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Katsuki didn’t think he’d ever be nervous about something like Father’s Day.
He'd faced villains and explosions and screaming fans. He could walk through fire and hell and back without blinking. But today, for some reason, he was as nervous as the day he asked Izuku to marry him.
Their daughter was just six weeks old, a tiny little thing with soft tufts of green-gold fuzz and the biggest eyes Katsuki had ever seen. She loved to cling to Izuku’s chest when she slept, nestled into the curve of his neck like that was the only place in the world she belonged. And maybe it was. It was one of Katsuki’s favorite sights—his background picture, actually. He hadn’t expected anything. Honestly, he didn’t even want much. Just… peace. A quiet day with his mate and their pup. Maybe a nap.
Instead, he woke up to a soft, floral scent and the sound of music humming low in the kitchen.
Hearing the door open, he turned, and there was Izuku with their daughter fast asleep, settled in her soft cotton wrap, wearing Katsuki’s shirt, his hair still messy from sleep.
“Happy Father’s Day,” Izuku whispered.
In Izuku’s hand were both a card and a small, hand-bound book. On the cover, in Izuku’s handwriting, were the words:
"For Her Papa."
Katsuki sat up, confused. “You—what is this?”
“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed, but I’m not as graceful as you,” Izuku admitted with a grin. “So I made your breakfast and set it up in the dining room whenever you’re ready.”
Izuku smiled shyly and placed the book and card on his lap. It was a generic Father’s Day card. Katsuki opened it and felt himself tear up a bit. Inside were messy paint smudges in green and red and orange, like tiny fists had smacked finger paint all over it. A tiny handprint was pressed into the middle.
Inside, Izuku had written:
“She doesn’t know how to say it yet, But I do. Thank you for showing up every single day. You’re already the best father she’ll ever know.”
Katsuki stared at it for a long time. Then at the baby in Izuku’s arms. He smiled and went to open the book his omega had given him.
Inside were pictures. Polaroids. From the pregnancy. From their baby’s birth. From the nights he fell asleep with her tucked against his chest, the days he paced the kitchen with her crying in his arms, the sleepy kisses he gave her forehead when he thought no one was watching. Him bottle feeding Izumi in the glow of the fridge light. Him holding her in a carrier, scowling at the sun but shielding her face. Him carefully trimming her baby nails with intense focus after she scratched herself. Him looking down at her, absolute love clear as day written on his face, completely unaware the camera even existed.
In the margins, Izuku had written little captions, from both him and some from their daughter:
“She sleeps best with you.”
“You changed her diaper at 3 a.m. and never even complained.”
“Her first smile was when you made that dumb explosion noise.”
“Daddy smells like fireworks and home.”
“When I cry, Daddy always runs so he can pick me up first.”
“I don’t know what a hero is yet, but I think it’s Daddy.”
Katsuki didn’t even realize he was crying until Izuku brushed his cheeks gently with his fingers.
The baby stirred and cooed softly, turning her head toward him.
His little girl blinked up at him and let out a tiny yawn.
Izuku kissed the top of Katsuki’s head.
“She already knows you’re everything.”
Katsuki cried harder.
This was happiness. He felt whole.
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Five Years Later
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Father’s Day had become a sacred tradition in the Bakugou-Midoriya household.
Both Izuku and their daughter, Izumi, took it very seriously.
This year, Katsuki woke up to the smell of garlic, chili, and sizzling tofu—the Alpha loved eating his favorite meal for breakfast on his “special day.” He could hear Izuku’s soft humming in the kitchen. Izumi, same as every year, had banned him from coming downstairs until it was “perfect.”
So he stayed upstairs, waiting, pretending he didn’t know what was coming.
When she finally called out, “OKAY, DADDY, COME DOOOOOWN!” with all the authority her little alpha-leaning five-year-old lungs could muster, Katsuki obeyed.
The dining room was decorated in a messy but heartfelt arrangement of hand-cut paper hearts and sparkly gold stars. A slightly uneven banner read:
"Happy Daddy’s Day to the BEST DADDY!"
In the center of the table was a carefully plated dish of mapo tofu, some presents, and a spice cake. On the plate next to it sat a giant piece of paper.
It was titled, in all caps:
"DADDY SAVES THE WORLD AND MAKES THE BEST BREAKFAST TOAST."
An abstract explosion of red, orange, and yellow scribbles with big stick figures holding hands. And of course, it was covered in glitter. Izumi also gave him a “Portrait of Papa” drawn in marker and glitter. His hair was bright yellow with glitter. She also presented him with a homemade coupon that read:
“One (1) free nap. No interruptions. Even by me. I promise. Maybe.”
Katsuki felt his eyes well up with tears as he leaned down to hug his baby. Izumi wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered,
“I’m so glad you’re my papa.”
Katsuki whispered back, “Me too, firecracker. Me too.”
Izumi stepped back and took a deep breath before saying,
“Me and Mama got you presents! And I drew me and you and Mama and our house and the fire you put out with your powers and also a raccoon ‘cause I like raccoons!”
She grinned wide, showing the gap from her missing tooth.
Katsuki didn’t even bother trying not to cry this time. He scooped her up, peppering her with kisses as she giggled.
“I don’t need anything else,” he whispered hoarsely. “You two… you’re everything.”
Izuku just smiled and leaned into his side, pressing a kiss to his neck.
“You say that every year.”
Katsuki sniffed. “Every year it’s true.”
Later, when they were curled on the couch, Katsuki finally exhaled and whispered,
“She makes it better every year.”
Izuku just smiled. “So do you.”
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That Night
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Katsuki had just finished the last of his spicy mapo tofu (he got to eat it throughout the day) when Izuku sat down beside him, a little box tucked into his hands. Katsuki gave him a tired but happy smile, still glowing from Izumi’s glitter portrait and coupon for a “One free nap.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he muttered, leaning into Izuku’s side.
“I know,” Izuku whispered back, handing it over. “But I wanted to.”
Katsuki opened the box.
Inside was a bracelet. A simple leather band with a small charm: a circular metal disk, etched carefully.
In the front, Izumi's tiny fingerprint, pressed into the metal like a fossil of love, and in the back: “Papa, My First Hero,” written in Izuku’s careful script.
Katsuki stared at it.
Then down at his hand.
Then back at Izuku, eyes wide, mouth just slightly trembling.
“I had it made from fire-resistant material,” Izuku explained softly. “I had her press her thumb into the clay last month. You were in the shower. I kept it secret.”
Katsuki cleared his throat. “You kept this a secret?”
Izuku laughed. “It was hard. She wanted to show you the moment we made it.”
Katsuki slipped the bracelet on, holding his wrist like it was made of gold. Then he kissed Izuku full on the mouth, a deep, grateful kiss that held years’ worth of exhaustion and pride and love.
“You make this easy, y’know that?” he murmured against Izuku’s lips. “Being a dad. Loving her. Loving you. You make it easy.”
Izuku kissed his temple. “You make it worth it.”
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Izumi’s POV
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Izumi Midoriya-Bakugou had a plan.
A serious one.
A mission.
Because Father’s Day was not a “small day” or a “maybe day.” No, sir. It was important. Her Papa never asked for anything. He cooked for them, made her bento stars, fixed her broken toys, and never complained when she stole his blankets. Mama called it Father’s Day, but no, it was Daddy’s Day.
Because it was for her daddy.
The best one ever.
So this time, she went big.
She woke up early, helped Mama make Daddy’s favorite meal, drew not one but two pictures, used her best glitter, and even tried to sneak the raccoon who lived outside into the house. (Mama said no. Mama always knew best.) So instead, she drew the raccoon in the picture.
Izumi used to panic when her daddy cried on Daddy Day, but Mama explained that Daddy was happy.
And this year, Izumi understood.
Because she was happy, too.
As her Daddy hugged her tight and told her she was his firecracker, she leaned into his chest, small fingers playing with the charm on his new bracelet.
“I love you, Papa,” she whispered.
“You’re my hero.”
And Katsuki, arms full of the family he never knew he’d be lucky enough to have, whispered back through trembling lips:
“Always, baby girl. Always.”