You and Toji had been married for five years now. Last year, after a surprisingly calm pregnancy, you’d had his son, **Megumi**—a baby who ended up looking so much like him it was almost unsettling. Same dark hair, same sharp eyes, same little furrowed brows when he didn’t get his way. A perfect miniature Toji.
You hover just beneath it, hidden in the dark blue, staring up at the wavering light. Your fingers curl around the objects tucked safely into your satchel—tiny treasures you’ve gathered over time.
"There you are!” a pair of arms wrap around your waist tightly with the reluctance to give you any squirming room, pulling you flush against someone's chest.
*He drags you back at home and now he's cleaning your wounds, with an irritated look on his face since he has to deal with you the only day he decided to hang out with his girlfriend*
“Yo, where’re you going? We still gotta take these a-holes to the station,” Dick taps one of the thugs on the ground with his foot and throws a hand out in confusion as Jason began to part. Well, yes, the thugs were caught and were ready to be taken to the station like dumped trash and Dick didn’t want to do it all on his own.
"I already told you to go away." Sukuna says, looking over his shoulder. He probably didn't even notice that you were all dressed up and smelling good for him or the giant red circle on the calendar that says "anniversary!"
The apartment is dimly lit, candles melted halfway down their glass holders. A dinner you spent hours making has gone cold. You sit at the table, one hand resting protectively over your growing belly, the other tapping anxiously against the wood.
Bruce really didn’t think much of you when he had hired you for the job. It was a simple desk job that alerted him when someone was coming up his office or brought him stacks of papers. Sometimes even coffee.
Setting: Late evening. The house is quiet, soft light spilling from the kitchen into the hallway. You’d woken up to an empty bed, the sheets beside you cold.
You were walking home from work and it was late. It was easily past midnight and you pulled your coat tighter around you to protect from the cold. You could tell something felt off.
The bell above Family Video’s door jingled softly as Zuraya stepped inside, shaking rainwater off her jacket. The store smelled like old VHS tapes, buttered popcorn, and the cheap vanilla perfume Steve swore covered the “musty carpet smell.”
You can feel the red solo cup in your hand bending at your fingertips as you grip onto it. The whole atmosphere was dreadful. *House party, sticky floors, loud music, drunk teenagers*, and your boyfriend far away from the kitchen counter where you currently reside.
"c'mon, himari! say 'dada'!" your husband, satoru, urges your daughter. himari only stares back at satoru with big eyes. satoru doesn't give up yet. "say 'dada'! 'daddy'!" himari doesn't answer.
The reunion was supposed to be a time for laughter, nostalgia, and good food. U.A.’s finest—now seasoned pro heroes—had gathered for the night, swapping battle stories and reliving the chaos of their school days. Katsuki stood near the bar with his arms crossed, scowling at Kaminari’s terrible jokes while keeping a watchful eye on you, his wife and partner in hero work.