i write as a hobby so it'd be super appreciated if you understand that sometimes i can't update as much as other creators here. in this account i intend to create safe works only, my asks are not open at the moment as i really would love to improve my writing before writing any kind of asks!!
i have a lot of fandoms so my works may vary a lot because of it. i only write for fun so it'd be nice if you kept any mean comment for yourself unless it's intended to help improvement.
i don't really have anything else more to say abt this tbh so just feel welcomed to my blog!!
THANK YOUUU POOKIE, i rlly try so hard to make my writing as natural as possible(?? bc english isn’t my first language so it can be kinda hard sometimes, so hearing compliments like this is super encouraging ☹️🩷🩷
school been killing me lately BUT i’m also in my finals week so everything’s good, thx for asking:)) howw abt uuuuu
Ꮼ tw: no warning just sum silly gojo, just a tiny itty little bitty suggestive
the thing about “kissing the homie goodnight” with satoru was that it stopped being ironic weeks ago.
it started as a joke, sure. a stupid little routine after movie nights or training or him showing up at your dorm at ungodly hours whining about boredom. he’d lean in with that smug grin and go, “c’mon, manners. kiss your best friend goodnight.”
and somehow, somewhere along the line, it became real.
not that either of you admitted it.
tonight, though, you were exhausted. school had wrung you out completely; your notes were scattered across your desk, your eyes burned, and your brain felt like mush. satoru had appeared halfway through your breakdown with snacks and zero useful academic advice.
“maybe,” he’d said from upside down on your bed, “if you stopped looking at your homework like it just—”
“gojo.”
“right, right. tough crowd.”
now it was late. too late. the room was dim except for your desk lamp, and satoru stood by the door stretching lazily, shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of skin that absolutely did not help your concentration.
“well,” he sighed dramatically. “guess i should leave before you start missing me.”
“you’re fucking insufferable.”
“and yet you adore me.”
you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling a little despite yourself. “goodnight, satoru.”
he stared expectantly, you stared back. “…what?”
“aren’t you forgetting something?”
“oh my god.”
“there it is,” he grinned. “the nightly homie kiss.”
“it’s literally embarrassing that you still call it that.”
“but you still do it.”
you hated that he had a point.
with the deepest sigh you could muster, you stepped closer and grabbed the front of his jacket, tugging him down just enough to press a quick kiss to his mouth.
you meant for it to be quick.
satoru clearly had other plans.
the second you pulled back, his hand slid automatically to your waist, warm and annoyingly firm, fingers curling there like he belonged. “mm,” he hummed thoughtfully, way too pleased with himself. “weak effort tonight.”
“you are so annoying.”
“and stressed,” he added softer this time, thumb rubbing once against your side. “been frowning for like six hours straight.”
your expression faltered a little. “school sucks.”
“yeah,” he said easily. “but you’re doing fine.”
the sincerity caught you off guard more than the touching ever did.
which was probably why you made the mistake of looking at his mouth again.
satoru noticed immediately, because of course he did.
that stupid grin returned slowly. “you wanna try again, don’t you?”
“no.”
“liar.”
before you could argue, he leaned down himself this time, kissing you properly — still playful, still light, but slower. his hand slipped from your waist to your hip, fingertips brushing the curve of your lower back and barely grazing lower for a second just to make you jolt.
“satoru—”
“what?” he said innocently against your lips. “just supporting my homie emotionally.”
“you’re the worst.”
“and yet,” he murmured, stealing one more kiss, “you look less stressed already.”
Like, thank you so very much for blessing me with your literary masterpieces. 🙇♀️🙇♀️🙇♀️
I love, love, love the teru fic 💗🫶.
So much love from my side.
Take caree 😋
AWWW THX, you’re genuinely so sweet omg. i know english isn’t my first language so i try rlly hard to make everything look right and this is just so encouraging istg tyyyy ☹️☹️☹️💕
✦ easy and quiet mornings with nanami and sick reader.
morning didn’t interrupt, it came gently as the rays of sun spilled over the sheets, filtered through the curtains and hugged them warmly over messy bedsheets.
the air was silent and comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t disturb you but comforts you instead and that it’s filled with little somethings that made your chest feel warm and your body sink even more into the sheets such as, or maybe it was the fact that nanami had stayed the morning after a very disastrous night that made your chest flutter with happiness.
you were already awake even if your body hasn’t completely followed up yet. your body remains half-sunk in bed, with the blanket twisted around your waist and head heavy against the pillow, feeling that residue of the flu that does not go away completely, that remains like a low fog in the chest and nose. it’s not bad. but it's not completely fine either. and even then... there is no urgency in that.
barely turn your head, slowly, as if any more movement could break something you don’t want to break.
nanami is still asleep.
and there is something in that image that makes you stop; the way he rests without any tension, the rhythm of his breathing, the way is presence seems to calm you almost immediately upon looking at him, as if even sleeping he held that stability you are still surprised to find in a person. you stay there, looking at him, with no clear reason, not trying to justify it… you just do it. and for a second, you can’t think of anything else.
not like you needed an excuse anyway. nanami was your boyfriend. you could stare at him all that you wanted, but even if you did you would still be wondering how the fuck does this man manage to calm you so easily without any efforts.
until the congestion reminds you again that your body is still there, sick and surviving the flu.
you frown a little and now suddenly aware of how close you’ve come to nanami. inhaling through your mouth you move away slightly, as if that sudden closeness had become a real risk.
nanami had woken up too as you wipe your nose awkwardly whilst blindly looking for a handkerchief on the bedside table. he shifted a little bit on the bed seeking your warmth in the early morning, and when you speak, your voice comes out low and rough with both sickness and sleep.
“don’t get so close.”
there was no venom in your tone, but there was a clear intention to mark distance, even if minimal. you raise a hand between you two as a warning, as if you would draw an invisible line in the hair that marked the limit just like children do.
nanami doesn't respond immediately. he doesn't open his eyes right away either, but his breathing barely changes, enough to make it clear that he is no longer asleep.
“why?”
you snort, like the answer was obvious, finally finding the handkerchief and using it carelessly.
and well, maybe it was obvious.
“because i’m sick,” you say flatly. “you’re going to get sick too if you get too close.”
there was a short pause, not necessarily awkward. just… measured. enough time for nanami to process your words in his barely-awake mind.
nanami opens his eyes.
he looks at you.
and you know, even before he gets the chance to say anything, that he’s not going to listen to you.
“it is not relevant,” the answer finally comes, as calm as it was firm.
“what you mean it’s not relevant?” you turn a little more towards him to get a better look of him, incredulous. “it’s literally a virus.”
“i know.”
“so why—“
but the phrase is left halfway, because nanami is already moving. he shortens the distance with the same effordness he would do any other every day thing.
you try to pull back while dragging the pillow with you in a clumsy gesture.
“baby, seriously. no—“
“good morning.”
and before you could finish opposing, nanami kisses you.
there’s no hurry in the gesture, doubt. it’s a simple, direct kiss, the type of contact that seeks nothing more than to exist, as if it were part of a routine that doesn’t need to be justified. it doesn't last too long before nanami is pulling back again.
you stay very still when you two separate.
looking at him with that mixture of disbelief and something softer that you doesn't bother hiding.
"you’re an idiot."
nanami doesn't seem affected by the insult. he barely settles a little better on the mattress, leaning on his elbow.
"most probably."
you shake your head, as if that confirmed something you already knew, but you don’t pull away any further. in fact, the distance you’d been trying to put between each other slowly crumbles almost without you noticing.
"you’re going to get sick, kento," you insist, although the strength of the warning is no longer the same.
nanami observes you calmly, without rushing to answer, as if he chose each word well even if it doesn't seem like it.
"that’s the least of my worries.”
you narrow your eyes.
"oh, is it now?”
“mhn.”
the pause that follows isn’t long, but is still enough to make it almost too much.
“greeting you like this is far more important.”
you open your mouth, ready to respond with something ironic, something that pulls the moment back into safer and much more manageable territory. but nothing comes out. so you just lay there, looking at him as if you didn't know very well what to do with what you just heard.
“… that’s ridiculous,” you mutter finally, looking away.
but there is no bite in it.
nanami reaches up, just as calm as always, and brushes a loose strand of hair off your forehead. a simple gesture, and one that shouldn’t matter much. you don’t move, don’t pull away either. you just let it happen.
“how are you feeling?”
you exhale, or try to, and cringe at the feeling of your snot making its way out of your nose again, wiping it off with the handkerchief.
“a little itty tinny bit less dead,” you dramatize, because of course you do.
a pause.
“still a biological hazard.”
nanami nods like that’s useful information.
“then i’ll make sure you stay in.”
you let out something between a scoff and a laugh.
“you can’t just keep me here.”
“i can try.”
That gets a real laugh out of you—low, still rough from the flu.
you shift again, this time without trying to keep distance, settling a little closer like there’s no point fighting something you clearly aren’t going to win.
“it’s your day off,” you murmur. “you shouldn’t be taking care of a sick person.”
nanami looks at you.
“i am right where i want to be.”
the silence that follows doesn’t weigh anything down.
you close your eyes for a second, breathing slower, letting that settle without overthinking it. when you open them again, the edge is gone from your expression.
“you’re too much.”
“I know.”
you hesitate—just a second—and then move on your own, leaning in until your forehead rests against nanami’s. it doesn’t feel new anymore, but it’s not automatic either.
it’s still a choice even after so much time, a choice you will be continue to pick.
“if you get sick,” you murmur, “i’m not taking care of you.”
nanami doesn’t pull back.
“you will.”
a small smile appears at the corner of your mouth, tired but real.
“yeah.”
and you stay like that, not doing anything else, not needing to add words or gestures that would complicate something already simple. outside the window that continues to cast the same faint morning light through the curtains, the world keeps moving; noise, deadlines, everything waiting. but in that room, in that still-messy bed, everything slows down.
and for once, even sick, even uncomfortable—
you don’t feel like you have to rush anything.
just stay.
note: heh, first fic posting… kinda nervous… i had SO much fun writing this. kinda self insert bc i do have the flu right now and needed the comfort lwk
all work belongs to @meqoww do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. do not feed my work to ai platforms, respect the author.
the student council room was quiet in that weird way it only got late at night. not peaceful exactly—more like exhausted. papers scattered across the table, the clock ticking too loud, moonlight slipping through the windows in pale strips across the floor.
you’d only meant to wait for him a little longer.
that was, like… an hour ago.
now you were curled up sideways on the couch with your cheek pressed against the armrest, half-covered by a blazer someone had tossed over you earlier. probably akane. it smelled faintly like expensive detergent and dust from old books.
the door clicked open quietly.
teru stepped inside still holding his exorcist staff loosely in one hand, shoulders tense beneath his uniform. there was dirt near the edge of his sleeve. a small cut along his jaw.
he looked tired.
not normal tired either. the kind that sat deep in his bones.
his eyes lifted toward the couch automatically—and stopped.
“…oh.”
you were asleep.
your notebook had fallen onto the floor sometime earlier, one page bent awkwardly beneath your hand. your breathing was slow, face squished against the cushion in a way that should’ve looked stupid but somehow didn’t.
for a second, teru just stared.
the room suddenly felt too warm.
he set the staff against the wall carefully, almost silently, before walking over. the floor creaked once beneath his shoes. you didn’t wake up.
dangerous.
that thought came first.
not because of you. never you.
because anyone capable of making him soften this much was inherently dangerous.
teru crouched beside the couch slowly, resting one arm over his knee. up close, he could see how tired you were too. eyelashes fluttering faintly in your sleep. fingers curled into the sleeve of the blazer covering you.
akane’s blazer.
his smile twitched.
“…really?”
the jealousy was immediate and irrational enough to almost embarrass him.
you shifted slightly at the sound of his voice, brows pulling together for half a second before relaxing again. still asleep. cute.
that word hit him so hard it genuinely irritated him.
teru exhaled softly through his nose before reaching up carefully—carefully—brushing a strand of hair away from your face with the backs of his fingers.
you leaned into the touch unconsciously.
his entire body went still.
there was something deeply unfair about the way you trusted him without even realizing it. like your body had already decided he was safe before your mind could argue otherwise.
his gaze lowered to your hand still gripping the borrowed sleeve.
absolutely not.
teru moved quietly, slipping the blazer free from your grasp inch by inch before replacing it with his own uniform jacket instead. the fabric was warmer from his body heat.
this time, even asleep, your fingers grabbed onto his sleeve immediately.
a pause.
then, slowly—
teru smiled against his better judgment and rested his forehead briefly against the edge of the couch beside you.
“you’re gonna ruin me,” he murmured softly.
all work belongs to @meqoww do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. do not feed my work to ai platforms, respect the author.
OMGG HIII, i honestly didn’t know who korilakkuma was before you mentioned it so im pretty glad you did oml, having new moots is so exciting im crying shejejfj
Ꮼ tw: no tw, just pure fluff all over. soft but make it katsuki.
bakugo didn’t notice. not in the morning, not when he blasted through half a street chasing some low-tier idiot, not even when one of his sidekicks tried to say “happy—” and he cut them off with a glare sharp enough to shut anyone up. to him it was just another day, another shift, another weight sitting heavy in his bones that he didn’t bother naming.
by the time he’s heading home, it’s late. too late for anything that isn’t silence. his gauntlets hang loose at his sides, his costume’s a mess, there’s a thin cut on his brow he hasn’t even thought about. the city’s quieter now, dim lights and distant noise, the kind of night that usually swallows him whole without asking.
27.
means nothing.
that’s what he sticks with.
so when he opens the door, he’s already expecting the usual—darkness, still air, that empty, untouched space that waits for him and nothing else.
but instead—
light.
soft. warm. not enough to blind him, just enough to feel intentional. like someone thought about it.
his brows knit immediately.
“…what the hell—”
and then he sees him.
kirishima’s right there, sitting on the floor like he belongs there, legs stretched out, a takeout box open between two plates, and—jesus—some sad excuse of a cake with a crooked candle leaning like it’s seconds away from giving up.
bakugo stops in the doorway, staring.
kirishima looks up, already smiling, already too damn comfortable.
“you’re late,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “almost lost the candle like three times.”
bakugo shuts the door harder than needed. the sound echoes a bit.
“what are you doing here.”
it’s not really a question. it never is with him.
kirishima doesn’t flinch. just shrugs a little, nudging one of the plates forward with his foot like it’s no big deal, like they’re not standing in the middle of something that feels… different.
“celebrating.”
“i don’t celebrate shit.”
“i know.”
that should’ve started an argument. with anyone else, it would have.
but kirishima just… leaves it there. no pushing, no teasing, no trying to make it into something bigger. just that simple answer, steady and quiet in a way that sits weirdly heavy in the room.
bakugo clicks his tongue, annoyed at the way that lands.
“then get out.”
kirishima doesn’t move.
doesn’t even look offended.
“food’s gonna get cold.”
…tch.
bakugo exhales through his nose, yanks off his gauntlets, lets them drop on the table with a dull thud. he walks in, slow, like he’s still deciding if he’s pissed or just tired, eyes flicking over the setup again—the plates, the food, the stupid candle that’s somehow still lit.
it smells good.
too good for takeout.
“you cook this?” he mutters, more accusation than curiosity.
kirishima grins a little, sheepish.
“kinda. don’t roast me.”
“looks like shit.”
“yeah, well. you’re still gonna eat it.”
bakugo huffs, but he sits.
and yeah—he eats.
at first it’s quiet, just the sound of utensils and the faint flicker of the candle. kirishima doesn’t fill the silence like he usually would, doesn’t ramble or laugh too loud or try to drag something out of him. he just stays there, close enough that bakugo can feel it—his presence, steady, grounding, annoyingly… warm.
and that—more than anything—gets under his skin.
“it’s gonna go out,” kirishima says after a bit, voice softer now, nodding toward the candle.
bakugo glances at it. the flame wavers, small but stubborn.
“don’t care.”
kirishima hums, like he expected that.
“still. make a wish or something.”
bakugo scoffs, leaning back slightly.
“what am i, five?”
“didn’t say you were.”
there’s a pause. not awkward. just… full.
bakugo’s gaze lingers longer than it should—on the candle, then on kirishima, who’s watching him now, not pushy, not joking, just… there. waiting, but not expecting anything.
it does something weird to his chest.
annoying.
“…tch.”
he leans forward and blows the candle out in one short breath.
no wish. obviously.
but the second the flame disappears, the room feels… closer. quieter. like something shifted just enough to notice.
“happy birthday, katsuki.”
it’s quiet.
too quiet.
not “bakugo,” not “man,” not anything casual.
katsuki.
it hits. harder than it should.
bakugo’s jaw tightens a little, eyes flicking away like he’s dodging something.
“don’t call me that like it’s a big deal.”
“it is.”
the answer comes easy. no hesitation.
bakugo looks back at him then, sharp, ready to snap something back—but it dies somewhere in his throat, because kirishima’s not smiling the same way anymore. it’s softer now, steadier, something real sitting behind it that doesn’t ask for permission.
too close.
too much.
bakugo exhales, irritated, pushes his plate aside slightly just so he has something to do with his hands.
“…you’re staying?” he mutters, like it’s an afterthought, like he doesn’t care either way.
kirishima tilts his head.
“you want me to go?”
silence.
bakugo clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing.
“don’t be stupid.”
a beat.
“…stay.”
it’s low. rough around the edges. not loud enough to feel confident, but not quiet enough to take back.
kirishima blinks once—then again—and something shifts in his expression, something brighter, warmer, like the answer mattered more than he expected.
“yeah,” he says, softer now. “i’ll stay.”
and bakugo doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at him again right away. he just leans back, arms crossing loosely, the tension in his shoulders easing by degrees he won’t acknowledge.
the room settles around them—warm light, half-eaten food, the faint smell of something homemade—and for once, nothing feels like it’s pressing in on him.
no work. no fights. no noise.
just this.
just him—
and kirishima, close enough that the space between them doesn’t feel empty at all.
maybe 27 doesn’t mean anything.
…but this? this might.
note: had this one sitting in my notes for the longest time JUST for today. hbd bby tsuki i luv you w all my might, kiribaku shippers arise
all work belongs to @meqoww do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. do not feed my work to ai platforms, respect the author.
Ꮼ tw: angst, partial hearing loss, hurt, guilt, past injury, no proper apology, subtle trauma if you squint, hurt/comfort, post-war arc.
i.
the common room carried sound in layers, the kind that overlapped until it became a single, indistinct hum. conversations braided into each other, laughter rising and falling without a clear source, the television murmuring in the background while someone argued about it anyway. it wasn’t loud in a way that demanded attention, but it was constant, filling every corner until silence felt like something unnatural.
for you, it never quite landed the same way.
voices reached you softened at the edges, like they had to pass through something before they got there. you could hear them—most of the time—but clarity depended on distance, on direction, on how fast someone spoke or whether they turned their head halfway through a sentence. your hearing aids helped, a quiet, steady presence behind your ears, sharpening what they could and smoothing what they couldn’t, but they didn’t make things perfect. they never had. so you relied on everything else just as much—the shape of words on lips, the rhythm of a conversation, the way people’s expressions shifted before a joke landed.
it worked. it always had.
mostly.
“—and then he just—”
you caught that much, but the rest slipped under the noise, swallowed before it could fully reach you. someone laughed, loud enough that your hearing aids picked it up cleanly this time, and you smiled a second too late, piecing together the moment after it had already passed.
“hey, did you even hear that?”
kaminari leaned forward, grin wide, already halfway into repeating himself. you could see the exaggeration in the way he shaped his words, the instinct people had to overcorrect when they realized you hadn’t caught something.
“don’t.”
katsuki didn’t raise his voice, but it cut through anyway, sharp enough to halt kaminari before he could try again. he didn’t look at him when he said it, didn’t even shift much from where he sat, sprawled back like he had no real investment in the conversation. anyone who didn’t know him would’ve believed it.
then his hand moved.
the motion was quick, practiced in a way that didn’t draw attention unless you were already looking for it. it wasn’t exaggerated or slowed down for clarity; it was natural, like speaking without thinking.
wasn’t important.
you responded just as easily, your own hands moving without hesitation, the exchange so familiar it barely registered as something separate from speech.
figured.
it should have ended there. and for you, it did. but for the room, it didn’t.
the shift was subtle, but it was there—a pause that didn’t quite belong, a moment where the rhythm of everything faltered before picking itself back up again. it wasn’t loud or dramatic, just enough to be noticed by the wrong person.
“…since when do you know sign language?”
you turned your head, already knowing.
shoto stood a short distance away, his expression as composed as ever, his gaze steady in a way that made it clear he hadn’t just stumbled onto the observation. he had been watching. not intrusively, not with any kind of accusation, just with that quiet, methodical attention he gave to things that didn’t quite fit into place.
katsuki scoffed, the sound low and dismissive. “i don’t.”
“you just used it.”
“tch. picked up a few things.”
the answer came easily, like it had been prepared in advance, something simple enough to shut the conversation down before it could go anywhere inconvenient. under normal circumstances, it would have worked. most people would have left it there.
shoto didn’t.
“you answered without looking at them,” he said, tone even, more observational than challenging. his gaze shifted briefly to you, then back. “and they answered immediately.”
there was no accusation to it, no push for explanation, but the precision of it left very little room to deflect. it wasn’t curiosity for the sake of conversation; it was curiosity because he had already noticed the pattern and simply chose to acknowledge it out loud.
katsuki’s jaw tightened, a small, sharp movement that didn’t go unnoticed.
“got a problem with that?” he shot back, irritation edging into his voice now, not loud but pointed.
“no,” shoto replied after a brief pause. “just an observation.”
silence stretched, not empty but taut, like something pulled too tight without snapping. it lingered just long enough to be felt before kasuki clicked his tongue and looked away, the conversation effectively cut off by sheer force of will.
no one pushed further.
they rarely did.
ii.
the moment didn’t disappear, though. it settled instead, quiet and persistent, threading itself into the rest of the evening in ways that didn’t need to be acknowledged to be present. the room gradually softened as time passed, voices lowering, people drifting into smaller groups or leaving altogether, the layered noise thinning into something more manageable.
you stayed where you were, letting the environment shift around you, adjusting without effort the way you always had. it wasn’t difficult. it had never really been difficult.
it was just… constant.
“hey.”
you looked up, drawn out of your thoughts.
ochako stood beside the table, her expression gentle but uncertain, like she was aware she might be stepping into something personal and wasn’t entirely sure how to do it without overstepping.
“can i sit?”
you nodded, and she took the seat across from you, hands folding together briefly before she let them rest against the surface. there was a moment where she hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the rest of the room before returning to you, as if weighing whether or not to say what was on her mind.
she chose to.
“earlier… with bakugo,” she began carefully, her voice softer now, more deliberate. “did he learn that for you?”
the question wasn’t invasive, not really. it wasn’t prying in the way some questions were, wasn’t trying to dig into something raw just to understand it. if anything, it was gentle.
that didn’t make it easier to answer.
your fingers stilled against the table, the faint hum of your hearing aids suddenly more noticeable, not because it had changed, but because your attention had shifted to it. it was always there, that subtle presence, amplifying, adjusting, doing what it could to bridge the gap between what you could hear and what you couldn’t.
you didn’t look at her right away.
“…he was there,” you said instead, your voice even, measured in a way that didn’t invite further interpretation.
ochako blinked slightly. “there?”
“when I was learning.”
the explanation was simple, stripped of anything that might make it heavier than it needed to be. you traced a small, absent line along the edge of the table with your fingertip, grounding yourself in the motion.
“he just didn’t leave.”
it was the closest thing to an answer you were willing to give.
across the room, you didn’t have to look to know he’d heard enough to understand what you’d said. not because he was listening directly, but because he always seemed to catch the things that mattered without needing them to be said loudly.
ochako’s expression softened, something quiet settling into it as she absorbed the weight of what you hadn’t said just as much as what you had.
“oh,” she murmured, and left it there, and you were grateful for that.
iii.
memory didn’t return in pieces.
it came all at once, vivid in a way the present never quite managed to be.
the heat had been the first thing you noticed back then, thick summer air pressing against your skin, the ground warm beneath your shoes as you stood too close to something that felt more exciting than dangerous. everything had been louder then—clearer, sharper, each sound distinct in a way that didn’t require effort to understand.
you remembered the way he grinned, all confidence and impatience, sparks already gathering in his palm before anyone could tell him to stop.
you remembered izuku speaking, his voice quick and anxious, trying to interrupt, to redirect, to prevent something that was already too close to happening.
and then it did.
the explosion wasn’t what stayed with you.
it was what followed.
sound didn’t fade; it fractured. one moment it was there, overwhelming and immediate, and the next it had collapsed into something thin and distorted, a sharp ringing cutting through everything else as the world seemed to tilt out of place. your ears burned, your balance faltered, and suddenly the clarity you had taken for granted was gone, replaced with something distant and unreachable.
izuku was in front of you, his movements frantic, his mouth forming words you couldn’t quite piece together, even though you could see them clearly. the disconnect was immediate, disorienting in a way that made everything else feel unreal.
behind him, katsuki had gone completely still.
the energy that had filled him moments before had vanished, leaving something rigid in its place, something that didn’t know how to move forward from what had just happened.
his mouth moved, slowly this time. carefully. like if he spoke differently, it would fix something.
you heard nothing but the ringing.
iv.
“hey.”
the present returned without force, slipping back into place as naturally as it had left.
you looked up to find him standing closer than before, across the room, not half-turned away like he usually was. his gaze flicked over you briefly, assessing, searching for something he never put into words.
he didn’t speak.
he rarely did, when it mattered.
instead, his hand lifted, the motion slower now, more deliberate than it had been earlier, like he was choosing each sign instead of letting them come automatically.
you okay?
the question sat between you, simple and direct in a way spoken words never quite managed to be.
you held his gaze for a moment, aware of the weight behind it, of everything that had never been addressed and likely never would be.
then you answered.
yeah.
it wasn’t a lie.
not entirely.
his shoulders eased just slightly, the tension leaving in a way that most people wouldn’t notice if they weren’t looking for it. he clicked his tongue, glancing off to the side as if the moment had already passed.
“good.”
the word came out rough, casual, stripped of anything that might make it sound like concern.
it was enough.
somewhere behind you, someone called your name. you caught the sound this time, faint but recognizable, your hearing aids picking up just enough for you to turn—
except you didn’t have to.
a sharp nudge against your arm stopped you first.
you looked back.
katsuki’s hand was already moving, the motion quick, certain, unhesitating now.
they’re calling you.
clear and impossible to miss.
you nodded, pushing yourself up from your seat, already turning toward the voice that had called you.
and as you moved, the realization settled in quietly, not new but never fully acknowledged.
once, he had said something you couldn’t hear.
now, he made sure you never had to rely on hearing it at all.
note: okay so school had me busy as fuck so i couldn’t post this before… kinda happy w the result tho. katsuki is my comfort char too so…….. hsjdjejdjd I LUB HIM SO MUCH
all work belongs to @meqoww do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. do not feed my work to ai platforms, respect the author.
Ꮼ tw: implied character death, hurt/no comfort, angst, aged up characters, grief & mourning, insomnia
the clock marked 2:17, but he still turned and tossed around on the bed. he hasn’t really been able to sleep ever since that day, not really. he wasn’t sure if the sheets were just still as messy as you left them before the mission, or he somehow managed to make them seem even messier.
moonlight barely lightened the room through open curtains that moved with the cool midnight air, and your things remained untouched where you last left them; some of your clothes still lay scattered around the room, your shoes sat by the vanity and the bed, but never in the closet. and for once, maybe megumi did miss having to keep telling you to organize them, just to hear your usual “i’ll do it later.
his phone rested in his hand as he dialed your number for the nth time that night. he heard it ring for what felt like an eternity until he could finally hear the sound of your voice on the other end of the call, even if it was just the voicemail. he let the line stay open longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the screen as if ending the call would make it final in a way he still wasn’t ready to accept.
it was stupid.
he knew it was.
missions went wrong all the time. people didn’t come back all the time. it wasn’t new, it wasn’t special, it wasn’t something the world would pause for.
so why did everything feel like it had.
the room didn’t move the same anymore. the air felt heavier, like it settled wrong in his lungs, like breathing had become something he had to remember to do instead of something that just… happened.
he pushed himself up from the bed eventually, more out of habit than intention, dragging his feet across the floor, careful—without thinking—not to step on the clothes still scattered where you’d left them.
his hand paused over one of your shirts.
he didn’t pick it up.
just looked at it, like if he stared long enough it would make sense—why it was still there, why you weren’t.
his phone buzzed again.
he didn’t need to check to know who it was.
he hadn’t answered any of them.
not since that day. not since they stood there, speaking in careful, measured tones, like if they chose the right words it would land softer. like there was a version of it that wouldn’t break something open inside him.
“we couldn’t—”
“there was nothing—”
“you should’ve—”
he’d stopped listening after that.
now the calls kept coming. messages piling up. concern, probably. instructions, maybe.
he turned the phone face down.
silence settled again, thick and suffocating.
for a moment, he almost expected to hear you—some small noise, a complaint about the mess, the quiet, the way he hadn’t opened the windows properly.
nothing came.
of course nothing came.
still, he found himself speaking anyway, voice low, rough from disuse.
“…you said you’d be back.”
the words sounded wrong when he said them out loud.
too simple for something that had carved itself this deep.
his grip tightened slightly against the edge of the vanity, knuckles paling as he exhaled slowly through his nose, like he could steady something that had already slipped too far out of reach.
morning would come eventually.
it always did.
and he knew—whether he answered the calls or not, whether he stayed in this room or walked out of it—
nothing waiting for him outside would include you in it, one where he could fly high with his lover beside him.
all work belongs to @meqoww do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. do not feed my work to ai platforms, respect the author.
i love them soo much they’re my pretty little babies that i love with all my might and heart and soul and and and—like look at them they’re just so baby they got me giggling and kicking my feet looking at them and qjdjejhdjej 🩷🩷
reqs are currently closed — i recently just started writing fics in this blog and would appreciate if you were considerate enough to not make any requests. i will open them in the future though, once i feel my writing is more decent and can fulfill people’s requests all the better!!
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ׄ ᱂ rules !!
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ׄ ᱂ what i do allow !!
little comments about my fics, both in comments and inbox. sometimes i don’t know how to react and it maybe or may not take me some time to answer, but it does make me super happy to know that there is people out there enjoying what i write and their thoughts on the fics.
recomms. i love them actually. feel very welcomed to reach to me about anything. i highly appreciate tips and suggestions or any kind of advice in general to improve my writing!!
moots. bb i’d love to be your moot, idk if you post or not i just feel like this special connection once i have a moot and they react in any way to my content. you can just ask and i’ll feel super happy to accept.
reblogs. i don’t have anything to comment about this one. i personally don’t see anything bad with reblogs. you’re sharing my content, my account is there, basically its giving me the credits (?) so it’s fine dw.
✦ easy and quiet mornings with nanami and sick reader.
morning didn’t interrupt, it came gently as the rays of sun spilled over the sheets, filtered through the curtains and hugged them warmly over messy bedsheets.
the air was silent and comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t disturb you but comforts you instead and that it’s filled with little somethings that made your chest feel warm and your body sink even more into the sheets such as, or maybe it was the fact that nanami had stayed the morning after a very disastrous night that made your chest flutter with happiness.
you were already awake even if your body hasn’t completely followed up yet. your body remains half-sunk in bed, with the blanket twisted around your waist and head heavy against the pillow, feeling that residue of the flu that does not go away completely, that remains like a low fog in the chest and nose. it’s not bad. but it's not completely fine either. and even then... there is no urgency in that.
barely turn your head, slowly, as if any more movement could break something you don’t want to break.
nanami is still asleep.
and there is something in that image that makes you stop; the way he rests without any tension, the rhythm of his breathing, the way is presence seems to calm you almost immediately upon looking at him, as if even sleeping he held that stability you are still surprised to find in a person. you stay there, looking at him, with no clear reason, not trying to justify it… you just do it. and for a second, you can’t think of anything else.
not like you needed an excuse anyway. nanami was your boyfriend. you could stare at him all that you wanted, but even if you did you would still be wondering how the fuck does this man manage to calm you so easily without any efforts.
until the congestion reminds you again that your body is still there, sick and surviving the flu.
you frown a little and now suddenly aware of how close you’ve come to nanami. inhaling through your mouth you move away slightly, as if that sudden closeness had become a real risk.
nanami had woken up too as you wipe your nose awkwardly whilst blindly looking for a handkerchief on the bedside table. he shifted a little bit on the bed seeking your warmth in the early morning, and when you speak, your voice comes out low and rough with both sickness and sleep.
“don’t get so close.”
there was no venom in your tone, but there was a clear intention to mark distance, even if minimal. you raise a hand between you two as a warning, as if you would draw an invisible line in the hair that marked the limit just like children do.
nanami doesn't respond immediately. he doesn't open his eyes right away either, but his breathing barely changes, enough to make it clear that he is no longer asleep.
“why?”
you snort, like the answer was obvious, finally finding the handkerchief and using it carelessly.
and well, maybe it was obvious.
“because i’m sick,” you say flatly. “you’re going to get sick too if you get too close.”
there was a short pause, not necessarily awkward. just… measured. enough time for nanami to process your words in his barely-awake mind.
nanami opens his eyes.
he looks at you.
and you know, even before he gets the chance to say anything, that he’s not going to listen to you.
“it is not relevant,” the answer finally comes, as calm as it was firm.
“what you mean it’s not relevant?” you turn a little more towards him to get a better look of him, incredulous. “it’s literally a virus.”
“i know.”
“so why—“
but the phrase is left halfway, because nanami is already moving. he shortens the distance with the same effordness he would do any other every day thing.
you try to pull back while dragging the pillow with you in a clumsy gesture.
“baby, seriously. no—“
“good morning.”
and before you could finish opposing, nanami kisses you.
there’s no hurry in the gesture, doubt. it’s a simple, direct kiss, the type of contact that seeks nothing more than to exist, as if it were part of a routine that doesn’t need to be justified. it doesn't last too long before nanami is pulling back again.
you stay very still when you two separate.
looking at him with that mixture of disbelief and something softer that you doesn't bother hiding.
"you’re an idiot."
nanami doesn't seem affected by the insult. he barely settles a little better on the mattress, leaning on his elbow.
"most probably."
you shake your head, as if that confirmed something you already knew, but you don’t pull away any further. in fact, the distance you’d been trying to put between each other slowly crumbles almost without you noticing.
"you’re going to get sick, kento," you insist, although the strength of the warning is no longer the same.
nanami observes you calmly, without rushing to answer, as if he chose each word well even if it doesn't seem like it.
"that’s the least of my worries.”
you narrow your eyes.
"oh, is it now?”
“mhn.”
the pause that follows isn’t long, but is still enough to make it almost too much.
“greeting you like this is far more important.”
you open your mouth, ready to respond with something ironic, something that pulls the moment back into safer and much more manageable territory. but nothing comes out. so you just lay there, looking at him as if you didn't know very well what to do with what you just heard.
“… that’s ridiculous,” you mutter finally, looking away.
but there is no bite in it.
nanami reaches up, just as calm as always, and brushes a loose strand of hair off your forehead. a simple gesture, and one that shouldn’t matter much. you don’t move, don’t pull away either. you just let it happen.
“how are you feeling?”
you exhale, or try to, and cringe at the feeling of your snot making its way out of your nose again, wiping it off with the handkerchief.
“a little itty tinny bit less dead,” you dramatize, because of course you do.
a pause.
“still a biological hazard.”
nanami nods like that’s useful information.
“then i’ll make sure you stay in.”
you let out something between a scoff and a laugh.
“you can’t just keep me here.”
“i can try.”
That gets a real laugh out of you—low, still rough from the flu.
you shift again, this time without trying to keep distance, settling a little closer like there’s no point fighting something you clearly aren’t going to win.
“it’s your day off,” you murmur. “you shouldn’t be taking care of a sick person.”
nanami looks at you.
“i am right where i want to be.”
the silence that follows doesn’t weigh anything down.
you close your eyes for a second, breathing slower, letting that settle without overthinking it. when you open them again, the edge is gone from your expression.
“you’re too much.”
“I know.”
you hesitate—just a second—and then move on your own, leaning in until your forehead rests against nanami’s. it doesn’t feel new anymore, but it’s not automatic either.
it’s still a choice even after so much time, a choice you will be continue to pick.
“if you get sick,” you murmur, “i’m not taking care of you.”
nanami doesn’t pull back.
“you will.”
a small smile appears at the corner of your mouth, tired but real.
“yeah.”
and you stay like that, not doing anything else, not needing to add words or gestures that would complicate something already simple. outside the window that continues to cast the same faint morning light through the curtains, the world keeps moving; noise, deadlines, everything waiting. but in that room, in that still-messy bed, everything slows down.
and for once, even sick, even uncomfortable—
you don’t feel like you have to rush anything.
just stay.
note: heh, first fic posting… kinda nervous… i had SO much fun writing this. kinda self insert bc i do have the flu right now and needed the comfort lwk
all work belongs to @meqoww do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. do not feed my work to ai platforms, respect the author.
would like to add on, gojo was close with his students, but not in the way geto was close with his girls. gojo kept a purposeful distance, never talking about himself, because he was scared. GOJO SATORU IS A SCARDEY CAT WHO DOESNT WANT TO LOSE ANYONE EVER okay bye
i have this little hc of bonten sanzu because wdym he’s a druggie? my boy is just real anxious and always has his anxiety pills with him just in case he needs them
