Archive of Our Own

The afternoon sat too still. Patrol days usually carried a rhythm—one Izuku had long since memorized. The tide of foot traffic, the buzz of shopfront chatter, the ebb and flow of car horns that rose and fell with the stoplights. He knew when a corner would be crowded, when a block would thin out. The city wasn’t just noise to him—it was a pattern. Predictable, steady, a song he could hum without thinking.

So when the air shifted—rippling, shimmering like heat off asphalt—his stomach dropped. That wasn’t the city. That wasn’t part of the song.

He turned toward the disturbance, every muscle in his body snapping taut.

A figure staggered out from the mouth of an alley. The man’s eyes were blown wide, red-rimmed and frantic, his chest heaving like each breath scraped his throat raw. His palms glowed with light, but it wasn’t like any quirk Izuku recognized. Not fire, not ice, not plasma. It bent the air itself, waves rolling outward in warped, uneven pulses. The storefront windows quivered. The paint on a nearby sign blistered.

“Everyone, back!” Izuku shouted, his voice carrying sharp and clear. One arm cut across the crowd, herding them instinctively behind him. Civilians stumbled, but they moved, pulled by the command in his tone. He didn’t break eye contact with the villain.

The man’s breath hitched into a broken laugh. “They told me… they told me to… to burn it all—”

And then the light pulsed again.

Izuku braced, One for All already crackling faint along his veins, green lightning sparking at his boots. He lunged forward, aiming to close the distance before the next wave fully formed. But he was a second too slow.

The quirk erupted.

It wasn’t pain. Not the sharp snap of fire, not the cold burn of ice. This was… pressure. A crushing, suffocating squeeze that wrapped around his body like invisible hands. His ribs couldn’t expand. His thoughts scattered. It felt like being scooped out of himself, as if something had reached inside and hollowed him in a single stroke.

The comm at his collar shrieked, a screech of static. “—zuku?! Midoriya, report!—” And then the connection warped, voice dragging and twisting until it cut off.

Izuku’s boots scraped against the pavement once, desperate, trying to hold him in place—

And then he was gone.

The wave collapsed inward, smoke rolling low across the street. The villain staggered back, staring at his own hands in horror, chest heaving as if he didn’t understand what he’d done. The crowd held its breath, every eye fixed on the empty space where their hero had stood seconds ago.

For a moment, silence pressed down, heavier than any noise.

Then—

“…Kacchan?”

The voice was high, small, fragile as glass.

Heads whipped toward the haze. Out of the curling smoke, a figure stumbled forward—except it wasn’t the green-haired hero they’d expected. It was a boy. Barely four years old, curls tumbling wild around his face, swimming in the tatters of a costume now several sizes too big. The sleeves dragged on the ground, the boots clomped with every step, as if the outfit might swallow him whole.

He rubbed at his eyes with tiny fists, confusion written in every line of his small face. When he blinked, wide and wet-eyed, he looked impossibly lost.

“…Ka…cchan?” he whispered again, louder this time, voice cracking like he was calling for something he didn’t even understand. A plea more than a word.

And the city—the civilians, the villain still frozen, the patrol units crackling through staticky comms—stood locked in stunned silence at the sight of their Symbol of Hope reduced to a trembling child.

Dispatch crackled in Katsuki’s ear, a voice sharp with static:

“Explosion-type anomaly in Sector 4. Pro Hero Deku—status unknown.”

The words hit like a fist to the gut. His heart lurched, then plummeted, and suddenly the whole damn world tilted sideways. Status unknown. They never used those words unless they couldn’t get a pulse, couldn’t get a location.

“Fuck.” The curse tore out ragged as he shoved harder into his stride. He didn’t think—just moved. His palms detonated in rapid bursts, blasting him off concrete and rooftops, lungs screaming with each raw, dragging breath. He’s fine. He has to be fine. Izuku doesn’t go down like that. Doesn’t vanish. Not without a fight.

The smoke got thicker as he closed in. His boots hit asphalt with a sharp crack, and he skidded around the last corner into Sector 4. The street was chaos—civilians pressed back against walls, emergency responders trying to corral them, and in the center, smoke curling like some sick curtain.

Katsuki braced, ready to see his idiot rival bloodied, maybe unconscious. Ready to drag him out and tear the villain apart for laying a hand on him.

But he didn’t see Izuku.

He saw a kid.

Small. Fragile. Lost in fabric three times too big, drowning in the shredded green of Izuku’s costume. The sleeves dragged along the pavement, the boots flopped with every stumble forward. His curls stuck up in wild tufts, his face blotchy from tears.

And then those eyes—those impossible green eyes—snapped up the second Katsuki’s boots slammed into the ground.

Wide. Wet. Recognition pouring out of them like a flood.

The kid made a sound—half sob, half squeal—and then bolted. His legs were clumsy, too short, tripping over fabric that tangled around his ankles, but he didn’t stop. He ran like he’d been waiting forever for this exact moment, like nothing else in the world mattered.

He hit Katsuki’s shin with a soft thud and latched on, tiny arms clamping around him with a strength born of sheer desperation. His face pressed hard against Katsuki’s leg, hot with tears.

“Kacchan!!”

The voice was higher, thinner, but there was no mistaking it. It punched straight through Katsuki’s chest, knocking the air out of him harder than any blast could.

“Don’t leave me!” the boy sobbed, his words muffled into Katsuki’s uniform. His arms locked tighter, little fingers digging in like he’d never let go.

Katsuki’s mouth went dry. His brain stalled, gears grinding uselessly, offering only one explanation and shoving it in his face whether he wanted it or not.

That face. Those freckles. Those curls. That voice. That look—the clingy, desperate look that screamed Izuku in every line of it.

His hands hovered, trembling, torn between instinct and disbelief. Should he shove the kid off, demand answers, tear the scene apart for the real Izuku? Or should he…

…hold on?

The thought burned, raw and terrifying. Because every instinct in his body screamed he already knew the answer.

Katsuki crouched without realizing, smoke curling low around them. His eyes searched the boy’s face—those green eyes swimming with tears, staring up at him like he was salvation itself.

“…Deku?”

The word cracked in his throat, quiet and hoarse, not a battle cry but something dangerously close to a prayer.

And the kid—Izuku, small and trembling and impossibly four years old—only clung tighter.

Katsuki crouched slowly, careful, like every movement risked setting off live dynamite. His breath came uneven, jagged around the edges, as he finally let himself look the kid dead-on. Izuku—but not Izuku. Not the grown idiot who dove headfirst into fights with that dumb grin. A child. Small and trembling and stubborn, glued to Katsuki’s leg like letting go would kill him.

“Shit,” Katsuki muttered under his breath, throat working. His hands hovered, fists flexing once, twice, before he forced them steady. He slid his arms under the boy, palms awkwardly braced around his back and knees, and lifted.

The kid fit against him too damn easily. Barely any weight. Warm, but fragile, fragile in a way that made every nerve in Katsuki’s body scream. His fingers bunched into Katsuki’s vest immediately, clinging like hooks, like he was convinced Katsuki might vanish if he loosened even a fraction.

And then he burrowed. Without hesitation. Pressed his face into the crook of Katsuki’s neck, curls tickling his jaw, hot breath dampening the fabric at his collar.

Katsuki froze solid. His arms didn’t even know what to do—hold tighter? Keep space? He could feel the hammer of the kid’s heartbeat against his chest, small and frantic. His own pulse matched it, too fast, too sharp.

“Oi,” he rasped, voice cracking rougher than he wanted. “Quit—quit squeezin’ like that. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” The words came out softer than he meant, like his throat wouldn’t let him bark the way he usually would.

The boy gave a muffled little hum, the sound vibrating against Katsuki’s skin. His grip only tightened, tiny fists anchoring deep in his vest.

Then, slowly, he tipped his head back. Green eyes blinked up at him, wide and glassy, lashes still clumped with tears. His lip trembled—just for a second—before he tried to shape it into a smile.

“Kacchan…”

Katsuki’s breath caught.

“You did it.”

He blinked, brain lagging, caught between disbelief and the weight of the kid’s tone. “Hah?”

“You became a hero,” Izuku whispered, like he was sharing the best-kept secret in the world. His tiny voice rang with awe, certain and bright, not a trace of doubt. “I always knew you would. ’Cause you’re so cool, and strong, and… and amazing! You saved me, Kacchan!”

The words hit like a blow straight to the chest. No quirk, no explosion, no villain’s strike had ever landed so deep. Katsuki’s breath snagged in his lungs, ragged. His vision blurred at the edges—not from smoke, but from something burning hotter in his chest.

For years, those words had lived somewhere in the back of his skull, imagined in silence, twisted with guilt, coated in what-ifs. And now—now they came tumbling out of a four-year-old’s mouth with absolute conviction, like it was the most obvious truth in the universe.

Katsuki clenched his jaw hard, glaring at the cracked pavement beneath his boots. His arms shifted on their own, drawing the kid tighter against him. His throat felt raw, like swallowing glass.

“Idiot,” he muttered, the word rasping and thin. “You don’t even know what the hell’s goin’ on.”

But the boy only sighed, soft and content, and tucked his face right back into Katsuki’s neck. Completely satisfied, like he’d just declared something that didn’t need proof, didn’t need explanation. Like he’d spoken an unshakable truth and handed it to Katsuki to keep.

Katsuki’s chest ached, too small for the size of his heart. He shut his eyes, arms locked firm around the boy who wasn’t supposed to be a boy at all, and for a moment—just one—he let himself hold on.

He adjusted his grip when he felt that Izuku was slipping from him, settling the kid more firmly on his hip. Izuku fit there too naturally, small arms still locked around him like he wasn’t planning to let go until the sun burned out. He was light—ridiculously light—and warm in a way Katsuki couldn’t ignore, soft curls brushing against his jaw every time the kid nuzzled closer.

The boy had decided Katsuki’s collar was his lifeline. His little face pressed tight against it, breath puffing against his skin, as if moving even an inch away would be unthinkable. Katsuki could feel the steady, hiccuping rhythm of tiny breaths as Izuku calmed, piece by piece, against him.

A throat cleared behind them.

“Dynamight, sir—”

Katsuki turned his head, scowl already locked in place, daring whoever it was to test his patience.

A junior hero stood there, tablet clutched to his chest like a shield, already breaking into a nervous sweat under the weight of Katsuki’s glare. His voice shook, but he forced the report out anyway. “We’ve secured the area. Civilians are safe. The suspect’s quirk is in containment, but we’ll need to—”

“Later,” Katsuki snapped, his voice slicing through the smoke-heavy air. The kid in his arms flinched slightly at the tone, and Katsuki’s chest pinched hard enough to make his jaw ache. He adjusted quickly, palm splayed a little more firmly against the boy’s back, thumb rubbing absent circles over the fabric.

Except “later” wasn’t happening. Because little Izuku had decided the boring hero talk didn’t matter—not when Katsuki’s head offered something much more entertaining.

Tiny fingers slipped up, tangling themselves in blond spikes. They tugged curiously at one until it stuck straight up, defying gravity even worse than usual.

Izuku let out a high, delighted giggle that shot straight through Katsuki’s ribs like a dart.

“Kacchan’s hair is still so spiky!” the boy chirped proudly, as if he’d just made the discovery of the century. He tugged another strand loose and flattened it against Katsuki’s forehead. “It tickles my hand!”

Katsuki stiffened, heat rising like a damn furnace under his skin. His face darkened until it matched the flare of his gauntlets.

The junior hero froze mid-breath. His eyes darted from the nation’s No. 2 pro hero—the one with a reputation for pure intimidation, whose scowl had reduced villains to tears— to said pro hero’s partner, now a four-year-old gleefully mussing up his hair.

“Uh…” The poor guy’s jaw worked soundlessly, caught between horror and awe.

Izuku didn’t notice. Too busy giggling as he poked a tiny finger into Katsuki’s cheek. He tested the give of it, like he’d never seen anything so fascinating. “Boop!”

Katsuki’s scowl slipped for a split second, his brain short-circuiting under the sheer absurdity of it. He recovered fast, snapping his glare back at the junior hero, voice dropping to something lethal.

“You didn’t see shit.”

The kid, utterly unbothered, poked his cheek again, sing-songing this time: “Boooop!”

Katsuki’s ears went crimson. His hands twitched like he might set the ground on fire just to swallow him whole, but his arms tightened instinctively around the little idiot, holding him closer against his chest.

The junior hero coughed into his tablet, clearly fighting to keep a straight face, and backed away fast, muttering something about “filing reports elsewhere.”

Izuku, meanwhile, giggled himself into hiccups, still pawing at Katsuki’s hair with all the devotion of someone playing with the best toy in the world. Every hiccupped laugh brushed warm against the side of Katsuki’s throat.

Katsuki cursed himself silently, because even as his pride begged him to blast a hole in the pavement and vanish, his chest felt like it might split open from how damn full it was.

They cleared out fast. Katsuki barked at the others to handle cleanup, his tone sharp enough to scatter them like pigeons, then blasted off with the kid still glued to him. Izuku had no interest in being put down—every attempt ended in watery green eyes, trembling lips, and a death grip around Katsuki’s neck. The kind that made his stomach twist, made him grit his teeth and mutter curses he didn’t mean.

So Katsuki gave up.

By the time he stomped into the agency’s conference room, the kid had tucked himself against his chest like he’d been there all his life, little hand fisted stubbornly in the fabric of his shirt. His tiny head was tucked under Katsuki’s chin, warm breath puffing against his collarbone. The faint weight of him was both irritating and… steadying, in a way Katsuki refused to name.

The analysts were already scrambling. Papers shuffled, keyboards clacked, tablets lit up. Someone rattled off a report the moment Katsuki crossed the threshold.
“Dynamight, we’re compiling quirk records now—duration, known side effects, possible triggers. We should have a timeline soon—”

“Figure it out fast,” Katsuki snapped, dropping into a chair with Izuku still perched stubbornly in his lap. “And keep it quiet. No press, no leaks. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” More frantic typing. More scrambling.

And through it all, Izuku was… talking. Nonstop.

“Kacchan, your costume looks so cool up close!” His little fingers tapped at the hardened armor plates, tracing the grooves with fascination. “It’s like—like real armor! Did you make it yourself? You’re so smart, of course you did. I always knew you’d be smart and a hero and—and everyone listens to you now, huh? ’Cause you’re amazing!”

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose, willing down the heat crawling up the back of his neck. His lips twitched before he could stop them. “You talk too damn much. Even as a runt.”

Izuku giggled, swinging his legs like he was on a swing set instead of one of Japan’s top hero’s lap. “You still say mean things, but I know you don’t mean it.”

The analysts all went very still, suddenly typing with suspicious intensity, heads bowed low like if they made eye contact they’d burst into heart-shaped confetti. Katsuki ignored them, leaning back in his chair. His arm tightened automatically when Izuku wobbled, the instinct as natural as breathing.

Izuku tilted his head back to look up at him, green eyes impossibly bright. “Kacchan’s the best.”

The words were so certain, so matter-of-fact, Katsuki nearly choked.

He grunted, looking away, jaw tight. “Brat.”

But Izuku just giggled again, utterly unbothered. His tiny hand patted Katsuki’s jaw like he was smoothing out the scowl there. “Don’t be grumpy. I like when you smile better.”

And damn it all, Katsuki felt the corner of his mouth tug upward, helpless against the kid’s sunshine.

The analysts were still muttering about quirk signatures, voices low and overlapping as they tried to sound busy, when Katsuki suddenly pushed back from the table. The chair screeched against the floor like a gunshot, making half the room flinch.

“That’s enough,” he barked. His voice had that gravelly bite, the kind that made rookies straighten their spines and swallow hard. “You’ve got what you need. Call me when you’ve figured out a reversal. Until then, don’t breathe a word of this outside these walls.”

Someone—poor bastard, fresh out of school by the looks of him—fumbled his pen and blurted, “But, Dynamight—”

Katsuki cut him down with a glare sharp enough to slice concrete. The room went silent, the only sound the faint whir of a projector fan.

And that’s when Izuku chose his moment.

He climbed higher onto Katsuki’s shoulder like a determined little koala, legs cinched tight around his side, tiny fingers tugging curiously at the strap of his gauntlet. His round cheeks were flushed from all his chatter earlier, his curls brushing against Katsuki’s jaw every time he shifted. The visual was… lethal. The nation’s No. 2 pro hero, infamous for his scowls and detonations, with a wide-eyed four-year-old draped over him like he was a personal jungle gym.

“Is this real metal, Kacchan?” Izuku asked brightly, knocking on the gauntlet strap with his knuckles. “It’s sooo shiny! Can I touch the big part later?”

Katsuki’s temple ticked. “Quit squirming, nerd.”

Izuku giggled like he’d been told the funniest joke in the world, burying his face against Katsuki’s neck.

The analysts collectively forgot how to breathe. One of them made a noise that might’ve been a squeak before choking it down and pretending to type harder.

“I said quiet,” Katsuki growled at the room, but his hand had already come up—steady, instinctive—to cup Izuku’s back so he wouldn’t slide. “And I meant it.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and strode for the door. Every step was heavy, final, daring anyone to stop him.

The second the conference room door clicked shut behind him, Katsuki exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole damn time. The hard set of his shoulders sagged a fraction, and the rumble of his voice softened without his permission.

“Dumbass nerd,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his hold when Izuku yawned against him.

Izuku, half-asleep already, hummed a tiny, happy sound. His little hand patted at Katsuki’s jaw before going slack, still clutching his collar like it was a lifeline.

Katsuki swore the kid weighed nothing—and somehow, at the same time, everything.

The elevator ride up was hell. Pure, unfiltered hell.

Izuku had wriggled and squirmed until Katsuki gave up trying to keep him perched on just one hip and settled him square in his lap. That was apparently all the invitation the kid needed—because the second those little legs dangled off the edge of Katsuki’s thighs, he started babbling at full throttle.

“Kacchan, do we live together? We must, right? ’Cause I’m here with you, and you’re here with me, and—wow, this building is so tall! Did you fight villains to get it? You probably did. You’re so strong! Is the roof really high? Can we go see it later? Do you keep snacks up there? Do you—”

Katsuki thunked his head back against the steel wall with a groan. “You never shut up, huh?”

Izuku grinned so wide it looked like his whole face might split in half. “Nope!” he chirped, kicking his little heels against Katsuki’s shins in a steady rhythm.

The security cam in the corner blinked red. Katsuki swore under his breath and shifted, tucking Izuku tighter against his chest, shielding his expression from whoever was unlucky enough to be on monitor duty. No way in hell was he letting the entire damn agency witness him getting steamrolled by four-year-old Deku.

By the time the doors slid open with a cheerful ding, Katsuki had already decided: no more witnesses. He wasn’t about to let anyone else see him crack.

The penthouse was silent when he pushed through the door, the kind of stillness only broken by the muffled thunk of his boots hitting the floor. High ceilings stretched overhead, clean lines and sharp edges decorating the space—everything ordered, deliberate. The faint smell of smoke clung to the air, the kind that never really left him no matter how often the place got scrubbed.

Izuku gasped like he’d just stepped into a fairy tale castle. His tiny body wriggled in Katsuki’s arms so he could twist and look around, curls bouncing with every movement.

“This is where we live?” he whispered, voice hushed like the walls might echo it back too loudly. His wide green eyes darted from the couch to the floor-to-ceiling windows to the kitchen gleaming in the corner. “Kacchan, it’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

The words landed with more force than Katsuki wanted to admit. His ears went hot. He kicked his boots off harder than necessary, muttering curses under his breath as if the noise could drown out the warmth crawling under his skin.

“Don’t get used to it, nerd,” he grumbled, marching toward the couch. “You’ll be back to normal any damn minute. This is temporary.”

But when Izuku yawned—tiny and unguarded, mouth opening wide before he dropped his head back down onto Katsuki’s shoulder like it belonged there—Katsuki froze.

The kid was warm. Heavy in that way that wasn’t really about weight, but about trust. His little fingers still clung to Katsuki’s collar, even as his eyes fluttered shut.

Katsuki stood there a long moment, muscles taut like he was caught in the middle of a minefield. Every instinct screamed at him to put the kid down, to shake him awake, to remind himself this wasn’t real.

But his arms didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Not yet.

The penthouse had finally gone quiet—at least for thirty seconds. Izuku had claimed the back of the couch like it was a throne, perched up high, little legs swinging in the air as he drank in every corner of the room. Every lamp, every framed photo, every clean line of the place got the same wide-eyed inspection, like each one was the eighth wonder of the world.

Katsuki had sunk into the armchair, elbows braced on his knees, dragging a rough hand down his face. His brain felt scorched from the day. The smoke, the panic, the damn villain. And now—this. Deku, pint-sized and wide open, looking at him like he hung the damn moon.

He should’ve known silence couldn’t last.

“Kacchan…” The voice tilted soft, almost shy, like Izuku had just realized he was allowed to ask for something.

Katsuki cracked an eye open. “What?”

Izuku squirmed, kicking his heels against the couch cushion. “I’m hungry.”

Katsuki groaned, head thunking back against his palm. “Tch. Figures.”

“I haven’t eaten since—” Izuku cut himself off, brows scrunching hard. For a second his tiny mouth twisted, like he was trying to dig through fuzzed-out memories. But then—like always—he brightened, grin blooming so wide it nearly blinded. “Can you make food? Your food’s always the best!”

The words landed like a sucker punch. Katsuki sat up too fast, chest tight. “Oi. Don’t just say crap like that.” His voice came out sharper than he meant, rough enough to scrape.

But Izuku was already sliding off the couch, socked feet pattering against the floor as he bolted toward the kitchen doorway. “Come on, Kacchan! You can cook, right?”

Katsuki cursed under his breath and shoved himself to his feet. “Hell. Fine. But if you burn your tongue, that’s on you.”

The kitchen lights snapped on with a soft hum. Katsuki rolled up his sleeves, pulling pans and utensils with sharp, practiced movements. Cooking was muscle memory, something that usually calmed the sparks under his skin. Not tonight. Not with a four-year-old Deku dragging a stool across the floor with a determined grunt, climbing up like he had every right to be his sous chef.

“Kacchan, you’ve got so many knives!” Izuku gasped, staring at the magnetic strip gleaming on the wall. “They’re all shiny. Do you fight villains with these, too?”

Katsuki nearly choked. “What the—no! Don’t touch, damn it!” He snatched the knife block and shoved it out of reach.

Izuku only laughed, curls bouncing. He propped his chin on the counter, watching Katsuki move with rapt fascination. “You’re so fast! You cut vegetables like—like shooom! And then you stir like—like fwoosh!” He mimicked explosions with his tiny hands, sound effects and all.

Katsuki slammed the pan on the stove a little too hard. His ears burned. “You’re an idiot.”

But the idiot didn’t stop. Izuku hummed happily, swinging his legs under the stool, chattering about how good the food smelled, how cool Katsuki looked, how strong his arms were when he lifted the pan.

And the worst part? Katsuki felt himself soften with every damn word. The kid’s trust was so total, so easy, it cracked him open from the inside.

By the time the rice was steaming and the pan sizzled with stir-fry, Izuku’s head had drooped onto his folded arms. He fought it, blinking stubbornly, but the warmth and the smell of food made his eyelids heavy.

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder. The sight nearly finished him.

Small body, too big curls, a faint smile tugging at his mouth even half-asleep.

Katsuki set the spatula down with a sigh, throat tight. “Dumbass,” he muttered, softer this time. “Didn’t even wait to eat.”

Still, he plated the food carefully, setting aside a smaller portion. Just in case the little idiot woke up hungry again.

Because hell if he was letting him starve.

The food didn’t look half bad. At least, that’s what Katsuki told himself as he set the plate down in front of Izuku with a faint clatter. Scrambled eggs, a couple slices of toast, and grilled chicken cut into uneven, too-small pieces. His knife work had been off—he blamed the distraction of a certain pint-sized nerd staring at him the whole damn time. Still. Not his best, not his worst either.

Izuku leaned forward until his nose nearly touched the plate. His eyes went round, reverent, like Katsuki had just served him an offering from Olympus itself. His little hands clasped together at his chest. “It smells amazing,” he whispered, voice trembling with awe.

Katsuki felt his ears heat. “Tch. Just eat already, before it gets cold.”

Izuku obeyed immediately, but not without ceremony. He pinched a piece of chicken between his fingers, popped it into his mouth, and then—

It happened.

His whole face lit up, freckles practically sparkling, eyes going huge as a sound of pure joy spilled out of him. “Mmmhh!!” He clapped his hands over his cheeks as if the taste might explode out of him otherwise. “Kacchan! This is sooo yummy!”

Katsuki snorted and crossed his arms, trying to act unaffected while his chest twisted itself into a knot. “Don’t talk with your damn mouth full, nerd.”

Izuku nodded furiously, cheeks stuffed like a squirrel, and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up that nearly knocked him off balance. He chewed and swallowed, then dove back in with the kind of reckless joy only a four-year-old could pull off—swinging his legs against the chair, humming tuneless little notes between bites, toast crumbs sticking to his face like he’d glued them there on purpose.

Katsuki leaned against the counter, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t watching. But every time Izuku’s eyes scrunched closed in delight, every happy little hum, it burned through his ribs.

The plate emptied fast. Too fast. When Izuku licked a bit of egg off his thumb and declared, “All done!” Katsuki blinked down at the mostly bare plate, unimpressed. “That’s it? You ate like a bird.”

“Nooo,” Izuku whined immediately, drawing out the syllable like it physically hurt him to be misunderstood. He slumped back against the cushions of the chair and hugged his little belly dramatically. “I ate like a dragon.”

That earned him something Katsuki hadn’t expected: a laugh. A short, sharp bark that punched out before he could bite it back. He smothered it with a cough, scowling at the floor. “Idiot.”

But Izuku’s head popped up at the sound, eyes shining brighter than ever. He scrambled off the chair and launched himself right at Katsuki’s legs, tiny arms wrapping around his thigh. “I made Kacchan laugh!” he crowed, beaming up at him with toast-crumby cheeks. “See? I knew I could!”

Katsuki froze, ears flaming, hands hovering awkwardly in the air. The little runt was grinning like he’d just toppled a skyscraper with that one tiny victory.

And damn it all—Katsuki couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up again. Just a fraction. But enough.

“…You’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered, voice rough. His hand dropped to ruffle the wild curls before he could stop himself.

Izuku leaned into it instantly, eyes fluttering closed. “Best pain ever,” he said happily.

Katsuki’s heart squeezed until it hurt.

Katsuki set the empty plate aside, wiped down the counter with sharp, efficient swipes, and turned toward the hall. “Alright, nerd. Bedtime.”

Izuku froze mid-swing of his legs, tiny fists curling into the hem of his shirt like Katsuki had just declared a death sentence. His big green eyes blinked up at him, round and imploring. “Bedtime?” he echoed in a whisper.

“Yeah, bedtime.” Katsuki jerked his chin toward the hall, already moving. “You’ve been running your damn mouth since patrol. You need sleep before you pass out face-first into the carpet.”

Izuku slid off the chair with the exaggerated dramatics of someone about to face a firing squad. He trailed after Katsuki, dragging his socked feet across the floor so loudly it was a wonder the wood didn’t spark.

Katsuki stopped at the end of the hall and shoved open a door. The room inside was a perfect snapshot of Izuku’s chaos: notebooks stacked in uneven towers on the desk, hero merch scattered across the shelves, a blanket half-sliding off the bed like it had given up trying to stay put. The faint smell of pencil shavings and laundry detergent clung to the air, somehow both cluttered and comfortable.

“Here.” Katsuki stepped aside, gesturing at the bed. “You get this one tonight.”

Izuku hovered in the doorway, lip trembling. His shoulders hunched up around his ears. “…It’s dark,” he whispered.

Katsuki sighed. “It’s not dark, you damn baby. There’s a lamp. Look.” He flicked the switch. Warm light spilled over the room, soft shadows stretching across the floor. “See? Nothing creepy. Just a bed.”

But Izuku’s big eyes shimmered like glass about to crack. He sucked in a shaky little breath, and then—like someone flipped a switch—his whole face crumpled.

“Kacchaaaan,” he sniffled, voice wobbling dangerously. “I don’t wanna sleep alone!”

“Oh, for—” Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t you start with the damn waterworks—”

But the floodgates had already opened. Izuku’s lip quivered, eyes welling, tiny shoulders shaking like the whole world was ending right there in the doorway. His sniffles hitched louder, more desperate, and Katsuki swore he could feel his resolve being chipped away with every sound.

“Alright, alright! Shut the hell up.” Katsuki scooped him up with a huff, tucking Izuku against his chest like an oversized stuffed animal. Izuku went willingly, immediately burying his damp face in Katsuki’s shirt.

“There,” Katsuki muttered, stomping back down the hall. “You win. You manipulative little shit.”

Izuku sniffled once more for good measure, then peeked up at him with wide, watery eyes that had already stopped crying. A blinding smile broke across his face. “I knew Kacchan wouldn’t leave me all alone.”

“Tch. Brat,” Katsuki grumbled, but his chest was tight, traitorously warm. He kicked open his own bedroom door and set Izuku down on the bed, tossing the blanket over him like he was slamming a lid on a box. “There. Sleep. No more crying.”

He turned to walk away—only to feel the tiniest hand snag his wrist. Katsuki looked down to find Izuku staring up at him, pupils wide and hopeful.

“Kacchan?” he whispered, voice so small it barely filled the space between them. “...Cuddles?”

Katsuki froze like he’d just been shot. “What—no—hell no—”

Izuku’s lip immediately wobbled, tears threatening again. His little body curled in on itself as if preparing for loneliness, and Katsuki knew that if he didn’t fix this, he was in for another meltdown of biblical proportions.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. With all the reluctance of someone lowering themselves into lava, Katsuki yanked the blanket back and slid in beside him. “Fine. But only until you pass out.”

That was all the invitation Izuku needed. He lit up like a lamp, practically glowing with joy, and launched himself straight into Katsuki’s chest. Tiny arms wrapped tight around his middle, head burrowing under his chin, hair tickling Katsuki’s throat.

“See? Perfect,” Izuku mumbled, already half-asleep, voice muffled against Katsuki’s shirt. “Kacchan’s warm…”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” Katsuki muttered, but his hand hovered awkwardly in the air before finally, finally settling around Izuku’s back. Just a light, steady hold. Just enough to keep him close.

Within minutes, Izuku’s breathing evened out, his little snores soft against Katsuki’s collarbone. His whole body went limp, boneless with trust. Katsuki lay stiff as a damn board, staring at the ceiling like it might offer instructions. His chest felt weird—tight and achy, but not in a bad way.

He glanced down once, just once, and caught the sight of Izuku’s cheeks puffed slightly in sleep, crumbs of dried toast still clinging near his hairline. His tiny fists were curled in Katsuki’s shirt like he’d never let go.

Katsuki huffed, barely more than a whisper. “...You’re a pain in my ass, Deku.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t push him away. Instead, he pulled the blanket higher around them both, one hand still resting steady against Izuku’s back.

By the time Katsuki’s own eyes started to droop, he realized the truth he’d never admit out loud:

Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a long week after all.

The first thing Katsuki registered was weight. Something warm and heavy pressed square against his chest, pinning him down. The second was sound—the soft, steady puff of breathing, little huffs tickling the hollow of his collarbone.

He cracked an eye open, already dreading what he’d find.

And sure enough, there was Izuku.

The kid was sprawled across him like a damn starfish—head pillowed right under his chin, one leg flung over Katsuki’s stomach, blanket kicked halfway to the floor. His tiny fist was tangled stubbornly in Katsuki’s shirt, drool soaking a dark patch into the fabric. Curls stuck up in a hundred impossible directions, little tufts brushing against Katsuki’s jaw every time Izuku shifted.

Katsuki groaned, voice rough with sleep. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”

The noise must’ve jostled Izuku awake, because a pair of blurry green eyes blinked up at him, unfocused for all of two seconds—before they lit up like the damn sun.

“Kacchan!” he chirped, grin spreading so wide it practically split his face. “You’re awake!”

Katsuki squinted at him. “Unfortunately.”

“I slept sooo good,” Izuku declared, wiggling happily against his chest. “Did you? Your bed’s really warm.”

Katsuki snorted. “Warm, my ass. You kicked me in the ribs three times. I barely got a wink.”

Instead of looking even a little guilty, Izuku giggled like Katsuki had just told him a bedtime story. He propped his chin on Katsuki’s chest, all soft curls and sleepy eyes. “But you didn’t leave me! I knew Kacchan wouldn’t.”

The words landed heavier than Katsuki wanted to admit, burrowing somewhere under his ribs where even explosions couldn’t shake them loose. He grunted, trying to shove himself upright—only for Izuku’s grip to tighten instantly. The kid latched on like a damn baby koala, fists clutching, legs tightening around him.

“Nooo, five more minutes!” Izuku whined, nose squishing into Katsuki’s shirt. “Just five!”

“Brat,” Katsuki muttered, falling back against the pillow with a heavy sigh. His muscles itched to move, but the little furnace on his chest wasn’t budging. “You’re a damn menace.”

Izuku giggled again, muffled this time, words buzzing against Katsuki’s ribs. “But I’m your menace, right?”

Katsuki froze. His ears burned hot, his throat closing around a retort that never made it out.

Izuku, oblivious to the war he’d just started inside Katsuki’s chest, snuggled deeper into his shirt. His breathing evened out again, little fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric like he was trying to hang on tighter even in sleep.

Katsuki stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched, heart doing traitorous flips. He told himself he was only staying put so the kid wouldn’t start bawling again.

But when Izuku sighed contentedly against him, smile still faintly curved even in dreams, Katsuki let his hand rest—just briefly—against the wild mess of curls.

“...Yeah,” he muttered, so quiet it got swallowed by the silence. “My damn menace.”

The kitchen smelled faintly of something charred, though Katsuki would never admit it. He stood at the stove, jaw tight, spatula in hand, like a soldier staring down his deadliest enemy: breakfast. He’d made omelets a hundred times before, blindfolded if he had to. But never with a four-year-old perched right behind him, providing nonstop play-by-play like a pint-sized sports commentator.

Izuku sat cross-legged on the counter, curls haloed by the morning sun spilling through the window. His little legs swung back and forth, heels thumping lightly against the cabinet with every bounce. “What’s that? Why does it sizzle? Oooh, it sounds like fireworks! Are you making fire eggs, Kacchan?” He gasped dramatically. “You’re really good at this, y’know. You’re the best cook ever. Do you cook for everyone? Do the other heroes get food? Or just me? Am I special?”

“Shut it, Deku.” Katsuki flipped the omelet with a practiced snap, pretending his ears weren’t burning hot. “You’re gonna make me burn this damn thing.”

Izuku only giggled, rocking side to side like his little body couldn’t contain all the energy fizzing through him. “You’re so cool, Kacchan. I always knew you’d be a hero.”

Katsuki’s chest tightened in a way he didn’t want to think about. He kept his eyes on the pan, spatula digging into the edge like his life depended on it. “Damn straight,” he muttered.

A few minutes later, he slid the omelet onto a plate with the efficiency of someone who didn’t care that he’d just made a smiley face out of ketchup. Definitely not on purpose.

“Eat before I change my mind,” he grumbled, shoving the plate across the counter.

Izuku leaned forward, nose twitching as he sniffed dramatically. “It smells yummy!” His voice was full of awe, like Katsuki had just presented him with a royal feast instead of eggs and toast.

Katsuki shoved a fork into his hand. “Quit gawking and eat.”

Izuku picked it up—but instead of digging in, he balanced on his little hands and leaned closer across the counter. Katsuki opened his mouth to tell him to sit back before he fell, but the words froze in his throat.

Because Izuku pressed a quick, sloppy kiss to his cheek.

Warm. Wet. Gone in an instant.

Katsuki went stock-still, spatula frozen midair. His brain short-circuited. Villains he could handle. Entire city blocks collapsing, fine. But a four-year-old Izuku pressing a kiss to his face like it was the most natural thing in the world? That nearly killed him on the spot.

Izuku beamed, green eyes glowing brighter than the damn sunrise. “Thanks, Kacchan.”

The Number Two hero, Bakugo Katsuki—terror of villains, master of explosions, the man who could level a city block with one blast—stood in his own kitchen, omelet spatula still in hand, looking like he’d been hit by a truck.

He cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. “…You’re a menace,” he muttered, the words coming out softer than he intended. His ears were flaming, red all the way to the tips.

Izuku giggled like he knew exactly what he was doing. He scooped up a forkful of eggs and stuffed his cheeks full, humming happily around the bite. “Mmm! Tastes like sunshine!”

Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Who the hell even says that?”

Izuku just swung his legs, cheeks puffed like a squirrel, and pointed his fork at him with deadly sincerity. “You made it, so it tastes like Kacchan.”

Katsuki nearly dropped the damn spatula.

It started quiet. Too quiet.

Izuku had been chattering all morning—about the juice, about the couch blanket, about how Kacchan’s hair looked like an “explody hedgehog.” Every thought that zipped through his head, he said out loud, filling every inch of the penthouse with his tiny voice.

But somewhere between finishing his juice and tugging at the corner of the blanket, the energy bled out of him. He sat on the couch, curled up in a little ball, small hands worrying the hem of the fabric. His brows scrunched, lips pressed together, far too serious for someone who was supposed to be four.

Katsuki caught it instantly. It hit him like an alarm bell—Deku never shut up. If he was quiet, something was wrong.

“…What’s with the face, nerd?” Katsuki asked gruffly, leaning against the doorframe.

Izuku’s lip wobbled. “Where’s… where’s my mom?”

The words punched straight into Katsuki’s chest, stealing his air. He clenched his hands at his sides, fought the instinct to scowl, then let out a slow breath. “…She’s safe. I’ll call her, alright?”

Izuku nodded, wide eyes swimming with relief, shoulders unclenching as he whispered, “Okay.”

So Katsuki made the call. And of course, Inko couldn’t come alone.

Half an hour later, the door swung open, and Izuku’s head snapped up so fast he nearly toppled off the couch. His eyes went huge. “Mama!!”

He bolted across the room on clumsy little legs, launching himself into Inko’s arms. She gasped but caught him easily, clutching him like she’d been waiting years.

“Izuku!” Her voice cracked. Tears spilled instantly as she kissed his curls over and over. “Oh, baby… you’re so little again. My sweet boy…”

Izuku buried his face in her shoulder, arms tight around her neck. “Mama, I missed you!”

Behind her, the air shifted with a familiar booming presence. All Might ducked his giant frame through the doorway, his smile already blinding. “Young Midoriya! Even at four years old, you shine brighter than the sun itself!”

Izuku peeked over his mom’s shoulder, blinking. His face scrunched, suspicion written all over him. “…Who’re you?”

The silence was deafening.

All Might froze mid-gesture. “Eh?”

Inko looked panicked. “Izuku, honey, it’s All—”

Izuku shook his head firmly, curls bouncing. “Nope. All Might’s tall, and shiny, and has big hair. You’re just… skinny.”

Katsuki choked on his water so violently he had to turn away, coughing into his fist. The look on All Might’s face nearly finished him off.

“Well,” All Might said weakly, “that… is true.”

With a sigh and a roll of his shoulders, smoke exploded around him. His body swelled, muscles expanding, his voice dropping like thunder.

“I AM HERE!”

The room practically shook with the force of it.

Izuku froze, his jaw dropping. His eyes went huge, twin emerald stars. Then—

“ALL MIGHTTTTT!!!” He vibrated like he’d been plugged into a socket, bouncing on the balls of his feet, clapping his little hands so hard they stung. “Kacchan, look, look, LOOK! It’s really him!! It’s really All Might!!”

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I see it, you damn nerd. Stop shriekin’ in my ear.”

But Izuku wasn’t listening. He barreled forward, craning his neck all the way back to take in All Might’s towering form. “You’re so tall! And so cool! And your muscles are real?! Ohhhh my gosh!!” He spun toward his mom, nearly tripping on his own feet. “Mama, mama, it’s him! It’s really him!!”

All Might rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, though his grin was soft. “Ahaha… you’ve always been my biggest supporter, Young Midoriya.”

Izuku’s whole face sparkled like he might ascend on the spot. “I’m gonna be a hero just like you!” he declared, voice squeaky with excitement.

Katsuki muttered darkly from the corner, “Unbelievable. Starry eyes for that walking toothpick, but when I cook your ass breakfast you just drool on me.”

Before he could stew further, another voice cut through the chaos.

“Well, well, well. So this is what you’ve been hiding, huh?”

Mitsuki Bakugou strode in like she owned the place, heels clicking against the floor. She scanned the room once, then dropped into a crouch in front of Izuku with a grin sharp enough to rival Katsuki’s. “Look at you, little bean. Don’t you look precious?”

Izuku blinked up at her, then smiled shyly. “Hi, Auntie M’tsuki.”

Mitsuki clutched her chest. “Ugh, don’t say it so cute, I’ll die.” Without hesitation, she scooped him up, spinning him once before peppering his cheeks with noisy kisses. Izuku squealed, laughter spilling out in bright little bursts, kicking his feet as she tickled his sides.

“Traitor,” Katsuki muttered from behind her. “Absolute traitor of a mother.”

“Shut it, brat,” Mitsuki shot back without looking, still cooing over Izuku. “He likes me better than you anyway.”

The penthouse swelled with noise and warmth. Inko fussed, brushing crumbs from Izuku’s shirt and fretting about whether he’d eaten. All Might launched into a dramatic speech about the spirit of youth, striking poses while Izuku applauded like he was front row at a concert. Mitsuki smothered Izuku with affection, demanding extra hugs “or else.”

And through it all, Katsuki stood a little apart—arms crossed, scowl in place, but his chest aching in ways he’d never admit. His home, usually so quiet, so sharp-edged and still, was alive.

Izuku’s laughter rang through the rooms, bouncing off the walls and settling under Katsuki’s skin.

The living room buzzed with overlapping voices, the kind of cozy chaos that felt alive—like the walls themselves were humming with warmth. Inko had commandeered one side of the couch, her gentle hands fussing endlessly with Izuku’s unruly curls. Mitsuki had taken the opposite side, a bowl of snacks within easy reach, and every five minutes she slipped Izuku something sugary with the speed of a pro pickpocket. All Might, in his full muscle form, had somehow squeezed himself onto the single armchair, gesturing so dramatically while explaining quirks that the lamp beside him nearly toppled over twice.

And Izuku?

Izuku was having none of it.

The second Katsuki had sat down, he had clambered straight into his lap, wiggling into place with all the determination of a cat claiming its favorite spot. Now he sat there stubbornly, back pressed tight against Katsuki’s chest, little legs dangling off the edge of his thighs. Every time Inko reached forward with a fond little coo, every time Mitsuki leaned in with her grabby hands, every time All Might boomed something inspirational and tried to open his arms for a hug—Izuku just burrowed deeper into Katsuki like he was made of safety and superglue.

Mitsuki sighed dramatically, slumping back against the cushions. “You’d think he was glued there.”

“I am glued,” Izuku announced proudly, tilting his head back so he could peer up at Katsuki with wide, serious eyes. “Kacchan’s my seat.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue, glaring down at him even as the corners of his mouth twitched. “I ain’t a damn chair.”

But when Izuku only giggled and reached up to poke his cheek, Katsuki didn’t shove him off. Didn’t even twitch, really. Just crossed his arms like he was daring anyone to comment on how natural the whole picture looked—tiny, stubborn Izuku sprawled on his lap, Katsuki’s scowl not fooling anyone.

All Might chuckled, booming voice shaking the room. “It seems young Midoriya has found his comfort spot!”

Katsuki growled something unintelligible under his breath, but his hand had already betrayed him—drifting up without thought to ruffle through Izuku’s curls. Izuku gave a pleased little hum, shoulders dropping as he leaned his full weight back into Katsuki’s chest like he’d just found the softest pillow in the world.

Inko clasped her hands over her heart, eyes shimmering. “Oh, Izuku… he hasn’t let me hold him like that since he was two. Look at him, Katsuki, he’s so happy.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Katsuki muttered, but his palm smoothed gently over Izuku’s hair anyway, fingers combing through in slow, absent strokes.

Mitsuki leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a smug grin. “Hah. Knew it. My brat’s turned into a damn teddy bear. Should’ve bet money on this.”

Katsuki shot her a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Say one more word, old hag, and you’re out the window.”

But the threat lost all weight when Izuku squirmed around, climbing even higher into his lap like Katsuki was a jungle gym made just for him. “Don’t fight,” he scolded in his tiny voice, pressing both his small hands against Katsuki’s chest as if that could hold him still. “Kacchan’s the nicest.”

Katsuki sputtered. “I—what—who the hell told you that?”

“You are!” Izuku insisted. Then, as if proving a point, he wrapped his arms as far as they’d go around Katsuki’s middle and squeezed. “My Kacchan.”

Inko melted audibly. Mitsuki let out something dangerously close to a squeal. All Might dabbed at the corner of his eye with the edge of his cape.

Katsuki, meanwhile, was red from his ears all the way down his throat. He looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. But his hand stayed exactly where it was, cradling the back of Izuku’s head.

“…Menace,” he muttered, voice rough.

Izuku giggled like it was the best compliment he’d ever gotten. He wriggled in closer, settling his head under Katsuki’s chin, and let out a tiny, content sigh.

The room softened all at once—Inko’s gentle sniffles, Mitsuki’s smug coos, All Might’s rumbling laugh—and for just a moment, it felt like the whole world had shrunk down to this: a boy curled up in the only place he wanted to be, and the hero who couldn’t quite hide that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind being a seat after all.

But eventually they had to leave. 

Inko smoothed Izuku’s curls for what had to be the tenth time, fingers trembling just a little as if she could will him safe through touch alone. She pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead like she was afraid to let go. “Call me if he needs anything, Katsuki. Anything at all. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

“I got it, Auntie,” Katsuki muttered, arms crossed tight over his chest, trying to look unaffected. But the illusion cracked when Izuku wriggled against him, still perched in his lap like it was the most natural seat in the world. His tiny hands fisted stubbornly into Katsuki’s shirt, refusing to let go.

Mitsuki leaned forward, eyes narrowing in warning. “You better not let him cry himself sick, you hear me? Or I’ll tell the entire damn world how you used to bawl every time I left the house. You were a real mama’s boy, brat.”

“Mom!” Katsuki barked, his ears flaming red. “Shut the hell up!”

Izuku blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “You cried, Kacchan?”

Katsuki ground his teeth. “…Eat your damn omelet.”

All Might, in full dramatic flair, bent almost in half to clap one massive hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, the gesture nearly knocking him forward. “You carry the mantle of responsibility now, young Bakugo. This is no mere duty—this is a sacred trust! Guide young Midoriya through this trial with the courage of a true hero!”

Katsuki muttered darkly, “Pretty sure it’s just babysitting,” but his arms twitched, almost instinctively, when Izuku shifted. The little nerd buried his face into Katsuki’s chest again, muffling a tired whimper, and Katsuki didn’t push him away. Couldn’t.

Inko kissed Izuku’s curls one last time, whispering something only he could hear. He nodded solemnly against her, then clung even tighter to Katsuki. With teary eyes and a shaky smile, she finally allowed herself to be ushered toward the door.

“Be good, sweetie,” she said softly, her voice thick. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay, Mama,” Izuku whispered. His voice cracked, small and fragile. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, his arms squeezed around Katsuki’s middle like he could keep himself from breaking apart by holding tighter.

The silence that followed was heavy—no booming speeches, no teasing jabs, no soothing reassurances. Just the quiet hum of the apartment and the soft sound of Izuku’s uneven breaths.

Katsuki looked down at him. The kid’s green eyes blinked up, glassy and tired but stubbornly brave.

“…Guess it’s just us, nerd,” Katsuki muttered, rough around the edges, like admitting it might undo him.

Izuku’s lip trembled before it curved into the smallest, sleepiest smile. “Just us,” he echoed, his voice so soft Katsuki almost didn’t hear it. Then he nestled back into Katsuki’s chest, letting out a tiny sigh that warmed right through his shirt.

Katsuki’s throat worked around something he couldn’t name. His chest ached—not the sharp ache of overusing his quirk, but something deeper, heavier, terrifyingly warm. He shifted just enough to hook one arm around Izuku’s back, steadying him there.

“Don’t drool on me,” he said gruffly.

But when Izuku hummed contentedly, eyelids fluttering shut as he clung tighter, Katsuki’s hand stayed exactly where it was—steady, protective, unwilling to let go.

The silence lasted maybe ten minutes. Katsuki had almost started to think they’d be left in peace—Izuku had gone heavy and limp in his lap, head tucked under his chin, little breaths soft and even. For once, the penthouse was quiet. Comfortable.

And then—BANG BANG BANG.

Izuku jolted so hard it was like an explosion had gone off in his tiny chest. His eyes flew open, glossy and confused, and a startled cry tore from his throat. His fists scrabbled at Katsuki’s shirt like lifelines, knuckles white.

“Oi, it’s fine, dumbass—” Katsuki started, rubbing a firm hand up and down his back.

But the front door slammed open before he could finish.

“Bakubrooo!” Kirishima’s voice rang out, cheerful and way too loud. “We heard the news—”

The entryway flooded with bodies: Kirishima leading the charge, Kaminari and Mina stumbling in behind him, Ochako squeaking as she got shoved forward, Iida doing some kind of frantic hand-chopping to keep order, and Todoroki… just silently sliding through the chaos like it didn’t touch him.

The whole herd froze in unison when they spotted the scene in the living room: Katsuki Bakugou on the couch, a tiny, terrified four-year-old clinging to his chest like a barnacle.

“Oh. My. GOD.” Mina gasped, slapping both hands over her mouth. Her voice dropped to a squeal. “He’s so cute.”

“Like, weaponized cute,” Kaminari agreed, already leaning forward like a moth to a flame. “Dude, I wanna pick him up so bad—”

The sudden burst of noise hit Izuku like shrapnel. His lip trembled once—twice—and then the dam broke.

Big, round tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. His little face scrunched, and then he let out the loudest wail Katsuki had heard all week, burying himself in his chest, shoulders shaking.

“Aw, crap—hey, hey, don’t cry—” Katsuki muttered, shifting him higher onto his hip like he’d done this a hundred times before. He patted his back in sharp, awkward strokes and shot the group a glare sharp enough to slice steel. “The hell’s wrong with you extras? You’re scarin’ him!”

Izuku hiccupped miserably against him, clutching fistfuls of his shirt like he’d never let go. Katsuki swore under his breath, softer this time, and tipped his head down.

“Look, nerd, you’re fine,” he said gruffly, thumb swiping away a fat tear rolling down Izuku’s cheek. “They’re just idiots. Nothing to cry about.”

Izuku sniffled, but his watery eyes still darted nervously toward the crowd. His bottom lip wobbled again.

Katsuki cursed low, then, before his brain could stop him, pressed a quick, rough kiss to Izuku’s damp cheek. “There. Happy now?”

The effect was immediate. Izuku went still, blinking up at him through wet lashes. Then his little shoulders loosened, a shy, shaky smile breaking through the tears. He nodded, cheeks flushing pink, and tucked himself back against Katsuki’s neck with a soft hum.

Behind them, the squad collectively imploded.

Kaminari clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Kirishima’s eyes were misty, like he was watching history unfold. Mina fanned herself dramatically, whisper-shouting, “He kissed him! Katsuki kissed him!!”

Katsuki’s glare snapped up, blazing. “You say one word and you’re dead.”

Nobody moved. Kaminari made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

Izuku, still tucked close, gave a tiny hiccupping giggle of his own. He peeked out at the group, cautious but curious this time. His grip on Katsuki didn’t loosen, though—like one wrong move and he’d vanish.

Ochako, crouching slowly like one might approach a skittish kitten, smiled wide. “Hey, Izuku… wanna see a trick?” She pulled a cookie from her bag, let it float gently from her palm, and guided it across the room until it landed in his lap.

Izuku’s eyes went wide. His little hand darted out to grab it—while the other hand clung fiercely to Katsuki’s shirt.

As he munched on the cookie, Todoroki, standing silently behind the group, lifted one hand. A perfectly sculpted ice bunny materialized in his palm. Without a word, he stepped forward, crouched, and held it out like an offering.

Izuku blinked between the cookie and the ice bunny, cheeks stuffed like a squirrel. Then, carefully, he reached out and took the bunny too, holding it in both hands as though it might break.

His whole face lit up. “Bunny!” he whispered.

The entire room melted into a chorus of awwwws.

Even Iida cleared his throat and said stiffly, “Well. That is objectively adorable.”

Mina clutched her chest. “I can’t! He’s too much! Look at him with the bunny—look, look, he’s cuddling it!”

Izuku had, in fact, snuggled the ice bunny carefully against his cheek, his giggles soft and warm.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, trying to fight the flush creeping up his ears. “You’re all pathetic. It’s just a damn kid.”

But his hand never left Izuku’s curls, absently ruffling them as the boy leaned into him, still glued to his lap.

The little ice bunny still glittered faintly on the coffee table, half-melted but intact, its delicate ears bent just so. Izuku hadn’t stopped sneaking glances at it, awe written plain across his small face. Every time his eyes wandered, though, they darted back quickly to Katsuki like he was checking—making sure he was still there, still solid, still safe.

He hadn’t moved from Katsuki’s lap. Not an inch. His small fists were still curled tight in Katsuki’s shirt, damp lashes clumped together from where he’d cried himself quiet. And every time someone in the room shifted too quickly, his grip spiked, fingers twisting harder like he was afraid Katsuki might vanish right out from under him.

The weight of it made the room painfully still, everyone caught in a balance between wanting to help and not daring to scare him further.

Finally, Kirishima—predictably the brave one—crouched low so his height wasn’t overwhelming, resting his arms casually across his knees. His voice was soft, all sunshine and careful patience. “Hey, buddy. I’m Eijiro. Kirishima Eijiro. I’m, uh—Kacchan’s friend.”

Izuku peeked at him from under his curls, wary. He didn’t answer, just pressed closer into Katsuki’s chest, nose burying against the soft fabric of his shirt.

Katsuki grunted, adjusting his hold a little, one hand resting steady on Izuku’s back. He didn’t say anything, but the warmth of his palm made Izuku’s shoulders loosen just a touch.

Mina, never one for subtlety, leaned forward next. Her grin was big and sparkly, her voice pitched a little higher than usual like she was trying to coax a skittish kitten. “Hi, cutie! I’m Mina. Don’t worry, we’re all nice here.”

That earned her a tiny frown. Izuku’s voice was barely a whisper, but everyone caught it: “Don’t call me cute.”

For a second there was silence—then Katsuki barked out a laugh before he could stop himself, sharp and warm. He gave Izuku’s hair the tiniest, roughest ruffle. “Atta boy.”

Mina gasped, clutching at her chest like she’d been mortally wounded. “Oh my god, he is your kid.”

“Shut the hell up,” Katsuki snapped automatically, ears turning pink.

But Izuku relaxed just a little more, enough that when Sero offered a lazy wave from the couch, he didn’t flinch. “Yo, little man. I’m Sero. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

Kaminari leaned in after, his smile stretched wide and trying way too hard to look “safe and harmless.” “I’m Denki! But you can just call me Kami if you want. I make lights sometimes.” He sparked a tiny, harmless flicker between his fingers to demonstrate, though he looked about one second away from zapping himself unconscious.

Izuku blinked but didn’t recoil—just stared with quiet fascination until the sparks fizzled out.

Even Jirou tried, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t spook him. She didn’t lean forward, just shifted in her seat, earjacks swaying slightly. “I’m Jirou. Nice to meet you, kid.”

Izuku didn’t respond, but his eyes flicked to each of them in turn, watchful. His little hands stayed tight in Katsuki’s shirt like a lifeline.

When the last introduction passed, he tugged gently at the fabric, eyes tilted up. “They’re your friends?”

The question was so soft, so tentative, that it froze Katsuki in place.

He looked down—at the kid in his lap, the kid who trusted him with every trembling heartbeat—and something unguarded cracked across his face. The rough edges softened. “…Yeah,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual. “They’re mine.”

Izuku studied him with those big, serious eyes, searching his face for any hint of dishonesty. When he found none, he gave a tiny nod. Like that was enough. Like that was the only answer that mattered.

And then—hesitant but still curious—his gaze shifted again. To Todoroki.

Izuku’s little brows knit together, his voice a whisper: “You… made the bunny?”

Todoroki inclined his head, expression calm but his eyes oddly gentle. “Yes. I’m Todoroki Shoto.”

Izuku blinked at him, then reached out one small hand to touch the ice bunny again, almost reverent. “It’s pretty…” He peeked back up. “Thank you, Shouto.”

Todoroki’s eyes softened just a fraction, his reply quiet but sure. “You’re welcome.”

Izuku tucked closer to Katsuki’s chest again, but his gaze was already wandering, landing on the girl crouched nearby with warm eyes and a smile that looked like it could melt the sun.

Ochaco lifted a small hand in greeting. “Hi there, Izuku! I’m Uraraka Ochaco. You can just call me Ochaco, though.”

Izuku blinked at her, wide-eyed. “Ocha…co,” he repeated carefully, like testing the sound of her name on his tongue. His cheeks puffed faintly as he smiled, shy but sweet. “That’s… a pretty name.”

Ochaco clutched her heart. “Ohhh my god, he’s adorable.”

Katsuki snorted. “Don’t encourage him.”

Last, Izuku’s eyes landed on Iida, who was standing tall and proper, adjusting his glasses like he was about to deliver a speech at city hall.

Iida bowed at the waist, crisp and formal. “Good evening, young Midoriya! My name is Tenya Iida. It is a true pleasure to make your acquaintance!”

Izuku startled a little at the booming voice, then giggled into Katsuki’s shirt. He peeked out again, eyes sparkling. “You’re really loud.”

The room cracked into laughter, and even Iida’s ears went red as he cleared his throat. “A-Ah, yes, I… do tend to project.”

Izuku giggled again, softer this time, the sound small but bright as he finally whispered, “Hi, Tenya.”

The room hummed with warmth after that last giggle. Everyone was grinning, eyes soft, trying (and failing) not to coo again as Izuku tucked himself even deeper into Katsuki’s lap. For a second, it almost felt… normal.

But then Izuku yawned.

It was tiny at first—just a squeak, his little jaw cracking wide—but it set off a chain reaction. His eyelids drooped, his fists tugged tighter into Katsuki’s shirt, and his whole body went heavy and slack like gravity had tripled.

Katsuki shifted, glancing down. “Oi, nerd. You falling asleep on me or what?”

“M’not…” Izuku mumbled, though the word melted into another yawn. His lashes fluttered like moth wings, fighting the inevitable.

Mina clutched her cheeks. “Oh my god, he’s sleepy. Do you see this? He’s—he’s snuggling—”

“Shut it,” Katsuki snapped, though his voice had gone quieter. His hand rubbed slow circles against Izuku’s back without him even realizing.

Izuku whined softly at the noise, scrunching his nose. “Too loud…”

“Crap,” Kaminari whispered, holding up his hands like the kid might combust. “We broke him.”

“Hardly,” Todoroki deadpanned, though even he had gone softer around the edges. “He’s tired.”

Izuku’s small fingers tugged at Katsuki’s collar, his words slurred now, heavy with sleep. “Kacchan… wanna sleep…”

That did it. Katsuki let out a long-suffering sigh, glaring at the herd crowding his living room. “You heard him. Show’s over. Get the hell out.”

“Already?” Kirishima whispered back, like they were leaving a holy site.

“Yes, already,” Katsuki growled. “He’s not a damn petting zoo.”

The group shuffled reluctantly toward the door, Mina mouthing call us! over her shoulder, and Kaminari making a zipping motion over his lips like he’d keep quiet about the kiss (he wouldn’t).

By the time the door finally shut behind them, the penthouse had gone quiet again.

Izuku stirred faintly in Katsuki’s arms, mumbling something half-formed and impossible to catch. Katsuki adjusted his hold, settling him closer. “Go to sleep, dumbass. You’re fine.”

The only answer he got was a tiny hum, a soft puff of breath against his collarbone, and the warm, solid weight of a kid finally surrendering to sleep.

The bedroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the city, neon bleeding through the glass walls in hazy streaks of pink and gold. Katsuki stirred first, the years of early mornings and restless patrols dragging him half–awake whether he liked it or not. His arm was heavy, weighed down by something warm, something solid.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up, the blur of sleep reluctant to clear. The kid. Right. Deku. Shrunk down to four years old with that damn quirk, sticking to Katsuki like a limpet. The little nerd had clung all night, tiny fists twisted into Katsuki’s shirt like he’d drown without the contact. Katsuki had tried—twice—to roll him onto the other side of the bed, but the second a whimper slipped out, weak and broken, Katsuki’s chest had gone tight and he’d let him crawl right back in.

But when Katsuki cracked his eyes open now, it wasn’t a child pressed against him.

It was Izuku. Full-grown, curls tousled from sleep, shoulders broad but relaxed, his back snug against Katsuki’s chest like they’d been made to fit there. Katsuki’s arm was slung over his waist, hand splayed across the flat of his stomach, rising and falling with each slow breath.

Katsuki froze. His heart thudded once, hard enough to feel it in his throat.

“…the hell…” he muttered, voice rough.

Izuku stirred at the sound, making a soft noise that wasn’t anything close to dignified. More like a hum, low and content, like the warmth around him was too good to let go of. He shifted back, just slightly—subconsciously seeking out more of Katsuki’s heat. Like this was normal. Like this had always been normal.

Maybe he didn’t realize. Because a second later, he yawned wide, curls brushing Katsuki’s chin, his voice still thick and hoarse with sleep. “Mornin’, Kacchan…”

The word punched straight through Katsuki’s chest, violent and sharp and way too much all at once. He should’ve pulled away. Should’ve shoved him off, barked something cutting to cover the fact that he could feel his pulse in his damn fingertips.

Instead, his grip tightened. Just a fraction. His palm curved more securely against Izuku’s stomach, like it had been built for that space, like his body had decided for him. “…You’re back to normal, dumbass.”

Izuku blinked, sluggish, like his brain was still trying to climb out of the fog. He shifted his head just enough to glance back over his shoulder. Their noses nearly brushed, breaths tangling in the scant space between them. His eyes went wide, green and bright even in the dim light, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Oh. Um—” his voice cracked embarrassingly, caught between the softer pitch of the child he’d been and the deeper timbre of himself now. He swallowed hard, flustered. “I—I guess the quirk wore off.”

“Guess so,” Katsuki grunted. His voice was rough, low, but steady. His hand still hadn’t moved.

Izuku’s gaze flicked down, as if only just realizing where Katsuki’s arm was. His blush deepened all the way to his ears. “Kacchan, your hand—”

“What about it?” Katsuki cut in, a little too quickly.

Izuku bit his lip, the faintest tremble of a smile pulling at the corner. “You’re… holding me.”

The words were simple, quiet. But they landed heavy. Katsuki’s chest ached, something twisting there he couldn’t name. His fingers twitched against Izuku’s shirt, and before he could stop himself, he gave the tiniest squeeze—barely there, almost rough enough to pass as an accident.

“Yeah, well. Don’t make it weird, nerd.”

Izuku’s laugh was soft, muffled as he ducked his face back into the pillow, but it was real. Warm. His hand drifted up, hesitating—before settling gently over Katsuki’s where it rested on his stomach. His palm was smaller, lighter, but steady. Like he wasn’t planning to let go either.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The city hummed outside, the sunlight caught in Izuku’s curls, and it was just them—spooned together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Eventually, reality barged in—sunlight spilling harder through the glass walls, phones buzzing across nightstands with missed calls and reminders. Izuku wriggled carefully out of Katsuki’s hold, cheeks pink, curls sticking in every direction like static had kissed them all night. He mumbled something about work, voice still scratchy, and slid off the bed, tugging at the hem of his shirt like it could shield him from how close they’d just been.

Katsuki let him go, though not without a grumble. He flopped onto his back with a groan loud enough to rattle the ceiling fan, one arm flung over his eyes. He stared at the blank ceiling like it had personally betrayed him, heat still crawling stubbornly up his neck.

For a while, the penthouse was quiet again, nothing but the muffled noise of the city outside. Katsuki nearly drifted back off.

Then—Growl. The sharp, uneven sound of his stomach nearly startled him and broke the silence. Katsuki shot upright, already scowling. With another dramatic groan, he rolled out of bed and headed into the kitchen.

By the time Izuku padded into the kitchen, barefoot, hair an absolute disaster, he’d somehow stolen one of Katsuki’s hoodies. It swallowed him whole, sleeves bunched at his hands, the fabric hanging to mid–thigh. He rubbed at his eye with his wrist, blinking like he wasn’t quite awake yet.

Katsuki was at the stove, spatula clenched in his hand like a weapon. He was glaring down at the pan like he could scare the eggs into behaving.

Izuku paused in the doorway, soft surprise flickering over his face. And then he smiled—small, warm, the kind of smile that belonged to mornings and quiet kitchens, not battlefields. “…You’re making breakfast?”

“Tch.” Katsuki didn’t look at him. “Don’t make it weird. You didn’t eat dinner last night. Figured you’d be starving.”

Izuku shuffled to the counter, climbing onto one of the stools. His chin landed in his palm, elbow on the counter, watching with open amusement. “It’s not weird. It’s… nice.”

Katsuki side–eyed him, scowl intact but ears a little pink. He flipped the eggs with more force than necessary, like the sizzling pan had offended him personally. The smell of butter and toast filled the air, warm and grounding.

The quiet stretched, filled only by the hiss of the pan and the hum of the fridge. Izuku didn’t fill it with nervous chatter like he usually did—just sat there, curled in Katsuki’s hoodie, looking soft and safe.

Finally, though, he spoke again. His voice was softer this time, threaded with something vulnerable. “Thanks, Kacchan. For… all of it. Yesterday. Taking care of me.”

Katsuki’s shoulders stiffened. He didn’t turn around, spatula pausing mid–flip. His voice, when it came, was low, rough around the edges. “…’Course I did. Who else is gonna keep your dumb ass in one piece?”

Izuku’s smile deepened, even as he ducked his head to hide the color rising in his cheeks. “Still… thank you.”

The words hung between them, heavier than they should’ve been, until the eggs hissed loud enough to demand attention. Katsuki swore under his breath and turned back to the stove.

A few minutes later, plates clattered down on the counter—eggs piled high, toast stacked unevenly, katsudon leftovers shoved on the side like he couldn’t help himself. Izuku’s eyes lit up immediately, sparkling in that way that had always been dangerous.

“Is that—? Kacchan, you made katsudon too?” His voice went up half an octave, bright and full of disbelief.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, leaning back against the counter opposite him with his arms crossed. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not your personal chef.”

Izuku didn’t even dignify that with a response. He dug in, fork clinking against the plate, cheeks puffing out after the first bite. His eyes fluttered shut, a pleased hum slipping out before he could stop it.

Katsuki’s chest did something traitorous.

He forced his gaze away, arms tightening across his chest. But it didn’t matter, because the sound came again—soft little hums of approval as Izuku ate, cheeks pink, curls falling into his eyes. It was the same look he’d worn when he was four, tucking into food like it was the best thing in the world.

Katsuki finally gave in, glancing at him from under his lashes.

Too domestic. Too easy.

Like they’d been doing this every morning for years.

Izuku caught him staring. He paused mid–bite, smile tugging at his mouth. “…What?”

Katsuki clicked his tongue and looked away, heat prickling the tips of his ears. “Nothin’. Just eat before it gets cold, nerd.”

Izuku’s grin widened, bright enough to rival the morning sun.

And Katsuki, despite himself, didn’t look away for long.

Then after a while, Izuku set his fork down, eyes sparkling with mischief that was just barely hiding something softer underneath. He leaned forward on his elbows, chin balanced on his hands like a kid about to spill a secret.

“You know…” he started, dragging the words out until Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched.

Katsuki didn’t look up from his plate. “Don’t.”

Izuku’s lips curved into a grin. “You’re kinda husband material like this.”

That did it. Katsuki choked violently on his toast, coughing around it like it had suddenly turned into gravel. He slammed his glass of water down after gulping half of it, hard enough to make the counter rattle. “The fuck did you just say?!”

Izuku burst into laughter, his whole body tipping sideways on the stool until he had to grab the edge to keep from sliding clean off. His cheeks were flushed, green eyes shining, and the sound was so full and easy that it filled the kitchen like sunlight through the windows.

“I said—you’re husband material!” Izuku wheezed between laughs, gesturing wildly at Katsuki with his fork. “Look at you! Cooking breakfast, glaring at the eggs, making sure I eat—honestly, Kacchan, you’re checking all the boxes!”

“Shut the hell up!” Katsuki barked, face going redder by the second. “That doesn’t make me husband material, it makes me someone who’s not letting your dumbass starve to death on my watch!”

Izuku tilted his head, expression smoothing into something deceptively innocent, curls flopping into his eyes. “So… if it was your husband, you’d cook for him too?”

Katsuki sputtered so hard he almost dropped his fork. “What—no—I—fuck off!”

Izuku laughed even harder, doubling over until his forehead smacked the countertop with a soft thunk. His shoulders shook as he wheezed out, “You would though! Admit it! You’d cook, you’d nag, you’d glare at the eggs until they were perfect—”

“Shut it, nerd!” Katsuki growled, jabbing his fork in Izuku’s direction like it was a weapon. His ears burned crimson, hair bristling like he’d stuck his finger in a socket. “Keep running your mouth and you’ll be wearing this plate!”

But his voice didn’t have any real bite to it, not with the way his lip twitched like he was fighting down the ghost of a smile.

Izuku finally lifted his head, still grinning but softer now. His laughter ebbed into a warm chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at Katsuki like he was the most important thing in the room. The kind of look that made Katsuki’s stomach flip and his chest ache in ways he would never admit out loud.

“You really would,” Izuku said, quieter this time. No teasing, no grin—just honest, fond certainty.

The words landed heavier than Katsuki wanted them to. He froze mid-bite, fork hovering in front of his mouth. His jaw clenched. He shoved the food in anyway, chewing hard like it could drown out the thundering in his chest.

“…Dumb nerd,” he muttered around the bite, eyes glued to his plate. “…always runnin’ your mouth.”

But Izuku heard the crack in it, the way the gruffness didn’t quite hide the warmth tucked underneath. His smile softened even more, one of those gentle, dangerous ones that Katsuki hated—because it saw straight through him.

Izuku picked up his fork again, taking another bite with a hum of contentment, like nothing in the world could ruin this tiny slice of morning. His foot brushed against Katsuki’s under the counter, not on purpose—probably not—but he didn’t move it either.

They finished eating in an easy silence, the kind that didn’t need filling. The soft clink of cutlery against plates, the faint hiss of the pan cooling on the stove, and the steady hum of the city outside through the glass walls made the apartment feel smaller, cozier.

When Izuku polished off the last bite of toast, he set his fork down with a little clatter and leaned forward on his elbows, chin in his hands, just… watching. Katsuki tried to ignore the weight of those eyes on him as he stood, gathering the empty plates like it was the most natural thing in the world. He moved on autopilot—rinse, stack, rinse—like his hands remembered how to take care of people even when his brain was screaming at him not to read into it.

Izuku didn’t move. His cheek squished into his palm, curls tumbling over his forehead, his expression soft in a way that Katsuki had only ever seen in flashes. The edges of him—the drive, the constant energy, the muttering—had all gone quiet, worn smooth overnight. And now he just sat there, eyes following Katsuki like he was something worth paying attention to.

When Katsuki finally turned, towel slung over his shoulder, he almost jumped. Izuku was closer than he’d realized—close enough that Katsuki could make out the tiny freckles dusting the bridge of his nose, the sleep-warm curve of his smile.

“What?” Katsuki muttered, instantly suspicious, because no one ever just looked at him like that.

Izuku’s smile tilted, smaller, softer, glowing like it had been waiting there all along. “…thank you, Kacchan. For everything.”

The words sank deeper than Katsuki wanted them to. His throat worked, but before he could summon the usual barked “shut up” or some snappy comeback, Izuku leaned in.

It was quick. Barely a brush. A feather-light press of lips to Katsuki’s cheek, warm and gone in less than a breath. But it hit harder than any explosion Katsuki had ever set off—like a shockwave straight through his ribs.

Every muscle in his body seized. His hand tightened around the towel, eyes going wide as heat scorched across his face. His ears, his neck, every inch of him burned nuclear red.

Izuku pulled back with a grin that was half-shy, half-bright, like he hadn’t just destroyed Katsuki’s entire nervous system in one move. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss him good morning. He tugged the sleeves of Katsuki’s hoodie down over his hands, swaying a little as he padded off toward his room. His humming carried back through the apartment, low and content, curling around Katsuki like smoke.

Katsuki stood frozen in the kitchen, rooted to the spot. The towel slipped from his shoulder, landing forgotten on the floor. His cheek still burned, like the kiss had left a brand.

“The hell am I supposed to do with that…” he muttered, voice rough and uneven, like it had scraped over gravel.

But the words didn’t stick. Because even as he scowled at the floor, even as his chest thudded way too hard, his lips twitched—traitorously—into the smallest, most helpless smile.

Izuku had just reached his room, still humming softly as he tugged the sleeves of Katsuki’s hoodie down over his hands. The fabric swallowed his fingers, the faint scent of smoke and spice clinging to it like a secret. He barely had time to nudge the door shut with his heel before—

Strong arms banded around his waist, hauling him back against a chest that radiated heat. Izuku gasped, startled, his heart lurching up into his throat. But the scent—warm, sharp, achingly familiar—gave it away instantly.

“K-Kacchan—?”

“Thought you could just kiss me and walk away, huh?” Katsuki’s voice rumbled low in his ear, rough and dangerous, but threaded with something that made Izuku’s knees go weak.

Izuku blinked rapidly, his pulse skipping all over the place. “…it was just a thank you—”

“Yeah?” Katsuki growled, spinning him around so fast Izuku stumbled into the broad wall of his chest. One hand braced at Izuku’s back, the other tilting his chin up. Katsuki’s eyes burned molten red, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, here’s mine.”

Izuku barely managed a squeak before Katsuki struck—quick, feather-light kisses scattered across his face. A press to his cheek, his jaw, the tip of his nose. Another to his temple, then his other cheek, faster and faster, like sparks bursting off a fuse.

Izuku gasped, laughter spilling out helplessly between the kisses. “Kacchan—! W-wait—! That tickles!”

He tried to wriggle away, but his hands betrayed him, fisting tight in the fabric of Katsuki’s shirt instead of pushing him off. Every kiss made him laugh harder, the sound bubbling bright and unrestrained, until it filled the little room like sunlight.

“That’s the point, dumbass,” Katsuki muttered against his skin, his lips brushing the corner of Izuku’s mouth—close enough to set him on fire, but not quite enough to quench it.

Izuku’s laughter faded into breathless little gasps, his face flushed from chin to ears, eyes shining wet with joy. He leaned forward without realizing it, caught between helpless giggles and something softer, deeper, that thrummed in his chest.

Katsuki finally slowed, the rapid-fire barrage of kisses tapering off. But he didn’t let go. His forehead rested against Izuku’s, noses brushing, breath mingling. He hovered there, lips curled into a smirk that was sharp but softened around the edges, molten heat simmering beneath.

“Still think you can get the last word on me?” Katsuki asked, voice low and smug, though his thumb brushed absently at Izuku’s jaw in a way that betrayed him.

Izuku, dazed and smiling like the sun itself, whispered back, “…maybe I’ll try again.”

The challenge was so soft it almost didn’t count, but it made Katsuki’s grin widen anyway—feral, yes, but tinged with something almost unbearably fond.

“Good,” he murmured, lips ghosting over Izuku’s again, enough to make him shiver. “I’ll just have to shut you up every time.”

Izuku’s laugh broke on a shaky breath, and his hands tugged Katsuki just a little closer, like he couldn’t help himself. And for once, Katsuki didn’t fight it. He leaned in too, pressing one last kiss—slower this time, steadier—right to the spot his mouth had been teasing all along.

His lashes fluttered shut. His hands, small compared to the breadth of Katsuki’s chest, clutched tight at his shirtfront, not to push away but to anchor himself. His pulse raced wild, mismatched with the slow, deliberate press of Katsuki’s lips.

Katsuki didn’t pull away. Not fully. He shifted instead, arms tightening until Izuku could feel every ounce of his strength wrapped around him. A step forward, then another—Izuku retreating blindly until his knees hit the edge of the mattress.

They tumbled together in a mess of limbs and startled laughter, Katsuki catching their weight with a grunt and a palm braced on the bed so Izuku didn’t take the brunt of the fall.

Izuku landed beneath him, curls spilling across the pillow in a wild halo. He blinked up, dazed and pink, his lips still parted from the kiss. A smile tugged at his mouth even as he whispered, breathless, “Kacchan…”

“Shut up,” Katsuki muttered instantly—but his voice was rough, hoarse, stripped of its usual bite. His hand slid up the line of Izuku’s jaw, thumb brushing over the flushed skin as if to soothe the word away. Then came another kiss—slower this time, deeper. He lingered there, and then pressed another at the corner of Izuku’s mouth, feather-light, like he couldn’t stop himself.

Izuku’s laugh melted into a soft sound that was almost a sigh. His fingers curled into the back of Katsuki’s neck, pulling him close. The fight bled out of both of them in one long, steady exhale.

Katsuki shifted onto his side, dragging Izuku with him until they fit together more easily. Izuku curled instinctively into the warmth of his chest, tucking himself against him like it was the only place he belonged. Katsuki’s arm banded firm around his waist, holding him tight, the other hand tangling in his curls like he’d been waiting for years just to touch.

The room quieted. The city’s hum outside their window faded to nothing, the air filled only with the sound of their breathing slowly falling into sync. Katsuki’s thumb rubbed lazy circles against Izuku’s hip. Izuku’s nose brushed against Katsuki’s collarbone with every exhale.

Izuku hummed, voice thick with sleep, his words muffled against Katsuki’s shirt. “…best thank you ever.”

Katsuki snorted, trying to bury his grin in the wild mess of curls beneath his chin. “Damn right it was.”

Izuku giggled softly at that, the sound faint and warm, and wriggled impossibly closer until there wasn’t a breath of space left between them. His hand slipped under the hem of Katsuki’s shirt, resting right against his heartbeat, like he wanted to memorize it.

Katsuki let him. More than that, he pressed a kiss into Izuku’s hairline—quick, almost rough, but betraying him all the same.

Izuku sighed, content, and whispered something Katsuki almost didn’t catch. “…always feel safe here.”

Katsuki’s throat went tight. He tucked Izuku in closer, hand splayed protectively over his back, and muttered into his hair, “That’s ‘cause you are, dumbass.”

The words settled between them like a promise.

And just like that, they sank into the quiet—tangled up, warm, exactly where they belonged. Katsuki’s heartbeat steady against Izuku’s palm, Izuku’s breath soft against Katsuki’s chest. Morning light spilled in gentle stripes across the room, gilding them both in gold.

Neither of them said another word. They didn’t need to.

It was just them, the blankets, and their blissful love.