Work Text:
Body insecurity, body image, personal image, body confidence, this, that, yeah.
It was a topic that Jirou had explored many times over the years.
Yet, it felt less like something that necessarily plagued her, like a virus or a looming stalker, and more like something that was simply…there. It was sort of like a…chronically present thing, with flareups and good days and bad days.
She’d liked to think that she’d started to feel better about it now than before. Her friends, her work, her personal drive, things like that. There were definitely times that things would become…tense, sure.
She especially hated feeling bad about whenever she’d get a little bit jealous of some of the people around her.
She sighed. This was kind of not what she wanted to talk about, but it was kind of relevant, so she’d have to get through a little bit more of this.
Luckily, bodily images have become a little more…lenient in terms of standard. Sure, there were definitely still standards. That’s why Yaoyorozu and Kendou both got recruited for Uwabami’s internship, basically. At least, that’s what Momo told her in a fit of frustration, anyways. She didn’t have any reason to not believe that claim, though.
But when there were people who had bird heads, were literally animal-based, or were a fucking WASHING MACHINE, the number of people who weren’t very body-tolerant wasn’t very high, even if they were a rather loud minority. At least, that’s what she believed, so if she was factually wrong, then…well, that was a problem for another day.
Now, two things can be true at the same time.
Because, even if there were flareups, something that Jirou always loved were her hands. She thought they were amazing, to be honest, and, really, they were probably her favorite body part. That sounded a little odd to say, but that’s something she never lost confidence in.
In the most Jirou way possible, the reason was exactly as you could expect from her.
Because they created. There were so many things her hands could make, they were the vessels from which her brain operated, they were the faucets from which her creative juices flowed.
Of course, even though she had an appreciation for basically all musical instruments, she had a special love for the bass and guitar. It was basically common knowledge among 1-A at this rate, considering how often she could be found doing something involving those two, especially whenever they meandered into her room.
Which also meant that she had some pretty powerful calluses on them. They were rough, they were rather bumpy, and they did admittedly make her hands look a little different than what she would normally expect from somebody who didn’t really have a body mutation. If she was being honest, it kind of reminded her of those odd little pad-things that Uraraka had on her own fingers, but…y’know, they didn’t have a quirk-related function.
However, she couldn’t help but feel incredibly happy whenever she was reminded of them, whether it be visual or touch-based.
They were sort of her pride and joy. She knew that there were many ways to “treat” them, so to speak, to help soften them and rid her of those calluses, as well as many ways to actually circumvent the fact that she got them in the first place. She’d heard that gentle, hot water helped with calluses, and of course, using a pick was an option, for instance.
But she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She loved the fact that she had these calluses on her hands, these marks of creation, symbols of all her hard work, love, care, passion, all of it.
So, regardless of what they could look like or whatever inconveniences they might have occasionally brought to the table, she was proud.
…Not so much of the fact that she loved picking at her calluses whenever she was bored in class, because that was an inconvenience, but she was still proud overall.
So, as she comfortably played with her calluses which protected her fingers from any potential pain, she hummed to herself, thinking about just how much she loved her hands.
Body insecurity, body image, body confidence.
It was a topic Midoriya had explored many times over the years.
Recently, though, it felt more like a ghost that haunted him, a spirit wistfully sitting in the back, rather than something he’d had to face head on often.
He said “often,” though, because it wasn’t like that ghost couldn’t be right in front of him.
Specifically in the mirror.
Now, don’t get him wrong. He couldn’t help but feel that he’d made exceptional growth over the past year and a half, or maybe past two years. The time sort of got muddled up in his mind, if he was being honest.
When he looked in the mirror, he could see it. Of course, All Might had done the before and after pictures before, but it definitely felt like a different type of visual to see yourself in the mirror like that, to move your arm around and know that that was, in fact, your own body, to see those muscles move and know that they’re your own.
In some ways, it felt like a different type of impostor syndrome. Even though it wasn’t a mental or performance-based feeling, it felt like a body-dysmorphia/imposter-syndrome hybrid, because even if this body was his…
He couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t, sometimes. Those flickers of sight where he saw what he used to be, the marks that he bore a clear sign of them. The scars lining his body, lining his arms, they seemed to…keep reminding him.
Yet, and he knew this was probably a really horrible mindset that didn’t set a good precedent for his future behavior, the more recent ones…he couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness through them.
Especially the ones on his hands. There weren’t many, and, really, there were more scars lining his forearms, but his hands felt…special.
Because they grabbed. There were so many futures his hands could climb to, they were the tools with which he could clench on to his desires and ambitions, they were the claws that rendered apart the barriers to his wants.
Of course, even though he’d started switching styles, moving on to his legs to their greater tolerance for One For All, he couldn’t help but feel a certain partiality to fighting with his hands. They felt more real to work with, to train with (and NO, he did not skip legs), to journal with.
Now, on the training note…he was especially happy with it.
It was really convenient for him that having rough hands was conventionally considered okay, especially for people in such physical fields. You know, like heroics.
Especially having calluses like him. Granted, there were other things on his hands that could be addressed, mainly the scarring, but…he felt more in control of the calluses.
Not that he wasn’t in control of the scars on his hands. At least, not anymore.
But…it was invigorating, knowing that the calluses were all his, and that they were a sign of all his hard work in the gym. It was especially easy to avoid getting calluses while weightlifting, of course. Wearing gloves was possibly the most simple fix anybody could’ve come up with, and Midoriya…well, he very much made the active decision not to wear them. It wasn’t for any sort of sense of gym superiority or anything, though he did like to buy into the idea that not wearing them helped him build up…something. What it was, he wasn’t sure.
So even if they were sometimes uncomfortable and ached from all the breaking, he was proud.
…Not so much of the fact that he may or may not have…possibly once or twice avoided putting lotion on in order to avoid getting rid of his calluses, because that was not the most skin-health-conscious of him, but he was still proud overall.
So, as he put on yet another plate for his ridiculously heavy bench (if it was sentient, the bar would be greatly pained), and wrapped his hands tightly around the metal, he grunted as he lifted the bar off the rack, and in the back of his mind, he was grateful for the fact that, if anything, he loved his hands.
If they were being fully honest, the way they actually ended up getting together was super stupid. It was possibly the most absurd way to actually get together, because the two of them were so fucking in over their heads and doubtful about the fact that they liked each other, so they basically did everything short of just outright kissing before actually confessing their feelings.
But that was something they could…reminisce on later. They didn’t know if they could handle that embarrassment right now, thinking about just how obvious both of them were, but nooooooo. They just couldn’t let themselves be like “Oh, this person likes me back.”
…Anyways.
Yes, the way they ended up actually confessing and the events leading up to it were really dumb.
But it definitely established one of the things they absolutely loved doing together.
“Are you ready to go, Kyouka?” Midoriya gently asked, waiting near the door.
“Mhm,” she nodded as she walked down the stairs, lugging her bag over her other shoulder as she ran a few fingers through her hair. “Got everything that I wanted to bring back home.”
Midoriya furrowed his eyebrows at her, a slight frown on his face as he asked, “...You sure you don’t want me to carry that for you?”
She gave him a thankful smile, soft and sweet as she shook her head.
Eventually, he shrugged and dropped the matter, only opening the door for her (but having to squint just a little bit due to the sun starting to set).
“Oh, wow, what a gentleman I have,” Jirou playfully remarked, slipping her shoes on quickly before properly getting over to where he was. She stopped, mulling over what to do for a second before making a decision.
She stepped just a little closer to him, got a bit on her tippy-toes, and pressed the softest kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, My Number One.”
His cheeks turned slightly pink, and he felt his heart skip a beat at the contact, but he smiled at her nonetheless, and decided to play along.
Gently, he reached out to her, smiling as he hummed contently, “Anything for you, Kyouka.”
Then, as if it was routine, he softly grabbed her hand, brought it up to his face, and ever so softly kissed the back of her hand.
She softly laughed at his extravagance, knowing full well that she felt much lighter as she walked out of the door, letting him come out with her, and quickly interlocking her fingers with his.
Their walk together to the train was mostly silent, something that Jirou honestly appreciated. It was usually pretty rambunctious in the dorms, and even if they were together right now, it was always nice to appreciate the silence whenever it came by.
Midoriya was always considerate enough to make sure that she wasn’t being audibly overstimulated, after all.
Yet…
Her hands feel so…strong.
His hands feel so…gentle.
It was something they were each really worried about on their own ends when they had started dating. It was honestly a pretty valid concern, since the calluses they each had were both incredibly present.
So, naturally, when the beans eventually spilled and it came out that they were both worried about how handholding would work together, the silliness of the situation in their mutual fear and concealment of that fear ended up making for a rather amusing conversation that ended with lots of laughs and lots of handholding to make up for it.
Because, whenever their fingers were intertwined, Midoriya couldn’t help but be reminded of how Jirou had so much passion, so much love, so much determination, so much integrity in her heart that he just couldn’t stop falling harder for her as her calluses rubbed on the back of his hand.
Because, whenever their fingers were intertwined, Jirou couldn’t help but be reminded of how Midoriya had so much willpower, so much ambition, so much tenacity, so much kindness in his heart that she just couldn’t stop falling harder for him as his calluses rubbed right underneath her fingers.
So, as the two enjoyed their walk to the train together, knowing that they would eventually need to split up in order to meet back with their own families yet still both offering to walk the other fully home and having the same playful and loving dispute they always did, they both knew that, just as much as they loved the rest of each other with all their hearts, they loved each other’s hands just as much.