mrseucliffexxx

[mrseucliffexxx]

man remember how jonathan learns to fight vampires barehanded in a little bow tie

(zeppeli where did you even get that headband and why)

and then goes dio hunting in a sweater vest

if that isn’t the classiest shit you’ve ever seen i don’t know what else to tell you

…also why the hell isn’t that last one an alt costume in asb jdsjhksf so rude

[mrseucliffexxx]

WHY ARE THERE NO FICS OF GI TAE UNG 😭😭😭😭😭😭 I NEEEEEDDDDDDD

[mrseucliffexxx]

HAPPY FATHERS DAY JONATHANIEEEEE <33

Oh, I thank you so much!! I haven't seen my son in a while, but I'm sure I must be a father figure to many, right? Thank you again!

I hope you had an amazing father's day, and continue to have many more.

- Jonathan Joestar

[mrseucliffexxx]

I love trolling this Aomine bot HAHAHAHAHA

[mrseucliffexxx]

Snowflakes and Promises

❤︎ tags and content: fluffy, winter marketplace, winter, Guild Master!Sting x F!Reader ❤︎ author note: re-uploaded from old tumblr Dividers: @/omi.resources ©2025 theastralsage do not repost, copy, translate, or modify

The streets of Fiore’s capital glowed under the soft twinkle of festive lights, a golden hue cast over cobblestone pathways as the city’s Christmas markets bustled with life. Stalls brimmed with handcrafted ornaments, warm pastries, and steaming cups of mulled cider, their sweet, spiced aroma curling through the chilly evening air.

And yet, despite the picturesque scene, you felt a little hollow inside.

Pulling your coat tighter around yourself, you sighed as you idly brushed your fingers over a delicate glass snowflake ornament, watching the way it caught the lights. This was supposed to be a season of togetherness, warmth, love—but your heart ached with longing.

Sting had been busier than ever lately. You understood, of course. Being Guild Master of Sabertooth wasn’t an easy job, and the responsibility weighed on him more than he ever admitted out loud. But that understanding didn’t make the distance between you feel any smaller. It had been days since you’d last seen him properly—brief moments stolen in passing, an absentminded kiss pressed to your forehead before he was off again, buried in meetings and paperwork.

You tried to shake it off, offering a small, polite smile to the vendor before moving on. The night air nipped at your cheeks, but it wasn’t just the cold making you shiver. You wanted to be happy. You wanted to enjoy the warmth of the season, the joyful laughter of children as they ran past with sticky candy canes, the sight of couples huddled close to each other under shared scarves.

But all you could think about was Sting.

And how much you missed him.

“Oi, you shouldn’t be walking around looking that sad during the holidays.”

The familiar voice made you freeze mid-step, heart leaping to your throat. You turned, eyes wide, only to find yourself staring into a pair of dark blue ones, glinting mischievously under the glow of the lanterns.

Sting stood before you, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips—but there was a softness there, too, something tender in the way he looked at you. He was slightly out of breath, as if he’d rushed to get here, snowflakes dusting his blond hair like tiny stars.

“Sting…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, shock and relief tangling together in your chest. “What are you doing here?”

He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “I might’ve ditched some paperwork,” he admitted. “Figured my girl needed me more.”

And just like that, the ache in your chest melted away, replaced by the warmth of his presence, the way he was already pulling you close, tucking you into his embrace as if he never wanted to let go.

Sting kept you wrapped in his warmth for a moment longer before finally pulling back, his hands lingering at your waist as if reluctant to let go completely. His gaze softened as he took you in—rosy cheeks from the cold, eyes still holding traces of sadness, lips parted in surprise.

“C’mon,” he said, voice gentle yet firm. “Let’s walk.”

You barely had time to nod before his fingers found yours, lacing them together as he led you down the bustling market street. The air smelled of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, and the soft hum of holiday carols played somewhere in the distance.

As you walked, Sting squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing absentminded circles over your skin. “I know I’ve been a crappy boyfriend lately,” he admitted, exhaling a visible puff of air into the cold night. “And before you try to say it’s fine—I know it’s not.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the raw honesty in his voice. “It’s not that I don’t understand,” you murmured. “I just... miss you.”

He stopped abruptly in front of a small wooden stall, turning to you fully. “I miss you too.” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it. “More than I realized.”

Before you could respond, he slipped his hand from yours and stepped up to the vendor. “Two hot cocoas,” he ordered, reaching into his coat for his wallet. “Extra marshmallows in hers.”

Your chest tightened at the small gesture. He still remembered.

When he handed you the warm cup, his fingers brushed yours, lingering just a moment too long. “I know I can’t make up for lost time,” he murmured, watching you carefully. “But I can start trying.”

You stared at him, at the way the golden light flickered against his features, highlighting the sincerity in his dark blue eyes. Slowly, warmth replaced the ache in your heart, melting through you like the cocoa in your hands.

“Yeah,” you said softly, giving his fingers a small squeeze. “That sounds like a good start.”

The two of you strolled through the market, hand in hand, the warmth of the cocoa seeping through your gloves as you sipped from your cup. The festive energy of the city wrapped around you—lively merchants calling out their wares, children darting through the crowd with sticky hands and wide grins, and couples huddled close, sharing quiet laughter beneath the glow of string lights.

Sting led you from stall to stall, his usual confidence softened by something more intimate tonight. He asked your opinions on little trinkets, held up scarves against you to see which color suited you best, even tugged you toward a booth selling candied nuts, insisting you share a bag despite your half-hearted protests.

But something felt… off.

It wasn’t anything obvious—if anything, Sting was being more attentive than usual, checking in on you with lingering touches, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking. And yet, there was an energy about him, something lingering beneath the easy grin and playful teasing.

You first noticed it when he stopped mid-sentence, gaze flicking toward a jewelry stall before quickly pulling you in the opposite direction. Then again, when he glanced at the clock tower in the distance, jaw tightening slightly before masking it with another comment about how cold your nose was.

He was nervous about something.

That much was clear.

And the longer you walked, the more you caught the little signs—the slight tension in his grip, the way his eyes scanned the crowd almost absently, as if looking for something… or waiting.

You were about to ask when he suddenly stopped in front of a flower stall, plucking a single winter rose from the display. The vendor chuckled knowingly as Sting pressed a few coins into his hand, then turned to you with a lopsided grin.

“For you,” he said simply, tucking the delicate bloom behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your cheek for just a second longer than necessary.

Your heart fluttered, but the feeling of something amiss still gnawed at the back of your mind.

Something was definitely up.

You narrowed your eyes at him, tilting your head slightly as you reached up to touch the winter rose still tucked behind your ear. “Alright, spill it.”

Sting blinked at you innocently. “Spill what?”

You crossed your arms, stopping in your tracks. “You’ve been acting weird all night. You keep checking the time, looking around like you’re expecting something, and I swear you just dragged me away from that jewelry stall on purpose.”

His lips parted slightly, caught off guard, before he suddenly grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “What? Me? Acting weird? Never.”

“Sting.”

“Babe.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, shaking your head. “If you’re planning something, you might as well tell me now.”

But instead of answering, he took your hand again and tugged you forward, his grip firm but affectionate. “C’mon,” he said, voice laced with something unreadable. “Just a little further.”

Your suspicion only grew, but you followed anyway, letting him lead you past the market and down a quieter path, where the noise faded into a soft hum behind you. The world seemed to still as the two of you approached a secluded lake, its surface frozen over, reflecting the twinkle of lights from the trees surrounding it. Snow dusted the branches, making the entire scene look like something out of a dream.

You inhaled sharply, breath misting in the cold air. “It’s beautiful…”

Sting let go of your hand, stepping ahead of you before turning back, that usual playful spark in his eyes now replaced with something deeper—something that sent your heart into a frantic rhythm.

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze locked onto you. “It really is.”

And then, to your absolute shock, he dropped down onto one knee.

Your hands flew to your mouth. “Sting—”

“Okay, don’t freak out.” He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing his palms together as if to steady himself. “I had this whole thing planned out—wanted to wait until Christmas Day, but, dammit, I couldn’t. Not when I’ve been missing you like crazy. Not when I know, without a doubt, that I don’t wanna go another second without making this official.”

Your chest ached with overwhelming emotion as he pulled a small velvet box from his coat pocket, flipping it open to reveal a simple yet breathtaking ring—a delicate band with a single gem that caught the light like freshly fallen snow.

“I love you,” he continued, voice rough around the edges, thick with unspoken feeling. “And I know I’ve been busy, and I know I haven’t always been great at showing it, but there’s not a damn thing in this world I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Snowflakes swirled around the two of you, the world shrinking to just this moment, just this man, kneeling in the frost with his heart laid bare.

“So,” he exhaled, looking up at you with that signature, lopsided grin—hopeful, nervous, completely smitten. “Will you marry me?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. You didn’t even realize you were nodding until you were already dropping to your knees in front of him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice shaky with joy. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

A relieved laugh bubbled from his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the snowy ground and spinning you once before pulling back just enough to slide the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, like it had always belonged there.

Then, before you could say another word, he kissed you—soft and lingering, warm despite the cold, filled with every unspoken promise he’d ever made to you.

And just like that, the frost-covered night felt a whole lot warmer.

Sting kept your hand in his, fingers interlaced as the two of you made your way back through the snow-covered streets. The Christmas market had begun to wind down, the soft glow of lanterns flickering against the freshly fallen snow. Everything around you felt untouched, like the world itself had paused to let you bask in this moment—this overwhelming, heart-melting happiness.

You kept glancing down at your hand, watching the way the delicate ring caught the light, shimmering like the stars above. It felt surreal. You were engaged. To Sting. The love of your life.

He must have noticed, because he chuckled, squeezing your fingers. “Y’know, staring at it too long isn’t gonna make it disappear.”

“I just can’t believe it,” you admitted, still breathless from everything that had happened. “I mean, I can—I’ve always known I wanted to be with you—but it still feels like a dream.”

Sting grinned, tugging you closer so he could drape an arm over your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Guess that just means I gotta spend the rest of our lives proving it’s real, huh?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned into his warmth, letting yourself sink into the comfort of knowing that this—him, the future ahead of you—was yours to hold forever.

As the two of you neared Sabertooth’s guild hall, you could already see the soft glow of lights spilling through the windows, hear the faint hum of laughter and music within. The guild—your family—was waiting just beyond those doors, completely unaware that everything had changed.

Excitement bubbled in your chest as you exchanged a glance with Sting, who was practically vibrating with anticipation. “They’re gonna lose it,” you giggled, already picturing Minerva’s knowing smirk, Rogue’s rare but genuine smile, Lector’s inevitable squeal of excitement.

“Oh, for sure,” Sting smirked, his grip tightening around you. “Bet you five thousand jewel that Lector cries first.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “That’s not even a bet—of course he will.”

He grinned, and for a moment, he just looked at you—like he was committing this moment to memory, like he still couldn’t believe you’d said yes. Then, without warning, he grabbed your hand and sprinted toward the guild doors, dragging you along with him.

“C’mon, future Mrs. Eucliffe,” he said through a laugh. “Let’s go tell the family.”

And with that, the two of you stepped through the doors of Sabertooth—together, ready for whatever the future had in store.

[mrseucliffexxx]

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA BOKUTO'S GOATEE

[mrseucliffexxx]

イラスト本再録③

[mrseucliffexxx]

Imagine: Sting being very protective of you

Gif is not mine! Feel free to use as long as you like, reblog & credit!

[mrseucliffexxx]

OMGGGGG FIRST YEAR SUGURU I NEEEEEDDDDDDDD 😩😩😩

just over here screaming and crying

[mrseucliffexxx]

This should be interesting.

[mrseucliffexxx]

“Okay, baby, we’ll be back in a few hours.”

Rintaro presses one, two, three kisses to your lips before departing, the hand on your waist lingering as he slowly pulls back. You mewl and sink your teeth into your lip, smiling giddily at the sweet affection. "You sure you don’t want to come?” He asks. "The fort'll be fine while we're gone if you wanted to come."

At your knees, two chubby arms wrap around your leg, Akito squeezing the limb close in an attempt to give you affection. You smile and scoop him in your arms, “I better stay home. Let you two have some boys time. I’ll make dinner and everything so do not let him sweet talk you into getting McDonald’s, rintaro.”

He snickers softly and leans in for another kiss, “alright babygirl. We’ll behave.”

“‘wite, bab’giwl,” Akito hums at an attempt to mimic his father, and immediately, you gasp, and Akito leans forward and plants a kiss to your agape bottom lip. Rintaro’s own mouth hangs open in shock, trying his hardest to not laugh straight in his son’s face. Seemingly displeased with your lack of kiss back, Akito waves his tiny hand, "mumma, ki'."

"He's stealing my chick," Rintaro scoffs while you lean forward to give your son a proper kiss.

"Rintaro," you scold slightly. "If he's going to be picking up on words, we need to be careful of what we're encouraging him to say. Don't call me your chick!"

He grins and wraps an arm lowly around you, "not like I called you my hot and sexy bitch, sweet girl."

Your cheeks flush and your teeth sink into your lip at his words.

"Bih-ch."

Both of your faces drop. Rintaro's into one of worry and yours into lack of amusement.

"We're gonna go now,” he squeaks, grabbing his son from your arms.

"I think that's a good idea," you grumble.

[mrseucliffexxx]

"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.

[mrseucliffexxx]

OMG MY CUSTOMISED STING PHONE CASE IS ARRIVING TOMMOROW IEUEUEYWWUWIWI 😍😍😍✨✨✨

[mrseucliffexxx]

Changed my username mrsbrandoxxx -> mrseucliffexxx

[mrseucliffexxx]

Hi! can I request icons for Sakuragi Hanamichi 🥰

done.

[mrseucliffexxx]

⌕ slam dunk • sakuragi hanamichi.

♡ like or reblog if you save/use.

[mrseucliffexxx]

EPISODE 凪 ― ♨️