Physical therapist AU that popped up into my mind yesterday and I can’t stop thinking about them!!!!
Bakugou as the physical therapist that most people are kind of scared of. He doesn’t get that many clients, only because his methods are a little harsh and his words are a little mean, but it’s only because he wants the best for you and your body. He focuses solely on your upper body and arms, for when you have pains or surgeries. He’s such an ass, likes to pick up 20 pound weights and show you how to do your exercise, tuts at you when you complain that your two pound weights are too heavy. But on the days when he really sees you struggling, his voice is a lot kinder, and he’ll give you the one pound weights when he sees your arms shaking a little. But the next appointment, you won’t be able to slack off!
Kiri as the lower body and legs physical therapist in the studio. He’s all cheery and bright when he sees you, is a little imposing with the eye contact whenever he explains each and every muscle in your calf and how it aids you and why it hurts when you run without warming up first. He’s just so big, doesn’t realize his size when he climbs up on the tables with you so that he can bend and twist your leg every which way to show you how it should feel. You hate to disappoint him, watch that bottom lip puff out when you admit that you haven’t done your exercises the way you were supposed to. He must hang out with Bakugou too much, because he goes just a little harder on you those days.
Deku who focuses on the whole body. He’s much like Kiri, with his big green eyes staring holes into your soul as he over explains where the soreness in your flank comes from. His hands are big and soft when they guide you into the right position he wants to put you in, his voice soft. Always whispers a drawn out ‘goooood job’ whenever you can do something he’s instructed you without any hiccups. He turns beet red whenever he realizes how his hands have found themselves in a compromising position on your body, just gets so caught up in guiding you, and it’s the most adorable thing ever.
Denki as the therapist who focuses solely on hands. He’s amazing with his fingers, all long and slender and pretty. He talks your head off when you come in after surgery on your pinky and middle finger, and you can’t help but find it endearing. He shows you how to do your exercises and routines, all pretty smiles and golden eyes that you can’t help but admire with a sweet sigh when you stare at him. He also buys his own lotion to massage into your hands, and coos about how soft they are and how good they smell after, embarrassing you whenever he holds your wrists up for other passersby’s to smell.
Shinsou works primarily with feet and ankles, and he’s damn good at it. He always has a bored little look on his face, and you’re scared he might be too rough, but he’s the complete opposite. Asks you intermittently, does this hurt? is the pain right here? should I add more pressure? And he doesn’t huff when you complain about his hands being too rough. He does give you a stern talking to though when he doesn’t see any progression because you haven’t been keeping up with at home maintenance. But on those days, he also offers up heat with the electro therapy treatment, because he knows you prefer it over the ice.
Todoroki as the additional chiropractor there???? His monotonous voice gives no indication when he’s going to basically separate your spine from your flesh, but you can always see his little hint of a smile when you scream a little. And delinquent turned front desk worker Dabi???? who only works there because his annoying brother got him job, but he doesn’t mind it because he gets to flirt with the patients before they’re whisked off to the back.
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They’ve been like this for a while now. The Guardian gets hurt, Ghost scolds them, and they feel guilty for burdening him; for dragging him down with them, and being why he can never go home. They won’t listen when he says they’re his home.
bonk bonk bonk. this is my apology for taking so long on... literally everything else. The Cayde short is actually done now, but wasn't at the time of me finishing this one (which has been done for a few days, I'm just. too lazy lmao) so someone bully me into posting Cayde Hug please
Anyway here is a nice Young Wolf and Ghost short! angst with a side of some beloved bickering <3 they are so stubborn but they are soulmates (platonic), your honor.
[ao3 link]
The statues, twice their size, are caught in poses of combat-ready or investigative, some having tried to run farther down the hall. The blizzard swells and dies out farther down the corridor, leaving the blanket of wisp-soft Void swirling around their steps as mist continues bleeding through the cracks in what was once a battalion of Cabal.
Their arm sways at their side, cold blood squeezing out of shrapnel wounds down the side of their body, the other hand tightly gripping Howl. Ghost materializes to their left, but they stumble forward, stepping towards the frosted over parts of their helmet. There’s a shard of a frag launch splitting down through the eye of it; the orange glow dead.
They plant the tip of the sword on the ground to hold steady as they lower themself over their helmet, Ghost trilling worriedly behind them. The streams of blood begin to reheat, numbness leaving the limb in favor of a boiling pain, and they can feel the soothing chill of Ghost scanning their injuries.
Shakily setting Howl down beside them, they move to pick up the tattered helmet, to be met with an irritated strumming through the Bond. “Guardian, at least hold still long enough for me to heal that arm before you make the bleeding worse,” Ghost sighs out. The Guardian only grumbles, before holding the arm out for a proper scan.
The movement itself makes them tense, resisting the urge to screw their eyes shut against the pins and needles and the accidental twisting of metal scraps still in some wounds. They hiss at the cold air, partially regretting the choice of Void as they all but pour heat out through the shredded armor and skin.
They trace the broken edges of their helmet with their spare hand, rather than watch Ghost knit the skin back together. The feeling of the metal shards being pushed out from the inside as the torn muscle pulls back together makes them nauseous.
No matter how many times they’ve felt it, or woken up from a death to their insides still being patched together, or had to pull themself off of spikes for it to even happen—The nausea always comes back. The frustration of never getting used to something so common in their non-life always comes back.
“Guardian.” Their fingers are bleeding, cut on the broken metal. The edges of their vision swims in and out, and they're not sure if it’s blood loss or the hallucinations again. “Guardian? You’re doing it again.”
They blink, and lower the outstretched arm. The burning feels distant, and the skin is stiff with dried blood, but the wounds feel closed, and the repaired parts of their armor are thinner than the parts that hadn’t been damaged.
He sighs, more irritated—exhausted?—this time. “We’ll need to see Drifter again if we want to repair your armor properly. There’s only so much I can do.” It feels as if he’s scanning them, but the blue glow never comes. “Still with me?”
As a soothing pulse pushes through stiff barriers of Light, they feel some sense return to their body and their face soften. Turning their head away from Ghost, the Guardian gives a small nod. A part of them wants to cradle him; say they’re sorry for putting him through this. He should’ve had someone better.
They settle instead for a soft rippling in the Light; the feeling of tucking a sleeping other’s hair away. He knows what they mean.
Ghost shoves his shell into the side of their head, making them lose the thought and duck away. “We’re not doing this again, Guardian! If the Traveler itself gave me a chance to pick someone else, you know I’d refuse every time.” His voice softens as he speaks, and he must have seen the small wince that crosses their face.
“I mean it, Guardian,” he chimes, firm but soft. Wholly faithful. “When I told you, through Light or Dark, I meant it. Even if it’s just you and me against the world, I wouldn’t change a thing so long as I had you.”
They know Ghost means it; they’ve never doubted it—But that’s the problem. He deserves so much better than a monster for a partner. The crumbling, now barely recognizable statues of Stasis prove them, if not a monster, a force of chaos. Both unstoppable, and immovable. Even with the explosives and traps, there was never a chance.
The shared turmoil strains the Bond with impressions of spirals, and Ghost lowers himself to hover just over their shoulder as they hold their other hand up for him. “Monster or not—and I’m not saying you are, but you never believe me—” He rambles, “You’re still my partner. My Guardian.”
And he’s their Ghost. But it changes nothing. The blood is half dried, dripping sluggishly, as he closes the cuts in the pads of their fingers. They rub them together, the nerves still knitting together feeling like pins and needles.
Nudging him with their shoulder draws a huff out of Ghost. “Yes, I’m done. But this conversation isn’t over.”
It’s their turn to sulk—The conversation is never over. Who’s the monster, who’s to blame, who should suffer: Ghost’s answer is always the same—They scoop the parts of their helmet up, moving it to one arm, before sheathing Howl on their back.
They could clean it later. Ghost gives a puff of discontent.
As they stand, the sound of the last remnants of Stasis crackling out of existence drags their eyes up. The remaining wisps of Void smoke are quickly phasing out of the air, and they take a moment to watch the last evidence of their destruction crumble into nothing. Only the damage of weaponry to the building and their spilt blood remain.
“I’d say that’s progress, wouldn’t you?” Ghost murmurs, tone light, and they can’t help but give him a weird look. This quiet destruction– progress? They get a puff of indignity in exchange. “Well, I did get the data Drifter needed, so yes– But not what I’m talking about.”
The look he gives them is… cheeky. They don’t like it. “What I meant was…” There’s an audible smile creeping into his voice—victoriously smug—as he bumps their head. “Youuu didn’t fight me on healing this time.”
Scars. He’s smug about the scars.
They give a thin-lipped grimace at his priorities, and he just beams brighter. “It’s not much, but you don’t make personal progress very easy, Guardian.” They huff and turn away from him, walking down the hall to the back exit.
Ghost rests his shell in the junction of their hood as they pull it back up, both of them knowing the Guardian will walk slower so he won’t fall out.
“I’ll take any win I can get with you,” he chimes to himself, quiet.
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