"huh?" you look up at kuroo, whos standing by the counter, underlip jutted out in a pout. your hand stop the work on the orange in front of you.
"why dont you let me do it?"
"huh?" you repeat, and then he sighs dramatically, pushing his hip off of the counter to walk up behind you and massage your shoulders. you hum in appreciation.
"am i bad at peeling them?" he asks, silently like hes afraid of the answer. you giggle as you tilt your head to make more room for the hands working your sore muscles.
"well, i am a bit particular about how much of the whites i want off."
kuroo hums before his hands slows to a stop and he rests his head on top of yours. you smile, knowing the same pout is still on his lips. "is there a specific reason you want to?"
"i dont particularly want to."
you snort, "why, then, is my prince complaining about the work i keep from him?"
kuroo sighs before he noses your hair, inhaling your scent.
"i read that its a love language. if i do it, it shows how much i love you. and your hands work like shit, so i should, shouldnt i?"
you breathe out through your nose, half a laugh and half a sigh. its amusing to have such an intelligent boyfriend with zero context awareness in some situations.
you start to seperate the pieces and sort them onto your napkin. the ones with seeds goes to the right, the seedless to the left. he lifts his head again to reach for your hands, intertwining your fingers.
"when i leave clothes on the floor, you pick them up for me simply because you know bending down is painful. you take out the trash because sparing my hands the making of the knot and carrying them out is nothing to you," you squeeze his hands before you continue, your eyes closed, "the vegetables are yours to cut as i handle the stuff without knives. you really want to peel my oranges, too? when you get my waterbottle and my blanket every night. take off my socks and massage my shoulders?"
kuroo shrugs, nuzzling into the crevice of your neck. you imagine that hes blushing, hiding his embarrassment, "id do anything for you."
you smile, tilting your head so that your mouth reaches his hairline, "you already do."
"but the oranges..." he whimpers, pouting.
you laugh, and plant a kiss where you can reach him, "let me peel you one, yeah?"
his weight sort of collapses on top of your head and shoulders, his hands letting go of yours to wrap around you, hugging you tightly.
Komori Motoya x Chronic Pain/Disabled GN!reader but reader is described wearing skirts
content: It's Komori's birthday and you wanted to dress up nicely for the dinner party. Just your luck that your planned outfit and your disability decides to have a playfight. It's a good thing you have your high school sweetheart to cheer you up when navigating the new world of dynamic disability.
tags: fluff, sfw, birthday fic, post-timeskip, disabled!reader, body positive and poc friendly reader, canon compliant, no use of y/n, sweetie + my love + baby as petnames, sappy and supportive boyfriend, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, childish/cheeky komori, chronic pain/disability condition is not mentioned/left vague on purpose but reader does need a cane (type of cane not described either), genderneutral reader, unbeta'd but proofwritten twice, sakusa's there too but only to suffer the humor of literal kids
wordcount: 1.1k
notes: guess who learned something new today about cane usage and long skirts! 🙋🏼♂️ its a journey! luckily i have some soft, comforting boys to maladaptive daydream about taking care of me 🥰 i hope you enjoy this little work of mine! either as a disabled person or as an abled interested in learning something new!!!! im smooching u all, have a lovely evening! i also know im a ✨ little ✨ early about komori's birthday but who doesnt think about him 24/7?
also happy disability pride month ✨
"you ready?" Komori calls from the entrance, where his keys are circling his finger, making a jingle sound. It's his birthday, and you're going to a restaurant with his parents for dinner. Sakusa's even agreed to stop by.
He hears you hum from the bedroom before your steps sound through the living room, a little uneven but with your usual speed. He whistles when he sees you, but his eyebrows still raise at your choice of clothes.
"You changed." he states blankly, unsure what else to say. The outfit was important to you today, and you took great care in planning it last night, which is the reason he sends such an apparent statement your way.
You avoid his gaze as your lips draw a thin line, "yeah, don't worry about it," you say hastily, clearly eager to end the subject as you pick up your shoes from the rack. "Don't get me wrong sweetie, you look amazing. But I thought you wanted us to color match today?"
From the bench where you're tying your sneakers you glimpse at him for a split second, but it's long enough that Komori notices the disappointment you're trying to hide from him. He sighs and bends down in front of you, "what happened, my love?" his thumb grazes your cheek before it drags a sliver of hair behind your ear. From this angle he sees your small pout more clearly. He puts down his keys to let his other hand hold your head as well.
You sigh and lean forward. He meets you halfway and revels in the contact of your foreheads touching. He's always loved being close to you.
"I need the cane today."
Ah.
You recently learned bitterly that long or airy maxi skirts and canes don't match up. It's not like they tangle extremely and directly cause you to fall, but it changes the pressure in which you need to pull and move your cane for your next step if it's windy, which can cause mishaps. You haven't fallen because of it yet, but you've decided you don't want to risk it.
And then you need your cane on his birthday, where you'd planned such a skirt. He winces and you sigh. There's a distance of walking from the train station to the restaurant, so he can't offer much of a different solution than your own.
Then he kisses your nose, "I'm sorry, baby. Is there anything you need?"
You close your eyes and try to relax in his closeness. His left hand has traveled down to rub your arm, and you don't have the heart to tell him that his touch aches today. Not on his birthday.
"No, it's... It is what it is, right?" you ask and he nods hastily, "I know it might not help on the disappointment, but I still think you look absolutely amazing. And I'm glad you're listening to your needs and doing what you have to, even if it sucks major ass."
You snort and shake your head at him. He prides himself in the smile he won from your lips before he claims them with his own, sighing at the contact. He's needy today you notice, before you kiss him back with the same energy, trying to push away the negative thoughts clouding your mind. Today is about him.
When he pulls back he looks so lovestruck that you can't believe that you're high school sweethearts. Who gets this winded from a simple kiss from someone they've been with for over 10 years? Slowly and little by little, warmth and light fills you up again. He comes back for a quick peck before he gets back up and smiles down at you, flustered.
"Which cane would you like today? Personally I think the blue one with flowers would match your blouse perfectly!"
He turns his back to you as he opens the entryway closet, and you hum behind him thoughtfully, "maybe the grey one will garner less attention. I still feel awkward being both dressed up and so visibly disabled."
You're still getting used to using canes publicly, embarrassed and afraid someone will see you as a fraud if you're able to walk a few steps without it or if they suddenly deem that you're using it wrong. You know it's irrational, but it's taken you great courage to accept the dynamic part of your dynamic disability.
Komori's been supportive and understanding in every possible way, never batting an eye at any need you're voicing. He only complains when you hold back needs or lie about how you're feeling when you're out doing something together. You'd be, too, if the roles were reversed so you're glad he always lets you know while you learn to navigate being a burden - and being okay with burdening the people you love.
You admire his back. Broad, reliable and secure and always ready to support you. You still can't believe that you've been so lucky with him, grateful that your distasteful joke about his eyebrows he overheard in your second year somehow made him interested in you. You still cringe when you think back on it but he tells the story with a joyful and prideful expression every time.
He turns around with the grey, foldable cane and starts unfolding it for you, doing a little shimmy of a dance for you while doing it. You throw your head back and laugh, "so the birthday boy's the one giving a show this year?" you joke and he smiles cheekily at you, the expression making you flustered. Maybe you're just as bad as him, with the lovesickness. Sakusa will roll his eyes today, surely.
"Well... My favorite entertainer is indisposed, so if my lying hips can delight and beguile my audience, I'm happy to shake things up a bit."
He leans down with the cane, offering it as a sword to a knight. You snort and receive it just as gracefully, before he reaches a hand out to help you up, "I'll order your favorite from the menu and give you half of it if you kiss both my cheeks and my forehead in front of Omi."
You're busy laughing at his childish antics getting up, so you miscalculate your balance and fall into his arms. He catches you easily, like he always has and always will. You bite your lip, "then I'll order your favorite dessert if you do the same to me."
His antics may be childish, but they definitely match yours.
"Happy birthday, Motoya. Thank you for always catching me and helping me release the tension." you say and kiss him, hoping your emotions reach him. The smile he can't hold back against your lips tells you he might've gotten the memo.
content: you work at the cafe where Allen's a regular. You're not sure if he's actually flirting with you or if he's just polite. Then you have a flare up of eczema on your face and it finally emboldens him to take it to the next step
tags: fluff, sfw, strangers to lovers, modern AU, coffeeshop AU, gender neutral reader, body positive and poc friendly reader, no use of y/n, eczema condition not specified but locations of it a little bit, barista!reader, getting to know each other and opening up, soft, unbeta'd, mentions of nasty experiences with former dates about bad eczema stereotypes and stigma
wordcount: 1.9k
notes: my psoriasis is flaring up rn... and i couldnt stop thinking about allen helping with ointments and then this idea came to mind and i just couldnt help making up the story on the bus yesterday!!! i hope you enjoy and that your skin isnt hurting too bad if you have eczema <3 also happy disability pride month, hope this brings a smile to someones face!!! <!!3
You’ve seen him in the cafe for well over six months now. He started showing up with just his laptop and a polite request for boiled water. Sometimes at the end of the month, he asked for tea. He always wears long sleeves and gloves.
If it’d been anyone else, you’d deduce he’s flirting with you. Allen calls you endearing names when you step by with a fresh cup, answers your curious questions about his choice of drink and the work he does, all with a handsome smile playing on his features as he rests his head in his palm. He genuinely seems to be enjoying the chats you share, and sometimes he’s the one who engages them when you pass him or if there’s a lull in customers.
There’s no rhyme or reason as to when he brings his friends – or when they simply show up unannounced – but it’s very clear by his behavior then that he might just be an extremely polite Englishman to strangers like you and nothing else.
There’s two friends – close, judging by how often you see them – that seems to bring out another side of him. A guy with a blond braid and a dark haired man with a high ponytail. They both seem tired and uptight in their own ways, and always nag Allen whenever they’re the ones stopping by. It seems he’s got an issue of procrastination, and they’re helping him. How much he actually wants that help, you’re unsure of. But based on the biting and complaints he throws at both of them, they’re not always welcome.
You’re scratching at the back of your neck by the hairline where your eczema is, as you observe him with a redhead today, joking around and laughing. His laugh is really beautiful. It’s light and airy and carries well in the cafe.
He has a peculiar scar on his face that you’ve yet to ask him about; you feel you’re being intrusive enough with your above-the-surface type of questions. You’re mostly curious because you have a feeling about it, but you can't be sure just looking at it and you don't want to assume.
He comes and goes, and sometimes you don’t see him for weeks, sometimes months, but he always comes back and looks positively delighted when he sees you by the register, telling you that he’s missed your voice or your smile.
You’re on the fence on reciprocating his advances. If he’s this different to you than with his friends, you wonder if there’s a reason for it. You’ve been burned and hurt before by men wearing masks.
He comes up to the register with his cup and the small plate you served a croissant on, and thanks you again for the day. His friend whistles and wishes you a good night, earning a slap from Allen and a scolding on the way out.
Two days later, you’ve gotten permission to wear a cap at work by your manager and the one customer you don’t want to see announces his arrival with the jingle of the bell. When you look up and see Allen, you wince. You timidly look down and when he comes up to the counter, he politely but with an unsure lilt to his voice, asks for a cup of boiled water and starts to explain. When you look up, confused as to why he’s explaining routine for you, his eyes light up with recognition.
“It’s you! I couldn’t see your face!”
You notice how he almost reaches out for you with his hands, but stops himself and clears his throat. Then he smiles and leans down so that he can get a better view of your face, “how are things? Is there a special occasion for the cap – if it’s alright that I’m asking?”
You sigh and avoid his gaze, trying your hardest to ignore the urge to pull the cap lower. You’re 97% sure that the cap is hiding the eczema that’s flared on your forehead, but the small percentage of fear makes you want to feel sure. He seems to notice your distress and leans away, “hey, sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. You don’t have to tell me at all, the hat suits you, too.”
The hopeful sheen in your eyes when you look up at him in shock makes him mirror your own surprise. “Did I say something wrong?” he asks, biting his lower lip. You shake your head, and hurry away from the register to make his cup. You’re too afraid to look back at him to notice how his eyes follow your every move, a smidgen of worry and curiosity filling him, too.
You want to talk more with him as you hand him the cup, but there’s a line behind him. You cock your head to the size to refer to it and he immediately apologizes upon realization with a slight bow as he goes for his seat. You mentally reprimand yourself for suddenly being so stunted in your communication with a regular. A regular you actually like.
But men have talked nasty about your eczema before, men you’ve dated. Said it might be a hygiene problem that you could fix, indicating it’s your own fault, or asking if you couldn’t do them the favor of covering it up with makeup – nevermind the fact that makeup would upset it even more.
There’s a lull in customers where you sigh out in relief. You’ve been stealing glances at Allen’s table all morning, keeping an eye on his cup, too. You decide to bring him his refill now, that you have time to talk, too.
“I’m sorry I was a little short this morning,” you start as you pour the water into the cup. He looks up from his laptop and the way his entire face warms up at the sight of you, makes your tummy do somersaults. There’s an innocence to him that radiates warmth, and when he asks if you have time to sit down, noticing the quietness, you decide to be bold and accept.
He closes the laptop halfway and pushes it to the side, “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.” He says and apologizes. You nod, “it’s okay. I never wear caps at work, it was a change you noticed.”
He nods, “yeah but I promise I won’t push it! I don’t know what came over me, truly. I think I was just so excited to see a new side of you, or learn something new about you.”
You gulp at the bold choice of words, your fingers fidgeting under the table to stop them from going to your face in flustered embarrassment.
You smile and look down at the steam rising from his cup, “I have a flare-up right now.”
You expect him to look confused, quizzical or ask you to elaborate but his face seems to fall, “oh.”
You nod, “yeah, it doesn’t look… Well, personally I don’t think it looks that terrible, but I don’t want customers seeing or commenting on it.”
Allen nods and lets his hands go to his cup of water, wrapping around it and warming up his gloved fingers. He’s quiet still, so you continue, “it’s usually behind my ears and my hairline in the back of my neck... other places too, but I do flare on the forehead as well sometimes.”
You take a look around the cafe to make sure the few other customers aren’t looking, before you take the hat off. Allen follows your hands more than he looks at your head, but then he smiles like a lovestruck fool.
“Thank you… for telling me about that.”
You smile and put the cap back on, suddenly embarrassed by the hat hair. It’s not like people run away screaming from seeing eczema, but usually there’s a wince or a stronger reaction than what Allen’s giving you.
“Let me take you on a date.” he says and your back straightens and you feel yourself bristle.
“Eh?”
Is he joking with you?
He smiles as he looks down at his cup. You’re mesmerized by the slope of his nose as you find yourself admiring his features for longer than you should and while you don’t want to admit it, staring at his face makes you relax from his outrageous request. He then seems to decide something with a determined nod and starts to take off his left glove.
You follow the movement like you’ve been entranced. The gracefulness of his long fingers, the way the glove that hugs his hand so snug comes off at his tugging, and then the reveal of a dark, red hand and arm underneath the white fabric. His nails are painted black, but the scarring, the lumps and the cracked scaliness to his skin makes you clench your thigh underneath the table to compose your own reaction. You don’t want to be excited about learning someone else has eczema, Jesus Christ, you reprimand yourself.
You look at his face and his eyes are on the hand he’s rotating, a sad smile on his face. “I get it,” he says and sighs, before he starts to put on the glove again, “the scar on my face is eczema, too, but it reacts better to the ointments.”
You nod dumbly. Still unsure as to the correlation between opening up and asking you for a date.
“It’s embarrassing. Dates don’t want to hold my hands, they don’t want me to touch them or even their food if they find out. I’ve been trying to make myself ask you out for months now, but I’ve been so terrified you’d end up judging me if I were to show you.”
You suddenly can’t help but let out a laugh. It comes from relief at the situation, and you bend your head over the table as you let out a long breath. Allen looks at you with a confused smile, “are you… okay?” he asks unsure and you chuckle again before you look up at him, craning your neck to see him despite the cap.
“I’ve been so afraid of interpreting your flirting, because I was terrified you’d see my eczema one day and screech.”
Allen blushes, a deep and nice shade of red. Then he coughs into his hand and looks out the window, “so you knew I was flirting.”
You smile and reach for his gloved hands, making sure you’re gentle with the left, but still squeezing it nonetheless, “I had a feeling.”
He flinches at your touch but he doesn’t pull away, which makes you let out another sigh of relief, the situation still hitting you. You both let out nervous little laughs, holding hands.
You’re glad you showed him. You’re grateful he showed you, and now you feel that you can comfortably return his feelings. Allen seems relieved too, at the situation at hand. He suddenly starts pulling at your hands in his, and when he leans forward to kiss your knuckles, you think you’ll combust, heat crawling up your neck and to your face. You look down to hide your face with the cap and he whines, “that’s not fair. I wanna see the expressions you make.”
You’re about to say something in return, maybe something cheese if you’re feeling brave, but the jingle of the bell alerts you of customers, and you hastily get up and brush off your apron before you greet them. As you pass Allen you hurriedly whisper, “I’m off in two hours.”
He follows you as you walk up to the counter to take their orders, and he rests his chin in his palm, a lovesick smile on his features as he lets himself stare freely now that he knows there’s an actual chance to be had. He looks forward to getting to know you more.
heres a small sneak peek! :3 its shinsou and reader at an amusement park, finding a prize stall!
900 words!
There’s a stall with Pro Hero plushies lined behind a shooting range game. You stop to look, and Shinsou follows your eyes. There’s a big Deku plushie front and center, with other various heroes around him. He’s not sure which one you’re currently sending your warmest heart eyes to, but he chances a question, “you want any of them?” he tries to ask smoothly, but cringes inwardly at how flirtatious it might’ve come off. You lick your lip subconsciously and nod before you catch yourself. You clear your throat, “it’s uh, it’s a bit embarrassing,” you laugh and pull a few strands of hair behind your ear. He looks at you with a huff of a laugh, “you can’t be saying that now, can you, Brainwave Number One Fan?” he teases and the way your head whips towards him in surprise, your eyes twinkling before you let out the lightest, most relaxed laugh he’s heard from you all day and scold him mockingly, “you promised not to bring that up!” lightly punching his shoulder. He holds back from reaching out for the spot, seeing if you left behind any warmth on him. He stares at you, a love struck smile on his face for a moment too long.
He smirks at you then, “then tell me which one you want and I’ll get it for you.”
He’s not sure where the certainty comes from. While he’s confident enough in his aim, this is a bow and arrow type of shooting; it’s not exactly his forte. You hum as you look back and forth a few times, a playful smile on your lips that you try to hide behind a hand. Then you look at him resolutely, “you win and I’ll tell you.”
He puffs up his chest before he nods, “alright.” in a brave act of flirting on purpose, he takes off his cap and puts it on your head.
He doesn’t win anything and the owner of the stall barks out laugh after laugh at Shinsou’s attempts; they don’t even seem to be meant as mocking, she seems like she’s genuinely just having fun. Which makes Shinsou even more embarrassed. In an attempt to soothe him, you pat his back, “don’t mind,” you say to cheer him up and he slumps further. You giggle, “it’s okay. I’m sure some obscure eBay seller will have it,” you argue and turn to walk away. Shinsou clenches his fist and gives the woman one last determined look and another 500 yen coin for another three tries. The stall owner, called Byakuya, as you learned through small talks as Shinsou failed attempt after attempt, nods approvingly at the challenger and his renewed vigor, handing him four arrows instead of the allotted three. You clap excitedly and cheer him on, “you can do it!” you say with excitement, as you try to discreetly lean against the counter of the stall, dispersing your weight and hoping your cheers doesn’t sound too performative. Before coming across this stall, you’d agreed to sit down and try the churros that went viral a few months back. It’d been a good time to sit down and rest before continuing to walk around.
You have a feeling Shinsou might feel embarrassed about failing so many attempts, but you find it endearing in and of itself. You’re not sure the compliment would make him happy though, so you keep quiet, secretly packing away this moment in your heart to look at later with a fond smile. You hold back with all your might from lifting your hands to the cap on your head and pull it down to see if his scent lingers on it. That’d be too much for sure.
He reaches the last arrow with no success, and inhales deeply. Then, he turns to you and pushes the arrow in his hand toward you. You pause your supportive clapping to stare at him, a confused “ah?” leaving you at his movements. He looks to the ground, the tell-tale signs of an almost pout on his features. With furrowed brows he reluctantly speaks up, “bless it for me. With a kiss.”
Another “ah?” leaves you before you process his words, staring blankly at him. He thrusts it towards you again, still refusing to look up from the ground and there’s a heavy red tint to his cheeks that you can’t help but focus on.
Then you slowly walk towards it, looking at him all the same. In the back of your mind you hear Byakuya click her tongue about the hygiene of kissing the arrow. Even when you don’t reply, you register it and reach out with your fingers, pulling the hand with the arrow towards you.
Shinsou finally looks up and is immediately mesmerized by you. The cap’s too far down on your head, so he can’t see your face, your hair a mess underneath. Your lashes flutter as you blink nervously a few times, focused on the hand as you tentatively lick your lips. There’s a burning sensation where you’re touching him, and it takes everything in him to not pull away as if burned. It’s too much, too hot, all at once. It’s unbearably uncomfortable, yet he’s frozen on the spot, hoping it never stops.
He holds his breath when your lips close in on the arrow, but he chokes on the held breath when you continue past the arrow and lightly peck his knuckles. You linger there for a moment longer than necessary and Shinsou fights back the cough wanting to spill out when your eyes catches his through your lashes; what kind of killer move was this?
He then pulls away abruptly and looks away. He grumbles out a strained thank you and doesn’t notice the grin on Byakuya’s face. In the back of his mind is a hope that he isn’t recognized here, right now, since he was stupid enough to take off the cap.
He puts the arrow into position on the bow and inhales slowly, focusing his aim. He keeps looking for a moment longer, hoping and praying to God; any God at this point – he promises not to be picky if he wins – and then releases.
i hope you enjoyed this scene from a current disabled!reader fic im building. let me know if you'd like to be a vibe reader (more information here) and have a lovely evening <3
komori fluff, genderneutral and disabled reader (but komori calls u grandpa jokingly (theres context for that)), 942words
//
"my life's over."
it's all you greet komori with as you enter his apartment, throwing yourself and your grocery bags on his couch. he whistles as he enters from the kitchen, originally prepared to greet you with a kiss and a domestic 'welcome home'.
by the window, his parrot is sitting, repeating 'it's over' over and over again. komori tries to shush her while holding back a laugh, and the parrot shoots out a "don't laugh!" on your behalf. you groan out miserably as komori throws himself onto your bum as he heaves out a deep sigh, "now what has caused my beautiful, youthful pumpkin to expire earlier than their peers?" he says dramatically, but his choice of words only rub salt into your wound and you repeat the same, pathetic groan from when his weight first hit you.
his parrot flies to sit on the armrest of the couch and she pecks your hair softly, "over? over?" she asks, and you sigh, "yea, omi, over."
sakusa still havent forgiven komori for naming his rescue parrot after him; first off, he'd yelled, its a girl. second, i'm not a fucking parrot.
sadly for sakusa, his reaction had made the joke even more fun for komori.
he starts dragging his fingers through your hair, "now why would you say that?" he coos.
you lift your head briefly from where it's been smooshed in the throw pillows to lay on your cheek instead. a pouty scowl is inhabiting your adorable face, "i'm old."
komori snorts, "yea, i'm turning 30 this summer," he says. you roll your eyes, "not your age i'm complaining about."
he pretends to realize, "aah, the more you know. what makes you so much older than me? are you more wise?"
"i picked up my compression stuff package," you say as your face scrunches up in what seems to be a traumatic memory.
komori lights up in excitement as he eyes the bag of groceries, the package neatly nestled between vegetables and bottled tea. "that's amazing! it got here so fast, too!"
"the store clerk striked up some conversation," you say solemnly, like your life really had been passing before your eyes and you were now ready to greet the dead. omi jumps onto your shoulder and settles, but not before her beak had nibbled through your jacket thoroughly. komori waits for you to continue.
"the package is plastered with the store's logo. it says senior-sam all over it..."
komori thinks he knows where this is going and braces for it by biting his lip, holding back a smile as best as he's able.
"and she asked so kindly if i was picking up the package for my grandfather..." you wail the last word and hide your face in the pillows again. komori fails spectacularly at taking this seriously and bursts out in a loud laugh.
the package had been ordered in his name, since it'd been his valentine's present for you. omi straightens up at his laugh and repeats 'be quiet' until she flies to her window perch when he doesn't comply.
you let out sobs and komori's hands play with your hair, "they called me old then, didn't they?" he tries, though he knows it wont work. your age complex had gotten so much worse in step with the progress of your disability.
you move your head again to pout up at him, your underlip jutted out adorably, "no! the contents were for an old person they insinuated! and the content's for me!"
he smiles at you and leans down, only to hear you cry out in pain from the new weight distribution. he makes his peck on your forehead quick before he sits back on your ass, "i use compression, too. so does omi 2 and a lot of the guys i know."
he'd thought about ordering the compression things on a sports side to avoid this happening, but you needed gloves and shoulder support in specific sizes that were mostly available in the senior shops, despite his best efforts.
you roll your eyes again, "yeah! duh! you're professional athletes! im just not functioning right!"
"listen grandpa," he says sternly, though his smile never leaves him, "i'll wrap myself in constant and complete compression if it helps you feel better,"
you open your mouth to interrupt but he quickly puts a finger in front of your lips, "and yeah, you might have old man needs, but i love my little wrinkly baby."
the hand used to hush you starts pinching your cheek and you cant help the smile that threatens to spill despite your furrowed brows.
komori's humor always lightens the heavy weight on these subjects. some conversations need deeper talks and you've never felt invalidated by komori when it's serious, but even you can admit that rationally, this isn't a thing to worry too much about. you swat his hand away with a harrumph, "you're not helping." you say coldly and he raises an eyebrow, "oh? would a treat from your favorite bakery help?"
he'd bought the pastry on a whim on his way home because he knew you were coming, and now he's glad he did. your eyes light up but you pretend to think it through. you're about to answer when omi comes flying, "treat? treat! treat!" she states and make both of you laugh.
"well, you said the magic word. go get some seeds and my mountain of pastries and i'll put the groceries away."
"aye, captain." komori says as he gets up with omi on his shoulder. he freezes halfway through the living room, "wait... mountain? i only bought one."
halfway up from the couch you fall back down dramatically with a "noooo!" but you're not able to stifle your laugh at his fearful expression. you hear him sing a tune to omi as he moves around the apartment.
Masterlist for my 'Oily Encounters' series following Kuroo in equally compromising and embarassing situations as he first meets you and then tries to woo you, his beautiful neighbor. A mischievous cat, oils and friends help the situation progress.
They can all be read seperately but have a continous story development. They're genderneutral, poc friendly and body size inclusive. The final part includes a chronic pain reader ✨
Link to AO3 series!
Part one: Tuna Oil
The cat is missing from Kuroo's third floor apartment; there's nothing else to do but bring out the cabinet's finest tuna and hope for a miracle! Luckily, you show up with the unexpected find.
Part two: Truffle Oil
Meeting you wasn't chance; Kuroo needs to get to know you more, to talk to you more. To Kenma's dismay, he is now the sole supporter in helping to make this happen. Kuroo's whipped for you and it's obvious to everyone but you, it seems.
Part three: Garlic Oil
You're able to disregard Kuroo's habit of getting himself into a mess and schedule a date. However, a pain flare makes you unable to go for the planned activities. Kuroo doesn't mind though; any activity including you is perfectly acceptable.
does any of my fellow writers or readers wanna vibe-read (and minor-minor beta read but thats not a requirement since im confident in my general grammar etc and vibe / general thoughts are more important) my sfw disabled/chronic pain reader insert shinsou fanfic of a fever dream? its currently standing at 30k ish and not even finished, so absolute no stress abt being a fast reader!!
bonus if ur disabled urself in some capacity and able to pick up on my presentation and whether or not i end up making it too vague instead of relatable! tho not at all a requirement! the disability/diagnosis will not be specified, but as i suffer from pots/heds/fibromyalgia myself, those will be the type of experiences i draw from(but dont limit it to). reader is also described as using mobility aids, but it is as a whole described under 'dynamic disability'.
short summary is chronic pain reporter!reader is shinsous self-proclaimed biggest fan, and has a fan twitter about him. they (accidentally) post horrendously ugly pictures of him (if zoomed in) which his friends always does and makes fun of in a groupchat. on a drunken night he dm's the twitter account and a blooming relationship ensues, a will-they-wont-they back and forth as reader learns to let someone in and shinsou learns that he is lovable and worthy. it has minor elements of chatfic and some homemade art included of the horrendous, zoomed-in shinsou faces.
its a slow burn (estimate is 8-9 chapters of ~5-7k words per chapter) with a gender neutral reader in a timeskip world that is semi-canon compliant up until the war. chapter 1 thru 5 are all finished, whereas ch6 is 90 ish percent finished and the last ones are drafted and completely planned, with in-between scenes written down as well.
if youre at all interested send me a dm or an ask and we can discord or google doc it out :3 i have literally zero expectations except u sharing ur own thoughts so no technical knowledge, personal writing experience or anything needed. ive been working on this for a year and i feel im staring at it blindly at this point so a fresh perspective would be nice i think!!! i also dont mind if multiple people wanna do this, since ill just receive more feedback!!
if youre not interested in reading but wanna help me get the word out, id appreciate a reblog but not required 🥺✨
also happy international day of persons with disabilities !!! whats something youd wish was more represented in the fics you read? it can be big or small things, physical or mental! let us talk about it!
