Heyaa there! I've send a request here before and i'm so so soooo happy for the result! Ugh, you're definitely one of my favourite writer here! I love your writing so much!!🥺🥺
That being said, can i request another one please? It could be HCs or scenario (just do one that feel comfortable with you, i'll eat anything you throw at me😆) about mha boys (deku, bakugo, kiri and shoto) + tenya, where they found their own hero's merchandise (for the first time) in a store with their child, like how would they react anddd how they react when their child pick another hero's merch instead of their dad's. Thank you! Take care and don't forget to rest once in a while!! <////3
Ahh thank you soo much! That means so much to me! I hope I did this justice for you <3 I didnt know if you meant seeing their merch for the first time in general or for the first time with their kid, so I did just in general- I hope that was right.
ft. Midoriya, Shoto, Kirishima, Bakugo, Tenya
Izuku didn’t expect the grocery run to turn into something like this. It was supposed to be simple: milk, bread, something sweet because your daughter had been very good this week. The three of you walked through the wide aisles together, your child’s small hand tucked securely into Izuku’s glove-less one, her steps uneven as she hummed to herself.
Then you passed the toy aisle. And Izuku froze.
“Oh.” There it was. A full shelf. Action figures. Plushies. Keychains. A lunchbox. Even tiny hero masks in green and black.
“Deku - Pro Hero Edition.”
For a moment, Izuku genuinely forgot how to breathe.
“That’s-” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, mortified. “That’s me.”
Your daughter blinked up at the shelf, then at him. “You?”
Izuku crouched down to her level, eyes shining in a way you hadn’t seen since his first big hero ranking announcement. “Y-Yeah. That hero… that’s Daddy.” She stared again. Long and serious. Then she gasped.
You bit your lip to keep from laughing.
Izuku sputtered. “N-No! I mean, well, kind of? I mean, people made toys of me because I help people, and-” He gestured helplessly at the shelf. “I didn’t even know they’d put these out yet.” He picked one up carefully, like it might vanish if he moved too fast. The figure was detailed; freckles and all. Even the little scuff on his boot was there.
“They got my shoot style right,” he whispered, reverent. You watched his shoulders shake slightly as he laughed under his breath, overwhelmed.
“Izuku,” you said softly, kneeling beside him. “You did it.”
He smiled at you; wide, disbelieving, emotional. “We did.” Then your daughter wriggled free from his hand.
“Look!” she chirped, already toddling a few steps down the aisle. Izuku turned, still glowing.
“What is it, sweetheart?” She stopped in front of another shelf. Bright. Loud. Explosive. She grabbed a plush with two tiny grenade-shaped hands.
“Kacchan.” You covered your mouth.
“Oh no.” Your daughter hugged the plush tightly.
Izuku let out the most betrayed noise you’d ever heard him make. “I-You- But Daddy’s right there,” he said, pointing weakly to his own merch. She frowned, considering this.
Then she shook her head. “Boom hero.” You laughed so hard you had to sit down.
Izuku slumped dramatically against the shelf. “I fought villains. I saved cities. I broke bones. And my own child prefers Boom Hero.”
You reached over and squeezed his arm affectionately. “Hey,” you teased, “at least she didn’t pick Endeavor.”
He shuddered. “That would’ve destroyed me.” Your daughter toddled back over and, after a moment of intense thought, picked up a small Deku keychain too. She held both up proudly.
“Daddy and boom.” Izuku blinked.
“I’ll take it,” he said softly, smiling. As you walked out, your daughter swinging the bag between you, Izuku glanced back at the store one last time. His name. His face. On a shelf. A dream he’d once been afraid to even imagine. And now? Now he had you beside him. And a child who loved him- even if she loved explosions just a little more. Izuku squeezed both your hands and smiled.
“This,” he said quietly, “is better than any ranking.”
Shoto passed the end of the aisle, eyes flicking over shelves out of habit, scanning for exits and threats even in places that didn’t need it. You were halfway through reminding your child not to climb the cart when his steps slowed. Then halted.
“Wait.” You turned back just in time to see him standing perfectly still, one hand resting lightly on the handle of the cart, your child seated inside it and swinging their legs. Shoto stared at the shelf. Neatly arranged. Symmetrical. Almost too orderly. It was a shelf full of all of his hero merch.
You watched his heterochromatic eyes move, left to right, reading every label, every price tag, every small plastic version of himself staring back at him with varying expressions of calm intensity. He didn’t reach for anything. Didn’t speak.
Your child leaned forward. “Daddy?” Shoto knelt slowly to look at the bottom shelves, as if afraid a sudden movement might disrupt whatever fragile thing had just formed in his chest.
“That’s,” He paused, choosing his words with care. “That hero is me.” Your child blinked. Then leaned closer to the shelf.
Just oh. Shoto exhaled quietly. Not disappointment; just relief that the moment hadn’t exploded into something overwhelming. He picked up one box at random, studying it like evidence.
“They captured my scar accurately,” he noted. “And the burn pattern on the uniform.”
You smiled. “Do you like it?” He considered the question seriously.
“I don’t dislike it,” he said, which, for Shoto, was monumental. There was something strange about seeing himself this way. Clean. Polished. Packaged. A version of him untouched by the weight of his past. A version your child might grow up recognizing before they ever understood the rest.
Then your child pointed. “That one.” Shoto followed their finger. Bright red packaging. Loud font. A grinning hero frozen mid-pose, fire effects curling around exaggerated muscles. Endeavor. The air shifted. You stiffened slightly, already preparing to redirect, when Shoto gently placed a hand on the cart.
“It’s okay,” he said calmly.
Your child bounced in their seat. “He’s shiny!”
Shoto hummed thoughtfully. “He is visually intense.” He didn’t look away from the box. Not in anger. Not in longing. Just acknowledgment. After a moment, he reached out and moved the Endeavor figure slightly aside, revealing another hero behind it. A rabbit-eared plush. Mirko.
Your child gasped. “Bunny!” Shoto’s lips twitched.
“That,” he said, “makes more sense.”
You laughed softly as your child reached for the Mirko plush with both hands. Shoto handed it to them as they gleamed with delight at the new toy. Shoto picked up one of his own items at last, not the action figure, but a simple winter-themed plush version of himself. Soft. Small. Non-threatening. He placed it gently into the cart beside your child.
They glanced at it. Touched its half-red, half-white hair. Then, without missing a beat, tucked it under their arm alongside the bunny. Shoto’s breath hitched. Just slightly. At the checkout, he stood straighter than usual, gaze unfocused as if lost in thought.
On the walk back to the car, you squeezed his hand. “You okay?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. Then, after a pause, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen myself as something safe.”
You didn’t respond, just leaned into him. Behind you, your child happily babbled to the Mirko plush, occasionally bumping Shoto’s with it like they were fighting. Shoto watched them, expression soft.
“I don’t mind,” he added quietly, “sharing the spotlight.”
“NO WAY! WAIT- IS THAT: IS THAT ME?!” Half the aisle turned to stare. You barely had time to brace before your husband scooped your child straight up into his arms, spinning them around like they weighed nothing.
“BUDDY,” he said, eyes sparkling like he’d just won the lottery, “CHECK IT OUT- DAD’S A LEGEND NOW!”
Your child giggled, gripping his collar. “Again!”
“Later!” you laughed. “Let daddy catch a breath first!” Kirishima finally set them down, still vibrating with excitement, and crouched in front of the shelf like he was greeting an old friend. There it was. Bright red packaging. Big bold letters. Poses that screamed action.
“Red Riot - Unbreakable Series.”
He stared for a full five seconds. Then sniffed.
You blinked. “Are you crying?”
“N-No!” He wiped his face with his sleeve aggressively. “Just- manly tears! They’re DIFFERENT!” He picked up one figure, turning it over with reverent hands. “They even got my teeth right, and my scar above my eye, dude, look at these abs!” You snorted.
Your child waddled closer, eyes wide. “That’s Daddy?”
“YEAH IT IS!” Kirishima beamed. “That’s your old man when he’s being extra cool!” Your child nodded very seriously. Then they reached past the Red Riot figures. Straight to a towering, flashy box.
Your kid gasped. “BIG SMILE!” The smile on Kirishima’s face froze.
“Oh.” You watched his soul leave his body in real time. He recovered fast- too fast.
“HEY!” He laughed loudly, clapping a hand on his knee. “Can’t blame you! All Might’s awesome! That’s manly taste right there!” Your child hugged the All-Might plush like it was the greatest treasure in the world.
Kirishima leaned closer, stage-whispering, “But y’know- All Might doesn’t help you brush your teeth.”
Your kid squinted at him. Then grabbed a Red Riot action figure with their free hand.
“Daddy.” Kirishima made a sound that was half choke, half laugh.
“BRO-” He pressed a fist to his chest. “I’m done. I can’t handle this. I peaked as a hero AND a dad today.” At checkout, Kirishima insisted on buying everything. The plush. The figure. A keychain. A Red Riot lunchbox your kid hadn’t even asked for.
“This one’s for school,” he said. “This one’s for home. This one’s emotional support.” Outside, your child walked between you, clutching All Might in one hand and Red Riot in the other. Kirishima looked down at them, grinning ear to ear.
“Guess it’s okay,” he said softly, “if I’m not the biggest hero in your world.”
He ruffled their hair. “Long as I’m your favorite guy.”
Your child looked up. “Daddy’s strong.” Kirishima stopped walking.
“Okay,” he said, voice thick but smiling, “now I’m crying for real.”
Bakugo noticed it because he was already pissed. The cart’s wheel squeaked. Some kid was screaming two aisles over. And the cereal you wanted was, of course, sold out.
“Stupid-ass store-” Then he saw it. He stopped so abruptly that the cart bumped into his heel from you pushing it into him.
“What the hell?” You thought he was talking to you at first until you followed his line of sight. A whole endcap. Explosions. Black and orange packaging. Aggressive font choices. His scowling face stamped across boxes like a warning label.
“Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.”
Your child leaned over the cart. “Daddy is angry.” Bakugo’s eye twitched.
“I am not-” He inhaled sharply, then froze again, staring at the shelf. “They got my gauntlets right.” He grabbed a box, holding it too tightly, knuckles whitening.
“Why am I so short in this one?”
You peeked over his shoulder. “You’re not. You’re just proportionally accurate.”
Your child squinted at the figure. “Daddy go boom?” Bakugo crouched, expression intense but oddly careful.
“Yeah. And I save people while I’m at it. Don’t copy the yelling.” They nodded solemnly.
Then your child reached past his merch. Straight for a bright, sparkly figure with a grin too big for its face. Kaminari.
“YELLOW!” your kid yelled.
Bakugo’s jaw dropped. “You picked Chargebolt?”
You bit your lip. “Oh, this is bad.” Bakugo stood slowly, looming over the shelf as it had personally betrayed him.
“You live in my house,” he said to your child. “I make your lunch. I pay for your shoes. And you choose that idiot?”
Your child hugged the Kaminari plush proudly. “He is funny.” Bakugo stared at them. Then, unbelievably, he laughed. Short and sharp
“Figures,” he muttered. “Guess bad taste is genetic.” Referencing his friendship with the yellow-haired man since their UA days.
You blinked. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He shoved one of his own plushies into the cart anyway. “If they like the idiot, fine. I’ll just be the strongest hero they know.”
At checkout, your child placed both items on the belt; Kaminari figurine. Bakugo plush. Bakugo noticed. Didn’t comment. Later, walking to the car, your kid reached up and grabbed Bakugou’s sleeve.
“Daddy strongest.” Bakugo looked away fast, jaw tight.
“Damn right,” he said. He carried the bags the rest of the way; no complaints, no yelling. Just a faint smirk on his face that didn’t fade the whole ride home.
Tenya adjusted his glasses. Once. Twice. Then stopped walking so suddenly that the cart rolled half a foot ahead of him.
“This is highly unexpected.”
You turned. “What is?” He stepped to the side with military precision and gestured sharply. An entire shelf; meticulously arranged, properly labeled, and aligned to regulation-level neatness. It was his hero merchandise. Tenya stared as he’d just been handed an official commendation.
“That is,” He cleared his throat. “Me.”
Your child peeked over the side of the cart, who was walking beside it so well behaved just a moment before. “Daddy?”
Tenya knelt immediately, posture perfect even at child height. “Yes. That hero is your father. These items exist to promote public trust and inspire moral integrity.” Your child blinked.
Tenya brightened. “Yes! Vroom!” Tenya picked up an action figure and examined it with critical scrutiny. “The engine detailing is correct. The posture is accurate. The helmet curvature is exquisite.”
You smiled. “You look proud.”
“I am,” he admitted. “But I must ensure these items uphold ethical standards.” Your child moved from the cart and toddled over. They reached out. Past Ingenium. Straight to a sleek, white-and-blue figure mid–air kick. Hawks.
“Bird man!” your child chirped. Tenya froze.
“Ah.” You watched him process this with the same seriousness he’d once reserved for emergency drills.
“Well,” he said carefully, “Hawks is a capable hero with commendable efficiency, though his adherence to protocol is flexible.”
Your child flapped their arms. “Fly!”
Tenya nodded. “Flying is objectively appealing.” He crouched, guiding their hand back to the Ingenium shelf; not forcefully, just gently. “However, your father’s heroic work emphasizes perseverance, responsibility, and-” Your child had already picked up an Ingenium helmet.
“Daddy,” they said, holding it up proudly. Tenya’s composure cracked. Just slightly. His shoulders relaxed. His mouth curved into a small, stunned smile.
“I see,” he said quietly. “A balanced selection.” At checkout, Tenya insisted on placing the items on the belt in a specific order. Hawks first. Then Ingenium.
“For efficiency,” he explained, but you knew better. A small smile plays on your lips. Outside, your child clutched the Hawks in one hand and the helmet in the other, making whooshing engine noises. Tenya watched them, hands on the shopping cart as you walked beside him.
“It is acceptable,” he said, voice warm, “for a child to admire many heroes.” He looked down at your child.
“So long as they know where home is.”
Your child grinned. “Daddy go vroom!” Tenya beamed.
