_qrts.

♯ a bit rushed bc i did it in a rush also ❤️☺️

Nanami had never considered himself a jealous man.

possessive, perhaps, in small ways. protective? certainly.

but jealousy? it was messy. the sort of thing that clouded judgement and made people act irrationally.

Nanami preferred facts.

and the fact was that you were free to spend time with anyone. the fact that your smile didn't belong to him. and the fact that he trusted you completely.

but why—why had he spent the last twenty minutes staring at his phone?

the photo on the screen was harmless for god's sake!

a group picture from a company dinner. you sat near the center, smiling oh so sweetly to the camera.

but the problem is there was a man sitting beside you.

nothing appropriate or suspicious. just a coworker. a coworker whose arm was slung casually over the back of your chair.

a coworker who seemed to appear in every photos your friend posted. a coworker whose name you had mentioned bunch of times this week without realizing it.

Nanami locked his phone and set it face down on the table.

he hated this feeling. Not because he distrusted you.

there was no reason for the knot tightening in his chest.

there is no logical explanation for why he suddenly found himself wondering whether you smiled that brightly around everyone. or whether you looked at everyone the way you looked at him.

the apartment door opened suddenly, snapping him out of his trance.

"Kento?" your voice drifted through the hallway.

you stepped into the living room, smiling when you saw him.

"There you are."

Nanami returned the smile automatically.

but as you sat beside him and started talking about your day, he found himself listening for one name. and when it finally appeared in the conversation? his jaw tightened.

your words faltered. "Kento?" you looked at him carefully.

for a moment, neither of you spoke.

then, quietly, you asked. "Is there something wrong?"

he met your gaze briefly before looking away.

the silenced stretched. not uncomfortable, just heavy. Nanami wasn't entirely sure how to answer.

you knew your husband too well to notice when something was off.

"Kento."

"Hm."

"You're doing that thing."

his brows furrowed slightly. "What thing?"

"The thing where you pretend nothing's bothering you."

you moved closer on the couch, turning toward him fully.

"Did something happen at work?"

"No."

"Did someone annoy you?"

"Not particularly."

"Are you tired?"

"Always."

your expression only softened.

your fingers reached for his hand without thinking. you interwined your fingers with his.

"C'mon, talk to me?"

you waited patiently, giving him space to speak.

Nanami hated that he was making this difficult.

eventually, he said, "Who is he?"

you blinked. "...who?"

"The coworker."

your eyes widened slightly. "Oh."

for several seconds, you said nothing.

then, "Are you jealous?"

Nanami closed his eyes briefly. "Perhaps," he sighed.

your expression softened even further.

you shifted closer until your shoulder rested against his.

"I found him annoying," you started. "He talks too much, he steals food, he's arrogant too."

the corner of Nanami's mouth twitched. you caught it immediately.

"There he is."

"I was here the entire time."

"No, you were somewhere in your own head."

you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

"I don't smile because of him," you sighed. "I smile because i was having fun."

his gaze softened. "I know," he admitted.

"Then why are you suffering by yourself?"

a faint huff escaped him, not quite a laugh.

"Because," he pulled your joined hands closer. "I was hoping it would stop if i ignored it."

"Did it work?"

"No."

you laughed. "That was unfortunate."

he laughed along with you. "It was."

the knot in his chest began to loosen.

not because the jealousy had vanished. but because you were looking at him exactly the way you always had.

Babe? No! I'm Mom!

The sun is streaming through the kitchen windows, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes is filling the air, and you are currently standing at the stove, flipping a slightly burnt blueberry pancake.

Sukuna is sitting at the kitchen island. He’s fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, his damp pink hair falling into his eyes. He’s scrolling through his phone, sipping his black coffee, completely relaxed.

“Hey,” you say, not looking away from the frying pan. “Can you grab the syrup from the pantry?”

“Yeah, I got it babe.” Sukuna rumbles. He stands up, his massive frame easily reaching the top shelf of the pantry. He sets the bottle on the counter next to you, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to your bare shoulder. “Smells good.”

“Thanks, babe,” you smile, leaning into his touch.

It’s a normal morning. A perfectly domestic, quiet morning. And then, the patter of tiny, bare feet echoes down the hallway.

Yuji waddles into the kitchen. He’s wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, his spiky pink hair sticking up in every possible direction. He’s clutching an empty plastic sippy cup in one chubby hand, looking incredibly serious for a toddler who just woke up.

He stops in the middle of the kitchen floor. He looks at you. He looks at Sukuna.

Then, he takes a deep breath, puffs out his little chest, and yells, “Babe!”

You freeze. The spatula in your hand halts mid-air. Sukuna stops mid-sip of his coffee. He slowly lowers the mug, his eyes blinking in confusion.

“Did he just…” you whisper, slowly turning your head to look at your husband.

“There’s no way,” Sukuna mutters, his brow furrowing. He looks down at the two-year-old. “What did you say, little man?”

Yuji marches over to Sukuna. He stops right at his father’s bare feet, tilts his head all the way back to look up at the towering 6’4” wall of muscle, and holds up his empty sippy cup.

“Babe,” Yuji says, his voice completely clear and demanding. “Juice. Pwease.”

Sukuna’s jaw drops.

You slap a hand over your mouth, your eyes going wide. “Oh my god.”

“Did you…” Sukuna stammers, looking from Yuji to you, completely bewildered. “Did he just call me babe?”

“He definitely just called you babe,” you wheeze, a laugh bubbling up in your throat.

Yuji, growing impatient with the lack of service, turns his attention to you. He waddles over to the stove, tugging on the hem of your pajama shorts.

“Babe,” Yuji insists, pointing a chubby finger at the frying pan. “Pancake.”

A loud, booming bark of laughter erupts from your husbands chest. He throws his head back, his massive shoulders shaking as he braces his hands on the kitchen island. “Holy shit,” he wheezes.

“It’s not funny!” you scold, though you are biting your lip so hard to keep from laughing that it actually hurts. “He’s going to go to daycare and call his teachers babe!”

“The kid’s got swagger, what can I say?” Sukuna laughs, wiping his eyes. He crouches down, bringing himself to Yuji’s eye level. “Hey. Buddy. Who am I?”

Yuji looks at him like it’s the stupidest question in the world. He reaches out, patting Sukuna’s tattooed cheek with a sticky hand. “Babe.”

Sukuna bites his fist, his face turning red from the effort of holding in another hysterical laugh. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Stop swearing!” you hiss, swatting Sukuna’s shoulder with the spatula. You kneel down next to him, putting on your most serious, gentle mom-face. “Yuji, sweetie, look at me.”

Yuji blinks his big, golden eyes at you. “Yeah?”

You let out a long groan, dropping your head into your hands. Sukuna is practically vibrating next to you, completely useless.

“No, baby,” you say, looking back up. You point to yourself. “I am Mama. Ma-ma.”

Yuji stares at you.

You point to Sukuna, who is currently trying to compose his face into something resembling a responsible parent. “And he is Dada. Da-da. Not babe.”

Yuji looks at Sukuna. He looks at you. His little eyebrows furrow in deep toddler concentration. He’s processing the information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Mama,” Yuji says slowly, pointing at you.

“Yes!” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Good boy!”

Yuji then points at Sukuna. “Dada.”

“Exactly,” Sukuna nods, looking incredibly proud. “Nailed it, little man.”

Yuji smiles, a massive, gummy grin that lights up his entire face. He looks thrilled with himself. He holds up his sippy cup again, looking right at Sukuna.

“Dada babe! Juice!”

“I give up,” you sigh, standing back up and walking over to the fridge to get the apple juice. “We’re raising a tiny frat boy. This is entirely your fault.”

“My fault?!” Sukuna gasps from the floor, trying to catch his breath. “How is this my fault?!”

“Because you call me babe every five seconds!” you argue, pouring juice into the plastic cup. “You never use my actual name! You never call me mama! He literally thinks ‘babe’ is a universal pronoun!”

“You call me babe too!” Sukuna defends himself, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees. He looks entirely too amused by the situation. “I haven’t heard you call me ‘dada’ unless we’re in the bedroom, and even then—”

“RYOMEN SUKUNA!” you shriek, your face flushing a shade of red as you shove the sippy cup into his chest. “Not in front of the child!”

“What? He doesn’t know what that means,” Sukuna smirks, standing up and effortlessly pulling you by the waist until your back is flush against his chest. He rests his chin on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you.

Yuji happily takes his juice, taking a long sip before waddling over to the living room to watch his cartoons, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis he just caused.

“We have to actively start calling each other Mama and Dada around him. Seriously. I am not having my two-year-old walk around the grocery store yelling ‘babe’ at me.”

“Alright, alright,” Sukuna chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. He presses a soft kiss to your hair. “We’ll be better. Strictly Mama and Dada from now on.”

“Promise?” you ask, turning your head to look up at him.

“Yes, mommy..” he laughs, kissing your cheek. You groan, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “I hate you.”

this marriage is going to be a disaster.

it's a gnawing sense that you're certain of. it ripples over your bones when you even just think about it. the ink on the agreement hasn’t even dried and already it feels like a threat. like someone tied a knot around your throat instead of your wrist.

you hate your husband to be. hate him. that he’s untouchable. unbearable. he’s the type to press a blade to your throat and smile all cockily, like a reminder he could push it further if he wanted to.

you hate him.

it’s a hatred cultivated over years of hushed discussions with your clan elders, sideways glances every time you were in the same room as the man. clipped words and that infuriating, knowing look he always seems to wear when he looks at you.

and he hates you right back.

you hear steps - undoubtedly his steps - trail closer and closer to the room you’re in. your shoulders tense at the thought of having to look at him. the door swings open. “you’re late,” you say without looking up.

“wow,” gojo says lightly, dragging the word out. “that’s how you greet your future husband? no flowers? no tears of joy?”

you finally look at him. he’s smiling. of course he’s smiling. you hate that it suits him. “if i had flowers,” you reply drily, “i’d throw them at your face.”

“romantic,” he hums. “i always knew you were the sentimental type.”

your fingers tighten around the paper in your hand. the clan seal stares back at you like an accusation, like a joke someone forgot to laugh at. “you have to sign this,” you say, voice flat, pointing to the paper you’ve left crumpled on the table. “my clan head wants it in the next hour.”

“well, i’m my own clan head, so i’ll sign it when i feel like it,” he replies, and he drops his gangly figure on a couch, tilting his head back.

you roll your eyes. he really is insufferable.

“try not to look so thrilled,” gojo drawls from across the room, long legs stretched out like he owns not just the space, but the air you’re forced to breathe with him. “people might start thinking you actually want this.”

you scoff before you can stop yourself, arms folding tight across your chest. “please. the day i want anything involving you is the day i check myself into a monastery.”

he hums, tilting his head, blindfold hiding his eyes but not the sharp curl of his smile. “tempting. you’d finally get some peace and quiet.”

“i’d have it right now if you stopped talking.”

“and miss out on all this?” he gestures lazily between the two of you, like this is some kind of joke, like this isn’t a life sentence being signed in ink that feels too permanent. “our beautiful, politically motivated union? i’m touched.”

“you should be,” you snap. “i’m sacrificing more than you are.”

that earns a soft laugh, low and unimpressed. “that’s funny. i was about to say the same thing.”

the room feels smaller than it is. suffocating. packed with expectations that don’t belong to you, voices of elders who decided this was the solution, the alliance, the neat little bow tied around decades of tension. as if forcing two people who can barely stand to look at each other into marriage will magically turn resentment into harmony.

it doesn’t. it won’t. you know that. he knows that too.

“don’t flatter yourself,” gojo says. “this isn’t a sacrifice. it’s damage control.”

your gaze snaps to him. “for who?”

“for you,” he says easily.

you take a step forward before you can stop yourself. “watch it.”

“or what?” he tilts his head, smile widening just enough to be insulting. “you’ll glare at me harder?”

your jaw tightens. “you think this benefits me?”

“i think,” he says, sitting up now, elbows braced on his knees, “your clan’s been bleeding influence for years, and this is their last attempt to cling to relevance. congratulations, you’re the bargaining chip.”

the room goes still and you laugh sharply. “and you’re what? the prize?”

“no,” he says, just as sharp. “the leash.”

that almost knocks the breath out of you. for a second neither of you moves. the air feels brittle, like it might crack if either of you breathes too hard. “you’re not that important,” you say quieter now, which somehow makes it worse. “no matter how much you like to pretend you are.”

gojo’s smile slips. “right,” he murmurs. “keep telling yourself that.”

you hate that tone. you hate that it sounds like he knows something you don’t. you hate that he always sounds like that. “sign the damn paper,” you snap, shoving it closer to him. “or are you too busy admiring your own ego?”

he looks at it. doesn’t touch it. “you know what i hate about you?” he says suddenly.

you blink. “only one thing?”

“you stand there like you’re above it,” he continues, ignoring you completely. “like you weren’t raised in the same system. like you didn’t benefit from it just as much as i did.”

your stomach twists. “i never—”

“don’t,” he cuts in, voice dropping, colder now. stripped of that lazy amusement. “don’t try to make yourself the victim here. you’re not being dragged into this. you walked in with your head high and your pen ready.”

that stings and you step closer again, close enough until you poke his chest, finger jabbing him.

“i walked in because i don’t have the luxury of refusing,” you say. “something you wouldn’t understand.”

“no,” he says. “i understand perfectly.”

he leans back again, all sharp edges tucked away behind that infuriating ease. “but sure,” he adds, waving a hand dismissively. “tell yourself you’re the only one suffering. makes it easier, right?”

you stare at him, really stare this time. you see past the arrogance, the mockery.

resentment. aimed straight at you.

“sign it,” you repeat, voice steadier.

gojo glances over it like it’s something mildly inconvenient rather than binding, then his hand comes up, fingers brushing yours as he takes the paper, and it’s brief but jarring, like touching something you shouldn’t.

he doesn’t look at you, and doesn’t say anything. just glances down, grabs the pen off the table, and signs.

quick, decisive and careless.

satoru gojo.

he drops the paper back against your chest. “there,” he says. “happy?”

you stare down at it, at the ink that’s slowly starting to dry. “ecstatic,” you mutter.

“good,” he replies, already turning away. “wouldn’t want my wife-to-be to start off disappointed.”

you look up sharply at that, something hot and immediate flaring in your chest. “don’t call me that.”

he pauses at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder, smile curling like a threat. “what?” he says lightly. “wife?”

the word sounds wrong in his mouth. mocking. “get used to it.” and then he’s gone, leaving the door half open and the room feeling too quiet without him.

you look back down at the paper. at his name, at yours.

this marriage is going to be a disaster, and it feels like a promise.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ💬 sani's new message : bnha icons!

kirishima genuinely has begun to think he just attracts natural angry people, but as soon as your with him that switches like light. You’ll be bossing him around when others are there, a little eye roll and ‘tch’ everytime someone dirty looks you. Then as soon as your alone your all over him, soft kisses on his chest on his cheek basically purring like a cat.

kirishima who would never trade you for the world his friends always complain how mean you come across, how he ‘could do better man’ kirishima shuts them down real quick.

kirishima who thinks how could he do better then you? Your a bitch sure but the way whenever hes upset you dont talk just sit next to him and brush his hair, press your soft lips against his forehead and wait for him to talk. The way you help him dye his hair when the backs uneven, the way your arms instinctively pull him closer in your sleep.

but the best thing about you? kirishima is a firm believer in happy wife happy life don’t get him wrong. But that look in your eye when you genuinely get frustrated it makes a hot pile straight to his pants.

and especially when you overhear someone judging him. Now you never care when someone says anything about you, a small huff and a turn in their direction, one comment and you watch their mouth fly open . But when it’s him kirishima swears it’s the hottest thing, within seconds your turning around pointing fingers at the person waving it in front of their face and screaming like a mad women.

Now that is the side his friends never see, how soft you can be, how sweet how defensive and well how submissive you turn as soon as kirishima has something you need.

he swears his head spins when your underneath him pleading,whining and scratching all up his back for him to put it in or for him to give you some relief.

For him to touch your throbbing pussy that’s just drooling all over the bed, waiting for him.

Yeah. Kirishimas got the meanest girlfriend but her pussy is best.

husband!katsuki who massaged your feet when you were pregnant and made sure to always stock the fridge with your cravings, never missing a single day of cooking the meal you wanted the most.

husband!katsuki who didn’t believe you at all when you first told him you were pregnant, even after you showed him three positive tests, he made you take another one just in case. he stayed quiet for a moment before saying “fuck it. i’m gonna be a dad.” and kissed you for hours on end.

it’s always one careful kiss at first, the kind he gives like he’s being polite about wanting you. and then you pull back, smiling, thinking that’s it.

shoto doesn’t move away. he stays close, eyes flicking to your mouth like he’s weighing something, like he’s trying to be reasonable.

“...one more,” he murmurs.

you give it to him because how could you not? and he kisses you like he’s grateful, like he’s trying to make it quick...

except his hand slips to your waist. his thumb presses in, and his breath stutters like he forgot his own plan.

you break the kiss. “there.”

shoto blinks, as if he’s surprised you stopped him. then, quieter, like he’s confessing to a weakness, “one more.”

it becomes a pattern. a trap you fall into willingly.

because shoto’s “one more” isn’t about stopping. it’s about stalling. keeping you close. buying time. and the worst part is how earnest he is about it—how he says it like he truly believes the next kiss will satisfy him.

at some point, you start laughing every time he says it, because it’s ridiculous, and he gives you this small, offended look like you’re misunderstanding him.

“i’m serious,” he says, and then he kisses you again anyway.

and when you finally catch his wrists and hold him back, smiling, “shoto. how many ‘one mores’ do you need?”

his cheeks go faintly pink. he looks at you for a long second, painfully honest, then mumbles:

“…i don’t know,” before pausing.

“...one more.”

bakugou gets his hair cut and gets your reaction (spoiler: you love it!!)

a/n: I came up with this during my stats class 😭

Katsuki never gets his hair cut, but you insisted this time because it was getting messy. You were starting to regret that decision.

You were in the class lounge sitting on the kitchen island, biting your nails nervously.

“wait Mina I’m actually scared.”

“What if it looks bad? I won’t be able to look at him the same.”

You dramatically placed a had on your face.

“Girl bye it’ll be okay. Hair grows”

“Oh please when kiri cut his hair, you were upset.”

“okay but that’s because it was too short but it wasn’t bad.”

“Right…it’s not like you called him—“ you paused, smirking, “whatever that comparison was.”

You both laughed.

As you continued chatting, you heard the door open.

Your head turned and saw it was kiri

“Omg kiri is it bad. Do i need to prepare myself”

He shined a toothy grin

“Don’t worry I honestly think you’ll like it.”

After followed bakugou who walked in.

He had a low taper fade, his spikes tamed and nicely cut. He looked goooddd

You ran to him and jumped up—showering him with kisses

“What’s with you woman?”

he scrunched his face as he held you close, preventing you from sliding down

“You look so handsome baby!”

“Tsk it’s nothing special. Just fixed my hair a bit”

Mina and kiri were watching you as she shared a snarky comment

“Looks like y/n likes it. Funny how she was scared that you would be ugly.”

she laughs.

You snapped your head up and glared before grabbing his hand and leading him to your room.

“Why are we here?” he asked, sounding suspicious.

“What? Can’t take my boyfriend to my room.”

He watched you carefully, like he was trying to figure something out.

The rest of the time, you were all over him. When he laid on your bed, you peppered his face with kisses. When he went to the bathroom to fix his hair after you messed it up, you sat on the counter, just admiring him. The whole day, you were basically glued to him.

Later that night, you went to his room while he was doing homework and climbed onto his lap, kissing him.

“You’ve been all over me today.” He said with small chuckle, kissing you back.

“Idk I’m just really digging this style on you. You should get it more often.”

You smiled into the kiss as he forgot all about the homework in front of him. His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair.

He pulled away slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips.