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welcome to my blog!
feel free to explore and enjoy your stay!
𐂴: general:
• about me • request rules; etc. • masterlist •
𐂴: status:
closed; i’m on a hiatus ((oops) update: it’s almost been four years…) i’ll catchup on requests before taking more! <3
requests in inbox: three
𐂴: recent works:
all too well: kuroo tetsuro songfic
artist/painter!jean kirstein boyfriend headcanons
easy: a semi eita songfic/ficlet
all borders/dividers are from here
bakugo carries your photo in his wallet, one particularly special to him.
✮ content. pro-hero bakugo x fem!reader. fluff. reader & bakugo are married w/ a kid (brief mention of family). early 30s.
Bakugo keeps a picture of you in his wallet, and no, it’s not from your wedding or a fancy hero gala.
Hell, it's not even recent.
It’s a polaroid that's almost a decade old; faded, creased and worn with time. The scribbled note in permanent marker on the bottom is still legible in your handwriting, a few hearts with the words "love you!!” etched on to it. Mina insisted on taking everyone's pictures for the new year, flashing her camera around until there were little white squares littering the floor. At the end of the night, you grabbed one — the one — that you thought was the best of the bunch. Bakugo still remembers how your face lit up when you found it as if you’d discovered a hidden treasure.
Well, in one way, you did.
It was a sweet moment, one that you viewed as a cute candid shot of you two on the couch together, sitting in his lap with your arms around his neck as he held your waist. But to him? That was the night he knew, all those years ago, that you were his future — his forever.
So now, as he stands at the grocery store shopping for your little family, the photo peaks out of the pocket of his wallet and fills him with a nostalgic warmth. It’s a small token, a reminder, that being the best hero isn’t his only reason to keep going.
And he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
me when i cry
toji fushiguro is not a man of structure.
he sleeps when he’s tired, eats when he’s hungry, and doesn’t bother with trivial things like routines or household organization. his apartment is livable, sure, but it’s clear he doesn’t put much thought into it—clothes draped over furniture, dishes left in the sink, mail stacked haphazardly on the counter. he knows where everything is (more or less), but it’s not exactly functional.
then you move in.
and suddenly, there are little signs of change.
the first time he notices, it’s in the kitchen—his mismatched, barely-there collection of plates and cups has doubled. your things now sit alongside his, an extra coffee mug on the counter, a set of utensils that actually match.
then, in the bathroom—your toothbrush next to his, your skincare products cluttering the sink. it should annoy him, but it doesn’t. if anything, he finds himself lingering there a little longer, just to see the proof that you’re here.
his bed, once a mess of tangled sheets he never bothered to fix, is suddenly made in the mornings. not neatly, not perfectly, but enough that it looks intentional. toji never cared before, but when you crawl into bed at night and sigh, all content and cozy, he thinks… maybe it’s nice.
it’s a slow shift, but he adjusts—without realizing it, without meaning to.
and then one day, you notice.
you’re standing in the entryway, slipping your shoes on, when something catches your eye. a small wooden tray by the door, something you’re sure wasn’t there before.
and sitting inside it—your keys, alongside his.
your breath catches.
toji, already halfway out the door, glances back. “you comin’?”
you don’t answer right away, just staring at the little tray.
“…did you put this here?” your voice is quiet.
he shrugs. “you always lose your damn keys. figured this’d help.”
your eyes burn.
toji sighs. “don’t start crying over a tray.”
but it’s not just the tray. it’s everything—the way he started putting his laundry in the hamper because you do, the way he doesn’t leave dishes in the sink anymore because he knows you’ll wash them if he does. the way he bought an extra blanket because you always get cold, the way he waits to eat if you’re not home yet.
you sniffle. “you changed for me.”
he steps closer, tilting your chin up. “didn’t change, baby. just—” his thumb brushes your cheek. “—made space.”
your lip wobbles. “for me.”
he smirks. “who else?”
and when you throw yourself at him, arms wrapped tight around his waist, toji just chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
it was an ordinary afternoon—nothing extravagant, nothing particularly special. nanami was sitting at the kitchen table, his sleeves rolled up as he flipped through a book, occasionally taking slow sips of his coffee. the golden sunlight streamed in through the window, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the soft furrow of his brow, the way his fingers rested against the ceramic mug.
you were supposed to be doing something productive—cleaning, answering emails, anything other than staring at him. but you couldn’t help it. he looked so effortlessly handsome, so calm, so nanami.
and before you could stop yourself, the words just… slipped out.
“we should get married.”
nanami froze mid-page turn. his eyes lifted, slowly, meeting yours with an expression that was unreadable at first.
you blinked.
oh.
oh no.
his fingers tapped against the book’s spine as he carefully set it down. “pardon?”
your mouth opened, but no words came out. why did you say it like that? you hadn’t planned this. there was no ring, no romantic setup, no speech prepared—just you, sitting there in pajama shorts and an old t-shirt, blurting out a marriage proposal over coffee.
“um.” you swallowed, suddenly very aware of how intently he was watching you. “i just—i mean—you look really nice right now, and I was thinking about how much I love you, and then I thought, ‘wow, I could look at him like this forever,’ and then—” you gestured vaguely. “—that happened.”
a beat of silence. then—
nanami let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh—soft, barely there, but unmistakably fond. he leaned back slightly, tilting his head as if taking in the moment.
“that,” he said, setting his coffee down, “is the most unceremonious proposal I’ve ever heard.”
“i know,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “forget I said anything. I can’t believe I just—”
but before you could spiral further into embarrassment, you felt the warmth of his hand, gentle and grounding, as he reached across the table to take yours.
“no,” nanami said, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. “say it again.”
your breath hitched as you peeked at him from between your fingers. “what?”
his lips curled just slightly at the edges—something too small to be called a smile, but there was warmth in his expression, something soft and unbearably tender.
“ask me again.” he murmured.
your heart stuttered in your chest.
you took a shaky breath, gathering the courage to meet his gaze fully.
“kento,” you said, this time with intent. “will you marry me?”
nanami exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. for a moment, he said nothing—just looked at you, his gaze steady, deep, full.
and then, in that same calm, even tone, he answered.
“yes.”
you blinked. “yes?”
“yes.” he lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “i’d planned to ask you myself, but… this works too.”
you stared at him, feeling warmth bloom in your chest before breaking into a breathless laugh. “this is the worst proposal ever.”
“perhaps,” nanami hummed, brushing his thumb over your ring finger as if already picturing the band that would soon be there. “but it’s ours.”
the afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting golden hues over the quiet streets as you strolled alongside nanami. the crisp air carried the distant hum of city life, but here, in this peaceful little corner, it was just the two of you.
then, a soft meow caught your attention.
your eyes darted around until you spotted a small tabby cat perched precariously on a high ledge of a brick wall. its tail twitched, ears flicking in distress.
“poor thing,” you murmured. before nanami could stop you, you were already climbing onto a lower ledge, reaching up to help the stranded feline.
“this is a bad idea,” nanami warned, but there was no real bite to his tone—just quiet concern as he stood below, watching your progress.
“i’ve got this,” you assured him, and after a bit of careful maneuvering, you managed to scoop up the trembling cat. “see? easy—”
then you looked down.
oh.
oh no.
you hadn’t realized how high you’d climbed until now, and suddenly, your legs felt weak. the brick wall, which had seemed so sturdy just moments ago, felt impossibly narrow beneath your feet.
“nanami,” you called, voice tight. “i think i made a mistake.”
he sighed, already holding out his arms. “of course you did. now jump.”
your grip on the cat tightened. “what if you don’t catch me?”
he looked at you, utterly unamused. “do you really think i’d let that happen?”
his steady, golden gaze rooted you in place, a silent promise laced in the calmness of his voice.
you hesitated. then—
your foot slipped.
for a split second, panic seized your chest as gravity yanked you down, but before you could even brace for impact, strong arms caught you with ease.
the force of the fall knocked the air from your lungs, but you were safe, cradled securely against nanami’s chest. the cat scrambled out of your arms and landed gracefully on the pavement, as if mocking your clumsiness.
nanami sighed again, but this time, it was more exasperation than real annoyance. “you’re reckless,” he muttered, but his arms remained firmly around you, holding you close.
you peered up at him sheepishly. “but you caught me.”
he huffed, eyes softening. “of course i did.”
EHEHEHEHHE
Can we get some lore on Toji and mamaguro?
megumi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tilts his head and asks the question of the century.
“how did you and papa meet?”
you pause. toji’s eyes immediately gleam with something absolutely devious. and you know—before he even opens his mouth—that he’s about to ruin it. “ahhh, great question, kid,” toji sighs, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to tell the most important story of all time. “see, once upon a time, i was young. reckless. sexy. a lone wolf prowlin’ the streets—”
your head snaps toward him. “what.”
“—and then,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “i met this woman.” he jerks his chin toward you. “absolutely feral. scary as hell. deadly, too. had this whole mysterious cat burglar thing goin’ on.” megumi’s eyes widen.
“like catwoman?”
“exactly!” toji claps his hands. “but hotter.”
you squint. “i took one look at her,” toji sighs dramatically, clutching his chest like a man struck by fate. “and bam!” he slaps the floor for emphasis, making megumi jump. “love at first sight.”
“…you were on the floor at first sight,” you correct. “because i threw you there.” toji grins. “same thing.”
megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “why’d you throw him?”
toji hums, tapping his chin like he’s recalling some grand tale. “well, kid, your mama wasn’t always the sweet, loving lady she is now. back in the day, she was a real menace. sharp, deadly, no-nonsense.” you roll your eyes. “and you were an idiot.”
“a charming idiot,” toji corrects, leaning back with a smirk. “but hey, you wanna hear the real story?” he gestures for megumi to sit closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “lemme tell you how it really happened…”
/\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊
toji should’ve known better than to touch you. but in his defense, he had really just wanted your attention. it wasn’t every day you saw someone move like that—fast, sharp, deadly, with the kind of ease that made seasoned killers look sloppy. you had just wiped the floor with half a dozen guys and hadn’t even broken a sweat. so, naturally, toji thought it would be real cute to tap your shoulder.
“yo, sweetheart, what’s your—”
before he could finish, his back slammed against the pavement, skull bouncing off the concrete. you stood over him, eyes sharp, unimpressed, like you were deciding whether or not to finish the job. “touch me again and i’ll break your arm,” you said. toji, lying there with a grin stretching across his face, thought, damn.
toji was relentless. “shiuuuu,” he whined, draping himself over the back of shiu’s chair like a dead weight. “c’mon, man, just once. put me on a job with her. please.” shiu didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “for the last time, no.”
“why not?” toji huffed. “we’d be great together.” shiu sighed. “no, you’d be a menace. i don’t have time to deal with you getting distracted and showing off for your crush mid-mission.” toji crossed his arms. “what? i would not.”
shiu finally glanced at him. toji looked away. shiu raised an eyebrow. toji grumbled, “okay, maybe a little.”
shiu shook his head. “go away.” but did that stop toji? absolutely not.
the man campaigned like his life depended on it. followed you around whenever he saw you, made a damn fool of himself trying to impress you—sparring without a shirt (useless, you didn’t even blink), dramatically taking down targets in the most unnecessarily flashy ways, dropping the occasional sweetheart or princess just to see if he could get a rise out of you. nothing. you remained cool, detached, frustratingly uninterested.
until one day, when you finally looked at him and said, “if i agree to work with you, will you shut up?” toji lit up like a kid on christmas. “yes.”
“fine.”
“wait, really?”
you shrugged. “shiu thinks you’re useful enough to keep around, so i’ll give it a shot. but if you slow me down, i’m leaving you behind.” toji grinned. “babe, you’re gonna love working with me.”
(you did not love working with him. at first.)
the first mission together was a disaster. not because it went wrong—oh no, everything was executed perfectly. but because toji spent the entire time trying to get you to laugh. he was muttering jokes over the comms, making faces when no one was looking, even tossing out ridiculous one-liners mid-fight just to see if he could crack your composure. nothing. you were focused, professional, as if you didn’t even register his antics.
until the job was done, and he caught you, just for a split second, hiding the smallest smirk. toji nearly died on the spot. "i knew you had a sense of humor," he said, triumphant. you rolled your eyes. “if you mess around too much, you'll get yourself killed.” toji grinned. "nah. gotta stick around. haven’t won you over yet.”
(he did. eventually.)
/\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊
megumi listened like it’s a live-action soap opera. “and guess what?” toji smirks, elbowing your side. “it worked.”
“against my better judgment,” you mutter, crossing your arms. megumi tilts his head. “but you like him now.”
toji grins, looking smug. “yeah, mama. you like me.”
you stare at him. then, with a perfectly measured swing, you whack the back of his head so fast that he blinks in shock. then, suddenly, something in his face changes. the slow grin. the slight daze in his eyes. “damn,” he breathes. “that’s exactly why i fell for you in the first place.”
megumi makes a disgusted face. but toji, still caught in whatever lovestruck spiral he’s in, just stretches and leans back against the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “it’s true, y’know,” he hums, reminiscing. “with other people, i was a cold bastard. with your mama? blubbering puppy.”
megumi looks at you for confirmation. you sigh. “unfortunately, yes.”
megumi squints. “prove it.”
toji’s grin widens.
somewhere, in an alternate flashback—
“alright, asshole, you got three seconds to start beggin’ before i blow your damn face off,” toji growls, pointing his gun at some poor soul tied to a chair. the guy trembles. “p-please, i—”
“not you, dumbass, him,” toji grunts, jerking his thumb toward his colleague—shiu, who is standing off to the side, looking like he has an unfortunate headache. “toji,” shiu sighs. “just finish the job.”
“nah, nah, lemme enjoy this.” toji cracks his neck. “c’mon, big guy, scream f'me.”
footsteps. and before the victim can even register what’s happening, toji suddenly changes. in half a second, he goes from “demonic assassin ready to pull the trigger” to—
“BABE!!”
his voice shoots up an octave. the victim stares. and then he watches—in real time—as the fearsome assassin fushiguro toji throws his loaded gun on the table and immediately goes soft. “babe,” toji beams, turning toward the door. “didja eat yet? you sleep okay? what’s up? what’s goin’ on?”
the victim blinks. you walk into the room like nothing is out of the ordinary, sipping a bottle of water, giving the scene a quick glance before meeting toji’s gaze.
“you forgot your lunch.”
you hold up a neatly wrapped bento box. toji gasps. "awww, babe, you love me.”
the victim gapes as toji practically skips over to you, completely forgetting he was in the middle of a goddamn interrogation. the target, still bound to his chair, is on the verge of tears. “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING—”
back to the present—
megumi, jaw slightly dropped, slowly turns to his father.
“…you are pathetic.”
toji grins. “nah. i’m in love.” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “you were in love. now you’re just embarrassing.”
megumi nods in agreement. toji scoffs. “y’know, if this is the kinda disrespect i get in my own house—”
“—you can leave,” you and megumi say in unison. toji groans, flopping dramatically onto the floor. but secretly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.
sigh :33
I NEED SUKUNA AND HIS SHY BABY CUDDLING I BEG YOU🙏🙏
a/n: loving your ideas for shy daughter fr guys (also i promise i am working on the gojo fic 🥹) also she is around like 3 years old here
sukuna is a man of destruction. a force that leaves ruin in his wake.
but now—now he is a man pinned to the floor by a bundle of warmth barely the size of his forearm.
you lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with amusement as your daughter clings to his chest like a particularly stubborn vine.
she is small—delicate in a way that contrasts starkly against the sheer scale of the man beneath her.
but her grip is unyielding, tiny hands fisting into the fabric of his robe as if letting go would mean losing the entire world.
-> pairings: miya osamu x gn!reader | sfw | cw: none | genre: fluff | wc: 619 | mlist
-> synopsis: your boyfriend has odd eating habits, but it’s only because he loves you so much.
“You eat like you’ve been starved.”
“Hm?” Osamu remarks, shoveling onigiri into his mouth at a speed that makes you wonder how he hasn’t choked yet. The whir of the fridge rings faintly in your ear while you watch in amusement as he barely breathes between bites. It had become almost a ritual between you and your boyfriend to order in on cozy nights like these when neither you or him had the energy to cook.
It had also become routine for Osamu to scarf his food down in seconds while you pick at yours aimlessly.
“I said you eat like you‘ve just suffered through a famine,” you laugh, heart swelling with a soft affection. “Why?”
the minute you see your daughter standing in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around her labubu, staring down her father with an intense glare, you immediately know she wants something. sukuna, however, is oblivious. "the hell you lookin’ at me like that for?" he grunts from the couch, flipping through his work files.
your daughter clutches her labubu tighter, like it’s fueling her resolve. you lean in, whispering, "baby, what is it?"
her eyes stay locked onto sukuna as she dramatically declares:
"i want papa to be labubu."
silence.
sukuna stares at her. then at you.
"the fuck does that mean?"
"bad word!" she immediately snaps. "fine," he rolls his eyes. "the heck does that mean?"
you blink. "…you know what?"
and that’s how, in the true spirit of parenthood, you find yourself calling up a friend of a friend, who knows a guy, who somehow makes your daughter’s dream come true.
two weeks later, the package arrives. your daughter rips it open with the ferocity of a seasoned gift opener. the moment she pulls out the plush, she gasps loudly.
"PAPA LABUBU!"
sukuna, sipping his coffee at the dining table, glances up—and nearly spits it out. because there, in your daughter’s tiny hands, is a custom-made labubu. but not just any labubu.
it has four arms.
it has a menacing smirk.
it has tattoos.
it is, unmistakably, a sukuna labubu.
she immediately turns to her dad and holds it up like an offering. "it you, papa," she says, eyes shining with joy. sukuna stares at it. stares at her. then back at the abomination she’s clutching like it’s the greatest thing ever created.
"what the fuck," he mutters.
"bad word!"
"—what the heck," he corrects, still in shock.
you, meanwhile, are losing your shit. "baby, that’s amazing," you say between wheezes. "you finally have a papa labubu!" your daughter nods proudly.
sukuna, the king of the corporate world, watches in silent horror as his daughter snuggles the sukuna labubu, whispering, "good papa," before placing it on his chair at the dining table. "oh my god," you whisper, clutching your stomach. "she replaced you."
sukuna buries his face in his hands.
later that night, you find him sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the plush in one hand, expression unreadable. "so," you smirk, "you a labubu now?"
he side-eyes you. "shut up."
"no, but really," you snicker, sitting beside him. "are you mad about it or—"
"mad? no," he scoffs. "it’s cute."
pause.
he exhales.
"…but why the fuck does it have four arms?"
i fear this is THE CUTEST.
