Here to chill

Today felt like a good day to remember Sanemi and Obanai.

So I wanted to keep these two photos together.

The first is softer. Both of them in the official image hoodies that capture their individual traits so well, standing close enough for the mood to shift without losing who they are.

The second is the version I always return to in a different way: in uniform, beneath the sakura, carrying that sharp and familiar tension they always seem to hold between them.

That contrast is exactly why I wanted to post them together. Not because they become different people, but because the distance between them changes depending on the world around them.

In the hoodies, there is still edge and sharpness, but also something quieter, more personal, like a memory that belonged to an ordinary day. In uniform, they feel severe, watchful, almost difficult to approach.

I like both versions very much. The tension. The balance. The strange way they never soften completely, and yet still look right beside each other.

So this is just a small Sanemi and Obanai memory for today. A pair of photos, a little difference in temperature, and a reminder of why this duo stays with me.

I looove his facial features so damn much, his scars give him so much more personality and let's not forget about those eyes (kind of scary but I love them) and I love how good quality this picture is <3 That's it for now!

Btw if Genya could talk without a mouth, make voice without vocal cords, and think without a brain — I m sure he could hear Sanemi without ears.

art credit: @fayeduhfuh on tiktok

The party is already in full bloom.

Laughter spills like sunlight through the apartment, blending with the hum of music and the clinking of glasses. Green and white streamers dangle from the ceiling, catching the glow of the string lights that Sero and Shouji spent an hour hanging — now draping the walls in soft, golden constellations. The scent of Sato’s frosting mingles with the lingering aroma of Yaoyorozu’s herb-roasted dinner, a cozy perfume of sugar and spice that clings to the air.

Izuku sits near the center of it all — relaxed, bright-eyed, sleeves rolled to his elbows, freckles dusted with the warm shimmer of the low lights. He’s talking with Kaminari and Iida, laughter bubbling at something ridiculous, his voice bright and unguarded. Kirishima’s trying (and failing) to get Bakugo into a photo; Uraraka’s giggling over a joke Jiro just told; and Todoroki is quietly nursing a cup of tea by the window, watching it all with that soft, contented calm that only comes with family.

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.