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Katsuki, the explosive Pro Hero Dynamight, current holder of the number five spot on the hero charts, was contemplating his life decisions.
The thing is, Dynamight never contemplates his life decisions. Ever.
But it was ten o’clock in the morning. A time which, in a sane world, would involve him being either asleep, devouring an absurdly spicy breakfast, or blowing up some poor villain's hideout. But no. Gods, no.
Instead, he was standing in the middle of a warzone he had consented to live in. And the culprits were two three year old terrors (Katsuki swore they are the spawns of the devil himself). He was neck deep in a skirmish arranged by two three year old psychopaths.
“Mine! Kyuki, you had him first!” Kenzo’s voice boomed, a surprisingly deep one for a kid his size.
The reason? A sad, one eyed stuffed rabbit that is currently the most disputed territory in the house.
“Nuh uh! Daddy got him for me after the park!” Kyuki, the terrifyingly spitting image of a miniature of Izuku despite being adopted, yanked the rabbit back. Her lower lip trembling in preparation for a full scale vocal assault.
This little gremlin was a master manipulator in the making. Capable of weaponizing tears which dreaded Katsuki, a skill she had no doubt inherited from her co-parenting menace. This was the seventh time they’d thrown a fit over this pathetic toy today, and it isn't half a fucking day yet.
Seven times.
This was the seventh time since they woke up that these two pint sized demons had escalated a trivial disagreement into a full blown physical tantrum over the mangy toy rabbit. And it wasn’t even fucking lunchtime.
Izuku, bless his ridiculously huge heart, was out for groceries. A simple task that typically took the verdanette hero at least two hours because he inevitably got sidetracked either rescuing a stray kitten or assisting an elderly person across the street who didn't even want to cross the street.
This is exactly why Katsuki had never asked Izuku to go get groceries.
Izuku, ever the optimist, had cheerfully declared that Katsuki needed ‘quality one on one time’ with the twins. Katsuki now suspected this was less a sincere sentiment and more a planned escape. Izuku calls it a bonding time, Katsuki calls it a set up. That fucker.
He ran a hand over his face. Anger management, the therapist had sternly reminded him, was about de-escalation, impulse control, and finding constructive outlets. Bashing his head against the nearest structural support beam was, unfortunately, classified as none of the above.
He had worked too hard to rebuild his temper, to make sure that the rage that once defined him was a tool and not a master. But damn it, these kids. These two sweet, exhausting, and demonic small beings tested the very limits of his painstakingly cultivated self control.
The noise was an affront to his ears. It was a perfect storm of crying, stomping, and ear-bleeding screams. Even Katsudon with a little crown in his head, the one eyed rescued dog named by Izuku, lifted his head from his blanket, looking deeply offended by the racket.
“Kenzo, give it back! I need him for my tea party with Katsudon!” Kyuki shrieked, her voice achieving a pitch that almost sounded like the sonic boom from one of his own explosions. She pulled again, and a small, pitiful rip was heard. The poor rabbit now look even more pitiful.
Kenzo's eyes widened, and the tears that had been brewing finally burst forth. “You broke him, Kyuki! You always break my stuff!”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
The sound was unbearable. Katsuki felt a muscle in his jaw tick. He knew he had to intervene, but the thought of physically separating them for the seventh time, only to have them reunite in five minutes to fight over a mismatched sock, was enough to make him want to relocate to a remote and uninhabited glacier.
He inhaled a deep breath, the kind his therapist had recommended when he felt his quirk twitching beneath his skin.
"Alright, brats!" he bellowed, instantly silencing the two gremlins. They froze, two pairs of wide, guilty eyes staring up at him. Katsuki stomped over, his hands planted firmly on his hips. “What’s the problem now?!”
Kenzo immediately pointed a trembling finger at his sister. “Kyuki broke Mr. Snuggles! He’s mine!”
Kyuki clutched the rabbit protectively to her chest. “No! You broke it! Daddy said we have to share but you didn't want to share!” She looked up at Katsuki, her eyes welling up again. “And you’re mean, papa! I just want to have a tea party!”
The audacity. Katsuki stared at the tear stained cheek of his daughter. Katsuki knew this tactic and he knew damn well he was completely powerless against it. The word 'papa' was still relatively new to Katsuki. Even through his headache, there seemed to be a ridiculously warm kernel of affection blossoming in his chest. He knew that she knew what she was doing, weaponizing affection against him. Izuku had them trained well.
Again, that fucker.
“Sharing doesn't mean yanking the thing until it pops,” he scolded, bending down slightly. He looked at the mangled toy, the poor thing was barely holding together. “Hand it over. Now.”
Kyuki hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but the sternness in Katsuki's voice was something even three year olds didn’t dare challenge, especially when he was this close to detonating the entire play area. She slowly offered the rabbit up.
Katsuki took the toy and the little girl burst into loud and gut wrenching sobs. Kenzo, seeing his tormentor cry, immediately felt victory and stuck his tongue out.
“Kenzo! Shove that tongue back!” Katsuki snapped and the boy immediately retracted his tongue, crossing his arms and pouting, his chin wobbling.
Katsuki sighed, the sound more of a frustrated huff than an actual exhalation. This was his life. This was the hell he had willingly agreed to enter, all because a certain freckled moron with a heart too big for his own good had looked at him with those pleading eyes, begging him to allow this.
Katsuki could recall the day like it was yesterday. A day that pretty much nuked their life plan. They hadn't even been proper boyfriends for a year yet. Twenty-six. Way too young to be raising anybody, let alone a double dose of disaster. Their relationship was still fresh, still rebuilding after years of being totally messed up. The plan was careers first—hit number one, blow up some villains, maybe take a vacation.
Not become dads to two tiny humans.
And Katsuki wasn't even sure if these two are humans at this point. He was convinced they are the devil himself split into two.
But then came the collapse. A cheap villain with an earthquake quirk, and two two year olds pulled out from under the rubble. Their mother, who had shielded them, was gone. Izuku, predictably, had a total meltdown. That night, Izuku was uselessly staring into space, petting Katsudon (who was just 'the stray dog' then).
“They found zero family, Kacchan,” Izuku finally mumbled, sounding completely wiped. “The dad was a deadbeat. Took off the second he knocked her up. A real winner.”
“Deku, listen,” Katsuki started, trying to inject some logic. “It’s awful, yeah. But it’s not our job. We saved them. Child services handles the rest.”
Izuku didn't even look at him. That was the first red flag. “You know the foster system is garbage. They’re just two. They lost everything. They need a home, Kacchan. A real one.”
Katsuki knew how the foster system was. Izuku had hammered the terrible statistics into his brain after their rescue operation. He had seen the way the twins looked at them, small and utterly lost. And Katsuki, the former hot headed delinquent, the guy who used to tell Izuku to take a swan dive off the roof, had found himself utterly incapable of denying that pathetic, hopeful look.
Katsuki lost it. He started pacing, throwing his hands up. “No. We are twenty five. We’re Pro Heroes. You just got back and you just climbed up to the ranks three months ago. Our schedule is a mess. Adopting one is insane, adopting two is career suicide and guaranteed relationship disaster. We are not the people for this.”
He was fighting hard, clinging to his sanity and his number one dream. He wanted to chase after Izuku, not chase after two children running around the house. But then Izuku turned with those big and annoyingly green eyes. The look that made Katsuki’s brain stop, the one that had him spending millions on Izuku’s fucking hero suit.
“I can’t leave them, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, sounding completely defeated. “I saw their faces. I know how it works. I just… I can’t be the hero who walks away from the hard part. It’s too much.”
Katsuki stared at him, the verdanette hero looked ready to break. He cursed under his breath, defeated by Izuku’s crippling soft heartedness. He knew he couldn't say no, Izuku had him totally wrapped around his finger.
He dropped back onto the couch and dragged Izuku against his chest. “Goddammit, Deku. You’re a menace. You’re going to give me an ulcer.” He paused, sighing heavily. “Fine. We do it. But you’re on diaper duty for the next decade.”
Izuku shot up, his face transforming into that impossibly huge, joyful sunbeam smile. “Kacchan! Seriously?!”
“Don’t push it,” Katsuki grumbled, though he squeezed him once more. It was insane. It was too fast. It was going to be absolute hell. But seeing Izuku that ridiculously happy? Yeah, fine. Worth it.
Three months after that, they had the signed papers. And for another eight months, there they were. Katsuki, the guy who used to terrorize middle schoolers, is now being held hostage by two three year olds on the floor while holding a ratty rabbit. Izuku was terrible at predicting the future, but his heart was in the right place apparently.
"Look, you two," he said, holding the pathetic stuffed creature aloft. "This thing is done. It needs serious surgery. No amount of glue or thread is gonna fix it if you keep trying to rip it in two. Kyuki, you want to have a tea party? Go find a different toy. Kenzo, you want to play with this? You can sit with me while I attempt to repair this monstrosity.”
The sudden offer of a shared task with their papa seemed to momentarily stun them. Kyuki sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “But… but he’s the best guest!”
“He’s the only one who can’t talk back to you, brat,” Katsuki muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “If you go get a blanket and set up the best tea party this house has ever seen, maybe I’ll let you sit next to me while I stitch him up.”
Kenzo, sensing an opportunity for one on one attention from the intimidating hero, immediately brightened. “Really? You’ll fix him?”
“Yeah, yeah, really,” Katsuki grumbled, already walking towards the laundry room to fetch his emergency repair kit, a collection of surprisingly high quality threads and needles he kept for emergency costume repairs that somehow mostly ended up being used on stuffed animals and doll clothes.
He hadn't told Izuku about that part, though. Izuku already thought he was a sentimental idiot. And Katsuki made sure to drill in that nerd’s head that he was not a sappy bitch at all.
He was, despite his denial, a sentimental idiot completely and helplessly wrapped around the little fingers of two three year olds and their bleeding heart co-parent. His dream of hitting the number one spot was temporarily on hold, his once pristine savings were drained thanks to the millions of yen worth of the hero suit he had gifted Izuku just a year ago and of childcare, and his Saturday mornings were spent negotiating toy custody battles.
And yet, as he knelt on the floor, he pulled out a needle and thread and he felt Kenzo immediately clambered onto his back, resting his chin on Katsuki’s shoulder. Kyuki, meanwhile, had begun rearranging the cushions, singing a tuneless song about a teddy bear’s grand arrival.
Katsuki, the feared Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, was reduced to mending a stuffed rabbit with a toddler draped across his spine. He was the number five hero, damn it. This was ridiculous. Yet, when Kenzo whispered into his ear, warm and sticky, “You’re the best papa ever,” Katsuki couldn’t even find the energy to tell him to shut up.
“Hold still, brat,” Katsuki muttered, carefully threading the needle. He scowled, focusing on the rabbit’s torn seam. “Hand me the scissors.”
The sound of the front door opening was both a saving grace and betrayal. Katsuki had managed to get Mr. Snuggles repaired (he really needed to stop being so good at tiny sewing) and had then been swiftly roped into the 'Royal Garden Tea Party.' This involved sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing a ridiculously small plastic tiara that pinched his scalp, and attempting to keep the tutu—Kyuki's, obviously, and far too tiny—secured around his waist.
It was a humiliating testament to his failure as a hero and as a functional adult. Katsudon was thankfully just sitting there, looking mildly depressed but accepting of his role as the King’s Steed.
"He's the best papa in the whole world!" Kyuki declared, offering him an empty, chipped plastic teacup.
Katsuki grumbled, accepting the imaginary tea. "You say that now. Wait 'til I make you clean your room, brat."
“I’m home!” The familiar clatter of keys and the thunk of heavy grocery bags hitting the floor signaled Izuku's return. Katsuki’s head snapped towards the entryway, his internal dialogue screaming both of relief and intense embarrassment. Izuku stood there, framed by the doorway, looking exhausted but happy. The bags overflowed with greens and things only Izuku would buy.
He stopped dead, dropping the reusable bags entirely. His eyes, those ridiculous emerald things that somehow have the power to make Katsuki drop to his knees, traveled from the tiny, crooked tiara on his boyfriend’s spiky hair, down to the pink tutu strained over his pants, to the formal setting of the plastic tea party.
Izuku's face went through four distinct phases: confusion, surprise, and finally, amusement. His hand flew up to cover his mouth, trying desperately to smother the laugh that was clearly about to escape. It's not everyday you get to see your boyfriend horribly dressed in a pink tutu and a pink tiara.
"Don't you dare, Deku," Katsuki snarled. Even with the tiara, he managed to sound like he was fifteen seconds away from blowing up the entire room. Izuku instantly clamped his mouth shut, though his eyes were crinkling at the corners and his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.
"Party’s over, brats!" Katsuki announced, scrambling to his feet, struggling as the ruffled fabric hugged tightly around his waist. He swiftly yanked off the tiara, shoving it into the confused looking Kenzo's hand.
The twins, however, had already spotted their favorite person. "Daddy!" Kyuki shrieked, instantly abandoning the tea party and making a beeline across the carpet.
"You're back!" Kenzo echoed, forgetting all about his new toy ownership of the tiara and chasing after his sister.
They tackled Izuku’s legs like little forces of affectionate wrecking balls. Izuku instantly melted, dropping to one knee to hug them, letting the abandoned grocery bags spill open slightly. Katsuki used the distraction to subtly try and rip the tutu off, only succeeding in getting the elastic caught. He settled for ignoring the stupid thing and marched his way to Izuku, snatching the handle of the two heaviest grocery bags out of his hands.
"Took you long enough, nerd," Katsuki grumbled, carefully avoiding eye contact.
Izuku just smiled, an incredibly fond expression directed squarely at Katsuki. "I ran into All Might at the organic market, Kacchan. We sort of caught up."
He paused, his gaze drifting back to the pink ruffle around Katsuki's hips. He still looked like he was fighting a losing battle against hysterics. "Did you... have fun with the kids?"
"It was a nightmare," Katsuki replied flatly, shouldering the grocery bags. He turned and marched towards the kitchen, still stuck in the tiny tutu. He knew exactly what he looked like, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was a hero, a dangerous man that his stare alone can make villains scramble off their feets. And he was currently carrying miso paste and artisanal coffee beans in a pink tutu skirt. It was fine.
"We need to get you a bigger tutu, papa!" Kyuki called brightly from where she was happily showing Izuku a new sticker on her hand.
Katsuki slammed the bags down onto the kitchen counter. "Never going to happen, brat!" he yelled back, already wrestling the tutu free and tossing it onto a random chair.
He heard Izuku’s warm laugh drift in from the living room, the sound he would literally start an international incident just to protect. Katsuki leaned against the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face. Yeah, hell. Absolute, glorious hell. But you know what? Hell yeah, seeing Izuku laugh like that made all this shit worth it.
You know what's scarier than a villain attacking? Dead silence from your kids. Noise? Fine. Noise means they're alive. Silence? That means a felony is being committed. And that is one universal truth Katsuki had learned since accidentally becoming a parent.
It was a typical, noisy Saturday. Izuku was hunched over his laptop, grading papers for his UA class. Katsuki was folding a ridiculous amount of laundry. The twins were screaming their heads off in the next room, and frankly, both heroes were immune to it. It was just background noise at this point.
It was annoying, yes, but it was normal. They accounted for it. Katsuki had achieved an impressive state of sensory detachment where the noise simply registered as white noise.
“This analysis on the ethical implications of using Quirks in civilian life is actually insightful,” Izuku murmured, eyes glued to the screen, marking a paper with quick keystrokes. “Kota’s class is really bright this year.”
“Yeah, well, if they’re so bright, why are they contributing to the global warming that will eventually melt the glacier I need to escape to?” Katsuki retorted, sharply folding a minuscule pair of Kenzo’s pants. He didn’t look up. The screaming from the next room was particularly shrill, probably over a mismatched block or a refusal to share a fictional kingdom.
Then, poof. The screaming stopped.
The cessation of sound was instant and almost eerie. The silence that descended upon their apartment wasn’t quiet, it was rather loud. The quiet was almost horrifying to the ears and it hit Katsuki’s eardrums. He froze, holding a small sock. He slowly lifted his eyes and met Izuku’s panicked gaze across the room, the verdanette’s pencil chewing habit suddenly arrested. That look said it all: Code Red.
They waited for a long, agonizing two seconds which seemed to stretch even longer. There was no sound, no cough, and no ear-bleeding screams of children. Nothing but the mocking buzz of the air conditioner and the terrifying sound of the twins’ absence.
“Fucking hell,” Katsuki breathed out, dropping the socks.
They launched themselves off the bed with Izuku practically vaulting over his laptop and Katsuki kicking the laundry basket clear across the room. They sprinted out of the bedroom and tore down the hallway. Please let it be glue. Please let them have just found glitter. Please let them be covered in marker. I’d rather scrub vomit off the fucking floor.
When they burst into the living room, the scene was horrifyingly clean. The toy bins were slightly overturned, a normal level of toddler mess. Katsudon was asleep, blissfully unaware of the looming disaster. But the front door—the door with the high-tech, reinforced lock Katsuki had installed specifically to prevent these tiny jailbreakers from achieving freedom—was open. And not just slightly open, but pushed wide enough to reveal a sliver of the bright afternoon outside.
The twins were gone and both Izuku and Katsuki’s blood ran cold.
“The door—” Izuku gasped. “The lock! How did they—? Oh my god, Kacchan, they’re out.”
Katsuki wanted nothing more than to smash his face into the nearest load-bearing wall, preferably with enough force to rearrange his own memories of ever agreeing to this. The overwhelming stupidity of this situation was enough to make him vibrate with frustrated energy. This was his worst nightmare, worse than any battle.
“They’re three, Deku! Three!” Katsuki barked, snatching his emergency shoulder holster from the coat rack by the door, not even pausing to fully strap it on. “They can’t have gone far! Don't just stand there like a piece of decorative lawn furniture! Get your shoes!”
Izuku was already fumbling with his own sneakers, his hands shaking so badly he couldn't get his foot into the high-tops. His usual analytical brain had completely shut down. Izuku, Pro Hero Deku, faced with a world-ending threat? Calm and unstoppable. Izuku, faced with his two toddlers potentially wandering into traffic? Panicked and on the verge of tears.
“But what if they went toward the main street? What if—what if a car—” Izuku’s voice hitched on a barely audible sob, his face pale with terror.
“Stop running through worst-case scenarios, you neurotic mess!” Katsuki yelled, grabbing Izuku’s jacket and shoving it at him. He needed to be the stable one and he hated it. He hated being the stable, rational one. He longed for the days when he could solve every problem with an over-powered explosion.
“I’m heading left, toward the park entrance. You take a quick sweep right, check the neighbors’ yards, and the end of the cul-de-sac. We'll meet back here in ten minutes if we don't find them!” Katsuki ordered, already sprinting out the door. He hit the front lawn and scanned the quiet suburban street. It was a pleasant neighborhood, relatively safe, but that didn't matter.
Kenzo and Kyuki were small, fast, and equipped with the terrible single-minded imagination of toddlers pretending they're on a mission. Their curiosity was a dangerous quirk all its own. Those little bastards. I swear, I find them, I’m putting a leash on them.
They’d been so careful after the adoption, focused on providing stability. And here they were, proving his initial fears correct—they were terrible parents and these kids were absolutely unmanageable.
He saw no sign of red hair or green hair. He shot down the sidewalk and kept his eyes low, scanning behind bushes and under vehicles. The thought of those two little faces being scared, or worse, hurt, sent a fresh jolt of primal terror through him. He activated his comms, a private channel only set up for high-level crises and, apparently, lost children. “Deku! Status!”
Izuku’s voice crackled through the earpiece, strained and breathless. “Nothing! Checked the front yards! Katsuki, I see tire tracks… from a truck… I—”
“Babe, stop. Focus. They’re probably hiding. They think this is a game. Don’t panic. Just keep looking!” Katsuki commanded, turning the corner onto the street that led toward the small local park. He rounded the corner of a high cedar hedge and oh my fucking god.
They were there. And they were no panicking and most definitely, not lost.
Kyuki and Kenzo were standing perfectly still, two small statuesque figures positioned directly in front of Mrs. Tanaka’s award winning rose garden. Kyuki was holding a pair of tiny, plastic, ridiculously pink pruning shears from her expired 'gardening kit' Katsuki had bought for her because she had been annoying him (but Katsuki knows damn well he just loves to spoil his brat). On her left, Kenzo was holding a large, crumpled paper bag.
Snip.
Kyuki had just decapitated a massive magenta rose, which Kenzo silently added to his paper bag. They were completely engrossed in their highly criminal gardening scheme. They looked less like panicked kids and more like two very small thieves. Katsuki stopped dead in his tracks and just stared. All that fear, all that adrenaline, and all that panic—for this. For gardening crimes. He didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or ground them until they were forty.
Oh my fucking god.
He took an agonizing breath, preparing himself to deal with the most infuriating and ridiculous criminals he’d ever encountered—his own kids. Katsuki was frozen solid, staring down the little garden terrorists basically beheading Mrs. Tanaka’s prized roses. All that sheer, gut-wrenching panic he just went through? For this.
He snatched the comms mic. He had to tell Izuku, but he needed a minute just to process the ridiculousness. He needed to report the sighting, but the absurdity of the situation made him want to scream. “Deku,” he mumbled into the receiver.
Izuku’s response was immediate and frantic, full of panic. “Kacchan! Did you find them?! Are they okay? Are they near the street? Tell me, please, I just checked Mr. Sato’s garage, nothing—”
“They’re fine, nerd. They’re perfectly fine. Fucking fine and it's killing me.” Katsuki cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He started walking slowly toward the oblivious twins who were too engrossed with stealing the poor roses. Bless Mrs. Tanaka’s soul and her garden.
“Thank God! Where are they? I’m almost at the park, should I—”
“No. Stay put for one minute,” Katsuki instructed. He had to prepare Izuku for the level of criminal activity he was about to witness. “You need to brace yourself for the dumbest thing you’ve ever seen them do. And that’s saying something, considering the punching incident.”
Kyuki had once punched a first grader for “bullying” Kenzo. Kyuki, a three year old child, punching a six year old kid who's much taller than her. Izuku was mortified, of course. Katsuki was proud, no doubt. But he had to ground her for a day after that for Izuku’s sake and sanity.
Kyuki, focused on a particularly large white bloom, didn't even flinch as Katsuki closed the distance. Snip. Another rose head fell.
“Kacchan, what is it? Are they playing on the climbing frame? Did they get sticky?” Izuku sounded frantic, running somewhere.
Katsuki stopped a few feet behind them. He looked down at the paper bag, which was already almost full of decapitated blossoms. The dedication was impressive, the motivation was terrifying. “They didn’t run away to play. They didn’t run away because they were scared,” Katsuki whispered. “They broke out of a high-security residential dwelling—a place protected by two Pro Heroes, mind you—to commit grand theft.”
A moment of stunned silence on the comms. Then, Izuku’s voice came back, confused and slightly weak. “...What?”
“Yeah, they're stealing fucking plants. They’re currently cutting Mrs. Tanaka’s prize-winning roses. Kyuki’s got the pink sheers and Kenzo’s running point, bagging the evidence.” Katsuki hissed, making sure his voice was low enough not to alert the tiny criminals, but loud enough for Izuku to hear at the comms.
Izuku made a strangled noise, somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Oh my God.”
“That’s what I said. I swear, Deku, when I get my hands on these two, I’m sending them back to the foster system with a strongly worded note about their criminal tendencies.” Katsuki threatened, though the thought of actually doing so was enough to make his resolve melt instantly. They had him, and they knew it.
“Kacchan, no, don't yell at them yet! I’m coming!” Izuku pleaded through the comms.
Katsuki let out a frustrated groan, dropping his hand from his ear and took the final step into the garden space. “Alright, you two! Drop the weapons!”
The twins finally froze. Kyuki looked up first, her face smeared with dirt and her tiny hand gripping the pink shears like a knife. Kenzo looked up, clutching the evidence bag, his eyes wide and terrified. They looked caught, guilty, and busted.
“What in the flaming hell do you think you’re doing?! You unlocked the door and ran out! You know that’s dangerous! You scared the absolute living daylights out of your dads! Why in the name of god are you stealing Mrs. Tanaka’s expensive roses?!”
Kyuki’s lower lip instantly began to tremble, but Kenzo, ever the leader in mischief, stepped forward, bravely holding up the crumpled paper bag full of stolen flora. “It’s for you, papa!” Kenzo mumbled, his voice small and shaky. “We got them for you and daddy! You said they were pretty!”
Katsuki blinked. The unexpected, idiotic sweetness of the explanation had definitely stopped his brain. They had risked everything because he had probably idly commented that Mrs. Tanaka’s magenta roses were 'less ugly than usual' the week prior.
Just then, Izuku came barreling around the corner of the hedge, running at top speed, his shoes scrabbling on the pavement. He was out of breath and clearly terrified. He immediately stopped, his chest heaving, his eyes taking in the entire ridiculous tableau—two toddlers, one weapon, one bag of stolen goods, and a massacre of prize-winning roses.
Izuku’s terror quickly gave way to a look of bewilderment, and then, inevitably, a wave of affection so powerful it practically glowed. He didn't even look at the flowers he just dropped to his knees right there on the sidewalk.
“Kyuki! Kenzo!” Izuku cried out. “We were so scared! Don’t you ever, ever leave the house without us again! We thought you were hurt!”
He reached out his arms, and the two little criminals instantly dropped the evidences—Kyuki tossing the shears, Kenzo letting the bag of roses fall—and launched themselves into Izuku’s embrace, both sobbing hysterically. Katsuki watched the entire exchange: the villains collapsing into the arms of the biggest softie in the world. It was the probably worst possible outcome for discipline.
“We wanted to give you flowers, daddy.” Kyuki sobbed in Izuku’s shoulders and Katsuki could see Izuku melting. He threw his hands up in defeat. “Deku, don’t hug them! They literally broke out of the house and committed property damage! They deserve a time-out in separate countries!”
Izuku just looked up, holding both sobbing, guilt-ridden children close, his face wet with tears of relief. “Kacchan, look what they did! They did it because they love us! They wanted to bring you pretty flowers! They’re sorry, aren’t you, sweethearts?”
“Sorry, daddy!” Kyuki whimpered into Izuku’s neck.
“Sorry, Papa!” Kenzo echoed.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Katsuki’s scowl deepened, but he felt the fight drain out of him instantly. He looked at the discarded pink shears, the pile of stolen roses, and the three people he loved most in the world huddled in a crying heap before letting out a long, weary sigh. “Fine. Get those damn things off the ground. We’re marching straight over to Mrs. Tanaka’s house, and you two are going to apologize. And then you are going to jail. And by jail, I mean, bed. Immediately.”
Izuku picked up the sheer before pocketing it, then helped the twins pick up the roses that had fallen on the pavement as Katsuki continued his lecture about safety and danger from behind. These kids are really going to give him wrinkles and white hair at an early age.
“Who taught you how to open the door?”
“Uncle Denki did!”
“Oh, that fucker—”
“Kacchan, no—”
Honestly, the few days after the whole great flower heist thing had been so eerily calm. The twins were still technically grounded, which was hilarious considering those little terrors were perfectly happy just inventing elaborate games right there in their room. They’d finally apologized to Mrs. Tanaka, a seriously cringey affair organized by a genuinely mortified Izuku, who was still dealing with her extremely brittle smile and the very firm demand that Katsuki pay for the heirloom varietals himself.
Whatever. It was Sunday now, and Katsuki was clinging to the blessed, unbroken silence like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.
They were hanging out at a neighborhood park, this huge kept place that was totally jammed with civilian families just doing their normal weekend stuff. Izuku, that classic social hero, was totally engrossed at a picnic table, deep in conversation with a little group of other parents.
He was leaning in, all serious and using his hands, probably lecturing on the finer points of nap schedules or the magic of positive reinforcement. His face was practically radiating, which was always an irritating yet kind of awesome thing to witness. The other parents were clearly starstruck but doing their best to seem chill, nodding along and occasionally throwing out compliments about Katsuki and Izuku being such "good parents.”
Katsuki nearly choked on air at that one, especially after the antics of the week before.
A couple of the braver ones had even asked for a quick photo, since apparently, watching the number four and five pro heroes passionately debate the merits of a specific brand of organic apple juice and which is which was healthier for the kids was the highlight of the neighborhood’s social calendar.
Katsuki, doing his best to keep a wide buffer from the sickeningly sweet parenting seminar, was just slumped next to Izuku as he soaked up the afternoon sun. The weather was perfect—warm, a little breezy, and blessedly quiet except for the usual park racket.
He was watching Kenzo and Kyuki bolt across the lawn toward the huge metal jungle gym, their laughter ringing out sharply along with the other kids. This was the sweet spot. This was the moment of peace, the little safe harbor he fought villains, government red tape, and the constant stress of being a hero to earn. He could actually feel his usual hopped-up pulse slowing down, the knot in his shoulder muscles starting to unwind. It was wonderful. Katsuki loves his life.
But then, the universe decided it needed to immediately and forcefully remind Katsuki that he wasn't allowed to have nice things.
Kenzo jogged back to the table. He stopped right by Katsuki’s elbow, holding something delicate and tiny cupped gently in his palms. The sudden interruption caused the surrounding parents to pause their conversation and looked over.
Kenzo beamed up at his two fathers, then slowly opened his hands to reveal a small bug. “Daddy, papa, look! I caught a bebi bug!”
Izuku chuckled, leaning over Katsuki’s shoulder. “It’s a ladybug, Kenzo. You need to say the whole word.”
The entire table cooed. Katsuki felt his own heart—that stubbornly hard lump of muscle—soften slightly. He frowned, fighting the warmth, but even he couldn't deny the utter adorableness of his son’s proud, dirt-smudged face and the tiny insect cradled carefully in his hand.
Kenzo puffed out his chest, looking directly at Katsuki, his eyes shining with pure joy. Then, with the softest, most earnest, and appalling tone Katsuki had ever heard, the boy declared, “It’s fucking cute, right, papa?”
The world stopped.
The conversation at the picnic table ceased instantly. Every single parent froze, their expressions hardening into a collective tableau of shock. Izuku, who had been leaning over Katsuki’s shoulder, straightened up so fast he nearly head-butted his own partner. His mouth dropped open, completely mortified.
Katsuki stared at his son. His mind went blank. What? The word couldn't possibly have been what he thought it was. It was a bizarre auditory hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and trauma.
“What was that, Kenzo?” Katsuki managed to articulate, unable to believe his own ears.
Kenzo, the little gremlin who clearly thought he was delivering the highest possible compliment, happily repeated the phrase, his voice ringing with pure innocence. “I said it’s fucking cute, papa!”
The parents at the table visibly recoiled. Their awkward silence was excruciatingly loud, intensified by the fact that they had literally just been complimenting the heroes on their parenting skills a few minutes. Katsuki saw a woman quickly gather her child, subtly moving away from the "bad influence" corner of the park.
Izuku finally snapped out of his catatonia, his wide, horror-struck eyes fixed on his son. He managed a weak strained correction. “Kenzo! That is a bad word. You absolutely cannot say that.”
Kenzo, sensing the sudden shift in the mood but not the actual cause, tilted his head, pointing a tiny finger accusingly at Katsuki. “But papa says it all the time!”
Katsuki's heart plummeted. It hit the bottom of his stomach and kept going, descending straight into the earth's core. Oh, you little traitorous bastard.
The blood rushed from Katsuki’s face, leaving him feeling cold and exposed. He and Izuku had had multiple, very serious discussions about his language, especially around the twins. Izuku had made him promise—under threat of giving him the silent treatment (which was worse than any physical pain. He'd rather have Izuku punch him until his skull bursted, honestly)—to filter his usual volcanic lexicon.
Katsuki had been diligent! He thought he had been doing great, carefully substituting his usual swear words for milder and less offensive insults like 'brat' or 'nerd.'
Or so Izuku believed. Katsuki realized, with sickening clarity, that some of his private, frustrated mutterings usually aimed at traffic, or incompetent sidekicks, or bad coffee, had clearly been absorbed by a very observant three year old.
Katsuki slowly and reluctantly turned his head toward Izuku. Izuku's expression had undergone a terrifying transformation. His lips were curved into a saccharine sweet monstrous smile. The kind of smile All Might used when he knew he was about to deliver a world-shattering punch. Katsuki knew that smile well, it was the smile Izuku wore when he was furiously mapping out a comprehensive plan for revenge.
“Oh, does he?” Izuku asked, his voice soft and gentle, and devoid of anything resembling warmth. He was still looking at Katsuki, and Katsuki swore his blood ran dry. He knew, better than anyone, that furious Izuku was the single most dangerous entity on the planet. Furious Izuku was something not to be messed with.
He started silently reciting the lyrics to an old and terrible pop song he'd heard on the radio, hoping it counted as praying.
Shit.
Izuku stood up from the bench. The surrounding parents were doing the world’s most awkward synchronized head turn, desperately pretending to be fascinated by the bark of the trees or the state of the asphalt. Looking at anything but the two pro-heroes. They had completely forgotten they were sitting with the number four and number five heroes, they just knew they were witnessing a monumental domestic shaming.
Katsuki could already picture the sensationalist headlines: DYNAMIGHT SPREADS OBSCENITY: TOP HERO TEACHES CHILDREN VULGARITY! DEKU MORTIFIED!
“Kenzo, why don’t you go play with Kyuki for a little bit? Papa and I just need to have a quick word,” Izuku suggested, his tone still terrifyingly calm.
Kenzo, though confused by the sudden change in atmosphere, obediently handed the ladybug to Izuku and trotted off toward the playground.
Izuku offered the frozen parents a polite wave. “Please excuse us. Urgent parenting business.”
The parents nodded vigorously, clearly thrilled to be released from the tension.
Izuku began walking away from the picnic area, not looking back. Katsuki rose slowly, feeling every ounce of his usual explosiveness drained away by pure dread. He trailed silently behind his furious boyfriend, knowing that whatever sun-drenched, peaceful afternoon he had enjoyed was officially over.
He had a feeling that his immediate future involved a prolonged, educational session with the scariest man alive, and he sincerely doubted he would ever see the light of day again. Heavens and all gods above, please pray for Katsuki.
The last few weeks had been fucking hell for Katsuki. The weeks that followed had confirmed every single one of his initial anxieties about being a parent. His life was now devolved into a cycle of negotiating bedtimes and scrubbing unidentifiable sticky substances off expensive flooring. Katsuki was running on fumes, constantly shifting between catching villains and chasing toddlers. It was seriously harder than the hero stuff because he couldn't just explode his way out of a tantrum.
Today's crisis started with a loud smack followed by a piercing scream. Katsuki had been trying to read a mission debrief—a fool's errand, clearly. The peace and quiet he had been seeking apparently lasted exactly 3.7 minutes in this house before the domestic violence broke out.
“Kyuki, sweetie, can you come over here?
“No!”
He found Izuku in the kitchen, already doing the dad thing, immediately cradling a loudly sobbing Kenzo in the kitchen, checking the back of the boy's head. “It’s okay” Izuku cooed, rocking Kenzo gently. Katsuki could practically smell the distress in Izuku. “Kyuki, sweetheart, I'm not mad, okay? So can you please come here?”
Kyuki, the tiny terrorist, was standing her ground three feet away, clutching the plastic badminton racquet. She wasn't crying and wasn't even attempting the tear weaponization tactic she usually used against him. Just arms crossed, lower lip jutted out to a pout, looking exactly like Katsuki when he was planning a major explosion. She was a tiny, defiant replica of Katsuki himself, and the sight was unsettling.
"What the hell happened this time?" Katsuki snapped, stepping up to her.
"They had a little fight and Kyuki had uh, hit Kenzo." Izuku said, totally stressed, holding Kenzo tight. “Can you please talk to her? I just need a minute with Kenzo. I’ll stop him from crying before talking to Kyuki.”
Katsuki took over. His job: the heavy talk. Katsuki simply nodded, confirming his role as the designated disciplinarian. This was their routine. Izuku, the empath, provided comfort and emotional support. Katsuki, the former rage case turned reluctant family man, delivered the necessary verbal dressing down.
He stared down at his daughter. “Kyuki Bakugou, look at me. You hit your brother. That is completely unacceptable. You know we don’t use toys to hurt people, especially your own brother. What do you have to say for yourself?”
He waited for the usual meltdown or apology. Instead, Kyuki simply looked him dead in the eyes and sniffed dismissively. She unfurled her arms, spun on her heel, and stomped away from him with an audible hmpf, heading straight toward her bedroom door.
Katsuki stood there, dumbfounded and almost paralyzed.
What.
What the hell was that.
Did she just.
Oh, she did not.
Him. Dynamight. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. People literally fled the country to avoid him. The man who had faced down All For One's remnants and countless A-list villains. The man who died then came back alive during the war back in his first year. The hero whose mere reputation caused criminal organizations to rethink their life choices—had just been sassed by a three year old in a bunny themed t-shirt.
His damn three year old just gave him the arrogant hmpf and walked away. The audacity. Oh, the fucking audacity. That little shit. He had witnessed incredible acts of courage and unbelievable displays of power but nothing, nothing, in his entire twenty six years had left him so dumbfounded as the unbridled audacity of his own daughter.
Where the hell did she get that from? (He refused to consider the obvious answer.)
Five minutes had passed and Katsuki remained planted in the kitchen doorway, staring blankly at the spot Kyuki had taken. Izuku, thankfully, had Kenzo calmed down, now checking the boy for bruises and whispering soothing words.
"Kacchan? You okay?" Izuku asked, glancing up with a puzzled look.
"She just hmphed at me, Deku. She basically told me to screw off," Katsuki threw his hands up.
Izuku chuckled, a soft one at that. “Well, she really is your daughter, Kacchan. She’s got your stubborn streak and your dramatic flair. Go talk to her. Don’t yell, please. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
He knew he had to go, but damn, he was so weak when they cried. He knew Izuku was right, dammit. He was the one who was supposed to be the rock, the one who disciplines these confusing emotional minefields. He hated how weak he was to the visible distress of these little brats. He knew he had to go in there and finish the lecture, but the thought of facing that angry little face again made him want to explode his own hand.
Taking a deep breath, he stomped after her. He raised his hand to knock on her door, ready to chew her out again, but stopped when he heard a tiny, heartbroken sniffle coming from inside.
Oh, for crying out loud.
He remembered their agreement, made weeks ago: patience, patience, patience. They were too young to be raised by yelling. He had to be better. Yeah, anger management has been a huge help no matter how Katsuki denies it. He took a deep breath instead of launching himself. That's a good sign.
He gently nudged the door open. Kyuki was curled up on her small bed, facing the wall, a tangle of blankets and small misery. The sight instantly gutted him and all his anger seemed to have evaporated. Katsuki sat down on the bed behind her, letting the mattress sag. "Hey. Turn around."
She slowly rotated. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her nose was running, and those eyes were puffy and red rimmed. She looked miserable and Katsuki felt like the world's biggest jerk.
"Tell me why you hit Kenzo," he said gently.
"He was being bad!" she wailed, the words coming out in a rush. "I needed to draw Dynamight's red gloves, and he kept taking the crayon! And he was singing that stupid song daddy sings!"
Katsuki rubbed the back of his neck, suppressing a groan. He really tried processing the pure toddler logic. Kenzo, the little pest, stealing crayons and Izuku’s off-key singing as tools of torment. Classic.
"I know he's a tiny brat," Katsuki conceded. "But you still can't hit him. Hitting is wrong. Doesn't matter how much he makes you angry. No hitting. Ever. Doesn’t matter how much he makes you angry. Hitting is wrong, and it makes him sad, and it makes you sad.”
“But you hit bad guys. I saw you on TV.”
“That’s different. Let’s not talk about that.”
“But—”
“Look, maybe he just wanted to draw with his big sister, hm? He doesn’t know how to ask without being a little terror about it. Maybe he just wanted to be near his sister.” He scooted closer, “maybe he just wants your attention, and he can’t stand it when you don’t pay attention to him. You know that your little brother loves drawing with you. He's a brat, but he's your brat and he loves you.”
He gently wiped a tear off her cheek. "You use your words. Or you threaten him with something good. Tell him if he takes your crayon one more time, you'll tell papa he broke the new All Might figurine. Not hitting.”
Kyuki was silent, staring up at him, absorbing the surprisingly nuanced lecture on conflict resolution. She let out one last shaky breath, and then, without warning, she lunged, wrapping her small arms tightly around Katsuki’s neck.
Katsuki was caught off guard for a second, but his arms instinctively came up to loop around her tiny, trembling body. He held her tight, rubbing her back.
"I'm sorry, papa," she whispered into his shoulder.
"Yeah, you better be, you little firecracker," Katsuki muttered, the threat completely empty. He was a goner, this kid had him absolutely beat. God help him.
Just as Katsuki finished pulling Kyuki back from the edge of emotional collapse, a light knock came from the door frame. Izuku was leaning against the wood, having clearly listened to the whole breakdown and was choosing his moment to intervene. Kyuki instantly dove for cover, burying her face in Katsuki’s side, terrified Izuku would join the scolding session.
She was terrified of Izuku’s disappointment, which to her, felt infinitely worse than Katsuki’s yelling.
“It’s okay, firecracker,” Katsuki mumbled, rubbing her back. “Your dad’s not mad.”
Izuku knew the drill. He seemed to sense her apprehension instantly. He straightened up, walking carefully toward the bed and making sure not to spook her. He sat down gently next to Katsuki on the bed, trying his very best not to rush things.
“Hey, sweet pea,” Izuku said, tilting his head slightly so he could see her hair. “I heard what you told papa. I’m not mad at you.”
He reached out a hand and started rubbing small, soothing circles on her back, just above where Katsuki’s hand was resting. “I still love you more than all the stars in the sky, Kyuki. And papa is right. We have to be nice to our brother, even when he’s being a little monster. Okay?”
That soft tone and the touch were magic and Izuku’s voice worked instantly. Kyuki let out a shaky sigh, emerging from Katsuki's shirt. Her red eyes, still shiny with tears, fixed on Izuku. She reached out her tiny hands toward him.
Izuku scooped her up immediately, shifting her onto his lap and hugging her tight against his chest, giving her a big kiss on the head. Katsuki watched, feeling that powerful wave of ridiculous devotion. Izuku was the master of fixing these tiny emotional bombs. Izuku was the only one who could defuse her emotional grenades this completely.
“Alright, brat,” Katsuki announced, rising to his feet and stretching his cramped legs. “Time for the next phase of damage control. Kyuki needs to apologize to the other little dummy.”
Izuku nodded, holding Kyuki close. “Kenzo? Can you come here, please?”
Kenzo had clearly been listening right outside the door. He shuffled into the room, his small body rigid with guilt, clutching his already mended Mr. Snuggles. He peeked up at them, his chin practically touching his chest, his big eyes swollen and red. He was still quietly sniffling. He stood there for a minute, fiddling anxiously with the hem of his t-shirt, unable to meet Kyuki’s gaze.
Katsuki knew he hated being in trouble just as much as his sister, and even through his tears, he felt guilty for causing the fight.
Finally, Kenzo took a shaky breath, and the words tumbled out in a muffled rush. “I-I’m sorry, Kyuki. I’m sorry I took the red crayon a-and I sang that annoying song. I just… I wanted to color with you.”
Kyuki, hearing her twin's apology and seeing his tears, completely lost it. She dissolved into fresh tears against Izuku’s neck. “I’m sorry, Kenzo! I’m so, so sorry I hit you with the racket!” she sobbed, struggling out of Izuku’s arms and stumbling toward her brother.
Kenzo, equally wrecked, dropped the poor rabbit and ran to meet her. They slammed into each other, collapsing into a messy crying heap of tiny arms and legs. Their earlier fight was completely forgotten, replaced by this intense dramatic remorse. “I’m sorry for stealing your crayons!”
Katsuki just stood there, watching the two of them bawl their eyes out while clutching each other. They were three, for god’s sake. Over a crayon. Izuku, meanwhile, was beaming down at them, his eyes wet with his own empathetic tears. Katsuki couldn’t help it. A tiny smile twitched his lips. He looked over at Izuku, catching his gaze. Izuku’s grin widened, the shared look saying everything.
We survived. We’re insane. Look at them. They're fine. We made it through another one. We’re doing okay.
"Goddammit, these kids are too much," Katsuki mumbled, the words sounding more fond than annoyed.
Izuku reached out and quietly took Katsuki’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Katsuki squeezed back. Who knew the two powerful pro heroes would be completely defeated by the two emotional toddlers sobbing out their hearts in the middle of the room. It was exhausting and it was ridiculous. And it is something Katsuki wouldn't trade it for anything.
The quiet moments after the kids were finally asleep were the only thing that kept Katsuki from relocating to a remote, child-free island. He was in the living room, sprawled across the expensive leather sofa Izuku had insisted on buying—thr furniture they rarely used anymore thanks to the constant threat of spillage and glitter.
He was skimming a tedious police report on a low-level gang bust as Izuku walked in, carrying two mugs of tea. Katsuki’s was black and bitter, Izuku’s was some herbal, flowery nonsense.Izuku handed over the mug and then sank onto the sofa next to Katsuki, leaning his head against Katsuki’s shoulder with a tired sigh.
“Thank you, Kacchan,” Izuku murmured. “You handled Kyuki’s sass way better than I could have. I think she listens to you more when you use the ‘papa voice’.”
Katsuki grunted, taking a long sip of the harsh tea. “It’s the tone of a man who just got hmphed at by his own daughter. The disrespect was crippling. I defeated All For One’s fuckin’ ass. I did not die and came back from the dead to get treated like a substitute teacher by a preschooler.”
“It’s a rite of passage,” Izuku said, stifling a yawn. “And you were so gentle with her afterward. I saw you wiping her tears. I didn’t think Dynamight was capable of such tenderness.”
Katsuki elbowed him lightly. “Shut up. It’s called tactical weakness exploitation. If I had kept yelling, she’d have yelled back. If she cries, she breaks. If she breaks, I'd lose my mind. Better to talk it out. I’d get five minutes of silence. It’s effective discipline.” He wasn't going to admit that his heart genuinely twisted when she cried. He had a reputation to maintain, even if it was just to the one person who knew him better than anyone.
“Sure, Kacchan. ‘Tactical weakness exploitation.’ Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Izuku chuckled, reaching up to gently run his fingers through Katsuki's spiky hair. “But seriously. It’s hard. It’s so much harder than I thought it would be, even with both of us.”
Katsuki let the mission report slide onto the cushion. He wrapped his free arm around Izuku, pulling him closer until their mugs were almost touching. “Yeah, it’s hell. I told you it was hell. I told you we were going to crash and burn and hate each other and these little gremlins.”
“And yet,” Izuku mused, looking up at him with loving eyes, “here we are. And you didn’t actually blow up the laundry room when Kenzo smeared peanut butter on your utility belt.”
“I came close,” Katsuki corrected, flatly. “I came so fucking close. It cost me three therapy sessions and a new belt.” He paused, looking down at the top of Izuku’s head. “I still hate how fast we did this, Deku. It’s stupid. It risked everything.”
“It risked our sanity, maybe,” Izuku agreed quietly, setting his tea down. “But it didn't risk this.” He tilted his head back and looked up at Katsuki. “We were always going to be okay, Kacchan. We rebuilt our partnership, then our friendship, then this. Nothing those two little maniacs throw at us is going to break us now.”
He reached up and cupped Katsuki’s cheek, his touch surprisingly firm. “You have the biggest, stupidest heart of anyone I know, Kacchan. You saw them and knew you couldn’t walk away. And I love you for it. Even when you’re complaining about their audacity sometimes.”
“All the time.” Katsuki corrected, “for fuck's sake, those brats are going to give me wrinkles.”
Izuku laughed and Katsuki couldn't help but stare at him, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, hating the mushy moment but unable to look away. He hated being called soft, but when Izuku said it, it just sounded like a fact, a core part of his existence he couldn't deny. He leaned down and kissed Izuku hard, cutting off whatever sentimental nonsense the nerd was about to say next.
When they broke apart, Katsuki rested his forehead against Izuku’s. “Just don’t let Kyuki catch me wearing that damn tutu again, or I will retire and move to a secluded island,” he warned.
Izuku giggled. “Deal. Now, can you please carry me to bed? I think I need to dream about organizing my lesson plans instead of broken stuffed animals.”
Katsuki grunted, but stood up, pulling Izuku with him. “Fine. You owe me an hour of silence tomorrow, nerd.”
He would never admit it aloud, not to Izuku, not to the kids, but this was a kind of victory all its own.