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A thought had been nagging at Denki’s subconscious for a while now. It seemed to mostly center on Iida, certain behaviors that reminded him of something, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.
It wasn’t that his arm gestures looked just like a toy robot Denki had as a child, that part was obvious. His manner of speech was similar to Denki’s kindergarten teacher, but it wasn’t that either. The feeling mostly struck in full force whenever the class rep arranged the charts for whoever was on cleaning duty at the dorms, or the way he made sure that even the stragglers made it to class on time.
It’d been stronger than ever earlier that afternoon as they waited to board a bus to take them to Ground Beta, Iida directing nineteen other students into organized lines like a gaggle of children. Even now, hours later after class, it still nagged at him. It was messing with his concentration and causing him to fall behind in Mario Kart.
“You’re going to blow a fuse if you keep thinking so hard,” Jirou nudged him after she’d tossed another red shell at him.
A gaggle of children…
The metaphorical light bulb zapped to life in Denki’s mind as the thought that had persistently eluded him finally smacked him in the face.
“Iida’s the dad!” he exclaimed with a snap of his fingers.
At least half the class turned to stare at him with perplexed expressions, their scores scrolling across the TV screen.
Jirou snorted. “I’m sorry, what?”
Iida himself stood stock-still, red in the face. “I have no idea where you got that preposterous notion, but I assure you I have never fathered—the fact that you would even insinuate such a thing—”
Denki’s own face grew hotter than Todoroki’s left side as he realized how that might sound without context, and he frantically waved his hands. “Not like that! Iida’s the class dad! You know, like that game kids play where they make up imaginary families and figure out everyone’s role and then act it out? Like that!”
Jirou lazily twirled an earphone around her finger, game controller abandoned on her lap. “Yeah, I can see that.”
Not everyone was immediately on board.
“I don’t know,” Ashido said, appraising Iida like she was about to critique his choreography. “He’s very hands-on with the organization around here. My dad’s clueless when it comes to that kind of thing.”
“There’s all kinds of dads,” Hagakure argued. “Iida’s the responsible, organized one! He’s totally the dad of the class.”
“Is this…a common thing?” Todoroki asked, confused.
“Wouldn’t Aizawa be the class dad?” Sero pointed out.
Denki waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not, you don’t let the actual parents be the pretend parents, that defeats the purpose. No teachers allowed.”
“I’m afraid I don’t see your reasoning,” Iida said, adjusting his glasses. “To be an ideal father figure, one must be supportive, encouraging, and understanding, while also ensuring that his children are safe, healthy, and follow the rules, as well as helping them learn to be responsible adults. That is a lot for one person to shoulder, and I have a lot to learn myself before I can hope to meet all of these requirements.”
“You already do, kero,” Tsu piped up from the other couch, lowering her book.
“Yeah!” Kirishima agreed, holding up a hand to count off his fingers. “You always encourage us when we’re trying to figure out new moves, plus you’re understanding whenever we struggle with a school subject, and supportive in helping us figure it out.”
Denki held up his own hand to continue listing off points. “You kept us safe by finding the teachers during the USJ attack, you try to make sure everyone gets enough water breaks during training, and no one makes sure we follow the rules like you do. You’re perfect for the role!” Movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to see Bakugou exiting the kitchen and heading for the stairs. “Kacchan, back us up here!” he called.
Bakugou glared at Denki over his shoulder. “You’re going to make me lose braincells with your stupid game.”
And with that, he stomped away, surprising absolutely no one.
“And don’t fucking call me that, Pikachu!” he yelled down the stairs.
“I, for one, agree with everyone,” Yaomomo said to Iida, cradling a steaming mug of tea in her hands. “You fit all of those ideals splendidly. You are the class representative for a reason.”
Iida reddened again, though this time more humbled than scandalized. Finally, he gained his composure enough to say, “I see. Thank you for these kind words. If you insist on this notion, I shall endeavor to meet these sentiments.” He gestured wildly. “On that note, I highly recommend that everyone get a head start on their homework. It would be unbefitting of a hero student to fall behind in class.”
Denki groaned. “Do we have to?” he whined, painfully aware of how much he sounded like a petulant child.
Jirou let out a teasing laugh. “You were the one who said he was the dad. He’s just proving you right.”
“I’d normally gloat about being right for once, but I’d rather be wrong if it meant I could play video games longer,” Denki said with an eye roll, shutting off the console.
“Hey Dunce Face! Shitty Hair!” Bakugou yelled down the stairs. “Get your asses up here!”
Oh right, he’d forgotten their study plans. Bakugou had offered to tutor the two of them in preparation for the upcoming exams.
In other words, he’d demanded to oversee their studies so he could make sure they passed because he refused to be lumped in with losers who got held back a year.
Semantics. At this point, Denki would take all the help he could get.
A few days had passed since they’d established Iida as the class dad when the question occurred to Kyouka. She paused, chopsticks hovering halfway to her mouth.
“So wait, if Iida’s the dad, then who’s Mom?”
The previous topic ground to a halt as everyone at their cafeteria table mulled it over.
“It’s probably Yaomomo,” Kaminari said around a mouthful of cafeteria onigiri.
“Me?” Surprise colored Yaomomo’s cheeks, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know about that…”
Kaminari nodded resolutely. “It only makes sense. If Iida’s the class rep and the dad, you’re the vice president, so that must mean you’re also the mom!”
Iida once again grew red in the face, his arm gestures narrowly avoiding knocking Kyouka’s tray off the table. “But we don’t have that kind of relationship—”
“You don’t have to have that kind of relationship,” Uraraka assured him. “Playing house doesn’t need to reflect real life relationships or how we feel about each other, it’s all about having fun!”
“It doesn’t have to fit a stereotypical family dynamic either, kero,” said Tsu. “One time, my little siblings were playing house with their friends, and they formed a family of six grandpas. It’s just a game, so there’s no rules.”
Kyouka fiddled with an earphone. Yaomomo would make a good mother figure. She was sweet, kind, considerate, always sharing things with people. Kind of like…
“You remind me of my granny,” Kyouka blurted.
Yaomomo blinked. “Oh?”
Kyouka elaborated, food forgotten. “She used to babysit me when I was a kid, so she helped me with homework a lot, and it was structured a lot like the study sessions you organize. Plus she always offers people tea, and you never leave her house without a new scarf and a pocket full of candy.”
“Just like my nana, kero.”
“Mine too,” Uraraka said.
Kaminari stared at them. “Is that just a universal grandma thing?”
“It’s decided then,” Kyouka said with a smirk. “You’re 1-A’s granny.”
Yaomomo smiled. “I rather like the sound of that. I would be remiss if I didn’t use this opportunity to make sure you have a scarf to keep you warm today.” She pulled back her sleeve and her exposed wrist lit up from her quirk. Out of it unraveled a soft knitted purple scarf, which she offered to Kyouka.
It was soft. Granny’s scarves were tough to compete with, but this might just be her new favorite. She didn’t hesitate to wrap it around her neck and bury her chin in the plush material despite the stuffy cafeteria atmosphere. Her cheeks heated up to match Yaomomo’s blush as their eyes met, and she suddenly didn’t know what to do with her face.
“JUST EAT YOUR DAMN VEGGIES!”
A ruckus across the room made them all jump, ending the moment before it could even fully begin. To no one’s surprise, it was Bakugou yelling again. She would have felt bad for whoever was on the receiving end of it this time if they weren’t all so used to him by now.
“The bell will ring soon, you should finish your meal,” Iida said, oblivious to Kyouka’s internal panic.
Seizing the distraction, she dug into her food again, careful to keep any from getting on her new scarf.
On the way back to class from the cafeteria, Izuku found a padded finger shoved in his face, Uraraka’s wide eyes staring at him.
“You can be the mom!”
“Me?” he squeaked.
“You’d be a good fit,” said Tsu. “You are good at taking charge and directing others during our exercises.”
Ashido bounced up and down, unsecured pens and pencils falling out of her backpack in her excitement. “He’s always looking out for everyone else! It’s like he has a sixth sense for whenever anyone’s in trouble. I mean, he went after that Kota kid during the summer camp, right?”
Todoroki nodded. “You tried to make him feel better about heroes too.”
“I don’t know,” Kaminari didn’t sound convinced.
“Yeah! And he was the one who saved Eri in the end. Plus he even got Todoroki to lighten up! It’s the perfect fit.” Uraraka crossed her arms like the matter was settled.
Izuku flushed. They’d all stopped walking at this point. “I think you’re giving me too much credit! Everyone helped with Eri, not just me, and I just happened to know where Kota was. As for Todoroki, I really didn’t do much, it was nothing really.”
“It was more than nothing,” Todoroki said quietly, staring at the tiled floor.
Was he…blushing?
“Well, if you’re not Mom, then who is?” Ashido demanded. “If you can give us a better candidate, we’ll reconsider.”
As an only child, Izuku wasn’t personally familiar with large family dynamics, and since he’d been the quirkless kid in middle school, not many classmates had wanted to play house with him. Even if they had, playing hero was always much more appealing.
So Izuku did what he did best.
He analyzed.
Iida was chosen as the dad because of his inclination to take charge of any given situation. His natural assertiveness and attention to those around him made him an ideal candidate for others to follow his lead, so his role only made sense. Yaoyorozu was declared as the granny because of her kind and nurturing demeanor, which were typically motherly traits but instead had come across in a way that reminded several students of their grandmothers. Izuku was never close to any of his grandparents, so he would defer to their judgment on this one. Both of these were very sound decisions, but now the dilemma lay in the other eighteen students.
Asui—Tsu, he meant—did well in a leadership role, similar to Iida, like a mother might. She was level-headed and could stay calm in a crisis, both traits which had a tendency to help her teammates stay focused and keep them from getting overwhelmed. This would make her a good candidate for the “mom” role, but during everyday activities, she preferred to sit back rather than try to manage the class. Part of it might have been that she didn’t have the same responsibilities as Iida and Yaoyorozu, but overall she came across as having “big sister” energy rather than parental.
“That makes sense, kero. I do have two little siblings at home.”
Uraraka also acted more sisterly than motherly, her bright demeanor cheering everyone up like Izuku imagined a little sister would. She actually reminded him kind of like Eri in that regard, always trying to put a smile on others’ faces—
“Aw, thanks!”
Ashido wouldn’t have been first to come to mind, but she did show how well she could manage and teach a group when they were getting ready for their concert at the cultural festival, much like how a mom might need to be in charge of a group of little kids .
“Eh, I don’t really see myself as the motherly type. I want to be the rad, sporty big sis!”
There was no reason to limit the candidates to the girls. When Izuku thought about his mom, one of the first things that always came to mind was his mother’s cooking. Sato enjoyed baking for the class, which could be seen as a stereotypical “motherly” thing to do, and though he was kind and liked to cheer people up with his food, he didn’t feel like the right fit.
Kirishima, on the other hand, was also very nurturing. He was always cheering others on and making attempts at encouragement and comfort, even when he didn’t understand what was going on. He was just fun to be around in general, always had a way of lifting others up and being the solid pillar to support them, much like Izuku imagined was a good trait for any parental figure. All things considered, he might be the best option—
A hand yanked on Izuku’s collar, pulling him out of the way of a 1-C student who’d stumbled over Ashido’s fallen pencils.
Izuku blinked. Oh yeah. The rest of the world still existed. He turned his head to see Todoroki looking like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He had a tendency to get lost in his own head way too much, huh.
Everyone else was watching him, doubt clouding their expressions.
“Never mind, Midoriya’s definitely the nerdy little brother,” Ashido concluded.
“Yeah,” Uraraka agreed, hanging her head in disappointment. “At least he made some good points about Kirishima.”
“I dunno, I feel like he’s too nice to be the mom, you know?” Kaminari said. “Like, my mom was always nagging at me to take my shoes off in the house, look both ways before crossing the street, brush my teeth, all that stuff.”
“To be fair, our parents actually have to teach us how to do all those things when we’re young,” Tsu pointed out. “Now that we’re teenagers, we don’t need that anymore.”
Uraraka tapped a finger against her chin in thought. “That’s true, but I have to agree with Kaminari. Kirishima’s more like the cool big brother that shows you how to do stuff and then cheers you on from the sidelines.”
“Yeah, I’m with you on that one,” Ashido said.
Izuku sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know who would be best. Everyone’s mom is different. I mean, no one in Class 1-A is much like my mom.”
“Or mine,” said Todoroki. “Does someone have to be the mom?”
“I guess not,” Ashido admitted.
A shock of familiar purple hair caught Izuku’s attention, and he waved an arm in the air. “Hi, Shinsou!”
It’d been too long since he’d gotten a chance to hang out with the Gen-Ed student. Maybe they could invite him over for a movie night or something.
Shinsou glanced back at the group and gave a half-hearted wave before continuing on his way.
Uraraka gasped. “What about Shinsou? He has to be part of the family too!”
Todoroki frowned in confusion. “I thought this game was only for 1-A? If no teachers are allowed, doesn’t that extend to the other classes too?”
Ashido waved a dismissive hand. “He can be an honorary 1-A student. Besides, he’s sure to transfer in eventually! He can be the cousin that’s practically one of the siblings even though he lives somewhere else.”
“Move, you damn nerds, you’re blocking the path!”
They turned to see Kacchan stomping toward them.
Izuku jumped back. “Sorry, Kacchan!” He smiled sheepishly. “We should head to class before we’re late.”
“And pick up your shit!” Kacchan yelled, kicking at Ashido’s pencils on the ground.
Izuku scrambled to help her pick them up so she wouldn’t be left behind, as did Todoroki and Kaminari. Uraraka cupped her hands around her mouth and faced the hallway Shinsou had gone down.
“Hey Shinsou!” she shouted. “You’re our cousin!”
The last glimpse Izuku got of the purple-haired boy before he vanished into the crowd of students was his expression of sheer bafflement.
Shouto didn’t really understand the newest game his classmates were playing—no surprise there, given the way he was raised and Endeavor’s view on “nonsense” like this—but he went along with it anyway. And he wasn’t an idiot. He knew there were a lot of things he didn’t fully grasp, things he could blame on his lack of interaction with kids his own age before enrolling in UA.
Apparently, this is what made him “the baby” of the class.
“But we’re all the same age.”
“It doesn’t matter how old anyone is,” Hagakure explained, taking advantage of their break during practical lessons to stretch out her sore muscles. “It’s like how the youngest sibling is always the baby of the family no matter how old they get. You’ve got that same youngest sibling energy.”
Oh. Fuyumi did still call him her baby brother even though he was taller than her. Maybe this was the same.
“I am the youngest sibling in my family.”
“Then it’s settled!”
And he couldn’t argue with that logic.
He took a swig from his water bottle, listening to the others’ conversation while he watched Bakugou scold Kirishima on his performance during the exercise, running the redhead through proper forms to make sure he got it right.
“Who else do we still need to figure out?” Ashido asked.
“Tokoyami’s the goth kid,” said Kaminari. “Jirou’s the rock’n’roll kid. Kouda’s the shy kid. Ojirou can be the cautious yet dependable one. Shoji’s the strong, silent sibling.”
To the side, Shoji nodded silently.
“I want to be the party kid!” Hagakure cheered. “Sero can be the one who seems reasonable but is secretly one of the troublemakers. And Aoyama’s totally the wine aunt with expensive tastes.”
Aoyama winked. “A perfect complément for cheese, no?”
“What does that make me?” Mineta asked, leaning in uncomfortably close.
Ashido cast him an unamused glance. “You’re the creepy uncle.”
Ignoring Mineta’s miffed expression, Jirou snickered at Kaminari. “And you’re the idiot younger brother.”
Kaminari nodded matter-of-factly. “That’s fair.”
“You’re quite capable and intelligent though,” Shouto said. He may not have been at the top of the class, but Kaminari could hold his own in a fight, coming up with increasingly clever ways to use his electricity quirk. Plus, he was much more knowledgeable than Shouto in the ways of modern culture. He knew plenty of things, just not always the types of things that were asked on exams. That didn’t make him any less smart.
Kaminari turned to Jirou to gloat. “Did you hear that? Todoroki thinks I’m capable and intelligent!”
“Still an idiot,” Sero said, walking past them to grab his own water bottle.
Kaminari grinned. “They’re right, though, those things aren’t mutually exclusive. One time, I tried to toast eggs. By cracking them open into the toaster.”
Shouto’s lips twitched upwards. He could see how that would be problematic.
Ashido fell over laughing. “And you thought that would actually work?”
“In my defense, I was in a hurry and thought putting them in the toaster would cook them faster. I didn’t think about how I would get them out again. I was also ten years old and considerably dumber.”
“Were you ever able to use that toaster again?” Jirou asked, barely concealing her own laughter.
Kaminari shook his head with a somber expression. “Nope. RIP, Toasty McToaster.”
Reaching out in solidarity, Shouto said, “I tried to fry an egg on my left arm after my brother dared me to.”
The laughter began anew.
“What happened to the egg?” Midoriya, who’d just joined the group, didn’t laugh outright but his green eyes lit up with mirth. Shouto found himself wanting to see that expression more often.
“It burnt.”
“Holy shit,” Kaminari wheezed. “Your brother sounds awesome! I can picture it perfectly—little Babyroki trying to cook food with his quirk with his brother laughing his ass off in the background!”
Shouto didn’t mention that he hadn’t really known Natsuo as a kid, and that this had happened last week. That last part was accurate though.
In Eijirou’s opinion, there wasn’t much in the world that could beat a delicious, home cooked meal after a long day of training. And to make things even better, Bakugou was on dinner duty tonight.
After the table was set and thanks for the meal uttered, Eijirou dug in with gusto.
Spicy food had never been his favorite before—he tended to prefer savory dishes—but it might be now. “Delicious as ever, Bakubro! Where’d you learn how to cook? It’s so manly! I think you’re the best cook in the class.”
“It’s not like it's hard, you idiots are just useless.”
“Kacchan’s been learning how to cook since we were pretty little, so he’s had a lot of practice,” Midoriya said, ignoring the insult.
“Shut up, Deku!”
“I wish it were that easy.” Sero sighed. “My mom’s been trying to teach me how to cook some of her favorite dishes since I was a kid, but for some reason I never seem to be able to get the hang of it. Sure, I’m an okay cook, but it tastes nothing like hers, you know?”
“There’s nothing quite like Mom’s cooking, that’s for sure!” Uraraka’s expression was wistful, as if she were tasting something completely different to what was in her mouth.
Jirou choked on her curry.
Eijirou lowered his chopsticks in concern, but there wasn’t much he could do to help from this side of the table. Uraraka’s hands flitted around her nervously.
“Was it something I said? I should have thought before I spoke, I know not everyone might not have a mom around, or might not have the best relationship, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Todoroki muttered reassuringly, but Jirou waved a hand.
“It’s not that,” she said once her coughing fit subsided, eyes wide. “I know who Mom is.”
And Eijirou wasn’t sure what that she was talking about, but it looked like she’d just had an exciting revelation of some kind, so it must have been a good thing! Kaminari, Ashido, and Uraraka appeared to know what she was referring to instantly, and judging the looks on Midoriya’s and Yaoyorozu’s faces, they weren’t far behind.
Kaminari leaned in close, palms planted on the table, almost knocking over his bowl. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense. Come on! Who is it?”
“It’s Bakugou.”
All heads turned to stare at the blond in question.
“What the hell are you extras staring at?!”
And the following commotion at the table could only be described as everyone losing their shit.
Ashido and Hagakure both jumped up, in either shock or excitement, Eijirou couldn’t tell. In doing so, Ashido’s bowl crashed to the floor and Hagakure’s glass of water tipped over, spilling into the laps of those unfortunate enough to be seated next to her. Iida was immediately on his feet, scolding them for unruly dinner behavior and the messes caused. The ruckus startled Dark Shadow, who banged into the underside of the table she’d been lurking under, causing several more dishes to fall.
“Holy shit,” Kaminari muttered, looking stupefied, completely oblivious to everything happening around him. “It fits. It fits so well.”
“What do you mean, it fits? How could Bakugou be the mom? Have you met him?” Hagakure demanded.
Ashido tugged on her sleeve. “No, no, it does, think about it! He cooks, he’s actually one of the neatest neat freaks here, he’s one of the only ones responsible enough to go to bed at a reasonable time—”
“He helps others with their homework when they’re failing a class, and coaches them during practical,” Jirou interrupted. “And you know how much he yells at us to eat our veggies and clean up after ourselves.”
Uraraka, who’d been silent this whole time, did a spit-take before devolving into uncontrollable giggles.
Kaminari faced Bakugou. “Face it, Kacchan. You’re the mom.” Then his eyes grew even wider with realization. “Even the nickname is perfect. Kacchan—more like Kaachan!”
“WHAT.”
And then sparks were flying—literally. Eijirou clutched his bowl to his chest, taking another bite of the delicious food while watching dinner fall apart into shambles.
This was just par for the hero course, really.
Katsuki didn’t know what the fuck the extras were on about, he wasn’t playing their dumbass game and he sure as fuck wasn’t anybody’s fucking mother.
Not that any of them listened.
The other day when he'd told Raccoon Eyes to stop being an idiot and go back to the dorms and rest since she was coming down with a cold, she'd said, "Aw, I knew you cared, Mom!"
A few days before that, he'd chewed out half the class for the fucking atrocious way they'd organized the fridge, and was met with snorts and giggles and murmurs of, "Trust Mom to keep the place in order."
Then last week, Dunce Face had used up too much electricity during a Team-Up Mission and wandered off, getting himself fucking lost. Katsuki went and retrieved him, and when the idiot got his senses back, he'd cheered, "Mom to the rescue!"
He was getting fucking sick of it. Four-Eyes—who was probably the only one who hadn’t called him that at one point or another—had attempted to get them to let the matter go, at least in serious situations, but he’d had no success. And honestly? Fuck that. Katsuki didn’t need a fucking extra to stand up for him, and definitely not stick-in-the-mud fucking Four-Eyes.
The next time someone called him “Mom” or “Kaachan,” they were getting a fistful of explosion between the teeth.
It’d been a couple days since anyone called him that to his face, so maybe they’d finally gotten it out of their system. Didn’t mean they weren’t still a bunch of useless idiots though, and this training exercise only proved that.
“The hell was that?” he demanded, staring down Tape Dispenser, Shitty Hair, and Raccoon Eyes. “It’s like you weren’t even trying to be on the same team!”
Shitty Hair rubbed the back of his neck looking chagrined. “I don’t know what happened back there.”
“Our communication fell apart,” Tape Dispenser admitted.
Raccoon Eyes huffed. “We just really weren’t on our game back there.”
“That’s no fucking excuse,” Katsuki snapped. In the field, they had to be on top of their game every single day—and if they couldn’t, they had to act like they were because the villains would notice a weakness like that and pry it open. And communication wasn’t always a given during team-ups. They had to learn how to read each other and play off each others’ moves without needing to wait to be told what to do. There wasn’t always time to convene and come up with a plan of action. “This shit needs to be instinctual.”
But Raccoon Eyes was apparently in a fucking mood, because she wasn’t taking Katsuki’s shit lying down like usual. “What, like you can do any better? You never communicate with your teammates, you just go off and do whatever the hell you want.”
He bristled. Of course he could do better—that’s why he was going to be the best.
But before he could say anything, fucking Four-Eyes stepped in, because of course he did.
“Let’s not get into a disagreement over the matter,” he said, chopping his arm down between Katsuki and Raccoon Eyes. “There is always room for improvement, which is what we are here at UA to learn, after all. But Bakugou is right, you three, so listen to your mother—”
And everything went dead silent as the realization of what he’d just said hit him.
Slowly, Katsuki leveled a death glare on the bespectacled boy, who’d gone paler than his armor and was sputtering as he realized the depths of his mistake.
Katsuki was going to fucking throttle him.
“Uhhhhh Class Rep? I think you should run,” Tape Dispenser muttered, leaning away from the sparks popping out of Katsuki’s palms.
“Like, right now,” Raccoon Eyes added.
Four-Eyes adjusted his glasses, swallowing hard. “Yes, uh, I believe I will do that.”
The coward turned tail and activated his quirk, sprinting full-throttle while Katsuki blasted after him, nipping at his heels. The bastard wasn’t getting away from him.
“I’M GOING TO FUCKING MURDER YOU, FOUR-EYES!”
BONUS:
Contrary to the beliefs of his students, Shouta had been a teenager too, at one point. He knew what Class 1-A got up to when they thought he wasn’t looking. They weren’t nearly as subtle as they thought they were.
Maybe it was something he should teach a class on.
He knew about the prank wars, the 2AM movie nights, the never-ending debate on whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza—and yes, it absolutely does, you cowards—and, of course, the game of house. For the most part, they were harmless, and when it came down to it, Shouta would even encourage these antics. The problem children had certainly been through enough this year that they deserved whatever fun and games they could get.
The point was, the dorm system might have amplified things from his days, but he’d also been a student at this school, engaging in the nonsense that all teenagers wound up doing in their efforts to keep themselves entertained. Sure, Shouta had been the quiet kid, but Hizashi was loud enough to make up for it and then some, and Oboro was always pulling them along into one scheme or another.
He wouldn’t play along with his class—he had to be the responsible adult, after all—but secretly, he agreed on their decision to name Iida as the dad.
(Shouta would adamantly refuse to admit this to his students, but he’d also been labeled as the “responsible dad” by Hizashi, who then went on to name Oboro as the “supportive mom” and Nemuri as the “wine aunt.” Then he’d proclaimed himself as the “cool uncle.” Shouta stood by his stance that Hizashi was and always would be the “screaming child.”)
He also agreed with the obvious choice to name Yaoyorozu as Class Mom. It was only logical. Though he’d had no hand in the two of them being Class President and Vice President, it had worked out well for everyone.
Kaminari and Sero came careening around the corner of the hallway Shouta had been walking down, eyes blown wide and doing an awful job of muffling their steps, whisper-shouting to each other, “Oh shit, Mom’s coming, come on dude we gotta RUN—”
Shouta watched them go with an eyebrow raised, wondering if he should step in. It took a lot for Yaoyorozu to lose her calm, so it if was that serious, perhaps he’d better—
But it wasn’t Yaoyorozu who rounded the corner behind them. Bakugou stomped down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets. When the boy caught Shouta staring at him, he scowled.
“What?” the boy snapped.
Shouta blinked.
Then he turned on his heel and walked away. He needed to go home, pet his cat, and rethink his career. Maybe his whole life while he was at it.
EXTRA BONUS:
Life was simple. He liked it that way.
Wake up.
Make the bed.
Clean the kitchen.
Make breakfast from whatever was available.
Wash the dishes.
Provide assistance.
Report to All for One Can’t do that anymore.
Counsel the young master.
Make dinner from whatever was available.
Wash the dishes.
Wipe down the surfaces.
Provide assistance.
See to it that the young master is cared for.
Go to bed.
Rinse and repeat.
It had been like this for as long as he could remember. He…couldn’t remember anything before meeting the young master. But that was fine. He liked it this way.
Sometimes the routine changed. The assistance he was required to provide could take up too much time to do much of anything else, or their base of operations was destroyed, and there were no dishes to wash. Sometimes the young master sulked in his bedroom for days on end with orders to be undisturbed, and he followed those orders with the exception of making sure the young master had at least one decent meal a day.
Sometimes a cat would sneak into the base and he’d wonder if the young master would like sushi. Sometimes he’d catch snippets from a radio talk show and forget who what where he was. Sometimes he’d see a fluffy white cloud drifting by and remember there was a world outside of his routine.
These moments never lasted. It was fine. Life was simple.
Tomura Shigaraki’s friends were yelling again, locked in some debate, but no one looked like they were about to commit murder. His assistance wasn’t required. He continued to wipe down the surfaces, lost in the circular motions of cloth against stained steel. It was important to keep a clean space so the young master wasn’t distracted as he decided on his next move.
“I’m telling you, it’s obvious!” Toga shrieked from where she stood on the ratty old couch they’d found in their latest hideout. “Mr. Compress has total dad vibes!”
Twice held his chin in his hand. “You know what, I think you’re absolutely right! Not a chance, he’s totally the grandfather of this family.”
Magne hummed. “Yes, I can see it.”
“As if I’d want that guy as my father figure—no offense,” Spinner said.
Compress crossed one leg over the other, face hidden but body language suggesting he was pleased with where this conversation was going. “None taken. I will admit, the purpose of this game eludes me, but if being the League’s father is the role I have been given, it is a role I will gladly play.”
The young master rolled his eyes from where he lounged on an armchair, arms folded. “If anyone’s the father figure around here, it’s Sensei.”
Toga placed her hands on her hips. “Well, he’s not here right now so he’s not allowed to play. Besides, it’s not like any of us ever got to talk to him.”
He returned to the sink, finished with the rusty shelves, and rinsed out the rag with cloudy tap water before proceeding to the countertops. He was happy that Tomura Shigaraki could engage in something other than destroying society every once in a while.
“Twice and I are the troublesome twins!” Toga continued, and Twice jumped in the air in celebration.
“Yeah, high five! We’re total angels.”
“Big Sis Mags, you’re the big sis and I won’t hear any objections,” Toga pointed to Magne, who was the next person in the circle they’d formed.
“You won’t hear any objections from me,” Spinner grunted.
“None from myself, either,” Compress acquiesced.
Toga moved on to Spinner. “You’re the brother who plays video games all day and won’t leave his room.”
Spinner sputtered. “I—that’s—” He grabbed a moldy pillow and tossed it at her. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but you didn’t have to point it out. But that applies to Shigaraki too. He’s the one who constantly talks like he’s playing a game.”
“At least I didn’t learn how to drive from GTA,” Tomura Shigaraki said with a smirk.
“No, you didn’t learn how to drive at all,” Spinner shot back, and promptly got a pillow in the face. “Face it, we’re both the video game shut-ins.”
Toga instantly shook her head, the movement causing her to bounce on the couch. “Only one person can have that role.”
Spinner glared at her. “Why’d I get stuck with it?” he grumbled.
Dabi was unfortunate enough to be next in line, and he scowled from where he sat by the window, separate from everyone else. “Fuck off, crazy, I’m not playing your game.”
Toga ignored him, of course. “You’re the big brother!”
The motions of his rag ceased as he noticed the lines of Dabi’s shoulders grow tense.
Oblivious, Toga kept going. “The one who always broods in the corner and acts like he hates everyone but secretly cares and takes care of us but will deny it every time.”
Spinner leaned back in his seat, looking up at her like she’d grown a second head. “I can see the first one, but the rest of it? Have you met Dabi? Not a chance.”
“I don’t think he’s cared about anyone in his life, secret or not,” the young master agreed. “He probably came out of the womb ready to burn the world down.”
“Fuck all of you,” Dabi ground out. No one else seemed to notice the pained note to his voice.
“You two must be blind,” Toga argued. “Remember that time we didn’t have heat at the base and Dabi sat next to Spinner so he wouldn’t hibernate? Or all the times he said he wasn’t hungry and gave the rest of his food to Shigaraki, even though we could all hear his stomach grumbling? Or what about the time he saw me looking at a picture of a cute hairdo and I didn’t even have to ask him to do it for me?”
Compress was nodding along. “All very excellent points.”
“I’m still surprised he even knew how to braid it like that,” Magne muttered.
“Like I said, he’s the big brother!”
Straightening from his cleaning, he was about to interject on behalf of the flame user, but Dabi beat him to it by getting to his feet, hands clenched, mouth opening and closing as he struggled for words.
“I hate all of you,” he finally settled on, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
There was a moment of silence, then Toga broke it, smugly folding her arms. “See? He just proved my point.”
Tomura Shigaraki scowled. “I’m still not convinced.”
Hesitantly, he resumed his cleaning. He would have liked to follow Dabi out, but he knew the man liked his space. He would have to remember to check in on him later on and provide assistance where he could.
Next, the finger was pointed in his direction as Toga whirled to face him. “And you can be the supportive mom!”
He froze, the air feeling like it was sucked from his lungs. For just a second, Toga and everyone else in the room vanished. In her place stood a blond boy wearing sunglasses, saying those exact words. Behind him, a dark-haired boy hid a smile under a white scarf.
Then it was gone.
Toga was back, staring at him expectantly, and everyone else was nodding along, unaware of the pang in his chest. One of grief and pain, but mostly, one of happiness.
“Kurogiri is the most supportive of all of us,” Compress said. “Patient to boot, too.”
“He’d have to be in order to put up with Shigaraki for so long.” Spinner got another pillow in his face.
Kurogiri looked over each of his charges—because they were all his now, not just Tomura Shigaraki—and his eyes crinkled.
“I’d like that.”
“What does that make me?” Tomura Shigaraki demanded.
Toga grinned. “You’re the baby, of course! The one who always throws tantrums!”
They all watched as Tomura Shigaraki’s face grew more and more contorted with rage. Then he jumped to his feet, and that was all the warning Toga needed. She scrambled off the couch and fled down the hall, cackling like mad. The young master took off after her, tripping on the discarded pillows, doing his best impression of an unholy mixture between a banshee and an enraged pterodactyl.
“I’m the fucking leader!”
Kurogiri resumed his cleaning, relishing the contentment that resonated in his chest. It was good to see the young master getting along with others.
Life was simple. He liked it this way.