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For the few months, Izuku’s known All Might, he’s concluded the man would be a perfect pillow.
The way he stays steadfast in the face of danger makes him reliable, not likely to deflate like pillows at the end of their shelf life so often do. The way he’s tall and mostly bulky makes him the same length as a body pillow. His laugh is gentle and soft, a built-in lullaby to lull Izuku to sleep.
Of course, it’s not every day you tell one that, and for Izuku, it’s unthinkable telling his childhood (and present) idol that he wants to sleep in his arms. He doesn’t know if this newfound urge was born of the head pats and casual touches of maybe love on Dagobah Beach, or of his father who departed to America shortly after he was born.
Either way, Izuku has very little interest in exposing this strange desire for his mentor’s affection.
Which is why he’s mortified when he does that exact thing.
“Midoriya was hit by a quirk on patrol that made him loopy,” Aizawa informs Toshinori, pushing the said loopy boy into his arms. “He’s your responsibility now.”
Toshinori chuckles nervously, especially when Izuku hugs his midsection and nuzzles his face into his shirt. “Are you sure I’m the best person for this job?”
Aizawa’s face is deadpan as he stares at Toshinori with disappointment. “If you don’t feel up to the task, I can ask someone else.”
Toshinori sighs in relief; it’s not like he doesn’t want to take care of his successor, but he feels like he might overstep. He’s seen the way the boy would flush at any compliments or vehemently deny Toshinori’s attempts to alleviate his burdens. He’s gotten somewhat attached, but the boy still has a father, even if he’s in America.
Toshinori isn't his dad.
“Fine, but I’ll be removing your emergency contact on his file,” Aizawa then says.
Toshinori coughs up blood from the sudden shock. “W-wait, there’s no need to escalate things—!”
Aizawa smiles, though it can barely be called one by the way his teeth glint from the overhead lights. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. The quirk should wear off in two hours, good luck.”
He walks away, leaving Toshinori and Izuku alone.
“So soft,” Izuku mumbles. Toshinori sighs; what has he gotten himself into?
Unsure what exactly to do with a drugged teen, Toshinori opts for taking him to the dorms, where he feels most comfortable. All the students are in class, so the common room is empty when they arrive.
Toshinori sits Izuku on the couch. “Would you like something to eat, Young Midoriya?”
“Katsudon,” he says, stretching out his body on the couch and lounging lazily. “Just like Mama makes it.”
Toshinori grows antsy—he doesn’t know how to make katsudon. He forgot most of his culinary knowledge after he lost his stomach. Still, his successor looks adorably insistent as he puffs out his freckled cheeks.
What sort of hero would he be if he didn’t try?
“Don’t you worry, Young Midoriya! It’ll be done in an instant!” he says. In his attempt to make the katsudon, he searches for an online recipe and gets out the necessary ingredients. Within an hour, he finishes and returns to the couch with a steaming bowl.
“Sit up, now. You don’t want to choke.” Izuku stares at Toshinori blearily, blinking his dilated eyes. He sits up but leans against Toshinori’s side heavily. He must admit he’s not used to his successor being so touchy-feely.
“Thank you, All Might,” Izuku says, and digs into his katsudon. Toshinori steadies his body, making sure he doesn’t choke on the pieces of pork. Even though it’s slower than normal, Izuku finishes the katsudon, and Toshinori takes the bowl from his hands, placing it on the table.
“M’ sleepy,” Izuku mumbles, clinging onto Toshinori’s arms. Toshinori ruffles the boy’s fluffy hair.
“Then go to sleep. I’ll bring a new pillow so you can rest your head.” The one on the couch is worn and flat, making for an uncomfortable rest. He gets up, intending to grab one from the closet when Izuku tightens his grip, keeping Toshinori rooted to the couch.
“You’re my new pillow,” Izuku says. He stretches out his body on the couch and lays his head in Toshinori’s lap.
Toshinori flushes, coughing up blood into his hands. He doesn’t know what to say to that, probably a random statement born of Izuku’s dazed state. Still, it’s strangely endearing the way he relaxes in this position.
“Uh well, make yourself comfortable!” He probably shouldn’t be allowing this to happen, because lap naps are for actual fathers , but this is a rare opportunity to see Izuku relax like a normal teen. Hopefully, in the future, their relationship can naturally progress to this point.
After another hour, Izuku wakes up, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “That was a good nap—” he pauses, staring at Toshinori. Toshinori waves at him. Izuku’s face contorts into one of horror as he takes in their circumstances, and he shoots up from the couch, face bright red.
“All–All Might??” he exclaims. “Kill me now. I want to die,” he groans, burying his face in his hands.
“I like you alive, Young Midoriya,” Toshinori says.
Izuku pauses, then stares up at Toshinori, questioningly. “I didn’t do or say anything weird, right?”
Well, excusing his loopy state, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Toshinori starts to shake his head, then pauses. “Well, there was an offhand comment about my ability to be a pillow, but other than that—”
Izuku squeaks. His face gets impossibly redder. He looks close to bursting into tears at Toshinori’s words. “My boy? What’s wrong?”
Izuku sinks onto the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. “You weren’t supposed to hear that… Now you’re going to think I’m weird and take back One For All and never speak to me again because who just says that?”
Toshinori bends down in front of Izuku. “I’d never think ill of you, my boy.”
Izuku peeks at Toshinori through his curls. “Really?”
“Yes, well, it’s just another quirk of yours. Something like that wouldn’t make me take One For All away. Nothing would. Besides, we all have our oddities.” Toshinori taps his chin in thought.
“Did I ever tell you about the crush I had on Nana? Being a teenager, I thought she was the prettiest thing I had ever seen.”
Izuku giggles.
“Oh, and how could I forget about the fiasco of 2145…?”