Ima Post Random Drafts

"Needles & Nonsense"

Summary: Reader’s stubbornness kicks back in, and the adults are not having it

The hospital room was too white.

The walls. The sheets. The buzzing light. It all made your skin crawl. Even worse was the IV line in your arm—a clear tube taped down to your skin like some parasite, slowly dripping fluids into your veins like you were a broken plant.

You glared at it like it had personally insulted you.

You had been stable for two days. That’s what they said. “Stable,” whatever that meant. You still felt like garbage. You couldn’t walk more than five feet without your knees giving out. But that was beside the point.

The point was the IV.

Disgusting. Cold. Invasive. You hated how it felt inside your arm, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. Every few hours a nurse would come by and adjust the bag, and you had to just sit there like a helpless child. It made your skin crawl. You weren’t even scared of needles, not really—it was the being plugged in part that made your chest tight.

And honestly?

You were done.

You looked toward the door. No nurses. No heroes. The hallway was quiet. Probably lunchtime.

You glanced down at your arm.

“This is a terrible idea,” you muttered under your breath.

Then you yanked the IV out.

It came free with a squelch and a tiny spurt of blood, and you slapped your hand over it with a hiss. “Ow, ow, ow—grossgrossgross—”

A few drops of saline hit the sheets as the IV line swung freely like a limp vine. You shoved it aside like it was cursed, pressing a tissue to your bleeding arm.

You felt instantly better.

But the second you relaxed, the door opened.

“…What the hell are you doing?” Aizawa’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

You flinched.

“I was—uh,” you started, hiding the bloody tissue behind your back. “Nothing?”

He strode over in three long steps, eyes scanning the scene. The IV was dangling. The bandage was slipping. Your arm was still dripping faintly.

“You pulled it out?!” he barked.

You winced. “It felt gross, okay?! I’m not a science experiment—!”

“You’re a hospital patient,” Aizawa snapped, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it to your arm. “This is here to keep you alive. You don’t get to decide to sabotage your care because it’s ‘gross.’”

“I didn’t sabotage anything!” you protested. “I’m just—ugh—it’s my body, let me have some say!”

“You lost that say when you let your body fall apart,” he shot back.

You went quiet.

Aizawa immediately regretted his words. His eyes softened, and his voice dropped. “…I didn’t mean it like that.”

But the silence between you stretched like a cracked window.

“I just…” you said after a while, voice small. “It made me feel like I wasn’t even in control anymore. Like everyone’s poking me and watching me and I’m not even—me anymore.”

Aizawa let out a slow breath. “Okay. Okay. I get it.”

You blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” he nodded. “But that doesn’t change the fact that this is still serious. You need those fluids.”

“…What if I drink more instead?” you offered weakly. “Like, a million electrolytes. And juice. And water. I’ll turn into a human Capri Sun.”

Aizawa gave you the driest look known to man.

“I’m being reasonable,” you added.

“You ripped a needle out of your arm.”

“...Emotionally reasonable, then.”

Before he could reply, the door burst open.

Midnight stormed in, Recovery Girl behind her.

“What happened? The monitor started freaking out—oh my god, what did you do?!” Midnight gasped.

“She pulled out her IV,” Aizawa said, tone flat.

Recovery Girl looked like she might combust on the spot. “You what?!”

“It felt gross!” you shouted, holding your arm like a wounded kitten.

Midnight clutched her head. “You’ve been in this hospital for two days and already started acting like an escaped gremlin.”

You huffed. “I wasn’t escaping. I was... asserting autonomy.”

Aizawa held up the bloody cloth. “With blood loss.”

Recovery Girl marched over and sat you up straighter with surprising strength. “If you do that again, I will have someone sit on you. Understood?”

“...Kinky,” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Mmhm.”

Midnight crossed her arms. “Do you hate the needle part or the ‘hooked up to something’ part?”

“…Both,” you admitted. “But mostly the hooked up part. It’s like I’m a USB stick.”

Recovery Girl pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. We’ll switch you to oral hydration and supplements if your blood pressure stabilizes over the next 12 hours. One more dip and you’re getting a double IV.”

You shivered. “Fine. Deal. Oral hydration or death.”

Midnight raised an eyebrow. “Dramatic much?”

“You’re literally talking to someone who steam-bleeds and passed out running down a hallway,” you said, deadpan. “Dramatic is my brand.”

Aizawa exhaled. “I’m too tired for this.”

“I’m tired, you’re just tired of me,” you teased.

He didn’t even crack a smile.

Midnight walked over and ruffled your hair. “Let’s just try to keep the holes in your arm where they belong, yeah?”

You nodded. “No promises.”

“Reader.”

“Okay, okay—I’ll be good. Kind of. Mostly. I’ll aim for like... 70%.”

Midnight looked at Aizawa. “That’s the best we’re gonna get.”

Aizawa just rubbed his temples again.

“Head Trauma? Never Heard of Her”

Featuring: You (bleeding, unbothered), Aizawa (perpetually tired), Midnight (living for the drama), and Present Mic (too loud for this).

---

Scene: Back Alley Behind a Fight – 6:45 PM

The battle is over. Villains: tied up. Civilians: safe. Heroes: dusting themselves off.

That’s when Aizawa freezes, squints into the distance, and mutters—

Aizawa: “Is that… blood?”

Midnight: “Where?”

Present Mic: “WHERE?!” echoing like a fire truck

They turn the corner and find you—a girl with a split-open forehead, a suspiciously calm smile, and a half-eaten granola bar.

Sitting on the curb. Bleeding. A lot. Like, A Lot a lot.

---

You: casually “Hey guys. Don’t mind me. Just leaking a bit.”

Aizawa: blinking slowly “You're actively hemorrhaging.”

You: “Yeah, it’s kind of a vibe. Adds mystery.”

Midnight: already digging for her first-aid kit “Sweetie, how are you even conscious?!”

You: “Adrenaline and vibes.”

---

Present Mic: “DID YOU GET ATTACKED?!”

You: cringing “Volume, my guy. I already hear ocean sounds and the voice of God.”

Aizawa: “You need a hospital.”

You: “Eh. Maybe. Or maybe this is my villain origin story.”

Midnight: “You’re too chill for a villain. You’d get distracted mid-monologue.”

You: “Correct. I’d stop to compliment someone’s shoes.”

---

Aizawa: “What happened?”

You: “Long story short, I tripped chasing a cat. Into a dumpster. Then a pipe fell on my head. The cat is fine though.”

Present Mic: “SHE TRIED TO BEFRIEND A DUMPSTER CAT.”

You: offended “He was majestic.”

---

Midnight: “You are bleeding like a faucet and still defending the cat?”

You: “His name is Garbage Prince and I’d die for him.”

Aizawa: already dialing an ambulance “You just might.”

---

Scene: Waiting for the ambulance

You: “Do I get a cool scar? Like one that makes people think I’ve seen things?”

Present Mic: “Only if you survive!”

You: thumbs up, slightly swaying “Neat.”

Midnight: “I want whatever mental stability cocktail you’re on.”

You: “It’s called ‘delusion and snacks.’”

---

Scene: Ambulance arrives

Paramedic: “What happened?!”

You: “Gravity and poor decision-making.”

Aizawa: “Put her on full watch. She named the blood trail on the way here.”

You: “His name is Kevin.”

---

To Be Continued…?

"Static Hearts"

The sun had just started to set, casting a golden glow over the U.A. training grounds. You sat on the bleachers, nursing a bottle of water after a long training session. Denki Kaminari was pacing nervously nearby, chewing on his lower lip.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. He kept glancing your way, then turning back around and muttering something to himself.

“Denki,” you called. “Are you okay? You look like you're about to short-circuit.”

He jumped—literally—and gave you a sheepish grin. “Haha, yeah! Totally fine. Just, uh… processing. Y’know. Brain stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you process before doing something dumb?”

“Ouch,” he said, mock-pouting. “That was rude. Accurate, but rude.”

You laughed, and he rubbed the back of his neck, the blush rising to his cheeks like a voltage spike. “Okay, uh… can I tell you something? Like… serious something?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, of course.”

He took a deep breath and stepped in front of you, eyes unusually steady despite the sparks dancing along his fingertips.

“I know I joke around a lot. And I know I’m not exactly the smoothest guy in the class—”

“You once flirted with a vending machine,” you reminded him.

“That machine ate my money, it was a declaration of war,” he said, flustered, but quickly shook his head. “Anyway. The point is… I like you. A lot. Like, a lot a lot.”

You blinked, stunned, as he kept going, words tumbling out in a rush.

“And I’m not saying I expect you to feel the same, but I just—every time you smile, I feel like I could overload. In a good way! Not in the ‘eyes-go-blank-I’m-a-human-lightning-rod’ kind of way. I just… had to say it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then you smiled.

“You’re such a dork.”

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Oh nooo, that’s it. I’m fried. I blew it.”

You reached out and tugged his sleeve gently. “Denki.”

He peeked at you through his fingers.

“I like you too.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—really? Like, seriously? No short-circuiting joke?”

“No joke,” you said, standing up to face him. “I think you’re funny. And brave. And sweet. And yeah… a little dumb sometimes.”

He grinned, the electricity in his hair sparking wildly now. “That’s fair.”

Then, suddenly unsure, he held out his hand. “So, uh… can I take you on a real date? No vending machines involved.”

You laced your fingers through his. “You’d better.”

---

"Explosions of the Heart"

This one is rlly long😭

☆☆☆

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and tension. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Bakugo Katsuki paced the floor like a caged animal. His hands—usually steady in battle—trembled slightly. Outside the delivery room, his world was unraveling.

"Mr. Bakugo," the nurse called gently. "She’s in distress. We’re doing everything we can."

He didn’t answer. His crimson eyes were locked on the swinging double doors that had swallowed you hours ago.

You—his wife, his partner, the only person who could call him a dumbass and still get a smile out of him—were behind those doors. And you were fighting a battle even he couldn't charge into fists-first.

Twelve Hours Earlier

Your water had broken in the dead of night. You’d barely gotten a full sentence out before Bakugo was already tossing clothes into a bag and barking at the cab company over the phone. By the time you reached the hospital, contractions were tearing through you like lightning, each one worse than the last.

Something wasn’t right.

The baby was breach. Your blood pressure spiked. You were losing too much blood. They rushed you into an emergency delivery, voices sharp and fast. Bakugo hadn’t been allowed in.

Present

Time blurred. Katsuki hated feeling useless more than anything. He should be in there. He should be beside you, holding your hand, telling you it was going to be okay even if his chest felt like it was going to explode.

A sudden scream tore through the hall. Your scream.

His knees buckled. He hadn’t even heard himself move before he was slamming into the door, fists glowing faintly, ready to break it down—

"Sir!" a nurse barked, shoving him back. "You can't go in there!"

"That’s my damn wife!" he snarled. "Let me—"

The screaming stopped.

Too abruptly.

Bakugo froze. The world stopped moving.

Seconds felt like eternities until finally, the doors opened and a doctor stepped out, blood on her scrubs and exhaustion in her eyes.

"She’s alive," she said softly. "And so is your son. But it was close. Too close."

His legs gave out and he collapsed into the nearest chair. His hands covered his face as air finally returned to his lungs. Alive. You were both alive.

"You can see her now."

He stood shakily, pushing into the room. You looked like hell—pale, exhausted, barely able to lift your eyelids—but when you saw him, a weak smile curved your lips.

"You look like shit," you whispered.

A choked laugh escaped him. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his lips. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, dumbass.”

Then he saw the tiny bundle in your arms. Wide red eyes—his eyes—blinked up at him.

"Hey, little guy," he said, voice thick. "You’re already causing trouble, huh?"

You laughed faintly, and Bakugo leaned in, touching his forehead to yours.

"Next time," he murmured, "we're adopting."

---

Two Weeks Later

You were finally home.

The scent of sterilized hospital air had been replaced by the warmth of your shared apartment, still littered with unopened baby gifts and half-assembled furniture. It felt surreal, like you had died and somehow gotten a second chance.

Katsuki hadn’t left your side since the hospital.

He’d been quieter than usual—not cold, but... different. Protective. Watchful. The explosions were fewer, the yelling almost nonexistent. And at night, when he thought you were asleep, you caught him just staring—at you, at the baby, at the scar the IV left on your hand.

Like he couldn’t believe either of you were still here.

You shifted slightly on the couch, wincing. Your body still ached like hell. The stitches, the swelling, the pressure—no one talked about how brutal recovery would be. You felt raw. Fragile.

"Katsuki," you called weakly.

He appeared instantly from the kitchen, a bottle in one hand and your pain meds in the other. "Need something?"

"Come sit with me."

He hesitated. "You’re still hurting. I don’t wanna crowd you."

You reached out, fingers curling in the air.

He sighed, set everything down, and slid onto the couch beside you. Carefully. Gently. You leaned your head on his shoulder, your newborn cradled against your chest, tiny breaths warm against your skin.

"He looks like you," you murmured.

"Poor brat," he said, but his voice was soft.

Your fingers laced with his.

"You’ve been quiet."

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then:

"You almost died." His voice cracked. “And I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You turned to look at him, eyes brimming. "But I didn’t. We didn’t. Katsuki, you didn’t leave me. Not for a second. That means everything."

He clenched his jaw. “I’ve fought villains who tried to kill me. I’ve been stabbed, exploded, buried under rubble. I can deal with that. But you, bleeding out and screaming and I couldn’t even touch you—” He broke off. “I’ve never been that fucking scared in my life.”

Tears slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your lips to his temple. “You’re here. I’m here. Our son’s here. That’s all that matters.”

He looked down at the sleeping baby, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. “He’s tiny.”

You smirked. “So were you. Until puberty hit like a damn truck.”

A reluctant chuckle rumbled from him. “If he has even half your stubbornness, we’re screwed.”

“Half yours, you mean,” you teased.

The room went quiet again. You nestled closer, letting yourself breathe in his warmth, his scent. Safe.

“I thought I was ready to be a dad,” he said suddenly. “I trained for it. Got the nursery set up, read every damn book. But the second they handed him to me, I realized I didn’t know shit.”

You smiled sleepily. “You’re already doing perfect.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I haven’t blown up a diaper yet.”

You both laughed—quiet, tired, and a little broken, but real.

He looked at you, really looked, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You blinked. Bakugo never whispered.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice catching.

And for the first time in weeks, you both finally exhaled.

---

Three Months Later

“You sure you’re okay without me for a few hours?” you asked again, already halfway out the door.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, baby monitor clipped to his sweatpants, your son strapped into a carrier on his chest like a slightly confused koala.

“D’you think I can’t handle him or something?” he grumbled.

“I think he shat through three outfits before noon yesterday, and you nearly declared war on baby wipes.”

Katsuki scowled. “One time.”

“One time per diaper.”

You kissed his cheek before he could argue, smirking. “You’ll be fine, Dad of the Year.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that… it was quiet.

Bakugo glanced down at the wide-eyed little boy strapped to his chest. “Alright, kid. Just me and you.”

The baby blinked, then made a soft gurgling noise.

“You better not be loading your diaper already.”

**

The first twenty minutes went smooth. Katsuki heated a bottle with military precision, burped the baby like a pro, and even played peekaboo without blowing anything up.

Then the baby started crying.

Loud.

Katsuki checked the diaper. Clean. Tried feeding him. Refused. Burping? Nothing. Pacifier? Launched like a missile.

“Are you broken?” he hissed, bouncing him awkwardly.

The baby wailed louder.

Bakugo, future Number One Hero, demolisher of villains, destroyer of fear itself… was being absolutely obliterated by a 12-pound infant.

“Alright!” he shouted over the crying. “You win, gremlin!”

He tried the ultimate move: laying on the couch with the baby on his chest, just like you did.

It worked. Instant silence.

“…Seriously?”

Tiny fingers gripped the collar of his shirt, and the baby let out a satisfied sigh, snuggling deeper against him.

“Tch. You just wanted to lay on me, huh?” Katsuki mumbled. “Clingy little nerd.”

He didn’t move. Not even when his phone buzzed. You’d texted: Everything okay?

He snapped a photo of his son sleeping peacefully on his chest and sent it back.

We’re good. Don’t rush.

He stared at the photo for a long time, warmth blooming in his chest. The kid looked so much like you when he was relaxed. And Katsuki realized something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

He loved this.

Being a dad.

The mess, the noise, the confusion—it was all chaos he could handle if it meant protecting you and this little bean.

“You’re not that bad, y’know,” he muttered. “Might even grow up to be cooler than me.”

The baby snorted in his sleep.

“Yeah, alright, don’t push it.”

**

When you walked in an hour later, you found them both fast asleep—Katsuki snoring, the baby drooling on his chest, one tiny fist tangled in his dad’s ash-blond hair.

You smiled and quietly snapped a photo.

The caption would read: My boys. Chaos level: manageable.

For now.

---

Ten Months Later

Your son had started babbling a while ago, but it was mostly incoherent nonsense—"ba-ba," "da-da," the occasional squeal that sounded like a baby pterodactyl mid-meltdown.

Katsuki had been watching him like a hawk, waiting for the first real word. It had practically become a competition between you two—who would he say first? "Mama" or "Dada"?

Katsuki refused to lose.

“You know I carried him for nine months, right?” you said, folding laundry one afternoon.

“Yeah, and I carried your ass through every post-labor breakdown, so I’d say we’re even,” he grunted, ruffling your son’s spiky blond hair as he sat chewing on a toy grenade (definitely plastic).

Your son looked up at him with wide, mischievous eyes and suddenly let out a loud, clear—

“Boom.”

Silence.

You blinked. “Did he just—?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. “No. No way. Say it again, brat.”

The baby giggled. “Boom!”

“Oh my god.”

Katsuki stood there frozen for a moment, and then his mouth curled into the smuggest grin you’d ever seen.

“That’s my boy.”

You threw a sock at his face. “Katsuki, his first word was ‘boom.’”

“I’m proud as hell.”

“He’s not a grenade!”

“He’s mine, so yes, he is.”

Your son squealed again. “Boom!”

Now he was bouncing.

“Stop encouraging him!” you said, even though you were trying not to laugh.

Bakugo squatted beside him and bumped their foreheads together gently. “Boom, huh? You’re gonna be a damn legend.”

You shook your head in disbelief, watching your two pyro-twins grin at each other like chaos incarnate.

Katsuki looked up at you, full of fire and affection. “Guess we know what kind of quirk he’s leanin’ toward.”

You groaned. “We are so not baby-proofed for explosions.”

Katsuki smirked. “Guess I better teach him control before he blows up the crib.”

Your baby babbled happily between them again. “Boom!”

Yeah. You were definitely raising a little dynamite.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Age: 2 Years, 3 Months

Your son’s first day of daycare was supposed to be normal.

You’d packed his snacks, extra clothes, diapers, wipes, and left strict instructions that he was “sweet, a little stubborn, and very attached to his Bakugou-brand plushie.”

You also wrote in bold: “If he gets upset, avoid loud noises. They tend to... backfire.”

The teacher smiled politely. “We’ve handled all kinds of quirks. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t.

Until the phone call.

Three hours later.

Bakugo answered it on speaker.

“Hello, this is—uh—Miss Hikari from Little Hero Steps Daycare. We have a small situation.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Is he hurt?”

“No! No, he’s fine. Perfectly fine. A little excited, actually…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…but the plastic slide may have, um... detonated.”

Katsuki let out a low snort. “He blew up the slide?”

“It was only the top half,” she added quickly. “And technically, it was more of a pop than a boom.”

You could feel Katsuki’s pride from across the kitchen.

“Are the other kids okay?” you asked, horrified.

“Yes! No injuries. He wasn’t upset, just… showing off. He said ‘Boom!’ and then—”

“That’s my son,” Bakugo said, folding his arms with a smug little smirk.

You elbowed him. “That is not a good thing.”

“Didn’t say it was bad either.”

**

When you arrived at the daycare, your son was sitting on a beanbag with three teachers around him—like he was some kind of dangerous celebrity.

His hair was wild, his cheeks were smudged with soot, and he looked way too pleased with himself.

“Mommy! Daddy!” he yelled, running over and nearly tripping on his own feet.

“Hey, you little menace,” Katsuki muttered, picking him up.

“Boom!” he chirped proudly, like it was his name.

One of the teachers came over, cautiously.

“We think his quirk is starting to develop. It’s... early, but very similar to yours, Mr. Bakugo.”

Katsuki beamed. “Damn right it is.”

You groaned. “Please tell me we’re not banned.”

The teacher laughed nervously. “No—though we’re investing in more fireproof playground equipment starting immediately.”

**

That night, after your son was passed out in his crib, soot still faintly dusting his forehead, you collapsed on the couch.

“He’s gonna be a handful,” you murmured, resting your head on Katsuki’s chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stroking your hair. “He’s gonna be a hell of a hero too.”

You smiled, eyes drifting closed as you listened to your husband’s heartbeat under your cheek—steady, strong, and forever explosive.

Just like the little boy down the hall.

---

You were pregnant. Again.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen quite so soon—not when your firstborn was still blowing up laundry baskets for fun and calling it “training.”

But the second those two pink lines appeared, your stomach flipped. Part nerves. Part excitement. And a lot of “oh god, how is Bakugo going to react?”

**

You told him on a quiet evening. Your son was asleep (finally) and the living room still smelled faintly of scorched Play-Doh.

You sat beside him, heart racing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Bakugo blinked. He looked at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you.

“…Are you sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He leaned forward slowly, resting a hand on your thigh like he thought the couch might explode.

“Holy shit.”

You laughed. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

He stared at your stomach for a long time before finally saying, softly, “You okay with this?”

“I’m scared. But yeah. I want this.”

He nodded, jaw tightening. “You nearly died last time.”

“I know.”

“You think I can do this again?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “What if I lose you this time?”

You reached for his hand. “Then you hold me tighter and fight harder.”

Bakugo clenched his fists, then gently rested one palm on your belly.

“…You better be a chill baby,” he muttered. “I can’t handle two demolition experts at once.”

**

Your son found out a week later when he walked into the kitchen, pointed to your tiny bump, and said:

“BOOM 2?”

You choked on your orange juice. Katsuki burst out laughing.

From that point on, the baby was Boom 2 to him.

**

As the months passed, your second pregnancy felt... different. Easier in some ways, harder in others. Your son was older now, talking more, asking endless questions.

“Did I live in your belly too?”

“You did, baby.”

“Was I loud?”

“You screamed the whole time.”

He nodded proudly. “Boom!”

Katsuki didn’t stop worrying. Not for a second. Every time you winced, he was at your side. Every time you had a check-up, he came. He argued with nurses over your chart. Practically threatened the OB into promising you a safer delivery plan.

“I lost my shit once,” he told the doctor. “I’m not doing that again.”

**

One quiet night, a few weeks before your due date, he crawled into bed behind you and wrapped his arms around your belly, pulling you gently against his chest.

“Still scared,” he whispered against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered back.

“But I want this. I want all of this. You, him”—he nodded toward your sleeping toddler down the hall—“and this tiny bomb too.”

Your heart melted.

“I want them to know they’re loved,” he added, voice thick. “No matter how loud, or messy, or crazy it gets.”

“They’ll know,” you promised, turning to kiss him softly. “Because they have you.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just held you tighter, his hand on your belly.

And somewhere inside, Boom 2 kicked like they were already ready to make an entrance.

Just like their brother.

Just like their dad.

---

It started with a kick.

Not just any kick—one that rocked your whole body at 3:12 a.m.

You groaned, gripping the edge of the bed.

Katsuki shot up like a soldier under fire.

“Contraction?” he barked.

“Yep,” you hissed, breathing through it.

He was already moving—bag in hand, grabbing your shoes, shouting toward the baby monitor: “Stay asleep, Boom #1!”

**

This time around, the doctors were ready. And so was Katsuki.

Still, even as they guided you into the labor room, he was white-knuckling the edge of your bed, eyes locked on you like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

You reached for him.

“I’m okay,” you said between waves of pain. “I’m okay.”

“I’m not letting go of you this time,” he muttered, voice low, jaw clenched.

And he didn’t.

Not when your screams broke through the walls.

Not when the monitors started beeping faster.

Not when the doctor said, “We need to move quickly—cord’s wrapped.”

He held your hand through it all. Pressed his forehead to yours. Whispered every curse word in the book, followed by: “You’ve got this. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

And when the final cry rang out—

A high, sharp wail that cut through the air like lightning—

Bakugo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for nine months straight.

“She’s perfect,” the nurse whispered.

“She?” you breathed, dazed.

Katsuki blinked. “A girl?”

They placed her on your chest—tiny, red, angry as hell. She immediately latched onto your hospital gown like she was ready to fight the world.

You laughed through tears. “She’s already like you.”

Katsuki stared at her.

Just stared.

His eyes—those wild, stormy eyes—were wide and full of wonder.

“You’re kidding me,” he whispered. “I’ve got a daughter.”

You reached for his hand. “You’ve got us.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your daughter’s.

“I swear on my damn life,” he whispered, “no one’s ever gonna mess with you.”

She let out a fierce little squeak.

And he smiled, completely undone.

**

An hour later, you were resting, and he was sitting by the bed with your baby girl tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Name?” you asked, eyes heavy but heart full.

He looked down at her, then at you.

“What about Kaori?” he said. “Strong. Bright. Means fragrance or light.”

You smiled. “Kaori Bakugo. It’s perfect.”

And for the first time that night, the hospital room felt still. Safe.

Because no matter how explosive your little family was becoming—

It was built on something unshakable.

Love. Fire. And a whole lot of Boom.

---

Two days after Kaori’s birth, you came home—sore, exhausted, but glowing. Kaori was tiny, sleepy, and wrapped like a burrito in her fuzzy explosion-patterned blanket that Katsuki insisted she wear home.

Your front door creaked open slowly.

Bakugo carried Kaori in with terrifying precision, like she was made of nitroglycerin.

Inside, your two-year-old son was standing barefoot in the hallway—holding a plastic grenade in one hand and a drawing in the other.

“Mommy!” he shouted, running at you.

You caught him one-armed, lifting him up, groaning slightly. “Easy, baby.”

Katsuki stood back, rocking gently with Kaori in his arms. “Hey, Boom #1,” he said softly. “Wanna meet your sister?”

Your son blinked, looking at the tiny pink bundle.

“That’s her?”

“Yup.”

“She looks squishy.”

“She is,” you said, chuckling. “Gentle, okay?”

He padded over on tiptoes, peering up at her like she was some sort of sacred relic.

“…She doesn’t go boom?”

“Let’s hope not,” Katsuki muttered.

“She’s your baby sister,” you explained. “Her name is Kaori.”

He tilted his head. “Can I keep her?”

Katsuki smirked. “She’s not a pet.”

“But I love her already,” your son said proudly. Then leaned close and whispered (as if it were a spell): “Boom.”

Kaori stirred slightly… and farted.

A loud one.

Your son lost it.

“SHE DOES BOOM TOO!” he screamed.

Katsuki nearly dropped her from laughing so hard. “Oh god. She’s already like you.”

**

You all settled in the living room. Kaori slept peacefully on Katsuki’s chest while your son built a pillow fort and declared it the "Boom Base."

“She can live in the base with me,” he announced.

“She’s not old enough for base life yet,” you said.

“I’ll protect her,” he added matter-of-factly. “From monsters. And spiders. And broccoli.”

You looked over at Katsuki, who was watching the two of them with a look you’d only ever seen twice before: once on your wedding day, and once when your son took his first steps.

“Didn’t think I could love more than I already did,” he murmured. “But damn.”

You scooted closer and leaned into him, Kaori safe between you.

“Looks like we’re officially a team of four.”

“Correction,” Katsuki said. “We’re a squad.”

A very loud, occasionally explosive, wildly chaotic squad.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Explosive Love: Part 5 – Sero & Denki: Bros vs Baby Bomb

Pairing: Kirishima x Fem!Reader

Featuring: Babysitters Hanta Sero & Denki Kaminari

Genre: Chaotic Comedy, Tag-Team Disaster

Summary: They called themselves the “Ultimate Babysitter Duo.” They wore matching shirts. They brought snacks. They were so sure they’d nail it. But the baby had other plans… and Denki forgot to bring nose plugs.

---

“I don’t see the problem,” Denki said confidently as he adjusted his “BABY DUTY” headband.

“We’ve got this,” Sero agreed, tossing a roll of duct tape into the air and catching it like it was part of his combat gear. “Two pros. One baby. No fear.”

Kirishima opened the door, holding the baby like she was made of nitroglycerin.

“You guys sure you’re ready?” he asked for the tenth time.

“Dude,” Denki grinned, “we’ve babysat a cat before.”

“Yeah,” Sero added, “and that cat only pooped in Denki’s shoe once. So, like. We’re trained.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She’s... different.”

The baby gurgled sweetly.

FORESHADOWING INTENSIFIES

---

T+15 Minutes:

They were vibing. Music playing. Baby bouncing. Denki had given her a sparkly bow headband, and Sero was trying to teach her to high-five.

“This is easy,” Denki said, stretching out on the couch. “I think we’re naturally gifted.”

PFFFT.

The sound was small.

The smell was not.

Sero went still. “Was that… her?”

Denki waved his hand dramatically. “Whoa—why is it spicy?!”

The baby grinned and clapped. Like a tiny villain. A very proud one.

PHBRRRRTTTT.

Denki staggered back like he'd been shot. “THAT ONE HAD VIBRATION!!”

---

T+28 Minutes:

Denki was hiding behind the kitchen island.

“She’s targeting me,” he whispered into a banana, pretending it was a walkie-talkie.

Sero was kneeling on the couch with a blanket over his nose. “We’ve got gas, repeat, full gas zone! Operation Diaper Storm is a go!”

“Negative!” Denki cried. “I am NOT opening that containment zone!”

“YOU fed her the applesauce!”

“I didn’t know applesauce unlocked her final form!”

The baby squealed with laughter.

---

T+40 Minutes:

There was tape on the walls. Baby wipes scattered across the battlefield. Sero was trying to MacGyver a diaper disposal unit out of a trash can and a fan.

Denki was holding a candle like it was holy protection.

“She’s too powerful,” he muttered. “This baby runs on nuclear.”

“Not even All Might trained for this,” Sero whispered.

The baby let out a tiny, victorious toot.

Both men froze.

“Brace for impact.”

---

When you returned, you found Sero with clothespins on his nose and Denki wearing swimming goggles for no reason.

“She’s asleep,” Sero said weakly.

“But at what cost?” Denki added.

You scooped up your peacefully snoozing, deceptively innocent child.

Kirishima chuckled. “So… you guys wanna try again next week?”

They spoke in unison: “HELL. NO.”

---

Next up: Aizawa stops by to “observe.”

''Sticky Situations and Stone Walls"

In the prestigious halls of U.A. High, Minoru Mineta was infamous for two things: his questionable morals and his Quirk, Pop Off. Most students had learned to keep him at arm's length—some, a full hallway away. But what nobody expected was for him to have a twin brother.

Enter Mamoru Mineta—tall, stone-faced, and emotionally impenetrable. His Quirk, Stonewall, allowed him to generate massive slabs of concrete-like armor around his body, making him a literal and metaphorical brick wall. He walked into Class 1-B without a word, instantly drawing attention. Not for being flashy—but because of how normal he was.

Rumors flew.

“Wait, he’s Mineta’s twin?!”

“Are we sure? Maybe he’s just cursed to look like him.”

“Plot twist: Mineta is the evil twin.”

Unlike Minoru, Mamoru didn’t chase girls—he didn’t chase anything. He followed the rules. He trained harder than anyone. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it hit like a punch to the gut—blunt, honest, and painfully grounded.

Minoru hated him.

Well, kind of.

Okay, not really.

Because despite the endless teasing, the girls fawning over Mamoru, the constant comparisons—Mamoru always had his back. He never joined the others in mocking Minoru. In fact, he defended him. Quietly. Behind the scenes.

One day, when Mineta got caught peeking again and was nearly expelled, Mamoru stepped in.

“He’s stupid, not evil,” he said calmly to Aizawa. “Let me handle it.”

Aizawa blinked. “You want to vouch for him?”

Mamoru nodded. “He’s my idiot. I’ll keep him in check.”

And he did. Kinda. Sorta.

There was something oddly wholesome about seeing the two walk side-by-side: one a walking disaster with grapes for hair, the other a towering fortress of chill. They bickered like fire and ice. But when a villain attacked and Mamoru took a hit to shield his brother, something shifted.

Minoru realized: his brother wasn’t trying to change him.

He was just trying to protect him.

"In His Arms"

The soft hum of the hospital room filled the silence between you and Izuku. You lay propped up on the pillows, tired but glowing, as you watched your husband sit frozen in the nearby chair, staring at the bundle in his arms like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever held.

“Are you okay?” you whispered with a tired smile.

He looked up at you, eyes wide, already glassy with emotion. “He’s… he’s so small. I’m afraid to move.”

You laughed softly, your hand brushing your own tired eyes. “You’ve held babies before.”

“Yeah, but not ours. Not my son.” Izuku looked back down, his hand cradling the baby's head like he was made of paper. “He’s got your nose… and I think my ears.”

The baby gave a tiny yawn and wriggled in his arms. Izuku froze.

“Did I do something wrong?!”

You shook your head gently. “No, love. He’s just dreaming. You’re doing everything right.”

Izuku sat completely still, not even daring to shift his weight. His hair was a mess, his hero uniform jacket thrown over the hospital chair behind him. He hadn’t left your side once.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted quietly, “but I know I want to do it perfectly.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you said, voice growing soft as sleep pulled at you. “Just love him. Like you already do.”

His eyes softened. “I love you both so much it hurts.”

As the baby settled in his arms, Izuku slowly stood up, walking carefully to your bedside. He sat beside you, cradling your son between the two of you.

“He’s going to be so brave,” he said in a hushed tone. “But I’ll be careful. I’ll be gentle. I’ll protect him with everything I have. Always.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your fingers brushing over the baby's blanket. “He’s got you. He’s already safe.”

In the quiet of the hospital room, with the city far outside and the world on pause, Izuku Midoriya held his son like he was holding the whole future.

And to him, maybe he was.

---

"Coughing Crisis: A Heroic Interruption"

It was one of those days at U.A. High.

Everyone was gathered in the common room, the mood grim. Aizawa had just finished debriefing the students on a potential new threat—some villain group with a name so edgy it sounded like they were formed in a Hot Topic parking lot.

All Might stood solemnly, arms crossed. "This is no joke. The League of Villains may be making a comeback."

Bakugo scowled. "Tch. Let 'em try. I'll blow 'em to hell."

Midoriya was furiously scribbling notes, mumbling strategy ideas. Todoroki looked like he was calculating the villain’s power levels with sheer brainwaves. Even Kaminari was managing to look serious for once.

Then, just as the room hit peak intensity—

"KHHHHHHHHHH–KAHHHHHHHH–HHHKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Everyone's heads whipped around.

It was you. Red-faced. Eyes wide. Wheezing. Coughing. Dying, possibly.

"OH MY GOD SHE’S CHOKING!" Mina screamed, knocking over a chair in her rush.

"I'm not trained for this!" Kaminari panicked, spinning in a circle like a confused Roomba.

Bakugo: "SOMEONE GET HER A DAMN WATER BEFORE SHE ASPHYXIATES AND DIES IN THE MIDDLE OF A STRATEGY BRIEFING!"

Midoriya already had a water bottle in your mouth and was nervously patting your back with the intensity of a malfunctioning massage chair. "Are you okay?! Do you need—wait, what's your quirk again? Can it fix this?! No, wait, that's not how lungs work—"

"I—I just—" you gasped between coughs, one hand in the air like you were accepting an Oscar. "I inhaled a chip wrong."

There was silence. Like, dead silence.

Then Kirishima, voice full of genuine awe: "Damn. She really said 'crunch' and almost flatlined."

Bakugo facepalmed so hard it echoed. "We're out here trying to save the world and this extra’s getting taken down by a Lays."

All Might turned away and coughed into his hand to hide his laugh. It didn’t work. Present Mic wasn’t even hiding it—he was already on the floor, crying.

You gave a thumbs up with one hand, the other still clutching your water bottle like it was your emotional support beverage. "Still alive. Kinda."

Todoroki blinked. “That was the most dramatic thing I’ve seen all week. And I watched Bakugo punch a microwave.”

“IT SHORT-CIRCUITED FIRST!” Bakugo yelled.

---

And from that day forward, every time there was a serious meeting, someone made sure to have water on hand.

You, the girl who lived through The Chip Incident, had earned your spot among heroes.

But also maybe needed to chew more carefully.

Request by anonymous ♡

“UA’s Sex Ed Class — Featuring: Y/N, No Filter, No Shame, No Peace”

or: Why Aizawa Almost Quit That Day

---

It was a day like any other… until it wasn’t.

Rumors started circling around breakfast.

“They’re giving us the talk today,” Mina whispered, eyes wide.

“You mean the ‘birds and the bees’?” Kaminari smirked.

“I mean the ‘you’re all future pro heroes and the press is gonna catch you doing something dumb so here’s how not to ruin your career with a sex scandal’ talk,” Momo clarified, already emotionally distressed.

At exactly 10 a.m., Class 1-A was herded into one of the support classrooms. Aizawa was already there, rubbing his temples like he aged 10 years overnight.

Midnight stood at the front in heels and a tight suit, holding a laser pointer and a deadpan expression.

Present Mic was there for emotional support. Possibly emotional damage.

Then it began.

---

“Welcome to the UA Pro Hero Sexual Education & Conduct Course,” Midnight said smoothly.

“Also known as: ‘Keep It In Your Pants Until You’re Off the Clock.’”

Several people choked.

“I’M NOT READY,” Kaminari whimpered.

“Bro, we’re literally built for trauma,” Kirishima whispered back.

“I THOUGHT THIS WAS MATH CLASS,” yelled Iida in horror.

Meanwhile, Y/N was sitting front row, snacks in hand, eyes glowing with danger.

“Oh this is gonna be good.”

---

Slide 1: “Consent Is Sexy.”

“Absolutely,” Y/N said, nodding like she was on a talk show.

“But also—let’s talk about the real danger here.”

Everyone turned.

Y/N stood up and pointed at the projector.

“THIS! FONT! IS! HORRIBLE!”

“It’s giving... Microsoft Word from 2008. I feel like I’m being visually assaulted.”

“Sit down, Y/N,” Aizawa muttered.

“But my eyes have rights too—”

---

Slide 2: “Quirks & Intimacy”

Midnight began explaining how quirks can impact personal relationships and safety.

“So you’re telling me,” Y/N interrupted, “if someone has a lightning quirk and accidentally zaps you in a sensitive zone, it’s technically a workplace hazard?”

Denki went red.

“I’VE NEVER— I— I MEAN—”

“I’m just saying, bro,” Y/N added, shrugging. “Charge up the wrong spot and someone’s getting CPR.”

“Y/N,” Aizawa growled.

“Oh my god,” whispered Uraraka, curling into herself.

---

Slide 3: “Hero Image & Scandals”

Midnight: “As heroes, your personal lives may become public. So being recorded in compromising situations—”

Y/N raised her hand.

Everyone held their breath.

Midnight sighed. “Yes, Y/N?”

“What happens if a scandal boosts your popularity? Like, what if I pull a full ‘celebrity tape leak’ and end up getting sponsored by a mattress company?”

Aizawa stood up and left the room.

No explanation.

---

Slide 4: “Protection & Responsibility”

They passed around “educational materials.”

Y/N held up a condom and stared at it like it was an alien artifact.

“Do these come in glitter?”

“No,” Midnight said without looking up.

“They should. Missed marketing opportunity. ‘Safety, but make it sparkly.’”

Kaminari wheezed.

“Also this thing looks like a sad balloon. If you blow it up and let it fly, does it scream like a dying rubber chicken?”

She tried.

It did.

---

Slide 5: Questions & Open Discussion

“Absolutely not,” Iida said immediately.

“I have one,” Y/N grinned.

“No,” Todoroki said flatly, before she could speak.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“You were gonna ask if quirks can be sexually transmitted,” he said without blinking.

“...Okay first of all, that’s a valid question and I don’t like how quickly you guessed it.”

---

AFTERMATH

The class sat in stunned silence as Midnight wrapped things up.

“Any final takeaways?” she asked sweetly.

Y/N raised her hand and said:

“Yeah. I’m never trusting Denki near a hot tub again.”

Denki: “I SAID I DIDN’T MEAN TO ZAP THAT ONE TIME—”

The room devolved into chaos.

Aizawa never came back.

Rumor says he’s still walking the streets of Tokyo, wondering where he went wrong.