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Aizawa wakes up to hair in his mouth and several weights on his chest. The curly hair smells like blueberries because of that special shampoo he bought the kid, and the cats - Cadaver and Uncle, judging by the masses - are purring their furry little arses off, so really, there's no better way to wake up.
He can't reach his phone. Not with one arm keeping Izuku in place, the other crushed beneath the mass of fluff and fat that is Cadaver, and when his capture weapon has apparently been claimed by the kid during the night, judging by how it's looped messily along one bicep, shoulder, and then partway down his torso with one stray end pulled up under his chin. It's cute, dammit.
And maybe not being able to distract himself with his phone isn't such a bad thing, not when Izuku is snuffling against his collarbone. The scar on his cheek is rough, and his nose digs into the little divot between Aizawa's clavicles, but his breaths are warm and steady, thick eyelashes fanning over some of his freckles, and there are hands latched into the hero's sleepshirt and he's so incredibly soft for this amazing little human being, it's ridiculous. Not illogical though. Just... just absurd, and very different from what he ever expected of himself, yet he wouldn't have it any other way. Even when his son shifts, grumbling, and a knee gets firmly wedged atop the man's wrist, the tips of his fingers tingling, threatening to go numb within about ten seconds. Ignoring that in favour of debating how to keep the kid contentedly asleep, it only takes Aizawa about two seconds to reach the obvious conclusion, and he takes a few deeper breaths, nearly snorting at how it has Izuku seeming to drape even more heavily over his chest, before he begins to rumble. It's not quite a purr, because unfortunately he is a human, but it's a damn sight closer than most people could manage. The low, thundercloud-rumbling noise reverberates through his chest, and it works exactly as intended: his kid relaxes. Through incremental twitches, a few little half-sighs, and some more lazy wiggling, Izuku settles down fully, and it even leaves Aizawa with a free hand again.
If that hand ends up immediately buried amongst fluffy curls, then nobody else is there to call him out on it. Nor are they there to call him out on falling back asleep.
It's a good while later when Izuku starts to blink awake, nuzzling into the throat he's been breathing - and drooling, whoops - against, the movement only slightly restricted by a heavy, callused hand in his hair, his Dad's if he ever felt it. Silly Eraserdad. And, hey, at least his trap worked. Because Izuku isn't stupid. He knows that one of the very, very few ways to keep his Dad still and possibly not working for any length of time is to keep him firmly in place with himself, cats, or both. And for the morning of Father's Day, the teen opted for both, just as logical insurance. If there's one day he doesn't want his hero overworking himself, today is that day.
He has gifts and a lazy day planned, all pre-Quirk movie marathons, a new pastel cat-themed hoodie and blanket, a spar or two, cheese and onion sandwiches for lunch and then his Dad's favourite takeaway for dinner, and maybe some strawberry cake for pudding, but all of that can wait. Right now, Izuku just wants to revel in being surrounded by purring cats and having his Dad, his family, safe and breathing and sleeping beneath him, every heartbeat echoing right through the greenette's own chest, because right here, he's home, and he knows his hero is too.