#the crutch cushions

[arlo-venn]

I made a little amazon wishlist for some of the things I need to help with the broken toe and MRSA things. My hands are already in pain from these crutches, so if anybody would like to buy these cushions for me, I would appreciate it so much. I could draw you your favorite flowers or something in return :•)

#there are just three things on the list #the crutch cushions #antiseptic body wash to prevent MRSA— need to acquire prior to surgery #and to prevent infection beforehand too #and then also Curamin bc it helps me enough with pain to be worth the price #except I do not have the funds with which to purchase it rn #would love to add it to the Percocet and ibuprofen and toradol regimen :’) #no pressure guys I will survive without these things #but my hands on the crutches do feel like I’m leaning directly on bare bone 😭 #also if you want me to draw you your favorite flowers or animal bones or gravestones or brains or something I can make you something for- #between $10-$50 depending on your request #and then mail it to you :) #I’ll make a separate post about that later with photos of my drawing style #I need so many things rn esp an oil change sl #I must find a way to earn some money #I can’t draw all things so we would have to have a conversation about any requests besides the things I listed #to make sure I’m actually capable of doing it well #dogblr #ratblr #catblr

[rainbows-fanfics]

Hallooo! I'm a lil curious about something, do you think Jack's able to like, break bones like a person?

I mean he's gotta be pretty sturdy if he can survive being shot out of the sky with only his clothing damaged so im curious what's your take on that?

As an add on, do you think he can heal like a normal person? I know we've seen him with like, fire abilities and such so maybe it would make sense?

(Unless he needs to go pumpkin form and manually grow back injuries but that's just kinda me trying to make sense of it.)

(Sorry for the weird question, I love the way you write him and I really like your headcanons and lore for tnbc so I thought I'd ask XD feel free not to answer lol it's a pretty angsty topic)

I definitely think his bones can break, but the process is a little different compared to a human's. His bones are more tough/durable, so it would take *more* to actually break them, and he heals much quicker in comparison. I Headcanon that Jack has scratches and nicks in his bones from previous damage that are permanent(kind of like scars). And if he loses a bone, it's not gonna grow back, so he might be missing a rib somewhere.

As for the Scarecrow/Pumpkin King, I like to think of it as more of a Natural creature, and thus able to grow back its sticks + whatnot. I haven't thought too deeply in it, if his bones get regenerated while he's in the opposite form, but he might have to temporarily switch while he heals, depending on the situation? (i.e., he has a broken femur, so if he switches to the Scarecrow, the stick there is snapped, situations like that.)

#headcanons #jack skellington #it would be neat to think halloween town has a thing where jack can just nab a new bone or two from other skeletons #the healing process is probably different between skeleton and scarecrow though #jack needs crutches and splints to tend to his bones while the scarecrow probably needs more straw and rope for cushioning #honestly thanks for putting this into my mind!! ive never explored it but its super interesting to think about #of course this is all in my headcanon #maybe if we're going with a skeletal species jack *could* inevitably grow the bones back? gradually? #hmm. #ask #anonymous

[indigayghost]

If you're up for requests can you draw Colin or Laszlo with a mobility aid?

Always up for requests

I know Laszlo has a thousand of those fancy canes and he spends a lot of time matching them with his outfit

#Also this tipw of crutches Colin Robinson is using have these cushions and are easier on the elbow perfect for this arthritis haver bitch #Wwdits #Wwdits fanart #Laszlo cravensworth #Colin Robinson

[cripple-council]

mmm i love looking for disability aids and adding them to my wish list<3 some day i’ll get u<3

#for now: #crutch covers #foam cushion #backpack to put important stuff in since crutches aren’t hands free lol

[briarpatch-kids]

Let's talk mobility aids!

Canes

Canes are for when you need to take a little bit of weight off of one side of your body, need a little help with balance, or need a little extra stability when you walk. It's an easy mobility aid to find and get, and it's pretty easy to figure out how to use. Have the cane sized so the handle sits at wrist level, then hold it on the opposite side to the one that hurts. Match your cane strikes to the steps on the hurt side. It will hurt your arm, elbow, and shoulder sometimes, but having a properly sized cane will help.

Rollators

Rollators are kind of the "next step up" in support. They come with more restrictions, you get limited to ramps and stuff, but they're also the least restrictive wheeled mobility aid because they're light and easy to pick up and toss around. They also have a seat a lot of times and a basket so you don't need to carry stuff. They're for when you need a place to rest, something to lean on when you walk, better balance assistance than a cane, and less weight bearing than a cane. I also found that it helped me with fatigue quite a bit. There's two main kinds, euro style like the first, and regular like the second. There are other fancier ones but I'm covering the basics here.

Rollators are my favorite mobility aid and I've used everything from canes to a fancy high grade power chair. They're just the perfect balance of help and freedom. They provide so much support for how far they go.

Crutches

Arm crutches are pretty neat! They're a lot more ergonomic than a cane. In fact, some people use a single arm crutch as a cane. They distribute the weight a little better, so it's not all on your wrists, and they support you better than a rollator can. The major cons I found are that they take two hands to use so you can't carry much and I had a really hard time trying to learn to walk with them. A lot of people who use forearm crutches have other mobility aids and use the forearm crutches when they want to or need to walk.

Manual Wheelchairs

These are for when walking becomes more difficult than pushing a wheelchair. There's no weight being put on your legs and feet and depending on your needs, you can get really specific with your adaptations if you have a custom wheelchair verses a standard wheelchair. My first custom chair looked like a monster truck because i took in the woods and gravel, my second custom chair after I got sicker has a head rest, a backrest that holds me up, and a little electric box that I can attach that helps me push. The difference between getting a standard and custom wheelchair is dependent on how much money the user has, what kind of needs they have, and what kind of medical access they have. (One is not more "real" than the other.) I highly recommend getting a cushion for under your butt if you have a standard chair without a cushion, I used a standard full time for 6 months and a cushion made a huge difference.

Mobility scooters

Mobility scooters are for people who can't walk long distances, but can still walk with the help of a cane or unassisted. If you can walk around your house, but not really much else, a mobility scooter might be the aid for you! There's a lot of different styles and battery life lengths and handling abilities so try a few different scooters out if you can.

Powerchairs

Powerchairs come in a couple different types or "groups" depending on your needs. Group 1 is the kind of chair you're probably most familiar with. It's basically for someone who needs a powerchair to get around their house, the doctors, office, and grocery store. You can't do any custom seat cushions or anything, but it's for people who don't need it. Think of like... someone who can walk pretty okay still, it just hurts to walk or they're off balance or a little weak feeling. A lot of times more elderly people will use these, if you're more active look into group 2

Group two chairs are little more durable, a little more stable, sometimes you can switch the captains seats out for custom seating... They're what a full time powerchair user would use if they don't need specialty functions like tilt or recline. They also often have 6 wheels rather than 4 like the group 1 chairs have.

Group 3 powerchairs are reserved for specific diagnoses like muscular dystrophy, ALS, and other severe neurological and neuromuscular illnesses. These are also called "rehab" chairs because they're for making sure severely disabled people have quality of life. The tilt function is for pressure relief, though you can also get things like elevation so you can raise and lower your chair, and some of them can recline flat. There are other avenues of moving grade 3 power chairs beyond the joystick as well in case someone can't use their hands or doesn't have them. (Head controls, torso controls, and straw controls called sip and puff are alternatives.) They can go on a little worse terrain than group 1 and two chairs and go a little farther, but if they get stuck they weigh 350 lbs and it's awful.

There's a few other types of mobility aid that I don't know enough about, like ankle foot orthotics and gait trainers, but these are the basic "mobility aid" most people will come across.

If you use another type of mobility aid and want to educate people, add it on!!

#cripplepunk #actually disabled #spoonie #disabled pride month

[avis-writeshq]

heyyy omg I love your writings so much! congrats on your latest milestone, it's DESERVED 👏 can I pls request track one with spencer reid where he gets an epiphany and decides that he wants to propose to his girlfriend? just superrrr cute and fluffy 😍 thanks a lot!!

glue song – spencer reid

summary: “but you’re here, and so i love you.” in which spencer realises that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. pairing: s5!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: established relationship, fluff warnings: spencer in a knee brace (tell me why that’s attractive. why does he look good at his worst. face card never declines), he’s genuinely obsessed with you, not proof read oops a/n: thank you so much anon !!!! i’m so sorry it took so long to post; i kept changing and editing it hahaha i hope you enjoy it !! wc: 1.05k

“Careful watch your– no, pivot a little, pivot–” 

“I am pivoting! There’s nowhere to pivot to! Why is it so messy?”

You suppress a grimace as you manage to somehow squeeze your way through Spencer’s tiny doorway and into his apartment, the shoe rack on the side dangerously close to his damaged knee. You stumble a little as Spencer grips your shoulders tightly for support, his other hand holding onto a crutch. 

“Maybe we should move into a bigger apartment,” you muse, helping him to the couch. Your gaze shifts to his injured knee, your face falling. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I think about it. Which is pretty much all the time,” Spencer says, wincing as he finally collapses against the cool leather cushions. “Thank you for doing this.”

You look almost offended at his words as you brush his hair out of his face and into a makeshift ponytail. “Did you think that I wouldn’t?”

He hums as he feels the way your fingers pull lightly at his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp. “Thought you’d get tired of me. After, you know, everything.”

“None of that was your fault,” you remind him swiftly. “This–” you gesture to his knee– “isn’t either.”

He softens, leaning his cheek on your shoulder. You’ve been there for him through everything and he knows what specifically it is you’re referring to. He could see it from the moment his doctors informed you that he wouldn’t take the vicodin they had prescribed to him to soothe his discomfort. His thought process makes sense; he didn’t want to risk it. Regardless, he was left with a growing pain in his leg that didn’t shake even after taking toradol. 

“I’d never get tired of you,” you clarify, squeezing his hands. “You’re too pretty to get tired of.”

He lets out a proper laugh as he squeezes back. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!”

He laughs again, shaking his head adamantly. “Liar.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Spencer beams in your direction, pressing kisses against the soft of your jaw. “You’re right.”

A triumphant smile spreads across your face at his words. “Exactly.”

*** 

From his spot on the couch, Spencer watches guiltily as you hustle and bustle about in the kitchen, grabbing plates and filling them to the brim with the food you ordered from the Chinese place he loves. He feels bad seeing you work so hard looking after him; especially when you have your own workload to take care of. He doesn’t even notice that you’ve already placed his portion of food in front of him until you whack him lightly on his head with some napkins. 

“Stop it. I know what you’re thinking.” You shoot him a half-hearted glare as you snap open your chopsticks. “I want to do this. I truly don’t mind.”

“You’re already doing so much,” he insists, “I’m okay, angel, I swear.”

You are not easily convinced and you point to the list of things the doctor suggested you to do in order to ensure Spencer’s speedy recovery. “I have a responsibility, Walter. What will your team do without you?”

“They’ll live,” he assures, reaching a hand out to massage the muscles by your shoulders. “I think you’ve seen me naked more the past two weeks than you have our entire relationship.”

“Well it’s not my fault that you need to bathe,” you argue, stabbing at your noodles. “You love it really.”

His cheeks burn with embarrassment at the accusation. “I do not! It’s humiliating.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you soothe, smiling at him. “Besides, it’ll only be like this for a little while longer.”

“If you consider five months to be ‘a little while longer’,” he quips as he shovels food into his mouth.

You let out a laugh, not finding offence is his sarcastic blow. He thinks you’re a blessing and he figures that you definitely are. Who else can deal with the problems of him being, well, him aside from you? Spencer doesn’t know what he would do without you. How could he when you manage to push all the darkness and negativity away?

“I’m lucky to have you,” he says finally, his gaze on your face. “You’re so good to me.”

You hum in response, wiping your mouth and curling into his good side, draping an arm over his middle. “That’s true. You’re good to me, too.”

He brings his hand over your waist and kisses the side of your face in an act of reciprocation. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears at the sudden compliment and you can’t help the silly bashful smile that pulls at your lips. Your mouth opens and closes, deciding on what to respond with before you settle with a simple, “Thank you.”

It’s the honest truth. There’s a look about you that tells him that you don’t believe it, but he doesn’t say anything more to try and convince you. He tells it to you everyday; he’s sure that you’ll end up accepting the compliments more readily. Your being beautiful might have been what had drawn him to you in the first place. Although he isn’t entirely sure. He recalls a certain folktale about invisible stings and how it was tying him to you. There’s something pretty about that thought, the mere idea that you were made for him and he was lucky enough to actually hold you in his arms. 

You’ve turned the television on now, a romance movie playing on the screen with familiar actors. It’s supposed to be a comedy, at least that was what the description on the DVD said, about the main male lead reminiscing about his year that he spent with some manic pixie dream girl. Spencer doesn’t understand how that could be comedic but you seem to enjoy it. 

Spencer has tuned out the movie now, finding entertainment in the reactions you have. Your face morphs into different emotions with each dramatic scene and in that moment Spencer realises one very important thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he whispers, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

“What was that?” you ask obliviously and you lift your eyes to look up at him. 

“Nothing,” he dismisses, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Just keep watching the movie, angel.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x reader angst #criminal minds fluff #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fluff #matthew gray gubler x reader fluff #matthew gray gubler angst #matthew gray gubler x reader angst #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg x reader fluff #mgg x reader angst

[shibaraki]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”

“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.

“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.

“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”

“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.

“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.

A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.

Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.

The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.

Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.

Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.

From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.

A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?

Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.

Shouto clicked start.

The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist

▻ ASL?

Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you

The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.

‘InsertNameHere’.

You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.

But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.

Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.

Sooba ▻ I have one.

InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.

Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.

Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.

InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.

Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.

A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.

InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?

Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.

Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.

A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?

Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.

A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.

Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.

But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.

Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.

Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.

Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?

Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.

Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.

You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”

Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.

Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.

Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.

His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.

The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.

“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.

Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.

Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.

“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”

His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”

“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.

InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company

Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.

“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.

Sooba ▻ ???

Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”

Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.

And his feeble resolve fractures.

“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.

Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.

“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.

“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”

“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.

“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”

“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.

Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”

Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”

“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.

They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.

His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”

Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.

A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?

Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.

The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.

Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.

“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.

Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.

“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”

“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.

“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.

“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”

“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.

Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.

Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.

After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.

InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？ ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.

Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.

Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.

A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.

Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?

That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?

Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.

There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.

Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.

Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—

Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?

Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.

Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?

Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.

Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.

Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.

The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.

It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.

▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain

He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]

It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—

Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.

—Shouto swallows dryly.

You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.

▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.

The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.

He saved that one to his camera roll.

Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.

InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・｀ ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.

Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—

The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.

You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.

Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.

InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.

This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)

“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.

Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.

Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met

The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.

▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.

Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.

But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.

Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.

Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.

Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.

The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.

He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.

The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.

“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.

“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.

“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.

Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.

Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.

Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.

Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.

He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.

“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.

Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.

“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.

Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.

They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.

The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.

Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.

“Mon petit chou!”

Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.

“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”

Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.

The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.

“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.

Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.

“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”

“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”

Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.

Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

“How much will it be—?”

“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.

Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”

“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.

Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.

“My little cabbage?”

Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.

“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.

Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.

“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”

He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.

In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.

Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—

Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.

He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.

Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.

You’ve messaged him.

InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol

Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.

Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.

Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.

He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.

▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.

“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.

Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”

“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.

“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.

It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.

Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?

Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.

“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.

They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.

“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.

“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.

Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night

“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.

Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.

Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.

And it feels like a confession.

Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.

Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.

He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.

Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.

InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!

You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.

Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.

Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.

InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.

Sooba ▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.

“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.

Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.

There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”

“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.

Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.

Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.

Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.

Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.

Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.

According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.

There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.

“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.

Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.

The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.

“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.

Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.

Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.

“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.

Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”

“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.

“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?

Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.

Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.

Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.

Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.

“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.

“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.

“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.

“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”

“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.

Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.

Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—

“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.

—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.

“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.

You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.

You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.

“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.

“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.

“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.

Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.

“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.

“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.

Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”

“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.

Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”

The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won��t make much?”

Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.

The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.

There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”

Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.

“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.

“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.

“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.

“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”

“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”

“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.

“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.

The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.

Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.

“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.

He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.

Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.

The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.

Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.

Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.

Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.

Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.

His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.

Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.

A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.

Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.

Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.

She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”

Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.

A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.

He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol

Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.

Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.

Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.

InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)

The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.

Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be

InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic

He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.

Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.

▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to

The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.

Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.

Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?

The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.

InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate

Sooba ▻ You like it?

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]

Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.

InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too

“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.

“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.

Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.

Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.

The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names

Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.

Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name

Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.

InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.

The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.

▻ Can I ask you something?  ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to 

Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it. 

Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him. 

Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing. 

Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had. 

Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too.  ▻ I’d like to go with you  ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there 

InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited  ▻ And super nervous

As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight. 

Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction. 

His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”

The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister. 

The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy. 

Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”. 

That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”. 

Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”. 

“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”

A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found. 

“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”. 

The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement. 

“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”. 

Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know”. 

“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks. 

Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”. 

The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”. 

“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.

“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol. 

He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”. 

Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages. 

After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter.  It is disconcerting that you would now go silent. 

The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks. 

As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?” 

And his mouth goes dry. 

You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face. 

Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap. 

“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you. 

Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you. 

“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?” 

The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.

He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”

Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then. 

“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”. 

“Shouto,” he says. 

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed. 

“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”. 

“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”

Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics. 

Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”. 

Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.

Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door. 

The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.

He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.

“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine. 

“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”. 

He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued. 

“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek. 

“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”

You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.

You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears. 

“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”. 

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”. 

You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter. 

“Hey, Shouto?” 

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.  

Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?” 

“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”

And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”. 

Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”. 

Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively. 

He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him. 

You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders. 

You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him. 

Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass. 

“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities. 

A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.

“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”. 

Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?” 

“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.

You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him. 

“It’s just a tremor”. 

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

[butchtheworld]

crip tips

i'm an experienced disabled person (EDS, CFS, POTS, chronic pain). here are some of the things that help me get by as a college student (note: i use a wheelchair and a cane most days. i also am fortunate enough to have decent medical care, meds, and my aforementioned mobility aids)

shower chair. i can't stand for long enough to shower, and especially not if it's a hot shower. i got a cheap one off of amazon that has three legs and a plastic seat. that plastic seat makes it super easy to keep clean. i know there's a weird sort of embarrassment about sitting in the shower, but PLEASE, it is so much better than sitting on the floor in the shower or falling. in my dorms, there are two (2) showers with fold-down seats. i put a small towel down on the seat so i'm not bare-ass on this dorm bathroom surface, then i wash it down after.

normal wheelchair gloves are fingerless, which suck for winter. BUT, winter cycling gloves have the same cushioning on the palms and grip material and fingers. they're not super warm, but throw on a pair of thin gloves underneath (or, if you're like me, propelling keeps your hands super hot anyways).

an ice pack on the back of your neck can help with migraines and dizziness. i keep a small one in my freezer at all times. i tuck it into a hairband so it can be hands-free.

PLEASE adjust your cane/crutch/crutches to the right height. it helps so much with shoulder/elbow pain and balance. if it doesn't feel right, it probably isn't. the handle of my cane hits around the height of my wrist if my arm is just hanging down.

if you have hyper mobility, try high-rise shoes. i wear only high-rise converse and doc martens, which i can lace tightly around my ankles to keep them from rolling or sliding out of place.

(MENTIONS FOOD AND CALORIES) keep an easy, high-in-calorie food around. for me, eating on high pain days is essentially impossible. so, i need something that i can get myself to eat (like ice cream or canned soup or chips) that won't take any effort. ice cream is a great one for me, since it's sweet and cold and dense. even if it's not healthy, nothing is more unhealthy than not eating.

please, please, please find a community of disabled people. most of my close friends are able-bodied and, as much as i love them, they just can't understand it like other disabled people do. i found two great communities on my college campus, but i've also heard that support groups are a great way to meet people within the community

if you have any other tips, reblog with them. i remember the beginning days of my illness and how daunting all of this was. this is how we support our community.

#crip punk #crip theory #disabled #disability #chronic illness #chronic pain #ehlers danlos syndrome #chronic fatigue #disability tips

[magics-neptunes-things]

Use me as a cushion

Hello!

I received some requests for fictions with other people than Ona, so here I am trying with Alexia!

It's fluff, literally pure fluff.

I hope you will like it! As always, the reviews are much appreciated :)

_____________________________________________________________

The situation of the Spanish women’s football team was no longer to be explained. After the forced departures of Vilda and the president of the Federation, the fight was far from over. While you naively thought you were going to have a break, you were all summoned to the national team despite the various statements you made.

Like all the others players of the team, you were forced to show up, participate in a few mediation sessions while following the usual training. You were exausted, all of you.

But you know that your girlfriend is even more than you are.

Alexia, as captain of the team, participated in many more discussions than all of you put together. In addition to everything else, she's the team’s anchor for everyone. The one you can rely on, the one you can count on. And it was true, she takes that role to perfection. Like everything she does, in your opinion (not quite impartial tho).

But over the days, you saw her fatigue increase and her condition deteriorate a little more. You told Ona about it, knowing that your girlfriend trusted her completely and that she wasn’t the type to talk further. You were scared for her, scared that she hurt herself on training because of the level of her tiredness.

Ona advised you to continue doing what you knew how to do best with Alexia, to be there for her and take care of her. Even if you don’t feel like it’s a big deal, you naturally planned a small schedule for Alexia tonight.

So here you are, waiting for you girlfriend to come back from an other discussion with some thinking heads of the Federation. You hate them, all of them.

Your game against Switzerland is in two days and you already are in Sevilla. Even if you're together since like a year, you weren't always set up in the same room. Luckily, Alexia found herself alone in her room, allowing you to join her there without disturbing anyone.

Even if it means you two end up in a single bed. You don't mind tho, having a good reason to sleep on the top of your girlfriend all night long.

Lying on Alexia’s bed, you look again at the time on the screen of your phone while continuing to play the mobile game you downloaded. Sighing, you roll sideways, allowing yourself to smell Alexia’s shampoo on her pillow. It's almost 23:00 and still not any sign fo Alexia. Chewing your lips, you hesitate to send her a message but then you heard the door open quietly.

You sit up immediatly, startled Alexia.

"Madre mia" she huffs with her hand on her heart. "What are you doing here? You should be sleeping"

She frowns while gently scolding you, but you make your way to her to hug her. You smile while she melt in your arms, caressing her back tenderly with your fingertips. Alexia is strong, everybody can see that. Everybody know that. But knowing that she trusts you enough to let it go with you is in your eyes the greatest proof of love she can give you.

"I can't sleep without my goodnight kiss" you point.

She smiles and kiss you softly, but you don't leave anyway. Like you said, you have plans for her.

"Did you eat?" you ask her as she takes off her shoes, dropping them to the ground with a thud.

"Not really" she sights "but it's to late anyway"

You roll your eyes before turning on the table behind you. You ordered a meal an hour ago and asked them to find you something to keep it warm. You were pretty sure that she will come back to late to ask the kitchen to make her something.

"What is it?" she asks, approaching the table with curiosity.

Her face lit up when she lifts the lid and you can’t help but smile back. You promised yourself, if Alexia is everyone’s crutch, you’ll be hers.

"Tortilla de patatas" she smiles.

"Con tomato, as you like. Not sure if it will be as good as your Mama's tho"

You shrugs but Alexia made her way towards you to take you in her arms. The hug was longer than before and you play with her hair for a while.

"Thank you" she whispers in your neck before moving back a few centimeters. "But you really should have sleeping"

You roll your eyes once again, before you made her a little smirk.

"If you insist I can go back sleeping with Claudia"

You were teasing, Alexia knew it. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here with her.

"Not funny" she pouts anyway.

You smile again and point to the plate that has still not been touched.

"Why don't you eat while I run you a bath?"

Alexia seems to think a few moments, hesitating between going to eat or spending some time with you. It’s hard to have moments just for you these last few days.

"With bubbles?"

"With bubbles" you answer, laughing at her baby voice.

Letting her eat, you went to the bathroom and do what you said. Waiting for the tub to be full, you get lost in your thoughts for longs minutes, contemplating the foam mix with the hot water. You were pretty tired yourself, but Alexia goes first. You need to take care of her.

You don’t hear her coming into the room though, making you jump slightly when she passes her arms around your waist. You let her lean into your neck, shivering when you feel her smell you.

"How can I thank you enought Amor?"

You turn around in her arms and put your hands around your neck.

"Your love is more than I can wish for"

The kiss she gives you this time is breathtaking. It's like you can feel the love and the recognition she feels for your actions. When the kiss ends, both of you looking for air, she strokes your nose with hers.

"Come with me?"

"Nah, tonight it's all about you"

She pouts again and you bite your lips. She knows that you can't resist her when she does this. And you know that she knows. And she knows that you know that she knows.

"Come on! If it's for me you can be my personnal cushion?"

You laugh at her antics and just give up. Who could deny this to the love of his life?

"Ok, but only because you will use me as a cushion."

#woso imagines #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

[the-likesofus]

never known comfort like laying next to you

9-1-1 on ABC | Buddie | 2.6k words | cuddling and snuggling, confessions, sharing a bed, soft boys being soft

A long shift ends with a quiet pizza and movie night within the walls of the Diaz house followed by a quiet confession beneath Eddie’s duvet

Read on AO3

When Buck and Eddie finally drag themselves over the threshold of Eddie's front door Buck feels the last of his strength fall to the floor along with his duffle bag and he absently follows Eddie to the couch.

"I could sleep for a month," Eddie whines as he lazes back against the cushions. 

"So could I," Buck agrees. "But we've gotta pick up Chris."

Eddie groans and Buck watches the movement out of the corner of his squinted eyes as Eddie rolls his head back and forth against the back of the couch. "Not for like an hour."

Buck hums and breathes deeply. His bones ache and his feet tingle from standing all day. None of their calls today had been out of the ordinary but they had been never-ending. They'd barely get back to the station before they'd be loading up again and if Buck has to see another exploded rice cooker ever again it'll be too soon.

"Do you want to shower first?" Buck asks.

"Yeah, thanks," Eddie says. "Just give me a minute. I can't feel my legs yet."

Buck laughs but it comes out as more of a wheeze, even his lungs are tired. He stares at the ceiling as the light fixture blurs in and out of focus. He feels the cushions shift as Eddie slumps to the side and then there’s a weight against Buck’s shoulder and a soft puff of air across his throat. 

“Eddie, we gotta stay awake.” Buck mumbles but his words slur together, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “Eds?”

He gets a half attempt at a grumble from Eddie and nothing more before Buck's eyelids fall shut under the weight of his exhaustion and the world fades away. 

He wakes sometime later to the sound of the front door closing and the clack of crutches against the floor. Oh shit, Christopher!  

Buck is about to scramble out of his seat but he’s held in place by the weight of Eddie still sound asleep against Buck’s chest and then Carla comes into view and Buck goes slack again as relief takes him over.

“What time is it?” Buck rushes to ask though it comes out slurred.

“Just after half past three.” Then she must take in the panic on Buck’s face as she smiles and comes over to rub a hand over Buck’s shoulder before she takes a seat in the armchair across from Eddie’s couch. “Oh no, were you boys so tired you forgot you already had me rostered to pick up Chris?”

Buck yawns. “Thank you, Carla. What would we do without you?”

Carla laughs and stands up again. “I’m sure you’d manage but I’m happy to help. I believe Chris has gone straight to his room. They got a new science project today and he was excited to start it as soon as he got home. I’m sure he’ll come out as say ‘hello’ soon enough.”

Buck yawns again and Carla rolls her eyes. “Get some sleep, Buck. Eddie’s got the right idea.” She nods down at where Eddie is drooling on Buck’s uniform t-shirt and Buck feels heat start to climb up his neck as he remembers that Eddie is still sprawled out against him and sound asleep. Carla waves goodbye and then she’s out the door again. 

Buck should probably wake Eddie, tell him to go have that shower, and make him go sleep in his actual bed so that he doesn’t end up with a crick in his neck but Eddie looks so peaceful and something is reassuring about the weight of him against Buck's chest and he just can’t bring himself to disturb him. 

The sound of Christopher’s crutches makes themselves known once more as he comes into the living room from the hallway. The boy pauses for a moment when he notices both Buck and his Dad on the couch. 

“Is Dad asleep?” He asks, his voice drops to a whisper and Buck smiles and beckons him over. 

“Yeah, he is.” Buck reaches up to hug Chris with his free arm as the boy teeters forward to hug Buck over Eddie’s head. “Did you have a good day at school, Buddy?” 

“Yeah! “ In his excitement, Chris forgot to whisper, and then sudden volume causes Eddie to grumble and stir, his nose scrunches up and Buck watches his eyebrows furrow as he presses his face into Buck. Buck rubs an absent hand up the back of Eddie’s head and Eddie sighs contently and settles again. When Buck looks up, Chris is watching them with an inquisitive expression on his face.

“How about pizza for dinner tonight?” Buck asks and Chris nods excitedly. “Okay, can you get my phone for me? It’s in the outside pocket of my work bag.”

Buck points to where he thinks he remembers setting his bag down and Chris makes quick work of finding his phone and bringing it back to him. “Can we get pepperoni?” 

“Of course, Bud. Hey, how about you go finish your homework while we wait for the pizza to arrive.”

“Okay. Are you going to wake up Dad?”

“When the pizza arrives,” Buck says, already navigating to the pizza website awkwardly with his phone in his left hand and placing their usual order. 

True to his word, Buck reluctantly shakes Eddie awake when his phone beeps with a text notifying him that their order is on its way. 

Eddie wakes slower than Buck did, his eyes opening and dropping closed again a few times as Buck squeezes his shoulder. 

“Hey, Eds. Sorry, man, but you gotta wake up now.”

“Wah? What time is it?” Eddie asks, his head still firmly pressed into Buck’s chest. 

“Almost dinner time, Carla brought Chris home for you.”

Eddie pauses momentarily, taking in the information before he sits up and looks around. “Oh. Oh, yeah that’s good. I forgot she was getting him today.”

He yawns rubs his hands up his face as he leans back against the couch and then freezes and drops his hands to look at Buck. Eddie’s sleep-glazed gaze flits between Buck’s face and the damp patch on Buck’s chest and he ducks his head embarrassed. “Sorry, about your shirt.”

Buck shrugs. “You’re good. I ordered pizza, it should be here in a minute. You probably have time for a quick shower if you want.”

Eddie rubs at one eye with a fist and nods, slowly getting to his feet. “Okay, thanks.”

Eddie disappears down the hallway, still yawning as Buck sits up and stretches out his numb shoulder. His side is cold where Eddie was lying just moments ago and he dings through the nearest duffle to him for a sweatshirt. As he tugs it over his head he realizes that it’s probably Eddie’s but at this point, it barely matters. Their wardrobes have merged almost indecipherably over the years. 

Buck summons Christopher to help set the table while Buck pulls two beers out of the fridge and pours a glass of juice for Chris. In the distance, he can hear the shower turn off and Eddie shuffling around his bedroom getting dressed. As Chris lays out cutlery and Buck passes him plates Chris chats excitedly about his new science project and Buck promises to help him with the actual experiment tomorrow. 

Chris is making all sorts of other plans for their Saturday, including a trip to the park, when Eddie comes back into the kitchen. His hair is still damp and hanging over his forehead in a way that forces Buck to look away and turn his attention back to looking for the bottle opener—which always seems to find its way to the very back of Eddie’s drawer—so that he can open the beers.

“Dad, can we go to the skate park tomorrow?” 

“If the weather is nice, then yeah.” Eddie shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

“Cool! Buck is going to teach me how to do a kickflip.” Chris says brightly.

Buck laughs and holds a now-open beer out to Eddie who takes it with a quiet smile. “I said no such thing! I can’t even do a kickflip, Chris.”

“Well, maybe I’ll figure it out, and then I can teach you,” Chris says with full confidence. Secretly, Buck does know how to do a kickflip but the last time he did one he was fourteen and it ended in a trip to the emergency center with a broken nose, a piece of information he is sure Eddie will thank him for not sharing. Besides, Chris literally cannot fall off his skateboard thanks to the frame Eddie and Buck built for him, the frame that recently needed modification to accommodate Christopher’s latest growth spurt. The kid has been growing like a weed since the summer. 

The doorbell rings and Buck shuffles around Eddie, past the counter, and out to the front door to get their pizza. When he returns with the boxes in his arms Chris and Eddie and both sitting at the table waiting for him. Eddie has brought Buck’s beer out from the kitchen for him and it is waiting for him at his seat. 

Together they make room on the table for the boxes and then they dig in. They talk as they eat, Christopher with pizza sauce smeared across his cheek and a dozen questions about what makes a rice cooker explode, Buck patiently explaining the science of pressure mechanisms to him, and Eddie watching them as he contently chews on his slice of three meat barbeque pizza. 

“Can we watch a movie tonight?” Chris asks around a mouthful of pizza. Buck pulls a napkin from the pile in the middle of the table and passes it to Chris. 

“Have you done your homework?” Eddie asks.

“He was doing it while you were snoozing,” Buck says and Chris giggles, bright and gleeful. Eddie just rolls his eyes.

“It’s Friday, Dad. I have all weekend to finish it.  Jason was talking about this old movie at school today and it sounded funny.”

“What was the movie?” Eddie asks.

“Shark Story or something?”

Buck struggles not to choke on his pizza and sends a horrified look in Eddie’s direction. “Shark Tale, you mean?”

Christopher’s face lights up. “Yeah, yeah. That one.”

The movie is a hit and Christopher vows to ask Jason for more movie recommendations the following week at school, right before he falls asleep against Buck's shoulder. 

“I seem to make a pretty good pillow tonight.” He jokes and Eddie’s cheeks flush pink. 

“I did say I was sorry,” Eddie grumbles, getting up from the couch to clear away their beer bottles and the empty popcorn bowl. 

“No, no. It’s fine, Eds. I was just teasing.” Buck leans back against the couch and watches Eddie walk into the kitchen and back again. “You want me to carry him?”

Eddie glances down at Christopher who is slowly sinking lower and lower down Buck's side and filling out the space Eddie left when he stood up. He shakes his head. “No, don't worry about it. I don't want to wake him, he can sleep on the couch tonight. It's not like he has school tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay.” Buck says. He slowly eases himself up off the couch, lowering Christopher’s head down to meet the pillow Eddie pulls from the cupboard and passes to Buck. The pillow that is usually Buck’s when he stays over. The pillow he thought he would be using tonight. “I'll get out of your hair then.”

“What?” Eddie looks up at him, startled.

Buck waves to Christopher now snoring lightly on the couch in front of them, Buck's usual duvet tucked up around his chin. “Well, we're not both gonna fit on there.” He jokes. 

“Oh, right.” Eddie chews on the end of his thumb. “Still, you don't have to go home. I was hoping for pancakes in the morning.”

“Oh, were you now?” Buck raises an eyebrow and gives Eddie a playful shove. “I'll take Chris’ bed then, I guess.”

“You're too long for Chris’ bed.”

“I'm too long for that couch too but that hasn't seemed to matter for the last however many years I've been sleeping on it.”

Eddie stares past him for a moment as if he's lost in thought. 

“It's okay, I'll go home and I'll come back first thing in the morning to make your panca—.”

“Stay with me.”

“Huh?” Eloquent.

“With me,” Eddie repeats as if that will make it make sense. “In my bed. It's not like we haven't shared before. Besides, I hear you make a good pillow.”

Buck feels heat start to rise in his cheeks and he ducks his head, stalking down the hall. “Well, come on then. It's getting late.”

They get ready for bed in relative silence. Buck finds his spare toothbrush in the bathroom and Eddie passes him a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. Buck is pretty sure the pants are some of his own that he'd left here at some point. The T-shirt is definitely Eddie's. It's pale grey and worn thin with a small hole at the hem but it hangs softly over Buck’s shoulders. 

Eddie knocks before coming into the bathroom to brush his teeth next to Buck in the mirror. There's something so normal about it that even though they have done this dozens of times before it still blows Buck away at the comfort such a simple process when done together can bring him. 

They climb into opposite sides of the bed—Eddie by the door and Buck by the window—they don't even have to talk about it.

Buck expects it to be awkward. The first night they had shared a bed during quarantine they had both lain stiff as boards for hours before eventually Eddie had kicked him in the shin and they'd gone to sleep. It got easier each night after that.

Now, they lay loose-limbed next to each other with barely a foot of space between them. If Buck stretched out his fingers he could probably find Eddie's hand right by his. So he does—in a moment of stupid bravery—and Eddie grips his fingers back, threading his between Buck's, locking them together. 

“Thank you for staying,” Eddie whispers.

“Thank you for not letting me leave,” Buck replies. 

“I never like it when you do,” Eddie says and it feels like a confession. 

Buck rolls onto his side, facing Eddie and pulling their intertwined hands up to rest on the mattress between their heads. Eddie turns his head to him. “I'd stay forever if you'd have me.”

Eddie rolls over and places his other hand over their joint fists. “You already have me .”

Something hot and radiant boils up in Buck's chest. He reaches up and hesitates a moment with his hand hovering over Eddie's cheek, but then Eddie turns his face up into it and noses along the edge of Buck's thumb. 

“Roll over.” Eddie pushes at Buck's shoulder till he's flat on his back. “I want my pillow back.” 

Buck can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him as Eddie shuffles closer and practically drapes himself over Buck, resting his head in the juncture between his shoulder and his neck. He sinks into the mattress beneath him, letting the weight of Eddie settle over him like a blanket.

“You do make a good pillow.” 

“Stay.” Buck whispers against Eddie's forehead.

“Forever, if you'll have me,” Eddie replies, laying his hand palm down on Buck's chest, right over his steadily beating heart. 

Buck lays his hand over Eddie's. “You already have me .”

#buddie #buddie fic #911 #911 abc #meegs writes stuff #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #911fic #911 fic

[arlo-venn]

I was able to get crutch cushions, a brace for my left ankle/heel, orthopedic slippers, and extra strength Curamin all thanks to @parrot-parent 🥹🥹 They’ll all be here tomorrow morning :’)

#except the crutch cushions they’ll be here on Tuesday #but I’m trying to be in bed rest until then anyway #an angel walks among us

[sillysowa]

aahhh i just saw that your reqs open was hoping if you could do a nsf/w with a fem reader and hobie where the reader is having a rough day even gets a bruised lip from tripping over shifting stuff in her house and just over all ready to be a sappy mess and hobie just realizes maybe a good fxxk could help ease her stress bonus of if the two haven't gotten much time together because of his Spiderman duties, and pet names i am sucker for those k thnx bye love your work

tysm anon absolutely!

STRESS RELIEF

pairing: hobie brown x fem!reader

genre: smut

word count: 0.7k

warnings: mild injuries, oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal fingering, implied oral sex (male receiving)

synopsis: hobie fucks you better!

—

You couldn’t even bring yourself to get up off the floor after tripping over the edge of the couch, busting your lip on the table and collapsing onto the carpet. You had been a mess all day, all week actually. You were only like this because Hobie was gone. Your boyfriend is your crutch, and you feel like you physically can’t go without him.

You curled up into a ball and wallowed in your own self pity—it was pathetic and you knew it. You couldn’t bring yourself to get up when you felt a sharp headache behind your eyes or when your stunned toe was throbbing in pain. You didn’t even flinch when all the furniture in the room slowly lifted and swirled around, or when Hobie landed in your living room with a thud,

“Y/N…? Fuck you doing on the floor?” Hobie asked, his tone half jesting and half concerned. He hurried over to you and crouched down, his hand on your back. The moment he asked you, “Are you alright, love?” You nearly cried,

“I had a really bad day…” You groaned, crawling towards Hobie and resting your head in his lap. He seemed taken aback, chuckling a bit and massaging you gently, trying to soothe you,

“Aww, dolly what’s the matter?” He coo’s, “Need me to make you feel better?” His voice drops to a low whisper, his tone all sultry as he strokes your cheek gently. You instantly perk up, your cheeks warm and your thighs clenching at what he’s implying,

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Hobie hums with a smirk, leaning down and kissing you gently. You feel your toes curl in your socks as he moans into your mouth, tilting his head as hie eyebrows furrow. He desperately pulls you close and you whimper as he sucks on your bruised lip,

“Mmf—Hobie!” You whimper, your arms around his back as he rises to his feet with a secure hold on your waist and chin. He breaks the kiss with a grunt, gently flipping you around and bending you face first over the arm of the sofa,

“‘Ma make you feel so much better, lovely.” He purrs, slipping his thumbs under the waistband of your sweats and yanking them down to your ankles, laughing when you gasp and moan in desire. Hobie can practically feel your need just by looking at how you squirm when he spreads your pussy and shoves his face right in, slurping you up. You gasp and convulse, the sudden warmth and wetness on your sensitive pussy making you delirious,

“H-Hobie you’re such a pervert…” You groan, your cheek squished against the cushion as his tongue lapped you up, flicking over your clit with expertise,

“Mmm…not m’fault y’taste so good…” Hobie grunts as he eats you out like ice cream on a cone, his large hands spreading your thighs. It’s so lewd and so Hobie—the feeling of his fingers prodding at at your pussy and gently stretching it open,

“M’poor baby hurt herself being clumsy n’all, hm? That’s such a pity, angel.” Hobie teases and mocks you, biting your thighs and fingering your pussy deeper and deeper, curling his fingers.

There’s something about the heat that rises to your head and your heart thumping in your ears that melts you. You forget all the pain you were feeling for a few blissful minutes as Hobie pleasures you, his presence burning behind you as he eats you out like a maniac and fingers you like a machine,

“H-Hobie fuck your fingers feel so good…” You sob, pushing your hips back on him as your pussy squirts around his fingers,

“I know, I know.” Hobie smirks, biting your thigh and making you jump. He laughs at yours whines as he curls his fingers up into that good spot inside you. You don’t even need to tell him that you’re cumming when it happens, he can tell by the way you tremble and scream, clutching a pillow and squirting all over his fingers and down your thighs.

“Hobie-Hobie-Hobie-H-Hobie-b-bie~!” You cry, your thighs clenching around his head and your squirt coating his face. The way you sob in pleasure for him springs his dick up in his pants and he laughs,

“Awh, poor baby, thus fucked our already?”

His fingers are on your chin and you don’t even remember when he flipped you over and started unzipping his jeans with that crazed look in his eyes,

“Hobie-?” He rubbed his thumb over your bruised lip, shoving it onto your tongue,

“M’not done with you yet…”

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara @hobesbf @defnot-bri

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #spiderman #x reader

[heartfullofleeches]

Clown Doll Reader with a few different Yans (Lab Monster, Murder Clowns, Crime Boss, Bodyguard and Co-Host)

"Introducing the new Cloudy Acres Talking Clown Doll! Equipped with over a hundred phrases - this extra soft, extra cuddly plush will be all yours for ages of fun, friendship, and when you're in need of a big hug. Cherry scented!"

Lab Monster

The recording pauses. Beady eyes swift to anger center on the doll held in spindly limbs, a medium for the entity's rage found in the stitched smile. Its dripping jowls nuzzle and nip at the soft fabric skin; slinder talons yanking the toy's plastic cord.

"Are you having a good day? Mine's spectacular, cause I'm with you!"

The creature croons, raising its pitch to match the toy's bubbly air. "Youuu." It sinks its face into the doll's plush body, chirping and cooing with glee. Its coarse tongue tears at the doll's mouth stitching at it drags the slippery muscle back up to its lips, screwing into the fabric. The onlookers immediately look away, turning to face each other.

"I still don't see the reason we enable it so much. It's speech recognition has improved greatly, but this attachment to this television host could be a crutch in the future."

"Its hostility levels have greatly decreased since this introduction to the outside world. We only have one caretaker out on medical leave now rather than four in a body bag."

"True, but I still think we should cut these ties eventually."

"We really shouldn't have this discussion on free dress day. I can clearly see the signed shirt you're wearing."

Murder Clowns

The group of technicolor fiends crowd around their leader with their own mini idols in arms as said ringling pulls the string on their doll and holds it in the air.

"Smile!"

Cheers and hollers rivaling crowds twenty times their number break out within the group; the screams of those beside them as infectionous as the little clown's happy jingle and rebounding off each other. One of the clown's holding the truck driver at the back corner of the vehicle lightly smacks the back of his head - tears flowing anew.

"That means you too."

-

Crime Boss

The tired store clerk rubs sleep from their eyes as they look up at the imposing figure. "Please- we haven't unloaded the shipment of those dolls yes. I'm sure you're child can wait until tomorrow morning..."

The boss nods at their on hand lackey. Without hesitation, they pull the gun from their holster and point it at his face. "I'm sure others can wait, but I have a meeting at dawn and I'd like to take what's mine before those greasy brats damage the whole stock so if you would be so kind - hand over the fucking keys."

Bodyguard and Co-Host

"Dont look so down. Lemme kiss everything better! Mwah, mwah."

Your bodyguard pushes the doll out of their face, swallowing the urge to your co-star in their puckered lips no matter how hard it fights to the surface. Mini you's were strapped to them everywhere the eye could see. From their hoodie pockets to their arms and atop their head - your co-star happily showed off their collect and used them to tease your poor guard.

"Look at this one. Limited edition, and they glow in the dark. Not supposed to come out unless next year! Such a cutie aren't they?"

"I don't care. Leave me alone." Your bodyguard pushes past your co-star who juggles the plushies and uses their body as a cushion before they hit the ground. Your guard speed walks away, glancing around every corner with each turn. Alone in your dressing room, they pull a doll from their pocket and tug its wire.

"I love you!"

They flush, smiling from ear to ear.

#Clown reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #Yandere bodyguard #Yandere co-star #Yandere clown #yandere harem #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #Kevin my oc

[aurumacadicus]

Y'all I'm sorry this post was not finished here is the end 😭

--

Tony doesn't know what to do. He'd thought his breakup letter was lost forever, not just misplaced to send later. He doesn't want to break up with Steve anymore. But apparently he doesn't have a choice in the matter anymore. Steve had finally read his first letter, his intent to break up on his first month deployed. How cowardly he'd been, saying goodbye in a letter instead of face-to-face. How bad a friend he was, when Steve knew how Tony had promised to never send one specifically because of how much Rhodey had been hurt in the past.

He shoves it into the couch cushions and stands, backing away from it as if the couch might attack him. Then he goes to grab it, to put it in the trash. Then he backs off again, too scared to see those big, blocky letters blaring at him like he's Hester Prynne or something. Maybe he can call Pepper to dispose of it. Except she's in France right now. She won't be back for a week. He rocks back on his heels, feeling jittery and sick.

It can wait for a week, he decides, backing away.

But he's too ashamed to tell Pepper about it when she comes back, and he's too ashamed to tell her that he's been dumped. She'd probably ask if it wasn't what he'd wanted all along. And maybe he did, because he was scared, because he couldn't believe that Steve was different from every other person he'd dated, but he doesn't want to be dumped now. Now that he's written and received hundreds of letters, has fallen even more in love with Steve, had hopefully given Steve some reason to love back--

He deserves this, Tony thinks, hurt fading into a hollow in his chest, until he just feels numb. What was it Steve had joked? He was his own tragedy. That had been in response to him getting an ice-cream and then immediately dripping it down his silk shirt, but apparently Steve had had him pegged from the beginning: All of his unhappiness has been because of his choices. And this was just the unhappiness from his stupid Dear John letter finally coming back to bite him in the ass. So he puts all the letters he's kept in a box, hands it to Dum-E, and tells him to incinerate them.

If Pepper notices that Tony's not picking through his mail anymore, she doesn't say anything, and Tony puts it out of his mind. This was always the conclusion with his letter, he reminds himself. Just because it took a little longer to reach this point, it was always coming.

"What's this?" Rhodey asks a month later, digging the envelope out from under the cushions after the corner pokes at his hip. Tony tries to snatch it from his hand, but Rhodey bats him away, looking it over. "Dear John," he says a moment later, raising an eyebrow. He looks up at Tony. "Did you label this yourself?"

He looks so bewildered that Tony just lets it spill out, even though he's certain that Rhodey will hate him for it. How he'd sent Steve the breakup letter, but it hadn't gotten to him, and he was too cowardly to send another, and how he'd fallen even more in love with Steve and was getting over his trust issues and was looking forward to Steve coming home so he could tell him about his stupid letter and how glad he was that it never made it to him and he was so certain Steve would laugh about it and--

"Oh boy," Rhodey sighs, pulling him down into a hug as Tony blubbers about how sorry he is that he ever found out his friend was a hypocritical coward who did the one thing he promised to never do. "Tony, that was ten fucking years ago. We were young. I don't blame her. And I don't blame you."

It takes a weight off his shoulders, even if the ache of losing Steve still sits heavy in his chest. Once Rhodey is gone, Tony hands the letter off to Dum-E, telling him to put it with the others. He's healing, he thinks, as Dum-E does a spin before zooming away with the envelope in his claw.

So of course Steve arrives on his doorstep two weeks later, crutches under each arm and a bandage over his right eye. Tony gapes up at him, stunned.

"Sweetheart," Steve breathes, hopping closer. "You stopped sending me letters."

Tony steps backward. "You," he finally manages to sputter. "You sent it back. Returned to sender. I. I didn't know you could do that."

Steve squints at him, brows furrowing together. "It's... the mail? Of course I--but I didn't? I've been in a coma. For the last three months."

Tony reaches up to cup his cheek and stops when he remembers he doesn't get to do that anymore, fingers curling back toward his palm as he draws his hand back. "Are you okay? Do you need to sit down? Can I get you anything? I can--I can pay for a specialist if you need--"

"Tony," Steve cuts in, gently but firmly. He reaches out to grab Tony's arm, pulling it so his hand is back up, and he leans his cheek against Tony's palm. "I got your letter."

Tony stares up at him, unable to comprehend. "You... got lots of letters."

"You tried to break up with me, but Colonel Rhodes warned me that might happen, so I ignored it, and just wrote to you like I normally would. I figured, if you meant it, you'd send another, and if you didn't, you'd be too awkward to say anything," Steve says, smiling. He's missing a tooth, Tony notices vaguely. "And it worked! You kept writing me back."

"What the fuck kind of convoluted logic," Tony chokes out, but he finds he can't quite bite back a slightly bewildered smile, either.

"And then I got got," Steve sighs, his own smile fading. "Grenade. Had to put me in a coma to heal right. And one of the guys found your Dear John letter when he was grabbing something for me and decided to send your last letter back. He thought he was helping me I guess." He looks down for a second, then back up, smile back in place. "But! I'm here now. I'm on medical leave!"

Tony blinks at him slowly. "...Steve," he says after a moment. "Are you supposed to have a chaperone right now?"

Steve sways forward. "Tony, I'm going to be real honest with you," he whispers. "I am still on so many painkillers. I took Bucky out at the knees with my crutch and booked it."

"...Steve, you are in a lot of trouble," Tony tells him gently, then lifts his other hand, cradling Steve's face between them. "I am going to let Bucky yell at you. But! I will hold your hand while it happens."

"Well," Steve sighs. "As long as you hold my hand." Then he brightens again. "I had Dum-E store my letters for you. I knew you'd try to get rid of them. That deserves a kiss, right?"

"...How long did you plan this out?" Tony asks, frowning at him.

"Colonel Rhodes was very explicit about what would happen. I'm better than all your previous partners," Steve tells him proudly. "I! Am going to marry you someday. Also! Don't worry! I know I am not better than Pepper."

"What?" Tony asks, but then Steve is pressing in, peppering his face with sweet kisses. "Steve. Wait. Wait a minute. I have to--"

"We have maybe ten minutes until Bucky gets here and beats me to death please let me love on you," Steve whines, and Tony doesn't have the heart (and is still too confused) to tell him no.

#ideas #stony #welcome to the suffer club i guess #tony: i don't want rhodey to hate me #rhodey: *sigh* tony's a dumbass so i better tell steve

[godasfarasyoureconcerned]

cannot believe they got izzy using a mop as a crutch. not sure if i’ve seen anyone mention this but yknow that’s like a wooden pole with mop head rags as a cushion..

you cannot tell me this is not literally just an old mop he found on the ship somewhere. i’m thinking about him finding it and grabbing it because he’s resourceful and knows he needs to be mobile, so he finds it in storage and hopes nobody misses it. but what’s better is someone finding it for him

like i’m losing my mind at the thought of them being found on the revenge and given refuge on the red flag and the crew of the red flag seeing him amputated and half dead and going “well. we have this if it’ll help” and it’s just like. the mop stede used the day before to clean zheng’s office with. and he takes it anyways because it’s the nicest thing he’s been given in a long time and because it actually is more effective than hopping and despite the fact that it’s a literal mop used to clean the floor it’s still less shameful than having to lean on someone for help or simply sit back and let them take care of this mess for him

something poignant about him using a mop as a crutch as he navigates cleaning up this mess that he helped create. i love him

#izzy hands #ofmd s2 spoilers #mine #i love him so fucking much #our flag means death

[fruitcoops]

In the Beginning

Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)

“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine.”

God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”

Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?

He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.

“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”

Sirius blinked. “You?”

“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”

“Ah. Ouais.”

“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”

“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”

Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.

The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”

“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”

Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.

Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.

“Done?”

He jumped.

“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”

“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”

Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.

“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.

Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.

“How’s your ankle feeling today?”

Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”

The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”

“A little sore?”

The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”

“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”

“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”

“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”

Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”

“Non.”

“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”

This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.

“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”

“Even with crutches?”

“Ouais.”

“Do you sleep with it on?”

“…my crutches?”

“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.

“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”

“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”

Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”

“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”

How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”

Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”

It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—

“Hold on.”

Sirius paused.

Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”

“Quoi?”

“You’re…what, six-three?”

“About.”

“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”

What the fuck? “Uh, no?”

A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”

“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”

Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”

“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”

Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.

It was no use. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”

Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”

“Where?”

“Uh. My ankle.”

“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”

He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”

The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”

“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.

Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”

You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”

“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”

The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”

“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”

“Ouais.”

Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”

“Non.”

“You sure?”

“Just—makes me nervous.”

“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”

Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.

“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”

Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.

“You can take it off.”

Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”

Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.

“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”

“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”

“Yes, I know.”

“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”

“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.

He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.

“Sirius?”

He hummed.

“You okay?”

The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”

“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”

“The exam?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”

Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Remus said quietly.

They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.

“Ow.”

“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”

Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.

“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”

Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”

“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”

“Okay.”

Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.

“You did great.”

Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”

“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”

The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”

“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”

Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”

“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”

“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”

“Awesome, see you then.”

“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”

“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”

“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”

“Got you beat, there.”

Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”

“Très bien, Loops.”

Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #pre-coops #pt room #fluff #sweater weather #my fic #fanfic #lumosinlove