nowonz

[nowonz]

You know what?

I love you, fics that take months to update. I click on the newest chapter and have no memory of this place and get to go back some chapters and rediscover how much i love everything about this story.

I love you, fics that take years to update. I think of you fondly, and know your names, go search for you and see an update from this year and scream, diving in uncaring of any missed details (i will finish the update and read you in reverse because this is a treat you have bestowed)

I love you, fics that probably will never update again. Thank you for being a roman empire for my mind, thank you for teaching me about the ephemeral fandom experience, for inspiring a thousand million what if-s, for being a comfort read and a nostalgia read and a reread.

I love you fic writers, who jump into projects and stories with enthusiasm. I love you when you succeed in pumping out those chapters and that love doesn't go away when you stop.

I love you fic writers who post and then get in your own head and never feel confident enough to update, whether it's at all or whether it's just that one story.

I love you fic writers, who have a fandom or media hurt you to the point of abandoning or having a hard time with their WIPs.

I love you fic writers, who lose interest or have life changes or illness or bad memory. Thank you for being part of the fandom, a core part of the fandom. Thank you for the time spent in the fandom.

I love you, fic writers who try out something new and then stop. You're so valid.

I love you, WIP fics that may or may not ever get finished. Thank you for brightening my day in the way only you could have.

[nowonz]

i do think part of the moral panic about women reading porn is the fear from men that women will start expecting more during sex. and by more i mean maybe centering their own pleasure even half as much as men have been doing since like the dawn of time

[nowonz]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

He can't sleep

The room is dim, bathed in the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. The warmth of sleep still clings to you, but something feels off. You shift, reaching out toward Simon’s side of the bed - only to find it empty.

Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness. He’s there, sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to you, broad shoulders tense and rigid. The air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken.

You don’t call out to him right away. Instead, you watch for a moment, taking in the way his hands are clasped together, his head slightly bowed. He’s deep in thought, lost in something heavy.

Slowly, you push the covers back and crawl toward him, the cool air brushing against your skin. Your fingers touch his back, tracing along his spine, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch.

“Simon?” Your voice is soft, hesitant.

He doesn’t flinch, but you feel the way his muscles tighten beneath your touch. A slow exhale leaves him, almost as if he’s trying to steady himself.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he murmurs, but his voice is off - low, strained.

You don’t listen. Instead, you move closer, pressing your cheek against his bare back, your arms circling around him from behind. His body is warm, solid beneath your touch, but there’s a distance in him that you don’t like.

“You’re awake,” you whisper against his skin. “And you’re not here.”

A heavy silence settles between you before he finally speaks. “Mission went bad.” His voice is rough, edged with something deeper. “Could’ve gone worse.”

You know better than to push for details- if he wants to tell you, he will. But right now, it’s not about the mission. It’s about this - whatever storm is brewing inside him.

Your hands move over his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. You press a soft kiss to the curve of his shoulder. “You’re home,” you remind him gently. “You’re here.”

Simon is still for a moment. Then, suddenly, his hands come up, gripping yours tightly against his chest. Not pulling them away - holding. Like he needs to feel you, needs to ground himself.

Then, he turns.

In a blur of motion, you’re beneath him, your back against the mattress, his body caging yours in. His weight presses into you, solid and heavy, pinning you there. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but you know that look - the quiet storm, the unspoken battle raging inside him.

His fingers trail up your thigh, slow, deliberate. Possessive. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “You’re the only thing that keeps me sane. The only thing that makes this life worth coming back to.”

Your breath catches as his grip tightens slightly, his body pressing closer, the heat of him sinking into you. His lips brush against your jaw, down to your neck, lingering there as he exhales shakily.

“I almost didn’t make it back to you,” he murmurs. “And that thought? It fucking destroys me.”

You feel the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. You reach up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

“But you did,” you whisper. “You did make it back.”

His lips find yours then, but it’s not just a kiss. It’s desperate, consuming - like he needs to remind himself that you’re real, that you’re his.

And tonight, you let him.

Tonight, you remind him that he’s yours, too.

~~~~~~

The first thing you feel when you wake up is him.

Simon’s body is wrapped around yours, solid and warm, his arm draped over your waist, holding you close. His face is buried against the back of your neck, his breath slow and steady, ghosting over your skin.

He’s still here.

After last night - after the way he took you, claimed you, like he needed to drown in you just to stay afloat - you weren’t sure if he’d be gone by morning. Sometimes, when the weight of his past gets too heavy, he disappears into himself. But this time… he stayed.

You shift slightly beneath him, and his hold tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your hip.

“Don’t,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep.

You smile softly, turning in his arms to face him. His eyes are still closed, but you can tell he’s awake now. The tension from last night has faded slightly, but there’s still something lingering behind those dark lashes.

“Not even to get up?” you tease lightly, brushing your fingers over the rough stubble on his jaw.

“No.” His voice is rough, his grip firm. “Not yet.”

You exhale softly, pressing your palm against his chest. His heart is steady beneath your touch, strong. Alive.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know.”

His eyes finally open then - half-lidded, still heavy with sleep, but intense. His gaze locks onto yours, like he’s searching for something, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

“I know.” He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb over your lips before cupping your jaw. “But I need you here.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that makes your chest tighten.

“You have me,” you whisper. “Always.”

Simon doesn’t answer - not with words. Instead, he pulls you against him, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours. His grip softens, but he still holds you close, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your back.

For once, he doesn’t need control. He just needs you.

And you give him exactly that.

[nowonz]

I like this gif because when you take it out of context, it looks like Keegan forgets how to count and is confused.

[nowonz]

waking up to simon riley is really sweet.

retired/civilian simon riley in mind, part two to this post. a/n: honestly didn’t expect people to like the first post but here we are, thank you everyone for the pleasant surprise! also, i try to make simon feel more ‘human’, i feel like he doesn’t get humanized enough, does that make sense?

waking up to simon is like being shielded against the world, the contour of his body cradling your softer one as he holds you close in his sleep; maybe there’s an arm thrown haphazardly over your frame, perhaps a leg, or maybe he’s even put a leg between your legs — either way, you’re a mess of limbs and it’s like simon is attempting to fuse with you in his sleep.

simon who sighs deeply before he wakes. when asleep, his chest rises and falls with measured breaths, working in a rhythm; the epitome of peace. but, you move one good inch, try to untuck yourself from underneath his arm, anything — he stirs, filling his lungs with air before huffing it out not even a moment afterward, melting back against you more insistent on putting the weight and heat of his heavy build more onto you.

simon finds himself airing out his apologies as his lips drag across your warm skin in lazy kisses. he almost crushed under his weight in his sleep? he sounds so sorry, voice low and practically murmured whisperers against your skin. his brain is still attempting to catch up with his sleep slurred mumbles, filling in the blanks of his apologies with a kiss or absentminded hum.

simon is just really pretty when he wakes up. if you manage to stop him from nuzzling — or head-butting — into whatever part of you is soft enough for him to bury his face into, he’s all slow blinks and droopy eyes. it also takes a bit for his expression to soften into something a bit sweeter when he first wakes (he has a literal resting bitch face), squinted eyes and his lips pressed into an unamused line. it’s oddly satisfying to see his expression bordering on a pout, rich brown irises looking up at you through pale lashes.

simon has to smooth over the smile that’s fighting to tug at the corner of his lips for a more empathetic one when he’s taking you in for the first time in the morning, your hair a mess. if he didn’t know better, he would’ve asked if you were tossing and turning all night instead of if he did that, his calloused palms petting down your messy hair in short strokes before they settled at framing your face.

saying good morning to simon is a must. if he’s just waking up and he’s gruffing out a good morning, he expects to hear one back. he doesn’t want to hear a groan or some half-assed ‘morning’, it has to be good morning specifically. and oh, you’re asleep? he’s nudging your forearm gently with his knuckle to rouse you a bit, saying another insistent (but sweeter) good morning until you respond.

simon doesn’t always want to be on the go. sometimes being draped in warm covers and a tangle of limbs is where it’s at for simon, wanting to find a little more time in bed with you. so when he’s spooning you and starts crowding impossibly closer, his chin perched right on your shoulder as he uses your extended forearm to prop up his phone like some kickstand to watch some woodcarving asmr video on youtube — you better not move and your eyes better be on that screen, this is his and your enrichment time.

[nowonz]

keegan x gn!reader

fluff || wc: 934 summary: you settle in for a long night of homework, but a familiar knock keeps you occupied instead.  a/n: my first story ! i am so used to writing on wattpad and creating multi-chapter stories, this was definitely different than the usual :3

A familiar knock on your window disturbs you from your routine studying. With a sigh, you push your chair back, leaving your desk behind. You approach your window and unlock it. As you push it open, Keegan quickly enters your room. 

“You do know we have phones, right?” you ask, crossing your arms. You watch as he dusts himself off, standing up.

He turns to you with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, but it’s more fun to do it like this… just like in high school.” He chuckles.

“And in high school, we also had phones.” You retort, giving him an unimpressed look.

“Then you should know how I am.” He shrugs, walking over to your bed. He flops down, as if it was his own. You roll your eyes at his antics and make your way back to your desk. You still had some homework to complete, and you weren’t going to let him lose your focus.

Keegan watches you sit back down at your desk. “Whatcha doin’ anyways?” He asks you.

“Homework… Don’t bother me…” You mumble, trying to focus. It wasn’t uncommon for Keegan to pester you when you were trying to get work done. He loved having your attention, even if it meant annoying the hell out of you.

“Yeah, yeah… you’re always so serious when you do your work,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “Can’t I slightly disturb you while you work?”

There’s a moment of silence before you grumble and roll your eyes, “Whatever..” 

He grins, amused by your response, he loves to get on your nerves. He gets up from your bed, walking over behind you and peering over your shoulder to look at your homework. 

He chuckles, “Gosh, you’re such a nerd. Always doing your homework and studying…” He teases, ruffling your hair.

You scoff at his action. “And you’re such a pain…” You mutter, lightly swatting his hand away from your head, refusing to look away from your work.

He laughs, “I take pride in being annoying.” He rests his chin on top of your head, still looking at your work. “I’m still surprised you’re so book-smart.”

You roll your eyes at his ‘compliment.’ “I’m trying to get a degree, I kinda need to be smart in this work.”

“Good point,” he smirks, “You could also just marry a rich person so you don’t have to work, y’know.”

“No thanks, I want to work.” 

His smirk widens at your response. He found your dedication to working and being independent admirable. He also couldn’t help but find it adorable, as well. “Oh, yeah? You like the idea of working yourself to death?” 

“Says the one who signed up for the military.” You mumble.

He chuckles, tilting his head to the side, before leaning his cheek against the top of your head now. “You think so little of me… They’re going to pay me well.”

“You’ll only get paid well if you lose a limb or something.” 

He shrugs, his cheek still pressed against your head, “It’s a risk I’m willing to take, especially if it means I can provide a good life for myself.” 

Keegan lifts his face off your head and gently ruffles your hair again with his hand. “Besides,” he starts, grinning, “if I want someone to worry about my life, I know where to find a certain person to do that.” 

“Yeah? Surely not me..” You say bluntly. Your words were far from the truth. You knew you’d be anxiously waiting for a call or text at the end of every night.  

“Oh, c’mon, you’d miss me, whether you want to admit it or not,” He teases. 

You stay silent, not wanting to prove him right. You were well aware that if you said what he wanted to hear, you would never hear the end of it. 

He notices your silence but decides to keep teasing you. He leans in closer, his head now beside yours. “C’mon, admit it. You’d miss me.” He presses his cheek against yours. “You’ll be counting the days until I come back, worried every second that something might happen to me. And when I come back, you’ll be running up to hug me and never let go.” He chuckles, bringing his arms to wrap around you, squeezing you playfully. 

“Keep dreaming..” You huff, the heat in your cheeks betraying your words. 

“Oh come on, you know you can’t resist my charms. You’ll be missing me so much you won’t know what to do with yourself.” He knows exactly how he makes you feel. He just enjoys hearing your failed attempts of denial.

“I’ll finally get some peace and quiet. No one sneaking through my window at odd hours.” You mumble. However, you’ve grown quite fond of his playful and rebellious behavior. You were sure to miss nights like these, Keegan at your side. 

He laughs at your comment, still holding you. “Admit it, you’ll miss me teasing you all the time.”

“Just a little…” You say, your words softer now. Although you don’t reveal the whole truth, you suddenly feel vulnerable after your verbal confession. 

His playful grin melts into a soft, genuine smile. He knows you weren’t one to display your feelings towards him so easily. 

“Y’know… I’m gonna miss this too.” He replies with the same softness as your own words. He loosens his hold on you, his playful behavior completely replaced with the rare tenderness you rarely see in him.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Neither of you needed to say anything. The simple confessions the two of you shared were enough.

[nowonz]

✮⋆˙ ⤷ 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐄 ᵎᵎ ˗ˏˋ 𝟗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ˎˊ˗ SHE/HER ₊⊹

𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎

𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫, 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜/𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 ⭑.ᐟ

[nowonz]

you, me, and the sheep | hatake kakashi.

wc: 1.1k | pure fluff | warnings: none! my first fic on this account! i was overwhelmed with love for kakashi today so i wanted to get this out to help me get back into writing <3

Today’s mission did not go as planned. That much is clear, especially as you approach the front door of your boyfriend’s home worn out and bruised. As one of the more experienced shinobi in the mission’s assigned squad, you were appointed to guide your team to the proper location of the target. However, the mission report neglected to inform you that the target had bought protection from a small, nearby village. 

Luckily, there were no fatalities, but your fellow shinobi, Asuma, received a hefty injury to his leg. You’d just come back from the medical ward and were looking forward to seeing your lover. 

You twist the doorknob and quickly take notice of the dim lights and calming atmosphere. Surely he’s not already asleep, you think. But just in case, you quietly slink through the doorway and shrug off your olive green vest. 

“Everything alright?” 

His voice startles you at first, but you calm yourself once you see Kakashi, clad in a simple black top and grey sweatpants, drying his damp hair with a white towel. Despite how long you’ve been together, and even longer friends, you think you’ll never quite get over how beautiful he is without his mask. 

You fold your vest over a kitchen chair and approach his figure. Immediately, he welcomes you into his embrace, warm from his previous shower. 

“Long day then?” He asks, giving you a soft peck atop your hair.

You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his neck. “The longest.”

“I can tell,” he begins, ���by the way you’re clinging onto me.”

You push yourself away, not enough to leave his arms but enough to see his face. “What? You can’t say you don’t enjoy it at least a little bit.”

Kakashi hums, tapping a finger to his chin as if he were having to consider it. “Hm, perhaps I do.” He wraps his arms around you a smidge together. “Are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to guess?”

The playful grin on your face is swiftly replaced by one of embarrassment and disappointment. “It was my fault. Lady Tsunade appointed me as the captain of the squad. Asuma got hurt because of me. I should have been more prepared.” You turn away from him, hoping and praying that he doesn’t see the tears filling your waterline. 

Kakashi’s expression softens and he gently guides your chin to him, coaxing you to return his gaze. “It was an honest mistake. It happens.” He cards a hand through your hair, trying to give you comfort the best way he knows how. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear. You didn’t let this happen on purpose. We know that, and I’m sure Asuma knows too.”

You bury yourself further into his arms and clutch the fabric of his tee. “Let’s run away together. Just you and me.”

He chuckles, allowing his fingers to dance along the length of your arm. “Run away, huh? And where would we go?” His head tips back and his eyes close, allowing himself to be completely immersed in this new fictional world. One so safe and warm, a domestic life the two of you could never truly have.

“The countryside maybe?” You reply, playing with the silver hair at the base of his neck. “You like sheep, hm?”

Kakashi’s heart trembles. “Yeah, I do like sheep.” His eyes crinkle with the wide grin resting on his lips. “The countryside does sound nice. Just you and me, and some sheep.” The smell of the eucalyptus body wash he gradually stole from you washes over you. 

“Just imagine it… you at the top of a hill, surrounded by sheep. The warm sun on your skin gives you a nice, summer glow.” His voice waivers from one tied to this reality to a more soothing one, a Kakashi that is far away from the gruesome reality he knows. “The sky would be a light blue, the clouds big, fluffy, and white. You’d look stunning.” His hands now trace delicate patterns down the small of your back. 

“Me? Get a load of yourself, handsome,” You say, resting your palms against his cheeks. They warm under your words. “The most handsome shinobi in all the land.” You finish the sentiment with a soft kiss on the top of his nose. 

He hums, covering your hand with his own larger one. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He grips your hand, placing peck after peck down the inside of your wrist. It’s your turn to blush. His other hand grips the plush of your hip, a bit rougher than before. 

“Let’s get married.”

His actions falter, but just for a moment. He stands a bit straighter, eyebrows quirking at your words like he’s not sure what to exactly make of it. “Are you serious?” It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it before, but he’s surprised that you would bring up such a topic so suddenly. It’s different than your usual banter. He knows you're being serious, but he needs to hear you say it. That you want to get married to him. That you want him.

“Of course.” You gently remove his hands from their places on your body and guide him to your shared bedroom. “Do you think Lady Tsunade would be the officiant?”

He snickers at the thought. “I have no doubt she’d take it seriously,” he muses. “But I do think she’d take the opportunity to embarrass the hell out of us, as payback for all the headaches we’ve caused her.”

Grinning, you push him down onto the fleece duvet below. He releases a soft grunt and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to straddle his waist and lower torso. “And then there’d be the wedding night. Just you and me,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry as he looks up to you. His hands wander up and down your hips, pinching every so often. 

“And the sheep?” you ask as you press one, two, three kisses across his face.

Kakashi nods his head, breathing hitching at the sudden onslaught of affection from you. “Of course. I’m sure they’d love to be a part of our special night.” He teases. 

You lay your head against his chest, feeling every beat and thrum of his heart. His hand drifts up the cradle the back of your head, guiding you to a more comfortable position. He lets out a content sigh and threads his fingers through your hair once more. Soft and tender, just the way you like. “You know, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else but you.”

He expects a response but is met with your breathing reaching a soft, comfortable pattern. Kakashi smiles, resting his lips against your forehead. The simple idea of him being able to live the rest of his life with you is enough to let any worry wash away, and he drifts to sleep with you by his side.

[nowonz]

𔘓.   백조 . ᭢ 🦢⠀ ꒰͡ ͜ Ï ͜ ͡꒱ ִֶָ 𓏲୭ 𖦹 . ᭭ ˚   ༘♡

[nowonz]

五条悟 ; 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙸 𝙰𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙰𝙼 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙾𝙽𝙴.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒂 ✧ 9teen ✧ she/her ✧ MINORS AND AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI ✧ a collection of things i love heehee .𓂃𝜗 𓍢ִ໋🍵˚

DIRECTORY / here you will be able to find the home of all of my fics, as well as my progress chart. please read the warnings attached to each work before proceeding.

✦ masterlist. ✦ progress chart. coming soon.

please send an ask or shoot me a message if you have any questions! happy reading! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

[nowonz]

nowonz's masterlist

jujustu kaisen //

coming soon.

haikyuu //

coming soon.

call of duty //

coming soon.

love and deepspace //

coming soon.

naruto //

HATAKE KAKASHI.

you, me, and the sheep

fluff, wc: 1.1k | after being appointed as mission leader by lady tsunade, your mission goes awry, leaving some teammates injured and your resolve in shambles. you seek comfort in the best part of your life: hatake kakashi.

[nowonz]

﹙ 五条 悟 : gojo satoru ﹚

"you’re too young to be groaning like that," you tease as gojo flops onto the bed face-down, exhaling sharply.

"shut up," he mutters, voice muffled against the pillow. "i think my back just gave out."

you roll your eyes, settling beside him. his body is warm beneath your hands, muscles tense from who knows how many fights he got into today. gently, you press your thumbs into his shoulders, working out the knots.

"damn," he exhales after a beat, his usual cocky edge replaced with something softer.

"that good?"

"i might actually marry you if you keep doing this."

you snort. classic satoru. but you keep going, pressing deeper into his back. his breathing slows, and his body finally unwinds beneath your touch.

after a moment, he sighs. "you know, if i’m this messed up now, imagine how we’ll be when we’re actually old."

"you’re acting like you’re eighty."

"feels like it." he turns his head to glance at you. there’s something easy, something fond in his gaze.

"guess i’ll just have to take care of you forever, then."

for once, he doesn’t have a comeback. just a small smile — one that lingers even as the white-haired man drifts off to sleep under your touch.

[nowonz]

crimson oaths

Gojo Satoru | hurt/comfort (i think?!)

The mission had been going well. Too well.

You should’ve known better.

Now, you’re bleeding.

The rain hammers down, cold and relentless, soaking through your clothes as you push yourself through the door of your flat, breath uneven, hands slick with blood. Your side burns, pain lacing through your ribs with every shaky step, but there’s no time to deal with it. Not properly. Not yet.

The plan was clear—apprise and radio silence. No contact, no deviations. Stick to protocol.

But you’re compromised.

The thought clenches at your ribs as you fumble with the door lock, pushing it shut behind you with a quiet thud. Your mind races, fighting through the haze of pain and exhaustion. You don’t have time to stitch yourself up. You don’t have time for anything. The clock is already against you.

And then—

A presence.

You feel it before you hear him, before you see him. A shift in the air, a weight settling in the dimly lit space behind you.

Then his voice—low, almost amused, but laced with something sharper beneath it.

“Rough night?”

You freeze, breath hitching, before turning your head just enough to see him.

Gojo Satoru is leaning against the wall like he owns the place, arms crossed, white hair damp from the rain, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. But his eyes—those striking blues—are locked onto you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

Your fingers tighten against your side as you swallow the sharp pain curling through you. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Came to check in,” he says easily, but there’s an edge beneath his usual arrogance, a flicker of something unreadable as he tilts his head at you. “Didn’t think I’d walk in on this, though.”

His gaze flicks down—to the blood staining your dress, the way you’re gripping your side, the unsteady way you’re holding yourself upright.

His smirk fades.

“Who did this to you?” His voice is low, clipped. Eyes dark and clouded.

You scoff, turning away. “None of your business.”

He’s in front of you before you can take another step.

Too fast. Too close.

Your breath stutters as you feel the warmth of him, even through the cold dampness of your clothes. He’s still watching you with that unreadable expression, but now that you’re close, you see it—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s forcing himself to stay still.

“Move,” you say, voice strained.

He doesn’t.

“You’re bleeding,” he states, like it’s some grand revelation.

“Brilliant observation,” you deadpan, pushing past him. You barely make it two steps before the pain sharpens, a gasp slipping from your lips. Your balance wavers, legs giving just slightly—

And then he’s there.

Gojo’s hands catch you before you can fall, firm and steady. One grips your arm, the other comes to your waist—too close, too warm, too much.

You tense. He doesn’t let go.

“You need stitches,” he mutters, the teasing lilt in his voice barely there anymore.

You shake your head. “I don’t have time for that.”

He exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, now you’re in a hurry? What happened to that ‘I can handle anything’ attitude?”

You glare up at him, but your vision blurs for a fraction of a second. The blood loss is catching up. You can feel it.

Gojo must see it, too, because his grip tightens.

“I didn’t know where to go.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

It’s quiet. Soft. Too raw.

Gojo stills.

Something unreadable flickers through his expression before he exhales, tilting his head slightly, voice dipping lower. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You did.”

You try to ignore the meaning behind his words.

He moves then, guiding you toward the couch, and for once, you don’t argue.

You let him push you down, let him kneel in front of you, let him tear your dress where your wound lies, just enough to get a better look. His fingers graze your skin—light, careful, almost gentle. You hate the way a shiver runs up your spine.

His jaw tightens. “You’re an idiot.”

You roll your eyes. “Great, thanks.”

Gojo doesn’t respond. Instead, he shifts closer, one hand pressing against your thigh to steady himself as he examines the wound. His touch is warm, steady, but there’s an undercurrent of something else beneath it.

It’s when he finally speaks again that you feel it—the shift.

His voice is quieter this time, almost something else. “You scared me.”

Your breath catches.

It’s barely a confession, barely an admission at all. But coming from him, from Gojo, it’s enough to send something spiraling through your chest.

For a moment, just a moment, you forget about the pain.

Just a moment.

Then his fingers press a little too hard against the wound, and you hiss, snapping back to reality.

“You did that on purpose,” you grit out, glaring at him.

His smirk is back, lazy and infuriating. “Oops.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice is too smug, too sure.

You don’t answer.

Gojo leans in just slightly, just enough to let you feel the warmth of him, the way his breath ghosts against your skin. “Lucky for you, sweetheart, I’m the only one you can trust right now.”

Your stomach twists.

Gojo just grins.

His fingers ghost over your skin, light but deliberate, as he pulls the ruined fabric of your shirt further up, exposing the deep gash along your side. You don’t have the strength to protest—not when your body is still trembling from the cold, not when the pain is starting to settle into something heavier, something deeper.

Not when his touch is so warm.

Gojo exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “This is gonna hurt.”

You huff, shifting slightly. “No shit.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he leans forward, grabbing the first aid kit from the table beside him, fingers moving quickly. The amusement in his expression fades as he soaks a cloth in antiseptic, pressing it against the wound with little warning.

A sharp, involuntary hiss escapes your lips, muscles tensing against the sting.

Gojo stills.

His free hand—large, steady—moves to your thigh, grounding you. His grip is firm but not overbearing, thumb rubbing absent circles against your skin. You barely register the touch at first, focused too much on the pain, until he murmurs, “Relax, sweetheart. I got you.”

You glare at him. “Don’t—” Another sharp inhale as he dabs at the wound. “Don’t call me that.”

He chuckles, low and rough, but his grip stays, grounding you through the pain. “Thought nicknames were supposed to be cute.”

“Not from you.”

His grin widens, but the teasing glint in his eyes is softer now, something else lurking beneath it. “Shame,” he muses, pressing the cloth a little harder—maybe as payback. “It suits you.”

You mutter something under your breath, but you don’t push him away.

Gojo works in silence after that, his focus sharp, almost unnervingly so. He preps the needle with practiced ease, threading it with a precision that feels at odds with the reckless way he usually carries himself. His hands, though steady, are gentle as he moves back to you.

“This part’s gonna suck,” he warns, voice softer.

You nod, already bracing yourself.

Gojo shifts closer, pressing a hand to the back of your neck. His touch is warm, steady. “Bite down,” he murmurs, guiding your face toward his shoulder.

You stiffen. “What?”

“If you don’t, you’re gonna bite your tongue. And as fun as that sounds for me, I don’t think you’d appreciate it.” His voice is light, teasing, but his grip stays firm, urging you closer.

You hesitate, but the next sharp sting from his fingers grazing the wound has you biting into your lip, drawing blood. With a low exhale, you press your teeth into the firm muscle of his shoulder, biting down hard.

Gojo barely reacts. No sharp inhale, no flinch—just a slow exhale as his hand drifts down to your hip, thumb rubbing easy circles against your skin. “There you go,” he hums, low and warm. “That’s my girl.”

You sink your teeth in harder just to spite him, and this time, his breath catches, fingers tightening slightly where they rest.

But he only chuckles, soft and deep, pressing his lips to your temple—so fleeting, so light, you almost think you imagined it.

“Just a little more, sweetheart.”

But nothing—nothing—prepares you for the moment he pushes the needle through your skin.

Pain lances through you, white-hot and searing, and before you can stop yourself, your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight.

A low sound leaves his throat, something dangerously close to a groan, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his free hand finds your waist, thumb pressing into the dip of your hip, grounding you as he works the needle through your skin.

Your breath is uneven. His is too.

“You’re handling this so well,” he murmurs, the smirk audible in his voice.

“Shut up,” you bite out, nails digging into him as another wave of pain hits.

He laughs—actually laughs—but there’s something rough in it, something laced with too much tension. “You know, I think I like you like this. Clinging to me. Makes me feel needed.”

You snap your head up, glaring at him. “I will kill you.”

“I have no doubt,” he hums, tightening a stitch.

The sharp tug makes you jolt, pressing further into him—practically in his lap now, breath warm against his throat. His body stiffens for a fraction of a second before he exhales, amused but strained.

“You sure you hate me?” His voice is quieter now, teasing but laced with something else. Something heavier.

You don’t answer.

Not when his hand is still on your waist. Not when his breath fans against your cheek. Not when your fingers are still fisted in his shirt, knuckles brushing against the warmth of his skin.

The room feels smaller. The air feels thick.

And Gojo, for once, is quiet.

Then, finally—finally—he pulls the last stitch tight and murmurs, “It’s over. Just one more thing.”

Before you can ask, he presses a bandage over the wound, smoothing it down with careful fingers.

His touch lingers.

You’re still pressed against him, your breathing uneven, his warm and steady. His hand is still on your waist. His lips part just slightly, like he wants to say something—

But instead, he exhales, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“You should rest,” he says, but he doesn’t move away.

Neither do you.

You swallow, forcing yourself to break eye contact, fingers finally loosening their grip on him. “You should leave.”

Gojo tilts his head, amused. “And miss taking care of you when you inevitably pass out from blood loss? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

Your jaw clenches. “I hate you.”

Gojo grins, and this time, it’s different. Something softer. Something dangerous.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

You want to argue more. But you’re already drifting. Black seeps into the corners of your eyes, blinding you momentarily before you gain your vision back, blurred and distorted.

Black again. This time, it takes what’s left of your strength with it.

Your head lolls forward, but before darkness fully claims you, something—someone—catches you. Warm, steady, unyielding.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Gojo’s voice. A soft hum an endless sea away. “I’ve got you.”

That shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.

———

Brb I have to go run laps lol

[nowonz]

Me sending nudes: like what you see? ;)

Artist who's only fucking me for reference material: yeahhh 🥵🥵 would be even hotter if you moved closer to the light source and moved your head to a 3/4 view in the pic

[nowonz]

some digital stickers i made with blender a few years ago feel free to use them as a pfp or whatever you want lol (except for commercial use)

[nowonz]

what goes unsaid

synopsis: you started to notice small things todoroki does, but you’re not sure what they mean just yet.

pairing: timeskip!todoroki shoto x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i listened to you guys

the buzz of the office fades into background noise as you shuffle through the latest batch of mission reports.

your shoulders ache from a particularly rough day in the field, and the stiffness in your neck only serves to remind you of the long hours stretching ahead.

you rub your temples, trying to stave off the impending headache.

“rough day?”

the voice pulls you from your thoughts, low and calm with a subtle edge of concern. shoto todoroki stands in the doorway to your shared agency’s common room, his presence as composed as ever.

his hero uniform is slightly scuffed, evidence of his own busy day. still, his mismatched eyes fix on you, quiet but observant.

“yeah, you could say that,” you reply with a weak smile, closing the folder in front of you. “I’ll be fine, though. just a few reports to finish up.”

without another word, todoroki crosses the room. he places a paper cup on the desk beside you, the warm aroma of your favorite coffee wafting up immediately. you blink, glancing between him and the cup.

“thought you could use this,” he says simply, his tone casual but laced with that understated sincerity that’s so distinctly him.

your lips twitch upward despite yourself. “thanks, todoroki. you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady as he turns to leave.

it’s not the first time he’s done something like this—little gestures that seem small on the surface but hold a surprising amount of thoughtfulness.

you’ve chalked it up to his polite nature, the way he’s always been one to notice when someone needs a hand.

but lately, those gestures seem to happen more often, and each time they do, you can’t help but wonder if there’s more behind them.

a few days later, the intensity of the work begins to weigh on you again. a gruelling mission left you feeling physically and emotionally drained, and your muscles protest every movement you make.

you collapse on the couch in the break room, still in your hero gear, too tired to even think about a shower.

todoroki walks in, fresh from the shower, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. he eyes you for a moment before disappearing into the adjacent kitchenette.

you don’t think much of it until he returns a few minutes later, setting a small ice pack on the table beside you.

“for your shoulder,” he says, nodding toward where you’d been absentmindedly massaging your arm.

you blink, caught off guard by the quiet care in the gesture. “oh, thanks. you didn’t—”

“you overextend that side sometimes,” he interrupts, his voice calm. “you should be careful.”

your mouth opens, but no words come out. instead, you nod, pressing the ice pack against your shoulder as he sits in the chair across from you. the silence that follows is surprisingly comfortable.

you can feel the weight of his gaze occasionally flicking over to you, but it’s not heavy or demanding—more like a quiet understanding, the kind that doesn’t require explanation.

there’s a certain ease between you two, even when neither of you says much.

it’s in the way todoroki always seems to anticipate what you need, how he quietly adjusts the environment around you without ever making a show of it. and for reasons you can’t fully explain, it feels…right.

the moments continue to add up, each one more subtle than the last.

after a long patrol, you find a bottle of water placed carefully on your desk with a note—drink up, you’ve been dehydrated all day.

it’s an obvious thing, but the gesture still feels personal, like he noticed something you hadn’t even considered.

the next day, you’re struggling to get through a particularly difficult set of paperwork when your phone buzzes on the table. you glance at the screen to see a message from him: how’s the report going? 

you smirk at the simplicity of it. he knew exactly what you were doing.

when you reply that you’re about to hit a wall, todoroki doesn’t respond immediately.

but later, when you make your way into the break room for a quick break, there’s a sandwich on the counter—your favorite kind, carefully wrapped in a napkin.

no note this time, just the quiet understanding that he had noticed, even from across the building.

it’s when you’re sitting on the rooftop of the agency a few weeks later that the weight of it all really hits you. the city sprawls out before you, the lights twinkling against the night sky.

you’re lost in your thoughts when the sound of footsteps pulls you back.

todoroki appears at your side, a familiar calmness in his expression. he doesn’t say anything right away, just leans against the railing beside you.

the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable, the kind that doesn’t demand to be filled. you’ve shared enough of these moments that you don’t feel the need to say anything.

“figured you’d be up here,” he says eventually, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

you glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “needed a breather. what about you?”

“same,” he admits. “it’s been a long day.”

there’s something in his voice, a small shift, and for the first time, you realize just how much of an emotional weight he carries.

you’ve always known him to be calm, calculated, and collected, but there’s something more underneath, a pressure he doesn’t always show.

when he looks at you now, there’s something in his eyes—something softer, more open than usual.

“thanks for the coffee earlier,” you say, breaking the silence. “and…everything else. you don’t have to do all that, you know.”

he turns his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours. there’s a flicker of something in his expression, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift. “I know,” he says simply. “but I want to.”

his words hang in the air, quieter and more vulnerable than usual, and for the first time, you see the full weight of what he’s been doing all along.

these small gestures, these little acts of kindness, have been his way of showing something he’s never been able to put into words.

weeks pass, and despite everything happening around you—missions, deadlines, late-night training—there’s a steady rhythm to the way shoto treats you.

he’s never one to speak loudly about his emotions, but the small things he does start to stand out in a way that feels undeniable.

there are days when you catch him looking at you from across the room, his expression slightly more intense than usual.

he doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his eyes linger a little longer than they should, as if he’s trying to figure something out.

he’s quiet around you, often lost in his thoughts, but when he speaks, it’s always with a softness that’s impossible to ignore.

it’s as if every word he says carries the weight of more than just friendship—though, he’ll never admit it outright.

it’s late one evening when the two of you find yourselves standing side by side in the agency’s common room.

the glow of the lights is soft, the building nearly empty after the day’s work. you’re both exhausted, but neither of you is quite ready to head home.

shoto hands you a fresh towel as you come out of the shower, his movements slow and deliberate. you notice how carefully he looks after even the smallest details:

making sure the towel’s warm and that the temperature in the room is just right.

you take it from him with a soft smile. “you’ve been really nice to me lately.”

shoto pauses, his eyes flicking to yours. there’s an emotion there you can’t quite place, something quiet and unspoken.

“I don’t mind,” he says, his voice steady. “I want to.”

the words hit you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the air between you charged with something that hasn’t been said aloud but feels clear all the same.

you’ve always known shoto in pieces—quiet, introspective, deeply caring in his own way—but this is different. this is more.

when you step closer, your heart thumping louder than it should, he doesn’t pull away.

instead, he looks down at you, his mismatched eyes soft with something that’s not quite a confession but feels like one all the same.

“I’ve always wanted to be there for you,” he adds quietly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I just…couldn’t figure out how.”

the quiet honesty of it leaves you breathless, and for a moment, you let the words come freely.

“you’re doing it, shoto,” you say. “you’ve been doing it.”

before either of you can say another word, the space between you seems to shrink of its own accord.

his gaze lingers on yours, and there’s a long moment of quiet before you close the small gap, your breath mingling with his.

his hand lifts, brushing against your cheek, and it’s the gentlest touch, but it sends a warmth through you that settles deep in your chest. without a word, he leans in.

and when his lips meet yours, it’s not forceful, nor is it rushed—it’s as natural as everything else that’s happened between you.

when you pull back, there’s a soft smile on his lips, a look of quiet satisfaction as he rests his forehead against yours.

“guess this makes it official,” you chuckle.

he hums, “yeah.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[nowonz]

the pure heavy intimacy of him kneeling in front of you, delicately unclasping your heel, and holding your calf as he slides it off your foot