I don't know if you wrote this already BUTT what if you wrote about the jjk men finding out their pregnant S/O rearranged their living room/bedroom etc
thats such a cute concept! i hope these dont sound too repetative and like the jjk men <3
"Honey, I’m hoooome!" Gojo sang as he stepped through the door, voice carrying like he was announcing himself to an adoring crowd. One arm flung dramatically in the air, sunglasses sliding down just enough to reveal that trademark grin.
But instead of the warm welcome he clearly expected, he was greeted by chaos. The couch was shoved halfway across the room, the rug was rolled up like a defeated scroll, and the coffee table was lying on its side like it had lost a fight. In the middle of it all, kneeling on the floor with a frown of concentration, was his very pregnant wife—[Name]—gathering throw pillows like fallen soldiers.
Gojo froze, blinking. Once. Twice. Then let out a half-laugh, half-confused noise. “Eh—hehhehe... okay, uh, not what I was expecting. Mind telling me why our living room looks like a battlefield, Doll?”
Without even looking up, she sighed. “We didn’t have any renovation plans. I just didn’t like the layout.”
“You didn’t... like the layout?” he repeated, leaning down as if maybe the air pressure at her level made her explanation make more sense.
Her gaze flicked up at him, unimpressed. “Yeah. So I’m changing it.”
Gojo blinked again, then his grin returned—bright and stupid and absolutely no help to her annoyance. “Right, right. Totally reasonable. Except…” He reached down, sliding his hands under her arms to lift her effortlessly to her feet. “You’re on strict no heavy lifting orders, Mrs. Gojo.”
“Nope! Doctor’s orders, my orders, and the baby’s, too,” he interrupted, wagging a finger and flashing that infuriating smile. “You point, I move. Deal?”
He leaned closer, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before adding with a teasing lilt, “Besides, I can’t have my gorgeous wife throwing out her back while I’m out saving the world, can I?”
Her sigh sounded like defeat. His grin widened—it always did when he won.
“Alright, General,” she muttered. “Move the couch.”
Gojo straightened, rolling his shoulders dramatically. “Yes, ma’am! Couch-moving duty, commencing!”
And as he effortlessly lifted the piece of furniture like it weighed nothing, he shot her a wink. “You know... if I’d known nesting instincts came with interior design powers, I would’ve gotten you pregnant sooner.”
The door clicked shut behind him with a soft thud. Nanami exhaled slowly through his nose, the tension of the day bleeding out with the sound. He loosened his tie as he stepped into the quiet of their home, the familiar scent of cedarwood and faint jasmine wrapping around him like a balm. His shoulders eased.
“[Name]?” he called, voice even but carrying through the hall. “Where are you, sweetheart?”
From somewhere deeper in the house came a faint shuffle, then her voice—breathy, distracted. “Bedroom! I’m just… moving some things around!”
Nanami’s brow furrowed immediately. That didn’t sound good. He slipped off his coat, draping it neatly over the back of a chair as concern began to coil low in his chest. The closer he got, the louder the sounds became—scraping wood, the dull thud of something heavy shifting.
When he finally reached the bedroom doorway, the scene before him made his jaw tighten.
The mattress was propped against the wall, sheets and pillows scattered across the floor in a colorful pile. And there she was—his very pregnant wife—one arm braced against the bedframe, attempting to shove it across the room.
Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a breath before he spoke. “[Name]… what exactly are you doing?”
His tone was calm, but the edge of disbelief was unmistakable. He stepped into the room, eyes scanning the mess, then softening as they landed on her. “You should be resting, not—” he gestured toward the disassembled furniture, “—doing this. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
She shot him a look, irritation flickering across her features. “I’m perfectly capable of rearranging a room, Kento.”
“Yes,” he replied evenly, adjusting his glasses, “you are. But you’re also pregnant. Which means you shouldn’t be.”
The silence that followed was heavy and brief. Nanami blinked once. Then again. Slowly.
She huffed, gesturing with a pillow like a commander issuing orders. “You do it. I want the bed there—” she pointed to the opposite wall, “—and my vanity over there.”
Nanami stared at her, lips parting before closing again in quiet resignation. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“…You realize I just spent twelve hours working, yes?”
“Mm-hm,” she hummed, unapologetic.
His eyes closed for a moment, a soft, helpless smile ghosting across his face. “Of course you did.”
He rolled up his sleeves, stepping toward the bedframe with quiet efficiency. “Fine. But next time you get the urge to redecorate, you tell me first. I’d rather move furniture than visit the emergency room.”
As he shifted the frame into place, her laughter filled the room—light, genuine. And despite himself, Nanami couldn’t help but smile.
The front door slid open with a quiet creak, and a low hum slipped from Geto’s lips as he stepped inside. The faintest smile curved across his face—small, genuine, the kind that softened the usual sharpness of his features. His hair brushed against his cheek as he tilted his head, letting the familiar silence of home settle around him like a warm embrace.
Hands tucked into the opposite sleeves of his robe, he called softly, “Darling? I’m home.”
No answer—at least, not right away. A faint scraping sound came from the living room. Curious, Geto padded forward, peering around the corner—only to pause mid-step.
“Oh…” his brow arched, amusement flickering across his face. “You seem quite busy.”
There she was—his pregnant wife—half bent over the coffee table, one end of it lifted as she tried to drag it across the floor.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. She blinked at him. He blinked back. The silence stretched long enough to be almost comical before Geto sighed quietly and crossed the room.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” he murmured, voice gentle but carrying that quiet authority that always made people listen.
[Name] frowned lightly. “I’m just moving it a little. The room felt cramped.”
Geto stopped beside her, crouching to take the weight of the table from her hands with ease. “And yet,” he said, setting it down with a soft thud, “you’re not supposed to lift anything heavier than a teacup right now.”
His tone was light, but his eyes softened as he straightened and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.
“You’re far too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”
Her lips pressed into a pout. “I just wanted to fix the layout.”
A soft chuckle escaped him—warm and low. “Then tell me where you want it, and I’ll handle the rest. The last thing I need is you throwing your back out because of feng shui.”
She hesitated, then gave a small, sheepish smile. “…Fine. Over by the window.”
“Mm,” he hummed in acknowledgment, already lifting the table as though it weighed nothing. “There’s my good girl.”
As he adjusted the furniture to her liking, the calm of the home settled once again—his quiet hum resuming under his breath, the sound of a man content in his small, simple happiness.
If youd like specific JJK men pls let me know!
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
gamechangershow
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
romaincrisis
sugurugetos