Bakugo Katsuki had faced villains, explosions, and the damn Sports Festival crowd. But nothing—nothing— prepared him for the wrath of a two-year-old rival.

The day started with a loud crash. He bolted out of the bedroom, hair sticking up even worse than usual.

“Kaoru! What the hell did you—”

His words froze. The living room looked like a battlefield. Pancake batter on the floor, toys scattered, one slipper inside the cereal bowl.

And there, right in the middle, his son stood proudly with a spoon raised high.

“Mama say I help!”

Bakugo twitched. “You call that helping? You look like a damn natural disaster!”

Kaoru puffed out his little chest, just like him. “I hero too!”

“Tch. You ain’t even tall enough to reach the counter, shrimp.”

The toddler stomped a foot, glaring fiercely. “No shrimp! I strong!”

Bakugo snorted, folding his arms. “You can’t even lift the frying pan without cryin’.”

Kaoru went red in the face and turned to you for backup, babbling a string of complaints while pointing dramatically at his father.

You were already kneeling to clean the mess, lips pressed to hide a laugh.

Bakugo groaned. “Don’t you dare take his side—hey! Stop smiling like that!”

He crouched next to Kaoru, who crossed his tiny arms with a proud huff.

“Listen here, brat. Mama’s my girl, got it? We’ve been through explosions, wars, and toddler tantrums. You’re not stealin’ her from me.”

Kaoru’s eyes narrowed. “Mine.”

Bakugo blinked. “What’d you say?”

“Mama mine!”

The old hero nearly fell backward laughing. “You little gremlin—You seriously think you can compete with me? I’ve got muscles, explosions, and charm!”

Kaoru gave a very serious nod. “I got cute!”

Bakugo choked. “Cute?! That’s not—” He stopped when you started laughing again, covering your mouth.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he muttered, glaring at both of you. “Double-teamin’ me in my own damn house.”

The morning ended with Kaoru sitting on Bakugo’s shoulders—because despite losing the “Mama ownership war,” he had managed to "defeat Papa” by headbutting him square in the chin.

Bakugo was icing his jaw later that afternoon when Kaoru climbed into his lap with a toy grenade.

“Boom!” the kid shouted, mimicking an explosion sound.

Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “Heh. That’s my boy.”

Then Kaoru smacked his cheek with the toy grenade. “You lose again!”

“WHAT—”

Kaoru giggled, bolting across the room. Bakugo chased him, grumbling and shouting, “Come back here, you little copycat!”

You were sitting by the window, watching them run in circles. Kaoru shrieked as Bakugo caught him, scooping him up with one arm.

“Gotcha. Who’s the strongest now, huh?”

Kaoru squirmed, still giggling uncontrollably. “Mama!”

Bakugo froze for a second, then sighed in defeat. “…Yeah, fair.”

That night, Kaoru was asleep between them again—his tiny hands gripping your shirt and one of Bakugo’s fingers.

The great war for Mama’s attention had ended in a temporary truce.

Bakugo leaned back against the headboard, staring down at his son. “Tch. Little punk wins every time.”

Kaoru shifted in his sleep, snuggling closer. Bakugo smirked, brushing the boy’s hair off his forehead.

“…Just like me.”

And when you smiled sleepily at the sight, he grumbled, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who made two of us.”

The house stayed quiet for a few seconds—until Kaoru, half-asleep, mumbled, “Mama mine.”

Bakugo whispered back, dead serious, “We’ll see about that tomorrow.”