down.

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air.

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air.

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached.

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street.

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill.

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed.

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it.

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later.

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames.

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene.

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him.

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped.

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window.

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki/reader #bakugo/reader #bakugo katsuki/you #bakugo katsuki x you #my hero academia #mha spoilers #boku no hero academia #bnha #anime #fanfic #my writings #katsuki bakugo

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luminnara · 3 years

Text

Pro Hero Bakugou + cam girl!reader fluff 18+ ONLY

I wrote this for myself c: i’m a SWer and i gotta live through my self inserts sometimes lol

Warnings: nsfw language

part 2

requests are open!

Everyone always expected him to end up with another pro hero. After all, he was Dynamight, a determined, powerful man with an even more powerful quirk. He had his own agency, he kept his area of the city in check, and he had a near perfect record. It only made sen that he would want to date someone equally as impressive and passionate about hero work, someone who could keep up with him and match him on every level.

Nobody ever expected that he would end up with someone like you, least of all...well, you.

You held off on telling him what you did for a living for a while. You weren’t ashamed of your profession by any means, but you had developed too much of a crush on Katsuki to risk ruining everything if he didn’t share your viewpoint. What if he hated your job? What if he thought you were an embarrassment to his name? No, it felt better to just tell him that you did something mundane, letting him believe you were an accountant or something rather than a full time online sex worker.

You were absolutely certain that the great Dynamight wouldn’t want the news getting out that he was dating someone like you, so even though it felt like you were lying to the man you were falling in love with, it also felt...better. It felt safe.

So imagine your surprise and horror when he casually brought it up on his own.

“What, you thought I didn’t know from the start?” He rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up on your coffee table as he raised a beer to his lips. “You think I’m stupid or somethin’?”

“What? No!” You said quickly.

“Then why’d you lie?”

You looked down in embarrassment. “Because...I didn’t know how you would react.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“A lot of guys get jealous, or just...shitty about it.” You sighed. “I figured that you wouldn’t want my job ruining your reputation as a pro, too. So...I just never said anything.”

Katsuki was silent for a moment, taking another drink. He seemed like he was thinking about your words, and with each second that ticked by, you grew more nervous. Was he about to yell at you for hiding such a big part of your life? Was he going to break up with you right then and there?

“Don’t be a dumbass.” He finally said. “I don’t give a shit what you do, long as you like doin’ it.”

His voice was harsh, but it made your heart soar.

“Thank you,” you said, letting out a relieved sigh.

“For what?” He grunted.

When he saw the sappy look on your face, he groaned and motioned for you to come closer. When you came and stood near his legs, he rolled his eyes, reaching out with one strong arm and pulling you down to straddle his lap.

“I don’t fuckin’ care what your job is.” He said, a big hand settling on your ass. “Kinda pissed me off that you kept hidin’ it from me, but I figured you’d bring it up at some point. Then you just fuckin’ didn’t, so I did.”

“How the hell did you find out?” You asked, suspicious that he had gone through your shit or something.

In that moment, the great Katsuki Bakugou actually blushed.

“Uh...” he looked away, avoiding your eyes. “I...mighta caught a livestream once.”

Your eyes widened. “You what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, I tuned in once or twice.”

“What? When?”

“I didn’t go lookin’ for you specifically like a creep!” he said roughly.

When you just quirked an eyebrow, he sighed.

“It was right at the beginnin’. Remember that first date we went on? You were wearin’ that green dress...”

“Of course I do,” you smiled.

Bakugou readjusted his grip on you and you settled in against his chest. “You wore that fuckin’ dress, ‘n you got me so god damn worked up with that.”

“Did I?” You teased, already knowing the answer. You were well versed in the world of horny men, and you could very vividly remember all of his awkward shifting and not so stealthy readjustments.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he groaned. “Had a hard on the whole night. Thought I was gonna explode by the time I got home.”

“Well, you’re pretty good at exploding,” you laughed, leaning your cheek against his chest as you looked up at him. “You could have invited me in, you know.”

“Nah, I was bein’ a gentleman. I mean, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous, princess...but I asked you to dinner because I liked you. And when I ask a girl to dinner, I fuckin’ do it right. After I got home, I had to go rub one out...’n that’s when I found you on that camsite.”

You blushed. “Yeah, I, uh...remember going home and deciding I should go live for a few hours, since you made sure to have me home by nine.”

He rolled his eyes at your joking tone. “Yeah, yeah. I saw you under the now online tab, ‘n I couldn’t stop watchin’...”

“That was a good night,” you grinned. “I went straight from having some of the fanciest food I’ve ever tasted to having one of my work nights ever. I mean, I remember hitting my tip goal in like, half an hour! Because my highest tipper was some new guy and—“

You paused, realization dawning on you.

“Wait just a goddamn second.” You leaned back, sitting up to look at Katsuki suspiciously.

The shit eating grin on his face confirmed your suspicions.

“What, babe?” He drawled. “You were gonna tell me all about your highest tipper. Don’t stop now.”

“My highest tipper,” you jabbed your finger into his chest, “was a new guy whose username I had never seen before, who had to have a lot of money to pay what he did.”

“Yeah, well. There’s all kindsa rich people on those sites. They love gettin’ off to pretty pieces of ass like you.”

“And he even ended up tipping enough tokens to cover my bills that month,” you rose up on your knees, straddling him again. “He had to have been a celebrity. Or a CEO. Or a pro hero.”

His grin only widened. “Musta been.”

“Katsuki, I cannot believe you!” You laughed, lightly slapping his chest. “All this time, you’ve been watching me from a burner account?”

“Well, I can’t exactly just put my hero name out there,” he chuckled.

“Because it would be all over the tabloids?” You guessed.

“What? No, because you woulda found out right away. Like I said, I wanted you to come to me first.”

“That’s...really sweet of you, actually,” you sighed. “Thanks, Katsuki. For not telling everybody.”

“Well...”

“...you told Kirishima, didn’t you?”

“I was excited about how hot my new girlfriend was!” He said defensively. “‘N it’s not like he was gonna do anythin’ bad, anyways.”

“Yeah, there’s not a mean bone in that man’s body,” you laughed, sliding back down onto your boyfriend’s chest. “I just can’t believe you. How are you so good at keeping secrets from me?”

“You tried to do the same thing to me,” he pointed out.

“Well, now we’re even. But...I don’t exactly think the world would like knowing that a top hero is dating a camgirl.”

“Like I care.” He rolled his eyes. “You know how popular you’re gonna be when rumors start flyin’?”

“Rumors?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Oh, yeah. Everybody’ll wanna find out if that’s really the pussy that the best pro hero is poundin’ every night.”

“Katsuki!”

“What? It’s true.”

You were quiet as you thought for a moment. “You know, if you sign a model release, your dick can be on cam...”

His face lit up. “You wanna suck this cock in fronta all your loyal fans, baby? Wanna show em what a fuckin’ size queen you really are?”

“Full of ourselves tonight, aren’t we?” You asked dryly.

“You’re gonna be fulla my cum soon enough,” he flirted, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “C’mon, Princess. I gotta get my practice in before I can be your stunt dick.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagines #bnha imagine #bakugou imagine #pro hero bakugou

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dearly · 3 years

Text

Pete Wentz (6:39:20 PM): Hey Ryan Ross (6:39:39 PM): hey Pete Wentz (6:40:09 PM): Is this the guy fro poanic at the disco Ryan Ross (6:40:23 PM): yeah im ryan, is this pete? Pete Wentz (6:41:12 PM): Yeah Ryan Ross (6:41:18 PM): hey man Pete Wentz (6:42:37 PM): How arer you Ryan Ross (6:43:17 PM): im not bad, working on a paper for english. hows everything with the new record? Pete Wentz (6:44:37 PM): Going really well Pete Wentz (6:45:04 PM): How's everything wiht your band are those just remixes Ryan Ross (6:46:01 PM): awesome, yeah we only did those on my laptop because we cant get into a studio yet. but we still have alot of those parts live and full band Pete Wentz (6:46:25 PM): Does it have samples like that Pete Wentz (6:46:42 PM): How many people are in the band.... Are you guys all in hicghschool Ryan Ross (6:47:20 PM): do you mean do we use a sampler? our drummer uses a drum sampler which we put some of the stuff on, and he plays some of it Ryan Ross (6:47:43 PM): im in college. im 18 the other three of them are 17 and in high school Pete Wentz (6:48:26 PM): Like of the pure volume site songs what would not be part of your live show Ryan Ross (6:50:18 PM): well right now the synth stuff because we need a keyboard player. we are trying out a few guys soon though. and some of the drum parts are different. Pete Wentz (6:50:48 PM): I absolutely love the stuff Ryan Ross (6:52:16 PM): but we have two guitar players one sings and i play lead. its kind of hard to describe it. we are a rock band but about half of a song will be dance-ish or sort of 80s sounding Ryan Ross (6:52:28 PM): really? wow thanks alot man Ryan Ross (6:53:12 PM): it really is a huge compliment coming from you Ryan Ross (6:53:35 PM): i was actually really suprised you listened to it Ryan Ross (6:53:40 PM): i didnt expect you to see it Pete Wentz (6:54:00 PM): Is there some pics of you guys anywhere Ryan Ross (6:55:10 PM): no, we are taking them pretty soon for the website, its just not done yet. i have some just of me on livejournal. but thats wierd haha Pete Wentz (6:56:09 PM): Yeah fuck get some to me Pete Wentz (6:56:19 PM): I think I may come see you in californaia Ryan Ross (6:56:44 PM): really? Ryan Ross (6:57:08 PM): that would be awesome Pete Wentz (6:57:46 PM): I've been listeneing to those songs nonstop. Is the band a side thing or is it gonna be fulltime? Ryan Ross (6:58:20 PM): no its full time Ryan Ross (6:59:24 PM): well aside from school. which sucks Ryan Ross (6:59:32 PM): but we want to do this Pete Wentz (7:00:00 PM): When are those kids out of school Ryan Ross (7:00:26 PM): the drummer and bass player are graduating early. so like january and other guitarist/singer graduates in the spring Pete Wentz (7:01:16 PM): Nice Pete Wentz (7:01:23 PM): Do you know about my label Ryan Ross (7:01:46 PM): yeah i think i saw something a while ago on a journal entry, is gym class heroes the only band on it right now? Pete Wentz (7:03:10 PM): Yeah. I signed the academy. But they are fbr strictly gym class and I am looking for another Pete Wentz (7:03:33 PM): The cool thing about it is I just met with waner and they want both of the bands and to give me an imprint Ryan Ross (7:03:55 PM): oh cool i like the academy alot, oh i see yea i was going to ask you about that Pete Wentz (7:04:03 PM): Which pretty much means a lot more money to promote cool artists Pete Wentz (7:04:14 PM): You guys plays out a lot? Ryan Ross (7:04:39 PM): thats awesome man. actually no we just kind of started this thing up a few months ago, the show in victorville is going to be our first one Pete Wentz (7:05:51 PM): Really Pete Wentz (7:05:56 PM): Interesting Pete Wentz (7:06:11 PM): How much do you guys practice Ryan Ross (7:06:45 PM): we've been trying to figure out the best way to do this stuff live, and we've been having a hard time on figuring out how to make it sound good. depending on the place we might not be able to use all the electronic stuff that we want to do which sucks but alot of venues, at least here might have a hard time setting us up. we practice at

least 4 times a week so like. between 24-30 hours a week Pete Wentz (7:07:09 PM): Nice Pete Wentz (7:07:21 PM): I am gonna come to the show Ryan Ross (7:08:13 PM): we wish we could more often. but school is getting in the way. and it sucks cause parents think its a waste of time playing music and want me to focus on school. im sure you know how that is. Ryan Ross (7:08:23 PM): thanks alot man really Pete Wentz (7:08:55 PM): I do Pete Wentz (7:09:05 PM): What are peoples reactions to it Ryan Ross (7:10:04 PM): some good some bad. everyone is so into post hardcore stuff these days that some kids just brush it off. which is fine but then some kids like it cause its a little different i guess Pete Wentz (7:11:30 PM): Can that kid sing live? Ryan Ross (7:12:54 PM): yeah, he's been taking voice lessons for a little bit so thats starting to help him Pete Wentz (7:13:19 PM): Is he on? I mean on here he sounds awesome Ryan Ross (7:14:21 PM): yeah he's on pitch, we recorded that stuff with like a 100 dollar vocal mic. the only effects we used was pretty much reverb on the main parts. Pete Wentz (7:14:42 PM): Yeah sounds good kind of like patrick Pete Wentz (7:14:47 PM): I like it Ryan Ross (7:16:57 PM): yeah thats the only thing we get that alot. and thats just how the kid sings. we like your band but we dont want to sound like you guys, or be compared to fob all the time you know? but yeah he is aware that kids say he sounds like patrick so he's just trying different vocal stuff sometimes. Pete Wentz (7:19:06 PM): Here's the thing if I show you guys interest a lot of crappy labels are gonna come and do the same and I don't want a huge mess out there. I mean how interested are you guys in going fulltime when you can Pete Wentz (7:19:19 PM): Yeah you'll get eh patrock thing but how many people. Sound like hime Ryan Ross (7:19:47 PM): so you really think we've got potential then? Pete Wentz (7:19:54 PM): I do Ryan Ross (7:20:05 PM): i've wanted to play in a band for my job ever since i started high school at least. Ryan Ross (7:20:07 PM): we all want to do this Ryan Ross (7:21:05 PM): its like i cant put enough dedication into anything exept playing guitar and writing Pete Wentz (7:23:01 PM): I'm with you Ryan Ross (7:24:05 PM): but yeah. i cant see myself doing anything else but playing in a band, cause every job i've ever had ive hated it Pete Wentz (7:24:57 PM): You don't have a picture of the band Ryan Ross (7:25:44 PM): no, but if you need it i could have my buddy take some tomorrow at practice Pete Wentz (7:26:58 PM): That would be rad Ryan Ross (7:27:37 PM): okay we'll take some Ryan Ross (7:28:08 PM): are you online much? Pete Wentz (7:33:12 PM): Sometimes Ryan Ross (7:33:35 PM): okay, i was just wondering if this was your email incase you arent on i'll just send them Pete Wentz (7:34:17 PM): Yeah send it here for sure Ryan Ross (7:34:36 PM): okay Ryan Ross (7:34:55 PM): dude this better not be a joke, it better be you Pete Wentz (7:35:12 PM): It is Pete Wentz (7:35:34 PM): But there are a lot of fakers out there Ryan Ross (7:35:55 PM): okay. yeah i know someone has shown me like fake journals of you and stuff. thats creepy Ryan Ross (7:36:10 PM): thats why i asked if it was you for sure Pete Wentz (7:36:32 PM): This guy who is iming me is your manager Ryan Ross (7:37:03 PM): is it xxxtoughffxxx ? Pete Wentz (7:37:22 PM): Yeah Ryan Ross (7:37:38 PM): i dont know if he's our manager. he's our friend, he's been helping us out with a website, merch and the show in victorville Ryan Ross (7:38:35 PM): he's starting a company up and he wants to help us out Pete Wentz (7:43:04 PM): Ah I got t Pete Wentz (7:43:32 PM): It Pete Wentz (7:43:37 PM): You guys are awesome and if its what I think it is I want ti to be thenext academy Ryan Ross (7:44:58 PM): wow thanks alot. i hope you like the stuff live, its not completely different but it is different. i mean the singing is the same and all that. Pete Wentz (7:47:46 PM): cool Pete Wentz (7:48:06 PM): You guys look good. The chicks gonna be swooning? Ryan Ross (7:48:38 PM): once we get

a keyboard player who can do all of the sampling we want to do it will be alot better too. its like we know how we want to sound, but just finding the right way to do it i guess is what we are working on. Ryan Ross (7:48:40 PM): hahaha Ryan Ross (7:48:51 PM): i dont know man, we look alright i guess Ryan Ross (7:48:57 PM): we look young Pete Wentz (7:49:42 PM): Youngs not abd at all Pete Wentz (7:49:47 PM): How does the singiner look Ryan Ross (7:50:05 PM): dead sexy. Ryan Ross (7:50:41 PM): he's no pete wentz. but still Pete Wentz (7:51:42 PM): Hahaha Pete Wentz (7:51:54 PM): Goddamn as long as he looks cool.singing Pete Wentz (7:52:14 PM): For sure send me pics and all how many songs you guys have? Ryan Ross (7:52:39 PM): haha Ryan Ross (7:53:00 PM): kk Ryan Ross (7:53:54 PM): we've only got 4 right now, its been tough to write since school started and everyone's busier. and those are the first 4 songs we've written as a band. at the show we'll play those and a cover of new order maybe. or depeche mode. we dont know yet Pete Wentz (7:56:08 PM): Nice Pete Wentz (7:56:21 PM): I gotta run Pete Wentz (7:56:32 PM): But ill hit you on here later Pete Wentz (7:56:38 PM): Send me those pics and write the hits Ryan Ross (7:56:43 PM): okay dude. good talking to you Pete Wentz (7:56:43 PM): Peaaaaaace Ryan Ross (7:56:44 PM): hahaha Ryan Ross (7:56:47 PM): later man Pete Wentz is away from the computer as of 7:56:51 PM. Auto response from Pete Wentz: Igot99problems Pete Wentz is back at the computer as of 10:05:48 PM. Pete Wentz is away from the computer as of 10:06:23 PM.

#pete wentz #ryan ross #brendon urie #i just don't trust shit not being deleted anymore don't mind me #reference #bandom #long post #panic at the disco

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luvknow · 4 years

Text

parasitic | bang chan

genre: bang chan x fem!reader | college au ; roommates au ; enemies-to-lovers ; alcohol mention summary: your roommate is going abroad for the semester and now you’re forced to share your apartment with bang chan, who you basically lived with for the past semester except he didn’t pay rent, he ate all of your food, and crashed on your couch after a long night out. you were going to do everything in your power to avoid him until your roommate comes back. that doesn’t work out so well. wc: 11.8k a/n: omg a month late, but merry christmas to @channiechanchan!! did you know it was me?? LMAO I’M SO SORRY LKJDSLKFJ IT’S ALSO NOT EVEN XMAS RELATED BUT....... I HOPE IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT, ILY SLKJDSL

The sun rays peeked through the gaps of the curtains letting you know that a beautiful Sunday was upon you. You would spend the morning making breakfast for you and your roommate, clean your room of all the bad vibes, knock out some homework, and light an overpriced candle to conclude a stress-free day.

A long morning stretch in bed was the start to your day, and you had the widest smile on your lips upon exiting your room as if there was nothing that could ruin your energy. That dropped quickly once you were greeted with a loud, snoring, almost-naked man face down and passed out on your couch.

“Sorry about him,” roomie Yeri said out of habit while practically crawling out of her room. “Again.”

She looked like a hot mess, with her hair frazzled in all directions and last night’s make-up still smeared around her eyes. Her timing was impeccable - it was like she could sense your annoyance through her walls.

“Why?” you whined childishly. This had to be the tenth weekend by now!

“You know why! Lucas had his birthday party last night, remember? Which you were invited to but totally flaked last minute.”

“I have an exam this week.”

“We have an exam this week and it’s not until Thursday!”

“So? I like to be prepared!”

“Can you two shut up?” the bane of your existence interrupted. The newly brunette (who had dyed his hair in your living room, thanks to Yeri) ran a hand through his wild hair, hoping it’d alleviate some of the pain from his hangover. “I have a pounding headache.”

“And whose fault is that?” you scolded bitterly before yanking your blanket off of him. The poor man below you shriveled up and buried his musty legs under your beautiful couch pillows for some sense of warmth. “Not like you pay rent here for you to have the right to complain, or anything.”

“Lighten up, buttercup. You’re so uptight.”

“Gotta do my job around here and exterminate the parasites.”

“Suck my dick.”

“Too many STDs.”

Yeri chucked a pillow each at the both of you so you’d shut up and avoid waking up any grumpy neighbors. “Please, for the love of God, can you guys chill out for once so we can have a relaxing Sunday together?”

“Together?” you and Chan groaned simultaneously.

Yeri was not having it and shot a glare like an angry mother, to which you and Chan mumbled some sort of noise of confirmation and went about your separate ways. You inhabited the kitchen and Chan dragged himself to wash away the sticky shame and Hennessey in the shower. Yeri hopped over to help you make pancakes as if her two best friends weren’t just itching to pull each other’s hair out. She liked to think of herself as the glue of the group, like the quirky friend in the middle who was delusion to the tension in between. Neither of you had the heart to ruin her sitcom fantasy.

“Morning ~” she sang cutely.

“I hate him.”

“He’s not that bad!”

“You’ve been saying that the entire fall semester, but almost every weekend of mine has been ruined by his presence!”

Yeri winced and took a step back as she watched you vigorously mix the pancake batter faster than an electronic stand mixer. Another step back was taken while you violently dumped in the blueberries. Cooking and baking was one of your favorite hobbies and she knew you could be quite passionate about it, but she never saw you angry-cook before. It was a scary site to see, as if you being angry wasn’t scary enough.

“He’s only the way he is because you never gave him a chance.”

“What does that even mean?”

“He’s the type of person who likes to be liked, you know?”

“So? Don’t we all?”

“Of course, but it’s different with people like him. When those types of people meet someone who doesn’t like them, they can get a little… How do I say this? Defense mechanism-y?”

“Wouldn’t you think that would motivate him to, I don’t know, be nice to me and not inhabit my space and eat my food every weekend? Perhaps he’d kiss my ass a little?”

“Like I said, defense mechanism-y…”

“More like melodramatic.”

No matter how Yeri tried to explain to you how Chan was ‘different’, you weren’t buying it nor did you care to argue any longer. Why should you have to like him just because he was your best friend’s other best friend? This wasn’t some algebra problem that could be easily solved by the transitive property - this was a matter of respecting each others’ personal spaces and each other in general, and Chan had been the one to cross both of those lines first, that dick. While Yeri lectured like your math professor, you mindlessly hummed here and there pretending to understand, just as you would in actual math class.

The bathroom door opening prompted you and Yeri to shut up immediately. Then, a moist Chan walked out of the steam with nothing but a familiar lavender towel wrapped around his disgustingly chiseled waist.

“Is that my towel!?” you shrieked in fear.

“Yeah. Hope that’s ok with you!” The fake honey sweetness in his tone made your skin crawl like there were bees under the dermis. “By the way, you’re out of shampoo. I love this scent! What is it, tea tree and mint?”

Yeri had to hold you back from hitting him with a hot spatula and Chan managed to escape back into the bathroom with a change of clothes that he kept here ‘for emergencies’, of course. They hung on the open clothes rack in the living room that was meant to show off yours and Yeri’s tasteful jackets, but the aesthetic was ruined early fall and even your jackets began to smell of Chan’s sophisticated cologne.

“I’m gonna kill him in his sleep,” you seethed.

Yeri patted your head like you were an angry kitten. “Killing the captain of the basketball team isn’t exactly kosher, love.”

“I’ll show you kosher.”

“Can’t keep on threatening me, babe,” Chan tisked while throwing on a t-shirt upon entering the A and B conversation.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m just trying to make our friendship better. You know, since we’ll be roommates soon.”

Excuse me, what? “What are you talking about…”

“Oh, you don’t know?” a sly Chan smirked.

When you turned to interrogate Yeri, she quickly stopped the sign language that clearly meant ‘shut your GODDAMN MOUTH, Christopher’ and gave you that sweet, innocent smile that let her get away with practically anything because who could say no to her rosy cheeks and rainbow-shaped eyes?

“Yeri, what is he talking about…?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, about that… I got accepted into the study abroad program!”

“That’s amazing and I am very proud of you and I love you, but what does this cockroach mean when he says we’ll be roommates soon!?”

“Hey!” he pouted.

“Oh, shut it!”

“Ah, well, I figured to lessen the burden of paying double the rent, I thought it’d, you know, take it upon myself to save you the stress of finding a subletter and Chan was the only one available…”

“Really? Of the entire cheerleading team, the pottery club, the damn pilates and cycling club, hell even the other players on the basketball team, Chan was the only one free to sublet? The only one?”

“Um... yes?”

“You know, I don’t really consent to this -”

“Please, _____, it will only be for the semester, I promise! I leave next week and I can’t take much with me, and Chan is the only person I trust to stay in my room and not ruin anything and steal my underwear!”

“How can you say that when he’s probably going to bring girls home and do them on your bed!?”

“I would never do that!” Chan interjected.

“Yeah, ok.”

“No, really! Why would I ruin her bed when I can just ruin yours while you’re gone?”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Christopher -!”

“See!” Yeri brought the two of you into a esophagus-crushing headlock so you two would shut up. “You two are already getting along so well!!”

Chan managed to slip away and steal you from Yeri, giving you a rough knuckle sandwich. “We’ll get along swimmingly, Yer-bear, I promise. Isn’t that right, _____?”

Yeri couldn’t help but look at you both with sparkly eyes, thinking that yes, maybe there’s a chance that a beautiful friendship could blossom from this! Jabbing an elbow to his ribs with a fake smile of your own, you wordless agree with a nod.

As long as Chan stayed in his room and you stayed in yours, maybe there wouldn’t be much to worry about, right?

The first week with Chan was exactly how you expected it - seeing his bare ass because he never closed the bathroom door, stealing your snacks, taking up the living room space, and blasting his loud soundcloud music that you could hear through your paper-thin walls. Still, even through all the frustration and the annoyance, you thought it would be best if you two just lived your lives separately and didn’t bother making nice with each other. Rather than fighting and yelling, ignoring each other for the sake of everyone’s sanity was for the best.

What pushed you to the edge was when he took the last pack of fruit snacks you were really looking forward to after a long week of classes.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned into the cupboard. “Chan!”

“Yes, darling?” he called from his - Yeri’s - bedroom, to which you stomped over to confront him. Seeing a grown man on Yeri’s white desk on a pink gaming chair playing some PC game was truly a sight to see.

“Did you eat the last of my fruit snacks!?”

The sly boy swiveled the desk chair to face you. “Ooh, was that the last one? I swear there was one left…”

“Come on, dude!”

“I’m sorry, ok, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal! That’s not cool!”

“No, what’s not cool is that you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

You were taken aback by his bold, although correct, assumption. You really didn’t expect him to call you out on this so early. “I… have not…!”

“You’re such a liar!” He pointed accusingly. Although you seemed heated in the argument, Chan was grinning because of course he was right, that dick.

“You don’t think I have anything better to do, like do my homework or-or hang out with friends outside of this apartment?”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean every time you come home and see me in the living room, you go straight to your room.”

“That’s normal!”

“Ah yes, but then you wait until I go into my room -”

“Yeri’s room.”

“- to cook dinner or grab a snack.”

“That’s just a coincidence -”

“How about the opposite, when I come home and you’re chilling in the living room and then you go to your room and shut the door? No ‘hi, how was your day’, or anything.”

“Well -”

“Or how about the mornings, when you’re sitting at the kitchen table relaxing and drinking something warm and sweet-smelling with a tired smile on your face because this is the only time in your day where you get to truly relax, but the second I leave my room to go to the bathroom or grab some water, you chug whatever’s barely boiling in your cup, dump it in the sink, and head out.”

“... I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Wow, look at that smug look on your face,” he pointed again. You didn’t even feel that proud smile on your lips. But Chan didn’t think it was amusing. His lips formed a frown, like he was insulted or even hurt at how cold you could be towards him. “What have I done to make you hate me this much?”

Your eyes bulged incredulously. “Let’s go down memory lane, shall we? Almost every weekend of the fall semester you; crashed on our couch, ate all of our ramen and eggs and sriraicha the morning after to recover from your massive hangover, used our laundry detergent, and used our bath products just to name a few! All without a simple thank you or even asking beforehand!”

Chan couldn’t deny that yes, maybe he’d been a little, um, unceremonious with his intrusion on your life, but come on, everyone deserves a second chance! The very prideful man in front of you rolled Yeri’s pink chair to the threshold only to clasp your hands together in his and now you were sweating.

“Ok, I’ll admit that I was a terrible guest this past semester.” Does an apology count if the guilty party rolls his eyes? “So, out of the goodness of my heart, I am very, very sorry.”

“My ass.”

“What!? Does this not look sincere to you?” he asked, pointing to his fake pouty face.

“Ok, I’m leaving.”

“No no no, c’mon!” Chan whined as he chased you into the living room. He grabbed your trailing hand to stop you. “Look, I’m truly sorry that I sometimes use your things -”

“Always use my things.”

“Most of the time use your things. I am sorry, really. Please believe me, ok? Aren’t you tired of avoiding me all the time?”

A tired sigh escaped you because you were absolutely exhausted from it. “I accept your semi-sincere apology. But why, for the love of God, why don’t you ever use Yeri’s things!? Why mine? She’s the one that’s your friend!”

“Honestly? I wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh, my God, what are you, five?”

“Hey, you’re the one who ignored me like a rude hostess from the get-go! You never gave me a chance!”

“My first impression of you was all I needed to not give you one.”

“I couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You puked in my backpack with some of my textbooks in it and poor Yeri had to clean up your mess!”

“Oh yeah, I remember that… That was on Sunwoo’s birthday.” You tried walking away again, but Chan’s grip was too strong. “Ok, fine, I’ll admit my first impression was horrendous, but you never let me redeem myself after that, so I kept annoying you so you’d confront me about it! That’s not fair that you judged me so quickly!”

“Yeah, and look how annoying me turned out! It went from my first impression to my thousandth impression.”

“I mean, it eventually worked, right?”

Another tired sigh. “Chan, is there a purpose to this?”

“Yes. I want to start over.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Start over? Like, erase all the shit that happened between us?”

“Exactly. A clean slate. Clean plates, I’ll even do your dishes tonight.”

You did hate doing the dishes… And you were so tired of stressing out over avoiding him, even if it had only been a week. After a long, painful pause, you held out your hand for him to shake. “Fine, a clean slate it is.”

A prideful and grinning roommate gladly shook your hand. “I pledge to not be an asshole anymore.”

“And I promise not to have a stick up my ass.”

“Wow, look how far we’ve come, huh? Cheers to a new friendship?”

“After you do my dishes.”

“... Fair enough.”

To commemorate this new and fresh friendship, you joined Chan in the kitchen. You didn’t do anything as he hand-washed your handmade dishes made in pottery class, but in return for eating your last fruit snack pack, he offered you some cookies he’d been hiding to which you gladly obliged. It was a peaceful silence in the kitchen other than the clinking of dishes and running water that offered some white noise while you read one of your books (after Chan called you a nerd). This had to be the most stress-free thirty minutes of your life.

“So,” your new ‘friend’, if you’d generously call him, began after finishing the dishes. He took a seat next to you and grabbed a cookie of his own. “Now that we’re cool and all, I would like to formally invite you to our basketball game tomorrow.”

"First of all, we're not totally cool just yet. Think of this as like a trial. Gotta pay your premium subscription fees before getting the premium benefits.”

“Yeah, yeah, so do you wanna go or not?"

"Hm, a basketball game? Like you're playing in it?"

"As the captain, I sure hope so."

You thought about it for a second - what terrible things could possibly come about if you went to one of Chan's basketball games? Well, it's set in a crowded and sweaty arena, whose crowd and players are also sweaty, it was loud, the food and drinks were expensive, and you literally could not care less about basketball. But, out of the goodness of your heart, which was now willing to give people a second chance for some reason, maybe you could tolerate sitting through a quarter or two.

"Sure, I'll go."

"Really? I wasn't expecting that."

"Then why'd you bother asking?"

"I'm tryna be homies, and that's what homies do! Invite homies to their basketball games."

"Please don't call me homie."

"Ok, home skillet."

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know anything about basketball."

"Like, at all?"

"I know the cool far shots are worth like three points, right?"

"Oh, darling, you have a lot to learn. Here, lemme do a spark notes run down."

Professor Chan, PhD in sports and partying, took however many hours to explain. You lost track after two. At the end of the night, all of the cookies and milk were gone and you both went to bed at two in the morning.

"You, at a basketball game!?" Yeri snorted from the other side of the world. "And you and Chan being civilized!? Lord, how long have I been gone?"

"I have many regrets…"

"Don't say that! I think it's cute that you guys are finally getting along. Who would've thought that locking you two in the same apartment for one week was all that it took?"

"It might have been sooner if he'd just apologized right away instead of stealing all of my stuff to get my attention."

"Yup, sounds like Christopher."

"So you're coming back soon, right…?"

"If soon means a couple of months, yes."

"Yeri ~!" you whined, hopelessly missing your Sunday night partner watching crime documentaries.

"Chill, you big baby, just hang out with Chan if you're so lonely."

"Ugh, gross." Ironically enough, you stepped on a freshly-spat wad of gum upon entering the half-filled gymnasium.

"But not too often cuz, you know, you might fall in love ~"

You hoped no one saw the way your face twisted in disgust. "Are you delusional!?"

"Or even worse, you two might get drunk and make out and then fu -"

"OH-KAY, bye, Yer-bear love you!" You hung up immediately, traumatized at the thought she planted in your head. You hated how your face heated up so brightly. Don’t sweat it, _____! There’s no way that something like that could blossom from something that was nothing!

"Hey, you actually made it -" Chan had burst into your bubble without a warning, causing you to jump and drop your phone. After wiping off another fresh glob of gum from your phone screen this time, you bucked up the courage to stand face-to-face with a confused Chan wearing his basketball uniform. "Jeez, you good? You're all blushy. Ah, you saw Jaehyun's nudes, didn't you?"

"No, idiot! You just startled me, although I should be used to you invading my space by now."

“Ha ha. Stop being weird and take a seat. We’re still warming up, but hopefully we’ll start soon.”

“Uh, is there like, designated seating, or?”

Chan’s dimply smile accompanied a rough hair ruffle. “How cute, you’ve never been to a game before, huh?”

“I would rather die than willingly pay to go here on my leisure.”

A strong, sweaty arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Sit right over there,” he said, pointing to a single spot in the middle of the one hundred level that allowed for the best view of the entire court. “You’ll see me in action the whole time.”

“Next to the dude eating a chili dog and the chick with a cut-out of Woojin’s face?”

“The superfan section truly is not of this world.”

“If I came all the way here just to watch you lose, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we never lose!”

The coach called Chan back to warm up some more which left you no choice but to enter the germ-infested purgatory and sit in between the superfans. Glancing at the other team, it was clear that they had the intimidation factor of being the taller and bigger players, so you weren’t sure how this was going to turn out. But your team, although smaller, had an enormous amount of unwavering energy. Perhaps it was because they were playing at home and had the entire half of this court filled to the brim cheering their names.

Chan was busy next to the couch, watching the form of his teammates as they were shooting three pointers. There was no doubt to anyone, even if no one had ever seen him before, that he was the captain. Who knew the barf-filled, void for a stomach, almost always naked asshole had the mindset of a lion? Every now and again, he’d pull one of his teammates to the side, probably a newbie to the varsity team, and help him with his form or give pointers or remind him of what play they were going to execute once the buzzer rang.

At some point, you realized you were watching him for far too long because he caught you right where he placed you. By the smirk on his lips, you’ll never hear the end of it if you see each other back at the apartment, and you would have looked away almost immediately if he hadn’t grabbed a ball not a second later. What was he doing?

Chan dribbled the ball to the free throw line (at least you think that’s what it’s called). He looked at you again, but this time he was pointing, like he was challenging you. Every pair of eyes in the gymnasium managed to pinpoint his target to you and if he thought you were blushy before, he should really see you up close now. After the very dramatic scene, Chan focused on dribbling the ball a few times which brought everyone’s attention back to him, thankfully. He dribbled a bit more, stopped to set up his shot, followed through and swoosh, there it went, right into the basket like a mathematician's perfect parabola.

“That was for you,” he mouthed silently with a sense of tease dripping from every word.

Normally, you might have flicked him off, but who were you to ruin the vibe just before the game started? Out of the goodness of your heart, you lightly clapped at his performance like this was the opera.

And so the game began! Mingyu, since he was the tallest member, did that thing where they toss the ball up in the air and they try to get it on their side, and since he was like 6’5”, it was easy for Chan’s team to start with the ball. There was a lot of back and forth head movements and eye scanning and you felt like your brain was being shaken up. To be honest, before you stepped into the stadium, you thought that none of this was going to excite you in the least. The idea of sweaty boys running around with a ball was completely barbaric, didn’t you think? But when someone, especially Chan, shot the ball or blocked it or did some weird dancey footwork, you gasped and cheered with the rest of the gym, the spirit of the game blooming in your soul much to your resistance.

The game ended almost too quickly and thankfully your team won. All of the superfans and the cheerleaders ran towards the team, congratulating them with cheers and hugs and mounting their beloved captain on their shoulders. Chan had his bright and dimply smile you’ve been seeing too often this week. You considered waiting until the crowd died down so you could congratulate him right then, but being the captain meant he was the center of everyone’s attention, not just yours. You shrugged off the impatience and headed for home. You could always congratulate him tomorrow, so long as he hasn’t puked anywhere.

Just before exiting the gym, you heard your name being called.

“_____, wait!” Chan yelled, sprinting to you as soon as his people made a walkway.

“I guess a congratulations is in order,” you said. “Congrats on winning. You looked super cool out there.”

“Hold on, can you say that one more time?” he teased, whipping out his phone to record you.

“Congrats, asshole!” you greeted the camera with double birdies.

“Thank you, m’lady. Where are you going now -”

“Channie!” a cute voice cried. Channie?

“Miyeonie!” he parroted back at the pretty cheerleader.

“Are you coming with us to Mingyu’s or what?”

You almost forgot it was the weekend already. It was time for drunk Chan shenanigans to ensue and that meant locking yourself up in your room and hiding the newly-bought fruit snacks.

“Oh, uh…”

Chan looked back at you like he was about to ditch his little sibling who had asked to play with him. Before any embarrassing pity invites were thrown out, you quickly bid your farewell.

“I’ll see you later, Channie ~” you waved off playfully.

“_____, hold on,” he said in urgency. Oh no, please don’t do what you think he’s doing… “Uh, I think I’m going to skip out on tonight, Miyeon.”

Both of you looked at him like he had three heads and two tails. Miyeon’s the only one brave enough to speak up on it. “Party Boy Channie is ditching us tonight? Why?”

“I’m super tired.” You’re full of shit, Chan! Why are you ruining my quiet night in!? “I’ll catch you guys next week, though.”

“Fine. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Ok ~” She then quickly kissed him on his lips and he welcomed it fully like they’ve been doing that for some time now. Could it be that Party Boy Channie has finally settled down, despite all of his sloppy stories he used to slur about every weekend? How was it that he, of all scumbags, was able to have a significant other and you couldn’t even get a tinder date! “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t get too wild tonight.”

“No promises!”

Chan sighed helplessly and turned to face a disgusted? Shocked? No, a very uncomfortable you who had watched a corny teen drama movie unfold right in your face.

“Sorry about that,” he said sincerely for once.

“Oh please, I absolutely love watching true love express itself right in front of me, Channie.”

He rolled his eyes. “First of all, it’s not love.”

“Really? You’re telling me kissing pretty cheerleaders isn’t your love language?”

“Not when they cling to me like mothballs.”

“You’re so cruel, Channie.”

“Stop calling me that,” he warned. “Secondly, what are we doing tonight?”

“We? I don’t know who this we is, but I’m going home.”

“Aw, c’mon, really? I just ditched a Kim Mingyu party and perhaps some ass for some quality roommate bonding time!”

“I did not ask you to do that.”

“Don’t you wanna go out to eat or something? I’ll even pay for you.”

“No, because there’s food at home.”

“There isn’t food at home, you liar!”

“Well ok, not yet, I still have to go to the market first and then I’ll cook.”

“Oh?” You can cook? He certainly didn’t know that. “You’re cooking us dinner?”

“I’m cooking me dinner.” Chan folded his hands and gave you a poor excuse for puppy eyes. But he did just win the game, and you bet doing all that sporty stuff made him starving. “But I guess I can make you a plate... I guess you and I can… eat together…”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“I’m clearly holding back my excitement.”

Usually in movies or tv, they have the head chefs of famous local restaurants come to the markets between four and five in the morning. The amateur chefs like yourself prefer to pick off what was left for much cheaper at night time. It’s not that the stuff left over was any bad, it was just the important people managed to pick out all the perfect prawns and symmetrical vegetables and what have you. It was much less stressful in the evenings anyways, when everyone was already home cooking and you were left to wander as you pleased before the vendors packed up for the day.

“Do you come here all the time to grocery shop?” a freshly-washed Chan asked beside you. When he went grocery shopping, as long as the produce didn’t have any bruises and the meat was red, that’s all he needed. He never inspected the peaches for its plumpness or asked what time the fish was caught today, unlike you, though now and again he’ll slap a watermelon to test its juiciness.

“Goodness, no, am I made of money?”

“How expensive can this place be, they’re not even in a store.”

“Oh, Chan the naivete. Think of the most expensive piece of produce you’ve ever bought. It’s probably organic, right? Free of pesticides and the like?”

“I think it was an avocado.”

“Right, completely ridiculous that you’re paying $2.50 per avocado. The avocadoes here? Double that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I really wish I was. Those are the morning price avocadoes though. Nighttime shoppers like us are lucky to snag them for $3.50.”

“Why bother paying so much when you can go to the local store across the street from your house?”

“Even though I can get much more for the price I’m paying here,” you paused and handed Chan the brightest and quite possibly the smallest strawberry he’d ever seen. “You can taste the difference.”

Snipping off the green stem and leaves, the clueless boy popped the berry in his mouth and you watch the flavor brighten his eyes.

“Quality over quantity,” you bragged.

The rest of your time there, you had to stop Chan from eating a single grape from every little basket at every single vendor.

“You are a child.”

“Baby me, baby.”

Coming back to the apartment with your’s and Chan’s arms full of groceries, anxiousness rushed in the second you stepped beyond the threshold. It occurred to you that you’ve never actually cooked for anyone before besides Yeri. This will be the second time you’ll see someone’s first reaction to your cooking, and it’ll be from your worst enemy.

“Need me to sous chef, head chef?” he asked while unpacking.

“Actually, that would help me a lot. Could you wash the vegetables?”

“Sure. While we’re at it, can I get your opinion on something?”

You raised your brow in confusion. “Do I have the knowledge for it?”

“You have ears, so yes.”

From that point moving forward, you decided not to question Chan because he was going to do whatever he wanted anyways. As you prepped the kitchen, you ignored the loud rustling in the living room with the occasional ‘ow, fuck’ following a stubbed toe. Out of curiosity and right before yelling at him to hurry up, Chan had finally pressed the play button and an unfamiliar song played through his massive speakers that he brought outside.

“Is this your new song?” you asked.

He did the ‘hand-sexily-but-also-shyly-running-through-my-hair’ thing before answering. “Yeah, and I’m not sure if I like it that much. The guys say it sounds good, but they’re my homies so they have to say that, y’know?”

“At least you know I won’t bullshit you.”

“Be gentle at least, please.”

“I will once you help me with dinner finally.”

“Right, right.”

Of course one song didn’t cover the entirety of the dinner preparation. After the one, which you honest to God liked a lot (“Stop lying.” “I’m not! You asked me to be honest, dick!”), Chan shyly but happily showed you more of his work. Some of it was already posted to his Soundcloud and some weren’t uploaded because he either hated them or he was stuck and left unfinished.

“Like, how is it possible that I can’t finish a project whose finished product is less than three minutes long!?” By now, Chan gave up trying to help after he cut his finger several times and sat at the table munching on his expensive basket of berries as he explained his creative block to you as if you were his therapist. “It makes me seem lazy, doesn’t it?”

“People hit creative walls all the time,” you reassured. “Don’t get yourself down about it.”

“Have you ever even hit a wall before?” he challenged.

“I do in the kitchen all the time, you ass.”

“How is that even possible? What walls can you even hit in the kitchen?”

“The difference between baking and cooking is that baking has less room for error, but tons of room for visual creativity, which is why I think baking is much harder. Cooking measurements for a meal, on the other hand, are meant to be adjusted with freedom which is nice, but how many times can someone change the presentation of a bowl of rice, meat, and vegetables?”

A bowl of said food was placed in front of a drooling Chan who had to sit through the tortuous cooking process smelling the aromatics and satiate his rumbling tummy with sour fruit. He hadn’t even taken a bite yet and his eyes were already sparkling with anticipation. It was reactions like his that made you the most embarrassed because what if he tasted it and hated it!?

“Whoa, this looks delicious!” he beamed.

“You didn’t think I could cook, did you.”

“No, I thought you were joking and when you weren’t I was like, ‘I HAVE to taste her cooking’. I'm a little disappointed that it doesn’t look inedible.”

“Ha ha, just eat your food, parasite.”

With anticipation, you watched Chan take a huge bite with all the fixins on the spoon. You could sense the awkwardness when he turned away.

“Stop staring at me,” he mumbled with cheeks full of rice.

“Not until you tell me what you think.”

“Well, of course it tastes good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now stop looking at me, I’m not your zoo animal.”

A huge sigh of relief escaped you and a heavy weight off your chest was relieved. Something about cooking for new people always made you want to pass out, but if both your best friend and your best enemy admit to how good it is, maybe you’ll become more open to the idea of cooking for others more often. You DID like that huge sense of pride that rushed in.

Chan finished the bowl in two minutes. He held it up for you to take. “More, please.”

“Wow, ok.”

You were lucky enough to get a bowl yourself with Chan practically inhaling everything, and even then he still had room for dessert. It was atrocious how much a college man could eat.

“They say someone’s cooking says a lot about them,” Chan proposed while washing down his food with soda.

“They who?”

“I don’t know, the internet?” he shrugged.

“Oh, yeah? What does the internet say about a bowl of rice for dinner?”

“That you’re uptight and don’t like to have fun.”

“Hey!”

“And probably a virgin.”

Your cheeks burned an embarrassingly bright red at the proclamation. “Wh-What makes you say that!?”

“It’s a safe meal to make. You know, hard to mess up and a little simple so it’ll always taste good?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Where’s the excitement, _____? The improvisation!?”

“There’s not much room to improv in cooking, Christopher.”

“Don’t you want to live a little? Have some spontaneity?”

“Are we still talking about my cooking or…?”

“No, dumbass, I mean your life, too!” Chan hopped up from his chair and took your hand to twirl you around the kitchen like the scene in Beauty and the Beast. Oh God, you hoped you didn’t accidentally poison him or that he was having a weird allergic reaction to sesame, or something. “Have some fun for once!”

You somehow broke away from the hypnotic dance and stood as far away from that crazy man as possible. “Don’t act like you know me all of a sudden because you read some corny Buzzfeed article about a fucking bowl of rice and meat, Bang Chan!”

“What do you mean, I’ve come to know you for a whole semester.”

“A whole semester of being blacked out.”

“Hey, that means nothing!”

“Ok. Tell me one thing you know about me from a whole semester of being unconscious on my couch.”

“You have an in-depth skin care routine.”

“Anyone can guess that.”

“From the books you have lying around and a few paintings on the wall, you dabble in that horoscope bull shit.”

“So do a lot of girls, next.”

“You like heart and star-shaped marshmallows in your hot cocoa.”

You’ll admit that one had you silent for a moment. Only Yeri knew about that, but that was because those were the only marshmallows you bought specifically for hot cocoa. They add a little pizazz to your drink, especially with the edible glitter. “That doesn’t count, there’s no other marshmallow in the apartment.”

“True,” he began, pointing an accusing finger at you. “But you like a whole handful of marshmallows in your mug.”

“... S-So -”

“Ah ha, got one!”

“So what, a ton of people like marshmallows!”

“Yeah, but not pink hearts and purple stars ones!”

“How do you even know that?”

“Hm. I think it was the night of Hongjoong’s birthday. Yeah, I passed out, woke up, whined to Yeri, and she made me hot cocoa and said, ‘Do you care if the marshmallows are shaped like hearts and stars?’ And I said, ‘I ONLY want hearts and stars’.”

A shy smile spread across your lips. It’s moments like these when you weren’t chewing his ear off that he finds you a little cute. Just a little.

“Is there a reason for those specific marshmallows?” he asked.

“They’re cute,” you pouted.

“Well, do I get a prize for knowing one thing about you?”

“Yeah, doing the dishes.”

“What!?”

“I cooked now you clean!” you said before running off to your room.

A tired, but willing Chan dragged his feet to the sink. He could just throw all of the dishes in the dishwasher, but somehow hand-washing while reminiscing about all the Fridays he’s crashed here with you barking like a chihuahua the next morning was much more fun.

His cheeks hurt from smiling too much by the end of that night.

A virgin… How the hell does cooking a bowl of rice for your roommate somehow make you a virgin!?

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the most outstanding meal you’ve ever made or could have cooked for him, but that ungrateful man who couldn’t even fry an egg shouldn’t be so picky!

But why, of all the insults and swears he’s ever thrown at you, was virgin the one that hit you the most?

Who cares if you were or weren’t one! What difference did that make you as a person, right!? At first glance, of course no one would be able to tell whether you were or weren’t one, but what did that say about people who did know you, like Chan and Yeri? Was that the kind of vibe you gave off? Were you too goody-goody, too play-by-the-rules? Was Chan right when he said your life lacked that spark, that spontaneity he seemed to so-crave?

Now that you thought about it, you haven’t gone out on a date or even found someone remotely interesting in a very long time… Since your first year of college at the very least.

Maybe you should show him how spontaneous you could get.

“That’s another thing I noticed last semester,” Chan’s charming accent shook you from your thoughts. You looked to the boy intruding in your room who leaned against the door frame, once again in only his pajama pants and a wet towel slung over his neck to barely cover his torso. He was built like he was carved from the finest slab of marble - how was his skin so white and smooth? “You tend to space out a lot, especially when you’re working on something.”

“How can you tell?”

“You get that dumb look on your face.”

“You mean the same one you have on all the time?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Thank you. What are you getting all dressed up for on a Tuesday night?”

“Miyeon said she was coming over like, ten minutes ago and I felt musty, so here I am, half naked in front of your door like this is the greatest dream you’ve ever had.”

“Is that the cheerleader from your game last weekend?” Chan hummed as a response, drying his hair with the towel around his neck and a toothbrush in his mouth. “Is she your girlfriend?”

You heard him choke on the toothpaste. “God, no, why do you think that?”

“I mean she kissed you… ?”

“Eh, it’s kind of an on-again-off-again thing, but nothing was ever official between us.” A sudden realization hit Chan and then that sly smirk that loved to tease you came back to haunt you. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“Jealous of some cheerleader who’s clearly in love with a man who has no interest in her while he lives with another woman?” you scoffed. “Green with envy.”

“At least I have someone in my life!” he called from the bathroom.

That, too, hit a little too close to your heart. He was right - at least he had someone who kept him company, who adored him, who he could go out on dates with… And what did you have? A lousy roommate who uses your body wash.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked after coming back fully clothed. Your bed was much softer than Yeri’s, who had a rock hard firm mattress. Perhaps Chan should take his naps here instead.

“Nothing. What is there to do on a Tuesday night?”

“Lots of things! It’s Taco Tuesday at that food truck on campus, it’s Tteokbokki Tuesday at that Auntie’s restaurant by the bookstore, ooh and the record store down the street gives out free seltzer water for the hipsters.”

“Is that what you and Miyeon are doing tonight?”

“No, she just wanted to make-out I think.”

“How romantic…”

Chan laid on your bed and kept his thoughts to himself for a while. Somehow after only a few weeks of living together did you tolerate his presence enough to not nag him to get out of your room, let alone off your bed. While you studied the infinite pages of words in your textbook, Chan was able to steal a few glances. The way your brows furrowed in frustration, the messiness of your hair, the slight pout in your lips, it was all quite cute for someone as grouchy as yourself. Although he supposed he’d be an asshole, too, if he was studying seven days a week. You must be tired and frustrated.

Without you paying attention, he whipped out his phone and texted his date.

“Darn,” he sighed convincingly. “Miyeon just cancelled on me.”

“Good for her.”

“Well, now that I’m free, it looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”

“Sike, I have some homework to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chan hopped off the bed and peaked over your shoulder at your homework. He was so close that you could smell his woodsy cologne. You kind of liked it. Kind of. “Homework that’s due on Friday? God, _____, at least try to be cool, you nerd.”

“Hey!”

“Get dressed, those tacos and tteokbokki won’t be piping hot forever ~”

“I’m not going!” you tried to argue, but that annoying boy was already out of your room and putting his shoes on. Evil chuckling could be heard from the living room - what a weirdo. As your stomach violently growled, it was really hard to resist such a tempting offer of food, even if it meant going with Chan.

An impatient roommate danced his way to exit. “I’m walking out the door ~”

“Chill, will you?” you mumbled while throwing on your coat. “How are you going to invite me and then abandon me?”

“Then move faster.”

“You move faster…”

“Ah ~” Chan pinched your cheek lightly. “You’re kinda cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

“You know, with trying to kick up the spontaneity in your life and what-not.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a cold Tuesday night and you almost heavily regret wanting to be spontaneous and cute and uncaring, all because a soundcloud rapper called you a virgin. But the thought of a hot cup of spicy rice cakes was enough for you to travel through the polar vortex. It helped that you weren’t the only one suffering.

“All those nights I crashed on your couch, I’d always buy a cup of this gold before heading over,” Chan admitted. “It was a shame for the days I threw it up.”

“Ah, no wonder your puke is red! I thought you were always almost dying.”

“Sometimes I wished I was.”

Of course the auntie knew Chan by the amount of times he’s stumbled upon the place drunk off his ass (“Wow, you’re walking straight and talking in sentences today!” “Ha ha, auntie…”). The fiery cup of rice cake was the perfect hand-warmer.

“Do I not give off the virgin vibe yet?” you half-joked.

A charming burst of laughter came from your annoying roommate. How could he forget that he called you that! “You’re not hung up on that, are you?”

“I just… I mean, do you think that’s the reason why…” you struggled to speak your insecurities into existence because once you did, that meant they were real and totally holding you back.

“Why what?”

“Tell me something - am I really that uptight? Does it make me seem… I don’t know, unapproachable? Unlikable, even?”

“Please, you are totally uptight.” A loud, unladylike groan echoed throughout the crowded streets of campus. “Unapproachable, yes. Unlikable? I mean, not necessarily? Some guys think that’s hot.”

“So what you’re saying is I’ll be single forever or marry some pushover.”

“Hey, don’t put words into my mouth! Look, if you really want to change how your aura appears to people, you already have! You’re out on a Tuesday night eating rice cakes with the sexiest guy you know. That’s progress in my book, all thanks to me.”

“Somehow you’ve turned my insecurities into praising yourself.” It was impressive, honestly. “You’re something else, Christopher.”

“Thank you!”

“What’s next on our impromptu tour of the town?”

“Ya like vinyl?”

“Huh?”

Chan said nothing else as he cut you off and walked right into the record shop and low and behold, potential buyers were holding skinny cans of flavored seltzer.

“C’mon, princess, there’s not enough seltzer for everyone!” Chan urged.

The vastness and number of collections of the record shop rivaled the local book shop down the street. Although much noisier and haphazard, the concept was still the same and the neon signs and signed posters gave the shop quite the personality. Actually, it was almost as if it was Chan personified.

In front of you was a basketball-loving ear-pierced punk-ass roommate who wore leather jackets in sub-freezing temperatures and didn’t know how to fold his laundry flipping through the Wu-Tang Clan basket. And there was you, the personified small local bookstore, watching him longingly and wishing you could be like him, who was cool enough to attract other cool people and be someone so approachable and likable. He was the complete opposite of you, and yet somehow you’re both here together, acting like you never had to kick his ass for using your toothbrush four too many times.

How was it possible to think that one day, someone could be in love with a plain and boring bookstore like yourself? Could someone like Chan love someone like you one day?

You hoped so.

Chan wondered where you were and found you looking at him with tired eyes. Of all the things to look at, you somehow could only look at him. With his dimply smile, he said, “Falling in love with me?”

Something made you want to say yes. “Did you find something you like?”

He silently gestured to you to come over with a lazy hand. As expected, he pulled out one of the Wu-Tang Clan records and played it on one of the modern record players that had one set of headphones at the station.

“Here, put these on,” he instructed while putting the over-ear headphones on. A smooth and unique rap style voiced over the equally-smooth instrumentals. It was unlike anything you’ve heard before. Perhaps Chan’s intellectual layers lied within his knowledge in music.

A slight pressure pressed against your right ear. You couldn’t see from your peripherals, but you could smell Chan’s rustic cologne again, and that itself already made you blush deeper shades of red than you could ever imagine. Since there was only one set of headphones, Chan obviously had no other choice but to listen to this track with you like this - invading your space bubble and making you weak in the knees.

“Do you like it?” you could barely hear.

“I do,” you replied. The song wouldn’t be over for another two minutes and Chan refused to move. “Is this what you like?”

“It’s inspirational to me.” The vibrations of his voice almost sent you into shock because wow, was he close to you or what.

He knew you were nervous. He could tell simply by how your shoulders squared the moment his ear pressed on the outside of the headphones. That’s yet another detail he’s come to notice while crashing on your couch and living with you. Whether you were nervous because he was shirtless after coming out of the shower or you were annoyed because he’d eaten all of the ice cream you were saving in the back corner of the freezer, you always straightened your posture upon seeing him because God forgive you ever show any emotion. Why were you like those stuck-up librarians at the hipster bookstores down the street who turned a blind eye to anyone who didn’t look like they read books?

Or maybe, just maybe, you were liking this. You liked being in close proximity to the sexiest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. You liked the almost-but-not-really skinship you almost-but-not-really shared. You were nervous, not annoyed, weren’t you? Or were you annoyed that you’re nervous around your most hated enemy?

Either way, Chan wins, and that’s all that mattered to him.

You spent most of the spontaneous night in the record store listening to soul, trot, pop punk, underground hip-hop, and everything in between. Quite literally in-between, as Chan would not stop pressing his face to yours because he refused to find a second pair of headphones for him to borrow.

“Stop doing that!” you whined for the fifth time.

“I wanna listen, too ~”

“Then go steal another set of headphones!”

“But I like this. It’s way more fun. And your cheeks are so hot that the radiated heat is warming my face up.”

You’re silent at that point forward because your cheeks thought their purpose in life was to burn as hot as the sun and serve as a radiator to intrusive boys who wanted nothing more than to listen to good music with you.

Honestly, what’s there to complain about?

The record store didn’t close until midnight and you practically stayed until then. At that point, Chan with his black hole for a stomach was hungry again and led you to the taco truck he talked about earlier.

“Is it Taco Tuesday still if it’s past midnight?” you wondered.

“It’s still Tuesday until the sun comes up in my books.”

Tacos weren’t exactly an easy-to-eat street food, so you used the tin foiled rolls as hand warmers until you were back in the comfort of your kitchen where you could happily eat greasy tacos with your sworn enemy.

“What do midnight tacos say about me now?” you questioned the food and vibe expert across the table.

“They say you like cliches and you care a little too much about what people think of you.”

“How the hell did you come up with that?”

“Please, Taco Tuesday is so cliche! And you conformed to it because you want to seem more playful and less of a stick-up-your-ass, am I right?”

The pout on your lips was enough of an answer. “Now I feel like a virgin in sheep’s clothing.”

“Hey, we all have to start somewhere.”

“Do you think I’m more likable this way?”

Perhaps Chan was a little harsh with his words the one night you cooked for him. He thought he would be able to know you front and back after nearly a month of living together, but it seemed that he was farther away from that than he thought. After all this time, he thought you didn’t care one bit about how people perceived your feisty self. Maybe instead you cared too much and you had built a wall to prevent others like Chan from knowing.

“You were always likable,” he admitted honestly.

“Please stop lying,” you groaned.

“I mean it! Even when you were yelling at me or trying to kick me off the couch or stealing back the food I was trying to eat, I never hated you. It was so much fun messing with you because you were not afraid to cuss me out.”

“And that makes me likable how?”

Chan shrugged. “I have fun when I’m around you. Do you think I would have kept coming back to crash here if I hated you?”

“Yeah, to torture me.”

“Well, to clear things up, I don’t hate you. And I bet my bottom dollar that you don’t hate me, either.”

“Sike.”

“You’re telling me you still hate me after the fun we had tonight? Or the night you watched me play and cooked for me? Or even the one night after Lucas’s Halloween party when I passed out here even though your heater was broken and you wrapped me up in your fuzzy blanket?”

Another blush spread across your cheeks. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget the first night you showed me any compassion?”

“Fine, you’re right, I don’t hate you… You’re, in fact, quite tolerable.”

Who knew Chan’s eyes could light up so brightly at such a mediocre compliment, if you’d even call it one. “You like me ~”

“Stop.”

“You’re gonna fall in love with me ~”

“Chan -”

“I bet you already have ~”

“Ok, I’m going to bed.”

“No, you aren’t!”

You tried to run out of the kitchen and into your room to lock the door, but Chan got to you just as you reached the living room. He entrapped you with his big, strong arms and held you in a suffocating hug, drowning out his giggles with your screaming. Your resistance was strong, but you were smiling brighter than he’d ever seen before. Today was a long day for both of you and the moment Chan rested his chin on your shoulder was when you stopped struggling to break free. His tufts of chestnut hair and slow breathing tickled your cheeks.

“Oi, wake up,” you demanded, hitting his forearms.

That only made him hold you tighter. “No.”

You stopped fighting him and let the poor boy rest on your shoulder. “You don’t think this is weird?”

“No. We’re just two roommates fighting, right?” he teased, shaking you in his arms.

“Yeah, fighting.”

“Do you think it’s weird?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Please.”

His giggle rang in your ear and made goosebumps travel throughout your skin. Then Chan did what spontaneous Chan does and surprised you by kissing your cheek with a loud, moist, audible smooch.

“A-Ah, Chan!!” you gasped.

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

Before you could scold him further, he had already let go and went to his room. How long was he holding you? Because now you’re left stunned in the living room feeling the cold from the draft of your windows. Your cheek felt like it had been branded by his soft rose petal lips. It burned so much that you ended your night lying in bed staring at the ceiling cupping the tainted cheek.

“I hate him,” you mumbled to no one. Your words hold zero weight the moment you screamed into your pillow.

The first couple of days after the incident were a little weird, to put it simply. You circled back to your old habits of avoiding him and keeping conversations short and that didn’t slip past Chan for even a couple of hours. At first, he thought he might have ruined whatever weird friendship you had together, but the way you avoided him was not how it used to be.

You were embarrassed - dare he say even shy. Your avoidance held no malice and didn’t feel icy as it did last semester. Rather, you fled because you felt vulnerable. Your words were no longer full of insults, but instead were soft and sprinkled with stutters. It was like a scene from a drama set in high school where the cute shy nerd has a massive crush on the super sexy jock and won’t admit her feelings because she doesn’t think she has a chance. And knowing you, you would never admit to having feelings, so how was Chan supposed to get a confession out of you?

Cornering you was the only option he thought could work, but sadly that didn’t.

“Chan, c’mon, I have to use the bathroom,” you whined on the other side of the door.

He didn’t say a word when the door opened and steam spilled out into the halls. Yet again was he dressed only in his pajama bottoms and a towel around his neck, hair still damp and hanging loosely over his eyes. He took a step forward and you’re given no choice but to back up.

“What are you -”

You cut yourself off when your back hit the wall and Chan had you in the palm of his hands. Proximity was close to nothing as your toes touched and you could smell your body wash from his freshly-washed chest. Seriously, he still used your body wash!?

“C-Can I use the bathroom or what…” you stuttered.

He stared right in your eyes, then admired your cute nose, and finally down to your lips. He was teasing you! Like, actually teasing! He’s making you think that he wanted to kiss you! All of the possibilities of him making a move on you were just as equal as him not going through with it and your mind was racing like crazy and it was really starting to stress you out! Why, why was it stressing you out!?

Then he took a huge step back to let you through.

“All yours,” he whispered.

Well, that sort of worked… You didn’t say a verbal confession, but your face sure showed it. But no, that wasn’t enough. He needed to hear you say it. He had to do more, and he knew exactly what to do to push your limits.

For the whole week, whenever you did something for him whether it was answering a simple question or giving him a plate of whatever you cooked for dinner, Chan would kiss your cheek. That’s right, those soft rose petal lips would every-so slightly graze your cheeks almost everyday and even when you tried to scold him or fight back, you didn’t, as if you were stunned frozen every single time. This of course scared Chan - no emotion meant uncertainty on his end. Well, did you like it, or not!?

At some point, after a whole week of cheek kisses, you kind of… got used to it. Got used to the damn kisses, his flirtatious winks, the invasion of your space bubble, eating all of your food, using all of your bath products, taking unsolicited naps on your bed while you studied, all of it! You’ve gotten used to being around the man that is Bang Chan and you would almost admit that you liked being around him… almost.

And neither of you spoke up about it.

So… what were you two…? That’s right, you’re asking yourself the infamous ‘so what are we’ question - it’s really reached that point. No longer were you enemies or just plain roommates living separate lives, and of course you two weren’t dating, either. So did you consider him a friend? Sure, I mean you wouldn’t cook dinner for just anyone, right? But everything Chan did was not what normal friends do. At least in your experience - who knows if he’s doing this type of stuff to his other ‘friends’, like Miyeon.

Speaking of which, you hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you were almost convinced whatever relationship they had was over when she called off their date that one Tuesday - until Friday night.

The night was still young when you arrived home to your roommate mixing and playing with some beats over those impossibly loud speakers. It’s been a long week dealing with school work on top of figuring out your conflicting feelings of the boy in the next room and a quiet night without any games from Chan would be ideal, but life never worked out for you in that way, did it?

“Welcome home, darling ~!” he greeted playfully over the blasting bass before turning it down. “Cookin’ anything for dinner?”

The tiredness in your sigh didn’t go unnoticed. “Nah, I don’t feel like cooking tonight. I might do delivery if you’re up for that?”

The charming man came out of the room all dressed up like he was planning on going out and not coming back for the night. “That’s ok, I actually have plans tonight.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Miyeon’s taking me out to one of her friend’s birthday bash, or whatever rich girls like to do, before we all go out tonight.”

Miyeon, the gorgeous cheerleader. Somehow, you’ve completely forgotten her existence. Of course they were still talking, idiot! How could you even think that you could compete with someone like her?

“Are you her date?” you asked hesitantly, not wanting to know the answer.

“If that’s what she’s callin’ it, I guess so.” Chan adjusted his shirt collar and unbuttoned the top. “Do I look good?”

“Do you not consider her your date?”

“Not really. All I have to do is sit and look pretty.”

“You don’t think she’s asking you because she likes you?”

“Please, she probably only asked me because Mingyu said no.”

“Chan, you don’t know that for sure.”

You began to feel his frustration when he threw his hands in the air in disbelief. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? “Why are you so hung up about this? Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t!” you said a little too defensively. “I just don’t think you’re being fair.”

“How?”

“What if she really likes you? What if she’s asking you out to this thing because she wants you to know that? If she does like you, can you even say that you like her back?”

“Tch, no.”

“Then why even bother going and leading her on!?”

“Who said I’m leading her on? I’m just keeping her company!”

“What, so you’re going to have your arm around her waist, look into each others’ eyes and kiss and it’s going to mean nothing!?” At this point, you were screaming before you knew it. “Because that’s what you two normally do, right? Kiss each other like it means nothing?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means, nothing! I -” Chan sighed heavily. “Ok, it does sound a little ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I promise it doesn’t mean anything! Wait a minute, why am I even explaining myself to you? Are you jealous, or something?”

No, you’re not jealous. You’re angry that Chan was that kind of guy who played with women like they were toys or little pawns on a cheap chess set. You’re angry that you were one of them.

“Have fun tonight,” you said flatly, retrieving to your room.

“_____, wait.” You didn’t wait and instead locked your bedroom door. “Fuck.”

Well, Chan’s End Game plan to get you to confess out of jealousy backfired badly. The party wasn’t even real! Dammit, now where was he supposed to go looking like this!?

A small lightbulb went off in his head. Off to the grocery store!

Maybe going to your room was a terrible idea because now you were left to reflect on how you poorly reacted. You had your strong points about how Chan didn’t know how Miyeon truly felt about him, but the flipside was that she could have felt the same - that she was just using Chan as some accessory and he was totally ok with that. Who were you to judge the weird mutualistic relationship that they had as head cheerleader and captain of the basketball team? The concept seemed corny and straight out of a teen movie, but perhaps those movies weren’t too far off base as you thought.

You’re also left to reflect on what he said before you stormed off into your room - were you jealous? At first, your anger could easily be mistaken for jealousy, but what was the truth? Of course you’re furious that Chan played these stupid fucking games with you! But you’d be less mad if you were the only one he cared to fool around with.

You finally left the room around an hour after your sulking to bump into Chan’s rock-hard chest.

“Jesus Christ!” you screamed. “Chan, what the hell!”

“Sorry, I was about to knock!”

“What are you doing right in front of my room, you werido!?”

The cheeky, dimply boy held up a paper bag. “Buzzfeed said people who like desserts are emotionally-driven and a little cold-hearted, but sweet as sugar once they get their fix.”

“Buzzfeed said that or YOU said that?”

“Both.”

You shook your head tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I lied. I don’t have some extravagant party to go to tonight. I haven’t texted Miyeon in weeks.”

“What? Then why did you…?”

“I had this dumb idea that you would confess your undying love for me if I somehow made you jealous. Clearly that didn’t work.”

“You’re right, you’re dumb ideas never work.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that! Fine, let me try Plan B. Let me know it it’s also dumb.”

“Gladly.”

“_____, I like you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Y-You what?”

“I like you. A lot. Since you threw that blanket over me that one night last semester and I knew you didn’t truly hate my guts after all. And then I got to live with you - to witness your multi-faceted personality, to talk with you, and to get you to laugh at my dumb jokes and cheek kisses. Tell me, _____, am I dumb for falling for you like this?”

“Well… I’d say yes, but that would admit I’m stupid, too.”

“Oh?” He smirked playfully, taking a step forward. “And that’s because…?”

You mumbled something incoherent. Then, Chan dropped the bag of desserts and scooped you in his arms again, nuzzling his nose in all the ticklish places on your neck.

“Chan, stop!” you giggled.

“Hm? What was that?” he asked. “I can’t hear you ~”

“I like you!”

Finally, he stopped, lifting his head to look at you but keeping you safe in his arms. “Do you? I mean, really, do you?”

“I like you. Surprisingly a lot. And I hate it.”

“Music to my ears, baby,” he grinned. He buried his face once more to flower you with cheek kisses. “Say it again.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Please ~” his kisses trickled down to your neck.

“It tickles!” you giggled some more. “If I say it, you gotta stop.”

“As much as that burdens me, fine.”

“I like you, Bang Chan.”

“See? Doesn’t that confession feel great? Like a huge weight lifted off your chest?” He pulled you in closer, to which you oblige and it only made his ego bigger and his heart beat faster. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” you sighed dreamily.

“Would you like dessert to commemorate this beautiful union, my love?”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Will you kiss me first?”

You pulled on his shirt collar to bring him down for a long, deep kiss that Chan thought he could only ever dream about. It left him dizzy and a little light headed and the way you break the kiss to let your sweet lips linger so closely was torturous and almost had him begging for more. Almost. Bang Chan did not beg.

“Whoa,” he sighed breathily.

“That’s what you get for the past couple of weeks.”

“Ah yeah, I suppose I deserve that…”

You left the stunned Chan to go ahead into the kitchen. “Let’s go, lover boy. I want some ice cream, please.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

EPILOGUE

“You two are what!?”

You and Chan looked at each other with fear written on both of your faces. Yeri was on the other end on speakerphone screaming curse words and ‘are you kidding me’s and ‘I fucking knew this would happen’s.

“Yeah, we’re uh, kind of dating now,” Chan repeated bravly.

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing! This is disgusting!! _____, what do you have to say for yourself, you hypocritical piece of poo!”

“I have nothing to say, I am just as ashamed as you are.”

Chan nudged you playfully. “Hey, we’re in this together, you know!”

“Ugh, I hate how I have to support this!” Yeri whined and cried and sobbed. “Just… Just don’t do it on my bed!”

“Don’t worry, apparently to Chan I’m a huge virgin because I know how to cook.”

“I was kidding!! And that’s gonna change now that I’m here -”

“Oh, gross! Stop! Please stop!” Yeri groaned. “I hate you both, I’m gonna kick your asses when I come back!”

“Love you too, Yer-bear,” you and Chan said in unison.

#bang chan #chan #skz #stray kids #skz chan #stray kids chan #college au #roommates au #chan scenarios #bang chan scenarios #chan imagines #bang chan imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #omg no more chan for a very long time im tired of him LOL

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cruddyborderlandstheories · 3 years

Text

Also Nekrotefeyo was criminally underused for the legendary Eridian homeworld like I was expecting like a big abandoned city or a completely decimated apocalyptic place, not a dried up ocean bed (Are they maybe more crustaceans instead (?) of bugs???) with like 2 Eridian buildings on it and also Maliwan for... Some... Reason. Seriously. Dark Maliwan was so clearly cut content and I wanna know wtf that was all about. Also we got Promethea so it isn't like they weren't capable of making a big city area, like the restrictions of the engine wouldn't allow it, they just didn't... Feel like it? Maybe didn't have time to flesh it out given how late nekro is in the game? Seriously it feels empty as fuck, I love exploring the planets, but even as a certified lore lover I just can't bring myself to explore that place more than I have to for quests. It's really empty and boring

Also, I am bet that the big glowing thing we see coming out of the planet as it fragments is related either to the Machine and the souls sacrificed to make it work, or the Guardian soul main storage thingie. Mainly because ghosts and such are real in the bl universe and they're all that same glowing green sort of deal. It also reminds me of Krieg's mind planet projection thing which does add credence to that. That is potentially why Minos Prime 'hatched', it could have been a storage place for other, maybe reject(?) Guardian souls and that's where all the Eridian and Guardian stuff randomly came from that Tannis keeps goddamn repeating every time u play the takedown. FE Minos Prime was a testing site for prototype Guardians and the souls (I don't want to call them mind cores because the mind core we got from the Vault of the Destroyer was solid and not green and don't even get me STARTED on that whole situation because there was cut Overseer dialogue from when you take that thing out of the Vault and why WAS it even in the VAULT OF THE DESTROYER and Hhhhh) were stored in Minos Prime until whoops they got out. And I'm guessing they sacrificed the people of Minos Prime to the Machine (we literally left nobody guarding it sooo) bc Tannis says they just vanished without a trace. Which ALSO adds bonus points to my theory that the Eridians aren't dead and are just chilling elsewhere laughing at us right now.

I still think Lilith brought Elpis to the Eridian Rift on the map Typhon and Leda wrote all over and she's vibing there, too. Maybe it's a sort of stasis place where time doesn't pass so the people of Elpis don't die. Idk how Lilith would know about that but then again given the chest in her room I would honestly not bet against my whole 'Lilith had help from the Watcher and/or the Eridians during/before Bl3 and refused to tell us' which is why she just vanishes at the end of the game and takes Elpis with her.

And also why Sanctuary-III randomly exists when we have never heard of the company that made it before (seriously what is supamax mfg), it's somehow in good enough condition that Moxxi and Ellie could fix it up with their scarce resources, and they found it before any other people did (can probably chalk this one up to Tannis if there were cameras or it was hooked up to the ECHOnet of Pandora, but the other two points stand). I would've been okay with it if it were an Atlas ship Rhys sent over or smth, if it were an old Hyperion ship, if the branding of supamax mfg was Moxxi and Ellie's team effort of making a spaceship company in honor of Scooter- literally if any of these things were explained in-game, but they're NOT. So I am left to go 'what the hell where did this come from what is Supamax MFG' and like, a random company we've never heard of existing is totally fine, we're introduced to the Obsidian Black Block and Hephestus United as well, but it just feels weird that this random supply (?) ship just happened to go to Pandora for some reason and then also crash or was abandoned for some reason. If we could just get a scrap of info on Supamax MFG and why this ship was on Pandora I'd be happy. Their branding is Ships Made Quick so clearly they build ships which is fine.

Did Lilith contact them? If so, cool, could we get an ECHO log of that? Where did she get the money after Sanctuary-II blew tf up? Did she or Moxxi or Ellie have connections that allowed them to get the ship made for cheap or free? Why did they decide to make the ship out in the open when they knew about the rising CoV threat?? Was the ship stolen? Did the Crimson Raiders just kill a bunch of people to get their hands on it? I doubt it, but this shit isn't explained! So yeah when I write theories like 'Hm well maybe this ship was planted here by the Watcher' its not because I'm driven insane by the Eridians it is because we literally have no other reason to go 'maybe not' and with what little information we do get during the game, it could be fuckin possible!!!

Lilith apparently knew more than she was letting on, she was contacted personally by the Watcher during the end of TPS (brick specially had to ASK what the Watcher said to Lilith), so yeah fuck it the ship and everything that wasn't explicitly explained was given to Lilith by the Watcher to help her in her quest for whatever the Big One is in bl4. Bc you KNOW that Bl3 was just the lead up to get the Destroyer to slip out of its chains thru Tyreen's meddling (literally in nyriads log right before the final boss and its not like ty absorbed an entire planet sized monster and was the size of, like, a shortish tree so you know the Destroyer is still in there as it's further confirmed by Scourge when he says shit like you don't even know what you just did blah blah shut up loser- the only thing pointing to the Destroyer ACTUALLY being dead is that the Vault (????) of the Destroyer (???????????????) opened after Tyreen died but then we can make the Vault of the Architects argument that maybe it considered her part of the Destroyer and her dying confused the Vault into opened, iunno. I don't even know why that Vault was there in the first place wtf was its purpose I thought the Vault of the Destroyer was either the other Pandora one (emergency human feeding port to a monster that doesn't need sustenance) or literally Pandora itself in which case killing Tyreen should have destroyed the whole planet by opening it soooooo I guess that Vault exists to circumvent that extremely specific problem only the Eridians would have guessed could happen idk) and to set the Guardians up as villains cuz fuck them that's why (>:( please gearbox don't, make the Eridians the bad guys if someone has to be evil pretty please the Guardians aren't the bad guys they are literally gaining sentience right now give them a chance they gotta figure themselves out and the Eridians fit the whole 'corporations exploiting their workers' vibe with the Guardians being forced to work even after the Eridians are gone so don't let those parallels slip away with shortsighted storytelling) but then it hurts even worse cuz the story could've been so much simpler and just... Sweeter and better than what we got if that's all they had to do was set those two things up. Bro I hate how every time I go to ask questions abt the game it leads me back here. Because it's true!! And it hurts I just wanna sit down with the lore manager of the game and ask them all these questions because I'm genuinely curious, but I'm afraid of the answers or non-answers I'll get. Again, I get the whole 'things have to happen for plot, not everything should be questioned, give the writers some slack to write a story' argument but when EVERYTHING falls under that category and the story didn't even end up being that great, it gets really frustrating because HONESTLY? if we had gotten good lore and explanations to things and actual world building and details and all that? I wouldn't have minded the main story so much. But unfortunately we got neither good lore (I wanna tell Nyriad she was lied to very badly because it's either the Eridians are evil and liars about a lot, or nobody thought twice the implications of giving the Destroyer a feeding port that explicitly calls humans to it) nor good main story (you know.) and it just. Is annoying. That's all.

#Hm. This post derailed real quick #Nekrotefeyo -> supamax mfg speed run #borderlands #bl3 #borderlands 3

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ziracona · 3 years

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hey zira, what are your hot takes on all of the fo4 companions?

Haha, I don’t know how hot they are, but I can give you a speed run! (Also I am very excited to get this. FO4 was the first open world game I ever played and just the concept of that and the hugeness of the world and branching story & sudden feeling changes towards me in companion characters totally blew my mind, & it still lives rent free in my heart).

Ada, Old Longfellow, and Strong I /still/ haven’t maxed despite having too many hundred hours to want to list on this game—the former bc they were DLC, Strong because honest to god I left him at a nice settlement and then completely forgot about him and remembering that I am the energy in this Ryan O’Flanagan video but abt leaving my super mutant in a tiny settlement alone. I will get there! To max affinity I mean. But anyway, I don’t truly know those three, so my takes are incomplete. So far though, I really like Ada. She is a good girl just trying her best. Fucks me up I can tell her to self destruct. Even though I feel sure she would ignore me, I cannot imagine ever saying that to her. It was really sweet she was willing to forgive the Mechanist and move on with her life. A good girl. Longfellow I am maxing rn (was last time I played anyhow). I enjoy him. Gruff grumpy old man but he seems quite decent and I like his idle banter and when he sings to himself a lot. Seems like he’s had it rough. Strong I liked. He’s wild, and I loved how insane meeting him was, and am worried about him eventually understanding poetry and how that might mess up his sense of world understanding. But he’s a chill dude in his own way and I am glad they gave us at least one nice super mutant.

For the companions I actually do know like the back of my hand, the speedrun:

Nick Valentine: Best man on earth. One of two fictional characters I ever called husband. I would die kill or live for him. I want to be 1/4th the man Nick Valentine is. One of the best characters ever period and I adore literally everything about him. It fucked me up early in game where right after he offered to basically risk destroying his mind to help a stranger look for her son, he asked me how I was doing. First character in the entire game to do that. His first companion dialogue is abt how you’re doing TuT. The man is very kind and forgiving and fair, but knows when the draw the line and take no shit. Emotionally mature, kind, caring, longsuffering. Incredibly damaged and broken by life, but holding on and living kindly and to help others anyway. One of the four most marryablen fictional men I’ve ever seen.

Preston Garvey: Brave, kind, sweet man. I would defend him with my life. He really just wants so bad to make the world better and life has been so hard, but he’s still trying. A beautiful and underrated companion and I would throw hands for him on sight. I adore how he whistles. A true and gentle and loyal friend. Take him to Quincy and let him get his justice it’s what he deserves. People who hate him because he tries to get help helping civilians in that game are weak. I love him so much... please give him enough time to reach max affinity he’s so worth it.

Deacon: *To the tune of You Are My Dad* You are my friiiiend! You’re my friend! (Boogie woogie woogie). Initially, he pissed me off bc he lies all the god damn time, but after we got close enough he actually trusted me, he stole my heart and I would also die for Deacon. He’s a really good person who thinks he’s shit because of who he was on his past. Also him 🤝 Preston: massive survivor’s guilt. They should be friends. Poor Deacon has been the last member of the Railroad like four times, and it’s awful. Help him. Give him love and support. He’s one of my all time faves. Also, Railroad hands down best faction and if you kill them for any reason other than like a walkthrough route video and I ever get the chance I would 100% clock you in the face as hard as I can, like going for losing teeth, and feel no guilt. I know it’s a game and that’s wrong, and I’d be wrong, but I’d still do it. Also, Ryan Alosio (his VA) saw me do cosplay for Deacon once and told me it was great and it filled me with even more love. Anyway Deacon is great. Also, his whole “There are other organisations out there. And, in time, I'm sure they're going to spoon-feed you their own patented form of bullshit. Ignore the verbage and look at what they're doing. What they're asking you to do. What sort of world they'd have you build and how they're going to pay for it.” Is one of the like, two most iconic quotes in all of FO4 & just super good in general.

Hancock: Hardcore badass man but also a good dude and a champion for the people. Man really puts his money where his mouth is and you gotta respect that; another favorite companion for sure. Big fan of the way he stabs a guy for you upon meeting, and is a cool leader who organized his crime and does a decent job actually leading. He works hard to help people and bites back hard. Social justice advocate, dangerous man about town, not afraid to cosplay a revolutionary war hero 24/7 & u gotta respect the no fucks given attitude. A chill dude. Like that he fights the institute, hates the Brotherhood, helps the Railroad, and is friends with Nick. He’s legit af. Also, his VA gives a different answer every time someone asks him about the voice he did for hancock and they’re funny af.

Piper Wright: A cool spunky lady. Lois Lane on the case, kicking butt, and taking name. She’s nice but also hardcore and smart, supportive, fun. A good person. You always get points if you like Nick (which most companions do), and they’re good friends. She’s funny and I love her. A good heart.

Codsworth: He’s great. He’s family. He’s like my...weird brother. Getting to max affinity is heartwarming and also makes my heart go :’-] . Great early-game companion bc he kicks ass and doesn’t need stims to heal. I love getting called by my name and think that was a great feature (well, my PC’s name). He’s a wonderful funky little robot dude and I am so glad he likes me.

Dogmeat: Amazing. A good boy. Doggo of the year. His actor deserved the game award she won. Cute, full of love, and plays with a teddy bear if you give him one. 100/10z

Cait: I like her a lot. She’s been through so much shit, and it makes sense she is how she is. I like they actually gave her an emaciated and messy (though still pretty) design, since she is a drug addict. And that they make her main quest about taking that seriously and wanting to get help, and that she’ll call out the player if they fuck around and do drugs in front of her after she gets rehabilitated. Her relationship to the PC if good is really sweet, and I am a fan. I like that while she’s not sympathetic to synths and thinks they aren’t people, she forgets that every time Nick walks into a room and is like “Oh hey Nicky : )”. She’s a good girl who has been through a lot and still needs time to heal and find herself, but she’s making great strides.

Robert Joseph MacCready: Human disaster (loving). Homeboy a goddamn /mess/ but I love him. He tries so hard to be cool. I love he makes you pay him to come with, then chickens out and gives it back lol. A fool ball of anxiety and bad decisions and what he thinks brovado is. I wish he, Preston, and Deacon would quit fighting, bc I am always like “ :’-] </3 Boys Please” when they swap out, but I love them just the same. He’s doing his best, he’s just stupid and a fool. Like Philip J Fry. Keeping his goddamn soldier toy, which somehow is listed as junk instead of sent to Misc with quest items where it would be fine, safe?parylizes me with fear. I’ve lost 2 hours of gameplay reloading an old save bc I accidentally lost it.

X6-88: A more complex one to answer about. He’s bad, but like, I’m pretty sympathetic to how he got that way. He was created in a lab and had his emotions mostly dragged out of him in intense psychologically damaging training so he would be a weapon and view himself as an object. I was relieved he chose me over the institute even if he wasn’t a fan of the chocie, and think that means there’s a lot of hope for him. Wish he’d chill the fuck out and quit intimidating civilians for 6 god damn seconds, but I like him. I bring him fancy lad snack cakes home from travels all the time, bc Synths are supposed to like them. Really like that he’s the /most/ sympathetic companion towards Danse in Blind Betrayal, even though he should not be programmed for that, and Danse hated him and made it clear any time they interacted.

(EDIT) Curie: I FORGOT HER BABY IM SO SORRY. I like Curie a lot, despite the fact I temporarily forgot she existed. I stg I thought she was in here. Uhhh, okay. Curie: like her character and personality, HUGE un-fan of both the way her desire to get a synth body is to be ‘more real,’ as if Codsworth isn’t a fully realized person while the same robot type she is, instead of just like. Because it would make her happy. ALSO hate how much of a Born Sexy Yesterday she is, even intentionally in not-determinate affinity talks. It’s gross. But her herself, I like a lot. She’s my daughter and I will protect her. She works at The Castle right now as their on-site medic.

Paladin Danse: I know I’m gonna take heat for this but honestly? He didn’t do much for me. I like that he looks and sounds kinda like Buzz Lightyear, and that’s fun, but idk at all why people think he’s so hot. He’s very boring & generic looking to me. Like you’re valid! Taste all be different. But he doesn’t do it for me personally in looks or personality. I don’t at all like, hate him. Or even dislike. Tbh I am fairly neutral on him. It was funny making affinity with him though. Every other companion I had maxed, I liked more and more with each affinity talk. They’d be like “So my dad was a minuteman and died and I want to honor him” or “I just want to really feel like I’m a person, for real, myself, and I am glad I met you, because the good we have achieved together is ours, even if I can’t be sure of anything else,” or “My brother threw the cultural minorities out of our city for clout bc the rich citizens were all racist, and I tried to help—I snuck them food to the unsafe ruins they set up in for weeks, but eventually, they just vanished, and I still bear immense guilt and self-hatred over not having stopped that.” And Danae’s would be like “One time a buddy of mine got kidnapped by super mutants. They turned him into one of them, and they’re all abominations, so I killed him and it made me really sad.” And I was just like “...Oh danse. I really wanted to like you more. But what the fuck.” His relationship to Haylen is sweet though. And ofc I saved him in Blind Betrayal. I blew up the Prydwin so he’s safe now too, and he lives in the garden by my house and tells me how glad he is we’re friends, and I’m p into that. Overall, my feelings on him are not strong at all though.

Porter Gage: Not a fan. Like, I appreciated he helped me kill the old boss, sure. And bc I owed him for that, I went to max affinity to see what there was to him as a person. And like, as far as raiders go, he was okay. But he wasn’t deeply sympathetic, and he’s a slaver, and if you try to liberate the slaves he and the others own, he /will/ turn on and attempt to murder you immediately, no matter how close you were, so he made his choice, and it was to be a bad person and an asshole to the last. Really enjoyed the VA’s work a lot on him tho.

And there you have it 👈👈😎. Thanks for asking!

#ask #anonymous #fallout 4 #fo4 #god I love them so much. I was really proud I kept all the OGs too. everyone but Gage. who had to go but it’s his own choice and fault 🤷🏻‍♀️#GOD far harbor was a good dlc. it’s like the main quest choice again but way more condensed and twice as f ked up. my poor MC had only #come to terms just before with all the lives she took & started healing #doing bad things she did not want to do & knew he would know about and think less of her for doing. but she did them. 😔 bc of course she did #then she had to choose between letting the dude she loved be hurt in a way he wouldn’t recover from & torpedoing her relationship to him by #she loves Nick and if it’s him or her it’s always gonna be her #I was SUFFERING. a lot. but I also loved it #don’t come into my inbox and clown about liking Danse please or Gage. idc at all #like you are welcome to your opinion I’m not gonna try to convince you /not/ to like him. plz do me the same courtesy & respect my right to #have an opinion u may not like

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leqclerc · 3 years

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obsessed with ur blog really. i was sad but also happy but also sad after the race and seeing ur sebchal posts really made me feel better ❤ the way they talk about each other is soo 💔 i wish i could give them a hug (or better yet, they should give each other a hug! like in Bahrain!) anyway can't believe u're singlehandedly spreading the sebchal gospel in this site! bless. we gotta make the most of the time we got left. *banging pots and pans* sebchal nation rise!!! manifesting double podium!!!✨

Ahh, thank you sweet anon! 🥺🙏🏻 It is my self-imposed mission to spread the Sebchal gospel ✨ And messages like this only encourage me to be even more feral in said gospel-spreading <3

Honestly this has been...a day. I’m also very conflicted because, gosh, Seb’s start? Masterclass. I was yelling at him at get on that podium throughout the entire race. Obviously I can’t bring myself to resent the end result - he deserved it so much, and I think anyone could tell you that. But then... oh... Tentatively, the possibility of a Sebchal Ferrari podium arose and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I could see it so clearly. Most of the “oh, imagine Ferrari on the podium” posts seemed far-fetched and naïve...up until then. And suddenly it was within reach. And then the clusterfuck that was the final lap... For a moment I hadn’t even realised what had happened because the cameras were already focused on Lewis crossing the line. I just saw Charles, unbelievably, in P2 for just a second and then everything went to shit.

I wasn’t even that upset at Charles missing out on P3... until I heard his radio message. And fuck, that cut my heart up into little pieces because this boy, this impossible, brilliant, amazing boy? He drove a fantastic race today. And god it hurts me so much to see so much anger and self-loathing from him. He deserves kindness and tenderness and I hope, sincerely hope he has a solid support network behind him, someone who can give him that.

Also, yes, I’m already writing hurt/comfort fic, what about it

LISTEN. IF WE ALL HAVE FAITH. Miracles can happen okay? Bahrain feels like a write-off, honestly, but who the hell knows? Before the weekend they said that Turkey, on paper, looks like it’s going to be a disaster for them, and yet here we are. Yes, new asphalt, yes they’ve trained for driving with no grip all season long with the goddamn SF1000 being as unstable as it is, and yes they generally perform better in lower temperatures, the rain threw everyone for a loop and they capitalized on that, etc. I know. But I still choose to have faith, because fuck. I need that so much. I think we all do. One final Ferrari hurrah, the Redemption Arc, completed. Started from the bottom now we’re here.

Also I’m seriously considering starting a GoFundMe to get Binotto sacked, who’s with me? I’ll start by contributing *turns pockets inside out* *shakes wallet* €5. But together... together we can achieve great things ✌🏻 For legal purposes this is a joke

#replies #anonymous #sebchal anon #ALSO the race was on quite early for me (10am) so this contributed to my overall confusion #the race ended around the time it usually would've finished and then i just sat there staring blankly at my own two hands like what now?#time is a social construct

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bladekindeyewear · 4 years

Text

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-05-31

Mainline upd8 before the June break. More Terezi! That should put me in a better mood. (1 edit (2020-06-01) since posting)

> CHAPTER 10. 1 WOND3R WH4T TH3Y T4ST3 L1K3

Wait, fuzzily waking up seeing the new planet?

Wait, why is the site background still black?

Wait, is this one of the new alien race members just created?

That would explain the chapter title. (Especially if they were part plant, but Terezi would say that regardless, when you think about it.)

> ==>

Coming more into focus.

> ==>

Oh! Back to the normal background.

TEREZI: W3LL

She’s not the one seeing this, so is this an alien perspective or does Rose’s visual processing take a while to turn back on post-warranty-breach?

> ==>

Huh? It WAS her point of view?

So this:

--is just an attempt at rendering her smell-o-vision?

I know her sense of smell is supposed to be amazing, but this is MARKEDLY less paint-like than previous depictions of her smell-o-vision. See for comparison:

Was this an intentional difference in clarity? Laziness? Her scent-vision being sharper? They’re practically making us feel like her eyes are healed again, which would be disastrous, and not something even Ultimate Rose should necessarily be capable of.

(I’m inclined to give them less credit than usual today, though, so a poor visual choice most likely.)

TEREZI: TH4T W4S PR3TTY FUCK1NG STUP1D

Hate-screwing Rosebot? Why?

I guess it’d leave you sore.

> ==>

TEREZI: F4LL1NG 4SL33P H3R3 1S JUST 4SK1NG FOR TROUBL3

Oh. Are the new races - or their precursor “experiments” running around?

> ==>

TEREZI: NODD1NG OFF L1K3 TH4T UND3RN34TH 4N 4RBOR34L 4MBUL4TOR TEREZI: WHO KNOWS WH4T COULD H4V3 H4PP3N3D TEREZI: Y34H 4LR1GHT, 4LR1GHT TEREZI: G3T OFF MY C4S3 4BOUT 1T ALR34DY TEREZI: 1TS NOT L1K3 1 D1D 1T ON PURPOS3

Is Terezi talking to her other selves or something? Or another brain ghost?

TEREZI: W3R3 JUST LUCKY TH3R3 1SNT 4NY W1ND 4T TH3 MOM3NT TEREZI: 1V3 3ST4BL1SH3D TH4T TH1S 1S WHY TH3Y MOV3 TEREZI: TH3 4MBUL4TORS 4R3 PL4NTS IN THE STR1CT S3NS3, BUT EXH1B1T LOCOMOT1V3 B3H4V1OUR DU3 TO TH31R UN1QU3 CONSTRUCT1ON

Ooh, moving trees. Nice.

TEREZI: TH3 M41N BODY OF THE PL4NT CONS1STS OF A N3TWORK OF HOLLOW, TUB3LIKE GROWTHS THROUGH WH1CH 41R M4Y TR4V3L TEREZI: TH3S3 N3TWORKS 4R3 SO SOPH1ST1C4T3D TH4T TH3 SH1FT1NG PR3SSUR3 1NS1D3 TH3 TRUNK 4ND BR4NCH3S C4N C4US3 TH3 3NT1R3 PL4NT TO UPROOT 1TS3LF 4ND B3G1N "W4LK1NG", PROV1D3D TH3 COND1T1ONS 4R3 R1GHT TEREZI: TH1S PROC3SS, WH1L3 M4J3ST1C, C4N H4V3 DR4ST1C 3FF3CTS ON TH3 PL4NTS SURROUND1NGS

I know you like to eat them, but when did your analysis of plantlife get so clinical? Do you have Aranea blabbing in your ear or something?

Oh. OH, wait. They have a Command Station. Is Rose communicating with her remotely via that, and Terezi is just Dave-like vocalizing everything Rose punches into the terminal? Then that would be Terezi arguing with HER out loud. And the sudden transition of talk to “I’ve established that this is why they move.” is very Rose-sounding.

> ==>

That lil’ “hup” pose to jump over the gap Terezi’s making is adorable. Also, those are bad failed experiments y’all have created and you should feel bad, Rose and Dirk. (Rose is definitely to blame for this spider-bunny nightmare.)

TEREZI: HUP!

Hup

TEREZI: 1 WOND3R WH4T TH3Y T4ST3 L1K3 >:O

They look like they’d taste like bee spiders with inedible stuffing throughout.

Trolls do find grubs of most sorts appetizing though.

> ==>

TEREZI THOSE ARE NO REASON TO BE HAPPY

> ==>

Yeah, beautiful field-shot aside I feel pretty bad for that creation. Looks miserable.

> ==>

Now they’re just mashing up consorts. Are they TRYING to populate the planet with weird garbage for the final products to eat? (Or fight? Hard-troll-childhood style?)

> ==>

THAT THING IS NO REASON TO LOOK SO HAPPY EITHER REZI

Gosh, at least she’s having fun though.

> ==>

You’re ignoring Onionsan, Terezi

> ==>

I wonder what lazy name this Horsisaur has.

Fun abandoned. Survival instincts fully engaged. Terezi runs.

She throws backward sniffs over her shoulder as she tears through the scrubby cling of the planet’s undergrowth, catching fractured impressions of exactly what has decided to chase her. A shuddering, 20 foot monstrosity that somehow seems to both scamper and glide, like a centipede, rustling like foliage as it moves, as if an entire goddamn forest is bearing down on her.

Between the game and Alternia, you shouldn’t be TOO rusty at this, right?

The problem with using smells to navigate the world is that the unfamiliar can be difficult to parse. Every whiff over her shoulder gives her another blurry glimpse of what this beast is.

Yeah, smell is a little slower on the pickup than sight.

Rose shared her books with Terezi when she was on the ship, and her favorite by far was the compendium of the zoologically dubious. Everything contained inside was just so unbelievably unlikely. This creature appears to be a combination of all of them.

Really? What we see of it doesn’t look THAT weird. But we only see about half of it from this angle, so.

--Twisted ankle? Come on, you’re not THAT rusty.

> ==>

It’s fear, pure and simple. Unsurprising, when being menaced by a monster, but it also doesn’t last for more than a second. A cold flame that instantly burns itself out, and all of a sudden she is just deeply, impossibly, indescribably tired. Down to her bones.

You’re already giving up??!?

Honestly, she really has no right to feel this... this fatigue. This crushing embrace of endless struggle. Terezi Pyrope has not had an easy life by anyone’s standards, but so much of her thirteen or so sweeps has just been standing still. Waiting. Huddling blind and half dead in her recuperacoon, the sopor burning the hideous mess that the sun has left her eyes, alight with a hatred so layered and intense that she couldn’t make sense of it.

Dammit, do we have to go SO EXHAUSTINGLY DEEPLY into EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER’S PTSD?!??

It was horrifying--that pain or fury--but also, admittedly, very boring. Then there were the sweeps on the meteor, the endless, gelatinous stretches of time in the chaos of the outer ring, searching for... Vriska, ostensibly, but also maybe just for a chance to dry up. To disappear. Go extinct.

Terezi doesn’t know if it’s an attribute of her aspect, or the sheer psychic damage of spending so long in the company of two humans with god complexes. Maybe it’s just an inherited symptom of being conscious. But sometimes it feels like none of them are going to get out of this, alive or dead.

Fuck, apparently we are. These writers don’t know how to let up. Can’t we get a little more retroactive dwelling on how FUN some of their lives up til now were? And then... maybe NOT only do that to contrast with how depressed they are now?? There was SO much delight in Homestuck amidst the hardship, and if you’re going to show us more of the hardship you have to show us more of the delight, too, or everything just gets pointlessly dark.

--ah, Rose redirected the command console to point to the monster and stopped it that way.

ROSE: I am devastated to report that those are really more vines than tentacles, and even worse, they aren’t mine.

Pff.

...Poking fun at the terminology for Patron Trolls, at this late date of all times.

TEREZI: D4V3 4ND 1 H4D 4 LOT 1N COMMON B4CK TH3N, OR 4T L34ST 1T F3LT L1K3 W3 D1D ROSE: As I have come to understand it, for a while at least, we were all being steered in the right direction by a debatably benevolent force. ROSE: One imposed on us by the game itself, even if we had yet to enter it. TEREZI: ... ROSE: You don’t believe me. TEREZI: NO, 1 DO TEREZI: 1T SOUNDS 1NCR3D1BLY DUMB AND UNL1K3LY BUT SO DO3S 3V3RYTH1NG 3LS3 TH4T H4PP3NS TO 4NY OF US

Terezi, don’t you know at least half as much about Skaia as anyone else here? Isn’t that what she’s talking about?

TEREZI: SO YOU 4R3 DO1NG TH3 S4M3 TH1NGS TO TH3S3 CR34TUR3S TH4T SOM3 OTH3R CR34TUR3S D1D TO YOU 4ND YOUR FR13NDS ROSE: I suppose that is a fair assessment. Although we were not our own creators. It was John who— DIRK: I hate to break up the recap episode, but we need to deal with this situation before it gets out of hand.

Wait, she’s talking about the Exiles? Terezi TOLD Dave about the exiles helping them. SHE was the one who told us how that worked! Although I guess you could chalk her questions up to her not knowing one of those “terminals” was involved.

TEREZI: 4ND HOW 4R3 YOU H3R3 4NYW4Y? DIRK: I have administrative privileges. TEREZI: YOU H4V3 4DM1N1STR4T1V3 PR1V1L3G3S TO MY P4LMHUSK DIRK: Yes.

Was Terezi dictating to her palmhusk earlier? Why was she talking for Rose’s part of the conversation earlier, but not now? Was that a mistake? Or did Rose switch off the terminal, despite her apparent confusion with the terminal now???

Opinion of HS^2... dropping... keep it together stop judging the comic so hard... NOT dropping off in quality... shh brain! Shoosh!!!

(Seriously though, don’t put ANY asks in my inbox about HS^2 dropping off in quality, even as much as I’M starting to complain. Gotta keep my hopes up to keep enjoying myself as I keep going.)

ROSE: Don’t let it get to you. My father has a habit of appearing in places he’s not wanted.

You’re seriously just CALLING him that now?!??

DIRK: I was saying that we should get Terezi down from there before continuing our mining of the core themes in our personal narratives.

Ah, that’s why you used the terminology.

DIRK: I was saying that we should get Terezi down from there before continuing our mining of the core themes in our personal narratives. ROSE: Of course. I’ll take care of it. DIRK: Appreciate it. TEREZI: 1 W1SH YOU WOULDN’T DO TH4T WH3R3 1 C4N S33 1T DIRK: Do what? TEREZI: TH4T TH1NG WH3R3 YOU G3T P3OPL3 WHO 4R3 NOT M3 TO DO WH4T3V3R 1T 1S YOU W4NT TH3M TO TEREZI: M1ND CONTROL

Oh, damn. That was a creepy order, then. And is Rose STILL not wise to it? Can Terezi and Dirk just TALK about the narrative control IN FRONT OF ROSE and have her not recognize it because of said control??? :C

TEREZI: WH4T TH3 FUCK 1S GO1NG ON DIRK: You can make more boots. TEREZI: 1M NOT T4LK1NG 4BOUT TH3 BOOTS, NOOKBR34TH TEREZI: 1 MEAN TH3 M3N4G3R13 FROM H3LL DIRK: Well, we’ve encountered a couple bumps along the road. TEREZI: YOU DONT S4Y

This is fun, but I can’t help but notice that Rose has completely stopped talking. Fuck having Dirk flaunt this even harder just ups the creepiness even more.

TEREZI: YOU GUYS R34LLY SUCK 4T TH1S DIRK: Yeah, agreed. TEREZI: ... TEREZI: WOW, TH4T W4S MUCH L3SS P41NFUL 4ND LONG-W1ND3D TH4N 1 W4S 3XP3CT1NG 1T TO B3 DIRK: What was? TEREZI: CONV1NC1NG YOU TH4T 4LL OF TH3S3 "D3S1GNS" TH4T YOU H4V3 COM3 UP W1TH SUCK SH1T TEREZI: 1 THOUGHT YOU WOULD T3LL M3 TH4T 4LL OF 1T 1S P4RT OF SOM3 "GR4ND PL4N" TEREZI: TH4T TH3Y SUCK ON PURPOS3 OR SOM3TH1NG L1K3 TH4T DIRK: Well, it is a part of the grand plan. And they do suck on purpose. DIRK: But not on my purpose. DIRK: It’s Rose. She is remarkably bad at this. Voluntarily. TEREZI: DO YOU M34N TH4T SH3 1S TRY1NG TO S4BOT4G3 4LL OF YOUR GR4ND CR34T1ONS TEREZI: OH POW3RFUL GOD PR1NC3? DIRK: No, she’s playing the game. That part hasn’t been a problem. DIRK: I mean she is just making incredibly nonsensical decisions and refusing to back down, even when I up the ante to preposterous levels. DIRK: You should see some of the shit she’s come up with. I’m pretty sure I watched a vagina on legs walk by this morning. TEREZI: 1 DONT TH1NK 1 S4W TH4T ON3 DIRK: Despite her initial resistance, Rose has gone completely feral. TEREZI: YOU M34N TH4T SH3 1S H4V1NG FUN DIRK: Yes.

You loosened her morals so she’d be conscience-free to go full zoological playground, and she’s GOING full zoological playground. What did you expect?

TEREZI: 4ND WH4T 1S WRONG W1TH 4 L1TTL3 B1T OF FUN YOUR H1GHN3SS? DIRK: Nothing. I got absolutely no problem with having a good time while we see to the boring and altogether completely frivolous task of seeding the future of this planet. DIRK: But she really TEREZI: YOU 3XP3CT3D H3R TO B3 TH3 ON3 TO HOLD YOU B4CK, 1NST34D OF TH3 OTH3R W4Y 4ROUND DIRK: No, that's not it. TEREZI: YES, 1 TH1NK 1T 1S 1T

What? “Holding her back”? How did this suddenly become about Dirk’s insecurity at his ectobiological skill?

DIRK: By project, do you mean that I expect Rose to be too much like myself? TEREZI: NO, 1 M34N TH3 OPPOS1T3 TEREZI: YOU 3XP3CT H3R TO B3 B3TT3R TH4N YOU TEREZI: YOU W4NT H3R TO PR3V3NT 4LL OF YOUR WORST T3ND3NC13S. TH3 W4Y 1 US3D TO W1TH VR1SK4 WH3N W3 W3R3 MO1R41LS

--Oh, you meant hold them back from going TOO FAR. I see. And also, the way Terezi and Vriska were “moirails” is the WORST example, and thus quite fitting to relate to this situation. For their brief pale stint, Terezi never really STOPPED Vriska from doing ANYTHING. She just supported Vriska, while Vriska spewed some flattery Terezi’s way... and then proceeded to do whatever the fuck she wanted. Sometimes without telling her. It was an AWFUL example of proper moirallegiance, as I covered in the above link.

Dirk wouldn’t know about that, though. And neither does Terezi, apparently, unless she’s just not admitting it.

(EDIT: Also, Rose never had the slightest chance of ever holding Dirk back like she might have wanted because DIRK MIND CONTROL OVERRIDES HER EVERY TIME SHE HAS RESERVATIONS. The only way a moirallegiance can work at all is if the one being held back is WILLING to listen. Dirk has deliberately and continuously suppressed Rose's ability to even THINK about dissuading him from literally any course of action.)

TEREZI: YOUR3 3XP3CT1NG ROS3 TO C4TCH YOU WH3N YOU GO TOO F4R TEREZI: SH3 1SNT GO1NG TO DO TH4T, 1 DONT TH1NK TEREZI: 1N F4CT, 1 TH1NK SH3 1S MOR3 L1K3LY TO GO TOO F4R TH4N YOU 4R3 DIRK: What makes you say that? TEREZI: 1 DONT KNOW TEREZI: JUST 4 F33L1NG, 1 GU3SS. 1 M1GHT NOT B3 4 GOD-MODD3D DORK 1N COSPL4Y, BUT 1M ST1LL A S33R TEREZI: 4ND 1 H4VE SP3NT W4Y MOR3 T1M3 W1TH TH3 TWO OF YOU TH4N 4LMOST 4NYON3 ELSE, WH1CH 1S 1NCR3D1BLY D3PR3SS1NG TO TH1NK 4BOUT

Guh. A real pair of villains. Is that REALLY why you brought Rose, Dirk?

TEREZI: 4NYW4Y, 1F YOU DONT L1K3 TH3 W4Y ROS3 1S DO1NG TH1NGS WHY DONT YOU JUST NOT-M1ND CONTROL H3R 1NTO DO1NG 1T TH3 R1GHT W4Y TEREZI: PROBL3M SOLV3D DIRK: I’ve made the decision to freehand this one. I’m not planning to influence Rose’s decision in any part of the contest. Otherwise it’s too easy, and barely worth doing at all.

Obviously. And you can’t argue her down the normal way because she was NEVER someone to listen to someone like you in a direct confrontation without any misleading subterfuge. You would’ve had to Doc Scratch it.

DIRK: So you’re saying you want me to mind-control Rose. TEREZI: NO, 1M S4Y1NG TH4T 1 TH1NK YOU 4R3 4 COW4RD TEREZI: P3RH4PS 1 W1LL T3LL H3R TH4T YOU H4V3 B33N WH1SP3R1NG YOUR STR4NG3 L1TTL3 1NC4NT4T1ONS 1N H3R 34R OV3R TH3 L4ST F3W SW33PS TEREZI: L1K3 4 CR33PY W31RDO DIRK: No, you won’t. If you were going to, you would have already.

Are you talking about the narrative mind control or are you talking about something else? Something weirder? Because calling them “strange little incantations” sounds like he’s been doing some creepily Doc-Scratchy grooming to her like how Doc kinda rage-controlled the trolls to write his genetic code on their walls in their most vulnerable moments.

DIRK: Unless you think I’m still projecting my "image" of what I think Rose "should" do, and she actually won’t give a shit. TEREZI: NO, 1 TH1NK SH3 W1LL B3 CONFL1CT3D TEREZI: UNL3SS YOU M1ND-CONTROL H3R NOT TO B3 DIRK: Not mind control. TEREZI: WH4T3VER!

And that’s just it. Rose WOULD have been very conflicted about MUCH of this if you hadn’t used your narrative control to override all her inhibitions. So instead you get the version of her who would have gone with your plans without hesitation, which is the WORST version of her. And she doesn’t even have a choice to be better.

Alright, that’s the end of the upd8. See y’all! Maybe a bit after the commentary goes up for this (already has for the Influencers bonus) I’ll cover the commentary on both this and the bonus, but that’ll be in at least a few days. Ciao

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #Homestuck Theories #Homestuck Theory #spoiler #spoilers #Terezi #Dirk Strider #Rose Lalonde

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haloud · 4 years

Text

into the palm of your hand ch. 2

- ao3 -

Jake is tall. That’s the first and only thing Michael notices about him. He has to unfold himself out of the chair to avoid banging his knees on the bottom of the table, and when he manages and pulls himself up to height he towers a good six inches over Alex and Michael both. He has a nice smile, too, if you’re into that sort of thing. And he’s beaming as the two of them approach, comes out to meet them with his hand already outstretched to shake, and Alex takes it, Jake pumping his arm up and down while he grins so big his face must be killing him. Michael hangs back to let the reunion happen, hands in his pockets, thumbs in his belt loops so he can tug at them with all the nervous twitching in his hands.

The restaurant is nice, but not too nice, not even by Roswell standards. Jake’s clearly made an attempt with his clothes, but his attempt is a business-casual button down with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His slacks are pressed and neat as a pin, but Michael won’t judge too harshly for that. His hair is still close-cropped like it was Halloween of 2009. He’s…yeah, he’s handsome, in a normal and kind way, an honest way that reminds Michael of the smell of the old hayloft in the summer and the feeling of straw on his back and warm hands exploring his body on a scratchy old blanket. Michael doesn’t trust easy, but if Jake’s calling up memories like that, he can let himself relax a little bit.

“Jake, this is Michael. My boyfriend.”

“Hey,” Michael says, taking Jake’s hand. His handshake is a little more subdued than the workout Alex got, but Jake is still firm and eager, and he hasn’t dropped that grin of his.

“Thanks for coming! I was a little worried when Alex said he’d like to bring you—thought I might be signing myself up for the third degree or something—but when I found out it was the same Michael I knew I had to meet you.”

“The same Michael?”

“Yeah.” Jake winks at him, and Michael’s eyebrows go up. “I’m happy for you guys.”

“Uh…thanks?”

“Should we sit?” Alex cuts in. The tips of his ears are bright red, and Michael’s eyebrows climb even further towards his hairline.

“It really is so good to see you,” Jake says as they take their chairs.

The second they’re seated, Alex grabs Michael’s knee in a vice grip, nails digging into the denim. His hand is a little sweaty, clammy when Michael covers it to try and settle him. Is Michael being here part of what’s making him so nervous?

“Gotta say, I was surprised to hear you re-upped this time,” Jake continues.

Alex clears his throat. “Yeah, well…you know how it is.”

“I do. And if nothing else, I’m glad it’s giving me an opportunity to work with you again.” Another ready smile follows right on the tail of the last one, even if this one is a little more subdued and sympathetic. “How do you feel about it, Michael?” He takes a sip of water, and his muddy hazel eyes are suddenly hawklike over the rim of the glass.

“Uh.” Alex’s hand digs into him harder, and Michael rubs the back of his hand with his thumb. Jake hasn’t even opened his menu yet; he watches and waits for his answer with that smile on his face and something dangerous in his eyes. “Uh,” Michael glances over at Alex, who is laser focused on his glass of water, face like stone. “Well, I mean, it’s what he—what we thought was best at the time, and since he was able to get it in his contract that he’d be staying put for a while, I was…fine.”

Oh, you know, I’m still working through the soul-crushing guilt that not only did Alex sell more of his life to the military to help me and mine but also I that I was too busy trying to drown myself in household chemicals to talk about it with him, but every relationship is a work in progress! Anyway, I’m an alien who’s wanted by the same government you serve for blowing up one of the black site prisons they use to experiment on my people and also for existing, how’s your mother in law doing?

“Fine, huh?”

“Jake,” Alex says.

“Okay, fine, I’m being a little intense. I’ve got family who don’t get why I stay,” he directs to Michael, then to Alex he says, “I got in a huge fight with Sarah over it, like, five hours before I got on the plane. Sorry for being weird.” He laughs and looks genuinely contrite.

Michael tries to relax, but Alex doesn’t lose any of the stiffness in his posture. He does at least stop squeezing Michael’s knee like he’s trying to rip his kneecap off, though, and Michael massages the back of his hand again.

“How is Sarah?” Alex asks, then to Michael he explains, “Jake’s sister.”

Jake shrugs, his massive hands coming up in an exaggerated ‘what can you do’ gesture. “She’s doing well. Divorced and remarried since the last time you saw her. Went back to school and got a teaching degree, and she’s real happy with the new guy, so. It’s just we still don’t see eye to eye on most things. But I’m happy for her.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out to them, flicking through an album of pictures of what looks to be Sarah’s wedding day. From the pictures, Michael wouldn’t be surprised if she was even taller than Isobel, so it must run in the family. The last one in the album is of Jake on the dance floor with a guy in a matching vest, the two of them chest to chest and mouth to mouth, off in their own little world.

“That’s Rohit, my boyfriend. He couldn’t get away from work to come out here with me, but he’s visiting for the first time in about three weeks.”

Michael makes a sympathetic noise. “That sucks for you guys. Been together long?”

“Almost five years, right?” Alex says. “After you had your appendix out, wasn’t it?”

“Okay, the pictures are going away now,” Jake replies, his skin showing a blush way brighter than Alex’s does, “Didn’t realize I’d be roped into telling that story just for showing off my guy but okay I see how it is.”

Alex grins his sharp grin, finally looking up, and after one last brief squeeze his hand comes off Michael’s knee. “You should have been more prepared then, Lieutenant.”

“Let’s just say that the man I love is as patient as I am susceptible to the aftereffects of anesthesia and leave it at that, huh?”

Alex laughs, a true rocking-back-in-his-seat laugh, and it sets Michael fully at his ease, most comfortable letting Alex lead the emotional tone of the conversation. With the tension finally cut, Michael lets himself lean forward and rest his chin on his palm, watching Alex talk, letting the conversation flow over him without cutting in while Alex reconnects to his friend, talking more with his hands, laughing more easily. Jake seems kind of contagious that way, a smile and a laugh for everything—and he doesn’t try to freeze Michael out of the conversation, either, even though Michael is content to just sit there and not really listen and watch Alex talk and move. He’s gorgeous tonight, his shirt open a little at the neck, his long-fingered hand back on Michael’s knee, warm and caressing this time.

The conversation flows for a good couple hours. Michael is a convenient audience for them to share stories and relive them a little bit over again. Even when they’ve paid the bill and are getting up to leave, it’s with promises to do this again when Rohit is in town and Michael smiling to himself with a wry little smile because he’s the double dating kind now and goddamn if he isn’t happy about it.

Then, when they reach the parking lot, Jake stops.

“Hey, do you mind if I borrow him for a couple minutes before we head out?” Jake asks, inclining his chin toward Michael. Alex raises an eyebrow and glances between them, and Michael just shrugs his agreement.

With a bemused smile, Alex says, “Sure. I’ll be in the car.” He gives Michael’s shoulder a squeeze as he passes, and Michael looks around to watch him go, eyes on his back until he slips behind the driver’s side door.

Michael shoves his hands in his pockets for lack of anything else to do with them. If Jake wants to corner him to read him the riot act or tell him he’s not good enough for Alex or something he could have at least had the decency to do it somewhere Michael had something to lean against or sink into, to hold him up or have his back.

“You got the height advantage, but I’ll warn you—I’m scrappy,” Michael drawls.

“I’m…not going to hit you? What the hell, man.”

“Just like to be prepared. I got one of those faces.” Michael gives Jake a grin and a wink, but all Jake gives back is a concerned look starting to border on shrink-y, so Michael hurries on, “What’s up?”

“Okay. Okay.” He takes a huge breath like he’s psyching himself up for something. “There’s no socially acceptable way to say this, really, so I’m going to jump in.”

“I’ve never been socially acceptable a day in my life. Shoot.”

“Okay.” He takes another huge breath. “The first guy I loved was killed in a drive by when we were eighteen.”

Michael rocks back a bit at that, at the ice-cold awkward shock of someone else’s old grief. His eyes go huge and wide and he scrambles for something to say, something that’s different from the plain shit people spout.

Jake doesn’t wait for him to find it, though. “He was coming out of a club and a car jumped the curb and it was just…over. There was no real way to know if it was a hate crime or if the driver was just drunk. I was two hours away at school. We didn’t talk every day, so I didn’t even know for two weeks. His parents wouldn’t even let me go to the funeral, because I turned their son gay, and if he hadn’t been at a gay club then he’d still be alive.”

“Fuck, man.”

“I know. And I’m sorry to dump all that on you, but it’s important for what I need to tell you. It’s why I joined the Air Force in the first place—I was lost, depressed. I couldn’t keep going in school and I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to my hometown where everything would remind me of him, so I dropped out and joined up. And then I met Alex.”

Michael coughs to hide the catch of his breath. He can picture it so clearly—the way Alex looked with his hair shorn and his dark, dulled eyes set straight ahead, like the way he looked when Michael hid behind the neighbor’s car and risked getting hauled in for trespassing or—caught—so he could see Alex off that day he left to report for training.

“I was—I mean, I was a mess. Could barely keep it together. Kept getting everyone in trouble because of it, and he was so…when he cornered me one day, I honest to god thought he was going to kill me. But he helped me instead. Taught me how to keep my head down and survive, and I just…my story just came out. And after that, I didn’t know why until way later when he finally told me about what happened with his father before he enlisted, but we just kind of clung to each other.”

And again, Michael is relieved that Alex wasn’t as alone as Michael was, that even as tangled up and hurting and hollow as he must have been, he had someone to help him, someone to share that piece of himself with even when it was against the law. Michael owes this man, even if he wouldn’t accept it, even if Alex would deny it too. Michael’s in his debt.

“We dated for a little over a year before we broke up because we didn’t have a whole lot in common other than a little bit of shared trauma. If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of chatty.” He winks. “And since I’d already spilled my tragic backstory, I wanted to talk about Jordan, like, all the time. Things I missed. Regrets I had. Fears. And Alex was a great listener…but not so great at reciprocity. He’d never let me in, never let me take any of his burdens on. Made me feel like a real dick. But there’s one thing he did let me do. Insisted, actually.”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Michael says. He leans back as far as he can go without actually taking a step back, trying to give Jake space, trying not to look too interested. He’s hungry, yeah, for any scrap of information he can get about this part of Alex’s life. But if Alex wants him to know, he has to trust that Alex will tell him. It took a massive government conspiracy to get Michael to open up the first time. He can’t be overly critical of Alex’s struggle to do the same.

“I think I kind of do, actually.” Jake shoves his hands into his pockets and lets out a long breath, steaming the cold night air. “I don’t know if it’s for me or if it’s for Alex or what, but I think I should tell you this. You know…I look at him and I still see that nineteen year old kid. My escape. The only gay guy I knew, the only person who knew my grief. It’s not especially healthy. It’s a big part of the reason we’ve been avoiding each other for half a decade. But yeah, I think I need to do this for him more than anyone else.”

Well. What’s Michael supposed to do with that? At seventeen Alex had big, expressive eyes and he licked his lips as a nervous habit and Michael could have sat for hours in the too loud violent cafeteria watching him paint his nails from four tables away. He didn’t know Alex at nineteen, not really, but Jake did. And Michael wants to honor every version of Alex everywhere.

He sends a quick text: Jake caught me up talking about the good old days. You ok with that?

Alex types, then erases, then does so a couple more times before a reply finally comes through: I love you. Tell him I said thank you.

Michael slides his phone back into his pocket. “Okay. Hit me.”

“It’s just this.”

Jake holds out his phone, open to his contacts. And right there: Alex’s Michael.

Michael’s fingers tremble, just slightly, as he reaches out to take it, to hold it in his hands and marvel over it and what it could mean.

Jake shoves his hands back in his pockets. “I’ve had you in my phone for nine years. Don’t know if the number’s any good anymore, of course. But you were the one thing…he never wanted to talk about the past. He never wanted to talk about you. But before we deployed, he asked me…if anything happened to him, if I would talk to you. Tell you he was sorry. That he was always thinking of you. ‘Hear his voice for me one last time.’ That’s how he worded it. I’ve never been able to forget those words.”

Michael’s mouth is too numb to form any words at all. He’s all—cracked open, Alex has reached inside his chest and pried his ribs apart. Michael used to write Alex letters and burn them in his fire pit because smoke becomes air and particulates travel on the wind and there was as much chance of Alex breathing him in from a world away as there was him opening any letter Michael sent him. Then there are the letters he kept, the ones full of hope and pain and—Michael kept them, just in case, like he kept one of Alex’s too-small black hoodies, so that he’d have something to bury if the nightmare came to pass.

Alex’s Michael. It’s there like teardrops smearing the ink off his ten cent ballpoint pen. It’s there like a cotton sleeve held to his cheek on a sleepless night.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jake says, slipping his phone out of Michael’s limp hand. The man has a smile for every occasion, and the one he’s wearing right now is sweet and sad. “I really am just so happy you guys found each other in the end. It was really nice to meet you, Michael. Thanks for helping me keep a promise, yeah?”

And with a jaunty two-fingered wave, Jake turns around and heads for his car, those long legs eating up space so quick that before Michael can process him leaving, he’s gone.

His phone buzzes: Just saw Jake’s car leaving. Everything ok?

Fine. Headsd yiour way, he responds. It takes him four tries to type the message even that legibly, his hands are shaking so bad.

He nearly jogs across the parking lot, fumbles with the handle before he can yank the door open and climb inside, climb over the gearshift still clumsy and needy to stuff his unsteady hands into Alex’s pockets.

“Hey,” Alex croons, cupping the back of his neck when Michael ducks in to rub his forehead against his shoulder, sawing out rough breaths in the space between them.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Alex says, holding him close. “Whatever he had to say, it’s in the past. I’m here. You’re here. We are.”

There was a time when Michael laid on his back and begged the sky to let him stop needing Alex Manes, and there was a time it broke him that the begging didn’t work. And now he’s here, with Alex’s voice present and physical in his ear, the whole biological process of speaking, from the vibration of his chest to the movement of his throat and lips and tongue to the way his breath blows past the outside of Michael’s ear, and he’s home. He’s not alone.

“Michael?” A little bit of fear creeps into Alex’s voice, so Michael pulls back to look at him, blinks away the wobbly film of tears in his eyes.

“I just. Love you. God, I love you,” Michael rasps. He’s never going to stop saying it, now that he’s allowed, and it’s never going to feel any different. Like ripping the Band-Aid off a cut that’s all healed and feeling fresh air on the skin beneath.

“I love you too,” Alex whispers back, a kiss pressed to Michael’s temple, his other hand coming up to grab his waist.

“Take me home,” Michael says, but he doesn’t let go, not to let Alex drive or for any other reason, not for several long minutes.

#my fic #malex

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