Work Text:
Strange as it seemed, Izuku liked doing laundry.
It was the monotony of the job that made Izuku’s day better than if he did no laundry at all. Katsuki teased him for it as it was really the only job in the house Katsuki wanted no part in, but there was a method to the madness.
Life hadn’t really gone as planned.
He hadn’t really expected to become All Might’s successor, then he did. He didn’t expect to be the world’s only hope when All for One and Shigaraki set in motion an era of unrest in Japan, but it became his job anyways.
He never expected that his rival turned friend would turn out to be the love of his life, but Katsuki was in the kitchen now, humming a tune to their daughter and, well, that still overwhelmed him.
But good or bad, Izuku thought about these twists and turns too often and laundry, the most menial and boring of all housework, really just drove the thoughts and fears and overanalyses out of his mind, giving his brain a much-needed respite.
So, he sat in the laundry room with a basket of clothes and a cup of tea. He pulled fresh laundry out of the dryer—they had to get one once they realized fans were stealing their clothes off the line—hugged it close to absorb its warmth, and inhaled deeply to collect the smell of sandalwood and cedar and pine.
Perfect.
He put them down and got to folding, making three stacks: one for him, one for Kacchan, and one for Tomoko. He put her little sweaters on the bottom, then the cat-themed shirts that Aizawa bought her. The All Might hoodie that Izuku insisted on. The tiny socks Izuku cried about because, c’mon, tiny socks.
And then he moved to Kacchan, whose clothes were bigger than his and took up the most space in their dresser, their closet. It was the broad shoulders and swollen pecs that caused the problem. It was okay, though, because Izuku liked his large chest and wide shoulders, his thick arms and rough hands.
Izuku bit his lip, thinking if he didn’t stop dreaming about his husband’s muscles, they’d have to go put Tomoko down for a nap and make those dreams a reality.
He cleared his throat and folded his husband’s underwear, his socks, and his sweats. He buttoned his dress shirts and slipped them on hangers. He stuck his hand back in the laundry basket and pulled out a maroon sweatshirt about two sizes too big to belong to Izuku, but just perfect for his husband’s sleepwear.
Izuku stared at it, feeling the soft cotton on his digits. He thought of two nights prior when they’d finished making love. Katsuki had slipped this hoodie on for sleep and Izuku burrowed into it, inhaling the scent of musk and sweat and the trace remains of their laundry detergent.
Izuku lifted it up to his nose, wondering if it still smelled like him.
It did.
A shudder ran down his body, loving the scent of his husband, the warmth from the dryer making it feel as if it were freshly worn. He could go into the other room and have the real thing, but there was something about the hoodie.
In one swift motion, Izuku slipped it on over his clothes, laughing at how low the hood fell over his eyes. About four or five inches of fabric hung over Izuku’s hands, just as it should be. He drowned in the fabric, shivered at the warmth, like he was being held in Katsuki’s big, strong arms. He felt small, enveloped, like he belonged. Like he was possessed.
Izuku leaned back against the laundry room wall, lifted his sleeved hands up to his face and breathed in his husband’s scent.
“Papa’s not doing his chores, Tomoko,” Katsuki’s voice traveled from the laundry room threshold. Izuku turned to find Katsuki standing there, shirtless, with a baby in his arms. Tomoko gnawed on her teething ring, looking up at Katsuki with doll-eyes. Katsuki clicked his tongue. “What are we gonna do with him, Tomoko?”
Tomoko dribbled, a line of saliva trailing down her chin.
Katsuki gasped. “You think he should sleep on the couch tonight? That’s pretty fucking harsh, kid.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” Izuku said dryly. “And don’t cuss in front of her, Kacchan. She’ll pick it up.”
“She can’t even talk yet.” Katsuki stepped into the room, up to Izuku’s side, and then took a seat. Criss-crossing his legs, he sat Tomoko in his lap and Tomoko extended her arms to Izuku, her little body trying to get to him with nonexistent dexterity as her aid.
Izuku picked her up in his arms and leaned back against the wall, lying her on his chest so that she could play with the drawstrings of the hoodie and drool on the fabric. Izuku kissed her head, swirls of chestnut hair tickling his nose, and looked back at Katsuki.
“So, is there a reason why you’ve ditched the laundry to wear and smell my clothes?”
Izuku shrugged his shoulders. “I missed you.”
Katsuki looked at him like he was stupid, blond brows raised in disbelievingly. “I was in the kitchen, Deku.”
“That’s on, like, the other side of the apartment,” Izuku pouted. He waved his elbows. “And this was right here.”
Katsuki’s eyes raked his body, a little smirk forming at his lips. A pink hue scattered his cheeks, and Katsuki said, “It looks good on you.”
“It’s big.”
“Well, yeah.” Katsuki climbed up onto his knees and crawled over to Izuku’s side. He lifted his hand to Izuku’s neck and adjusted the hood lying there. His knuckle brushed Izuku’s skin and it made him shiver. His husband was close, his lips still as dark and handsome as they were the day they married six years ago. “But I like how you look in it. ‘S like telling everyone you’re mine.
There was that possession, that ownership Katsuki had
Izuku leaned in, pecking them, before pulling away to see his husband’s face alight, a bright smile spreading across his sharp face. “You’re just trying to get out of getting scolded, huh?”
Izuku scoffed. “Are you kidding? If I wanted to do that, I would have taken my clothes off.”
Katsuki’s eyes sparkled. “I mean, you still could?”
“I’m holding a baby, Kacchan.”
“-Put her down-”
“-She’s sleeping!”
Katsuki rolled his eyes, grumbled, “Fine,” then turned to the laundry basket and grabbed one of Izuku’s sweatshirts. He tugged it on. It did not fit.
“You’re gonna stretch it!” Izuku scolded, but Katsuki ignored him in favor of pulling the orange sweatshirt over his large head. It looked appalling, the sweatshirt riding up his stomach, the fact that the sleeves stopped halfway down his forearms.
Honestly, Izuku didn’t see the appeal.
“How do I look?” Katsuki asked, splaying his arms wide.
“Like you’re trying too hard.”
Katsuki frowned at him, narrowing his eyes in a playful glare. “You’re a little shit,” he said, then crawled back over to Izuku. It was then that he grabbed him, arms snaking around his shoulders and pulling him close. Izuku could feel his warmth enveloping him, his strength as he wrapped himself around Izuku and Tomoko. He pulled them on his lap, then laid down flat against the linoleum floor. Izuku could see the tall window at the end of the room shining afternoon light into the small room.
Katsuki hummed, and Izuku felt the vibrations against his back. Izuku smiled, holding their daughter against his chest, combing his fingers through her hair in small, repetitive motions.
“Is she still asleep?” Katsuki asked, craning his neck to get a good look.
“Mhm.”
Katsuki breathed out through his nose, gusts of air blowing Izuku’s curls. “My back is gonna hurt so bad by the time she wakes up.”
“It won’t be so bad,” Izuku told him. “You’ll have time tomorrow to rest up before you go back to work.”
“Deku, you’re not seeing the issue. I’m not gonna be able to-” Katsuki cleared his throat. “ Perform .”
Izuku snorted, the thought of thirty-six year old Katsuki acting like a crippled old man when he was pounding villains into the concrete only days before. “It’ll be okay,” he said, reaching down to pat Katsuki’s thigh. “I’ll do the work tonight. Now, take a nap. We’re not leaving for a while.”
Katsuki chuckled lightly, the way he only did for family, muttering, “Yes, dear.”
Izuku settled, closing his eyes and taking in the scent of his husband and small child, the warmth of the sun as the rays descended on them, and the feeling of being swaddled in large clothing.
Chores were a promise of menial labor, a boring task that distracted him from the fears and the trauma the world had imposed on him. But his family? His daughter and his Kacchan?
Well, they drove the fears away. They made him feel as though even the disasters of the century had nothing on their warmth, their love.
Nothing beat them.
Not even the laundry.