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Katsuki and his team of idiots are on clean-up duty after a destructive villain attack. There is nothing dangerous about it, just time consuming and repetitive.
They work through the night and get the main streets cleared of debris before morning rush hour begins. By the time they all trudge to the open diner for a well-deserved breakfast, Katsuki is sick of looking at torn-up concrete, and Uraraka looks positively green, her stomach queasy from all the quirk-lifting she did.
It's a family-friendly restaurant. The booth they commandeer is big enough to accommodate their hero bulk. They're all used to him, and nobody complains when Katsuki sits last, taking one of the two spaces nearest the aisle.
He thinks 'fuck it all' and orders a big stack of what's sure to be buttery pancakes, a side order of sausages, and a plate of fruit to ease the conscientious voice inside him going 'tsk tsk tsk' at all the oil and carb. Everyone else orders an obscene amount of food, overwhelming the young waitress already flustered by the unexpected appearance of Tokyo's top pro heroes—all except Uraraka, who just asks for a cup of sweet, hot choco and promptly plants face down on the checkered tablecloth.
Katsuki sits slumped on his seat, eyes closed, half listening to his idiot friends talk about Jirou's upcoming concert, when he feels the tap on his thigh. The tap turns into a light pressure, almost a shove, the force there but negligible considering the bulk of his muscles.
He opens his eyes and between one blink to the next, he finds himself with a lapful of child—all green curls and a sunshine smile. She'd scrambled onto his lap and is now sitting there like she belonged there.
The conversation at the table stops.
Katsuki instinctively pushes his knees together to give her a better seat, securing an arm around her. She beams at him, patting his chest with obvious approval.
"Umm, there something you wanna tell us, Bakubro?"
The child turns her fluffy-curled head, blinks at Kirishima and says "Shark!", before bestowing another beaming smile Katsuki's way.
That got giggles and chuckles across the table. Even Katsuki had to bite his cheek to hold in a smile. That shit's cute as fuck.
But it begs the question of where the child's minder is. She's too young to be wandering around by herself.
"Oh no, oh no..." repeats a flustered voice coming closer, fast heading their way. "I am so sorry! If I'd realized how fast she'd run, I wouldn't have taught her to walk."
The man has her green curls and green eyes. Or rather, she has his. Except for the freckles that caressed his cheeks, the toddler is a tiny replica of him.
Adorable, Katsuki's tired brain supplies, unexpected and unbidden.
The man is fidgeting with embarrassment, trying to bow, his arms making jerky movements, like he's resisting the urge to grab his daughter off Katsuki's lap. His curls are askew, frazzled, as if he had run his fingers through it several times.
For some reason—a thought like lightning and completely out of blue—Katsuki finds himself wondering if the green curls are as soft as it looks; how it would feel running through his fingers; how he'd look when he's rumpled just getting out of bed in the morning.
Katsuki frowns, unsure where the thoughts had come from. He shifts in his seat, feeling all sorts of UNCOMFORTABLE that he'd been ogling a stranger with said stranger's daughter still is on his lap.
"No damage done," he hears himself say. No, snarky comment about his parenting skills, no judgment. He could feel eyebrows being raised around the table without having to look.
"Cmon, sweetheart," the man says, arms reaching for the little girl.
OBVIOUSLY, the man isn't talking to Katsuki.
Obviously, the soft smile, the way his green eyes warm with such gentle tenderness and the love that curls and threads through each word are not meant for Katsuki. Obviously.
He feels something tighten in his chest anyway.
The little girl—a regular recipient of such open adoration—is less impressed. "No," she says, clear and sure of herself, leaning away and farther into Katsuki's hold.
Kaminari snickers. "That sure sounds like Bakugou."
Katsuki is used to the teasing but the man's face falls. He reaches out again and the child burrows further in Katsuki's arms. Before a one-sided tug-of-war could begin, before he could question why, Katsuki gathers the child to him and instead moves sideways, forcing Mina to scooch over or be squished against his side.
"We're tired; we're having pancakes. Just sit," he tells him. "You here with anyone else?"
"Umm, no. Just us. I'm Midoriya," he introduces himself. He knows everyone, of course; everyone in Japan knows them. "This is Toshiko."
The little girl perks up at that, hearing her name.
Midoriya sits down and smiles awkwardly at everyone. They all smile back, even the dying Uraraka.
Katsuki studiously avoids looking around the table, bouncing his legs a little to entertain the little girl he's known for an egg-timer's worth of minutes.
"Are you married, Midoriya?" Mina asks, point blank and shameless, leaning over Katsuki's other side to look at him.
Katsuki doesn't know whether to explode her or thank her. He settles for elbowing her—but not too hard. She elbows him right back.
"Uh, no. It really is just Toshiko and me."
That answers that question, and Mina—the obvious fucker—pats Katsuki's shoulder. Katsuki lowers his head, hiding his face against Toshiko's convenient curls. She smells clean, sweet the way only small children do.
"I really am terribly sorry, Dynamight-san," Izuku says softly. "I'm afraid she's never met a kidnapper she didn't like," he offers with a smile, freckled cheeks tinted the palest pink.
Katsuki shifts in his seat, uneasy with the way his chest tugs, slow pulling but definite.
"I don't know why she climbed onto me," he says.
"Oh. That," the man blushes, the pink deepening to full flush. "She probably recognized you." He opens a child-sized All Might backpack and pulls out—of all things—a Dynamight plushie.
It's scruffed; the colors a bit faded from many washings.
“Kacchan!” Toshiko squeals at the sight, grabbing the toy and holding it to her tiny chest.
There are ‘awws’ and coos of delight from around the table, reminding Katsuki they definitely have an audience.
“‘Kacchan’?” he murmurs, once the idiots he calls his friends have moved on to other topics, quiet enough he can pretend it’s just the two of them and the child still on his lap, playing with his likeness. “I don’t think I’ve been called that since I was in pre-school.”
Midoriya laughs and a warm, bubbly thing inside Katsuki answers. “Sorry about that. She’s still learning. And some words are harder than others.”
“You say ‘sorry’ too much,” Katsuki tells him. “S’fine.”
Breakfast arrives and green eyes bug out at the heaping of food—pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, hash, fruits, and because Todoroki is a sick fucker: cold soba—covering all available table space.
Toshiko is enticed to leave Katsuki’s lap with promises of blueberry pancakes. For a moment, Katsuki’s lap feel unbearably empty.
Katsuki never had occasion to notice before but his idiot friends are excellent wingmen. They conversed among themselves, all while shovelling food into the mouths, bodies turned slightly away from Midoriya, leaving him out of the conversation with only Katsuki to talk to.
He makes a mental note to pick up this morning’s tab.
“I must say you’re not quite how I imagined you would be, Dynamight-san.”
“What’d you expect?”
“Oh, you know, more… explodey,” Midoriya says with a smile that invites him to grin back.
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. You caught me at a bad time.”
“A terrible time,” Midoriya says.
“Fucker.”
He laughs.
Breakfast ends much too soon. Midoriya stands up, Toshiko in his arms, All Might backpack haphazardly slung over one scarred arm. Katsuki stands up with him.
“It was really nice meeting you all. Thank you for your service to the community,” Midoriya says with a bow.
Katsuki casts about for something to say. He faces off big, bad villains every fucking day but he’s never felt this panicked before: Midoriya will walk out those doors and he’ll never see him or Toshiko again.
“I’m looking forward to Jirou’s concert,” Todoroki says, apropos of nothing, from his seat at the farthest end of the booth.
Katsuki grabs at it like a drowning man a lifesaver.
“Friday!" he blurts out like a madman, startling Midoriya beside him. He clears his throat. "Earphone Jack’s giving a charity benefit concert on Friday. Do you wanna come?” Katsuki resists the urge to wipe his hands on the back of his pants.
This entire scenario where he’s caught wrong-footed—saved by fucking Todoroki!—is unacceptable. He really should go out on more dates. With Midoriya preferably.
“Oh, that does sounds interesting! I’ll go see if my mom can watch Toshiko,” Midoriya says, beaming at him.
“Gimme your phone.”
Midoriya rummages inside his pocket, expertly juggling toddler and backpack, and hands Katsuki his phone, already unlocked.
“Text me so I’ll know your number,” Katsuki tells him, handing back the phone.
Izuku smiles at him. He jiggles the little girl to catch her attention. “Say goodbye to Kacchan, sweetheart,” he stage whispers to her, green eyes not leaving Katsuki’s.
“Bye, Kacchan,” she says obediently, head tucked against her father’s chest, plushie Kacchan tucked in hers.
Katsuki wonders what it must feel like to be surrounded with such blatant love; to have sweetness and affection pouring out of green eyes and smiles full of sunshine all for you.
He watches them leave. He turns back and finds all eyes on him—ranging from unholy mirth to sympathy. Katsuki could give two fucks.
"Dude! What the hell was that?"
"The look on your face, Bakugou!"
"Ahh, cmon, guys. Leave my bro alone. I think it's manly."
The teasing continues as they file away from the table, leaving the decimated breakfast behind them. They reach the cashier. Katsuki waves everyone away, causing another chorus of teasing, only to find out that Midoriya had already paid the bill.
"You know, I like your man's style, 'Kacchan'," Kaminari says, death wish in full force as he drapes an arm over Katsuki's shoulders.
Kaminari is saved from being exploded by a ping from Katsuki's phone.
::Hi! It's Midoriya (De)ku.::
::My mom said she's okay to watch my little monster on Friday. I would love to go to the concert with you.::
::You—plural! As in all of you. Not just you. Cause this isn't a date::
::Right?::
Katsuki smirks. It would have sent criminals from Tokyo's underbelly shaking. He starts typing.
::Send me your address::
::I'll pick you up::
Katsuki pockets his phone. He's got a date with Deku.