lily

-`♡´- LILY — she/her, twenty, film major, bnha-centric blog

masterlist; dad!shoto x parent!reader

synopsis: with the weight of his past on his shoulders, shoto is left wondering what makes a good father…

tags: hurt/comfort, ig some fluff if you squint, boy dad!shoto, endeavour’s bad parenting’s effects, insecurities, shoto and reader are married, maybe a little ooc but i was in my feels when i wrote this

The time on your phone reads 2:34 a.m. when you wake up in your bed, completely alone. The sheets on the other side are rumpled and pushed at the feet of the mattress, as if someone got up in a hurry and couldn’t be bothered to fix them. Your hand lazily pats the space beside you and finds it still warm, meaning it must not have been long since you were left on your own.

Your eyes instinctively move to your left, to the crib positioned against the wall, just a few feet away from you. It’s empty as well, which only consolidates the hypothesis already formed in your mind. Wherever your husband has escaped to, he’s got your son with him.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you start to get up, a shiver running down your spine when your bare feet collide with the cold parquet floor. Every movement of yours seem to echo in the quiet of the house, still asleep despite all its inhabitants being wide awake.

Out of the bedroom, you see a faint light at the end of the hallway and decide to follow it. You stop just before rounding the corner to the living room and smile at the sight presented in front of you. Shoto is sitting on the armchair by the window, with your son cradled in one arm and curled into his chest, while an open book rest open in his lap. The light from the reading lamp casts a warm halo around the two of them, making them look like a vision from a dream.

You quietly slip into the room, not wanting to disturb the soft sound of Shoto’s reading voice. It’s so low you can barely make out the words, but the warmth in his tone is enough to pull you in anyway. Shoto, for his part, is too focused on his task and only notices you when you take a seat on the armrest. His eyes lift from the colourful page and settle on your face instead, blinking slowly in confusion.

“Why are you up, love? Did I wake you?” He asks softly, resting his free hand on your thigh. His palm is almost scorching hot on your bare skin— courtesy of the constant warmth Shoto seems to ooze off his left side.

You smile at him and shake your head. “No, you didn’t,” you reassure him, before sliding your gaze to his arms. Your son is resting peacefully, his eyelids closed and his small lips slightly parted as he sleeps to his heart’s content. You reach out a hand, gently brushing some hair away from his forehead.

“He was getting fussy, so I brought him here before he could wake you up,” Shoto supplies as explanation for their whereabouts, without needing you to ask.

“And so you started reading to him?” You muse quietly, fond amusement lacing your tone. “I think he’s a little too young to appreciate your storytelling yet.”

“Probably,” Shoto replies, his lips twitching into a faint smile. He closes the book and hands it to you so you can put it back, then his hand returns to its rightful place on your leg. “Fuyumi told me that it’s important for babies to hear their parents’ voice, so… I gave it a try.”

You hum softly and lean in to rest your head on his shoulder, hugging his arm close to your chest. For a few minutes, neither of you speak. Both your gazes are set on your son’s sleeping face, on the way his nose twitches a little before he buries his face into his father’s shirt. You feel Shoto leaning into you, resting his head on top of yours. So close, you can feel his shoulders rising as he takes a deep breath, before he interrupts the silence.

“Do you think… I’m doing a good job?” His voice is soft and hesitant, like he’s not sure he actually wants you to answer that. “With him, I mean.”

You try to take a look at him, but Shoto pointedly avoid your gaze, keeping all his attention on your son. The look on his face, however, suggests you his mind is already miles away from here— and you can easily guess where. It breaks your heart to see the somber expression on his face, the hard set of his jaw where he should be relaxed instead.

“I think you’ve been doing great so far,” you reassure him softly, propping your chin on his shoulder. Your hand rest on top of his own, giving it a light squeeze of comfort. “Three months and we haven’t gone one trip to the emergency room, that should count for something, right?”

His lips curl slightly at your joke, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, nor does it take away the tension in his limbs. You sigh softly and gently bump your head against his to get his attention. “What’s gotten you so worried all of a sudden?”

A long pause follows, to the point where you’re not sure he’s going to answer you. Then, Shoto release a deep exhale. “I’m scared of doing this wrong,” he admits quietly. “I’m worried one day I’ll make a mistake and ruin everything.”

The confession hangs heavy between you, even if it’s what you were already expecting to hear. You weren’t a stranger to Shoto’s insecurities, especially those regarding family. The lingering doubts and fears had made various appearances ever since you first brought up the idea of having kids. Shoto wanted them too, but you could see that, in his heart, he was never sure if he was truly allowed to.

“I don’t want to mess him up,” he adds a moment later. “I don’t want to be a bad father, but…”

He trails off, clamping his mouth shut. His grip on your leg tightens and you feel his fingers digging into your flesh, but you don’t think he realises it. His entire body is rigid, coiled with a tension that has been slowly building up in the past weeks. You rub your thumb over his knuckles, hoping to be of some comfort.

“But… you think you’ll be?” You suffice when it doesn’t look like he’s going to end his sentence.

Shoto finally turns to you, but the pained look in his eyes almost makes you wish he didn’t. “I’m worried it’s inevitable,” he murmurs. “I think even if I’ll try my best, something is bound to happen at some point. I don’t know the first thing about what a normal childhood is supposed to look like, or how a good father should be. I fear I’m going to slip up without even noticing it until it’s too late to clean it up.”

A familiar fire burns in your chest, the same mix of anger and sorrow that rises up every time you think about his past— about the horror he’s been put through from the one person who should have taken care of him. And now, the roles changed. He’s not a clueless kid anymore, he’s a father— and you can understand why that freaks him out so much. He’s got no guidance, no prior knowledge to acquire from. He’s improvising every single step, probably second guessing everything he does.

“Why haven’t you told me you felt like this?” You ask softly, not looking away from him.

Shoto shrugs and doesn’t answer you— not like he really needs to. You know him too well by now, you already know why he didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t want to burden you. Because he thinks he should be dealing with this on his own, without someone else’s help.

You sigh softly and drop your gaze on your son’s sleeping figure once again. He looks so calm, blissfully unaware of the heavy atmosphere in the room. “I’m terrified too, you know?”

That seems to get his attention. You see his eyes flickering to yours, widening with something you can't quite place. “You are?”

“Of course I am,” you respond. “There are times I feel like there’s still so much I don’t know about life and suddenly I have a whole kid that depends on me for everything, even dumb stuff like eating or sleeping. This kind of responsibility… it’s nerve wracking, everyone with common sense would be scared.”

“But you know what makes it less scary?” He shakes his head and you smile at him, interlacing your fingers through his own. “You. Knowing I’m not doing this alone— that I have you beside him— is the greatest comfort I could have. You’re so attentive, so careful with everything you do, that I can’t help but trust you more than I trust myself sometimes. I can be at ease because I know that, even if I do mess up at some point, you’ll be there to help me out."

"You..." Shoto trails off, at loss for words after your confession. "Really?"

You chuckle softly, leaning in to nuzzle his nose. "There’s no one I’d trust with this more than you," you murmur slowly, hoping he can feel the sincerity in your voice. "And it looks like I’m not the only one.” As you say this, you nod at your son. The infant hasn’t stirred once since you arrived, cuddled up into Shoto’s embrace as if it’s the safest place in the world. His little fist is curled up in Shoto’s shirt and half of his face is buried against the soft fabric, making it look as if he’s trying to merge into his father’s front.

“Look at him. You think he would trust you this much if you were doing a terrible job?“

From the corner of your eye, you see the little smile that forms on Shoto’s lips. He shifts his arm to get a better grip on your son, bringing him closer to his chest at the same time. “I guess not,” he mumbles, his voice less strained than before.

You mentally release a sigh of relief, finally seeing the tension easing off his body. "I get why you're scared," you say softly, giving his hand another squeeze. "I don't think there are parents who aren't scared of messing it up. But I believe in you, Shoto. I know how much of a good person you are, there's no doubt in my heart you'll be anything short than a great father. And if things get hard, you have me in your corner. Always."

Silence follows your words. Shoto is looking at you, his expression so open and unguarded that it makes your heart flutter. The lines of his face are finally relaxed, but what really gets you is the tender look in his eyes, almost glistening in the dim light.

"What?" you ask, to which he just smiles and shakes his head.

"Nothing," he replies. "Just thinking of how lucky I am to have you."

"Sap," you murmur, even tho you feel your cheeks flush. Shoto lets out a quiet chuckle at your sudden display of shyness and he leans in to plant a brief kiss on your cheek.

You sigh softly, resting your head back on his shoulder. "You wanna go back to bed?"

Shoto thinks about it for a moment, before shaking his head. "Let's stay here for a little longer," he says, lightly rocking your son. "He hasn't been asleep for long, I don't want to wake him up."

You hum and make yourself comfortable at his side. You don't say anything as you watch him fuss over your son, smoothening his shirt and rubbing his back whenever he makes the smallest movement in his sleep. Those little actions come easy to him, natural in a way that doesn't need pondering.

BAKUGO K; battered & bruised (fluff), family man (fluff)

MIDORIYA I; sleep by my side (fluff), great minds (fluff)

TODOROKI S.; unraveled (hurt/comfort)

KIRISHIMA E; safe haven (fluff)

TODOROKI T; happy birthday, i miss u (angst)

URARAKA O; peach flavoured (suggestive)

please read this before interacting with my blog

DNI if: homophobic, transphobic, racist, xenophobic, zionist, mean just for the sake of it— i want my blog to be a safe space for everyone, so i won’t entertain any type of hateful behaviour

MY WRITING: unless you specify otherwise in the requests i’ll mostly write gn!reader to include everyone, no use of y/n, no description of reader unless relevant to the plot, mostly focused on angst and fluff, occasional suggestive content

I WON’T WRITE: explicit smut (for now), incest or pseudo-incest, non-con or dubious consent, pedophilia, big age gaps, abusive relationships, romanticed toxicity, hateful content, triggering content regarding mh, suggestive content involving minors

𝜗ৎ GREAT MINDS | MIDORIYA I.

PAIRING: izuku x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: wait, you understand him?! really?!

TAGS: fluff, third year characters, pre dating, nerds in love, a little participation from other characters

a/n: AAAAA this is so cute, I love it! ty for suggesting it, I hope I did your vision justice! also, sorry for the wait, but I’ve got exams coming up and most of my time is going on studying lately :(

Izuku had never considered his muttering a real problem. Sure, he sometimes did it without noticing, which might have been a little worrying in hindsight, but it still wasn't anything major. He couldn't help it if his brain worked too fast for him to catch up properly to his thoughts— his head was more often than not like some sort of chaotic jungle, polluted by many different noises going off at the same time.

Saying his thoughts out loud helped him make sense of the mess. It created some order in his brain and quietened the noises until he felt like he could finally breathe again.

Of course, he knew it was annoying to those around him. Kacchan had made it his mission to get it into his head when they were younger, but he wasn’t the only one. Even those who didn’t say it directly to his face showed how little they cared about what he was saying by ignoring him or simply moving along. It was a little disheartening, but he understood their motives.

So, growing up, he tried to keep it at bay. It wasn’t easy to stop something he’d been doing practically his whole life without even meaning to, but he tried, for everyone's sake. It was manageable most of the times, unless he was particularly excited or invested in a topic.

So, when, during a completely ordinary 3A class’ movie night, they decided to watch an All Might movie...

"-and it doesn't make sense of them to show Slingshot after the fight with Freezer when it actually happened first. Slingshot was in July and Freezer... was it August? No, he went on the island to get the new costume first, so Freezer must have been later, probably in October or something, which makes even less sense since he's been wearing the same costume all this time and it's only because of the new technology that he had no problems beating Freezer, so-"

He hadn't even noticed he was saying those things out loud until a pillow hit him right in the face— courtesy of Kacchan, of course. He supposes he should consider himself lucky it wasn’t one of his explosions.

He yelps in surprise, putting an abrupt stop to his muttering. When the pillow falls in his lap, he blinks, as if snapped out of a daze. He sees the movie paused on the tv screen and all eyes of his classmates on him— some amused, others annoyed. It’s enough to make his face flush in embarrassment.

“Ah, sorry everyone,” Izuku laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got a little carried away.”

Instinctively, his eyes dart to the side, to the beanbag you’re sharing with Mina. His breath catches when he finds you already looking at him, but with a different expression from the rest of the class— eyebrows furrowed and a small frown on your lips, as if you're confused about something. He almost thinks you look cute, until it hits him why you’re looking at him like that.

Because he’s being weird. What kind of eighteen years old and soon to be pro hero would ramble in front of a tv screen like a child? God, did he just ruin all the progress he made with you those past months?

The thought makes his stomach revolt and he feels a sharp pain jabbing at his chest.

The two of you are friends and, sure, you've been in the same class for two years now, so you're already accustomed to his little quirks, but that doesn't mean he still doesn't want to impress you. He wants you to think he's cool, not a rambling idiot— which is probably the image he’s giving now.

“Sorry guys,” he repeats, his voice strained with the effort of not letting his true feelings show. He curls up to the edge of the couch, making himself appear smaller. “You can start again, promise I’ll be quiet."

He's ready to spend the following hour shallowing in his own shame, but, before anyone can press play-

"What's up with the new costume?"

Izuku heads snap, his eyes finding you again. For a moment, he thinks he heard you wrong. “What?"

"The new costume," you repeat, "You said it helped him win, so what was so special about it?"

"You understood all that?!" someone— probably Kaminari— screeches from the other side of the room, but Izuku doesn't pay it any mind. All he can focus on is you— the way you’re looking at him, the focus in your gaze and the curiosity lacing your voice.

You were listening to him. You were actually interested in what he was rambling about and tried to understand what he was saying instead of just brushing him off.

The realisation makes his chest feel warm.

If he wasn't already so smitten, he was sure he would have fallen for you right this moment.

His focus returns to the conversation at hand just in time to hear your response. "Yeah? It's not that hard.” You say, shrugging. “Besides, Izuku always makes good points, of course I'll listen to him."

Oh, okay. There goes his heart, apparently. It’s definitely not supposed to beat this quickly.

You turn back to him with a gentle smile on your face, clueless of the fireworks you set off in his heart. "So, the costume."

"Uh, yeah." He clears his throat. "Basically, since the fight with Slingshot reduced the old costume to shreds, they made the new one with thicker fabric, but they were scared it could overheat in the summer, so they added a thermoregulating system that ended up helping fight off Freezer's ice."

You hum in understanding, nodding your head. "I'm just glad they got rid of the old design. It was tacky as fuck."

Izuku chuckles, surprised but also amused by your bluntness— just one of the many traits of yours he absolutely adores. He feels himself relaxing again, the tension easing off his body the more he talks to you— the more he realises you want to talk to him. “I don’t know, I’m pretty attached to the first costume. It’s nostalgic.”

“Of course you’d say that," you snort quietly, shaking your head in a display of exasperated fondness— fondness for him, can you believe it? He certainly doesn't, just like he doesn’t expect the smile you send his way— soft in a way that feels almost too raw. Too open for two friends.

"Are you two done flirting or...?" Sero asks, a teasing smirk plastered on his face as he lets his eyes travel between the two of you. However, it quickly slips off his face when your foot connects with his back, sending him toppling to the floor.

"Mind your own business," you grumble, and Izuku can't help but notice how your cheeks look more flushed than before.

ask and you shall receive (i really hope you like it!!)

𝜗ৎ FAMILY MAN | BAKUGO K.

PAIRING: dad!katsuki x mom!reader

SYNOPSIS: who knew it would take a daughter to turn him into a softie

TAGS: girl dad!katsuki, fluff, katsuki is a good father, some swearing, reader and katsuki are married

“Oi. That’s not food, shithead,” Katsuki murmurs roughly, but without any real bite in his tone. He’s using what you’ve recently started calling his ‘Kazue’s voice’— aka the voice he strictly uses when he’s talking with your daughter. It’s not exactly sweet or mellow— after all, it’s still Katsuki you’re talking about— but it’s softer, with a little tilt in the end that betrays the fondness lacing his every word.

The two of them are on the playing mat in your living room, while you supervise from the couch. Kazue is sitting down cross legged, her blonde hair— the exact same shade as her father’s— put up in two pigtails as she fiddles with the toys sprawled all around her. Katsuki is lying on his stomach beside her, only wearing a pair of sweatpants to fight the summer heat— you told him multiple times to turn the AC on, but he refuses to do so when Kazue’s in the room.

He’s not doing much, simply watching over her as she plays on her own, with his cheek resting on his arm. Sometimes she looks at him or hands him a toy and he’s quick to participate in her play pretend. Even if he’ll huff and complain about it, there’s no mistaking the uplifting of his lips every time he realises his daughter is looking for him. Affection mixed with pride twirl in his eyes, making him look more like a regular father rather than the fierce hero kicking villains’ asses for a living.

You raise your head from your book just in time to see him prying a doll from Kazue’s little fist, which earns him a disappointed whine in return and an undecipherable babble that oddly sounds like some sort of scolding. Kazue’s still too little to articulate properly— as of now, her dictionary only consists of Mama, Dada and another bunch of simple words to express her immediate needs— but with the way her nose turns up and her small lips tug into a frown, it’s easy to sense her disapproval.

“Foo!”

“Nice try. You ate an hour ago, brat,” Katsuki snorts, lightly poking her forehead with his finger. It makes Kazue babble some more, but now there’s a gummy smile on her face as she throws herself at him. Katsuki groans at the impact, but brings his arm around her regardless, steadying her as she lies down on his bare chest.

You shake your head in fond exasperation, barely resisting the urge to smile at the adorable sight. “You have to stop calling her a shithead,” you reprimand him softly. “She’ll latch onto it eventually.”

“But she is a shithead.” Katsuki smirks and casts you a look from over Kazue’s head. “Just like her mother.”

You flip him off, which only makes him laugh in response. Your annoyance, however, dies down the moment Katsuki turns his attention back towards your daughter, now all up in his face and patting his cheek with her tiny hand. You see his eyes soften and his smirk fading into a gentler smile, one you had only seen reserved for you before. He leans his head up, pretending to bite at Kazue’s fingers and making her shriek.

This time, there’s nothing stopping the smile from blooming on your lips. Seeing the two of them together like this always makes your heart feel so full and so grateful for what you have.

Without realising, your eyes drift to Katsuki’s ribs, where black ink swirls on ivory skin in the form of your daughter’s name. He had always been iffy about tattoos (“Why would I purposely stain my body? You know how hard I worked for it?”), but there had been no hesitation when he booked the appointment, barely a month after Kazue was born.

(He was also the one who chose the name. After months of researches, of testing names that, for one reason or another, never seemed to stick, it all fell into place one night, as you were lying in bed next to each other. You were on the verge of falling asleep when you felt him shift, his arm draping over your waist and his palm resting on your bump. “What about Kazue?” He had asked, his voice low against your ear. At your questioning hum, he went on. “For the kid. It means blessing or some shit like that. Corny as fuck, but it seems fitting.”

Despite him trying to brush it off, you heard it in his tone— just how much he meant those words. It would still take months for you to meet your daughter, but there was no doubt he was already in love with her.)

“Dada, no!” Kazue protests, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. She narrows her eyes at her father— not looking intimidating in the slightest with her chubby cheeks all puffed out and rosy.

“You’re the one slapping my face, brat. I can’t even defend myself now?” Katsuki retorts, in a feigned offended tone.

You breathe out a laugh, placing a bookmark in between the pages of your book before pushing it aside. The sound seems to catch Kazue’s attention, because it only takes her a second to turn around and make grabby hands at you. “Mama…”

You hum softly. “What, sweetie? Is Dada being mean again?”

“Oi, who the fuck are you calling mean?” Katsuki scoffs, while Kazue nods her head, smiling at her father’s expense. Katsuki sighs in defeat, but when his eyes meet yours, he flashes you one real, genuine smile. His free hand pats the spot beside him, urging you to get up and join them on the floor.

PAIRING: dabi x gn!pro hero!reader

SYNOPSIS: visiting your late friend’s grave for his birthday leads to a strange meeting…

TAGS: reader was a shiketsu student, childhood friends to strangers, light angst, some comfort if you squint, first meeting kinda?

Your foot sinks into the thick layer of snow covering the ground. It stopped snowing about two hours ago, but grey clouds still hang low in the sky. Another snowfall will probably come soon, hopefully once you’re already in the safety of your apartment.

You raise your shoulders as a gust of wind brushes past you, burying the lower half of your face in your scarf. The cold seeps into your bones despite the warm clothes you have on and you can only scold yourself for having forgotten your gloves at home in the middle of January. One of your hands is tucked securely into the pocket of your coat, but the other— the one holding the small bouquet of pink camellias— is slowly starting to turn numb.

Silence is your only company. Your steps don’t make a single sound in the snow, if not for the occasional sticks crashed under your boots. There’s no one in sight yet, but that doesn’t surprise you: you suppose most people prefer not going out in this weather, unless strictly necessary.

You have to walk a few more metres before you see the first stone. It’s a familiar one at this point, even tho you still have no idea whose family it belongs to. You lower your head— a subtle nod of respect to the souls resting underneath— and keep walking.

You don’t look at any of the tombstones you pass by. If you did, you’d feel the weight already pressing down on your stomach growing heavier. Somehow, it feels like the air gets colder with each stone you pass by. At the age of twenty-three, you’d think you would have gotten over whatever problems you had with cemeteries.

Clearly, that is not the case. Perhaps that’s why you haven’t visited once those past three years.

You fingers tighten around the flowers, tense. You count the gravestones in your head as you walk past them, head still bowed in respect. Your feet know where to take you and they halt once you hit ten in your head. You inhale, before raising your eyes from the ground.

There, in front of you, a familiar sight. The Todoroki family’s tombstone stands tall, a little distant from the others. It’s exactly as you remembered it, and you’re not sure whether that brings you comfort or unease. Because death stops the flowing of time. It doesn’t allow changes or growth, it only shows something already set, in time and in stone.

You lower your scarf to your neck and exhale, a puff of smoke escaping your lips and disappearing into the air. Your heart beats fast in your ears, filling the silence before your words can. For a moment, you just stare at the stone. Then, you lower yourself to your knees.

“Hi, Tou,” you say softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper, “I-I know it’s been a while, I’m sorry.” You lower your head again, taking a deep breath. Words swirl in your head, but your lips don’t move. It’s the first time in three years you’re even attempting to talk to him and you find yourself at loss for words.

It is painfully ironic. Talking with Touya had always came as easy as breathing to you, for as long as you can remember it. Even back when you were kids and you had a prominent lisp, he was one of the few people other than your parents who could actually understand you and that you felt comfortable talking to. And now? Now you can’t even string two words together for him.

You inhale through your nose and keep your eyes on the stone. It’s so… plain. You shouldn’t expect anything else from a gravestone, but it still feels wrong. Touya, so full of life, reduced to this. A piece of stone with no identity. Your eyes fall on the flowers and offerings on the bottom and your lips curl melancholically. That has Fuyumi’s doing written all over it.

You glance down at your own flowers, sighing. Your fingertips brush against the pink petals, feeling the softness of it against your skin. You had never gave too much thought to what flowers you brought him— maybe because you were younger then. You always brought what you thought looked good that day, as long as it was colourful.

“Flowers are a powerful language, my dear,” the old lady says, her hands gesturing at all the flowers around her, “beautiful things, sure, but they can say so much more, if you know how to listen. Tell me, darling, is there something you wish to communicate to this person? Something you want them to know?”

Your eyes clouds as you remember the conversation with the florist, barely an hour ago.

“Well, if you miss someone…” she trails off, wandering towards the back, “There are plenty of flowers for that. Forget-Me-Nots are a very common choice when it comes to show remembrance. Zinnias too, but…

Can I be honest, dear? I think for your case… these might be more fitting.” As she says that, she moves in front of a wall of pink flowers you don’t immediately recognise and plucks one from an already made bouquet, handing it to you. “Those are pink camellias. They’re also used to express longing for someone, but here’s the thing about camellias… when the flower starts to whiter and the petals fall, the calico falls with them, as if it can’t imagine staying up without them around. It seems silly to you, I understand, but many cultures see it as a sign of eternal love. An expression of desire to always be together, in life or death.”

The words sit heavy on your chest, but you don’t find it in yourself to deny them. After all, it is nothing but a truth you had acknowledged a long time ago— one you’d probably need to live with all your life. If your love for Touya hadn’t diminished almost a decade after his death, you doubted it ever would. It would always live within you, in the little spot it had carved inside your heart and called its home, long before either of you knew what love even was.

“So, how much for a bouquet of those?”

“I’ve been a little busy,” you continue, your voice soft. You slip one flower into the stone vase, careful not to ruin Fuyumi’s own composition. “Hero life is a real pain in the ass, let me tell you that. Always hopping from one place to another. But, well… I thought I’d stop by today. Wish you happy birthday properly.”

Silence falls as you arrange the flowers. The combination of pink and white brings some colour to the dull grey of the stone. You pull back to look at your work and your chest tightens. You really hate looking at this tombstone. It’s like a constant reminder of the wall that separates the two of you, one that you can’t get over.

It doesn’t matter how much you talk to him, you’ll never get an answer.

And yet, you do anyway. Just to keep that flickering hope alive that maybe he can still hear you. And that your voice, maybe, brings him the peace you find yourself still chasing.

“I guess some things changed since the last time I stopped by,” you murmur, feeling your stomach twist with guilt. It’s really been too long since you’ve visited him. It is incredibly stupid, but you can almost picture him frowning at you like he used to. Like he did when you first told him your parents wanted you to attend Shiketsu instead of UA.

“So you’re leaving me? But we said we’d be heroes together!”

“We promised!”

“You don’t want to come with me?”

You shake your head as if physically pushing those memories away, forcing yourself to smile. “The rankings for this year aren’t technically out yet, but… guess who’s finally in the Top 20? About time, right?” You laugh softly, pushing away the bitterness rising in your throat.

You know exactly why it took you these many years to get so high. Every time you got even a little near the top, the familiar sense of insecurity and guilt came crushing down on you. Before you knew it, you were slacking off again, purposely taking less jobs and interacting less with the people. As soon as your ranking dropped, you relaxed and went back to normal.

It had taken you years of therapy to understand the root of this problem, and even more to eradicate it. In your eyes, Touya had been your first failure. Before you even started training to be a hero, you had already failed to save someone dear to you. You had been close to someone who desperately needed a hand and you couldn’t give it to him in time.

How could you be a hero when you couldn’t even save your best friend? How could you deserve to be loved and praised when blame clawed at your heart every single day?

Your therapist had to tell you multiple times you weren’t at fault, but it hasn’t been long since you actually started believing it. Hence, why you were finally able to rank higher in the charts without self sabotage holding you back anymore. You still weren’t convinced you deserved it, but you’d take it. Maybe this was your form of atonement, to finally make things right.

You’re still lost in thoughts when you start to feel it, like a ping in the back of your head. Your back straightens and your ears perk up before your brain can even catch up— hero reflexes, probably.

Someone’s there. You don’t know why it bothers you so much— it’s a public graveyard, it is completely normal for people to come and go. And yet, this presence feels different.

Heavier, somehow.

You slowly turn your head and glance over your shoulder. Like you expected, there’s a figure standing a few feet away. The body structure tells you it’s a man, but that’s all the info you can get: with the hood pulled down and the scarf around his neck, only his eyes are left uncovered.

Uncovered and already set on you.

Your body jolts when your gazes meet, the blue in his eyes making your stomach churn. It’s so painfully familiar. Why did you have to go and see someone with blue eyes today of all times?

“Um, can I help you?” You ask, trying a polite approach— even if your guts are twisting right now.

The stranger doesn’t answer you, nor does he move. He remains standing still, his hands in his pockets and his eyes latched onto your figure. You try to gauge any emotion in them, but it’s a lost battle: they look as blank as ever, just silently observing you.

Weird.

Not wanting to start a fight in a graveyard, you decide to ignore him and return your attention to the tombstone. It’s the first time in years you visit Touya, you’re not getting your time cut short by some random weirdo.

You sigh softly and reach out a hand, your fingertips brushing against the etched writing in reverence. You find yourself wondering how different it would be if you could touch him instead, if your hand was touching warm flesh instead of this cold stone.

“Family?” You get startled by the low voice interrupting your thoughts. As distracted as you were, you hadn’t noticed the man from before stepping closer to you. You look to the side to face him, but he’s not looking at you anymore. His eyes are trained on the grave, still as emotionless as they were a moment ago. And yet, you notice the slight furrowing of his eyebrows.

“A friend,” you respond softly, dropping your hand to your knee. You don’t question why he’s talking to you. Graveyards are strange places: you remember how suffocating the eerie silence felt the first times, how you had to run away as fast as you could to finally be able to breath. “You? Who are you here for?”

The man shrugs, without taking his eyes off the stone. “Someone from my past.”

“That sounds… ominous,” you murmur to yourself. Unfortunately, the stranger hears you and lets out a low scoff of amusement.

“Good, that was the intention.”

You find yourself tempted to ask him more questions, but ultimately decide to keep your mouth shut. Surely it’s not your place to pry into a stranger’s life— or on their weird relationship to whoever they’re visiting in a graveyard. That sounds like an activity for acquaintances, at least.

He doesn’t seem to think the same.

“How old?” You understand he’s asking about Touya.

“He was thirteen when he died.” You reply, “He would have turned twenty three today.”

A slow hum reaches your ears. “Ten years and you’re still grieving him?” It doesn’t sound like an accusation. It’s more of an actual question. If you listen hard enough, he almost sounds… surprised. You look up at him and, this time, your gazes meet.

Once again, you feel your stomach fold in half, but you don't understand why. He's not sporting any particular expression, but the depth in his eyes is threatening to pull you in anyway. And somehow, it doesn't nearly sound as dangerous as it probably should.

You offer him a small smile. “I mean, not like before maybe, but..” you trail off, your voice soft, “I just- I miss him, you know? I might have gotten used to him not being here anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still wish he was. I don’t think that’ll ever change, no matter how much time passes.”

“Why?”

You blink at him in confusion. “Why what?”

“Why do you still miss him?” The man asks, like it’s obvious, “I’m sure most people would have forgotten about him after ten years.”

His words make your frown, mostly because of how sure he sounds when he says them. He’s not judging you, but he doesn’t understand you either. It’s like he never thought possible someone’s memory could be so cherished despite the passing of time. It makes you wonder how this man was raised and what kind of things he’s been told all his life.

“Touya is… not an easy person to forget,” you sigh softly, looking back at the stone in front of you. For the first time today, your lips curl into a genuine smile. Memories of laughters, of scraped knees and silly games are all you can think of. For a moment there, it doesn’t feel like January anymore— not with the warmth blooming inside your chest.

When you don’t get a response, you glance up at the stranger, only to find the spot beside you empty again. Confused, you look around you for any sign of him, but it’s no use. He’s nowhere near, gone as if the whole interaction didn’t happen in the first place.

PAIRING: pro hero!katsuki x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: tending to your boyfriend’s wounds

TAGS: established relationship, domestic fluff, soft!katsuki, some swearing

“Katsuki, I swear to God, I’m about to gouge your eye out if you don’t stop moving.”

“As if. I’d blast your ass before you could even get close.”

You roll your eyes, looking unimpressed. Katsuki’s threats stopped being menacing somewhere around a few weeks of knowing him, when you realised he didn’t really mean any of it. They’re more like filler words than anything. Vulgar, violent and unnecessary, but filler words regardless.

“Just stop squirming,” you sigh softly. Your fingers curl under his chin, gently tilting his head back. The warm light from above hits his face better now, red irises seemingly shining through half lidded eyes. You feel the weight of his gaze on your face as you move closer, but you don’t return it, attention focused on the patch of scraped skin at the end of his eyebrow.

It looked worse when he first got home. The blood had dried on his skin, dark and mixed with dirt. Seeing it now, clean after he took a shower, you can tell the cut isn’t actually that deep. Your main concern was getting it clean to avoid the risk of infection, which essentially meant making sure all debris were taken out of the wound. It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult task, but Katsuki was a terrible patient.

Which explains why you’ve been standing over him with tweezers in your hand for almost five minutes now, trying not to stab your boyfriend’s eye since he refuses to stay still.

“You should have gone to the paramedics,” you sigh, repeating those words for the umpteenth time. You can hear his answer in your head before he evens speak.

“What, for a fucking cut?”

“Katsuki, you hit your head against a window.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and waves a hand around. “Same thing. I was feeling fine and other people needed it more than me.” Then, his face splits into a teasing smirk. He leans back into his chair— moving again, for your happiness— and his hands reach for your hips, pulling you to stand between his legs. “Besides, why would I do that when I got a great nurse at home already?”

He says it sarcastically, but you know him well enough to know there’s something sincere underneath. You feel it in the way his thumbs sneak under your shirt to touch your bare skin, as if needing the contact between your bodies. You feel it in the way his head tilts easily into your hands, letting you fuss over him with nothing more than grumbled protests and no real attempts at pushing you away.

He’s not saying it, but he’s showing it well enough. In this moment, there’s no one else he trusts more than you to take care of him, even if it’s for something as small as a cut on his temple. You know damn well he could have handled it on his own, but he’s letting you do it anyways.

Perhaps he enjoys the feeling of you fretting over him, of being helped instead of doing the saving for once. Perhaps he knows how much you need to see for yourself if he’s actually okay whenever he gets hurt at work.

Or maybe, this is simply something you both need to ease your mind after a long day apart. Remind yourselves of the connection you have until your hearts finally settle.

You dab a clean towel on the area around the cut, gentle and careful to avoid the open wound. You reach for the ointment on the table and unscrew the cap. “How’s your head?” you ask softly.

Katsuki sighs again, but doesn’t try to evade your question this time. “S’fine,” he responds quietly, closing his eyes as your fingers rub the ointment on his temple. His hands slide down your hips to reach the back of your thighs, his palms absentmindedly rubbing against your bare skin.

“Does it hurt at all?”

“Barely. It’s just a light buzz,” he answers curtly, but not aggressively. You can see the signs of exhaustion on him, from the breathy quality of his voice to the way his hands haven’t stopped touching you once. He blinks his eyes open, peering up at you through his lashes, and your heart squeezes at the unusual softness in his gaze, dazed and unguarded.

For someone so explosive, he looks oddly tame when he’s tired.

“Done,” you murmur, receiving only a hum of acknowledgement in response. Your lips curl into a faint smile and you don’t resist the urge to run your fingers through his hair, soft and slightly damp from the shower. You see Katsuki’s shoulders sag as he sighs, as if finally free of the heaviest of burdens.

Your digits weave through blonde strands for a few moments, before his fingers curl around your wrist, stopping your motions. You raise an eyebrow at him, questioning, but Katsuki only looks at you. Without uttering a word or taking his eyes away from yours, he pulls your hand closer to his face. His lips press gently against the centre of your palm, before drifting to the inside of your wrist, where they linger for a few seconds longer on your pulse point.

Then, as if nothing happened, he lets go of your hand and gets up on his feet. "Let's go to bed, I'm fucking beat," he murmurs gruffly as he walks past you, heading for the bed.

PAIRING: ochako x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: a study session with your girlfriend got unexpectedly heated…

TAGS: third year!characters, established relationship, slightly suggestive content, fluff

Peach flavoured lipgloss.

You can feel it everywhere— sitting on your tongue, glistening on your lips, most likely smeared across your face. It’s sticky and kind of annoying, but it tastes so good it numbs every other sense, making up for the slight discomfort. You think you might be addicted to it.

Or perhaps just to the person wearing it.

What had started as a normal study session in your room had soon escalated. Your girlfriend came by in the afternoon and you laid in bed beside one another, with your books and your notes open right in front of you as you prepared for an upcoming test. At first, you just went back and forth questioning each other, occasionally stopping to explain something the other hadn’t understood. It was going well… for the first twenty minutes or so.

Boredom was quick to find you. Your questions had gotten sloppier and your answers shorter. Neither of you seemed to be focused on what needed to be done anymore. When you suggested it, you hadn’t thought much of it.

A kiss for every right answer. It was supposed to be a light and funny incentive to keep you both motivated— and maybe get some kisses from your girlfriend while you were at it.

Except it worked too well. That’s how you ended up in this predicament.

Small pecks turned into deeper kisses, brief caresses turned into hands grasping at whatever they could reach. You got closer and closer to each other like two magnets and at some point Ochako ended up draping herself on top of you, moulding your bodies together. Your hands found her waist, hers tangled into your hair— holding on, clinging.

Her mouth pressed against yours is a high you’ll never get used to. Ochako approaches love like she does with everything else in her life: warm and gentle like the sun, but with an underline passion that runs hot in her veins. You feel it in the way her hands angle your head to pull you in deeper, while her thumbs caress your jaw as if you were made of glass. You feel it in the way her tongue coaxes your mouth open, while little pecks are pressed upon your lower lip.

Being loved by Ochako means being basked in sunlight even in the colder days. It means feeling so light you wonder how can your feet still touch the ground.

Your hands slide underneath her shirt, your fingertips skimming tentatively over the soft flesh of her lower back. You feel her pushing herself closer to you in response, her hips slotting against yours in a way that makes you whine against her lips, and that’s all the confirmation you need to keep going. You slowly trail your fingers up her spine, pleased at the little shivers that go through her body and that tiny gasp that falls straight into your mouth.

Her own hands start to wander. She keeps one of them on your face, cupping your cheek so tenderly you almost don’t notice when the other starts to move. Her fingertips trail down your neck, touching your skin with the delicacy of a feather. They touch the exposed skin of your collarbone and trace the curve of your breast through your shirt before they curl around your waist, digging gently into your flesh.

You raise your head to chase after her lips when she breaks out for a breather, pulling her back in another kiss before another second can pass. Ochako smiles a little at your impatience, but she’s quick to let her tongue tangle with yours again. You think you’ve never understood addiction until the first time you kissed her a few months ago and decided that was what you were meant to be doing for the rest of your life.

You drop your hands to her waist again, trailing them up her sides to lift her shirt. When you reach a certain spot, however, you feel her squirm out of your grasp and giggle into your mouth.

“Tickles,” she murmurs against your lips, causing you to laugh too.

“Sorry, baby,” you respond softly, bringing your hands back to her waist. You open your eyes to look at her and your chest warms at the sight. There’s a pink flush on her cheeks and her lips are red and swollen from all the kissing, but it’s the look in her eyes that gets you. Half-lidded, pupils so wide her eyes almost look pitch black.

When she notices you staring, she smiles down at you.

“Hi,” she whispers, nudging your nose with hers.

You chuckle quietly and return the gesture. “Hi,” you murmur, stealing a quick kiss from her lips. “We should get back to studying.”

Ochako groans against your lips, pulling back to look at your face. “Do we have to?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you respond. You smile fondly as a frown adorns her lips and raise your hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. She sighs and leans into your touch, cocking her head to the side— which is unfairly adorable.

“Five more minutes?”

“Sweetheart-“

You don’t even have the time to answer before her lips are back on yours. Unlike before, her kisses are slow and gentle this time, barely anything more than a fleeting brushing of lips against one another.

You know exactly what she’s playing at. Her patterns of manipulation are easy to recognise by now.

Which, unfortunately, doesn’t mean they’re also ineffective.

“Two more minutes?”

PAIRING: pro hero!eijirou x fem!pro hero!reader

SYNOPSIS: hero work is a pain the ass, but thankfully you have your own emotional support system at home

TAGS: established relationship, domestic fluff

You have no idea how you managed to get home without falling over on the way. You stumble inside like a drunkard, despite not having an ounce of alcohol in your body— unfortunately, you might add. That would be more pleasing.

Your feet ache from all the running and jumping you did, your back is killing you and you’ve became aware of muscles you didn’t even know you had. You’re pretty sure you never used your quirk this much since the war, which explains why you feel so drained right now— to the point where even thinking tires you out.

You close the door with a snap of your hip, uncaring for the way it slams against the walls. Your neighbours aren’t home at this hour anyway. Even if they were, they wouldn’t complain when they practically worship the ground your boyfriend walks on— not like you blame them, you still have to meet one person who’s immune to his charms.

Just as you lean down to take your shoes off, said boyfriend peeks his head from the kitchen’s doorway. The usual red spikes on his head are gone, hair flat and pushed back by a bandana. His bulky arms are exposed by the compression shirt he’s wearing, tucked inside a pair of baggy sweatpants that sits low on his hips. You’d focus on how effortlessly handsome he looks if only you weren’t so relieved to see him.

He seems to be thinking the same thing: the moment his eyes settle on you, he smiles so brightly it looks like the sun burst in through the window. “Would you look at that! I thought I felt a earthquake, but turns out it’s only my gracious girlfriend,” Eijirou laughs, already stepping closer to you. He reaches out to take your bag and helps you out of your jacket, hanging both of them near the entry before you can do it yourself.

The gesture makes you smile a little, but it doesn’t surprise you. Taking care of you seems to be wired into Eijirou’s brain— you can see it by how naturally he does things for you like it’s second nature, without having to think about it or being asked. If you pointed it out, he’d just shrug and say it’s his duty as your boyfriend and that he’s “forever glad to be given the opportunity to spoil you”— which is so corny but also so damn sweet. Especially knowing he means every single word.

Once he’s done, he returns his attention to you. His hands, so big they could swallow your entire face, cradle your face as gently as always, before he leans down to kiss your forehead. His lips are chapped but warm nonetheless, brushing your skin as if he’s afraid of hurting you. He doesn’t do it because he thinks you’re weak— quite the opposite, actually— but he wants to be gentle with you. He’d be caught dead before he causes you any harm.

He notices the way you melt into him then, your eyelids fluttering closed as a soft hum escapes your lips. Your arms wrap around his waist, fingers curling around the back of his shirt to keep him in place. He immediately gets the hint and pulls you against his chest, hard rock muscles pressing up against you while his arms envelop you.

“Rough day, huh?” He asks softly, to which you only hum in response. You tuck your head underneath his chin, nuzzling into his neck. You can smell the scent of his body wash— something earthly, kind of like wood, that immediately eases your mind. One of his hand rubs your back in big circles, while the other tangles into your hair. You almost moan out loud at how good it feels, at how your body progressively grows more lax in his hold.

“I’m not taking interns next year,” you murmur into his neck, feeling the toll that even speaking takes on you. You just want to flop down on your bed and fall asleep. Possibly for a few days.

He laughs softly. “You say that every year,” he reminds you, while patting your head.

“Yeah, but I mean it this time.” You don’t. You’ll probably keep taking interns and complain about it, because that’s just who you are. You sigh, resting your chin on his collarbone to look up at him. “It’s just… it was one thing after another today. It’s already hard when I’m on my own, but I also had to look after two kids and make sure they were safe at all times.”

Eijirou hums in understanding. He knows what you’re talking about: the weight pro heroes already carry on their shoulders every single day is only meant to get heavier when you have students working with you. It’s an honour to be able to teach the next generation— that is something you both agree on— but it’s also a great responsibility.

“Well, were they?” he asks, voice tender as he brushes the hair out of your face. “Safe, I mean.”

“…yeah.”

He smiles down at you, his lips curling in a way that makes your stomach flutter. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, like you’re the strongest and most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life. If his eyes could sparkle, they would. “Then you did your job well and you can be proud of yourself,” he whispers, “I know I am.”

You huff softly, shaking your head, but your lips quirk up slightly anyway. It’s impossible for you not to react when your boyfriend is being his usual sweet self. You wonder what kind of miracle you must have done in your past life to land someone like him. Some days you’re not sure you deserve it, but you’re too selfish to give him up.

“Thanks,” you murmur, before slumping into him once again, “but I’m too tired to be proud right now.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Eijirou muses quietly, a hint of fond amusement in his tone. His arms are steady around you, holding your weight up without budging. He leans his head down, brushing another kiss against the top of your head. “Want me to run you a bath? I can also give you a massage later if you’re sore.”

“Too tired,” you repeat, your words lost against his neck. A bath does sound nice, but that would require you going up the stairs…

“It’s fine, I’ll carry you,” he offers genuinely, as if reading your mind. When you cast him a look, he’s still smiling.

PAIRING: teacher!izuku x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: cuddling to sleep with your boyfriend is probably your favourite thing in the world; now, if only you could get him to come back to bed…

TAGS: established relationship, domestic fluff

You’re awoken by the sound of rustling somewhere nearby. It only lasts a few seconds, before silence falls again. For a moment, you think you only imagined it.

You don’t bother opening your eyes as sleep already threatens to claim you once more. Your mind is still clinging to whatever sweet dream you were having before stirring, your limbs slowly growing heavier. You feel your consciousness slipping away and instinctively shift towards your left, expecting to find the familiar silhouette of your boyfriend.

That doesn’t happen.

Your eyebrows furrow, confused, and a small frown adorns your lips. Izuku usually takes more than half of the bed on his own. Not to mention, he’s kind of a barnacle: he refuses to sleep without some kind of physical contact between you two, even settling for touching feet under the sheets when it’s too hot to cuddle properly.

You extend your hand, blindly searching for your boyfriend’s body. Instead of solid muscles, however, your palm ends up patting the mattress. It’s cold, as if it’s been empty for a while.

That’s when you finally wake up fully, forcing your eyes open despite your body’s protests. You expect darkness and long shadows, but that's not what awaits you. There's a faint light casted across the bed, one that can't come from the outside, since you remember closing the blinds before tucking yourself in. You blink slowly, allowing your eyes to wander across the room to find the source of the light. It doesn't take long for them to find it on the far right corner of the room.

Izuku is hunched over the desk, a small lamp turned on right in front of him. His back is turned to you, but that’s enough for you to notice the signs of tension in his body: the stiffness in his shoulders, how he runs his fingers through his hair, how his sighs are deeper than usual, albeit still soft. Despite it all, it's clear he’s trying his best to be as quiet as possible.

You glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand and exhale. It’s far too late for him to be up and about— especially on a Friday night, after an entire week of work. Izuku never complains about his students— he loves them too much for that— but you can imagine how difficult it is to try to keep a bunch of overexcited teenagers in line.

You pull the sheets away from your body, silently climbing out of bed. The pavement creaks underneath your feet, but Izuku doesn’t notice. He seems too focused on whatever it is that he is doing to be aware of his surroundings— and probably too tired to pay attention to more than one thing at once.

Once you’re standing right behind him, you're able to peek at the desk. You have to suppress an eye-roll. Of course he’s working, what else did you expect? There are two piles of papers, one on either side of him, and pens scattered all over the wooden surface. A history book is open on his left— probably the one he uses in class— and there are multiple tabs open on the computer on his right, mostly articles and an online dictionary.

Izuku jumps when you wrap your arms around him, as if you snapped him out of some kind of trance. You feel him relax when you rest your chin on his shoulder, an exhale escaping him as he leans back into you, tension easing off his body. “You startled me,” he says softly, without looking at you. The pen on his hand moves swiftly over the paper: it circles and underlines words, occasionally adding little comments to the sides of his students’s works. “Why are you up, honey? It’s late.”

You huff at the hypocrisy. “I should be the one asking you that.”

He laughs. “Touché.”

Neither of you speak or a few seconds, the only sound coming from the drag of the pen on paper. He is still focused on his work, but something shifted in his behaviour: you can see that he’s also acknowledging your presence. His free hand comes up to your arms, fingers curling around your wrist as his thumb presses gently on your pulse point. He does that often, probably without even meaning to most of the time.

You hum softly. “You should be asleep,” you murmur, rubbing your nose against his cheek, "you need to rest."

“I know, I know,” he sighs. He leans his head back against your shoulder, finally meeting your gaze. You can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the small crease in between his eyebrows. When he looks at you, however, his face seems to soften, if only a little. “I’m almost done. A few minutes and I’ll join you, ‘kay?”

“That’s a few minutes too long,” you retort quietly. “Come to bed now.”

“Sweetheart-“

“Those papers won’t disappear overnight, you can keep grading them tomorrow,” you insist. You tilt your head and move forward, resting more of your weight on his back. Your lower lip juts out in a pout. “You’re neglecting me.”

“Huh?! I’m ne-“ Izuku splutters, his eyes growing wide. Something akin to panic flashes across his face, before he clocks the faintest twitch of your lips. He snorts softly, shaking his head in amusement.

“You’re messing with me.”

“For now,” you point out, voice playful. You nuzzle into his cheek, unable to help yourself. “But it is true that you’re picking boring papers over cuddling with your girlfriend, so…”

This time he knows you’re not serious, so he just laughs. He smiles up at you, soft and tired, but still as warm as always. His eyes almost seem to be shining from how glossed over they look— if that’s from sleepiness or affection, however, you’re not sure.

Izuku lowers his hand from your wrist, lightly patting his thigh instead. “Come here,” he says, a soft plea in his tone. He always gets clingy when he’s tired— more than he already is on the regular. When you don’t immediately move, he gently tugs at your hand, guiding you to straddle his lap.

He lets out a low groan when your weight presses down on him, as if the simple motion brought him immeasurable relief. His arms waste no time winding around your waist like vines, strong and tender at the same time: he holds you like you’re something sacred, something he never wants to let go of.

You raise a hand to run your fingers through his hair, unsuccessfully trying to tame the mess of curls sitting atop of his head, and that’s when he melts. His head falls forward, his nose nuzzling the spot that connects your neck and your shoulder. “See? Now we’re both happy,” he murmurs, dropping a brief kiss to your skin. “You're not being neglected and I'm still grading papers. It’s the perfect solution.”

You’re tempted to call him out on how he’s avoiding the main problem— namely the lack of rest that will inevitably catch up to him— but you don’t. After years of dating Izuku, you learned to pick your battles. When he peers up at you, his eyes soft and expression unguarded, you know you’re letting him have this one.

You sigh softly, glancing at the desk from over your shoulder. He wasn’t entirely lying before: the pile of still untouched papers is significantly smaller than the ones he has already looked over, which means he probably won’t take long to finish. You smile slightly as you catch sight of the encouragement he wrote on the last essay, paired with a small smiley face at the corner of the page.

“I suppose that’s fine,” you relent, returning your attention to him. “But I still don’t understand the rush. You have the whole weekend ahead of you.”

“That’s true,” Izuku muses softly, fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your shirt. His lips brush your neck in another sweet kiss, before he pulls back to look at your face. “But I have better plans."

You hum softly, resting your head on his shoulder. “Like what?”

Izuku’s lips curl as you lean against him. One of his arms tightens its hold around your waist, while he brings his other hand up to brush his knuckles over your cheek. “Like spending time with my girlfriend,” he responds, keeping his voice down.

When you look up at him, he offers you a sheepish smile. “I know you don't like me overworking myself, but I thought... if I manage to deal with all those papers tonight, it means I can dedicate myself to you during the weekend,” he explains, and the hope in his voice makes your heart melt. “It’s been a while since we spent time together like that. With no work or other distractions coming between us. I missed that.”

His words hang in the air, charged with something raw and open. You had noticed, of course, that your time together had been cut short lately. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but duty often got in the way of your daily life.

What you hadn’t realised, however, was how affected Izuku was by this. He’s still smiling, but you can see it in his eyes: a deep sense of longing he’s trying so hard to satisfy, at the cost of his own wellbeing. He’d rather lose sleep than spend another day away from you.

Because as long as he has you— happy and safe, and with him— then Izuku has everything he needs and more.

You bury your face in his shoulder, hiding the dumb, lovesick smile playing on your lips. “Better get to work fast then,” you murmur. “We got big plans tomorrow.”

You feel his body shaking with laughter and his arm tightening around your waist. His lips brush against the top of your head in a sweet kiss, a caress that disappear into your hair, before he picks up the pen again.