Work Text:
Friday night comes as a blessing.
None of them have any last minute shifts to fill, their parents have left them alone, and none of their friends have tried to turn their house into a personal staycation spot tonight. Blessings, miracles, whatever you wanna call it, all Katsuki can say is finally.
His costume hangs between Eijirou’s and Shouto’s and four sets of boots wait by the door with Izuku’s bright red sneakers and a mountain of house shoes.
Tuna and Beef greet them, along with the new kitten, Jerky, who Shouto and Eijirou found in a box and brought home. It looks like a furry little ball of chocolate, and it bounces when it’s startled, and it fits right in.
They washed up at the agency, but Katsuki doesn’t feel clean until he showers in his own bathroom—even if two different partners both get in with him at different points before he finishes, not naming any names, clingy bastards—and changes into a fresh set of fuck-around-the-house clothes that smell like they were washed with Shouto’s batch. It makes sense, dark colors and all. He wears a surprising amount of black for someone whose costume looks a little bit like toothpaste.
The living room is unsurprisingly occupied. Shouto is perched on one side of the couch with his bone straight posture, and Izuku is folded up next to him with Eijirou on the ground in front of him. Katsuki almost barks that they’ve got all these fucking couches for a reason, but then he sees that his fingers busy in his hair. He’s not sure what they’re doing, but it seems important enough that he doesn’t ask. The TV is on, and based on the studio audience laughter, Katsuki decides that whatever they’re watching doesn’t concern him, so he makes his way to the kitchen to start his real wind down.
This is his paradise, his castle, and his kingdom. Every inch of this room was designed for him, even with the input the others added. They knew him in ways that made him bristle, but now looking at it, it’s hard to hate being seen like that, especially when it turned into something this fucking spectacular. And then something about having three different people see you for who you really are and decide to love you anyway, or something like that.
Whatever, no time for sappy shit. He’s got dinner to make.
One thing he’s learned after living with them for a couple of years is that even though they never complain when he shows off, they like things simple and easy when they’re worn out. Familiar flavors, comfort food, and room for personal customization. He can work with that.
And he’ll admit that after cooking for this many people for the last two years, plus the year or so of navigating the ins and outs of having multiple mouths interested in being fed, he also likes it when it’s simple and easy when he’s worn out.
Win win and all that.
He checks the refrigerator to see what they have to work with. Enough leftovers, sure, but that’s for scrounging up for sporadically spaced out Saturday lunches, not for Friday night. It’s sacred, you know? Katsuki isn’t big on dates, and Eijirou and Izuku might be the only two who are, but they’re all always too tired from work or not up for dealing with bullshit disguises to bother. But this? This is something that makes them all happy. Shouto gets his peace and quiet. Eijirou gets his gaming buddy and/or movie partners. Izuku gets someone to lean against and talk to. And Katsuki gets to cook.
He scans the shelves with a scowl. They’ll need to go grocery shopping, preferably tomorrow. That’s his and Eijirou’s special task. Is it a little weird that Eijirou turns it into a mission with codenames and pre-workout loaded milkshakes? A little bit. Does Katsuki look forward to it? Also a little bit.
It’s nothing against the other two. Shouto is just a homebody, and Izuku needs to rest his legs more than the the little bullet train will ever admit. But they’ll get up to something, that’s for sure. Katsuki will either come home to all of Izuku’s collectibles spread out to be cleaned or an extra Todoroki or two.
He can already picture it now, Shouto holding his new nephew as stiffly as possible as he blinks up at him with the same damn expression Shouto has when he’s amazed with something. He laughs to himself, happy no one is in here to see him. He can’t wait to find out what that little bast– baby’s quirk is going to turn out to be.
Oh god, he’s getting soft. He needs a beer and to blow something up.
A beer wouldn’t suck…
He reaches down to the bottom shelf and grabs one of the bottles. It’s ice cold to the touch and absolutely what he needs to make this night the start of his ideal weekend.
He opens the door to grab the bottle opener and frowns when he doesn’t see it. He rummages around, shoving everything from clothes pins to bread ties out of the way, but someone moved the fucking bottle opener. Unbe-fucking-lievable.
He grabs the bottle and hip checks the drawer shut on his way out, and he carries it all the way to Eijirou, whose hair, he realizes, is being delicately plaited down the back of his head. Why? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask.
Eijirou takes the bottle from him without a word, hardens his thumb, and he pops the top off like he used to do at parties when they went to them. Before their house turned into the local watering hole for Losers Incorporated. Before Izuku blew a hole through Momo’s bedroom floor, flinging the four of them into the weirdest, most emotionally fulfilling year of Katsuki’s life. Before the accident.
Eijirou takes a swig off the top before flashing him a cheeky smile and handing it back.
“Loser,” he grumbles, like he isn’t life-long fond of the shark-mouthed motherfucker.
Eijirou isn’t entirely over his trauma, but he can have beer again, so they started keeping it in the house again, but the smell of heavy liquor still turns his stomach, so that’s still banned. Wine, they learned, smells like fruit juice to him, so that’s allowed too.
“Is that the last one?” Izuku asks, interested.
“Nah, we’ve got plenty,” he says.
“Do we?” Shouto asks, his face as calm as a lake, and Katsuki huffs out a silent I’m not your fucking maid, Pretty Boy at him through his nose.
Eijirou groans like an old man as he gets up off the floor, his knees cracking for emphasis. “I got it.”
He comes with Katsuki to the kitchen and pops the top off of three more bottles to take back into the living room.
“Don’t get any on the couch,” Katsuki says.
“Yes, mom,” he says before stealing a quick kiss, that’s barely enough to count.
He saunters out as smugly and casually as possible, and Katsuki’s lips press into a line. He lets himself fantasize about sneaking the hottest peppers known to man underneath his food, which reminds him of the task he should probably start at some point.
Right.
Dinner.
He checks again, and the simplest pieces slip into place. He’ll make oyakodon, and he won’t even break a sweat. Chicken, eggs, rice, onions, and he’ll sort out some vegetables on the side to keep these losers alive. And he might have enough stock cubes left for soup without throwing their breakfast plans into shambles. He’ll see. Yes, this might not be the dinner of champions, but when a champion is the one making it, it’s pretty damn close.
Shouto wanders in, sees what he’s making, and quietly cuts the onions in acceptably sized pieces. He’s come along way since the monstrosities he used to make in high school, but Katsuki doesn’t say so. He hears him sniffle behind him as Katsuki sorts out the marinade, and when he looks behind him, he sees Shouto dabbing his eyes against his sleeve.
“Need some goggles?”
“No, thank you,” he says.
He walks across the room with one eye closed and the other furiously red, and he dumps the onions into the bowl with the cut up chicken, and Katsuki mixes them all with the marinade with his bare hands. Makes him feel like he’s crushing someone’s guts, which gives him a private thrill he’ll never say a word about.
But he’s seen the way Shouto looks at a campfire. He gets it.
With that, he’s left alone again, and in his peace and quiet, he listens carefully to the other three talking in the living room. It’s not eavesdropping if it’s his own house he showed his ass for, and not figuratively, he might add.
“Who would win in a fight,” Izuku asks. “You or Crimson Riot?”
“Crimson Riot,” Eijirou says, as a matter of fact.
“Then who would win in a fight,” Shouto says. “Crimson Riot or Dynamight?”
Katsuki leans towards the living room, his ear wide open.
“Oh, uhhh–. Haha.”
Katsuki blinks at the hesitation.
“Well, um.”
“Leave me outta this!” Katsuki shouts.
“Then Crimson Riot,” Eijirou says confidently.
He almost bangs his head against the counter. His husband is a traitor.
Dinner doesn’t take long at all. He assembles four piping hot bowls, and he gets everything on the table before he calls out for the idiots to join him. They meander in like hungry, curious children, and he has to turn his back to hide the satisfaction on his face.
“Dig in, or whatever,” he grumbles like he doesn’t give a shit if they eat it or not, but they know it’s bullshit. No one bothers to point it out.
Their kitchen table is a circle. Katsuki sits between Eijirou and Izuku, right across from Shouto, who is always more than happy to be stuck between the two of them. They put off telling each other about their patrols until dinner now that they all live together, and so as soon as Izuku swallows his first bite, he goes on a long and wordy retelling of the team of bank robbers that Shouto caught in an ice wave. Katsuki and Eijirou saw the news and got the real time play by play in their ear pieces, but if he said so, he would lose out on his chance to brag that Eijirou stopped a speeding train with just his body and pair of boots with the soles ground off. Did they see that on the news too? Of course. Did they hear Katsuki scream the entire time as he watched Eijirou slide a full kilometer away? Well.
He’s not sure how their pissing contests turned into bragging about the cool shit their partners for the day do, but it happens more often than not—and it doesn’t really matter who works with who. Katsuki will brag about Shouto until he’s blue in the face, and Izuku will make Eijirou blush until he begs them to give it up. But when Katsuki and Izuku work together, then it’s time to show each other up and hope the company doesn’t have to pay for collateral damage.
They talk about other stuff too. Izuku and Eijirou ping pong most of the conversation back and forth while Shouto chews in his slow, methodical way and Katsuki shovels his own hard work into his mouth, offering the occasional comment when needed.
After they’re finished with their meals, Shouto quietly arranges four bowls of ice cream with the appropriate toppings for each person because he at some point memorized what they all like, and when the bowls hit the table, they’re so cold from his quirk that the sides are frosted. They should get him one of those little paper hats.
“Thanks, ‘Roki,” Eijirou says, his cheeks raised with his smile, and Shouto gives him a quiet, content nod. He reacts to praise and appreciation like he doesn’t know what to do with them, but he likes when they’re happy with him.
“Yeah, thanks,” Katsuki mumbles, keeping his eyes on his sprinkles, which would count as a direct kiss on the mouth in their language.
Izuku goes straight for a kiss on the cheek, and then sheepishly wipes off the whipped cream he left behind. Shouto seems especially pleased about this, so he’s not completely allergic to affection.
Like a cat, Katsuki thinks idly.
Tuna rubs against his leg as if to remind him that he’s become quite the collector.
After dessert, they play rock, paper, scissors to decide who has to do dishes. Katsuki throws out paper to get Eijirou, who always picks rock, but then the asshole switches to scissors with Shouto, sending both him and Izuku to sink hell. It’s fine. He barely made a mess cooking. It’s the chocolate syrup that’s the annoying part.
The four of them have a system down, or several systems, technically, so with Izuku’s quirk, it barely takes any time at all. Eijirou and Shouto have a game on, he can hear, even with his back turned to the rest of the house, so they don’t bother missing them.
“Who do you think’s winning?” Izuku asks as he dries Katsuki’s favorite spatula like it’s a scepter made of gold.
“Candy Cane,” he says right before they hear a surprised oh no!
Izuku snorts. “Poor Eijirou.”
“Don’t poor Eijirou, him,” he says. “He’s the one that started this in the first place.”
“I know, but I think he forgot that Shouto’s good at everything.”
“Not everything,” Katsuki says, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Ow! Don’t play favorites.”
“I would totally defend your honor too, if you weren’t in the room.”
“Liar.”
“Nuh uh! I always have,” Izuku says.
A flash of heat moves to Katsuki’s ears because it’s true, which gives him all the reason in the world to deflect. “What, you saying people’ve been talking shit about me?”
“No,” Izuku says. “Well, I mean.”
Katsuki puts down his sponge and turns to fold his arms across his chest. “You mean?”
“I mean– well, you know you can be kind of a jerk sometimes! You do it on purpose!”
“I do not!”
“Oh please,” Izuku scoffs. “Now who’s the liar?”
“You, loser, I don’t do shit!”
“Yes, you do, and you know it!”
“Do not!”
“Do too!”
“Hey–,” Izuku says, raising a hand to point his scarred little finger up at him, but Katsuki catches his wrist, and he tugs him to his lips before he can say anything else, earning a not-unhappy noise of surprise.
That always works.
His lips tug back in a satisfied smirk against Izuku’s. “Heh.”
“Jerk,” he mumbles.
“Apparently you like it.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yeah, just now.”
A whistle pulls them both out of—whatever they were in the middle of the doing. The dishes. Sure.
“With a knife,” Eijirou teases as he walks in. He moves to one of the cabinets and grabs the box of Shouto’s sleepy time tea, like he needs it.
“What knife?” Izuku asks.
“Oh, that’s what I could cut the tension in here with,” he says, making Izuku blush furiously.
“Do you mind?” Katsuki says, also feeling rather warm.
“Not at all,” Eijirou says as he fidgets with the electric kettle. “Don’t mind me. Izuku, do you want a cup?”
“Yes, please,” Izuku says.
“Four cups of Nap Nap Juice, it is,” he half sings with a playful bobble of his head.
“Don’t call it Nap Nap Juice,” Katsuki says. “What the fuck?”
“The Beddy-Bye-Brew?”
“No.”
“Liquid Knock-You-Out?”
“Stop it.”
Izuku bursts into a delighted laugh and Eijirou smiles, thoroughly pleased with himself. Katsuki shakes his head, his cheeks aching from the grin he can’t fight off. These losers. What is he ever going to do with them?
By the time the tea finishes steeping, Katsuki and Izuku finish cleaning and putting away the dishes. The three of them move back to the living room with the four cups of tea and a pack of cookie, just in case, where they find Shouto assembling an elaborate futon pile.
A wave of nostalgia hits him like a truck.
Those futons, as ridiculous as they were, as well as those stupid couches, made all of this possible. They could have never made this work if they weren’t all together as much as they were, if it wasn’t all four of them equally as committed and as taken care of at the same time, and they all know that. It’s not how it works for everyone else, but they’re their own deal.
Sometimes they get jealous. Sometimes they need their space. Sometimes they just have shit days and say the wrong things and the wrong person just happens to be there.
But he loves them all so much that it makes it feel like a part of him is always too open, too raw, like a thumbnail cut too short. And yet if he ever lost it, he isn’t sure he could ever feel like himself again.
He blinks away a sudden burn in his eyes and looks down at the mess Shouto made. He got the pillows and spare blankets off of Katsuki and Eijirou’s bed, as well as the monstrosity of fluff from his and Izuku’s and the hoard of blankets hidden inside the coffee table, and he made a kingdom out of it.
Home sweet home.
They don’t start there. No, they change into their pajamas and come back to the couches with their tea. The lights are low, and they put on a movie because it’s tradition.
One by one they’ll congregate, falling in at their own paces. Shouto goes first, unsurprisingly, and he sleeps on the edge with his hot side facing out. He doesn’t have to, and they’ve told him that, but maybe he just needs the air. He holds his arms out for Jerky who curls up against his chest. All three of them watch the whole damn thing like it’s a miracle of nature on the Discovery Channel, but the fucker is just cute, okay? The partner, not the kitten. Obviously the kitten is cute.
And just as unsurprisingly, Katsuki goes next. He finishes his tea, quietly places it in the kitchen sink for tomorrow’s dish loser to deal with, and he climbs in next to him, moving to Shouto’s side and leaving the other half of Futon Mountain open so no one has to step over them. Shouto sleeps like the dead—literally like a corpse on his back—and Katsuki flicks the hair across his forehead back into two ridiculous looking curtains before he settles in at his side, giving his shoulder a quick kiss goodnight for good measure. If Izuku and Eijirou can see, they can mind their own business too.
He’s asleep when the next person joins, only awakened by the careful shuffling at his back. They shift the pillows around to get comfortable, and the familiar warmth that presses against his back could only belong to one person.
Eijirou.
Katsuki would know, they’ve been sharing a bed since they were at UA, don’t tell Aizawa. Actually, fuck it, tell him. What’s he gonna do? Expel them?
Actually, never mind. Don’t tell him that.
His big hunk of rock hooks an arm over him, and just oh so carefully places his hand against his chest like he needs to feel Katsuki’s heartbeat to sleep. Imagine being that soft over someone. Katsuki can’t relate.
When Izuku joins them, he turns off the television and puts away the cookies. He takes the last spot, furthest away from where he started, but he’s not forgotten. When Katsuki wakes to go to the bathroom (and discover this), Eijirou rolls over, and in his sleep, he pulls Izuku to his chest, who hums pleasantly as his face presses against a pair of soft and warm—lungs.
Sure.
Katsuki rolls his eyes.
He comes back, relieved that his spot hasn’t been filled by someone rolling around, and he carefully steps around and over Shouto so he doesn’t bust his ass coming from the other way. Shouto surprises though by catching him and sleepily pulling him to his mouth without even bothering to open his eyes and see who it is. Bastard, he thinks fondly as he presses a kiss to his lips before he lies down next to him, fulfilled, like he got the final piece and can now actually get some sleep.
That’s how it works with them, and it’s a system he can’t complain about.
He closes his eyes, and he exhales deeply as Eijirou’s ass butts up against his.
God.
No, they’re not getting a bigger futon. The two they have work just fine.
All of this is exactly how it should be, and he wouldn’t change a damn thing.
This is his dream life.