Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rain pattered softly against the concrete as the evening sun vanished behind thick gray clouds. The narrow back streets of Musutafu were quiet save for the occasional car passing by the main road. In a shadowed alley tucked between a laundromat and a shuttered restaurant, a small figure sat huddled against a wall, wrapped in a worn hoodie two sizes too big.

Izuku Midoriya—quirkless, fourteen, and very much alone—shivered as he pulled the hood tighter over his unruly green hair. His knees were pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around them, tail curled tightly around his ankles. His ears twitched under the hood at every noise—footsteps, wind, far-off sirens. His stomach growled, ignored.

He had lost track of how long he’d been living like this. A week? Two? Maybe more. Time blurred when each day was just a new struggle for safety, for warmth, for food.

The streets weren’t kind to kids like him—quirkless, unwanted, with cat ears and a tail that marked him as even more different. His father had disappeared years ago, and recently, his mother had finally snapped. Told him he was a burden. Said she couldn’t deal with a useless, freakish kid anymore. She'd kicked him out.

And so, he’d run. Found corners to sleep in. Learned which trash bins had edible leftovers. Tried to stay small, unnoticed.

A noise—closer this time. A bootstep. Heavy. Measured.

Izuku’s ears perked up beneath his hood, and he immediately tried to make himself even smaller. His instincts screamed: Hide. Don’t move. Don’t be seen.

But the steps stopped right outside the alley entrance.

A figure stood at the edge of the alley, backlit by the dim glow of a streetlamp. Long hair. Scarf. Trench coat that moved slightly in the wind.

Eraserhead.

Izuku's breath caught in his throat. A Pro Hero. Why was a Pro Hero here?

He ducked his head. Maybe if he stayed still, the man would go away.

But instead, the footsteps came closer.

“I can see your tail, kid,” the man said—his voice was rough but calm, not unkind.

Izuku curled tighter around himself, ears flattening against his head beneath the hood.

“Not gonna hurt you,” the man said again, closer now. “Just… noticed you’ve been here three nights in a row. You alright?”

Izuku didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His throat was tight, chest burning.

He heard a sigh. Then the man crouched down beside him, keeping some distance.

“Name’s Shota Aizawa,” he said. “But you probably know me as Eraserhead.”

Still, Izuku didn’t speak. His fingers dug into his sleeves.

A pause. Then Aizawa placed something gently on the ground between them—a protein bar and a bottle of water.

“I’m not asking for anything. Just figured you might be hungry.”

Izuku’s nose twitched involuntarily. He was hungry. Desperately so. But still, he didn’t move.

Aizawa didn’t push. He stood after a few moments and took a few steps back.

“I’ll check in tomorrow,” he said simply. “Same time. You don’t have to talk. But I’ll be here.”

Then he was gone.

Izuku didn’t move for a long time.

But eventually—when the rain grew heavier and the wind colder—he reached out, hands trembling, and took the protein bar.

The next night, Aizawa came back.

And the next.

He never pried, never asked questions Izuku couldn’t answer. He just left food, sometimes a dry towel, sometimes a blanket. Izuku never spoke, but he started nodding, just a little, when Aizawa greeted him.

It wasn’t much. But it was the first kindness Izuku had known in a very long time.

And his tail, for the first time in days, gave a tentative little flick.

Chapter Text

The fourth evening, Izuku surprised himself.

When Aizawa crouched down and slid another bottle of water his way—this time with a sandwich—Izuku’s small, hesitant voice whispered, "Thank you."

Aizawa didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a big deal out of it. Just gave a small nod and murmured, "You're welcome, kid."

Izuku was grateful. Not just for the food, but for the calm. The lack of pressure. Aizawa never got too close, never forced him to talk or explain himself. Just came and went like a gentle, steady breeze.

It was the first sense of safety Izuku had felt in… maybe ever.

Later that night, after the sky had gone deep and starless, Izuku dreamed of warmth.

He dreamed of a home. Of someone running their fingers gently over his head between his ears. Of soft murmurs and the smell of clean sheets. Of purring—his own—and arms around him.

He woke up purring for real.

Embarrassed, he slapped his hands over his mouth, cheeks burning, tail twitching in alarm.

It wasn’t a sound he made often. It usually only came when he felt… safe. Cared for. Like a kitten curling in a sunbeam.

His ears twitched guiltily. But he couldn’t stop the tiny sound rumbling in his chest.

By the end of the week, Aizawa brought more than food. A duffel bag.

“I know you’re not ready,” he said quietly. “But this has clean clothes. A toothbrush. A sleeping bag. Just in case.”

Izuku blinked at the bag. It was black, sturdy-looking. His fingers trembled just looking at it.

He didn’t deserve this. None of it. He was just some dumb, quirkless street cat who got in the way.

“Why?” he whispered, not looking up.

Aizawa paused. “Because you remind me of someone. And because no kid deserves to be out here.”

Izuku didn’t know how to respond. But that night, he pulled on the clean clothes and curled up inside the sleeping bag. And purred again.

It wasn’t long before another visitor showed up.

“I told you to text when you found him,” came a voice far too loud for the alley.

Izuku flinched violently, ears flattening. A tall blond man stood at the alley entrance, his bright yellow hair spiked and wild, wearing shades even at night.

“I did,” Aizawa muttered, sounding tired. “You just don’t check your messages.”

The man looked past Aizawa and spotted Izuku. “Awwww! Look at him! He’s adorable!”

Izuku nearly bolted. His tail puffed up, and he backed against the wall, wide eyes full of fear.

“Yamada. Tone it down.”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry.” The blond man—Yamada, apparently—lowered his voice. “I’m Hizashi. Present Mic. I’m a friend of Eraser’s.”

Izuku didn’t respond. His ears stayed flat.

Aizawa stepped in. “He’s skittish. Don’t push.”

“Right. Got it.” Hizashi’s voice softened. “Sorry, kitten. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Kitten.

Izuku’s cheeks went pink. He ducked his head into his sleeves again.

That night, Aizawa stayed longer. Sat down nearby while Hizashi offered quiet music from his phone. Something mellow and wordless.

And Izuku, still wrapped in the sleeping bag, drifted off to sleep with his ears twitching slightly and his tail tucked under his chin.

When Aizawa reached over to tuck the blanket a little tighter around him, Izuku stirred only slightly… and purred.

Chapter Text

The rain had settled into a gentle drizzle, the kind that blurred city lights and softened the sharp edges of the alley. Izuku sat curled in the sleeping bag, watching the drops race each other down a rusted drainpipe. His ears twitched with each distant car splash, every faint step echoing off the brick walls.

Aizawa had been coming every day now. Always quiet, always steady, like a clock that kept perfect time. It was strange—comforting, but strange. No one had ever shown up for him before. People left. People shouted. People threw him out. They didn’t bring sandwiches and bottled water and warm words.

for a second time, Aizawa didn’t come alone.

Hizashi strolled in behind him, holding a small paper bag that smelled heavenly. “Thought we’d bring a little dinner,” he said in a much softer tone than before, clearly remembering the last time his enthusiasm had scared Izuku. “Hope you like soba noodles.”

Izuku’s stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. His cheeks burned, but Hizashi only smiled warmly and set the bag down.

They ate together, the drizzle becoming a quiet lullaby in the background. Aizawa leaned against the wall, content to watch without prying. Hizashi hummed along to the faint music on his phone, tapping his fingers against his knee.

Izuku found himself sneaking glances at them both. They weren’t… bad. In fact, they made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years—like he belonged in the same air as someone else. His tail flicked against the sleeping bag as he tried to focus on his food instead.

Halfway through the meal, a warm hand brushed a few stray raindrops from between his ears. He stiffened—but it wasn’t harsh. It was careful. Gentle. Aizawa didn’t say anything, just went back to leaning against the wall.

It left Izuku’s chest aching in the strangest way.

When night deepened, Aizawa stood. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

Izuku nodded without thinking, then froze. He’d never promised anyone he’d still be around before.

Hizashi noticed but didn’t comment. He just grinned. “Sleep tight, kitten.”

Izuku’s ears swiveled forward despite himself, and when he lay back down, the purring started before he could stop it.

Chapter Text

The drizzle had stopped by morning, but the alley was still damp and smelled faintly of rust and mildew. Izuku shifted inside the sleeping bag Aizawa had given him, his ears twitching at the sounds of the waking city. A delivery truck rumbled down the main road. Someone cursed as they hurried to work. The scent of fresh bread drifted faintly from the bakery a few streets over, making his stomach clench.

His tail flicked restlessly against the fabric, betraying his unease.

He hated mornings. Mornings meant people. People meant eyes, stares, whispers. Sometimes shouts. Sometimes worse.

So, when footsteps approached the mouth of the alley, his whole body tensed. He yanked the hood over his ears and shrank back into the shadows, claws digging into the sleeping bag’s fabric.

But the voice was familiar.

“Kid,” Aizawa’s calm baritone said. “You awake?”

Izuku peeked out, ears perking just slightly. Aizawa was there, scarf coiled loosely around his shoulders, hair a little damp from the lingering mist. Beside him, Hizashi carried another paper bag, this one smelling of eggs and rice.

Izuku’s stomach betrayed him again with a loud growl. His cheeks burned, and he ducked his face into his knees.

Hizashi chuckled softly—much softer than his usual booming laugh. “Guess that answers the question.” He set the bag down. “We brought breakfast. Thought you might be tired of sandwiches.”

Izuku hesitated, eyes flicking between them and the bag. His instincts screamed at him to grab it and retreat, but something else—quieter, gentler—kept him rooted in place.

Aizawa crouched down, not too close, and placed a carton of warm rice topped with scrambled eggs within reach. Then, as always, he leaned back, giving Izuku space. “Eat.”

Izuku’s fingers trembled as he reached out. He sniffed the food first, ears twitching, then took the first bite carefully. Warmth spread through his chest. It wasn’t just the food—it was that someone had brought it for him.

He didn’t realize he was purring until both men’s gazes softened. His tail curled tightly around his legs as if to hide the sound, but it only grew louder.

“Cute,” Hizashi murmured, smiling like the sun.

Izuku’s face flushed crimson. He buried himself deeper in the sleeping bag, but he kept eating.

The days began to blur together, each one marked by Aizawa’s steady presence. Sometimes Hizashi came, sometimes not, but always there was food, clean clothes, or quiet company.

Izuku started to notice little things. Aizawa always sat with his back to the alley entrance, as if guarding it. Hizashi adjusted his volume carefully, never letting his enthusiasm spike too high. And neither of them ever reached for him suddenly, never touched him without warning.

It was strange. It was safe.

But safety felt dangerous.

One night, curled in the sleeping bag, Izuku stared at the damp bricks above him, ears flicking restlessly. His chest ached with something he couldn’t name. He wanted—needed—to trust them. To believe this wouldn’t vanish like everything else had.

But he remembered his mother’s voice, sharp and cold: Useless. Freak. Get out.

He remembered the sound of the door slamming behind him.

What if this was the same? What if one day they decided he wasn’t worth it?

His tail thumped once against the ground, then wrapped tighter around him.

He fell asleep eventually, but his dreams were restless.

The next evening, Aizawa came without Hizashi. His expression was calm as always, but his eyes were sharper, more focused. He crouched down, setting a thermos on the ground.

“You’ve been here long enough,” he said evenly. “It’s not safe.”

Izuku froze, claws instinctively digging into the fabric beneath him. His ears flattened, heart pounding. He’s sending me away. He’s done. He’s—

But Aizawa’s voice stayed steady. “I want you to come with me. Just for tonight. I have a spare futon. A place that’s dry. You can leave in the morning if you want.”

Izuku’s throat closed up. He shook his head violently, tail puffing up in alarm.

Aizawa sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured you’d say that. But I can’t keep leaving you out here forever. Someone else is going to notice. And not everyone has good intentions.”

Images flickered through Izuku’s mind—drunken men shouting, hands reaching, narrow escapes into the night. His body trembled.

“I’m not going to force you,” Aizawa continued. “But I’m not going anywhere either. You don’t have to decide now.”

He stood, pulling the thermos closer to Izuku. “It’s miso soup. Drink it while it’s hot.”

Izuku stared at him, wide-eyed. His chest hurt. His ears twitched uncertainly, tail flicking in tiny jerks.

He didn’t move until long after Aizawa left, and the soup was lukewarm.

The next week tested Izuku’s fragile balance.

Every day, Aizawa offered quietly: “You can come with me.” Every day, Izuku shook his head, unable to summon the courage.

And yet… he started imagining it. A futon. A roof. Maybe a pillow. Warmth that didn’t come from layers of rags.

But with the thought came terror. If he stepped inside… it would mean trusting. And if that trust shattered—if Aizawa left like everyone else—Izuku didn’t think he’d survive it.

One night, curled tightly in the sleeping bag, he whispered into the dark, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

No one answered.

But the question burned in his chest for days.

It was Hizashi who broke the tension.

One evening, he appeared with something strange in his hands. “Brought you a surprise, kitten.”

Izuku tilted his head, ears perking despite himself. Hizashi crouched and set down a small plush toy shaped like a cat. Its stitched smile was lopsided, one ear slightly bent.

Izuku blinked at it. Then blinked again.

His cheeks burned, and he ducked his face into his hoodie. But when Hizashi and Aizawa turned to leave, Izuku’s hand darted out and clutched the plush to his chest.

That night, he slept curled around it, tail wrapped protectively around its tiny body. And for the first time in years, his dreams were quiet.

But trust is a fragile thing.

The following morning, Izuku woke to harsh voices near the alley. His ears shot up, tail puffing. He scrambled to the shadows, clutching the plush to his chest.

“—told you, there’s a kid back here. Saw him last night.”

Two men, rough-looking, stood at the entrance. One sneered. “Bet he’s easy pickings. Probably got some Hero sugar-daddy leaving him treats.”

Izuku’s blood went cold. He pressed himself tighter into the wall, shaking. His claws dug into the concrete.

The men stepped closer.

And then—

“Problem?” Aizawa’s voice, low and dangerous, cut through the air.

The men froze. Eraserhead stood at the mouth of the alley, scarf unfurling like a serpent, eyes glowing faint red.

They muttered curses and fled.

Aizawa’s scarf retracted as he exhaled slowly. His eyes softened when they landed on Izuku, still trembling in the shadows.

“See why I don’t like leaving you out here?” he said quietly.

Izuku’s throat burned. His ears drooped low, tail curling tight around his legs. His chest ached with the weight of fear and relief tangled together.

Aizawa crouched, voice gentle. “Come with me tonight. Just tonight. You don’t have to decide anything permanent. But I’m not letting something like that happen again.”

Izuku’s eyes stung. His claws flexed helplessly against the sleeping bag. He wanted to say no, to curl up and disappear. But the memory of those men’s voices echoed in his skull.

Slowly, trembling, he nodded.

Aizawa’s shoulders eased minutely. He stood and extended a hand—not close enough to touch, just an offer.

Izuku hesitated. His tail flicked uncertainly. Then, with a tiny, shaky movement, he reached out. His hand brushed Aizawa’s fingers for only a second before retreating, but it was enough.

Aizawa didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed. “Let’s go.”

Izuku clutched the cat plush to his chest and followed, ears twitching nervously with every step.

It wasn’t home. Not yet.

But maybe—just maybe—it could be.

Chapter Text

The walk to Aizawa’s apartment felt endless.

Every step made Izuku’s tail twitch with nerves, his ears flattening whenever someone glanced their way. He clutched the plush cat tightly against his chest, heart thumping hard enough to hurt. The sleeping bag was rolled up under Aizawa’s arm, though Izuku kept glancing back at it as if it might vanish if he looked away.

His legs ached halfway there, but he didn’t dare complain.

Finally, Aizawa stopped in front of a tall, plain building. No bright colors, no fancy signs—just gray walls and metal doors. Izuku’s ears flicked as he stared up at it.

“This is it,” Aizawa said simply. He keyed in a code and pushed the door open. “C’mon.”

Izuku’s paws—no, feet—felt heavy as he stepped inside. The hallway smelled faintly of cleaning supplies and old carpet. His claws clicked softly against the tile despite him trying to keep them retracted.

By the time they reached the apartment, his tail had wrapped completely around his waist like a belt.

Aizawa unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting Izuku in first. The boy froze in the doorway.

The apartment was… lived in. Not messy, exactly, but cluttered. Books stacked on the low table. A blanket tossed across the couch. Cat toys scattered near a scratching post in the corner—real ones, with tufts of fur stuck to them. The faint scent of actual cats lingered in the air.

Izuku blinked rapidly, ears twitching.

Two yellow eyes blinked back at him from the couch. A gray tabby stretched languidly before hopping down and padding over.

Izuku yelped and stumbled back, tail puffing into a bottlebrush.

Aizawa sighed. “That’s Mittens. She won’t hurt you.”

The cat meowed, brushing against Izuku’s leg. Instinct warred with panic, and before he realized it, a deep rumbling purr spilled out of his throat. His body leaned toward the soft fur, fingers twitching with the urge to pet.

He froze, cheeks blazing, and stumbled backward again, clutching the plush cat to his chest like a shield.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “Shoes off by the door. Futon’s already set up in the spare room.”

Izuku fumbled with his shoes, ears burning. His purring wouldn’t stop, humming quietly in the background like a motor.

The spare room was small but neat. A futon laid out with clean sheets, a pillow, and a folded blanket. There was even a tiny nightstand with a lamp.

Izuku stared at it as though it might vanish if he blinked too hard. His tail swished nervously.

“You can use the bathroom across the hall,” Aizawa said, setting down the sleeping bag. “There are clean towels. Shower if you want. No one will bother you here.”

Izuku’s throat felt tight. He wanted to say thank you, but the words tangled. Instead, he ducked his head and mumbled, “O-okay.”

Aizawa gave a small nod. “I’ll let you settle in.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Izuku alone.

He dropped to his knees beside the futon, fingers trembling as he touched the blanket. Soft. Warm. Real. His ears twitched as he buried his face into the fabric, inhaling its clean scent. His chest ached, purring vibrating through him until tears stung his eyes.

He curled up tightly on the futon, plush cat pressed to his chest.

For the first time in months, maybe years, the cold didn’t creep into his bones.

Night wasn’t easy.

Izuku tossed and turned, tail twitching under the blanket. His ears caught every sound—the creak of pipes, Mittens scratching somewhere, a car honking faintly outside. His body screamed danger, screaming that this wasn’t safe, wasn’t normal, wasn’t allowed.

At some point, his claws shredded the edge of the blanket.

And when a dream hit—his mother’s voice screaming, the slam of the door, the sound of footsteps leaving and never returning—he bolted upright with a strangled cry. His ears rang, tail puffed huge, claws digging into the futon.

He didn’t notice Aizawa in the doorway until a calm voice cut through the panic.

“Kid. You’re safe.”

Izuku gasped for breath, chest heaving. His eyes darted wildly.

“No one’s here but me and Mittens,” Aizawa continued. “You’re safe.”

Izuku’s ears twitched toward his voice, then drooped low. Tears streaked his cheeks. His body shook with tiny tremors he couldn’t stop.

Aizawa didn’t step inside, didn’t crowd him. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “Nightmares?”

Izuku gave the tiniest nod. His throat hurt too much to speak.

“They don’t go away easy,” Aizawa said evenly. “Takes time. You’ll get through them.”

Izuku hiccupped, clutching the plush cat tighter. His purr started up again, shaky and uneven.

After a long silence, Aizawa added, “If you want the door open tonight, that’s fine. Or leave a light on.”

Izuku blinked at him through wet lashes. The offer was so simple, so matter-of-fact, it nearly broke him all over again.

He whispered, barely audible, “L-light… please…”

Aizawa flicked the switch on the lamp and stepped back. “Sleep.”

The door stayed cracked open.

Izuku curled back onto the futon, shaking. It took hours before sleep finally returned, but when it did, the glow of the lamp kept the shadows at bay.

The morning was awkward. Izuku padded into the kitchen, ears low, tail flicking shyly. Aizawa was already up, hair tied back, making coffee. Mittens sat on the counter licking her paw.

A plate was set on the table—rice and fish, still warm.

Izuku blinked rapidly, then shuffled to the chair. His claws clicked softly against the plate as he picked it up.

Aizawa poured his coffee. “Eat.”

Izuku did, cheeks warm, purring starting up again before he could stop it.

When he realized, he froze, mortified. His ears flattened as he hunched over, tail lashing.

But Aizawa just sipped his coffee and muttered, “Not a bad sound.”

Izuku’s face burned scarlet.

Days blurred. He stayed longer than one night. Then two. Then a week. Each morning, he told himself he’d leave. Each morning, he found himself still there.

The futon became familiar. The smell of coffee, of cats, of clean sheets—it all began to sink into him like water into dry soil.

And yet, every time Aizawa looked at him with that steady gaze, guilt and fear gnawed at him. He didn’t belong here. He couldn’t stay.

One evening, as he sat curled on the couch with Mittens in his lap, Hizashi dropped by.

“Yo, kitten!” he greeted, grin wide. “Look at you, all comfy and cozy. You’re practically part of the family already!”

Izuku’s purring stopped dead. His ears flattened hard. Tail thrashed as panic spiked.

Family.

No. No, he couldn’t. Families left. Families broke. Families hurt.

He bolted from the couch, clutching the plush cat, and darted back to the spare room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Hizashi froze, his smile faltering. “…Uh.”

Aizawa sighed heavily. “Nice going.”

Izuku curled on the futon, trembling. His claws dug into the plush. His chest hurt so badly he could barely breathe.

“I’m not family,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m not anything. I’m nothing.”

The door creaked open slightly. Aizawa’s voice was quiet, steady.

“You’re not nothing. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

Izuku buried his face in the pillow, ears twitching at the sound.

But the words echoed long after Aizawa left.

And for the first time, a tiny spark of warmth stayed with him through the night.

Chapter Text

The Midoriya residence—or at least, what was slowly becoming Izuku’s new home—was quiet that afternoon. Rain had finally given way to clear skies, and the faintest shafts of sunlight stretched through the curtains, catching on dust motes that drifted lazily in the warm air.

Izuku was curled in the middle of the living room rug, his tail twitching in lazy, irregular flicks as he rolled onto his back, legs tucked close to his chest. For once, his guard was down. No cold alleys, no biting wind, no shadows that spelled danger. Just warmth, softness, and the faint smell of coffee lingering from Aizawa’s morning cup.

Hizashi leaned against the doorframe, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips as he watched the boy’s ears twitch to and fro. “He’s like a little housecat,” he whispered.

“He is a little housecat,” Aizawa muttered from the couch, eyes half-lidded but sharp enough to track the faintest flick of Izuku’s tail. “Don’t rile him up.”

“Me? Rile him up?” Hizashi pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “I’d never!”

Aizawa didn’t even bother to sigh, though the corner of his mouth twitched. He’d known Hizashi long enough to recognize the look in his eyes.

Sure enough, a few minutes later Hizashi crouched low, something hidden behind his back. “Pssst. Kitten. Hey, kitten.”

Izuku’s ears perked immediately, swiveling toward the sound before his head followed. He blinked up at Hizashi, pupils widening slightly in curiosity.

And then the red dot appeared.

It landed just in front of Izuku’s paws, a tiny pinprick of glowing light. His eyes locked on it instantly, muscles tensing. The dot darted left. His head snapped after it. Right. His tail flicked. When it zoomed in a circle, Izuku’s entire body wiggled once, twice—then he pounced.

“Pfft—oh my god, he’s doing the butt wiggle!” Hizashi choked out, laughing as Izuku missed the dot by inches, scrambled, and spun back around.

Izuku didn’t even hear him. His instincts were screaming hunt hunt hunt, every nerve lit up by the chase. He darted across the rug, claws catching on the fibers as he tried to pin the dot beneath his palms. It escaped. Again. Again.

His breathing quickened, tiny huffs of sound escaping with each lunge. His ears were flat in concentration, eyes wide, pupils blown so far his irises were only thin rings of green. His tail lashed back and forth wildly, knocking into a table leg with a loud thunk.

Hizashi couldn’t stop laughing. “Look at him go! He’s a natural born predator—if the prey was two-dimensional light!”

Aizawa, ever the picture of calm, sipped his coffee. “…You’re going to wind him up so much he’ll crash and sleep for twelve hours straight.”

“Yeah, and? It’s adorable!”

Izuku leapt again, skidding across the hardwood floor this time with a startled yelp when his socks betrayed him. He landed in a sprawl, limbs tangled, ears twitching in embarrassment. His cheeks burned red, but the dot reappeared near his tail and instinct won again. He spun, twisted, and lunged.

This time he caught it—sort of. His hands slapped down on the wood with a triumphant chirp, though of course the dot wriggled out from under him the second Hizashi twitched his wrist. Izuku yowled in protest, an honest-to-god kittenish mewl, before darting after it again.

Aizawa’s expression softened, though he didn’t comment. He didn’t need to—Izuku’s laughter, bright and breathless as he scampered after the impossible red prey, filled the room with something far warmer than sunlight.

Later that evening, when Izuku’s energy had finally burned out and he collapsed in a happy heap on the rug, Hizashi disappeared into the kitchen. He came back holding something suspiciously small and crinkly.

Izuku’s nose twitched instantly. His ears pricked forward, tail flicking. “What’s… that?” he asked shyly, voice still soft and timid.

Hizashi grinned. “Catnip.”

Izuku blinked. “C-Catnip? But I—That’s for cats, right?”

“You’ve got the ears, tail, instincts… Only one way to find out, kitten.” Hizashi tossed him the little packet.

Izuku caught it clumsily, staring down at the leafy contents like they might bite him first. He glanced at Aizawa, uncertain.

Aizawa’s sigh was long-suffering, but not unkind. “…It’s harmless. If it makes you sick, Yamada’s cleaning it up.”

Izuku’s tail tip twitched, hesitating another moment before he pinched some between his fingers and brought it closer. The smell hit him first—sharp, earthy, strangely enticing. His ears twitched violently, and before he realized it, he pressed his nose right into the bag.

The effect was immediate.

A warm, dizzy giddiness spread through him, his cheeks flushing pink. He let out an unrestrained giggle, falling backward onto the rug as his tail puffed and swished like an excited kitten. He rolled once, twice, until the bag tumbled from his grasp. His pupils were blown wide, mouth stretched in a dazed smile as he batted at the empty air.

“O-oh—!” Izuku gasped, voice high and breathless. “It feels—feels weird! But—good!”

Hizashi clutched his stomach, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. “He’s—he’s stoned! Oh my god, Shota, look at him!”

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose but couldn’t quite keep the fondness from his gaze. Izuku was sprawled on his back now, paws—hands—curled like claws as he batted lazily at the ceiling. Purrs rumbled so loudly from his chest they vibrated through the floorboards. He wriggled, tail curling and uncurling, a goofy little grin plastered across his face.

“M’floating,” Izuku mumbled, half to himself. His ears twitched as he giggled again.

Hizashi promptly took a dozen photos.

By the time the catnip haze wore off, Izuku was sprawled in Aizawa’s lap, purring like an engine as if he’d always belonged there. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment now that his head had cleared, but every time he tried to move, Aizawa’s hand scratched gently behind his ear and his body betrayed him—ears flattening in bliss, eyes fluttering closed, purrs doubling in volume.

Aizawa’s lips quirked faintly. “Thought so.”

Izuku’s only answer was a sleepy chirp before nuzzling into Aizawa’s scarf.

The next morning brought more mischief. Izuku had energy to burn again, and it showed. He pounced on shadows in the hallway, leapt from couch to chair with reckless kittenish delight, and at one point startled Hizashi so badly by springing at his ponytail that the man yelped and nearly dropped his coffee mug.

“You little menace!” Hizashi laughed, tugging his hair out of reach. Izuku only chirruped in triumph, tail flicking proudly as he scampered away.

When Aizawa walked into the room ten minutes later, he found his scarf wrapped around Izuku’s middle, the boy curled into a ball and swatting playfully at the frayed ends like they were prey.

“…Yamada,” Aizawa muttered.

“Not my fault this time!” Hizashi held up his hands. “He got into it all on his own!”

Izuku froze mid-swat, realizing he’d been caught. His ears flattened instantly, face bright red. “S-sorry—!”

Aizawa crouched, gently unwinding the scarf. His hand lingered, scratching just under Izuku’s chin. “Don’t apologize.” His voice was soft. “…Cats play. It’s what they do.”

Izuku blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Then he purred so loudly it startled even himself.

The day ended with Izuku stretched out in a golden square of sunlight, curled on the floor like a proper housecat. His tail lay draped over his nose, purrs rumbling slow and steady as he drifted to sleep.

Aizawa and Hizashi sat nearby, quietly talking. Neither said it aloud, but both thought the same thing as they watched the boy breathe peacefully, ears twitching every so often in dreamland.

He wasn’t just surviving anymore.

He was living.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Izuku Midoriya looked happy

Chapter Text

Izuku hadn’t expected mornings to feel… safe. For weeks—months—he had woken on cold pavement, his body curled tight against the wind, stomach empty and aching. But now, when his eyes blinked open, it was to the soft weight of a blanket and the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchen.

His ears twitched at the clink of dishes. Aizawa was awake, though quiet as always. Hizashi hummed faintly under his breath, off-key but cheerful, his voice a background warmth.

Izuku stretched, arms reaching over his head, tail flicking against the blanket. A low purr escaped before he could stop it, vibrating in his chest. He flushed, pulling the blanket up to his chin, but it was too late—Hizashi’s head poked around the doorframe.

“Morning, kitten!”

Izuku squeaked and promptly rolled off the futon, landing in a sprawl on the tatami mat. His ears flattened, face burning.

“Y-you don’t have to call me that,” he mumbled.

Hizashi just grinned. “Sure I do. Fits you purrfectly.”

Izuku groaned into the floor.

Breakfast was quiet, save for the occasional scrape of chopsticks. Izuku ate slowly, careful not to seem greedy, though his stomach growled every time he paused too long. His tail curled tight around his waist, betraying his tension.

Aizawa noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You can eat more if you’re still hungry.” His voice was calm, even, with no edge of judgment.

Izuku’s ears flicked uncertainly. “I-I don’t wanna… be a bother.”

Hizashi frowned softly, setting his chopsticks down. “Kitten, listen. Food isn’t a bother. You deserve it. You’re safe here, okay?”

Izuku’s throat tightened. He ducked his head, hiding behind his hair, and stuffed another bite into his mouth before he could cry.

Later, Aizawa sat on the couch with a stack of paperwork. Hizashi had gone out on an errand, leaving the apartment unusually quiet. Izuku lingered near the hall, ears twitching, tail tip flicking nervously.

Aizawa didn’t look up. “You can sit, you know.”

Izuku shuffled closer, clutching the hem of his shirt. “…Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

That one word, steady and certain, was enough to coax him forward. He perched at the far end of the couch, body curled tight. His eyes kept darting to the front door, like he expected someone to drag him away any second.

Aizawa finally glanced up, studying him. “…You still don’t believe you can stay here.”

Izuku froze. His ears flattened, tail curling tighter. “I-I don’t… I mean, it doesn’t feel… real. People don’t usually…” He trailed off, voice breaking.

“People don’t usually take care of you,” Aizawa finished for him, tone flat but not unkind.

Izuku swallowed hard. His fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt. “…What if you change your mind? What if I mess up and—”

“You won’t,” Aizawa interrupted. “And I won’t.”

Izuku blinked at him, stunned by the certainty in his tone. No one had ever spoken like that to him.

Aizawa set down his pen, leaning back. His eyes softened just slightly. “You’re not going back to the streets. Not while I’m here.”

Izuku’s breath caught. His chest ached like something fragile had cracked inside him. He wanted—so badly—to believe those words.

But believing hurt.

So instead, he crawled across the couch, hesitant, and pressed himself against Aizawa’s side. His body trembled, tail flicking nervously, but when Aizawa’s hand lifted to scratch gently behind his ears, the trembling eased. A deep purr rumbled up from Izuku’s chest, surprising him with its intensity.

“…Better?” Aizawa murmured.

Izuku nodded against his scarf, eyes fluttering shut.

That night, the bad dreams returned.

He was back on the streets, cold and hungry. His mother’s voice echoed in his ears—You’re useless. You’re not my son anymore. He ran, but there was nowhere to go. Every shadow hid danger, every face turned away.

When he jerked awake, his body was shaking. His claws had shredded the blanket without realizing it, and his chest heaved with shallow breaths.

A soft light filtered under the bedroom door. Aizawa was still awake.

Izuku hesitated only a moment before padding down the hall, tail dragging limply behind him. He stopped at the couch, clutching the hem of his shirt. “…A-Aizawa-sensei?”

Aizawa looked up immediately, setting aside his papers. His gaze flicked over Izuku, reading every detail—the trembling, the flattened ears, the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Nightmare?” he asked quietly.

Izuku nodded, throat too tight for words.

Without hesitation, Aizawa lifted the edge of his blanket. “Come here.”

Izuku froze. His instincts screamed to run—he didn’t deserve comfort, he would only be a burden. But his body moved before his mind caught up, climbing into the space beside Aizawa and curling instinctively against his chest. His tail tucked tight, but the warmth was overwhelming, steady, safe.

Aizawa’s hand came up, scratching gently between his ears. Izuku’s body betrayed him again, purring so hard it rattled his bones. He flushed in embarrassment, but the sound wouldn’t stop.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Aizawa murmured. “Cats purr to calm themselves. You’re just… doing what comes natural.”

Izuku’s eyes filled with tears, but this time they didn’t hurt. He buried his face in Aizawa’s scarf, purring louder, until the nightmare faded into nothing but warmth and safety.

The next morning, Hizashi found them like that—Izuku curled in Aizawa’s arms, tail wrapped snugly, ears twitching in sleep.

He snapped a photo immediately.

Aizawa didn’t even bother opening his eyes. “…Delete it.”

“Not a chance,” Hizashi whispered back, grinning. “This is going in the family album.”

Later that day, as they walked down the street together, Izuku stayed close to Aizawa’s side, ears flicking nervously at every sudden noise. People’s eyes still made him shrink back, tail low, but every time Aizawa rested a hand on his shoulder, the fear ebbed.

It wasn’t perfect. Trust was fragile, and Izuku’s scars ran deep. But for the first time, he wasn’t alone in carrying them.

And maybe—just maybe—he could start to believe that he had a place to stay.

Chapter Text

The air at U.A. was sharp with autumn. Orange leaves skittered across the training grounds, crunching underfoot as students filed toward their afternoon drills. Izuku clung to Aizawa’s side like a shadow, ears flattened, tail flicking anxiously.

“This is a bad idea,” Izuku whispered, voice so quiet it almost got lost in the wind.

“You said that yesterday,” Aizawa replied calmly. His scarf swayed slightly as he walked. “And the day before.”

“That’s because it is a bad idea.” Izuku’s claws worried at the hem of his sleeve. “W-what if people stare? Or—or laugh? Or—”

“Then they’ll answer to me.” Aizawa’s tone left no room for argument.

Izuku’s tail twitched. Somehow that didn’t make him feel any less like bolting.

It had been weeks since he’d left the alley. He still wasn’t used to the steady warmth of indoor air, or the smell of fresh laundry instead of mildew, or the way Hizashi shoved snacks into his hands like it was the most normal thing in the world. And now Aizawa was bringing him here—into U.A. High School, surrounded by people, eyes, voices.

Izuku swallowed hard, wishing he could melt into the shadows.

The door to the training gym slid open with a mechanical hum. Inside, students stretched and chatted, their quirks flaring in small bursts of light and color. Izuku froze. His instincts screamed at him to run, to curl up somewhere dark and safe, but Aizawa’s hand settled on his shoulder.

“Breathe.”

Izuku obeyed, shaky but real.

“Good.” Aizawa guided him inside. “You’ll be fine.”

Izuku didn’t believe that, but he didn’t argue.

The one who noticed him first wasn’t loud or flashy like the others.

A boy with purple hair sat cross-legged on the mat, tying the laces of his training shoes. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—sharp, tired, and far older than they should’ve been—snapped immediately to Izuku.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Izuku’s ears twitched back, tail curling close. The boy didn’t look away.

“Shinso,” Aizawa called, breaking the silence.

The boy stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah?”

“Come here. There’s someone you should meet.”

Izuku’s stomach flipped. His claws dug into his sleeve, every muscle tense.

Shinso walked over, unhurried. He stopped a few feet away, gaze flicking between Aizawa and Izuku. “This him?”

“Yes.” Aizawa’s voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “Izuku, this is Shinso Hitoshi. One of my students.”

Shinso tilted his head slightly. “And?”

“And,” Aizawa continued, “he might be around more often. I thought you two should meet.”

Izuku’s throat closed. His tail lashed once, a nervous tell. “W-why… why me?”

“Because you’ll both benefit,” Aizawa said simply.

Shinso studied Izuku openly. Not unkindly, but directly, the way cats sometimes did before deciding whether to pounce or not. It made Izuku’s ears twitch nervously.

Finally, Shinso spoke. “…You’re the one Sensei found on the streets.”

Izuku flinched. The words felt sharp, too honest.

“Don’t say it like that,” Aizawa warned.

But Shinso didn’t retract it. Instead, his gaze softened slightly. “I just meant… I get it.”

Izuku blinked, startled.

Shinso shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, glancing aside. “People don’t exactly line up to be friends with the brainwashing kid, y’know? Doesn’t matter if I’m trying to be better. They just… see me, decide I’m dangerous, and that’s it.”

Izuku’s ears flicked forward, surprised by the blunt honesty. His chest squeezed in recognition. People decided things about him, too—quirkless, weak, burden. It didn’t matter what he wanted.

He swallowed, words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Th-they… they did that to me too. My mom—” He cut himself off, tail curling tight.

Shinso’s eyes met his, steady but not prying. “…Yeah. Figures.”

They stood in silence, the noise of the other students fading into the background. Something unspoken passed between them, quiet but real.

For the first time, Izuku didn’t feel like he was the only one.

Training ended later than Izuku expected. He spent most of it perched on the sidelines, tail flicking nervously while Aizawa watched the students spar. But every so often, his gaze drifted to Shinso—moving sharp and efficient, eyes focused, but still carrying that same weight of isolation Izuku knew too well.

When it was over, the students filed out in groups, chatting and laughing. Shinso lingered near the back. As he passed Izuku, he slowed just slightly.

“Hey.” His voice was low, meant only for Izuku. “Don’t let ‘em get to you. Most people don’t know what they’re talking about anyway.”

Izuku blinked up at him. His chest warmed unexpectedly. “…Thank you.”

Shinso gave a small nod, then slipped out the door.

Izuku’s purr started up before he could stop it, soft but steady.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow as he approached. “He’s not so bad, is he?”

Izuku flushed, covering his mouth to hide the sound. “…N-no. Not bad.”

“Good,” Aizawa said simply, but there was the faintest curve to his lips.

That night, curled on the futon with his blanket, Izuku replayed the day in his mind. Shinso’s blunt words. The way he hadn’t looked at him like a freak or a burden. The quiet understanding in his eyes.

Izuku’s tail curled loosely around himself, ears flicking. His chest ached—but it wasn’t the sharp, lonely ache he was used to. It was something softer. Something new.

He buried his face in the blanket, purring quietly into the fabric until sleep pulled him under.

Chapter Text

The dorm common room at U.A. was unusually quiet for once. No explosions from Bakugo, no shrieking laughter from Kaminari or Mina. Just the low hum of the fridge and the soft padding of Izuku’s bare feet on the wooden floor.

It was evening, and most of Class 1-A was scattered elsewhere—study groups, training, errands. For Izuku, that meant peace. He liked the dorms at this time of day, when the air was calm enough to breathe in without his chest tightening.

His tail swayed lazily as he padded into the lounge, scanning the shelves. Hizashi had bought a ridiculous pile of “enrichment toys” last week—half for laughs, half because he secretly loved spoiling Izuku. Laser pointers, cat towers, little crinkly tunnel toys… even a small stuffed mouse with a jingling bell sewn into the tail.

Izuku pretended not to like them too much, but sometimes—when no one was looking—he couldn’t help it. Instinct had a way of slipping past his walls.

Today, though, something else caught his attention. A paper bag, tucked halfway behind the couch. His nose twitched, ears perking toward the faint, sharp-sweet smell drifting from it.

Curiosity prickled at his spine. He crouched down, tugged the bag closer, and peeked inside.

Green flakes. Dried, crumbled. His instincts flared immediately. His pupils widened, ears twitching like little radar dishes. He didn’t know what it was, exactly, but it made his chest feel light and fuzzy just from the smell.

“…Hizashi,” Izuku whispered, recognizing the faint laundry-soap scent clinging to the bag. He remembered overhearing something about “catnip” the day Hizashi had unloaded the shopping bags, grinning like he’d just discovered treasure.

Izuku tilted his head, torn between curiosity and hesitation. It was probably for him. Probably. Right?

Before he could decide, another voice spoke.

“You found it, huh?”

Izuku froze. His tail puffed up, eyes darting to the doorway.

Shinso leaned casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, purple hair messy as always. His tired eyes flicked from Izuku to the paper bag, and one corner of his mouth tugged upward.

“Relax,” Shinso said, stepping forward. “I’m not gonna tell.”

Izuku clutched the bag against his chest defensively, ears flat. “I—I wasn’t—I didn’t—”

Shinso raised his eyebrows. “You’re twitching like you got caught stealing fish out of a market. Chill.”

Izuku’s cheeks burned. “…It’s not mine.”

“Nope,” Shinso agreed easily, “but Hizashi bought it for you. He told me. Something about ‘every cat needs a little party now and then.’” His voice dropped into an uncanny imitation of Present Mic’s booming enthusiasm.

Despite himself, Izuku snorted. Then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

Shinso smirked faintly. “See? You laugh. Kinda cute, actually.”

Izuku’s ears shot straight up, heat flooding his face. His tail lashed once, betraying him. “D-don’t say things like that!”

“Why not?” Shinso crouched down, eye-level now. “You are.”

Izuku’s throat went dry. His claws kneaded the paper bag nervously, crinkle-crinkle.

Shinso’s gaze dropped to it again, and mischief sparked in his expression. “Tell you what. You trust me?”

Izuku blinked. “…What?”

“Do you trust me?” Shinso repeated, steady but calm.

Izuku’s heart hammered. It was a scary question. He wanted to say no, because trust had always burned him before. But something about Shinso—his bluntness, the way he didn’t sugarcoat things but also didn’t sneer—made the word stick in his throat.

“…Yes,” Izuku whispered, barely audible.

Shinso’s smirk softened into something smaller, almost warm. “Then let’s try this.” He reached out, gently tugging the bag free. Izuku’s claws resisted for a moment before he let go. Shinso sprinkled a pinch of the dried leaves onto the rug.

The smell hit instantly. Izuku’s pupils blew wide, ears swiveling forward, tail flicking in sharp little arcs. Instinct surged like a tidal wave.

He didn’t even realize he’d dropped to his knees until his face was buried in the pile, paws—hands—shoving against it with reckless abandon. A loud, uncontrollable purr erupted from his chest, rattling the quiet room.

Shinso chuckled under his breath. “Oh wow. It actually works.”

Izuku rolled onto his back, clutching the rug, writhing happily as his tail lashed and curled. The world felt hazy, like sunlight spilling inside him. Every touch, every sound was magnified. He batted at the air, then suddenly lunged—straight at Shinso’s sleeve.

“Whoa—!” Shinso barely jerked back before Izuku latched onto his arm, burying his face against it. His claws didn’t scratch, but they hooked enough to cling. Izuku’s purr was deafening up close, vibrating through Shinso’s skin.

Shinso froze for a second, then laughed—really laughed, low and genuine. “You’re ridiculous.”

Izuku nuzzled against him, chasing warmth and scent, instincts overriding his embarrassment. His ears flicked against Shinso’s shoulder as he curled closer, purring so hard it almost hurt.

“…You’re warm,” Izuku mumbled, dazed.

Shinso’s voice softened unexpectedly. “Yeah? Guess I can deal with being your space heater.”

He didn’t push him away. In fact, after a moment, his hand lifted and scratched lightly behind Izuku’s ear. Izuku melted instantly, a whine slipping out between purrs as his whole body went slack.

Shinso blinked at the reaction, then smirked again. “Noted. Ears are the cheat code.”

Izuku wriggled weakly in protest, but the sound of his purring betrayed him. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

Minutes blurred together, filled with Izuku chasing shadows across the rug, batting at Shinso’s shoelaces, and curling up practically in Shinso’s lap, vibrating like a tiny engine. Shinso just watched, amused and patient, occasionally teasing with the laser pointer Hizashi had left on the coffee table.

By the time Izuku finally stilled, panting softly, the haze began to lift. His face burned as reality crept back in. He realized exactly where he was—curled up against Shinso’s chest, his claws tangled in Shinso’s hoodie strings, purring loud enough to echo off the walls.

Mortification hit like a freight train. “…Oh no.”

Shinso tilted his head, expression unreadable. “…Oh yes.”

Izuku buried his face in the hoodie, groaning. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax.” Shinso’s tone was gentler than Izuku had ever heard it. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Izuku swallowed hard, ears drooping. “I… I don’t… people don’t usually…” He trailed off, tail curling around his knees.

Shinso’s gaze sharpened. “What? Let you be yourself?”

Izuku flinched.

“…Your mom?” Shinso guessed quietly.

The haze of catnip made Izuku’s walls thinner, easier to crack. Words spilled out before he could stop them.

“She—she didn’t want me. Not after my dad left. She said I was too much, that the ears, the tail, the… everything—it was wrong. A mistake. She—” His voice broke. “She kicked me out.”

The confession hung heavy in the air. Izuku’s breath hitched, claws digging lightly into Shinso’s hoodie.

For once, Shinso didn’t have a sarcastic remark. His eyes softened, his jaw tightening slightly like he was holding back anger.

“…That’s messed up,” he said finally, voice low. “She was supposed to protect you.”

Izuku trembled, tail flicking weakly. “No one ever stays. They all… they all leave.”

Shinso exhaled slowly, then wrapped an arm around him—awkward at first, then firmer when Izuku didn’t pull away. “Not all of us.”

Izuku’s breath caught. His ears flicked, wide and disbelieving. “…You mean that?”

“Yeah.” Shinso’s voice was steady. “I’m not gonna run just because you’ve got instincts or quirks that people don’t understand. Honestly?” His lips quirked faintly. “Makes you more interesting.”

Izuku let out a strangled laugh-sob, burying his face deeper into Shinso’s chest. His purring returned, shaky but real, vibrating through both of them.

Shinso didn’t tease him for it. He just held him, quiet and solid, until Izuku’s breathing evened out.

For the first time in years, Izuku let himself believe—just a little—that maybe someone really would stay.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight slanted through the blinds, streaking across the floor and warming the living room just enough for Izuku to let out a long, lazy yawn. His ears twitched as he stretched, tail curling around his legs like a contented kitten. The events of the previous day—a whirlwind of catnip-induced giggles, embarrassing confessions, and sudden emotional breakthroughs—still left his chest fluttering with a strange mixture of relief and nerves.

He padded quietly to the kitchen, the soft thump of his socks muffled against the hardwood floor. Aizawa was at the table, sipping his coffee, while Hizashi moved about, humming under his breath and packing a small bag of snacks. And then there was Shinso, leaning against the counter with that same unreadable expression that somehow always made Izuku’s stomach twist into knots.

“Morning,” Shinso murmured without much change in tone, but when his gaze flicked toward Izuku, it softened slightly. Just enough that Izuku’s tail gave a subtle twitch of recognition.

“Morning,” Izuku whispered, his voice still catching in his throat. He felt a little self-conscious, tail curling tighter. His ears flicked nervously; his instincts still hummed after yesterday’s rush of emotions, but this time, there was a thread of comfort mixed in.

Hizashi clapped his hands lightly. “Breakfast’s ready!”

Izuku padded over, careful not to stumble on the rug, but Shinso’s sharp, measured footsteps followed close behind. When they both reached the table, Shinso silently pulled out a chair beside him. No words were exchanged, but the gesture alone made Izuku’s chest warm.

They ate quietly at first, Izuku focusing on the simple pleasure of food, the normalcy of it, and the steady presence of Shinso beside him. Occasionally, their hands brushed when reaching for the same dish, and each time, Izuku’s ears flattened reflexively and his tail twitched in what could only be described as embarrassment.

After a moment, Shinso’s soft voice cut through the quiet. “You were… different yesterday.”

Izuku froze mid-bite, cheeks burning. “I-I… was?”

Shinso’s lips twitched, faintly amused. “You mean the catnip thing. You weren’t yourself. Well, maybe you were. But… softer. Vulnerable. Not scared.”

Izuku’s ears sank a little. “I-I didn’t mean to… I just—”

Shinso leaned slightly closer, tilting his head. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. You trust me. That’s enough.”

The words made Izuku’s tail swish gently, a tiny purr escaping before he could stop it. His ears shot up in panic. “I-I didn’t—! I wasn’t—!”

Shinso’s dark eyes glimmered faintly with amusement. “Relax. I’m not complaining.”

Izuku felt a small warmth rise in his chest, unfamiliar and pleasant. Even after all the nightmares, all the moments of feeling like a stray cat in a harsh city, someone was saying it was okay for him to exist as he was.

Later, after breakfast, Hizashi had left to run errands, leaving Aizawa to settle back with his tablet. Izuku wandered over to the living room, his tail flicking as he spotted a stray piece of yarn left from yesterday’s play. Naturally, he pawed at it. Instinct took over as he batted it across the floor, pouncing after it with his usual kittenlike precision. His ears twitched with delight, tail coiling in excitement.

Shinso watched from the couch, an eyebrow slightly raised. “You really are something else.”

Izuku froze mid-pounce, ears flattening. “I-I… what do you mean?”

Shinso smirked faintly, leaning forward just enough to catch the yarn with his hand and toss it back toward Izuku. “I mean… it’s kinda cute. You don’t try to hide it, even when you think I’m judging.”

Izuku’s tail flicked nervously. “I… I’m not trying to—”

Shinso held up a finger, cutting him off gently. “Shh. It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.”

The yarn skidded across the floor again, and instinct took over. Izuku pounced, swiping it with his paw, letting out a tiny squeak of triumph as he trapped it under his hands. His tail whipped back and forth, ears twitching as he glanced up at Shinso. “See! Got it!”

Shinso’s lips twitched, then he leaned over and scratched just behind Izuku’s ears—the exact spot he’d discovered the previous day, the “cheat code” for getting him flustered and utterly adorable. Izuku froze instantly, tail curling tightly, and a soft, uncontrollable purr rolled from his chest.

“Looks like you fell for it again,” Shinso murmured, a playful glint in his eyes.

“I—I didn’t!” Izuku protested, voice shaky, though the soft rumble of purring betrayed him completely.

Shinso only smiled faintly, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Sure you didn’t. Your tail is telling a different story.”

Izuku’s ears sank, cheeks burning pink. But he couldn’t help the little glances he stole at Shinso, the way his heart fluttered at the quiet teasing, the gentle confidence that felt safe rather than threatening.

The afternoon drifted by in a series of small, gentle moments. Izuku pawed at stray yarn, chased after the sunlight reflecting off the windows, and even tried batting at Shinso’s sleeve once, earning a quiet laugh from the boy that made his chest ache in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. Every touch, every laugh, every soft glance was a reinforcement of something he hadn’t felt in a long time: belonging.

Eventually, they ended up on the couch, Izuku curled up beside Shinso, tail draped over his legs, ears flicking lazily. Shinso’s hand rested lightly on his head, scratching behind the ears at all the right moments, his voice soft as he murmured about random trivial things—a new book he wanted to read, an upcoming training exercise. Each word, each motion, was careful not to overwhelm Izuku, but enough to create warmth that seeped into his bones.

Izuku’s purring grew louder as the afternoon sun stretched through the windows. He pressed his face lightly into Shinso’s shoulder, paws kneading gently against the fabric of his sweater. “I… I feel safe,” he whispered, tail flicking softly.

Shinso’s hand stilled for a heartbeat, then returned to the familiar “cheat code” spot behind the ears. “Good,” he murmured. “You should.”

“I… I didn’t think anyone would… like me… after everything,” Izuku admitted, voice trembling slightly. He curled closer, ears flicking nervously, tail wrapping tighter around himself as though bracing for rejection.

Shinso tilted his head, dark eyes softening. “Izuku… I like you. Not despite everything, but *including* everything. You’re… honest, and soft, and weirdly amazing, and I’m glad you trust me.”

The words hit Izuku like a warm wave. His tail thumped against Shinso’s side, ears perking even as he buried his face further into Shinso’s shoulder. “R-really?”

Shinso’s lips curved into the faintest smile, and his fingers scratched gently again. “Really. Cheat codes still work, huh?”

Izuku’s purrs rolled from his chest like a motor, vibrating into Shinso’s arm. He nuzzled closer, pawing lightly as he pressed his face against Shinso. “I… I think… I like you too…”

“Mm,” Shinso murmured, the softest sound of approval. “Then it’s mutual.”

Hours passed with quiet conversation, gentle touches, and playful swipes of paw and hand. Shinso let Izuku chase the sunlight across the floor, teased him with yarn, and scratched behind the ears at all the right moments. And every time, Izuku’s soft purrs and gentle nuzzles reminded Shinso of just how precious and fragile this boy really was—and how much he cared.

By evening, when Aizawa and Hizashi returned, they found Izuku curled up on the couch, tail gently wrapped around his legs, ears flicking at the faint sounds of the apartment, purring softly as he leaned against Shinso’s side. Shinso’s hand rested lightly on Izuku’s head, scratching behind the ears at all the right moments, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips. Neither spoke much, but the quiet comfort in their shared space said more than words ever could: trust was growing, and Izuku was finally beginning to let himself feel safe and cared for.

Chapter Text

The morning sun was a gentle haze over the apartment, spilling through the blinds in golden streaks that warmed the living room. Izuku stirred under the soft weight of the blanket, tail curling around him like a ribbon of comfort. He stretched slowly, ears flicking at the faint hum of the city outside, and let out a tiny, involuntary purr. The warmth and safety of this place still surprised him sometimes, a feeling so foreign after months on the streets that he could hardly believe it was real.

Beside him, Shinso stirred, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes as he blinked awake. His hand rested gently atop Izuku’s head, fingers moving automatically to scratch behind the ears—the perfect spot that always made Izuku’s tail twitch and purr vibrate against his chest. “Morning,” Shinso said softly, voice low and calm.

“Mornin’…” Izuku replied, voice muffled against the blanket. He wriggled closer, pawing gently at Shinso’s arm, as if testing whether the affection was real or a dream. Shinso’s lips curved faintly, and he leaned into the pawing, scratching again just behind the ears.

“Still using your little cheat code, huh?” he murmured.

“I-I… I didn’t…” Izuku stammered, cheeks warming, tail flicking nervously. His ears flattened a little, but the soft rumble of purring betrayed him completely.

Shinso only smirked faintly, satisfied. “You really can’t hide it.”

Izuku huffed softly and batted at Shinso’s sleeve playfully, though with little strength, his instinct to paw and pounce overriding his embarrassment. Shinso chuckled, letting the hand remain where it was, enjoying the quiet intimacy that neither had spoken about directly.

Breakfast was a gentle affair. Aizawa moved silently through the kitchen, preparing tea and toast, while Hizashi hummed softly, arranging plates with careful precision. Izuku padded in after a moment, tail swishing in subtle anticipation of warmth and routine. He had learned to navigate the quiet rhythms of this household, to trust in its soft predictability.

After breakfast, Izuku lingered in the living room, chasing sunlight streaks across the floor like he had countless times before. Shinso followed with a faintly amused look, watching as Izuku pounced, pawed, and stalked the bright patches with feline grace. His tail whipped back and forth, ears swiveling at every sound—the click of a phone, the scrape of a chair, even the distant hum of traffic.

“You really act like a cat sometimes,” Shinso remarked, settling on the couch with a small smile.

Izuku froze mid-pounce, ears flattening, tail curling tighter. “I-I’m not—!”

Shinso held up a hand, stopping the protest. “Relax. I’m just saying, it’s… kind of cute.”

Izuku felt his chest warm at the faintest blush rising across his cheeks. His ears twitched nervously, but the soft purring that rolled up from his chest betrayed him completely. Without thinking, he padded closer, pressing his head lightly against Shinso’s side, tail curling around Shinso’s legs. Shinso’s hand moved again to the familiar spot behind the ears, scratching gently, the motion precise and soothing.

“You really like this, don’t you?” Shinso murmured, almost to himself.

Izuku’s tail flicked rapidly, ears swiveling forward, and he let out a soft, almost breathless purr. “I-I do…” he whispered.

Shinso’s lips curved faintly, a mixture of amusement and fondness tugging at his expression. “Good. You should enjoy it.”

The morning passed in gentle, unspoken companionship. Izuku chased stray pieces of yarn across the floor, nuzzled Shinso when he sat too close, and even tried to paw at the sunlight glinting across the room. Each motion was instinctive, catlike, a mixture of playfulness and trust. Shinso never pulled away; instead, he adapted, allowing Izuku the freedom to be his quirksome self, a soft smile playing on his lips every time Izuku’s tail twitched in excitement.

Around noon, Aizawa appeared in the living room, eyes briefly scanning the scene before settling on the two boys. He said nothing, simply passing a folded blanket toward Izuku, who accepted it with careful reverence, curling against Shinso’s side once more. Aizawa’s presence, silent and calm, was another layer of safety. The boy had learned that this home, these people, were not going to hurt him, and even if his instincts occasionally screamed caution, he felt the beginnings of belonging.

“You’re unusually quiet today,” Shinso commented softly, leaning against the couch.

Izuku’s ears twitched nervously. “I… I just… like being here.”

“That’s good,” Shinso said, voice steady. “You can stay like this for as long as you need.”

A gentle silence settled over the room. Izuku’s tail flicked slowly against Shinso’s leg, his ears swiveling lazily as he pressed closer. The purring rolled from deep within his chest, a warm vibration that filled the quiet space. Shinso’s hand traced light scratches behind the ears now and then, each one a reaffirmation of comfort, trust, and care.

Later, Izuku found himself pawing gently at Shinso’s sleeve again, this time with deliberate curiosity, testing reactions and the boundaries of this newfound trust. Shinso responded with calm patience, smiling faintly each time Izuku’s tiny paws prodded him. “You really are relentless,” he murmured, eyes glimmering with amusement.

Izuku’s tail twitched excitedly, ears swiveling, and he let out a small squeak of triumph. “I’m not… relentless!”

Shinso chuckled softly, scratching the cheat-code spot again. Izuku froze instantly, purring louder despite himself. “I-I… didn’t—!”

Shinso smirked faintly. “Sure you didn’t. Tail’s lying.”

By late afternoon, the room had settled into a rhythm of warmth and quiet companionship. Sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting across the hardwood floors as Izuku sprawled lazily against Shinso, kneading gently at his side, ears flicking lazily as if keeping watch. His tail coiled around him like a ribbon of comfort, every purr vibrating softly, and every paw swipe gentle and instinctive.

Shinso leaned back, letting his fingers scratch behind the ears as needed, his dark eyes calm and patient. “You’re doing really well,” he murmured. “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad… you trust me.”

Izuku’s chest swelled with a mix of pride and relief. His tail thumped softly against Shinso’s leg. “I… I trust you,” he whispered, nuzzling closer.

“Good,” Shinso said simply, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s all that matters.”

By evening, when Aizawa and Hizashi returned, they found Izuku curled up on the couch, tail gently wrapped around his legs, ears flicking at the faint sounds of the apartment, purring softly as he leaned against Shinso’s side. Shinso’s hand rested lightly on Izuku’s head, scratching behind the ears at all the right moments, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips. Neither spoke much, but the quiet comfort in their shared space said more than words ever could: trust was growing, and Izuku was finally beginning to let himself feel safe and cared for.

Chapter Text

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wet asphalt from last night’s rain. Izuku stirred in the small apartment bed, tail curling around his legs as he blinked awake. The apartment felt warm, familiar—safe—and he let out a small, hesitant purr, curling slightly closer under the blankets. His ears twitched at the quiet noises of the apartment waking up around him: the soft clink of dishes, the low hum of the fridge, and the faint scuffle of Shinso moving beside him.

“Morning,” Shinso murmured, voice low and calm, brushing a strand of green hair from Izuku’s face. His fingers found the usual spot behind Izuku’s ears, scratching lightly in the way that always made the boy purr involuntarily.

Izuku squirmed slightly, tail twitching, and whispered, “M-morning…” He pawed gently at Shinso’s sleeve, instinctively nuzzling closer.

“Relax,” Shinso murmured, his fingers stilling. “We’ve got time.”

The plan for the day was simple. Aizawa had suggested a short walk to the local park—not far, just enough to let Izuku experience the outside world in a controlled, safe way. It wasn’t mandatory, but he wanted Izuku to begin stepping beyond the apartment walls. Izuku had been hesitant, naturally shy and timid, but something about Shinso’s calm presence made the idea slightly less intimidating.

Breakfast was quiet, warm, and comforting. Aizawa moved with his usual silent efficiency, placing a small plate of eggs and toast in front of Izuku. Hizashi flitted about, arranging fruit and tea with his usual energy but softened by the early morning calm. Izuku, tail curled tightly around his legs, ate slowly, ears flicking at each noise, watching carefully for any sudden movements. He had learned to be cautious, but the apartment’s routine felt like a blanket of safety.

By the time breakfast was finished, Izuku padded to the door with a small duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Shinso walked beside him, hands in pockets, eyes scanning the quiet street with casual attentiveness. Aizawa followed a step behind, his coat flaring lightly with each stride, while Hizashi trailed with an easy smile, chatting softly about inconsequential things to keep the mood light.

The city outside the apartment had a different energy. Cars moved in predictable patterns, distant voices carried on the wind, and every sound made Izuku’s ears twitch. His tail flicked anxiously as he padded carefully on the pavement, occasionally crouching to sniff a particularly interesting scent. He paused, pouncing lightly at a stray leaf twirling in the breeze, ears forward and whiskers twitching. Shinso chuckled softly, crouching down beside him and scratching lightly behind his ears.

“Kitten,” Shinso murmured, “you really can’t resist, can you?”

“I… I just…” Izuku stammered, tail curling tighter, but he couldn’t hide the small purr that escaped as he nuzzled Shinso’s side.

The walk continued toward the park, Izuku alternating between cautious exploration and instinctive curiosity. He sniffed the air, pawed gently at puddles left from the rain, and pounced at shadows cast by the rustling trees. Each motion was catlike, deliberate, and utterly natural. Shinso’s hand remained lightly on his shoulder or behind his ears at strategic moments, guiding without forcing, comforting without smothering.

When they reached the park, Izuku froze at first. The space was open, filled with sunlight, and the sounds were richer: birds chirping, children laughing in the distance, the rustle of grass underfoot. His tail flicked nervously, ears swiveling, and he crouched low, scanning everything.

“It’s okay,” Shinso murmured, crouching beside him. “You can take your time.”

Izuku’s tail twitched. He took a small, tentative step forward, then another, sniffing the air. He pounced lightly at a stray leaf, his movements fluid and instinctive. Shinso’s fingers scratched behind his ears once again, eliciting a soft purr that rolled through his chest.

They wandered further, exploring the park in small, careful steps. Izuku’s instincts remained ever-present—he crouched low to stalk shadows, swatted at insects, and occasionally swiveled his ears at distant noises. But his comfort was growing. Shinso never pushed, never forced him to interact beyond his pace, and Izuku began to trust that he could explore without fear.

A small playground caught Izuku’s attention. A few children played nearby, their laughter ringing out clearly. He froze, ears flattening, tail curling tightly. Shinso crouched beside him.

“Do you want to watch from here, or go closer?” he asked softly.

Izuku hesitated, tail twitching nervously. “I… I think… watch,” he whispered. Shinso nodded, sitting down beside him, hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

They spent the afternoon in quiet observation. Izuku’s ears flicked constantly, whiskers twitching, tail curling and uncurling. Shinso allowed him to interact in small ways—pawing at fallen leaves, pouncing lightly at shadows, stretching lazily in the sunlight. Each instinctive movement was met with gentle guidance, and each purr, each soft knead, was met with quiet acknowledgment.

By mid-afternoon, they found a small clearing. Izuku, emboldened by the safety of Shinso’s presence, began exploring more freely. He chased leaves across the grass, crouched low to stalk a particularly bright reflection, and even attempted a small playful pounce at Shinso’s hand, which was met with amused laughter and gentle teasing.

“You really are a creature of habit,” Shinso murmured, scratching behind his ears at just the right moment to elicit a deep purr.

Izuku froze, ears twitching. “I… I just… instinct?” he whispered, tail flicking rapidly.

Shinso smirked faintly. “Sure. Instinct,” he said, letting his fingers linger behind the ears. “But you’re learning, too. Learning that it’s safe to play, to explore, to be yourself.”

As the sun began to lower, casting long golden rays across the park, Izuku curled up in the soft grass beside Shinso, tail wrapping protectively around his small body. The day had been full of new experiences, new sights, and small challenges—but he had survived, thrived even, under the gentle watch of Shinso and the quiet guidance of Aizawa and Hizashi.

“I… I feel… good,” Izuku whispered softly, tail flicking slowly. His ears swiveled at the gentle breeze, whiskers twitching as he nuzzled against Shinso’s side. “Safe. Happy…”

Shinso’s hand rested lightly atop his head, scratching with patient precision. “That’s good, Izuku. That’s really good,” he said softly. “You’re doing amazing.”

Izuku’s purring swelled, resonant and content, the vibrations of trust and comfort rolling outward into the quiet park. He curled closer to Shinso instinctively, kneading lightly at the grass with soft paws, eyes half-lidded in relaxation. His tail wrapped fully around Shinso’s arm, the smallest contact enough to elicit a comforting warmth.

By the time they walked back to the apartment, the sun had nearly set. Izuku’s steps were slower but more confident, tail held a little higher, ears perked forward. He felt the satisfaction of a day survived, explored, and enjoyed. For the first time in months, he felt truly capable of stepping into the world, even if only a little.

Aizawa and Hizashi greeted them at the door. Izuku’s tail twitched nervously at the return to the routine, but he allowed himself a small smile as Shinso squeezed his shoulder gently. “See? You can do this,” Shinso whispered.

Izuku purred softly, curling into Shinso’s side as they entered. The day had been long, exhausting in the best ways, but safe, comfortable, and full of gentle reassurance. He had taken a step beyond the walls of the apartment and discovered something he hadn’t felt in a long time: that the world outside could be welcoming, that he could explore without fear, and that he was not alone.

And as the evening settled over the city, Izuku allowed himself to dream of more days like this—playful, soft, and full of gentle trust, always with Shinso nearby, always under the quiet, watchful care of Aizawa and Hizashi. His purrs swelled in contentment as he curled into his blanket later that night, tail draped lazily over his legs, ears relaxed, and heart quietly full.

Chapter Text

The apartment was unusually busy that morning, the kind of quiet buzz that set Izuku’s ears twitching even before he opened his eyes. He blinked into the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, tail coiled protectively around his waist. His whiskers quivered faintly as he stretched, the blanket slipping down to reveal his messy green hair sticking out at odd angles.

The voices came first.

“Sho, quit hogging the coffee pot.” Hizashi’s voice was muffled but still carried its usual bounce.

“Then don’t drink it like water,” Aizawa grumbled.

And then, lower, more familiar: Shinso’s voice, calm and grounding. “Don’t fight this early in the morning. You’ll scare the kitten.”

Izuku’s cheeks warmed at the nickname, his tail flicking against the bed as he sat up slowly. He had grown used to the affectionate moniker Shinso used—it wasn’t mocking, not like when others had said “Deku.” Somehow, when Shinso called him “kitten,” it felt safe, warm, like he belonged.

Padding quietly toward the kitchen, Izuku’s bare feet barely made a sound. His ears twitched, catching every soft noise, and when he peeked in, Shinso was the first to notice.

“Morning,” Shinso said simply, sliding a plate with toast and eggs toward the empty chair beside him.

Izuku purred softly in response, too shy to form words right away. He sat carefully, curling his tail around the chair leg. His whiskers twitched, and he hesitated before nibbling on his food.

“Eat up, problem child,” Aizawa said from his corner, hair a messy curtain around his face as he nursed his coffee. “You’ll need energy today.”

Izuku’s ears perked, then swiveled nervously. “T…today?” he echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

Hizashi leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm with a grin. “That’s right, little listener! You’ve been doing great with walks and the park, so today we thought—you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course—that maybe you could come with us to U.A. for a bit. Just to see. Just to watch.”

Izuku froze, toast halfway to his mouth, ears flat against his hair. His tail fluffed slightly before curling tight. “U…U.A.?” he whispered. His voice trembled with both awe and fear.

Shinso reached over, hand brushing lightly against Izuku’s arm, grounding him. “Just to visit. You won’t be thrown into anything. Think of it like… an extended park trip.” His tone was calm, steady, the same way he spoke when guiding Izuku through something new.

Izuku swallowed hard. His instincts screamed to retreat, to curl into a ball under the blanket and hide. But another part of him—the one that had purred in the sunlight yesterday, the one that trusted Shinso’s steady hand—wanted to try.

“…O-okay,” he whispered, tail twitching.

The trip to U.A. was overwhelming from the start. The towering gates, the vast grounds, the sheer size of it all—it made Izuku’s whiskers quiver with sensory overload. His ears flicked at every distant sound: shoes scuffing, voices calling, doors opening and closing. He pressed closer to Shinso without thinking, tail curling tightly around his wrist.

“Breathe,” Shinso murmured softly, crouching slightly to meet Izuku’s wide eyes. “It’s just a place. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”

Izuku nodded shakily, clutching the fabric of Shinso’s hoodie as though it were a lifeline.

Aizawa led the way, his presence a quiet wall of protection, while Hizashi babbled cheerfully about the history of the building, clearly trying to keep Izuku distracted. Shinso stayed at Izuku’s side, steady and calm.

They started in the teacher’s lounge, empty at this time of day. Izuku’s nose twitched as he sniffed the air—coffee, paper, faint hints of chalk dust. He crouched slightly, pouncing at a stray dust mote dancing in a sunbeam, ears perked forward in fascination.

“Kitten,” Shinso said with a faint smirk, “you’re really going to chase shadows here too?”

Izuku’s cheeks burned. “I-I can’t help it…” he mumbled, tail flicking.

Shinso reached out and scratched behind his ears, the exact spot he’d discovered was Izuku’s “cheat code.” The purr that erupted from Izuku’s chest was immediate and uncontainable.

“Not fair…” Izuku murmured, half-lidded eyes narrowing in playful protest.

“All’s fair in arguments and ear scritches,” Shinso countered with a faint grin.

Hizashi, watching from the corner, clutched his chest dramatically. “Sho, did you see that? They’re adorable!”

Aizawa only sighed into his coffee but didn’t bother to hide the faint upward twitch of his lips.

The real test came later, when Aizawa suggested they peek into Class 1-A’s homeroom. Izuku froze in the hallway, ears pinned flat. He could hear them—the chatter, the laughter, the scrape of chairs. His instincts screamed to run.

Shinso crouched beside him again. “You don’t have to talk to anyone,” he said gently. “Just stand with me. Watch. That’s it.”

Izuku swallowed hard, clutching Shinso’s sleeve. “…O-okay.”

The door slid open, and the room fell silent for a moment. Dozens of curious eyes turned toward him. Izuku froze, tail puffing, whiskers trembling. His heart hammered.

And then—

“Is that… a catboy?” Mina squealed, her eyes sparkling. “He’s so cute!”

“Don’t scare him,” Momo scolded gently, though her eyes were curious too.

“Midoriya, right?” Iida adjusted his glasses. “Welcome!”

Izuku squeaked, tail wrapping tightly around Shinso’s arm. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. His ears flattened against his head, and he pressed closer to Shinso’s side, trembling.

Shinso’s hand found his ears again, scratching lightly, grounding him. “Breathe, kitten. Just breathe,” he murmured softly.

Izuku’s purrs rose shakily, uneven but real. The class watched with wide eyes as the trembling boy slowly calmed under Shinso’s touch.

“Cheat codes,” Shinso muttered, smirking faintly.

That got a laugh from Kaminari, who elbowed Kirishima. “Man, he’s got Izuku programmed.”

Aizawa cut in before things got too overwhelming. “That’s enough. He’s just observing today. Don’t crowd him.”

The class obeyed, albeit reluctantly, but their smiles were kind rather than mocking. For the first time, Izuku felt curious instead of afraid. His ears flicked toward the laughter, his whiskers twitched at the sound of shuffling notebooks. Maybe… maybe this wasn’t so scary after all.

The rest of the visit was short but important. Izuku never spoke a word to the class, but he stayed in the room. He didn’t bolt, even when Bakugo swore loudly at something and made him squeak in surprise.

“Language,” Aizawa barked, narrowing his eyes.

Bakugo scowled, muttering under his breath—until he noticed Izuku watching, wide-eyed.

And then, in a soft, innocent voice, Izuku repeated the word he’d just heard. Perfectly.

The room exploded.

Mina shrieked with laughter, Momo gasped in horror, Kaminari actually fell out of his chair. “He swore! The bean swore!”

Izuku blinked in confusion, tilting his head, ears perked forward. “…Did I do something wrong?”

Shinso chuckled, tugging him gently closer. “Not wrong. Just… surprising.”

Hizashi was on the floor laughing while Aizawa glared daggers at Bakugo, who went pale under the weight of his teacher’s stare. “Detention. A week. Maybe you’ll learn not to put words in the kitten’s mouth.”

“But—!”

“No buts.”

Izuku tilted his head, tail flicking. “…What’s a detention?”

The room laughed again, and this time, Izuku purred softly, curling into Shinso’s side as if the warmth of the moment was sinking into his bones. For once, laughter wasn’t at his expense—it was because of him, with him.

It was… nice.

By the time they left U.A., Izuku was exhausted. His tail drooped, his ears half-lidded, and his purrs were soft, rumbling in a rhythm of relief. He clung to Shinso’s sleeve as they walked, murmuring softly, “I… I did it. I stayed. I didn’t run.”

Shinso scratched behind his ears again, grinning faintly. “You did, kitten. And you were amazing.”

Izuku purred louder, leaning into the touch, heart swelling with warmth.

For the first time in years, maybe ever, Izuku allowed himself to believe he could belong—not just in the safety of the apartment, but in the world beyond it.

Chapter Text

Izuku had barely made it back to the apartment before his body betrayed him. The moment the door shut behind them, he dropped his bag and sagged against Shinso’s side, tail wrapped loosely around his arm. His purrs were faint, soft, like the lazy hum of a motor winding down.

“You okay?” Shinso asked, tilting his head down to meet Izuku’s tired eyes.

Izuku blinked slowly, whiskers twitching, and nodded. “…Mhm. Just… tired.” His voice was a whisper, but there was pride in it too. “I… stayed today. I didn’t run.”

“That’s huge, kitten.” Shinso guided him toward the couch, careful not to rush. “Sit. Rest. You earned it.”

Izuku collapsed onto the cushions, curling into a little ball with his tail draped protectively over his legs. His ears flicked as he glanced up shyly, green eyes meeting Shinso’s violet ones. “…Do you think they… liked me?”

Shinso sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. He didn’t answer right away; instead, he reached out, scratching gently behind Izuku’s ears. The reaction was immediate—a loud, rolling purr that filled the room, Izuku leaning unconsciously into the touch.

“They didn’t just like you,” Shinso said softly. “They adored you. Did you hear Mina? She practically exploded when you walked in. And no one laughed at you—they laughed with you. Big difference.”

Izuku ducked his head, cheeks pink, but his purrs deepened. “It… it felt different. Not scary. Like…” His whiskers quivered as he searched for words. “…Like they weren’t laughing at a joke. They were just… happy I was there.”

Shinso’s lips tugged into the faintest of smiles. “Exactly. You belong, Izuku. Even if you don’t believe it yet, I do.”

Izuku’s tail flicked, curling tighter around Shinso’s wrist. His heart stuttered, chest tightening with emotions he didn’t know how to name. “…Thank you,” he whispered.

The rest of the afternoon passed in soft, quiet warmth. Aizawa had retreated to his room for a nap, Hizashi had vanished into his studio muttering about editing audio clips, and that left Shinso and Izuku alone in the living room.

Izuku stretched out on the floor, tail swishing lazily. The carpet was warm against his cheek, and the faint hum of Shinso’s breathing beside him was soothing.

Then, instinct struck.

His ears perked at the faint glimmer of light bouncing off Shinso’s phone screen. His pupils dilated, body going taut. With a sudden wiggle of his hips, Izuku pounced—landing squarely on Shinso’s arm.

“—ow,” Shinso muttered, though his tone carried more amusement than pain. “What was that for?”

“The light,” Izuku explained earnestly, pointing at the phone. “It… it moved. I had to catch it.” His whiskers twitched in determination.

Shinso snorted softly. “You’re unbelievable.”

Izuku’s cheeks burned, ears flattening. “…Sorry…”

But before he could retreat, Shinso’s hand found the back of his neck, fingers scratching gently. “Don’t be. You’re cute when you do that. Just… maybe don’t tackle my arm next time.”

Izuku’s purrs returned full-force, vibrating through his whole chest. He nuzzled Shinso’s shoulder without thinking, soft and instinctive, before realizing what he’d done. He froze, eyes wide.

“I-I didn’t mean—”

Shinso cut him off with a faint grin. “Relax. If I didn’t like it, I’d have said so.”

Izuku blinked, then let himself melt against Shinso’s shoulder, tail flicking with contentment. “…You make it easy,” he admitted softly.

“Easy to what?”

“…Easy to be me.”

Shinso’s chest tightened at the honesty in his voice. He didn’t answer right away; instead, he let his hand trail back to Izuku’s ears, scratching gently until the boy’s purrs grew so loud they nearly rattled the picture frames on the wall.

Later that evening, the playful side of Izuku came out again. Hizashi, ever the instigator, had found an old laser pointer buried in a drawer and decided to “test” Izuku’s instincts.

The results were immediate.

Izuku’s pupils narrowed into thin slits, his body lowering to a crouch as the red dot danced across the wall. His tail lashed, ears pinned forward, every muscle coiled in perfect hunting tension.

“Get it, Zuku! Get it!” Hizashi cheered, waving the dot wildly across the floor.

Izuku leapt, paws slapping against the hardwood, claws scraping faintly. His purrs turned into excited little chirps as he darted after the light, batting it across the couch, launching himself over the coffee table.

Shinso sat back and watched, one eyebrow raised, but there was warmth in his eyes. “You’re never living this down,” he muttered under his breath.

Izuku, too caught up in the chase, didn’t hear him. His instincts had taken over completely, his body moving with pure feline grace as he pounced, rolled, scrambled, and leapt again.

Finally, the dot landed on Shinso’s knee. Izuku froze, eyes locked, then pounced—colliding into Shinso with enough force to send them both toppling sideways onto the couch.

The room burst into laughter. Hizashi doubled over, tears streaming down his face, while even Aizawa smirked from the hallway.

Izuku’s face burned red as he realized what had happened, ears flattened against his hair. “…I-I didn’t mean—!”

Shinso only smirked, one hand sneaking up to scratch behind his ears. “Cheat codes.”

Izuku melted instantly, loud purrs drowning out the laughter. “…N-not fair,” he mumbled into Shinso’s hoodie.

“Fair enough for me,” Shinso countered smoothly.

That night, Izuku couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, tail flicking restlessly against the blankets. His mind buzzed with everything—the class, the laughter, the chase, Shinso’s hand steady on his ears.

Finally, he gave up and padded softly to the living room. To his surprise, Shinso was already there, curled up on the couch with a blanket, scrolling quietly through his phone.

“You too, huh?” Shinso asked without looking up.

Izuku nodded, ears drooping. “…Too loud in my head.”

Shinso patted the space beside him. Izuku hesitated only a second before curling up next to him, tail looping instinctively around Shinso’s arm.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft vibration of Izuku’s purrs.

“…Shinso?” Izuku whispered eventually.

“Yeah?”

“…Why do you… stay? With me? I’m… a lot. Too much. People leave. Always.” His voice cracked at the end, soft and raw.

Shinso set his phone aside and turned to him fully. His hand found Izuku’s ears again, slow and steady. “I stay because I want to. You’re not too much, Izuku. You’re just you. And that’s… enough.”

Izuku’s eyes stung, tears welling unbidden. He buried his face in Shinso’s shoulder, purrs turning shaky with emotion. “…No one’s ever said that before.”

“Then they were wrong,” Shinso murmured, his voice steady as stone. “You don’t have to change. You don’t have to be anyone else. Just… be you. That’s all I want.”

Izuku clung tighter, heart hammering, purrs rumbling so loud it almost hurt. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe the words.

For the first time, he believed he wasn’t too much.

Later, when sleep finally claimed them both, Izuku dreamed—not of fear or running, but of warmth, laughter, and steady violet eyes that promised he’d never be alone again.

And when morning came, his first thought was simple, quiet, but certain.

He was safe.

Chapter Text

The evening was calm, quieter than most nights in the underground hero’s apartment. Aizawa had stretched himself across the couch, long hair spilling over the armrest, exhaustion written into the slouch of his body. Hizashi moved about the kitchen, humming faintly under his breath as he packed away the remnants of dinner. The smell of soy sauce and stir-fried vegetables still lingered, clinging to the air in a way that felt warm and lived-in.

Izuku was already tucked into bed in the spare room, fast asleep after another day of trying to get used to the strange normalcy of living with actual adults who cared whether or not he ate three meals. His faint, rhythmic purring had drifted out into the hall earlier, and Aizawa could still hear it when the apartment quieted completely. It was soothing, grounding in a way Aizawa hadn’t expected.

“You’re staring at the ceiling like it owes you money,” Hizashi teased lightly, stepping into the living room. He flopped down beside his husband, hip pressing into Aizawa’s side.

“I’m thinking.”

“You always are,” Hizashi said with a smile that was gentler than the words. He tilted his head, peering sideways at Aizawa. “Let me guess—our little house guest?”

Aizawa grunted. It was confirmation enough.

Hizashi let the silence stretch, giving him space, before finally asking, “So… what’s on your mind about him tonight?”

Aizawa sighed, long and low. “He’s been here for weeks. He’s starting to trust us. He eats properly now, sleeps without freezing in an alley. But he still flinches if I move too quickly, still looks at the door like it’s a trap.” His voice softened. “He needs more than temporary shelter. He needs permanence.”

Hizashi blinked, leaning back as if to process the weight of the statement. “Shouta… are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’ve been considering it for a while,” Aizawa admitted, rubbing at his temple. “Adoption. Making it official. Giving him a home that won’t vanish when we get too busy or when he makes a mistake.”

For a moment, Hizashi just stared, wide-eyed, before the biggest grin spread across his face. “You serious right now? Because, babe, I—” He broke off with a laugh that sounded half disbelieving, half relieved. “I’ve been thinking the same thing! I just didn’t know how to bring it up without freaking you out.”

Aizawa turned his head, studying Hizashi with those sharp, tired eyes. “So you want it too.”

“Want it?” Hizashi leaned forward, eyes bright. “I already feel it. That kid’s snuck right under my skin. The way he looks when he finally relaxes, the way he purrs when he’s happy—Shouta, he’s family. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

For the first time all evening, Aizawa allowed the smallest smile to pull at his mouth. Relief washed through him, heavy but comforting. He hadn’t realized how much he’d braced for Hizashi to disagree. “Then we’re agreed.”

“Agreed,” Hizashi echoed firmly. He reached out, threading their fingers together. His voice grew softer, almost reverent. “We’re really gonna do this, huh? Give him the home he deserves.”

Aizawa squeezed his hand once, decisive. “Yes.”

The weight of the choice settled between them, not heavy in a burdensome way, but like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. For weeks they had both danced around the thought, waiting for the right moment, waiting to be sure. And now that it was spoken aloud, it felt inevitable—like it had been meant all along.

Hizashi exhaled a shaky laugh, dropping his head onto Aizawa’s shoulder. “Man, I didn’t realize how scared I was that you wouldn’t want the same thing. I thought maybe you’d think it was too soon, or too much.”

“I thought the same about you,” Aizawa admitted quietly. “But it seems we’ve both been idiots.”

“Matching idiots,” Hizashi said cheerfully. Then, sobering, “So… how do we do this? I mean, logistically. Paperwork. Legal stuff. Surprising him without scaring him half to death.”

Aizawa’s brow furrowed. “We’ll need to start the paperwork discreetly. My hero status will help—it’ll move things faster. But Izuku doesn’t need to know yet.”

“You’re thinking surprise?”

“He’s still adjusting,” Aizawa explained. “If we tell him now, he’ll panic. Think it’s too much, too soon. But if we prepare everything first, then present it to him once it’s real…” He trailed off, imagining Izuku’s wide green eyes when he realized he finally had a home. “It might be easier for him to accept.”

Hizashi hummed thoughtfully. “So, like… a reveal. Something gentle, not overwhelming. He’s sensitive to big changes. We’ve gotta frame it in a way that feels safe.”

“Exactly,” Aizawa said. “He needs to understand that nothing he does will make us change our minds.”

For a while, they sat together, the plan slowly taking shape between them. Hizashi suggested small touches—a special dinner, maybe baking a cake together under the pretense of celebrating something else. Aizawa thought about timing, about when Izuku seemed most relaxed. They discussed how to phrase it, how to avoid triggering the boy’s deep-rooted fear of abandonment.

The longer they talked, the more excited Hizashi grew, his words bubbling over with ideas. Aizawa mostly listened, grounding his husband with quiet interjections. But beneath his calm exterior, he too felt a flicker of something rare: hope.

At one point, Hizashi paused, looking at him with a fondness that softened every sharp edge in his face. “You know… you’re already acting like his dad. You’ve been acting like it since the day you brought him food.”

Aizawa didn’t argue. He just let the words settle, warm in his chest.

Later that night

Izuku stirred faintly in his room, ears twitching at the muffled sound of voices through the thin wall. They weren’t raised—just calm, low murmurs that blended with the steady hum of the apartment. He curled tighter into the blankets, tail flicking lazily.

The day had been… nice. He still didn’t know how to handle “nice.” Nice used to be rare, suspicious. But now, every day seemed filled with things he hadn’t realized he craved—warm meals, soft scarves, gentle hands that brushed behind his ears when he got too worked up.

He pressed his nose into the pillow, catching the faint scent of laundry soap and safety. A quiet purr rumbled up from his chest, unbidden. His instincts told him this was good, that he was safe here.

Still, a tiny thread of fear lingered. How long would it last? Would they get tired of him? Would he wake up one day to find the apartment empty, the door locked, everything gone?

He pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the faint rhythm of their voices. It was enough to lull him back toward sleep, paws flexing lightly against the sheets. Whatever they were talking about, it sounded steady. It sounded safe.

And for now, that was enough.

The next morning, the decision still hung like a secret between Aizawa and Hizashi, unspoken but unshakable. They shared a look over breakfast as Izuku padded into the kitchen, hair messy, tail dragging along the floor. He yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes, utterly unaware of the future shifting around him.

“Morning, kitten,” Hizashi greeted warmly, sliding a plate of eggs in front of him.

Izuku blinked at him, then at the food, then gave a small, shy smile. “Morning.”

Aizawa sipped his coffee, watching the boy with a softness he rarely showed. Soon. Soon, they would tell him. Soon, Izuku would know he had a home.

For now, though, they let the moment be simple. They let him eat in peace, tail flicking happily as Hizashi cracked a dumb joke and Aizawa pretended not to smirk into his mug.

It was only the beginning—but the decision was made.

And in the quiet corners of the apartment, hope purred alongside the boy who still had no idea how deeply he was already loved.

Chapter Text

The weekend sunlight poured through the apartment windows, catching on dust motes that floated lazily in the warm air. The place smelled faintly of coffee and something sweet—Hizashi had been baking since early morning, and the rich scent of vanilla clung to everything.

Izuku padded out of his room, still half-asleep, hair sticking up in every direction. His ears twitched at the clatter of dishes and the cheerful hum of Hizashi’s voice in the kitchen. Aizawa was stretched out on the couch, one hand resting over his eyes, but his sharp senses betrayed him; as soon as Izuku entered, his head tilted just slightly, acknowledging him.

“Morning, kitten,” Hizashi called brightly.

“Morning,” Izuku murmured, his tail flicking uncertainly. He rubbed at his eyes before shuffling toward the table. Something felt… different. Not in a bad way, but in a way his instincts noticed instantly. The air buzzed faintly, charged with something he couldn’t name.

Aizawa sat up slowly, eyeing him with that unreadable gaze. “Eat,” he said simply, nodding toward the plate already waiting at Izuku’s spot.

Izuku obeyed without question, curling into the chair and nibbling at toast. He tried not to stare too much at the cake cooling on the counter—three layers, frosted unevenly but lovingly. Hizashi was not a quiet baker.

“What’s the cake for?” Izuku finally asked, ears tilting curiously.

Hizashi grinned, wiping flour from his cheek. “Special occasion!”

Izuku froze, chewing slowly. “Oh. Um… did I forget something?”

“Nope,” Hizashi said, sing-song and maddeningly unhelpful.

Aizawa gave him a look. Hizashi only shrugged, still grinning.

Izuku’s stomach knotted faintly. Special occasions were never safe, not in his experience. They were unpredictable, loud, overwhelming. He focused on his food, trying not to let his tail puff up nervously.

The day passed strangely. Hizashi fussed around more than usual, decorating the living room with a few mismatched streamers and balloons that Izuku hadn’t even known they owned. Aizawa tolerated it with his usual long-suffering silence, though Izuku noticed he didn’t actually stop him.

Izuku retreated to a corner of the couch, watching with wide eyes. His instincts told him something was coming, but no one explained. By the time evening rolled around, his nerves were stretched thin.

Finally, Hizashi set the cake in the middle of the table, candles unlit, and turned to him with that big, warm smile. “Zuku, c’mere.”

Izuku hesitated, ears flattening slightly. But Aizawa’s steady gaze drew him forward, tail twitching behind him. He perched on the edge of the couch cushion between them, tense.

“What… what’s going on?” he whispered.

Aizawa exchanged a glance with Hizashi before leaning forward, his voice low and even. “Izuku. We need to talk to you about something important.”

The words made Izuku’s stomach drop. Important. That usually meant bad. He curled in on himself, claws flexing anxiously into the fabric of the couch.

But then Hizashi crouched in front of him, smile softer now, eyes gentle. “Hey, hey, none of that. It’s good news, promise. The best kinda news.”

Izuku blinked at him, confused. His tail twitched nervously, betraying him.

Aizawa reached out slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away, and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You’ve been living here for a while now. You’ve become… part of this family.” His voice softened further, almost fragile in its honesty. “And we want to make it official.”

Izuku froze. His ears shot upright, then flattened, then twitched wildly as if they couldn’t decide how to react. “O-official?”

Hizashi’s grin wobbled, half-excited, half-emotional. “We want to adopt you, Zuku. Make you our son. For real, legally, permanently. No more wondering if you’ve got a place—you’d have one. Here. With us.”

For a long moment, Izuku just stared, green eyes huge and glassy. His brain stuttered, refusing to process the words. Adopt. Son. Permanently.

“You… you…” His voice cracked, thin as paper. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

“We do,” Aizawa said firmly. “We’ve already started the process. You don’t have to decide anything right now, but know this: nothing will make us change our minds. We want you, Izuku. Exactly as you are.”

Izuku’s throat worked, but no sound came. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, instincts screaming at him in every direction—flee, freeze, curl up, believe. His tail puffed out like a bottlebrush, trembling.

Hizashi reached up carefully, cupping his cheek. “Kitten, hey. Breathe. You’re safe.”

Izuku’s eyes burned. He tried to pull away, but Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder grounded him, steady and warm. He hiccupped once, a sharp, broken sound, and then the dam burst.

Tears spilled over, streaming down his cheeks as he buried his face in his hands. “Why? Why would you want me? I’m broken, I’m—”

“Stop,” Aizawa interrupted, voice firm but not harsh. “You are not broken. You’ve been hurt. That’s not the same thing.”

Hizashi nodded quickly, thumbs brushing away what tears he could catch. “You’re not less. You’re not too much. You’re you. And that’s who we love.”

Izuku sobbed harder, tail lashing helplessly. His instincts pushed him to curl up, to hide, but instead he found himself collapsing sideways into Aizawa’s chest. The man caught him without hesitation, wrapping one arm around him securely.

The sound that escaped Izuku then was raw and childlike, a keening cry that turned into heavy, trembling purrs. His body shook with the force of it, but neither man let go.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Aizawa murmured into his hair.

“You’re ours, Zuku,” Hizashi whispered. “If you’ll have us.”

It felt unreal, impossible. But their warmth pressed in on all sides, steady and unyielding. His claws clutched at Aizawa’s shirt, and his tail wrapped tightly around Hizashi’s wrist. Every instinct in him screamed this was safety, this was home.

Slowly, shakily, he let himself believe.

“…Okay,” he whispered, so soft it was almost lost in his purrs. “Okay.”

Hizashi let out a choked laugh, burying his face against Izuku’s temple. “Best. Day. Ever.”

Aizawa just held him tighter, his own eyes suspiciously damp.

Later, when the tears had finally slowed, Hizashi lit the candles on the cake. Izuku sat between them, cheeks blotchy, eyes still shining, but his purr never stopped.

“Make a wish, Zuku,” Hizashi said, voice thick.

Izuku looked at the glowing candles, then at the two men beside him, and whispered, “I already got it.”

He blew them out in one shaky breath.

The living room filled with warmth and laughter and the faint sound of purring that didn’t stop all night.

For the first time in his life, Izuku didn’t wonder if it would last.

He knew.

He was home.

Chapter Text

The sunlight crept softly through the curtains of Izuku’s new room, painting the walls in warm, gold-tinged stripes. For a moment, he didn’t move, his ears twitching as they picked up the faint hum of the apartment: the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, the soft footsteps of someone moving down the hall, and the low, rhythmic breathing of Aizawa on the couch outside his door.

Izuku’s tail flicked slowly behind him, curling and uncurving as he lay half-buried in the blankets. The events of yesterday still spun in his mind, overwhelming and surreal. I’m adopted. I have a family now. Saying the words to himself felt strange, almost foreign, like trying to wrap his mind around a dream that could never be real. And yet, he could feel it—warmth that clung to him even in the quiet.

He shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. His tail brushed against the soft cotton of the sheets, curling protectively around him. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the instinct to hide. Just… a flicker of cautious comfort.

“Zuku.”

The voice made him freeze mid-movement. Aizawa stood in the doorway, hair messy, scarf draped casually over his shoulder. His usual blank expression softened just enough that Izuku could tell he wasn’t about to scold him for being late out of bed.

“Morning,” Izuku whispered, voice tiny, almost lost beneath the quiet rumble of the heater.

Aizawa’s dark eyes scanned him briefly before he sat down on the edge of the bed. “You slept well?”

Izuku blinked, ears flicking nervously. “I… think so,” he said. His tail twitched slightly, betraying the nerves he didn’t even want to admit.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” Aizawa remarked, voice low. “Breakfast is almost ready. Yamada’s already in the kitchen.”

At the mention of Yamada, Izuku’s ears perked instantly. The thought of the other man—loud, cheerful, and unbearably bright—brought a mix of excitement and anxiety. His tail flicked faster, curling and uncurling, betraying his curiosity and anticipation.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, wrapping the blanket around his small frame, and padded quietly down the hall. Yamada’s voice hit him first, loud and full of energy:

“Good morning, Zuku! Rise and shine!”

Izuku froze at the kitchen doorway, ears pressed flat for just a fraction of a second, before his curiosity pushed him forward. The apartment smelled like pancakes and syrup, mingled with the lingering scent of coffee and vanilla from yesterday’s cake. Yamada bounced on the balls of his feet, sliding a plate of perfectly golden pancakes toward him.

“Sit, sit, sit! Eat up before it gets cold!” Yamada chirped, clapping his hands. His tail—or rather, the energy in his movements—made Izuku’s instinctive shiver of delight flare. He found himself curling his tail around his legs automatically, feeling the familiar purring start in his chest before he could stop it.

Aizawa stood behind him silently, just observing. He didn’t fuss, didn’t hover, but his steady presence grounded Izuku in a way that made him feel… safe. That constant, quiet weight of protection pressed against him, easing the nerves that had been coiling in his stomach since he woke up.

“Eat,” Aizawa murmured simply. His voice was calm, unwavering, a tether to reality.

Izuku obeyed, nibbling cautiously at the pancakes. His tail flicked as he tried to concentrate on the food, but he couldn’t ignore the warm presence of both men. Something inside him melted a little more with every quiet glance, every careful movement they made around him.

After breakfast, the apartment settled into a comfortable routine. Yamada insisted on doing the dishes, humming a little tune as he worked, while Izuku lingered near the counter, trying to help without making a mess.

“You don’t have to do it perfectly, kitten,” Yamada said, noticing the way Izuku hesitated, paws fidgeting as if afraid of making a mistake.

“I-I know,” Izuku murmured, tail curling around his ankles, ears tilted uncertainly.

Yamada grinned, brushing a stray lock of green hair from Izuku’s face. “Still, I love that you try. That’s all I need. Besides…” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re my little guy now. You can’t not try for Papa!”

The word hit Izuku like a warm, unexpected sunbeam. Papa. He froze mid-motion, ears flattening, tail puffing slightly.

“I… I… um…” His voice stumbled, small and unsure. “Papa…” He whispered it again, barely audible, as if saying it out loud made the world too real.

Yamada’s grin softened into something gentle, almost tender. “That’s right, Zuku. That’s me.”

Izuku’s tail swished nervously, unsure if he should curl up or run. But the warmth in Yamada’s eyes, the soft patience in his smile, rooted him in place.

Aizawa stepped closer, voice low and steady. “And I… I’m your Dad. No rush to say it if you’re not ready, but…” His dark eyes met Izuku’s, unwavering. “You can. Anytime you want.”

Izuku’s stomach lurched. He wanted to, oh, how he wanted to. But saying it made him feel exposed, like admitting he’d finally let himself hope for something permanent. His tail curled tighter, flicking nervously.

“D-Dad…” he whispered finally, almost too quietly to hear. His ears burned red.

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change much—never much outwardly—but his eyes softened imperceptibly. “Good,” he said simply, reaching down to scratch gently behind Izuku’s ears. The touch made him shiver, tail curling around Aizawa’s wrist involuntarily.

Yamada clapped both hands together. “See? That wasn’t so hard! You’re mine, kitten. My little son!”

Izuku hid his face in his hands, embarrassed, ears pressed flat. But the purr that slipped out betrayed him completely.

The rest of the day became a series of small discoveries for Izuku:

Learning the rules of this new family: bedtimes, breakfast expectations, quiet moments with Aizawa.

Yamada’s loud, affectionate interruptions and constant teasing about calling him Papa.

Playful moments that let Izuku’s cat instincts shine:

Pouncing on stray socks Yamada left on the floor.

Chasing a stray sunbeam on the living room carpet.

Kneading the couch cushions and occasionally Aizawa’s lap when nervous.

Shinso visited briefly, watching the chaos with a soft smirk, making quiet comments that Izuku didn’t always catch but that made him feel supported.

One moment in particular stood out: Yamada produced a small laser pointer. Izuku’s eyes widened, ears twitching, tail puffing in delight.

“Try to catch it!” Yamada called, sweeping the red dot across the floor.

Izuku pounced, tail lashing, body twisting and curling with catlike precision. He batted at the red dot, leaped, and skidded across the hardwood floor, paws squeaking softly. Aizawa raised an eyebrow but didn’t intervene—his quiet approval enough to calm Izuku when his tail flared too much.

Shinso leaned against the wall, observing with a soft smile. “You’re… very good at that,” he said quietly.

Izuku blinked, cheeks heating. “I… um… I’ve practiced,” he mumbled, ears twitching.

Aizawa reached down, scratching behind his ears gently—the “cheat code,” as Shinso had jokingly called it before. Izuku froze mid-leap, tail curling tightly around his legs, and a tiny purr escaped.

“You’re cheating,” Shinso whispered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Not cheating,” Aizawa said flatly. “Just… making sure he’s steady.”

The playful argument spiraled into laughter. Izuku bounced between pouncing at the laser and curling into laps for reassurance, tail curling and uncurling like a metronome. The warmth of their laughter, the gentle touches, and the steady presence of his dads made his chest ache with happiness.

By evening, Izuku settled on the couch, head resting against Aizawa’s side, tail tucked neatly around his legs. Yamada flopped onto the other side, draping an arm over him and letting him curl against both of them.

“I… I think… I like this,” Izuku whispered, voice soft and hesitant. “I… I think I like having… a family.”

Aizawa’s hand stroked gently behind his ears. “Good. That’s exactly what we hoped you’d feel.”

Yamada pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “We love you, Zuku. All of you. Ears, tail, quirks, and all.”

Izuku’s purr rumbled uncontrollably, tail brushing against both of them. For the first time in his life, he didn’t hide. He didn’t curl up alone. He just let himself exist, let himself belong.

And as sleep claimed him, warm, safe, and loved, he whispered into the quiet room:

“Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Papa.”

The words felt right, natural, and real. And for the first time in years, he truly believed them.

family, it means his Dad, Papa, and Shinso. it means safety.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight spilled gently through the blinds, casting warm stripes across the apartment. Izuku stirred in his bed, tail curled loosely around his legs and ears twitching as he caught the familiar hum of the home around him. For a long moment, he simply lay there, breathing in the subtle smells of breakfast cooking in the kitchen—sweet syrup, coffee, and the faint, comforting scent of his new home.

He had adjusted quickly to the fact that he now had two dads. Or, well… he was adjusting. Every morning still brought a flicker of disbelief. This is real. I have a home. I have people who love me. I have… family.

Sliding out of bed, he padded down the hall, tail swishing behind him in tentative excitement. Aizawa was already dressed for hero work, trench coat hanging over his shoulders, scarf tucked neatly, eyes still quiet and watchful as ever.

“Good morning, Dad,” Izuku whispered softly, cheeks heating. He nearly stumbled over his own tail in his haste to get close enough for the words to feel real.

Aizawa paused in the hallway, dark eyes softening just enough that Izuku could see the pride there. “Good morning, Zuku,” he said simply, voice low and calm. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

Yamada, of course, was a different story. The moment Izuku stepped into the kitchen, Yamada’s energy hit him like a warm wave.

“Good morning, kitten! Did you sleep well?” Yamada’s voice bounced around the room as he flipped pancakes with one hand and stirred syrup with the other. “Papa made sure everything was just right for you!”

Izuku’s tail flicked nervously as he approached the table, ears swiveling to catch the warmth in Yamada’s words. “I… yes,” he murmured, taking a seat carefully.

Breakfast became a small ritual, a comforting routine that Izuku hadn’t realized he needed. He helped Yamada set the table, though he often ended up cleaning more mess than he made, tail curling around his legs in nervous energy.

Aizawa sat silently, drinking his coffee while keeping an eye on him. He didn’t hover or correct, only offered a gentle hand if Izuku wobbled or needed support. That quiet presence grounded him in a way nothing else could.

After breakfast, the family moved through the apartment like a well-rehearsed rhythm. Yamada insisted on “morning exercise,” which Izuku approached cautiously, tail puffing slightly at every new motion. Aizawa demonstrated a few stretches with his usual precision, while Shinso, visiting for the morning, leaned against the wall watching with a soft smirk.

“You’re really… flexible for someone so small,” Shinso commented quietly, voice calm but amused. “But don’t push too hard.”

Izuku flushed, ears flattening slightly. “I… I’m careful,” he whispered, tail curling nervously.

“Good,” Aizawa said, reaching out to adjust a loose strand of hair from his eyes. “Don’t overdo it.”

As the day unfolded, Izuku learned more about the rhythms of his new family.

Chores became playful lessons. Yamada made a game out of sweeping the floors, and Izuku found himself chasing the broom like a cat chasing a toy, tail flicking with delight.

Meal preparation became an opportunity for him to help, though he often got distracted by little things: the shine of a falling spoon, the way a pancake flipped mid-air. Yamada laughed, clearly delighted by his antics, while Aizawa simply watched, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

Quiet moments were just as important. During a brief lull, Izuku curled up on the couch with Aizawa’s scarf draped around him, tail curled snugly around his legs, ears flicking at every sound. Shinso sat nearby, reading, occasionally brushing a hand over Izuku’s head, eliciting a low, rumbling purr.

The afternoon brought another layer of bonding. Yamada had brought out a small laser pointer again, and Izuku’s instincts flared immediately. He crouched, ears forward, eyes wide with playful focus, tail lashing in anticipation. The dot danced across the floor, and he pounced, leaping with surprising grace, batting at it with tiny, determined paws.

Shinso chuckled softly from the armchair. “You’re still as dramatic as ever,” he said, voice calm but amused. “I see you haven’t lost your flair for theatrics.”

Izuku’s ears twitched at the comment, tail flicking in irritation and delight simultaneously. “I… I just… want to catch it,” he mumbled, bouncing after the dot again.

Aizawa crouched nearby, scratching gently behind his ears—the “cheat code,” as Shinso had teased before. Izuku froze mid-pounce, tail curling around his legs, a soft purr rumbling from his chest.

“You’re cheating,” Shinso whispered, voice soft, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Not cheating,” Aizawa said flatly. “Just making sure he stays steady.”

The room was filled with laughter and purrs, the playful chaos grounding Izuku in a sense of belonging he’d never truly felt before.

Evening came softly, the warm glow of the setting sun spilling through the windows. Izuku curled up on the couch, flanked by Aizawa and Yamada. Shinso sat nearby, quietly observing, but occasionally leaned over to ruffle Izuku’s hair.

“I… I think I like it here,” Izuku whispered, ears pressed gently against the soft fabric of Aizawa’s coat. “I… I think I like having a family.”

Aizawa’s hand stroked gently behind his ears, grounding him. “Good. That’s exactly what we hoped you’d feel.”

Yamada pressed a kiss to the top of his head, grinning. “We love you, Zuku. All of you. Ears, tail, quirks, and all.”

Izuku purred uncontrollably, tail brushing against both of them. For the first time in his life, he didn’t hide. He didn’t curl up alone. He just let himself exist, let himself belong.

Later that night, as Izuku lay in his room with both doors left open, he thought about the day. Small moments of triumph: catching the laser dot, successfully kneading into the couch cushions, even just being called Dad and Papa without flinching.

His purrs rumbled as he drifted into sleep, tail curled tightly around his legs, ears relaxed for the first time in years. He finally felt safe, truly loved, and utterly content.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Izuku’s bedroom, gentle and warm, but this time it felt different. Today wasn’t just another day at the apartment with Dad, Papa, and Shinso—it was his first real step into a new world.

He stretched carefully, ears flicking at the quiet sounds of the apartment: Yamada humming in the kitchen, Aizawa’s steady footsteps in the hallway, and the soft, deliberate creak of Shinso moving toward the door.

“Morning, Zuku,” Aizawa murmured, voice low and calm as always. He crouched briefly beside the bed, adjusting the blankets around Izuku’s small frame. “Today’s important. Take your time, but stay confident.”

Izuku nodded, tail curling around his legs instinctively. He felt the warmth of their support in every gesture, every glance. Yamada appeared moments later, bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly brimming with excitement.

“You’re going to do amazing today!” Yamada said, voice cheerful, as he slid a small lunchbox toward Izuku. “Papa packed your favorite onigiri, and—don’t forget—kitten’s gotta stay energized!”

Izuku blushed, ears flattening slightly at the nickname. He gave a tiny, grateful smile and tucked the lunchbox under his arm. His tail flicked nervously but curiously, the little catlike movements betraying both his excitement and anxiety.

Shinso leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes soft. “Just… be yourself,” he said quietly. “You’ve got this.”

“I-I’ll try,” Izuku whispered, tail curling tighter around his legs. The gentle encouragement of all three of them bolstered him more than he expected.

By the time they arrived at UA, the city streets buzzed with activity. Students in uniforms passed by, chatting, laughing, and walking briskly to class. Izuku’s ears twitched with every sound, every movement drawing his attention. He clutched Yamada’s hand tightly, tail curling around his wrist for reassurance.

“You’ll be fine,” Aizawa murmured, voice calm and steady. He kept close, making sure Izuku felt safe, while Yamada bounced alongside, offering cheerful chatter.

As they entered the administrative area, Izuku’s eyes widened. The walls were lined with portraits of past heroes, bulletin boards full of notices, and the faint scent of coffee and paper lingering in the air. He felt small in the space, tail puffing slightly as he tried to stay close to his dads.

“Alright, Zuku,” Aizawa said quietly. “Nezu will want to see you. Just answer honestly, and don’t overthink it. You’re capable of more than you realize.”

Yamada squeezed his hand. “And remember, Papa and Dad are right outside if you need backup!”

The reassurance made Izuku’s tail flick nervously, then curl with a little warmth. He nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping forward.

Inside Nezu’s office, the principal’s sharp eyes scanned him quickly. Nezu, small but commanding, tilted his head in curiosity. “Ah, Izuku Midoriya. I’ve heard much about you.”

Izuku’s ears flattened slightly. “H-hello, sir,” he said softly, bowing his head. Tail flicking nervously.

“I understand you’ve recently… settled into a new living situation,” Nezu continued, voice calm but inquisitive. “I would like to see how your mind works. A simple game.”

Izuku blinked. “A game?” His tail curled tightly around his legs.

“Yes. Chess,” Nezu replied, sliding a board across the desk. “If you can best me, I will consider your abilities highly.”

Izuku’s heart raced, tail lashing anxiously, but he nodded. “I… I’ll try my best.”

The game began slowly. Each move Izuku made was calculated, his small hands steady despite the nerves twisting in his chest. He observed patterns, predicted strategies, and made decisions with the careful precision that had always set him apart.

Nezu’s ears twitched in slight approval. “Impressive. Very analytical… you think several moves ahead.”

Izuku’s tail flicked reflexively, purring softly despite his anxiety. The catlike instincts in him—keen observation, quick reflexes, sharp attention—helped him anticipate Nezu’s strategies in ways that felt natural.

Aizawa and Yamada watched from the doorway, exchanging quiet glances. Aizawa’s hand brushed against the wall, fingers curling slightly as if he could feel Izuku’s determination from across the hall. Yamada bounced slightly, grinning under his mask of excitement. “That’s my kitten! Show him how smart you are!”

Shinso, seated nearby, observed quietly. His usually soft-spoken encouragement whispered in Izuku’s mind: You can do this. Trust yourself.

Move by move, Izuku’s confidence grew. The board became a dance, every piece an extension of his mind. His tail swished thoughtfully as he concentrated, ears swiveling at every subtle movement Nezu made.

Hours passed in a flurry of strategy and concentration. Finally, with a careful flick of his wrist and a small, satisfied purr that escaped despite his seriousness, Izuku made a move that left Nezu blinking in surprise.

“Checkmate,” Izuku whispered, ears flattening slightly at the quiet astonishment in Nezu’s voice.

The principal leaned back, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, then lifted a tiny paw… er, hand. “Remarkable. Very well, Izuku. You possess intelligence and intuition beyond what I expected.”

Izuku blinked, tail curling tightly, then slowly relaxing as relief flooded him. He had done it. Against the principal of UA. Against someone he had initially feared might dismiss him outright.

After the game, as he stepped outside, Aizawa crouched beside him. “You did well, Zuku. You showed exactly what I knew you were capable of.”

Yamada pressed a hand to his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s my little genius! I knew you could do it!”

Shinso approached quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You were… very precise. And calm. I’m proud of you.”

Izuku’s tail flicked happily, a soft purr rumbling in his chest. He felt the warmth of approval, love, and support from everyone around him. His family, his dads, his friend—it all connected, giving him the courage he’d needed his whole life.

That evening, back at the apartment, Izuku curled into the couch with Aizawa on one side, Yamada on the other, and Shinso leaning over the backrest, ruffling his hair. He nuzzled gently into Aizawa’s side, tail curling snugly around his legs.

“I… I think I really belong here,” Izuku whispered, purring softly. “I… I like my family. I like being me.”

Aizawa stroked behind his ears gently. “Good. That’s exactly what we want.”

Yamada leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “And we’ll always be here for you, Zuku. Every step.”

Shinso’s quiet hand brushed over his head, soft and reassuring. “You’ve earned every bit of this comfort. You deserve it.”

Izuku purred louder, tail flicking, ears relaxed. For the first time, he felt completely safe, completely loved, and completely himself.

Chapter Text

The sunlight spilled across the apartment floor, warm and golden, as Izuku stretched languidly on the couch, tail curling and flicking idly. Ears tilted forward, sniffing the faint smells of breakfast—Yamada’s special pancakes, Aizawa’s coffee, and something sweet Shinso had dropped onto the counter for him to nibble.

It was a perfect morning, one that could only exist in a place where safety, love, and home intertwined.

Izuku yawned, paws kneading the couch cushions, letting out a soft purr. He had never imagined a life like this. He had never imagined being wanted. Being loved. Being understood.

“Morning, Zuku!” Yamada called from the kitchen, flipping a pancake with flair. “Papa made extra for you today!”

Izuku’s tail flicked happily as he padded toward the kitchen, ears twitching in excitement. Aizawa followed quietly, trench coat draped over one arm, scarf loose around his neck, giving the steady, grounding presence he always had. Shinso leaned casually against the doorframe, eyes soft, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“Good morning,” Izuku murmured, cheeks burning slightly. He nudged Yamada with a small shoulder bump, purring involuntarily.

“You hear that, Papa?” Yamada said gleefully, grinning at Aizawa. “He’s already purring!”

Aizawa’s hand reached down to ruffle Izuku’s hair, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s comfortable,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters.”

Shinso stepped forward, brushing behind Izuku’s ears with the gentlest touch. “He’s really… relaxed here. Happy. That tail flick isn’t hiding anymore—it’s expressing.”

Izuku purred louder, curling into Shinso’s hand for a moment before bouncing excitedly toward the table. The apartment was alive with warmth and laughter, the kind that seeped into bones and hearts alike.

Breakfast was its usual controlled chaos. Izuku nibbled pancakes carefully, occasionally batting at stray crumbs with catlike curiosity, earning playful chuckles from Yamada.

“Watch out for the syrup puddles, kitten,” Yamada teased. “Wouldn’t want you slipping!”

Izuku tilted his head, ears flicking in thought. “I… I can jump around them,” he said shyly, tail swishing experimentally.

“You sure?” Aizawa asked, voice calm but interested.

With a small spring, Izuku hopped around the syrup puddle, landing lightly and curling his tail in triumph. “See?” he whispered, a proud little purr escaping.

Shinso chuckled softly. “You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, brushing a hand down Izuku’s back.

The morning was full of small moments like this—tail flicks, playful pawing at objects, kneading the cushions or Yamada’s leg with tiny paws as he tried to express contentment. Even Aizawa had to admit, quietly to himself, that these instincts weren’t just quirks—they were the purest expressions of Izuku’s joy and trust.

Later in the day, Nezu’s office became the next arena for triumph.

“You’ve been making quite an impression, Izuku Midoriya,” Nezu said, small hands steepled on his desk. “Your chess victory was only the beginning. I understand your intelligence goes far beyond that.”

Izuku blushed furiously, tail curling nervously under the desk. “I… I’m just… trying my best,” he whispered.

“Your best is remarkable,” Nezu said, eyes gleaming with curiosity and approval. “I’d like to offer you more opportunities to hone your skills. You have potential that cannot be ignored.”

Purring faintly in nervous excitement, Izuku nodded. Every instinct in his body—ears alert, tail curling, paws flexing slightly—expressed his elation. He had been recognized. Someone had seen past his quirkless status, past his fears, to the mind and heart that had always been there.

Back at the apartment, the afternoon was spent in playful exploration. Yamada had found a new laser pointer and toys, and Izuku was in pure bliss. He chased the dot across the living room floor, leapt onto chairs, bounced on the couch cushions, and occasionally pounced on the hands of his family when they playfully tried to grab the pointer from him.

Shinso smiled quietly, leaning down to scratch gently behind his ears—his secret “cheat code” to calm and focus Izuku. The boy immediately froze mid-leap, tail curling around his legs, purring softly. “Don’t get too crazy, Zuku,” Shinso murmured with a teasing smirk.

Izuku glared playfully at him, ears twitching. “I… I’m not crazy!” he squeaked, tail flicking in mock irritation.

“Oh, really?” Shinso asked, scratching behind his ears again. Izuku immediately melted under the touch. “Then you must admit defeat.”

“Never!” Izuku squeaked, but the purring betrayed his amusement.

The afternoon slipped into evening as the family cuddled together, sharing stories and soft laughter. Izuku nuzzled Aizawa’s side, tail brushing along his arm, while Yamada leaned down to press a kiss to his head. Shinso rested a hand gently atop his, a quiet comfort that spoke volumes.

Dinner brought its own set of small victories. Izuku learned to help Yamada with cooking, chopping vegetables carefully, and sneaking tastes of the miso soup. His tail twitched in delight, ears swiveling at every new aroma. Aizawa offered quiet guidance, teaching him how to season correctly without taking over.

“You’re really learning fast,” Aizawa said, eyes soft. “I knew you could.”

Izuku beamed, tail curling tightly around his legs, a purr rumbling low and content. Shinso leaned close, murmuring encouragement, while Yamada clapped his hands together with exuberant pride.

Later, after dinner, Izuku curled on the couch again, cat instincts fully expressed. He pawed gently at Shinso’s sleeve, purred loudly, and kneaded the soft blanket beneath him. Shinso chuckled softly, rubbing gently behind his ears. “I still can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” he murmured.

Izuku tilted his head, tail curling around Shinso’s arm. “I… I feel… happy,” he said softly. “I never… had a home. I never… had people… who cared…”

Aizawa crouched beside him, voice low and soothing. “And now you do. And we always will.”

Yamada leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “We’re your family, Zuku. Forever.”

Tears pricked at Izuku’s eyes, tail flicking rapidly, purrs rumbling like thunder. He was safe. He was loved. He was home.

The night settled softly, city lights glittering through the windows. Izuku curled in the middle of the couch, a living nest of purring, contented warmth. Shinso rested nearby, hand brushing through his hair, while Aizawa and Yamada watched over him like silent guardians.

Everything was finally as it should be.

Izuku’s past, full of pain and loss, had not been erased, but it was acknowledged. And in this new life—filled with love, laughter, and family—he found not just comfort, but confidence. He was smart, capable, lovable. And most importantly, he was finally allowed to be himself.

His tail curled, ears relaxed, paws kneading softly, and he purred louder than ever, letting every emotion flow freely. He had come full circle.

For the first time, Izuku Midoriya, the little neko boy who had once been alone in the streets, felt truly, completely, and utterly at home.