Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The meeting room smells like burnt coffee and cheap fear.

Katsuki Bakugou slams the door open at exactly 8:00 a.m. — on principle — and immediately regrets not just blowing the whole agency up last night when they emailed the invite. Because who the hell schedules a meeting at 8 a.m.? Someone stupid. Someone begging for a lawsuit. Or an explosion.

He’s going to kill them.

The intern sitting nearest the door flinches like he knows it’s his funeral.

The rest of the room is filled with the walking dead: exhausted PR reps, one terrified-looking agency lawyer curled up in the corner surrounded by crumpled contracts, and a power-point already halfway into its opening slide. Katsuki stares at it like it personally insulted his mother.

“Mr. Bakugou,” starts someone. He doesn’t bother learning names anymore — they never last — “Thank you for coming.”

“I didn’t come, I was summoned,” he growls, tossing himself into a chair so aggressively it screeches across the tile. “And if anyone says the word brand or relatable I will blow this building sky-high.”

The intern makes a high-pitched wheeze.

The PR team flinches as one.

The lawyer in the corner lets out a sound that might be a whimper, or might be the last gasping breath of a man whose soul has left his body. Katsuki hopes it’s the latter. Bastard’s been trying to get him to sign a social media disclosure clause for the past three months.

On the screen, the presentation transitions into a bar graph that might as well be in comic sans.

Katsuki stares. “You’re kidding me.”

“Your popularity ratings are down,” one of the reps says, clicking to another slide. “It’s projected that by the next hero rankings, you’ll drop one position.”

“That’s cute,” he says flatly.

“To Freezeburn.”

Everything goes silent.

Katsuki’s hands twitch.

Someone gasps. Possibly the intern. Possibly the ghost of the man who just dared say that name out loud in front of him.

“To who?” Katsuki growls, heat creeping under his skin.

“To... Freezeburn,” the rep repeats, weaker this time. “You know. Todoroki?”

“Call him that again and I’ll set your eyebrows on fire.”

(He won’t. But the rep doesn’t need to know that.)

Todoroki. Number.One. The words play on loop in his head like a cursed nursery rhyme. Icyhot’s already insufferable with his calm smirks and emotionally intelligent therapy-speak. Letting him win? Never.

“You're telling me I'm dropping because I'm not likable enough?” Katsuki says. “I'm not here to be liked. I'm here to win.”

“And yet—” the rep clicks again “—your engagement has dropped 42% across all major platforms. Which directly impacts funding, support, and mission reach.”

“You're not cute enough for capitalism,” someone mutters. Katsuki doesn’t see who, but the wall behind the projector screen lets out a soft crack from the sheer spike of aggression he projects across the room.

The lawyer in the corner is holding his head in his hands now, surrounded by failed drafts of “acceptable” PR deals that Katsuki’s refused to sign. The poor bastard looks like he’s aged ten years since last week.

Good. That’s what he gets for trying to put a clause in the last one that said “limited access to non-licensed dependents.”

“Look, Dynamight—”

“Ground Zero.” His voice is a snarl.

“Right, sorry,” the rep says, visibly sweating. “Ground Zero, we just need to humanize you a little. Let the public see the man behind the blasts.”

“There is no man behind the blasts,” Katsuki snaps. “There’s just more explosions.”

“Just... consider it,” the rep says quickly. “You wouldn’t even have to show your face at home. Just... Thirty minute videos of you cooking. Existing. Maybe saying something nice about your mate.”

“Absolutely not.”

A pause.

Another intern enters the room, holding a tray of lattes like she’s walking into a war zone. The moment the lawyer sees his coffee cup, he downs it in one shot like it’s whiskey.

The meeting hits the one-hour mark, and Katsuki’s about ready to combust.

They're still talking.

Still showing charts and "projected growth" and "public warmth trajectory curves," whatever the hell that means.

The intern brought a second round of coffee. The lawyer’s on cup number four and looks like he’s starting to disassociate.

Meanwhile, the rep — the one with the nerve to say “Freezeburn” earlier — is now pitching vlog formats.

“You wouldn’t even have to do much! Just thirty minutes every other week. That’s on the Short side of hero vlogs — most run over an hour. Yours would be quick, efficient — like you! We could even show how good you are to your mate. You know, build that strong, reliable alpha narrative...”

Katsuki’s eye twitches. “I’m not filming myself being a fucking alpha.”

“I mean, not like that,” the rep laughs nervously. “Just, like, domestic things. You and your mate cooking. Sparring. Watching TV. Giving each other little looks. Nothing personal.”

“Everything’s personal,” Katsuki growls.

More back-and-forth. More bullshit. More bad ideas disguised as PR gold.

And then — finally — a voice cuts in, soft but steady.

“...Why?”

The whole room quiets.

Katsuki turns toward the speaker. It’s one of the quieter reps, a woman he hadn’t really looked at before. Her tone wasn’t mocking. Wasn’t coaxing. Just... tired. Honest.

Like Mitsuki.

Like Izuku.

He freezes.

It’s the tone that stops him, not the question.

And that’s what makes the silence stretch — because suddenly, he realizes:

None of them know.

None of these pencil pushers. Not the interns. Not the coffee-guzzling lawyer. Not a single one of them — who’ve been demanding a look into his private life for months — know about the three gremlins at home calling him Papa.

His jaw tightens. Eyes narrow. He could lie. He wants to lie. But instead...

He exhales.

“I... have kids.”

The room goes dead.

Katsuki blinks like he’s stating the weather. Like obviously, what else would he be protecting so viciously?

“I’ve got three of ‘em,” he continues, annoyed that he even has to say it out loud. “Teenager, five-year-old, toddler. My mate’s got it covered, yeah, but I still don’t want them anywhere near a fuckin’ camera. It’s dangerous. And they didn’t sign up for this.”

Silence.

Jaws dropped. Eyes wide.

One guy actually drops his pen.

“I— you— wait—” someone sputters.

Another PR rep starts flipping through a folder like there might be a “children?” tab they somehow missed.

The intern looks like he might pass out.

And in the back, the lawyer just closes his eyes and starts shaking his head slowly, like he knew this job was going to kill him, he just didn’t think it would happen this week.

“You have kids?” someone finally chokes out.

Katsuki crosses his arms. “Yeah. Did I stutter?”

“But— there’s no record— no public appearances— no mentions—”

“That’s the point,” he snaps.

Then quieter, almost begrudging:
“I didn’t hide them to be an asshole. I did it to protect them.”

That’s when it clicks for them — truly clicks. This isn’t about being “difficult” or “unwilling to connect with his fanbase.” This is about a man who would raze the entire city before he let anyone put his pups in danger.

Suddenly, thirty-minute vlogs don’t seem so simple anymore.

There’s still silence when someone — probably an intern, Katsuki thinks, judging by how high his voice jumps at the end — suddenly blurts out:

“We could lean into that?”

Everyone turns to him like he just suggested setting himself on fire.

But the kid clears his throat, shrinks a little, then keeps going.

“I-I mean, like, maybe that’s the story. You’re a top hero and an alpha, and a mated father. People love that. And we could still protect your family. We can blur the kids’ faces, distort voices, even cut names or moments out in post. You’d have control. But it’d be… real. Powerful.”

Katsuki doesn’t respond right away.

He just sits there.

Thinking.

No, feeling.

For the first time in this whole meeting, something shifts behind his scowl.

Because yeah — it’s tempting.
He thinks about Haruki, cocky little shit that he is, standing tall after getting his UA acceptance letter and saying, “I want the whole damn world to know I’m Ground Zero’s son.”

He thinks about how proud he was. How proud Haruki was. How they hugged like idiots in the middle of the kitchen with flour still on Katsuki’s apron.

And then—

He thinks of the tabloids.
The headlines.
“OMEGA SCHOOLBOY PREGNANT BY HOT-HEADED ALPHA.”
“QUIRKLESS TEEN RUINS FUTURE PRO HERO’S CAREER.”
“IZUKU MIDORIYA: THE OMEGA WHO TRAPPED DYNAMITE.”

He remembers Izuku crying in the bathroom with the door locked, and Katsuki threatening to burn down the news building because they printed his mate’s school ID photo without permission.

He remembers Izuku finishing school online, barely leaving the apartment, hiding the bump under too-big hoodies and still getting stared at on the street.

He remembers the hate mail. The threats. The way Izuku smiled through it until he didn’t.

He remembers the first time Haruki called him “Papa,” and how he’d never known his hands could shake from something so small.

And now?

Now, the world wants a peek?

Wants to see the happy, domestic life Katsuki has fought to build — without knowing what it cost?

Wants to spin it into a hero arc?

He clenches his jaw.

“...I’m scared,” he mutters.

The words are quiet. Low.

But the room still hears them like a bomb just went off.

“I’m not scared of villains. I’m not scared of cameras. I’m scared of them getting hurt. Again. Of people talking about my mate like they used to. Of someone finding my pups and thinking they’re leverage. Of one bad second on a vlog ending up in some creep’s hands.”

He looks up, fire behind his eyes but no spark in his palms.

“I don’t give a damn about being number one if it means putting them at risk. You get that?”

The intern nods furiously.

Everyone else is too stunned to speak.

Even the lawyer just sighs and closes his laptop, like he knows this isn’t going to be settled today.

Katsuki leans back in his chair, folding his arms tight across his chest.

“Now. If — if — I even consider this, I set the rules. You bring any of that PR fluff near my kids without my say, I swear to God, I will turn this place to rubble and make you eat it.”

Silence.

Then a small voice, a little older than the intern, almost a whisper:

“...Yes, sir.”

Katsuki grunts.

And for the first time that morning, he doesn’t feel like punching someone.

Katsuki exhales, slow and sharp, dragging a hand down his face.

Then, voice quieter, but still rough at the edges:
“...My eldest, Haruki—he’s Fourteen. Wants to be known. Wants to make a name for himself.”

He pauses, eyes flicking toward the screen like it personally offends him.

“I’ll have to talk to my mate and the brat. But you might not have to blur him.”

Someone perks up, probably thinking oh good, less editing. Katsuki shoots them a glare that makes them shrink back like they’ve just been hit.

“I said might. If he agrees, it’ll be on his terms. And mine.”

Another pause. Then, quieter:

“I want my mate blurred.”

The room goes still again.

“But he might not. So don’t count on that, either. I’ll tell you what we decide after I talk to him. And if either of you try to push it before then, we’re done.”

He doesn’t give them a chance to respond — just keeps going, because once he starts, the floodgates cracked open.

“My two youngest — Yuzuki and Taiga — have to be blurred. Always. No exceptions. I don’t care if it’s the back of their heads or a reflection in a goddamn spoon. Blur it. Distort the voices. If you even think about using their names, I’ll break every phone in this building.”

Someone opens their mouth — probably to ask something stupid — but Katsuki cuts in first.

“And no merch. No mystery baby plushies or ‘Papa Ground Zero’ mugs with gremlin scribbles. No stickers of my toddler’s blanket. No leaks. No speculation threads. If I catch wind of anything turning into content or marketing, it’s over.”

He stands, chair screeching again. But this time, it’s not anger.

It’s finality.

“And whatever other shit comes up? You run it by me. I’ll let you know what’s allowed.”

He walks to the door, pauses, and without turning around:

“Thirty minutes, every two weeks. My footage. My edits. My family, my rules. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of hurried “yes sir”s, “understood”s, and at least one terrified squeak.

Katsuki walks out without another word.

—

The house is quiet — or, as quiet as a house with three kids ever gets.

Taiga’s already down for the night, curled up with his blue blanket in his crib one sock off and a spoon clutched in his hand like a sword. Yuzuki is in the hallway playing some “last one out of bed is a gremlin” game with herself, singing at a volume she thinks is whispering.

Katsuki’s at the dining table, elbows on the wood, nursing a mug of lukewarm tea that Izuku made and forced him to drink. Izuku’s across from him, expression calm but unreadable, and Haruki’s perched backward on a chair, grinning like he’s just been handed a challenge.

Katsuki sighs.

“All right,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I agreed to something. For PR.”

Izuku raises an eyebrow. Haruki leans forward like it’s storytime.

“They want a vlog. Bi-weekly. Thirty minutes or less. Me at home, being… human, or whatever. I told them we set the rules. We blur and distort the kids so no one knows what they look like.”

Haruki’s eyes light up. “Wait — does that mean I get to be in it?”

Katsuki gives him a long look. “Maybe. If you want to be.”

“I do,” Haruki says instantly. “Don’t blur me. I want people to know who I am. I'm not ashamed.”

Katsuki nods once, slowly. “We’ll talk specifics. You say yes and that’s your call, but you back out later, I pull everything with your face in it, no arguments.”

Haruki grins. “Deal.”

Izuku doesn’t say anything right away.

He’s still. Too still.

Katsuki knows that quiet. It’s the kind that comes right before Izuku either unpacks something hard… or spirals quietly until Katsuki pulls him out of it.

“I told them I wanted you blurred,” Katsuki says gently. “But that I’d ask. It’s up to you.”

Izuku shifts his gaze to the table, fingers brushing over a napkin that’s already been folded and unfolded five times.

“You really think it’s worth it?” he asks.

“I don’t care about the rankings,” Katsuki says honestly. “But if Haruki wants to be known, and I can show the world I’m not just some ticking time bomb, maybe that helps him too. Maybe it helps all of us.”

Izuku hums. A quiet, almost hollow sound.

“I remember what happened last time we were in the public eye.”

Katsuki flinches. He doesn’t need the reminder — he hasn’t forgotten.

“They won’t touch you this time,” he says roughly. “They won’t touch any of you. I’m not some seventeen-year-old hothead with a fuckin’ temper and no clue how to fix things. I’ve got lawyers. Power. Control. And I won’t show a single second of anything I don’t sign off on.”

Izuku nods, but the tension in his shoulders stays.

Yuzuki runs in, slaps a sticker on his arm, yells, “TAGGED YOU’RE THE OMEGA BOSS NOW!” and vanishes again before anyone can blink.

Izuku huffs a laugh. Katsuki watches the corners of his mouth tug upward, slow and soft.

“I’ll think about it,” Izuku says. “I’m not saying no. But I need time.”

“Take it,” Katsuki says. “There’s no rush.”

Haruki’s already pulling out a notebook, jotting down what he calls aesthetic shot ideas.

Izuku watches him for a moment, then glances back at Katsuki, eyes just a little too shiny in the low kitchen light.

“You’re really doing this?”

Katsuki shrugs. “PR won. Doesn’t mean they get to run the whole show.”

Izuku smirks faintly. “I’ll believe that when I see the first draft.”

Katsuki snorts. “You’ll see it. But don’t expect sunshine and violins. I’m opening with curry and threats.”

“Very on-brand,” Izuku murmurs, finally letting the tension fade from his shoulders.

The kids don’t know it, but they just witnessed a historic moment.

The day Ground Zero let the world in — on his terms.

Chapter Text

The house is finally quiet.

Not just nap-time quiet. Not Izuku-humming-to-Yuzuki quiet. But real quiet — the kind that only happens when the five and three year old kids are asleep, no one’s fighting over blanket rights, blue zebra plush safely located.

Katsuki sits on the couch with Haruki next to him, long legs kicked up, a snack in his lap that he swears he isn’t sharing but keeps sliding over peaces anyway. The TV plays quietly in the background, mostly for noise.

Haruki’s fingers are scrolling through his phone. But he keeps sneaking glances at his dad.

Katsuki finally speaks.

“You sure about this?” he asks. “Not being blurred?”

Haruki doesn’t answer right away. He locks his screen, lets his phone fall to the side, and shrugs — casual, but not careless.

“Yeah. I want people to know I’m your son.”

Katsuki nods slowly, mouth pressing into a thin line.

“You know that means you’re gonna hear shit, right? Comments. Comparisons. People asking dumb questions, or making up worse ones.”

Haruki snorts. “They do that already. You’re the number one hero. You think no one at school talks about it?”

Katsuki huffs. “They better not be talkin’ shit.”

“They’re not. Most of them think it’s cool.”

Katsuki finally turns to look at him — really look. Haruki’s taller now. Stronger. He walks like he knows his bones are built from something solid. Fire in his hands, steadiness in his eyes.

He’s proud.

And Katsuki is too.

“You don’t have to be known, you know,” Katsuki says, quieter now. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

“I know,” Haruki says. “But I still want to.”

Katsuki reaches over, squeezes the back of his neck — not rough, not teasing. Just solid.

“All right. Then you won't be blurred. But you let me know if you ever change your mind.”

Haruki grins. “You’ll blow up the internet to pull it all down?”

“I’ll blow up the goddamn sun.”

Haruki laughs. The sound is warm.

—

Katsuki finds Izuku in the kitchen, drying a mug he never even drank from.

He doesn’t look up, but Katsuki knows he heard everything.

“You want to be blurred?” Katsuki asks gently.

Izuku leans his hip against the counter, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. He’s quiet for a beat too long.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Part of me… wants people to see us. What we made. What we’re still making.”

Katsuki moves closer. “And the other part?”

Izuku looks up. “The part that remembers the headlines. The threats. The way they looked at me like I didn’t belong with you.”

Katsuki clenches his jaw. “You did. You do.”

“I know,” Izuku whispers. “But the internet doesn’t.”

Silence stretches between them.

Katsuki reaches out and gently covers Izuku’s hand with his own.

“You don’t owe them your face. Or your name. Or anything at all,” he says. “But if you want to be seen… I’ll protect you every second of it. You know that, right?”

Izuku smiles. A little tired.

“I do,” he says.

Then softer:

“Let’s try it. You can blur me if it feels wrong.”

Katsuki nods. “Deal.”

He doesn’t kiss him right away. Just holds his hand until the mug is forgotten, until Izuku leans in, forehead to chest, and breathes.

—

Uploaded: sunday, June 29th 4:00pm
Title: “Privet Feed episode 1: ground zero cooking curry”
Runtime: 29:13
minor’s faces blurred per NDA. Viewer discretion is advised for language….

The video fades in from black.

Katsuki’s already behind the kitchen counter, apron tied tight, face set in that familiar scowl. The camera’s clearly propped up, slightly crooked, like he didn’t bother fixing the angle after setting it himself.

The apron reads:
DON’T TALK TO ME, I’M COOKING.

He exhales through his nose and starts lining ingredients on the counter without looking at the camera.

“I'm making curry. It Simple, fast, and good enough for leftovers.”

He sets down a cutting board and grabs two carrots, peeling them quickly before slicing.

“the bigger you cut them the less likely they'll be mushy but make sure there soft”

He moves on to potatoes. Waxy-skinned, peeled in fast strokes.

“Three of these. I normally leave the skin on if it’s just me and the nerd. But **** complains, so they’re peeled today.”

He says it like it’s an inconvenience, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward when he mentions his youngest.

Next come onions. He slices off the tops and splits them in half.

“Keep the root end on. It cuts down the crying. Make sure you dice it right, so you don’t waste the whole thing.”

He makes fast, practiced slices, then slides the onions into a bowl. Garlic and ginger follow — both minced finely.

“Ginger’s optional but I like it. Garlic’s not optional. If you don’t use garlic, don’t make this.”

From somewhere down the hall, a faint voice yells, “Do I have to set the table?”

Katsuki snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

He moves to the stove, heating oil in a heavy pan. Chicken thighs, already trimmed, hit the heat with a sizzle.

“I'm using Boneless, skinless. Thighs. They're better than breasts — they don’t dry out. I’m making two pots: one mild, one spicy.”

He lifts the chicken with tongs, letting the sear finish.

“Kids can’t handle the heat yet, especially my youngest. He says he likes spice, but the second he sweats he’s drinkin’ half the fridge.”

He dumps in the chopped vegetables, letting them soften before adding water.

“The roux comes last. Mild block for the kid pot, spicy for the rest. You drop it in once it simmers — not before, or it splits and you ruin dinner.”

As the steam rises, the noise in the house grows — footsteps pounding upstairs, the sound of someone yelling “GREMLIN ATTACK” followed by a thump and laughter.

Katsuki shakes his head with a soft laugh as he stirs the curry slowly.

He finishes stirring the curry, lowers the heat, and reaches for the rice bowls just as soft footsteps approach from the hall.

Izuku appears, quiet and calm, cradling Taiga against his shoulder. Taiga's face blurred.

The toddler’s half-asleep already, thumb tucked near his mouth, his worn-out blue blanket clutched tight in one small fist. His other hand fists gently in Izuku’s hoodie, face pressed into his papa’s chest.

Izuku murmurs something Katsuki doesn’t quite catch, then shifts Taiga carefully into Katsuki’s arms.

“Out like a light,” Izuku says, brushing a hand over the boy’s hair. “He wanted to stay up for curry, but…”

Katsuki adjusts his hold automatically, tucking the blanket around his son, one hand bracing Taiga’s head, the other steady around his back. The toddler breathes slow and even, completely at ease.

Katsuki glances at the camera, then back down.

“It's ok I can wake you up later to eat” he mutters, voice low, barely above a breath.

He stands there a moment longer, swaying slightly without realizing it, eyes softer than anything the public’s ever seen.

Then he turns, passing Taiga off to Izuku again without a word. Izuku smiles faintly, and slips out of frame, quiet as ever.

Katsuki plates the last bowl, stacks them all on a tray.

He looks back at the camera one final time.

“This is dinner. That’s it. Night.

The screen fades to black.

—

TOP COMMENTS:

@kitchenquirkking
not the camera being crooked like he didn’t even try 😭😭 peak “I’m only doing this because I have to” energy and I love him for it
↳ @capsaicinkiss: “if you don’t use garlic don’t make this” is such a dad mood
↳ @heropostingzero: he really said "shut up and learn how to cook"

@gremlinjustice
whoever screamed “GREMLIN ATTACK” and then THUMPED OFFSCREEN is my favorite cast member. give that menace a show
↳ @blurrychaos: the blur makes it even better. like a cryptid with a screech
↳ @sweeterburn: I’m calling her Gremlin until I die

@tinyflamebackup
I’m not okay. He was just… holding the baby. That little blue blanket. That sleepy little head. I’m going to scream and cry and bite something
↳ @omegaonmain: I was FINE until he whispered “I can wake you up later to eat” are you KIDDING ME
↳ @spiceandtender: Blue. That baby is Blue now. I’ve decided. This is law.

@nosweatnoglory
hold up. TWO pots of curry? Different spice levels? PEELING the potatoes just because one of the kids doesn’t like the skins?? He acts all gruff but he’s so soft 😭
↳ @carrotsideways: also—“cut them bigger so they don’t get mushy”? he’s teaching us. with anger.
↳ @curry4lifepls: papa ground zero cooks like a menace and parents like a marshmallow

@herohausarchive
love how he cooked for a family of five, managed bedtime handoffs, and somehow still made time to threaten the public about garlic
↳ @sideeyeandsizzle: domestic rage king

Likes: 489K  Comments: 37.8K  Shares: 93K
Top Tags: #PrivateFeed #GroundZeroDadEra #GremlinAndBlue #CookingWithBoom #SoftExplosionMan

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s in a PR conference room, legs spread wide, arms crossed, expression somewhere between “barely tolerant” and “one bad word away from walking out.”

Across the table, three PR reps are practically vibrating.

“Oh my god,” one of them says, tapping furiously on a tablet. “You don’t understand — the response is phenomenal.”

“Your engagement jumped 42% overnight,” another adds. “Comments are calling it ‘gruff dad cooking therapy.’ Someone made a fan edit of the baby with a blue blanket moment set to a lullaby remix of your theme music.”

Katsuki blinks. “What the fuck is a lullaby remix of my— I have a theme song?”

“You were projected to gain about a thousand new followers per week pre-campaign,” the third interrupts, eyes wide. “You’ve already gained eight thousand. Overnight.”

“We had five offers from cookware brands this morning,” Tablet Guy says. “Someone wants to sponsor a spice blend called Ground Zest.”

Katsuki just stares. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“And your Q rating with parents jumped twelve points! Parents! People think you’re relatable.”

Katsuki groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I swore. On camera. Like six times.”

“Exactly!” the woman at the end of the table beams. “It made you authentic. Likeable. The curry the way you held your son—”

“I made curry,” Katsuki grumbles. “How the hell is that national news?”

Someone slides a folder toward him labeled EPISODE TWO PLANNING. He doesn’t even look at it.

“We’re cleared for weekly content if you want it. Bi-weekly is fine. But whatever you do… keep doing it.”

Katsuki leans back in the chair, arms still crossed, muttering under his breath.

“Can’t believe the fucking blanket’s more popular than my win record.”

The reps don’t hear him — they’re too busy squealing over fan art someone sent in fifteen minutes ago.

—

Uploaded: sunday, July 6th – 10:00 AM
Title: Private Feed Episode 2: Ground Zero’s Training Day (featuring his son)
Runtime: 28:44
Minor’s faces blurred per NDA. Viewer discretion advised for language and mild sparring contact.

The video fades in from black.

The camera shakes slightly — adjusted by a calloused hand before Katsuki steps back, arms crossed, already wearing a fitted black compression shirt and training sweats. He jerks his chin toward the camera like it interrupted something.

“This is my maintenance day,” he says. “Agency makes me take one every two weeks. Supposed to ‘preserve longevity’ or fucken’ whatever. I use it to train.”

He reaches off-screen, picks up a towel, slings it around his neck.

“Bringing the brat today, because he asked” he adds.

Cut to the gym.

It’s wide and clean, padded floors and heavy weights stacked in rows. Nothing flashy. Just steel, rubber, and reinforced walls. Haruki stands near a rack, already warming up. Katsuki’s in the background, loading plates like it’s nothing.

There’s no narration for the first few minutes — just workout sounds: breath, the thunk of weights, the hiss of breath through teeth. The occasional mutter from Katsuki:

“Back straight.”

“Control the movement.”

“Don’t drop the bar like a dumbass.”

But they’re both working together. Katsuki finishes a set of incline presses while Haruki powers through deadlifts. They move in rhythm, never too far apart.

Katsuki sets down a barbell and throws Haruki a bottle of water.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Haruki breathes. “Better than last time.”

Katsuki nods once and moves toward the bench press.

Cut.

Now Katsuki is loading one plate after another. Haruki leans nearby, towel slung over his shoulder.

“I was gonna offer to spot you,” Haruki says, eyeing the weight stack. “But I forgot how much you lift. Nevermind.”

Katsuki smirks. “You can just cheer from the sidelines brat.”

He lies back, hands set wide. The camera catches the slow, even rise of the bar — no shaking, no noise except the breath in his chest and the low creak of metal. Haruki counts the reps out loud — not because Katsuki needs it, but because he wants to.

“Eight. Nine. Ten—damn.”

Katsuki racks the weight with a grunt, sits up, sweat slick at his neck. Haruki tosses him the towel.

“Showoff.”

“Get your reps up.”

Cut.

They’re both back on the mats now. Agility drills, quick footwork, push-pull resistance. Katsuki moves like it’s nothing, barely winded. Haruki struggles to keep pace — not because he’s weak, but because Katsuki doesn’t slow down for anyone.

“You’re favoring your right side again,” Katsuki says as Haruki lands slightly off-center.

From offscreen:

“There was a time in high school where you did the same.”

Izuku steps into frame, quiet as always, Taiga in his arms. The toddler’s face is blurred, but the soft blue blanket is unmistakable, clutched tight in one little fist.

Katsuki turns slightly at the voice, already reaching to wipe sweat from his brow.

“I remember,” Izuku adds, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You always opened with a right hook. That’s how I kept winning our sparring matches.”

Katsuki huffs, wiping sweat from his jaw. “Tch—yeah, yeah. Save the analysis for work, ya nerd.”

Izuku just hums, rocking Taiga gently in his arms. “Didn’t need a desk job to notice that one.”

Katsuki snorts, but there’s no real bite in it.

Izuku leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, soft and quick.

“Lunch is ready,” he says.

Then he disappears again, as quiet as he came. Taiga’s soft mumble echoes faintly down the hall.

Katsuki watches the door for a second longer than he needs to, then turns back to Haruki.

“Two more rounds. Then we eat.”

Cut again.

They’re sparring now. Light contact, fast reactions. Haruki’s faster than before — sharper, more confident. Katsuki still lands more hits, but the gap is narrowing.

“You’re thinking too much,” Katsuki says mid-step. “You wanna move faster, stop over-planning.”

Haruki feints left and actually lands a palm to Katsuki’s ribs. Katsuki grunts.

“Better.”

Final cut.

They’re cooling down, water bottles in hand. Haruki’s hair sticks to his forehead. Katsuki leans against a wall, one foot propped up.

“you’re stronger than I was at fourteen,” Katsuki says, watching Haruki stretch his shoulders. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” Haruki says, grinning.

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding the pride on his face.

Yuzuki appears for a blink — peeking in from behind the door frame. Blurred. Wild hair. Wearing someone else’s socks.

“GREMLIN ATTACK,” she screeches then jumps on her father.

Katsuki catches her and sets her down. Haruki just laughs.

“This was training day,” Katsuki says to the camera. “We're going to go eat lunch”

The screen fades to black.

—

TOP COMMITS:

@gremlinjustice:
not me feeling personally blessed every time Gremlin shows up to cause chaos
↳ @sockbandit9: the socks weren’t hers. again. peak gremlin behavior
↳ @emergencyfamilyfeed: I’d die for her and I don't even know what she looks like

@tinyflamebackup:
Baby blue is BACK!! blue blanket? check. sleepy? check. emotional damage? absolutely
↳ @spiceandtender: it’s official. we don’t know his name but he OWNS MY HEART
↳ @cryinginthecurryaisle: I have more pictures of this blurred baby than my own nieces

@visualbento
so let me get this straight…
we get Haruki’s face AND his name
but the other two?
Gremlin and Blue?? 🥲 he needs a fan nickname 😭
↳ @anonnerdfan: wait doesn’t Haruki mean sunlight?? that’s kinda cute actually ☀️
↳ @backupnerdcore: Gremlin, Blue, and... Sunlight?? sounds like a band
↳ @caffeineandquirks: not Blue getting a whole fanbase off a blanket and being sleepy while Haruki’s out here bench pressing half a car 🤣

@herohausarchive
shoutout to Haruki just casually being the face of reason while chaos and nap schedules unfold around him
↳ @peppersoftheart: he’s eldest sibling energy personified
↳ @bottledrage: also he looks so much like
Ground zero it’s terrifying and sweet

Likes: 512K  Comments: 42.3K  Shares: 105K
Top Tags:
#PrivateFeed #GroundZeroDadEra #TrainingDay#HarukiRights #GremlinAndBlue #SunlightSon #GymBroDad

Chapter Text

Title: Private Feed Episode 3: "late night snack and Q&A"
Uploaded: Sunday, July 13th – 4:00 PM
Runtime:26:18
Viewer discretion advised for language. This episode contains eating sounds, sleepy teenagers, and unauthorized fan Q\&A.**

The kitchen is dark except for the warm glow from the overhead stove light. Katsuki’s already there shirtless, hair a little messy, quietly chopping green onions. There’s a pan heating on the stove, and the fridge door is still half open behind him.

He doesn’t say anything at first — just cooks. The soft sizzle of oil fills the quiet.

After a few moments, a voice murmurs offscreen, quiet and a little raspy with sleep:

“You’re cooking?”

Katsuki glances over his shoulder.

“I thought you were asleep.”

The camera turns — Haruki is the one filming. Hoodie on, socks mismatched, face still a little pillow-creased.

“I was,” Haruki says. “Then I smelled onions.”

Katsuki snorts and grabs an egg. “You hungry?”

Haruki hesitates. Then: “...Yeah.”

Katsuki gestures with a tilt of his head. “Get a bowl.”

The video cuts to closer angle on the stove.

He’s tossing leftover rice with the chopped onions, a splash of soy sauce, sesame oil, and then cracks in an egg. It all moves fast — practiced, precise. He barely looks down.

“did you eat?” Katsuki asks without turning around.

Haruki’s behind the camera again, watching from the table now.

“Dinner, yeah. But I didn’t eat much. Wasn’t hungry earlier.”

“ok, well I'm glad you are now.”

Katsuki plates the food, adds a few pickles from the fridge, and hands the bowl over. Haruki sets the camera down to grab chopsticks.

They sit across from each other at the kitchen island. Haruki takes a bite, lets out a small hum.

“Thanks.”

“Eat slower.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. Just the occasional clink of chopsticks.

Then Haruki clears his throat and says:

“So… people had questions.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “What kind of questions.”

“Like Q&A questions. For you.”

“Why.”

“Because you’re a public menace turned dad icon. Obviously.”

Katsuki groans and drops his forehead to the table. “I knew letting you talk to the PR team was a mistake.”

“Too late,” Haruki grins. “People love it. I speak for the people. You’re trending again. One girl made a fan-cam of you stirring curry.”

Katsuki mumbles something about moving to the woods and never returning.

The camera is steady now, set up on the counter.

Katsuki’s eating calmly while Haruki (offscreen) scrolls his phone.

“Okay. Question one: what’s your comfort meal?”
“Anything spicy and I can eat on the go.”

“What was the worst date you ever went on with mom?”
“We went to this weird outdoor movie thing once. It rained. He made me stay the whole time anyway because he ‘wanted to see how it ended.’ It was like Mamma Mia, Haruki.”

Haruki wheezes with laughter.

“What’s something all your kids do that drives you nuts?”
“They disappear. You blink, and they’re gone. All of ‘em. I swear I’m raising three goddamn ninjas.”

“You’ve been mated how long?”
Katsuki hums. “Too long, we had you at 17 so… 17 years we've been mated.”

Haruki gets quiet for a second.

the rice is half-eaten now. Katsuki’s leaning back slightly, relaxed but alert. Haruki scrolls.

“Okay, last question” Haruki says, “This one’s good What are three unpopular parenting opinions you have?”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “Shit. You’re not pulling punches tonight.”

He sits up a little straighter, thinking.

“hmm…One,”he holds up a finger, “You can love your kids and still regret having them. Both things can be true. Doesn’t make you a bad parent. Just makes you human.”

Haruki blinks but doesn’t interrupt.

“Two,” Katsuki continues, “Apologizing to your kid when you fuck up doesn’t make you weak — it teaches accountability. You’re not always right just ‘cause you’re an adult.”

He taps his fingers against the counter once.

“Three,” and this time there’s heat behind it — “Mothers are held to goddamn impossible standards, and dads get praise for just showing up. It’s bullshit. Do your job or don’t have one.”

Haruki exhales.

“So… I’m the regret?” he deadpans.

Katsuki side-eyes him.

“Fuck off.”

—

The camera cuts to Haruki’s room. It’s dim, lit mostly by his bedside lamp. Posters on the walls. A hoodie hanging from the back of his chair. He’s lying on his stomach across his bed, chin resting on his crossed arms, the camera angled slightly from his desk.

He looks tired, but not in a bad way — just soft around the edges. His voice is lower now, relaxed.

“Okay, uh... guess I’m doing the outro.”

He pauses, smiling a little like he’s still processing how the night went.

“Thanks for watching. Sorry for the camera work at the start — I didn’t expect to be filming a whole Q\&A at midnight, but here we are.”

He adjusts slightly, burying part of his face in his arm before continuing.

“Dad doesn’t really like talking about himself, but… I think he needed that. Or, I don’t know — maybe *I* needed it. Either way, thanks for sending questions. I didn’t tell him they were from the comments. Don’t snitch.”

He grins, a little more awake now.

“Next episode’s probably in two weeks, but knowing him, it might show up early. No promises. Also, reminder: drink water. Seriously. You can’t survive on spite and instant noodles. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

He holds up a peace sign.

“Night. Or morning. Whenever you’re watching. I’m going to sleep before Gremlin climbs on me again.”

The screen fades to black as he reaches to turn off the lamp.

—

Top comments

@riceaftermidnight:
“Do your job or don’t have one” EXCUSE ME that line just suplexed every deadbeat dad in existence
↳ @dadscankitchen: Katsuki Bakugou said fatherhood isn’t for the weak and then made a perfect rice bowl
↳ @wasabiwithtruth: bro really said ✨therapy✨ with sesame oil

@matchasocks:
Haruki: filming Q\&A like a sleepy menace
Katsuki: dropping generational wisdom between bites
This is peak father/son bonding.
↳ @noodleghost: “I thought you were asleep” > “You hungry?” is the love language I never knew I needed
↳ @hoodiecore: I want this kind of parenting in my next life

@soggyeggroll:
Katsuki out here serving late-night life lessons like it’s just seasoning.
↳ @frecklesandferocity: “You can love your kids and still regret having them.” That line changed my brain chemistry
↳ @tootired2parent: This whole episode was the softest slap in the face I’ve ever received

@sunnyonsundays:
The Q\&A was unhinged in the best way.
Also I need Haruki to do all the outros forever. “I speak for the people” king.
↳ @elderchildtrauma: bro had sleep voice and still carried the whole press tour
↳ @groundzeroandson: this boy is running the PR campaign from his BED

Likes: 561K  Comm
ents: 48.7K  Shares:112K
Top Tags: #PrivateFeed #GroundZeroDadEra #HarukiRights #GremlinAndBlue #ParentingUnfiltered #SoftExplosionMan #RiceBowlRealness #MidnightQandA is there any thing else

Chapter Text

Katsuki regrets everything.

Not his kids — obviously. Even when they’re loud, messy, and crawling all over his back like squirrels on caffeine, he loves them more than anything.

No, what Katsuki regrets is asking for two days off of work.

Because now Izuku — with his smug three-day break and his unfairly pretty Omega eyes — is standing in their living room asking if they can do a day trip to the beach. And maybe stay the night. And maybe pack snacks. And maybe go now.

And how the hell is Katsuki supposed to say no to that?

Especially when Izuku’s already telling the kids like it's a done deal.

Yuzuki screams so loud he’s pretty sure the neighbors duck for cover. She’s bouncing on the couch, grabbing towels, shouting about seashells. Haruki just raises an eyebrow like he’s trying not to smile.

Taiga? Taiga is chewing on a bucket.

They haven’t even left yet.

And Katsuki already knows he’s going to get sunburnt, sand in his shoes, and somehow be roped into building a sandcastle shaped like UA High. Again.

Still…

When Izuku kisses his cheek and says, “Thank you for taking time off,” in that soft, grateful way that always makes Katsuki’s chest ache a little—

Well.

Maybe it’s not that bad.

—

Private Feed Episode 4: “Beach Day”
Uploaded: Sunday, July 27 – 10:00 AM
Runtime: 41:39
Viewer discretion advised for language, caffeine consumption, shirtless husbands, and children yelling at seagull's

Camera opens to Katsuki tossing beach bags into the trunk like he’s fighting them. Izuku is counting towels and mumbling to himself. Taiga is trying to pack an entire box of crackers. Yuzuki is spinning in circles with a sunhat that’s too big.

Haruki (filming): “We haven’t even left yet and it’s already feral.”

Katsuki, from the trunk: “You wanna walk?”

Haruki: “You wanna go to jail for threatening your child on camera?”

Izuku walks into frame holding a Monster and a tote bag full of sunscreen. “Babe, have you seen the—oh, never mind.” He spots his sunglasses on the roof of the car.

Haruki zooms in. “Mom’s drinking Monster before 8 AM. We’re doomed.”

Izuku sips and hums like it’s the nectar of life. “I have three kids and one of them is you. I earned this.”

Yuzuki (offscreen): “I WANNA SIT IN THE BACK-BACK WITH THE SNACKS!”

Katsuki: “You’ll sit wherever the hell I tell you to sit.”

Taiga: “Dad cursed!”

Izuku (without looking): “He’s allowed one a day. Don’t waste it this early.”

The camera cuts to a shot of Izuku in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, sipping from his Monster again. A child’s movie is playing on a tablet in the backseat (quietly). Taiga and Yuzuki’s faces are blurred but visible as little blobs squabbling over pretzels.

Haruki (from the middle row): “Hey Mom, can I have a sip?”

Izuku side-eyes him over his sunglasses. “You wanna try your first heart attack this young?”

Haruki: “So… yes?”

Izuku: “Absolutely not.”

Katsuki snorts from the driver’s seat. “You couldn’t handle it anyway.”

Haruki (mock offended): “I’m so strong.”

Katsuki: “You cried eating a jalapeño once.”

Izuku laughs. “He did. That was the same day he tried to prove he could grill and lit the corner of his hoodie on fire.”

Haruki: “Okay, wow. Why are we airing out my childhood trauma this early in the vlog?”

The camera is shaky as someone (probably Haruki) tries to film while walking backward.

Haruki: “We made it. No one’s dead. No one puked. Honestly? That’s a win.”

Katsuki’s in the background setting up a beach umbrella with violent determination.

Izuku is rubbing sunscreen onto Taiga’s cheeks. “You’re gonna thank me when you’re older.”

Taiga grumbles. “Sunblock tastes bad.”

“You’re not supposed to eat it.”

Haruki points the camera at Izuku. “And how does our beloved Omega feel today?”

Izuku raises an eyebrow.

"Our beloved Omega? Haruki, just because you're an alpha doesn’t mean you get to talk like that.”

The camera cuts to a few different shots.

Taiga and Yuzuki chasing seagulls.

Yuzuki builds a sand tower and shrieks when it falls.

Haruki standing waist-deep in the ocean holding a floaty, hair drenched, yelling, “STOP KICKING ME.”

Izuku lying facedown on a towel, sun-kissed and sleepy.

The camera zooms in. Katsuki, filming “Damn. Look at my Omega. He’s so fucking cute.”

Izuku doesn’t move. “I can hear you.”

Katsuki: “Good.”

The shot lingers, shaky but sweet.

Izuku is eating sliced mango with Taiga curled up next to him, cheeks sticky. There’s sand everywhere. Yuzuki is half-asleep in a towel burrito. Haruki’s talking with his mouth full.

Haruki: “Dad made these sandwiches spicy on purpose.”

Katsuki: “It builds character.”

Izuku smiles and hands Haruki a juice box. “Drink. Don’t complain with a dry mouth.”

Haruki sips, squints. “This tastes like guilt.”

“Yup. And electrolytes.”

Katsuki is trying to film the kids touching seaweed without flinching. Haruki is narrating like it’s a nature documentary.

Haruki: “Observe the small gremlin, drawn to shiny shells and damp moss.”

Yuzuki: “I’M NOT A GREMLIN. I'm a princess.”

Izuku: “You are literally covered in seaweed, honey.”

The camera pans across a cozy hotel room: two queen beds, a view of the ocean, someone’s shoes already kicked off near the door. Katsuki opens a mini-fridge and mutters, “They got those tiny milks. Hell yeah.”

Haruki sets the camera on the dresser, catching a blurry shot of Taiga jumping on a bed and Izuku trying to wrangle him with zero success.

Yuzuki throws a pillow at Haruki and misses. Izuku deadpans: “If I get hit with one of those, you're making everyone’s lunches for a week.”

Haruki throws his hands up. “I don’t even pack my own lunch!”

Izuku: “Then you’re learning.”

The camera is still. Propped up somewhere.

Izuku is lying in one bed in his pajamas, half-asleep, surrounded by kids — Yuzuki under one arm, Taiga sprawled on his legs. Their blurred faces peek in and out of the covers. Haruki laying next to izuku.

Katsuki walks in and freezes.

“That’s my spot.”

Haruki (scrolling on his phone): “Second bed exists, old man.”

Katsuki glares. “That’s not the point. I sleep with your mother.”

“So, sleep in the other bed.”

Izuku’s eyes flutter open. “You can cuddle me tomorrow. I’m full of children.”

Katsuki sighs and starts peeling back the covers on the second bed. “Unbelievable.”

Izuku: “I’d make room but I can’t feel my leg anymore.”

Katsuki (soft): “Nah, you’re good.”

---

Bonus Clip:

Haruki sneaks the camera out onto the balcony. Izuku’s sitting alone in a hoodie, sipping tea, eyes on the moonlit ocean.

Katsuki quietly opens the door and wraps a blanket over Izuku’s shoulders. No words, just a kiss to the side of his head.

The ocean crashes below. It’s peaceful for the first time all day.

—

Top Comments:

@lazyalpha621:
“I sleep with your mother.”
Haruki: “Second bed exists.”
💀 This kid has zero fear. ZERO.
↳@towelsandtrauma:
I swear Katsuki was this close to flipping that bed over.
↳@seashell-wit:
Izuku just laying there like “I’d help but I’m pinned by children.” 😂

@caffeineomega:
Izuku drinking Monster before 8am with zero shame… that’s not a parent, that’s a survivor 😭
↳@snackzone\\\_33:
You wanna try your first heart attack this young?” SENT ME
↳@emotionalcarseat:
Honestly though he’s right. Parenting three kids?? Monster should sponsor him.

@groundzerosimp32:
Can we take a moment for how Katsuki was literally drooling over Izuku laying on that towel?? Mans was ready to propose again.
↳@halftoneheart:
“Damn. Look at my Omega.” LIKE SIR??? IN FRONT OF MY SALAD

@antiOmegabias:
Not to be mean but the omegas kinda annoying in these vids. Always acting exhausted like he didn’t choose this life. Ground zero deserves better.
↳@cassandraglare:
Did we not watch the same video?? First off his names izuku. And he literally made lunch, wrangled 3 kids, AND kept sunscreen on all of them and stopped them from eating it. TF
↳@yuki\\\_slams:
“Acting exhausted” bro he’s a parent. That IS the vibe.

@driftdad69:
Katsuki opening the mini fridge: “they got those tiny milks. Hell yeah.”
Man’s priorities are in order.
↳ @lostatsea:
Peak husband energy
↳@noodlenotes:
Honestly I’d be more surprised if he didn’t say something like that

@shakycamicon:
Izuku just whispering “I’m full of children” like that’s a normal thing to say 😭😭😭
↳@sockfan00:
Peak omega parenting moment
↳ @whyyouinsand:
My mom used to say that but about cats 💀

@wetseagullwarrior:
Gremlin being a gremlin and screaming at seagulls is my new religion
↳@shellshocktea:
She was ready to square up 💀.
↳ @kidkicksandchaos
It’s not a beach trip unless a child threatens wildlife

Top Tags: #PrivateFeed #GremlinAndBlue #GroundZeroDadEra #SunsoftOmega #FamilySandcastles #SunscreenAndFeelings

Chapter Text

Katsuki hates his PR team.

Actually — scratch that. He hates all PR.

He hates the fake smiles, the forced brand deals, the idea of curating his personal life into something that’s “marketable.” And right now? He’s especially pissed at his PR manager. An alpha woman with the spine of steel, the ego to match his own, and the gall to have been managing his image since high school.

He’d bite her if he could get away with it.

Because apparently after that beach vlog did insane numbers (which of course it did, because look at his fucking Omega sunbathing like a damn beachside fantasy ) — she decided to start riding the wave.

Without asking him.

She took a bunch of pictures Haruki and Izuku had snapped — soft, sunny ones of the kids, some stolen moments of Katsuki being almost affectionate — and posted them.

Apparently, his three gremlins have “a fanbase” now. With nicknames.

“The hell does ‘Blue’ even mean?” he mutters while Izuku tries not to laugh.

All Katsuki wants is to do the grocery run like they planned — no kids, no PR, just him and his mate acting like they’re 20 and free. The kids are at his mom’s house. He’s got a day off. He wants to buy too many snacks, flirt with Izuku in the cereal aisle, maybe pretend they’re newlyweds.

But no. First, he has to have a fucking call with PR.

—

Title: Private Feed Episode 5: “Grocery Run (No Kids, No Chaos… Kinda)”
Uploaded: Sunday, August 3 – 6:45 PM
Runtime: 29:52
Viewer discretion advised for adult language, cart collisions, and shameless flirting next to frozen peas.

The Camera turns on. It’s slightly tilted, like someone set it down on the dashboard.

Katsuki (offscreen): “If you don’t walk into this store with a list, I swear—”

Izuku (poking his head in): “I have a list.”

Katsuki: “Mental doesn’t count.”

Izuku smiles sweetly. “Then you should’ve written one.”

Katsuki’s eye twitches.

the two of them start walking into the store, side by side. Izuku is wearing an oversized hoodie and joggers, hair still slightly damp from a shower. Katsuki’s dressed in a T-shirt and a ball cap to cover his hair.

Katsuki: “No impulse buys.”

Izuku (grading a cart): “No promises.”

Camera in hand, Izuku zooms in on a giant stack of apples.

Izuku: “Tell me these don’t look like the apples from that fairytale.”

Katsuki: “The one where someone dies eating one?”

Izuku: “Yes, exactly.”

Katsuki: “... Put them back.”

Katsuki points at a different bin. “These are prettier. And they don’t scream ‘poisoned by your stepmother’.”

Izuku dramatically places one in the cart.

Katsuki is putting enough chips in the cart to restock their spicy chip stash like a man on a mission. Izuku films his hands methodically placing each bag like it's a military operation.

Izuku: “He treats these like sacred relics.”

Katsuki: “Because you eat the whole bag in one sitting and then pretend it wasn’t you.”

Izuku gasps. “I would never—”

Katsuki side-eyes him. “There’s footage.”

Izuku (laughing): “...I may have eaten one or two.”

Cut to Izuku holding up a very specific off-brand snack.

Izuku: “You remember these? You ate like ten of these when I was pregnant with Taiga.”

Katsuki (grabs the bag, throws it in the cart): “only because you HAD to have them then didn't like them so I had to eat them.”

Camera cuts in as Izuku leans over to grab pasta sauce, hoodie riding up slightly.

Katsuki (from behind the camera, grumbling): “This is not the place to be hot.”

Izuku: “I’m just reaching—”

Katsuki (snatching the jar, still filming): “Yeah, well, stop it. I’m trying to focus on sauce, not your ass.”

Izuku: “Sauce is important.”

Katsuki (deadpan): “So is my sanity.”

They stand in front of the freezer doors, arguing silently with just hand gestures.

Izuku (voiceover): “We’re communicating with the language of married idiots.”

Katsuki points to one frozen dinner. Izuku shakes his head and gestures to another. Katsuki picks up both.

Izuku (offscreen): “That’s not how compromise works!”

Katsuki shrugs and drops both in the cart.

Izuku’s looking at candles. Again.

Katsuki: “We came here for eggs. And soap. Not emotions in glass jars.”

Izuku: “This one smells like our first apartment.”

Katsuki pauses, sniffs, and goes silent.

Katsuki (softly): “Get two.”

The Camera is tucked into the side of the register.

Izuku is organizing things on the belt while Katsuki battles with the card reader like it personally insulted him.

Katsuki: “I pressed credit.”

Reader: Please insert card.

Katsuki: “I DID—”

Izuku: “Baby, breathe.”

Katsuki glares at the machine. It works the second time.

Katsuki (grumbling): “Coward.”

Izuku chuckles, handing over a reusable bag. “He gets like this every time.”

Cashier (awkwardly): “...Cool candle.”

Izuku: “Thank you!!”

The camera is once again on the dash. The two of them are sitting with iced drinks, quiet for a few beats.

Izuku: “This was nice.”

Katsuki (nods): “Yeah.”

Izuku (leans back): “I miss doing this with just you sometimes.”

Katsuki: “Me too.”

Izuku: “We should start doing more errands without the kids. Auntie has been asking to look after the kids more.”

Katsuki (raising a brow): “You saying you want me all to yourself?”

Izuku (teasing): “You saying you don’t want that?”

Katsuki (grinning): “Shut up.”

They clink cups together.

Fade out.

—
TOP COMMENTS:

@candlehoardzone:
Izuku going “this one smells like our first apartment” and Katsuki going soft mode immediately 😭❤️
↳ @twogaysandacart:
He said "Get two" like he's never said anything more romantic in his life
↳ @emotionsinjars:
Normalize love languages being candles and trauma bonding pls

@bakuhoe.mp4:
Can we talk about how Katsuki said “stop being hot” like it was a personal attack 😩🔥
↳ @omegaonline:
He was SO grumpy about it and still grabbed the sauce for him 😭💘
↳ @honeyandgrenades:
Grumpy in love is still in love, your honor

@cartchaoscentral:
They really argued with JUST hand gestures in front of the freezer aisle I’m crying
↳ @mimomomomo:
“That’s not how compromise works” is gonna live rent free in my brain
↳ @silentmarriedlanguage:
Married people telepathy unlocked

@omega_blessed:
Izuku laughing in the cereal aisle is my new antidepressant 🥹💚
↳ @bakulovedotcom:
You can tell Katsuki would fistfight the world just to keep that laugh around
↳ @cozyfandomcorner:
Honestly?? This whole video healed something in me

@gremlinstanaccount:
Haruki’s not even in this episode but I just KNOW he’s gonna roast them for something in the next one
↳ @chaoticeldest:
He’s already seen the chip stash and is planning a war
↳ @yuzukishellfan:
Can’t wait for the kids' reactions to "Mom and Dad went shopping without us and got GOOD snacks”

Top Tags:
#PrivateFeed #MarriedErrands #SpicyChipsAndSoftCandles #JustUsToday #GroceryFlirtation #BakubunsDomesticEra

—

Izuku never meant to look at the comments.

Really — he didn’t. He never wanted to.

But after Hana asked for more photos from the beach trip, after she’d praised the engagement and said, “People love seeing this side of you,” he started checking.

Only when Katsuki was asleep.

Always when Katsuki was asleep.

Because if Katsuki was awake — if he caught Izuku hunched over his phone with that look in his eyes — he’d take it. He’d pull it from Izuku’s hands with a gentle “enough, baby,” and set it aside, and curl Izuku against his chest like a shield.

Just like back then.

The room is still.

Katsuki’s breathing is slow and even beside him, arm draped protectively across Izuku’s waist, their legs tangled beneath the sheets. The soft hum of the air conditioner fills the silence. His phone screen glows dimly beneath the covers.

Izuku scrolls.

It started harmless. Curiosity. Haruki said the vlog was trending again, and Hana sent three screenshots with “🔥🔥🔥 This is gold, I want more.” He’d told himself he was just checking what she meant.

Most of them are sweet.

“Sunsoft Omega supremacy 🙌”
“I love how gentle he is with the little ones 🥺”
“Ground Zero being head over heels for his mate is literally the content I live for.”

He smiles, barely. Breathes out a quiet laugh through his nose.

But then—

> @tooreal456: ngl that Omega always looks miserable
> @saltyplume: feels like Ground Zero’s carrying the whole family tbh
> @quirkedANDquiet: Not trying to be rude but like... he never looks like he wants to be there 💀

His chest tightens.

Izuku scrolls faster.

His thumb slips. Another one.

>@plaintruths: people only care about him cause he’s hot and mated to a pro hero. What does he do, actually?

His heart stutters.

He knows better. He knows better.

But the words are sharp. Familiar. Like whispers from high school hallways, from broken dreams and doctor visits and all those years of being not enough.

His breath catches. The screen blurs.

He blinks fast, throat closing up. His fingers tremble as he swipes again—too fast. His palm is sweating. His stomach turns.

He hates this.

He doesn’t want to wake Katsuki. He doesn’t want Katsuki to know.

But he also doesn’t want to be alone in it.

A soft sound escapes him — half breath, half whimper — and Katsuki shifts behind him, muttering something in his sleep.

Izuku freezes.

Locks his phone.

Turns it over, face down, screen black.

And lets it sit on the nightstand like it’s dange
rous.

Because it is.

He wipes his eyes on the blanket. Swallows hard. Tries to breathe evenly. Tries to be quiet.

But he still curls a little tighter into Katsuki’s chest, eyes open in the dark.

And tries not to think about the ones that said… he doesn’t belong.

Chapter Text

Izuku knows it’s a dream.

He knows it, the way you know you’re falling but can’t stop. The way you feel the edge of waking right beneath your feet, but your body refuses to move.

Still—he can’t help asking himself:

Why would my mind be so cruel?

It begins in the hallway.

The lights are dim. The paint on the walls is pale green, familiar. Too familiar. A house he hasn’t lived in for years. A childhood he left behind, even if the pieces still cling to his skin.

The kettle is whistling.

There’s a clock ticking.

He stands in the center of the hallway, barefoot. Cold. Wrists clenched at his sides. He opens his mouth.

“…Mom, I need to tell you something.”

He doesn’t see her face—just the shape of her, blurred and still at the end of the hall. She turns slowly. Her voice is warm and soft.

“Is it Katsuki again?”

Izuku shakes his head. “No… I—Mom, I’m pregnant.”

A beat.

And then everything tilts.

“You’re seventeen, Izuku,” she says, but her voice sounds off. Too calm. Too level. Like she’s trying to stay quiet so she doesn’t scream.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he whispers.

“You’re seventeen. And an Omega. And still quirkless.”

Each word lands like a slap. Hard. Cold. Final.

"You think that Alpha is going to stay?"

He flinches. “Kacchan would never—”

“You think he won’t leave once you’re too much?”

The hallway warps—stretching, flickering—like an old film glitching mid-reel.

The voices multiply.

“You’ve always been a burden.”
“Another mistake. Another mouth to feed.”
“You’re not a hero. You’re barely a person.”
“He should’ve left you when he had the chance.”
“You threw everything away.”

He can’t breathe.

He spins, trying to find the source—any face—but it’s everywhere. School hallways. Old hospital rooms. That tiny apartment with mold in the windows. The walls change every time he blinks.

He hears them—

The doctor who said, “With no quirk, he won’t get far.”
The teacher who gave up on him at ten.
A voice from a street interview, “Ground Zero’s Omega? He looks dead behind the eyes.”
A commenter, “What does he even do?”

He grips his ears. Closes his eyes.

But the door is in front of him now.

Not a hallway. Just a door.

The one from that night. Inko’s door. The last one.

The one she shut behind him.

He steps forward—reaches for the handle—and as soon as he opens it—

There’s nothing.

Just air.

He falls.

The city stretches below him, warped and blurred like watercolors bleeding together. The wind isn’t loud, but the voices are. They follow him down, clawing at him, wrapping around his throat.

“You were never enough.”
“You’re lucky anyone even stayed.”
“You ruined him.”
“You ruined everything.”

He doesn’t scream.

There’s no air for that.

He just falls.

And falls.

“Izuku.”

The voice is soft, low. Like it’s traveling through fog.

“Izuku.”

His eyes fly open.

The ceiling stares back — shadowed, unmoving. His heart thunders like he never left the fall.

Beside him, a warm hand rests against his side. Sleep-rough fingers flex lightly.

“You okay? You’re shaking,” Katsuki mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Izuku blinks fast, forcing air into his lungs. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m just… gonna get up. Bathroom.”

Katsuki hums, soft and slow. “Okay… but if you don’t fall back asleep… wake me up.”

“I will,” Izuku lies.

He shifts carefully out from under the blanket, quiet as he can. His feet touch the floor.

Behind him, the soft inhale-exhale of Katsuki’s breathing evens out again.

Izuku stands still for a moment, letting the quiet settle over him. The kind that only exists in the hours between night and morning — heavy and hollow.

The glow of the phone screen, still face-down on the nightstand, feels like a threat. He doesn’t look at it.

He just walks softly into the dark hallway, socks brushing tile, and closes the bathroom door behind him with a click.

The dream is over.

But his chest still feels like he’s falling.

Izuku knows he’s not going back to sleep.

The adrenaline’s still in his veins. The phantom echo of voices — old and new — still clang in his skull like windchimes in a storm. He knows this feeling. It’ll be hours before the exhaustion crashes into him again.

So he doesn’t try.

He walks down the hallway in silence, arms crossed tight over his chest. The floor is cool beneath his socks. The house is still.

In the kitchen, the moonlight cuts through the blinds in soft, silver lines across the table.

And there — sitting on the edge of the dining table, right where Haruki left it last night — is the family’s small video camera, still attached to the mini tripod.

Izuku stares at it for a second. Blank. Then:

“…Fuck it.”

He pulls out a chair, drags the camera forward, presses the button. The red light blinks to life. He doesn’t bother to fix his hair or check the angle. It’s angled slightly too low — a bit off-center. He leaves it that way.

—

Title: Private Feed Episode 6: "Insomnia Lunches (aka Midnight Vents & Tomato Slices)"
Uploaded: Wednesday, August 13 – 3:17 AM Runtime: 21:06
Viewer discretion advised: heavy themes, mentions of mental health, strained parental relationships, and one very tired Omega cutting vegetables at 2am.

“I need to talk to somebody,” he mutters. “And I’m sure as hell not waking up my husband.”

He flips on the kitchen lights, squinting against the glare. Opens the fridge. Starts pulling things out — vegetables, leftovers, juice boxes, a container of steamed rice.

He sets everything on the counter and begins making lunches. Bento boxes for Haruki and Taiga. A thermos for little Yuzuki. Something simple for Katsuki to throw in his bag.

The camera keeps rolling.

“I had a dream,” he says softly, cutting carrots with practiced ease. “Not the good kind.”

He sighs, pausing as he reaches for the rice paddle.

“It was… about when I told my mom. That I was pregnant. I was seventeen. And she just… she didn’t look at me like I was her son anymore. Just like I was some stupid kid who ruined everything.”

His hands still. He swallows hard.

“I don’t know why my brain pulled that out tonight. But it did. And then… I fell. Off the building. The same one I used to walk to after school when I thought… when I thought maybe that would be the way out.”

He doesn’t cry. Not yet.

He just scoops rice into a lunchbox, adds some leftover chicken, then reaches for the s

Izuku keeps his voice low, barely above a whisper.

He sets a few grape tomatoes in the bento box, then pauses, thumb running over one of them slowly.

“What kind of mother…” he starts, then falters. Takes a breath. “What kind of mother abandons her only kid just because he got pregnant?”

He looks down. Eyes tired, but not wet. Just heavy.

“I wasn’t… hurting anyone. I was just scared. I was a kid. I thought she’d help me. That she’d still love me.”

He places the last divider in the box, leans against the counter. His shoulders sag.

“I haven’t talked to her in a while.”

A small humorless huff escapes him.

“I think… three years? No. Four, actually. She hasn’t even met Blue. And when she met Princess — she was only one. So yeah. Four.”

He shifts his weight, folding up one of the sandwich bags as he talks.

“We talked once. After the big fight, after I moved in with Kacchan. We talked about it. How she kicked me out. She said she thought she was protecting me. That she was scared, too. But that doesn’t fix anything.”

His jaw clenches.

“She wasn’t there when I needed her. And I’m not sure if I want her here now.”

The kitchen is quiet again.

He finishes sealing the last lunchbox. Stacks them neatly on the counter.

“You know what’s messed up?” he says, glancing at the camera. “Some part of me still wants her to say sorry. Like, really say it. Not that ‘I was scared’ crap. I want her to admit she gave up on me.”

His throat works around the next words.

“But I don’t think she ever will.”

A pause.

“I have Kacchan. I have the kids. I know I’m lucky. I am. But sometimes… sometimes that part of me — the one who stood on that rooftop when I was seventeen, the one who really thought jumping would be easier — he still whispers.”

He presses his palms into the counter. Steadies his breath.

“I’m okay,” he says again. “Just needed to… let it out.”

He walks toward the camera. Lingers just a moment longer.

The katsuki walks out still in pajama pants and no shirt he's yawning and rubbing his eye
"Why didn't you wake me up?"

“Baby you have work I'm not going to wake you up I have the day off I can sleep in”.

Izuku turns to the camera and says

“Thanks for listening. Or watching. Whatever.”

He reaches out, gently clicks the button.

And the video ends.

—
Top comments:

@princessbean04:
The way you speak so gently even when talking about pain… you make me feel seen in ways I didn’t know I needed. Thank you for this.
↳ @softquirklesshero:
It’s the line “I thought she’d still love me” that broke me.
↳ @heroofhearts:
You ARE enough, Izuku. Always were. Always will be.

@late2everything:
Imagine logging on at 3am and getting punched in the heart by a whisper vlog from your favorite hero’s spouse.
↳ @crybabyclub:
You ain’t even lie. I was ready for grocery hauls and now I’m in my Feelings Era.
↳ @vlogjunkie:
Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear Katsuki’s hoodie and vent to a kitchen camera.

@TinyHeroBigHeart:
Ground zero’s sleep-shuffling into frame and being all grumpy-concerned like “why didn’t you wake me?” That was love. That was HOME.
↳ @sleepymusclehusband:
Bro walked out shirtless, 70% asleep, and still clocked that something was wrong.
↳ @domestichavoc:
The snore-to-husband-check transition was smoother than any rom-com.

@mommyontherise:
From one Omega parent to another: I felt every word in my bones. You’re not broken. You’re a damn warrior.
↳ @threejuiceboxesdeep:
This one’s going in the “things that made me sob at 3am” playlist.
↳ @heroicdomestic:
Not a single tear from him. Just quiet strength. That’s bravery.

@snackboxenthusiast:
Can we talk about the fact that even mid breakdown he still made the cutest bento box I’ve ever seen???
↳ @taigasbiggestfan:
You could FEEL the love in every cut and scoop.
↳ @chefgroundzero:
Bet Katsuki’s gonna see this and make him breakfast like “don’t care it’s my turn now.”

Top tags: #LateNightVlog #MentalHealthAwareness #KitchenTherapy #OmegaLife #VulnerabilityIsStrength
#HealingJourney #GroundZeroSupport #MidnightThoughts #NotJustAMom

—

In the sea of thousands of comments — heartfelt ones, concerned ones, others quoting Izuku’s words like scripture — there was one that stood out.

Not for how many likes it had (just one).
Not for how emotional it was (it wasn’t).
But for who it was from.

@GroundZeroOfficial:
why wasn’t I informed you would post this?

The like?
Came from Izuku.

The PR team?
Went very quiet for the rest of the morning.

Chapter Text

Katsuki needed to get out of the house.

He hadn’t even made it to his sneakers before the pit in his stomach told him something was off. It was four in the morning. He’d barely slept. When he picked up his phone, it nearly slipped from his hand. His screen was lit up with dozens of missed calls, texts, and news alerts.

At the very top of his missed calls list: Mom.

He hadn’t even processed the headline before the fury hit. He didn’t have to scroll to know what had happened.

By sunrise, he stormed out. Didn’t even wake Izuku. He knew if he stayed in the house another minute, he was going to break something—and he’d rather not scare his kids.

He showed up to his agency without warning. No coat. Hair a mess. Expression unreadable. Security didn’t question him. They never did when he looked like this.

Five minutes later, the PR team was gathered in the conference room.

Five smug faces. All seated. All prepared with their little talking points.

Katsuki didn’t sit.

He shut the door behind him.

And for a moment, he said nothing.

He just stood there. Stared. Let the silence press down like a hydraulic press.

Then:

“You thought you could post it and I wouldn’t find out?”

The lead PR rep—a man in his mid-thirties with perfect hair and a fake tan—had the audacity to smile.

“It was powerful,” he said, like he was reviewing a movie trailer. “Raw. Honest. We thought it would resonate—”

“You thought?”

Katsuki’s voice was quiet.

That was the first sign they’d fucked up. Katsuki Bakugou was never quiet unless he was about to explode.

“I thought,” he repeated, “we had a contract. A very clear, written-out contract. One that states that no video, image, or clip involving me or my family goes public unless I approve it. No exceptions.”

There was a shuffle of papers. A cough. A nervous glance.

“It was an emotional piece—”

“Don’t call it a piece. That wasn’t a fucking highlight reel. That was my husband having a breakdown, and you decided to post it.”

No one spoke.

Katsuki stepped forward. One step.

Still, none of them moved.

“But let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about the comments,” he said, voice sharpening. “Over 3,000 hate comments. Misogynistic. Homophobic. Some calling my family things I won’t repeat. You left them up. For days. You haven’t deleted a single fucking comment.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up.

“I logged into the ‘Private Feed’ account. Out of the six vlogs we’ve posted, you haven’t cleared a single thread. Not one.”

He let the silence sit.

“8,523 hate comments.”

He let the number hang in the air like a bomb.

“You wanna know how I got that number? I fucking counted. I was that mad. Got up at 4AM, ready to do my run, saw my phone blowing up, thought, huh, weird. Checked the feed. Saw a video I didn’t approve. Saw the comments. All of them. All 8,523.”

He looked each person in the eye. Slowly. One by one.

“Five hundred of them were just on that 'nightmare vlog' you uploaded last night. Without permission.”

One woman opened her mouth.

Katsuki raised a hand.

“Don’t.”

She shut it.

“I knew I had to come in calm. Controlled. Because if I came in swinging, you’d all pretend I was just angry and emotional. So now that I have your attention, let me make something clear.”

He took a breath. Jaw tight.

“I don’t care who signed off on that video. I don’t care if you thought it was good PR. This wasn’t your story to tell. You took a private moment, cut it up, slapped on a title, and posted it for engagement.”

The tan guy tried again. “But the response was huge. There were thousands of positive—”

“And yet,” Katsuki said, voice rising, “none of you deleted the negative."

He slammed his hand on the table. The whole thing rattled.

“My family is not your content. My Omega is not your fucking clickbait. You’re lucky I haven’t filed to dissolve your entire department.”

He turned toward the door. Paused.

“Oh—and my manager says I’m on a three-day vacation. Wanna know why? Because the PR team is too scared to show their faces, and he didn’t want me to blow up the building like I told you I would when the contract was written.”

He glanced back.

“The lawyer will be in touch.”

And just like that, Katsuki walked out.

To go home.

To be with his family.

To protect what mattered most.

Chapter Text

The takeout containers were scattered across the coffee table — half-empty boxes of dumplings, yakisoba noodles with stray bean sprouts hanging off the edge, and three different kinds of mochi that Yuzuki had absolutely licked to claim as hers.

Katsuki didn’t even try to fight her on it. He was on “vacation,” as his manager insisted, and that meant absolutely no cooking.

Which was why Izuku was currently popping popcorn over the stove with one hand while holding Taiga on his hip with the other. The toddler was drowsy from food and cartoons, head nestled against Izuku’s shoulder, one tiny hand tucked under Izuku’s hoodie.

“Rio next!” Yuzuki shouted from the living room, hopping from cushion to cushion like the floor was lava.

“I thought you said Monster High,” Haruki groaned, sprawled across the beanbag with a blanket tossed haphazardly across his legs.

“I changed my mind!”

Haruki rolled his eyes, but Katsuki passed him the remote anyway. “Let her pick,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair as he passed. “We watched your robot show last time.”

“It’s mecha fantasy,” Haruki muttered, but there wasn’t much bite to it.

By the time Rio 2 was playing, the popcorn was ready, Taiga was fully asleep in Katsuki’s lap, and a game of uno was set up on the floor.

Izuku sat cross-legged, already munching on a handful of popcorn. Katsuki stretched out behind him, leaning against the couch, with one arm cradling their sleeping toddler and the other tossing pieces to Yuzuki when she opened her mouth like a baby bird.

Haruki was already annoyed, his turn being skipped for a third time.

Later, the four of them (minus the snoring toddler) played Sorry! sprawled out on the floor. Izuku kept winning. Haruki was salty about it.

Yuzuki was barely playing — she kept forgetting whose turn it was and getting distracted by the songs in the movie. At one point, she stood up with her cardboard sword from earlier and challenged Haruki to a duel mid-game.

Haruki didn’t hesitate. “En garde!” he declared, grabbing his own cardboard blade from the toy bin.

“You’re no match for the Blue Princess of the Forest!” Yuzuki declared, twirling dramatically.

Katsuki laughed — a real, belly-deep sound — as Haruki let himself be defeated, flopping onto the rug like he’d been mortally wounded.

Izuku clapped from the sidelines. “Our hero has fallen! What a tragic end!”

“She got me with the double spin move,” Haruki said weakly. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

Izuku leaned against Katsuki’s side, giggling as he nuzzled into his shoulder. Katsuki, in turn, pressed a kiss to his curls.

“Remind me to get her into fencing,” Izuku said softly.

“Oh yeah,” Katsuki grinned. “She’d own the circuit.”

Eventually, after some cleanup and a brief intermission where Izuku sang along to “What Is Love” from Rio 2 while swaying dramatically with Yuzuki in the kitchen, the energy in the house began to settle.

Katsuki joined the duet for the chorus, voice gruff but playful.

"It’s a crazy love…"

Izuku laughed mid-verse and nudged him with his hip. “You sound like you’re trying to seduce the microwave.”

“I’m trying to serenade you, nerd.”

Izuku’s eyes crinkled with warmth. “Mission accomplished.”

Afterward, Yuzuki curled up in Katsuki’s lap, Taiga napping soundly on a pile of blankets, and Haruki dragged the chess board from the shelf.

He dropped it in front of Izuku with a determined look.

“Rematch.”

Izuku arched a brow. “Since when did we have a first match?”

“Last week, but this time I’m gonna win.”

Katsuki smirked from the couch, now sandwiched between a half-asleep Yuzuki and an already-napping Taiga. “You sure about that?”

Haruki nodded, serious. “I’ve been watching videos.”

“Ooh, scary,” Izuku teased. “Are you gonna Queen’s Gambit me?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Exactly,” Katsuki muttered.

Haruki huffed. “Dad!”

Izuku chuckled and reached out to help him set up the board.

This game moved slow. Haruki was thinking through his moves. Concentrated. A little frown between his brows — the same one Katsuki got when trying not to burn dinner. Izuku’s play was fluid. Relaxed. But precise. Every move a trap waiting to be sprung.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to your son,” Haruki muttered fifteen minutes in.

“I’m building character,” Izuku said gently.

“You’re ruining me.”

“And I’m so proud.”

Katsuki watched them from across the room. The quietness of it. The steady click of pieces against the board. His chest ached — not with worry, but with something warm and full and good.

“I told you not to play against him,” Katsuki muttered, glancing over the board.

“He’s literally a strategist,” Haruki grumbled.

Izuku shrugged innocently, moving his piece with a grin. “And this game is all strategy.”

Katsuki chuckled. “You did this to yourself, kid.”

“You’re all against me,” Haruki groaned, flopping backward dramatically.

Izuku leaned forward and began setting the board back into its case, humming as he stacked the pieces away.

Haruki sat up, watching him for a second, then said, “You never did say why you chose to be an analyst and strategist.”

Izuku blinked, caught off guard for a moment. He glanced at Katsuki, who looked up from tucking the toddler into a blanket. There was something silent between them. Something understood.

Izuku smiled softly. “That’s a story for another day.”

When bedtime finally rolled around, all three kids were sticky-eyed and slouchy, bumping into each other like tired ducklings.

Katsuki helped brush Yuzuki’s hair while Izuku wrangled Taiga into pajamas. Haruki insisted he wasn’t tired and then promptly dozed off halfway through pulling his shirt over his head.

An hour later, when the house was silent, Katsuki’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

From: Hana
Mister Tanaka has been fired. Official statement pending. The agency is pursuing legal action for defamation of public image regarding both Ground Zero and his mate.

Katsuki stared at the screen for a moment. The tension that had been coiled in his shoulders for days finally began to loosen.

He set the phone down. Rolled toward Izuku, already curled up under the comforter. He slid an arm around his waist. Kissed the back of his neck.

“Mmm,” Izuku hummed, half-asleep. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki whispered. “Now I am.”

One by one, the kids wandered in. Yuzuki first, dragging a plushie the size of a small animal. Then Taiga, blinking sleepily and climbing up between them without a word. And finally — Haruki, awkward and too tall for this, hesitating at the doorway.

Katsuki lifted the blanket.

Haruki said nothing, just shuffled in and flopped beside them, careful not to squish anyone.

Katsuki looked down the line of his family. Five warm bodies all tucked into one bed.

He sighed softly. Closed his eyes.

Let the peace settle.

Tomorrow could bring what it wanted. But tonight? They were home.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was warm. Bright. Cluttered with half-eaten bowls of rice, leftover yakitori skewers, and Yuzuki’s chopsticks abandoned mid-table for some very serious plushie surgery on the couch.

Katsuki rolled his eyes as Taiga smeared soy sauce all over his sleeve.

Izuku laughed. “You’re the one who gave him the bottle.”

“I didn’t give him the bottle—he stole it, like the little gremlin he is.”

“He gets it from your side,” Izuku teased, and nudged Katsuki’s leg under the table.

“Bullshit. Gremlin is all you.”

“Language,” Haruki muttered around a mouthful of food, tone flat.

Katsuki raised a brow. “Oh, now you’re the manners police?”

Izuku grinned, leaning into Katsuki’s space just enough to make him huff.

“See?” Katsuki shot toward Haruki. “This. This is what I live with.”

Izuku’s smile faltered for just a second — barely a twitch — before it was gone again.

Haruki’s hand paused over his chopsticks. His stomach flipped.

The air felt suddenly… tight. Familiar.

He stood.

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, scraping his chair back.

Izuku blinked. “Haruki, you’ve barely—”

“I said I’m fine.”

He left before they could press.

He left before the sound of raised voices could echo in his head again.

—

Haruki is 4 when he learns his dad is a hero.
He watches him fly across the screen so fast the camera can’t keep up. Ground Zero — loud, explosive, bigger than life.
It’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen.

He’s also 4 when he hears his mama cry for the first time.

It’s behind the bathroom door. Haruki stands outside, small fists balled at his sides. He wants to help. But Mama told him not to knock unless it’s an emergency.
And he doesn’t think Mama would call this one.

Haruki is 6 when he realizes he was never supposed to be born.

He asks Mama: “Why did you have me?”
Izuku freezes.
Then he cries. Right there in the kitchen, hand over his mouth like the sound of it hurts too much.

Haruki doesn’t ask that question again.

Haruki is 7 when he figures out why Papa is always late.

Every day, Papa comes home and collapses — on the couch, in their bed, still in his hero gear.
But when Haruki crawls up and tugs his hand, Papa always opens his eyes. Always plays, even if it’s just for ten minutes.
Even when he’s exhausted.
Haruki doesn’t say it out loud, but it makes him feel special.

Haruki is 8 when his parents scream at each other.

It happened once and it is still one of the scariest things Haruki has heard.

It ends with Katsuki slamming the door. Izuku curls up in bed, eyes red, trying to stay quiet.
Haruki stands in the hallway and doesn’t breathe.
He doesn’t know how to fix this one.

Haruki is 9 when the world shifts.

Her name is Yuzuki. She comes home wrapped in pink blankets and soft coos.
His sister.
His partner in crime.
His gremlin twin.

Haruki thinks maybe things will be okay.

Haruki is 10 when he finds Mama on the floor.

He’s lying there. Still. Too still.

A bottle of pills sits open on the tile.
There are only two left.

Haruki doesn’t cry.
He kneels. He shakes his mom gently.

“Mama? Wake up.”

Nothing.

The silence is loud. The air is sharp. The floor is cold.

He calls Papa.
Papa comes home fast — faster than any villain fight Haruki’s ever seen.
He scoops Mama off the floor and clutches Haruki against his chest like he’s scared they’ll both vanish.

Papa whispers: “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Later, when Mama’s awake, they talk.
Haruki learns it’s not the first time.
He learns sometimes being tired doesn’t mean sleep.
He doesn’t ask why.

But he doesn’t stop being angry. Angry at the world and at katsuki.

Haruki is 11 when his world flips again.
He holds his baby brother for the first time.
Taiga.
Small, squishy, loud.
Haruki kisses his forehead and swears he’ll never let him feel like a mistake.

Haruki is 12 when he learns the word depression.

He reads about it. Researches it. Watches videos.
And something in his chest goes quiet when he realizes
That’s what Mama has.

He doesn’t say anything.
But he brings him tea more often.
He turns the hallway light on when it gets dark.
He teaches Yuzuki to take her laundry to him to fold because sometimes Mama can’t do it.

Haruki is 13 when he learns the full story.

Why Mama flinches at his own worth.
Why Papa is always trying so hard.
Why there’s a scar on Mama’s neck and a hole in their past.

It doesn’t make him feel better.
But it makes things clearer.

Haruki still thinks he’s a mistake.

But now… he understands why they fought to keep him anyway.

Haruki is 14 when he follows in his father’s footsteps.

Hero school. Training.
People say he’s got the fire. The power. The name.

But Haruki knows the truth.

He fights to protect people — because one day, he almost lost his whole world before he was even old enough to understand it.

He fights for Mom.

He fights for every kid who’s ever asked “why was I born?”
And still didn’t hear the answer.

—

Haruki lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands fisted in his sheets.

He could still hear the laughter from the kitchen. Soft. Fading. Like a song from a different life.

Izuku’s voice — gentle. Katsuki’s — gruff and constant.

They weren’t yelling now.

They hadn’t yelled like that in years.

But the memory was burned into his bones.

His fingers relaxed, slowly. He reached over to grab his phone and stared at the screen.

A pic of all of them at the beach when taiga was still small.

He huffed a tiny laugh. Then tossed the phone aside.

Maybe things weren’t perfect.

But they were his.

A soft knock on his door startled Haruki.

He knew who it was — too gentle to be Dad.

“You can come in, Mom.”

Izuku peeked in, eyes warm but cautious. “Hey. You okay? You left dinner pretty fast.”

Haruki hesitated, then sat up a little straighter on the bed.

“Do… do you remember that argument you had with Dad when I was eight?”

Izuku blinked. “...Yeah. I do. Why?”

“Dinner. I know you guys were just teasing each other, but… it reminded me of that.”

Izuku stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. He sat at the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “We never wanted you to carry that night with you.”

Haruki shrugged, eyes still on the blanket. “I didn’t think I was. I don't even remember what that fight was about. It just kind of… hit me.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

Then Izuku said, “You know… your dad goes to therapy. It’s part of his hero contract, I mean after raids, missions. But he goes pretty regularly even when we were in highschool.”

“really?” Haruki murmured.

Izuku smiled faintly. “He’s actually really good about it.”

“What about you?” Haruki asked, voice small.

Izuku hesitated.

“...I went once,” he said, looking down. “But I didn’t go back.”

“Why?”

Izuku sighed. His fingers twisted together in his lap.

“I struggle to open up,” he admitted. “I think… your dad is the only one who really knows everything. And even then, that’s because he lived through most of it with me.”

Haruki looked over, watching him closely. “Would you ever try again?”

Izuku blinked.

“I could go too,” Haruki added quickly, trying to sound casual. “Not with you or anything. Just… like, at the same time. Same day. So it doesn’t feel like doing it alone.”

Izuku’s eyes softened. For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just reached over and rested a hand over Haruki’s.

“Maybe,” he said, voice quiet. “That might help.”

Haruki nodded. “Cool. Yeah. Just… think about it.”

“I will.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It felt like the space where healing starts.

Izuku gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

And for the first time in a while, Haruki didn’t feel like he was carrying it all alone.

Chapter Text

It was just past eight, and the kitchen was alive with the sounds of cereal crunching, clinking mugs, and a five-year-old declaring war on anyone who wasn’t ready to go to the park right now.

Izuku was seated at the end of the table, tablet propped up, fingers swiping through a rotating stream of hero stat logs. He wore his usual work fit — dark slacks, crisp button-up, sleeves rolled halfway — a casual clean that said “desk job” but still screamed “I will destroy you in debate.” His hair was pinned back with a plain green clip Yuzuki had given him, and his coffee was already halfway gone.

Katsuki, by contrast, looked like he’d been dragged out of a ditch. He was shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, one eye still squinting against the morning sun filtering through the curtains. His mug was full, untouched, steaming on the counter where he’d forgotten it.

"Park," Yuzuki declared again, fists on her hips like she owned the place. “You said we could go, and I already got shoes on!”

Across the table, Taiga was stabbing his pancakes with methodical intent. He hadn’t said a word all morning, but the two plastic dinosaurs he’d tucked into his sleeves were having a violent war under the table.

Katsuki grunted. “Yeah, yeah, I said we could go. I’m not dead yet.”

Yuzuki cheered like she’d just saved the world.

From the hallway, Haruki appeared with perfect timing, hair still sleep-mussed, hoodie half-zipped. His eyes lit up.

“We going to the park?”

Katsuki gave a short nod, rubbing his face. “Yeah, I guess—”

“Can we vlog it?”

That made Katsuki pause. Visibly.

“Hell no,” he said flatly, already regretting life. “PR’s got my ass in a vice. I don’t care if the agency’s suing that damn gossip leech. I’m not giving anyone more footage.”

Haruki held up both hands in mock innocence. “We don’t have to post it. But having it? For the memory? Could be nice.”

Izuku raised a brow but said nothing, sipping his coffee. Katsuki stared at Haruki for a long second, eyes narrowed.

“You going to the park?”

Haruki opened his mouth, then closed it.

“…Fuck,” he muttered, already turning to head back upstairs and get dressed.

Katsuki smirked into his cup. “That’s what I thought.”

Title: Private Feed Episode 7: "Hang at the Park" Uploaded: Sunday, August 17– 10:00 AM Runtime: 20:05 Minor’s faces blurred per NDA. Viewer discretion advised for language.

The video opens mid-walk. The camera shakes slightly with each step, catching uneven footage of pavement, a passing stroller, and the familiar figure of Ground Zero from behind. He’s dressed down: hoodie tied around his waist, black tank top, sunglasses. One hand grips a water bottle. The other rests protectively on the shoulder of a tiny boy in a sky-blue sunhat.

Taiga is babbling softly, but his voice is muffled. He walks with exaggerated effort, stomping one foot dramatically as he points toward the park entrance up ahead. His face is blurred.

Yuzuki runs ahead.

"Park!!"

Her voice is unmistakable—sharp, delighted, the kind of five-year-old chaos that makes parents nervous. Her pink sundress flaps behind her like a cape as she spins once, twice, then sprints toward the climbing structure. Her face is also blurred.

Katsuki doesn’t shout. He just calls her name, low and warning. She freezes mid-step, shoots him a sheepish grin, then skips back a few paces.

Haruki follows behind, holding the camera steady. Fourteen, in shorts and a loose tee, sunglasses pushed into his hair. He glances toward his dad.

"She's so fast. I don't remember being that fast," Haruki says off-camera.

"You were. But also you were better behaved," Katsuki mutters, not even looking back.

Haruki grins.

Cut.

They’re at the park now. The structure is quiet, mostly empty. A few families pack up strollers in the distance. The sun hangs warm and gentle above the trees.

Yuzuki climbs up the slide backward.

"You’re not supposed to do that," Haruki mutters from where he stands beneath it.

"I like it better this way," Yuzuki says.

She slithers down halfway, then curls into a ball under the slide. Haruki ducks down beside her. The camera is set to rest on a low tripod, catching the two of them beneath the shadowed plastic.

She leans over, whispering:

"Are you okay? You were quiet last night."

Haruki blinks. Yuzuki hugs her knees.

"You get like that sometimes," she adds. "Like when I get a tummy ache but pretend I don't."

Haruki doesn’t respond right away. He pulls at a blade of grass between his fingers.

"I'm fine," he says eventually.

"Okay," Yuzuki says simply. "Can we get ice cream after?"

Cut.

Katsuki sits on a nearby bench, elbows on his knees. The hoodie is off now, looped around Taiga’s waist like a makeshift harness. The toddler climbs up and down the side of the bench, occasionally stopping to show off a rock or leaf.

Haruki flops onto the bench beside his dad, camera resting beside them.

"Do you actually like taking the kids to the park?" he says.

Katsuki grunts. "I do. 'Cause it's quiet. And no one bugs us."

Taiga clambers up onto Katsuki’s lap and flops dramatically. Katsuki barely reacts.

"You're lucky he's not covered in sand," Haruki adds.

Cut.

Yuzuki shrieks in the background as she runs in wild, fast circles around a tree.

"I'M A GREMLINNNN," she screams, arms up like claws.

Katsuki doesn’t flinch. Haruki snorts.

Cut again.

They’re on the swings now. Three of them: Taiga in the toddler swing, Yuzuki in the regular, and Haruki, long-limbed, folded awkwardly into the third.

Katsuki stands behind them. Pushes each in turn.

Yuzuki squeals. "HIGHER, DAD! SKY HIGH!"

"You fall out, I'm not helping you," Katsuki warns.

Taiga kicks his legs and giggles.

"I'M FLYING," Yuzuki shouts.

Haruki leans back and closes his eyes as he swings.

"This is the most fun I've had all week."

"What? UA hero training not fun?" Katsuki jokes.

"Hell no."

Cut.

Katsuki now stands in front of the camera. He’s clearly holding it himself, angling the lens to face him. The sun glints off his sunglasses, his jaw set hard.

"I’ve got one thing to say," he growls. "If even one person steps outta line in the comments—one—I’m shutting this whole thing down. Private Feed ends. No more vids."

He stares into the lens for a beat longer than necessary.

"Got it?"

Cut.

They’re sitting in the shade now, on a blanket spread over the grass. Taiga munches on crackers. Yuzuki sips juice and tries to convince Haruki that rocks are edible if you believe hard enough.

Haruki, face flushed with amusement, says, "I think that's how you get a stomach pump."

Yuzuki grins. "Then I’ll have proof it’s magic."

Katsuki lies back, one arm over his eyes.

"Why are my kids so weird," he mutters.

"Because you raised us," Haruki answers immediately.

"Tch. Shut up."

Cut.

Final shot: the sun beginning to dip, long shadows on the grass. Taiga curled against Katsuki’s chest, half-asleep. Yuzuki slumped against Haruki’s side, eyes barely open. The air hums with the buzz of late summer insects.

No words.

Just soft breathing.

And the slow fade to black.

—

TOP COMMENTS:

@chaoschildfanclub:
Gremlin climbing the OUTSIDE of the slide while Haruki just films like it’s normal behavior 💀
↳ @muffinfortaiga:
She said “rules are suggestions” and Katsuki said “just don’t die”
↳ @groundzerodna:
Truly Katsuki’s kid. Fearless and mildly concerning.

@captainofsoft:
Baby Blue barely stumbles and Katsuki’s already halfway across the park like he was launched 😭
↳ @emergencysnackdad:
“Fall and learn” but he’s there to catch every time
↳ @fluffygroundzero:
He can’t help it. Soft mode is always one scraped knee away

@kacchansboystoo:
“Don’t eat the mulch” and gremlin goes dead silent like she was absolutely about to
↳ @gremlinfangirl:
She stared at him like he interrupted a gourmet meal
↳ @teamharuki:
Haruki in the back like a National Geographic crew: observe, never interfere💀

@pleasejustonedayofpeace:
Haruki: “Do you want to try the swings?”
Gremlin: already hanging upside down like a bat
↳ @bakufamfanclub:
They don’t try. They do
↳ @swingsareoptional:
Gremlin’s life motto is “what if I just climbed everything backwards”

@burnyourcomment:
The way Katsuki got real serious at the end: “We’re done if y’all can’t act right in the comments.”
↳ @respectthedad:
He said ✨parental boundaries✨ and meant it
↳ @apologyformyself:
I had to go back and check my own comment just in case 😭😭😭

TOP TAGS: #ParkDayChaos, #SoftDadKatsuki, #MiniGremlinsUnleashed, #GremlinIsAFeralPrincess, #BlueTumblesSafe, #HarukiTheCameraman, #GroundZeroFamilyMoments, #ClimbingEverythingAlways, #MulchIsNotASnack, #RespectTheDad

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be the best day of his life.

He was fourteen — just a kid with big dreams.
He’d met his idol. The Number One Hero. The Symbol of Peace.

And then All Might told him the truth.

"You should think of something more realistic. For someone like you. A quirkless Omega… heroism just isn’t in the cards."

That was the last straw Izuku had left.

His legs moved on their own after that. Out of the alley, past the sirens, through the tight-packed crowds of smoke and shouting and scattered debris. He didn’t remember the train ride. Or how long he’d walked. All he knew was the building had no fence on the roof and the stairs didn’t stop.

He just kept climbing.

He didn’t even cry at first. Just walked up twenty-seven flights like a ghost, his hands still clenched around the crushed notebook All Might had signed. Pages wrinkled. His dream inside, in ink, in ashes.

The wind was sharp when he reached the top. It tugged at his hoodie, his hair, the sweat on his neck. His lungs ached, legs numb. He didn’t know why he came up here. He didn’t even know what he was doing.

He stood near the edge. Not on it. But close enough.

And then everything hurt.

The world didn’t spin or darken like in the movies. His body just... stopped. The guilt. The shame. The disappointment. It swelled up and crashed down. His knees gave out. The drop was silent—like something in him short-circuited and folded under its own weight.

An Omega drop. Total shutdown.

He curled up on the gravel, heart racing even though his limbs wouldn't move. He couldn’t cry. Couldn’t scream. He just laid there, eyes glassy, cheeks damp, as the sun started to sink lower in the sky.

Izuku didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment, he was curled up on the rooftop, fingers clenched around a notebook, and the next, he was waking up warm.

Too warm.

Blankets were tucked around his body. There was a pillow under his head. He was in Katsuki’s room—he could tell by the posters, the smell, the faint hum of an old All Might lamp in the corner. His eyes cracked open slowly, lashes sticky from dried tears.

“Finally.”

Katsuki’s voice came from beside him. Not angry. Not mocking. Just… tired.

Izuku flinched and sat up too fast. The movement left him dizzy, stomach twisting as the weight of the last week returned with force. His quirkless diagnosis. His presentation as an Omega. The rooftop. All Might’s words.

The drop.

“I—” Izuku’s voice cracked. “Why… why did you bring me here?”

Katsuki didn’t answer at first. He sat cross-legged on the floor, still in his school uniform, though his tie was gone and his sleeves were rolled up. There was a tension in his jaw, but his hands were still.

“You dropped, Deku.”

The nickname didn’t sting like it used to. Not when Katsuki said it so softly.

“I found you shaking and curled up on a rooftop. I thought you were gonna die.”

Izuku curled inward again, arms wrapping around his knees. “I didn’t know what was happening,” he whispered. “I just… I just wanted to stop existing for a little while.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Katsuki stood. He crossed the room, grabbed something from the shelf, and tossed it on the bed.

A familiar hoodie.

Izuku blinked.

“It’s mine,” Katsuki muttered. “It smells like me. You… you looked like you needed grounding.”

Izuku hesitated, then pulled it into his lap. It was warm. Heavy. Comforting in a way he didn’t expect. The scent hit him almost immediately—spicy, smoky, sharp around the edges—but beneath it was something steady. Anchoring.

His body reacted before he could think. His shoulders dropped. His breathing slowed.

“You always said scenting was stupid,” Izuku murmured, eyes closing. “That you weren’t gonna be all Alpha about it.”

“I’m not,” Katsuki said quickly. “But you’re my—” He bit off the rest of the sentence and turned away. “Whatever. It helped, didn’t it?”

Izuku nodded.

The hoodie stayed wrapped around him all night. He didn’t sleep much, but he didn’t panic either. Katsuki stayed nearby, never crowding him, just existing in the same space. Close enough to touch. Safe.

Over the next few weeks, things changed.

Slowly.

Katsuki stopped yelling. Izuku stopped flinching.

They started walking home together again. Not talking, at first, but existing side by side like they used to before quirks and hormones and cruel words ruined everything. Izuku wore Katsuki’s hoodies more often. Sometimes he returned them. Sometimes he didn’t.

And then came the night the bond started.

It wasn’t dramatic. No fights. No ruts or heats or primal instincts. Just two fourteen-year-olds curled up on the floor of Katsuki’s room, the window cracked open to let in the spring air.

Izuku was wearing one of Katsuki’s older hoodies, sleeves too long, the hem brushing his thighs. Katsuki had a blanket tossed over both of them, and their knees were touching.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Izuku said suddenly, staring at the ceiling. “Not to you. Not to anyone.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m quirkless. I’m an Omega. I’m not going to UA.”

Katsuki didn’t look away from him. “You’re still you.”

Izuku’s heart clenched.

He turned his head, searching Katsuki’s face. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m yours,” Katsuki said, voice rough. “And you’re mine.”

There was no bite.

Just two kids leaning into each other, and the bond sliding into place like a door finally closing. Soft. Quiet. Real.

Izuku felt it settle in his chest like gravity.

And for the first time in months, he didn’t feel alone.

—

The first time Izuku realized something was wrong, he was hunched over a toilet, trembling.

It had started as a headache. Then the fever set in. He thought maybe he was getting sick. School stress. Maybe something Katsuki said had stuck too deep—like usual. But when he woke up drenched in sweat, hips aching and body pulsing with a low thrum that made his skin crawl, he knew.

His heat had started.

They had talked about it in health class, in whispers, in awkward pamphlets.

The bond between him and Katsuki was… strained, at best.
He didn’t talk about it. Not to his mother. Not to anyone.
Katsuki was trying — he’d started therapy, stopped yelling, tried to be kind. Careful.
But with him living at the UA dorms, things were still hard.
And Izuku still flinched when Katsuki raised his voice. When he moved too fast.

And yet, when the heat started, Izuku called him anyway — desperate, humiliated, shaking.
Katsuki was there within an hour.

It was awful. Overwhelming. Nothing like the stories. He sobbed halfway through it, gripping Katsuki’s shirt so hard his knuckles bled. Katsuki didn’t complain. He held him through every wave and tremor. He whispered apologies that Izuku couldn’t process. He tried to be gentle, even when their instincts weren’t.

And then it was over.

Or so he thought.

Two weeks later, he threw up during breakfast. Then again at lunch. He ignored it. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to say it out loud. But he knew in his heart.

The test was positive.

He stared at the lines in silence for so long his legs went numb. The tiny plastic stick trembled in his grip. The longer he looked, the more it felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. Splintering. Collapsing under his feet.

He waited another two weeks to tell his mother.

“Mom,” he whispered, standing awkwardly in the kitchen as she chopped vegetables. “Can I… talk to you about something?”

She hummed. “Of course, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

“I… I think I’m pregnant.”

The knife stilled. She didn’t turn around. Not at first.

“You think you’re pregnant?”

His throat tightened. “I took two tests.”

Silence.

Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes swept over him—his slouched posture, his bitten nails, the hunch in his shoulders like he already knew what was coming.

“With who?” she asked, voice like ice.

He didn’t answer.

“Mom, I—”

“With who, Izuku?”

His voice cracked. “Katsuki.”

She stepped back like she’d been slapped.

“No,” she muttered. “No, no. Absolutely not. That—that boy bonded you without permission, and now—now you’re telling me he’s gotten you pregnant?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Izuku whispered, but the words felt weak. Even he didn’t fully believe them. “It wasn’t planned. It just—happened.”

“And now you expect me to just be okay with this?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

She didn’t scream. That was the worst part. She didn’t cry, or hug him, or ask if he was okay. She just looked at him like he was a stranger.

“I think… you should find somewhere else to stay.”

His stomach dropped.

“Mom—?”

“You made your choice,” she said, turning back to the cutting board. “You’re almost eighteen. If you think you’re grown enough to have a child, then you’re grown enough to deal with the consequences.”

He stood there, frozen, while the sound of chopping resumed. Like nothing had happened.

Like he was nothing at all.

He left that night with a single duffel bag and nowhere to go.

Katsuki’s house was out of the question. He couldn’t bring himself to call. Couldn’t even look at his contact name.

So he wandered. Park benches. Late trains. Cold nights.

He wasn’t homeless. Not yet. But he was close.

When Mitsuki found out—three days in—she cursed so loudly he flinched.

“Damn that woman,” she muttered. “You’re a kid. And she just threw you out?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on his tea.

“You’re staying here,” she said, no room for argument. “End of story.”

And he did.

She didn’t hover. She didn’t push. She gave him a warm bed and a door that locked and the space to cry when he needed to. Katsuki didn’t bring it up either. Not the pregnancy. Not the heat. Not the look in Izuku’s eyes when he showed up at their door.

But Izuku noticed the way he glanced at his belly when he thought Izuku wasn’t looking.

He noticed everything.

Depression didn’t come all at once.
It slipped in like fog — quiet, heavy.
At first, it was just tiredness. Then skipped meals.
Then the nausea that wouldn’t go away.

He didn’t go back to school.
Finished online instead.

Stopped checking his phone.

Stopped wanting to exist.

There were days he didn’t speak to anyone at all. Days he lay curled in bed with his arms wrapped around his stomach, terrified of what was happening inside him and too ashamed to ask for help.

He stopped writing in his notebooks.

Stopped believing he’d ever be anything more than this, an empty shell full of regret.

Mitsuki tried to reach him. Sometimes, Katsuki would knock gently and leave food outside the door. But no one knew what to say. How could they?

He was a seventeen-year-old Omega, carrying a child he hadn’t asked for, abandoned by the only person who was supposed to stay.

The darkness set in slowly.

But it stayed.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of machines and the occasional shuffle of nurses outside the door. The antiseptic smell clung to everything. Izuku's arms trembled as the nurse gently placed the baby on his chest. He held still, rigid, barely breathing.

Katsuki sat beside the bed, one hand clenched tight on the railing, the other gripping his own thigh so hard his knuckles were white. He said nothing, but he hadn’t left the room once. Not during the labor. Not during the aftermath. Not now.

Izuku stared down at the tiny bundle nestled against him.

Haruki was impossibly small. Pale and pink and warm in a way that made Izuku’s chest ache. His little fingers twitched, his mouth opened in a soft searching motion, and Izuku’s breath hitched.

He didn’t cry. Not at first.

He just… looked. At the faint gold tufts of hair. The furrowed little brow. The way Haruki pressed into him without hesitation, like Izuku was home. Safe.

And then his throat burned.

His hand hovered, then lowered, and gently — carefully — he touched Haruki’s back. His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to be your start.”

A beat passed.

Haruki made a tiny noise, the softest sound in the world, and curled closer like he’d known Izuku forever.

That’s what broke him.

Tears slid silently down Izuku’s cheeks as he stared down at the baby. His baby. The weight of everything — the rejection, the shame, the terror, the endless, gnawing loneliness — all of it collapsed in his chest at once.

And Katsuki… Katsuki didn’t say a word.

He just reached out and placed his hand over Izuku’s — steady, grounding, warm.

Izuku didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. But he felt it. That wordless I’m here.

Haruki yawned then, wriggled once, and let out a tiny sigh before falling asleep against him.

And Izuku, barely holding himself together, whispered, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Katsuki finally spoke, voice rough. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

—

Izuku learned early how to disappear.

He made himself small in crowds, in the glow of Ground Zero’s rising stardom. He wore dull colors, kept his head down, and smiled when people stared too long at the freckled boy clinging to his side. Haruki was what make it all feel worth it.

Even when the world felt unbearable, Izuku stayed for him.

In the early years, when Haruki was still small enough to carry, it had been easier. The three of them carved out their routines in a small but sunlit apartment Mitsuki helped them secure. Katsuki was often gone on patrols and internships. Izuku, officially listed as “unemployed” on most legal forms, worked quietly under a pseudonym, writing quirk assessments and combat strategy breakdowns for agencies that never asked for a face.

He was good at it. Brilliant, actually. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t a hero.

He never would be.

Katsuki tried to be present. He did. Even after long shifts or overnight missions, he’d drag himself home, change diapers, collapse on the couch with Haruki snoring on his chest. He’d kiss Izuku’s temple and whisper things like, “You’re doing good. You’re so fuckin’ strong.”

And sometimes, it was enough to keep the loneliness at bay.

But loneliness has sharp teeth. And it never stops gnawing.

The press found out when Haruki was four.

Some tabloid leaked a blurry photo—Katsuki in street clothes, one hand wrapped protectively around an Omega, the other holding a tiny, blond-haired child. Izuku remembered the way it hit him: a stomach drop, a flood of nausea, and a phone vibrating endlessly with unread messages.

Within hours, hashtags trended. “#GroundZeroBabyMama.” “#QuirklessOmega.” “#GoldDigger.”

They called him a homewrecker. A manipulator. A societal leech using a powerful Alpha to climb the ladder. Forums were flooded with conspiracy theories: that Izuku had used scent suppressants to trick Katsuki into a bond, that Haruki wasn’t even his kid, that the whole thing was a scandal Katsuki's agency had tried to bury.

Katsuki went silent in the media. His agency’s PR team handled it with sharp, defensive statements. “Ground Zero does not comment on personal matters.”

But Izuku couldn’t hide. Not from the whispers at the grocery store. Not from the neighbors who suddenly avoided eye contact. Not from the sharp look people would give him on the street.

“You’ve brought shame to yourself,” they had said. “You can’t just keep blaming everyone else for your choices.”

Their bond was strong, but fragile. Like glass under pressure.

Katsuki loved him. That much Izuku knew. He came home when he could. He took Haruki on weekend trips, left handwritten notes in the kitchen, texted Izuku every day—even when he didn’t respond. He tried to make it work, in his brash, messy, Katsuki way.

And Izuku tried too.

He cooked dinner most night. Kept their home clean. Hugged Haruki a little tighter when the nightmares came. He took contract work from agencies in Europe or Korea, anything to feel useful again.

Some days, it almost felt normal.

But there were cracks. Conversations unfinished. Apologies unsaid. Moments where Katsuki would reach out, and Izuku would flinch. Not physically—but emotionally. Like touch still reminded him of being seventeen and terrified. Like love was a language he didn’t remember how to speak.

Katsuki never pushed. But the distance hurt them both.

The fight happened the night Katsuki came home from a week-long mission in Hokkaido.

Izuku was in the kitchen, stirring miso soup and chopping scallions. Haruki, now ten, was in his room watching old hero documentaries. The apartment smelled like rice and oil and something sweet from the bakery bag Katsuki left on the counter.

He was tired. Bone-tired. Mud on his boots, bruises under his eyes, a long, healing cut across his jaw. But something tugged him toward the bedroom.

He was looking for a clean shirt when he opened the wrong drawer.

Inside was a small, cardboard box. Folded carefully shut. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender.

He knew what it was before he even opened it.

Blades. Gauze. Ointment.

Katsuki’s breath caught in his throat.

“...Izuku?”

The wooden spoon clattered in the kitchen. Footsteps. Then silence.

Izuku appeared in the doorway, towel over his shoulder, face pale.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

Katsuki’s voice trembled. “What the fuck is this.”

“Don’t—please, Katsuki, just… put it back.”

“Are you hurting yourself? Are you fucking Izuku, what the hell.”

Izuku’s hands went to his arms, shielding them. “It’s not like that I didn’t I haven’t in a while I wasn’t going to, I just needed to feel safe.”

“Safe?! With that? You kept it next to my clothes, where our kid could find it—”

“I was careful! I am careful! Don’t talk to me like I’m like I’m some kind of fucking danger ”

“You are!” Katsuki shouted. “To yourself, I come home and find this I thought we were better than this, Izuku”

“You thought” Izuku laughed, loud and broken. “You thought what? That because I smile in pictures and make breakfast and clean up after you, I’m fine? You don’t fucking see me, Katsuki!”

“I do! I see everything! I try for you! I love you and you won’t let me in!”

“Because every time I let someone in, they leave!” Izuku screamed. “You think it’s easy, being your dirty secret? Being the quirkless Omega who ‘ruined’ Japan’s favorite Alpha?! I can’t even walk Haruki to school without wondering who’s going to spit on me next”

From down the hall, something crashed. A soft, startled sound.

Haruki.

Silence dropped like a hammer.

Izuku covered his mouth. Katsuki stood frozen.

Then small feet padded down the hallway. A sleepy, scared voice: “...Mama?”

Izuku turned just as Haruki peeked around the doorway, eyes wide, clutching a pillow.

“I heard yelling,” Haruki mumbled. “Are you mad?”

Izuku’s voice cracked. “No, baby, we’re—we’re not mad. I’m sorry. Go back to bed, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

Haruki lingered. “Both of you, promise?”

Katsuki knelt and opened his arms. Haruki ran into them.

“We promise,” Katsuki whispered, kissing his head.

They tucked him in together. Neither spoke.

That night, Katsuki slept on the couch.

Not because Izuku asked him to. But because the silence between them was unbearable.

He stared at the ceiling, the box long gone—Katsuki had taken it and thrown everything. Izuku didn’t even fight him on it.

He was too tired to fight anymore.

He thought about Inko. About the way her voice had chilled when she learned he was pregnant. You’re throwing your life away, Izuku. I didn’t raise you to be someone's mistake.

He thought about that rooftop, years ago, and the way katsuki looked at him after he woke up.

And he wondered—what if he wasn’t worth trying for anymore?

But in the morning, Katsuki made coffee. Quietly. Carefully. His eyes were red.

Izuku sat at the table, unsure if he should speak.

Katsuki slid a mug across to him. Then he sat.

“I’m not mad at you,” Katsuki said, voice hoarse. “I’m scared.”

Izuku didn’t know how to answer.

“I’ll never leave you,” Katsuki continued. “But you gotta let me help. You gotta let me see you.”

Izuku’s hands shook.

“I don’t know how to be okay,” he whispered. “But I want to try.”

Katsuki reached across the table. Warm fingers closed around his.

“That’s all I need.”

—

It had been nearly a year since Yuzuki was born, and Izuku still didn’t feel like himself.

If anything, he wasn’t sure he ever would again.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that clung like fog to his skin. The laundry basket overflowed. Dishes were stacked beside the sink, crusted and waiting. Toys littered the floor, a trail of forgotten play. But it wasn’t the mess that weighed on him. It was the silence. It was the stillness. It was the way he’d stopped talking in full sentences when Katsuki wasn’t home, the way he stopped smiling without realizing it.

He blinked down at his phone again, rereading the last message he’d sent to his mother.

"She’s crawling now. Yuzuki, I mean. I think she has my eyes."

A message sent three weeks ago. Left on read.

The thread was full of similar messages. Little lifelines, thrown out like ropes into a void: updates, questions, attempts to connect. He told himself he wasn’t expecting a reply anymore. He told himself it didn’t matter. But every time he opened that message thread, his heart clenched all the same.

They hadn’t really spoken for years. Not since she told him to leave.

Not since he’d shown her the positive test with shaking hands and hope curled like a tight wire in his chest. That hope had snapped so fast, it left scars.

He should’ve stopped trying. But he never could. Some part of him still thought maybe she’d see the pictures of the kids he occasionally sent. That she’d remember he was her son. That maybe she’d say something.

She didn’t.

And every silence was a fresh wound.

Izuku curled in on himself on the couch that evening, Yuzuki asleep in her crib, Haruki in bed after their nighttime routine. The static of the TV flickered over his face, a soft hum of voices he wasn’t listening to.

Katsuki was away on another mission. Three days gone. Maybe more. He hadn’t said exactly when he’d be back. It wasn’t his fault. But it still stung.

Izuku hadn’t showered in two days. He couldn’t remember what he’d eaten today. He didn’t feel sad so much as blank. Like a room with no windows. Like something had drained out of him and left only the shell behind.

When Yuzuki cried, he got up.

When Haruki asked for help, he smiled.

But inside, he felt like he was walking on glass every day.

Even when things were quiet, he was bracing for a scream. Even when they were happy, he couldn’t feel it.

He thought it would go away.

He thought he just needed to wait it out, be strong, hold on.

But the longer it went on, the heavier it became.

The pills were in the bathroom cabinet. A leftover prescription for anxiety, never finished. He stared at them for a long time, the cap cradled in his palm.

He didn’t want to die.

He really, really didn’t want to die.

He just wanted to stop feeling like this.

Stop waking up with a weight in his chest.

Stop hearing nothing but static when he looked in the mirror.

Stop imagining what it would’ve been like if he’d been someone else. Someone better. Someone his mom could love.

Just for a little while.

He took a few. Then a few more.

Then he curled up on the bathroom floor, the tile cool beneath his cheek, and waited for the noise to stop.

He didn’t hear Haruki’s voice right away.

Not until the knock on the door turned into frantic banging.

“Mama?”

Izuku blinked. The light hurt his eyes. His head felt heavy. Distant.

“Mama, are you okay?”

The sound of Haruki’s voice broke something open inside him.

“I—I’m fine,” he called, but it came out slurred, weak.

He tried to sit up. His arms barely responded.

There was a pause. Then small, running footsteps. Then a voice on the phone high and shaking saying, “Please, I need to call my dad. Something’s wrong with Mama.”

Katsuki arrived before the ambulance.

Izuku barely remembered the sound of the door bursting open. The way Katsuki called his name. The sting of bright light as Katsuki knelt down, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch him.

“Fuck, Izuku shit, what did you take?” His voice cracked. “Baby, look at me. Look at me”

Izuku’s lips moved. He thought he said something, but he couldn’t hear his own voice over the buzzing in his head.

Katsuki turned, shouted something out the door. Then there were more hands. Cold air. A stretcher.

He faded in and out.

But he remembered the look on Katsuki’s face.

Pale. Wrecked. Terrified.

Izuku had never wanted him to look like that.

The hospital was too bright. Too sterile.

The ceiling tiles blurred in and out. Time didn’t make sense.

When he came back to himself, really back, the first thing he saw was Katsuki sitting in a chair beside the bed, hands in his hair, elbows on his knees.

The room was silent.

Izuku whispered, “Is Haruki okay? Yuzuki?”

Katsuki’s head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot.

“Their fine. He’s scared. But their both okay.”

Izuku closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean to I wasn’t trying to ”

“I know,” Katsuki said. Voice rough. “I know. But you scared the hell out of me.”

A beat.

“You scared all of us.”

Izuku nodded weakly. “I’m sorry.”

Silence stretched long.

Then Katsuki moved. Sat on the edge of the bed and curled a hand gently around Izuku’s wrist.

“You gotta let me help,” he said. “You gotta tell me when you’re hurting.”

Izuku’s throat closed. His voice shook. “I didn’t want to ruin anything. You were doing so good. I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“You think your pain is a mess?” Katsuki’s eyes were sharp. “You think I don’t want to carry that with you?”

Izuku couldn’t speak. He blinked back tears.

“I love you,” Katsuki said, like a truth he would never stop repeating. “I love you even when it’s heavy. Especially when it’s heavy.”

“I feel like I’m failing,” Izuku whispered. “Like I’m failing all the time. I can’t feel anything but guilt.”

“You’re not failing.” Katsuki pressed his forehead to Izuku’s hand. “You’re exhausted. You’re drowning. You’ve been trying to carry everything alone.”

A breath. Then softer:

“Let me hold some of it.”

The following days passed slowly.

Izuku stayed in the hospital under observation. The overdose hadn’t been fatalhadn’t even been high enough for permanent harm but it had been enough.

Enough to be a cry for help.

Enough for people to finally listen.

Therapy was arranged.

Mitsuki came to sit with the kids. Haruki wouldn’t sleep without holding Izuku’s hoodie.

When Izuku came home, he expected distance. Shame. Coldness.

Instead, Haruki hugged him so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t go away again,” Haruki whispered.

Izuku cried for the first time in weeks.

Healing didn’t happen in a straight line.

Some days were better.

Some days the light filtered in through the cracks.

He started talking more. Started saying, “I’m not okay,” without guilt. Started texting Katsuki even when it felt like too much.

Sometimes, he reached for his phone and didn’t open his mother’s message thread.

Sometimes, he looked at his daughter, her tiny fists curled in sleep, and didn’t feel like a stranger.

Sometimes, he felt the bond between him and Katsuki hum warm under his skin.

He didn’t feel whole yet.

But for the first time in a long time—

He felt like he could.

—

The room was quiet, filtered sunlight warming the wooden floor beneath Izuku’s shoes. A small humidifier puffed quietly in the corner, making the air feel soft. Safe.

He sat curled slightly inward on the couch, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on a small crack in the wall. His voice was scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in a while. Which—he hadn’t. Not like this.

He let out a short, breathy laugh. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“And… yeah,” he said, fingers twisting in the hem of his sleeve. “That’s most of my life story, I guess.”

Across from him, the therapist didn’t write anything down. Just listened.

Izuku glanced up, eyes glassy but dry. “It sounds worse when you say it all at once.”

There was no judgment. Just a quiet hum from the clock behind them, ticking on.

“You survived it,” the therapist said gently. “That’s not nothing.”

Izuku looked back down, heart thudding slow and strange in his chest. Heavy. But not drowning.

He nodded.

“…Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Uploaded: Friday, August 31 — 11:17 AM
Title: “Private Feed episode 8: sick day chaos (healing soup + toddler co-host)”
Runtime: 32:46
Minor faces blurred per NDA. Viewer discretion is advised for language and feverish whining.

Katsuki looks exhausted. His hair is flattened on one side like he slept on the couch, and there’s a green face mask across his skin. Yuzuki is perched on his hip, face blurred. She’s giggling to herself while wrestling with a floppy, pastel-colored child’s face mask—smacking it into his cheek with all the grace of a sugared-up gremlin.

He doesn’t even flinch. Just sighs like his soul left his body three hours ago.

“You know you’re going to get sick, right?”

Yuzuki’s only response is to shove the mask harder into his face, her tiny hand grabbing at his nose.

Katsuki pulls the mask off his face and sets her gently down.

“Okay, go play. Maybe Haruki feels good enough to play with you.”

There’s the sound of rapid little footsteps slapping against the wood floor as she scurries off.

From somewhere off-screen, probably down the hall, comes a pitiful groan and a strained, miserable voice

“Please stop, I’m gonna throw up…”

Katsuki doesn’t miss a beat. He reaches for a mug, deadpan

“That’s what you get for last time.”

He smirks just slightly, then turns to the cabinet.

He pulls out three ceramic mugs, a plastic tumbler, and a neon green sippy cup. He’s methodical. Then pours hot water over teabags, adds honey to two, and quietly stirs.

Behind him, someone shuffles in.

Haruki enters the frame, rubbing at his eyes. His T-shirt is rumpled, pajama pants twisted low on his hips. His hair looks like it fought a pillow and lost. He coughs into his sleeve, and Katsuki doesn’t even turn around.

“You look like shit.”

Haruki groans.
“You haven’t even seen me.”

Katsuki finally glances over, smirks faintly, and hands him a warm mug—the green one.

“I can just tell. Here. It’ll help your throat.”

Haruki takes it like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

Katsuki grabs a mug and the neon green sippy cup in one hand then the camera in the other and starts walking down the hall. The apartment is quiet, save for muffled coughing and the soft hum of a humidifier. He turns left and pushes open a door.

The camera lifts—

Izuku and Taiga are bundled in a sea of blankets. Taiga’s small frame is curled tight against Izuku’s chest, clinging to his favorite blue blanket with one tiny fist. His fevered cheek is pressed into the crook of Izuku’s neck, warm and damp with sweat, while his other hand rests loosely over his mother’s heart. Izuku’s eyes are half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, but his arms never loosen their hold. Both of them are flushed with fever, hair sticking out in wild, tangled tufts

Katsuki sets the camera down on the dresser.

He leans over and gently shakes Izuku’s shoulder.

“Hm?”

“I made tea. It'll help your throat.”

Izuku blinks slowly, still dazed, and then sits up enough to accept the mug with both hands.

“Thanks…”

Katsuki crouches beside the bed, brushing a hand down Taiga’s back.

“Hey, kiddo. Time to wake up.”

Taiga groans like a wounded animal, and Katsuki lets out a soft laugh.

The camera cuts to the living room.

Katsuki is slouched on the couch, one leg propped up, holding the remote in one hand and a half-drunk mug of tea in the other. Yuzuki is sitting on the floor in front of him, surrounded by a scattered army of plushies and mismatched building blocks. Her face is blurred, but she’s clearly content—waiting.

Katsuki exhales, thumb hovering over the remote.

“Alright, we need something mellow,” he mutters, half to himself, half to the vlog. “Can’t be Carmen Sandiego—she gets too amped. Wild Kratts? Nah, she starts climbing furniture. Bluey…?”

He pauses, grimaces.

“Nope. Too much energy.”

He scrolls a little more, then grunts in reluctant approval.

“Alright. I won’t die if we do Octonauts.”

He clicks it. The Octonauts intro music starts to play.

Yuzuki instantly goes still, posture straight, eyes on the screen. Katsuki sips his tea like he’s just made the most strategic decision of the day.

“Hazard pay. I deserve hazard pay,” he mumbles, leaning back.

The camera lingers on the peaceful scene for a few seconds: the cartoon theme song plays, Yuzuki hums along softly, and Katsuki just breathes.

The camera cuts to the kitchen.

Katsuki’s back at the counter, sleeves pushed up, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. The angle’s slightly tilted like he propped the camera on a bag of rice. A big pot simmers on the stove behind him, steam fogging the edges of the lens just slightly.

He’s chopping carrots with clean, practiced movements, then slides them into the pot with a quiet sizzle.
“I’m making soup,” he says, not looking up. “Nothing fancy. Just chicken noodle.”

He moves on to celery next, dicing it with the same efficiency.

“Started the broth earlier. It’s got garlic, ginger, a whole chicken, and a bunch of spices.”

He tosses the celery in, gives the pot a stir, and turns to the camera for just a second.

“Usually I’d make the noodles from scratch, but—” he gestures vaguely toward the hallway, where a cough echoes in the distance. “Everyone’s sick. I don't have time for that.”

He grabs a bag of wide egg noodles from the counter and shrugs.

“These’ll do fine.”

He dumps them in, lowers the heat, and wipes his hands on the towel.

“Should be done in about an hour. If you’re sick—make soup. Or text someone until they make it for you. That’s what all my frien—”

He cuts himself off with a small scoff, waving the thought away like it’s smoke.
“What all my... ex-tras do, yeah. Extras.”

He clears his throat and turns back to the pot, voice quieter now.

“Anyway.”

The camera cuts back in. The soup is finished, steam curling lazily from the pot as Katsuki ladles it into five bowls. Each one goes on the counter in a neat row—green mug kid, hero mug adult, chipped ramen bowl, a little ceramic Totoro one, and a wide pastel pink one with cartoon bears.

“One for Haruki, one for Izuku, one for me, one for the gremlin, and the baby gets broth in her cup,” he mutters, half to himself.

He turns away from the bowls and opens a high cabinet, rummaging around until a clatter of bottles and boxes echoes off-camera. He sets down a row of cold meds, cough syrup, a digital thermometer, and a handful of chewable vitamins on the counter.

“Sick days are a whole damn operation,” he grumbles as he sorts the meds by person. “We got fevers, sore throats, congestion... I need a fuckin chart.”

Yuzuki toddles into frame, still in her little pajama set with ducks on it, and wraps her arms around his leg.

Katsuki pauses, glancing down, then ruffles her hair.

“You want some soup?” He bends down, tapping her nose. “You better not be next.”

She just babbles something and clings tighter.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The camera holds steady as he starts organizing the tray—bowls, spoons, tissues, the works—getting ready to deliver meals like a one-man nursing staff.

—
TOP COMMENTS:

@gremlinrising:
Ground zero whispering “you better not be next” while handing the Gremlin soup like a mafia boss protecting his turf 😭
↳ @soupandspite:
She clung to his leg like a koala and he still managed to carry soup and sass like a pro
↳ @privetdadwatch:
This man has toddler-proofed a crisis response system

@bluedownbad:
Blue sleeping on Izuku’s chest like a feverish burrito had me SOBBING
↳ @coughdropcrowd:
Blue’s tiny groan when Katsuki woke him up 😭 protect him at all costs
↳ @sickdayarchive:
It’s the blanket pile. It’s always the blanket pile that hits hardest.

@dadburnerstan:
Haruki barely alive, Katsuki roasting him without turning around…
↳ @mintytea4throats:
“You haven’t even seen me.” “I can just tell.” This man is wired for dadhood
↳ @harukihatersclub:
Haruki had one (1) moment of peace and Katsuki hit him with “you look like shit” 💀

@feralchildsurvivor:
Gremlin choosing violence before breakfast with that face mask 😭
↳ @tinychaosqueen:
Her slapping him with a pastel mask while giggling??? ICON
↳ @sickofitall:
Gremlin said “playtime or death.” Nothing in between.

@softkatsukicore:
Ground zero making soup and sorting cold meds with military precision. Sir. You are the mom now.
↳ @extrasoupclub:
“That’s what all my frien—extras do.” OKAY SO YOU DO HAVE FRIENDS, SIR.
↳ @warmbowlenergy:
This was healing content. This was “I need soup and dad” energy.

@blurtokprivetfeed:
The lineup of mugs and bowls 😭 Ground zero’s brain is 30% parenting, 70% logistics
↳ @theoctonautgeneral:
Him picking a show like it’s a life-or-death decision… bro just wanted a minute of quiet
↳ @kidshowcommentary:
“Bluey? Nope.” The trauma that show caused him is personal

TOP TAGS:
#SickDaySpecial, #SoftDadKatsuki
#GremlinIsAFeralPrincess, #TheReturnOfBluesBlanket, #SoupMedicCombo, #GroundZeroFamilyMoments, #GremlinVsThermometer, #YuzukiIsFineActually, #RespectTheDad, #ClimbingEverythingAlways, #ChickenSoupForTheSicklings, #KatsukiCuresWithSoupAndYelling

Chapter Text

The smell of eggs hits first—sharp and buttery, curling through the kitchen like a wake-up call that doesn’t need to yell. Katsuki flips the pan with one hand and holds his coffee in the other like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

Izuku’s bent over the counter next to him, packing Yuzuki’s lunchbox with methodical precision: two egg rolls, cucumber slices, rice balls shaped like tiny bunnies. Haruki’s hunched at the kitchen table, aggressively scribbling on a permission slip he forgot until this morning. Taiga’s yelling something from the bathroom about toothpaste being spicy.

Katsuki grunts. “How many damn lunches we got left?”

“Yours,” Izuku says, not looking up. “And don’t say you’ll just eat protein bars again.”

“...I like protein bars.”

“Uh-huh.” Izuku sips from his mug. “You also said you’d try not to explode at another intern this week.”

“That was a one-time—” Katsuki cuts himself off when Haruki slams his pen down.

“Dad, I need you to sign this—”

“Later.”

“It’s due today!”

“Then you should’ve remembered yesterday,” Katsuki snaps, but he signs it anyway, flipping the eggs without looking.

Haruki yanks the slip back and folds it into his bag, face scrunching like he’s already tired. He smooths out his UA uniform blazer and gulps the last of his juice. “I’m leaving now. Love you!”

“Wait, shoes,” Izuku calls, just as Haruki nearly flies out the door in his slippers.

There’s a thud, a groan, then the sound of Haruki stumbling back for his actual school shoes.

Yuzuki and Taiga tear into the room next, backpacks bouncing. Yuzuki’s got toothpaste on her chin and Taiga’s hair looks like he combed it with a fork. Izuku crouches down and fusses over both of them, dabbing faces, fixing collars, kissing foreheads.

“You’re not brushing your teeth with cinnamon again, are you?” Izuku asks Taiga.

“It smells like fire!” he yells happily.

“That’s… technically not a no.”

Katsuki sets a plate down in front of Izuku and taps the back of his neck with two fingers as he passes. It’s not quite a kiss, but it’s affectionate—grounding. A little thank you without needing to say it out loud.

Izuku gives him that look—the quiet, teasing kind—and nudges a bento toward him. “You should record today.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “The hell for?”

“Your workday. Hero stuff. People are always asking how agencies run—you just grumble and walk away.”

“That’s because most of them don’t actually care. They want to hear me yell at a villain, not explain department budgets.”

Izuku shrugs, smirking into his coffee. “So make it interesting. You’re good at that.”

Katsuki snorts. “I’m good at blowing stuff up.”

“Exactly,” Izuku says. “Blow stuff up and teach people how permits work. It’s called balance.”

Katsuki grumbles, but he doesn’t say no.

He doesn’t say no because Izuku’s not wrong.

And also because the idea of yelling about hero agency logistics on camera is starting to sound kind of fun.

Izuku calls over his shoulder, already halfway out the door:
“Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Yuzuki bounds after him with her backpack bouncing, Taiga toddling behind her with a mouthful of granola bar and a fistful of crayon drawings. The door shuts with a solid clunk, and just like that — Katsuki is alone.

The house feels quiet in their absence, too quiet for how early it is. He stretches once, jaw cracking, then heads down the hall toward the bedroom.

Their shared room still smells faintly of Katsuki’s burnt caramel and Izuku’s forest rain — warm, sharp, grounding. Katsuki breathes it in as he steps across the wood floor, cracking his neck once before yanking open the closet.

He grabs a hoodie and jeans — civilian clothes for now, since he’ll suit up in the locker room at the agency — and pulls them on without much thought. Muscle memory. Routine.

But when he turns back toward the dresser, something catches his eye.

The camera.

Left out, battery full, memory card loaded.
Izuku must’ve charged it last night.

Katsuki stares at it for a second. The house is still. The light’s good. His hair’s not awful.
“...Why the hell not,” he mutters, grabbing it.

The lens reflects a warped little version of himself as he grabs the camera.

—

Uploaded: Sunday, September 7— 10:12 AM
Title: Private Feed episode 9: the inner workings of a hero agency (feat. caffeine, chaos, and Denki's existential crisis)
Runtime: 47:26
Minor faces blurred per NDA. Viewer discretion is advised for language, explosions, and light teasing.

The video opens with a close-up of worn sneakers stepping onto concrete. The camera pans up, slightly shaky, to reveal a tall building with sleek glass panels and a wide awning etched with bold lettering: Red Riot Hero Agency.

The camera flips to Katsuki’s face. His expression is flat, mouth set in a near-glare, but the bags under his eyes suggest he’s already been up for hours.

“I’m gonna— I guess explain what happens at an agency. Izuku thought it’d be—”

KIRISHIMA (off-screen): “Ay, Kats!”

Katsuki groans, eyes flicking toward the interruption just as Kirishima walks on-screen, slinging an arm around his shoulders. He’s grinning, his red hair tied back.

“So we watched your last vlog.”

DENKI (sliding into frame) “Yeah, how’re the kiddos? I saw Izu earlier.”

“They’re fine.”

“Good, good… but—”

“You really almost said ‘friends,’ man. That was wild.”

“We were on the couch screaming. Like, did he just—did our emotionally constipated friend almost admit he has friends?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and pushes past them. The camera shifts as he holds it up again.

“Anyway.”

—

The footage cuts to Katsuki walking down a well-lit corridor, the camera catching glimpses of pristine white walls lined with memorabilia — glossy hero posters, a couple cracked villain masks mounted like trophies, and a framed photo of his first patrol team. His boots echo lightly against the polished tile.

“That’s my desk.”

He gestures off to the side at a modest, somewhat chaotic workstation nestled between two large windows. The desk is cluttered in a way that suggests he knows where everything is, even if no one else could guess it. There’s a half-drained coffee mug, a tangle of charging cords, a small plant barely clinging to life, and front and center — a brightly colored finger painting in a glittery frame.

“Don’t judge the mess. It’s organized chaos.”

He continues walking, the camera panning to a hallway at the end of the corridor — this one more closed off, lined with sleek, locked doors and very little foot traffic.

“Down there—” he points without getting too close, “That’s strategy and analyst headquarters. I'm not really allowed to record in there. But Izuku works down that way.”

He doesn’t stop long. The video pans as he turns toward a wide glass wall that looks into a modern office space. Inside, several sharply dressed professionals are scattered across desks and monitors, some on calls, others typing rapidly. One of them looks up and gives a quick nod before returning to their screen.

““That’s the PR office. They handle all our press stuff — statements, scheduling, livestream approvals... They’re the reason I haven’t been canceled yet.”

“Hero agencies like ours partner with external PR firms. Means we don’t have to hire a whole media division, just contract a company and they send reps to work on-site. That way we get specialists without babysitting the whole system ourselves.”

He walks past the glass, tossing a casual wave to someone inside who gives him a tight nod.

“They’re also the bastards that made me start the channel. So blame them.”

He walks a few paces farther before motioning to a side door.

“Locker rooms. No one’s in ‘em right now.”

The camera enters briefly, revealing a clean, tiled space with long benches and metallic lockers labeled with hero names. It's silent except for the hum of fluorescent lighting.

“My locker’s in the back”

He leads the way to the far end of the row, stopping at two adjacent lockers: one labeled GROUND ZERO, the other RED RIOT.

He opens his locker briefly — inside are a spare pair of gloves, a few energy bars, extra gauntlet parts, and a photo of the kids taped to the inside of the door.

—

The video jump cuts to street level. Katsuki’s in full hero gear now, GoPro clipped to his chest rig. The city hums in the background. He exchanges quick greetings with civilians and keeps a brisk pace.

“I usually patrol this sector in the mornings. There’s been some petty theft lately, nothing major.”

The camera captures a brief moment of Katsuki stopping to sign a kid’s Ground Zero notebook.

—

Katsuki sits on the rooftop of the agency building, a breeze ruffling his hair as he sets the camera on a ledge across from him. Behind him, the city stretches out, sunlight glinting off glass buildings. He pops open a bento box — rice, grilled chicken, a few vegetables packed neatly inside.

Izuku sits beside him, out of uniform and dressed casually. His own bento rests in his lap, half-finished. He takes a slow sip from a thermos.

“You’re holding the camera too low. Right now people can only see your chin and like... your collarbone.”

“I didn’t ask for a film critique.”

Izuku smiles faintly, resting his chopsticks on the edge of the box.

“You’re doing great, though.”

They fall into an easy silence, the sound of distant traffic blending with the occasional gull cry overhead. Katsuki grabs a piece of tamagoyaki from his box and chews thoughtfully.

—

Katsuki’s back at his desk, He flips through paperwork with mild annoyance. He grabs the paper in front of him and picks it up showing the camera.

“So this one—this is a repair bill. Explosion grazed a corner store, left a scorch mark. Owner wants the wall repainted and the window replaced. I gotta sign off for the agency to cover it.”

He picks up another paper.

KATSUKI: “This is an intern incident report. Kid was shadowing me Tuesday. We broke up a fight near a convenience store — they have to write it all out and I gotta sign off that it’s accurate since I was there.”

He scribbles his signature.

KATSUKI: “Half my job is signing crap.”

—

The final shot comes from inside a parked car, the lighting warm and golden from the late afternoon sun. The camera, propped on the dashboard, is angled slightly to the side, capturing Katsuki in the passenger seat. Behind him, the back row is crammed: Kirishima and Denki are squeezed on either side of Haruki, who’s proudly holding up a melting ice cream cone. Next to him, Yuzuki sits in her car seat, humming as she munches happily on her own cone, chocolate dripping onto her dress and the seat below.

“Bro, she dropped some on your seat,” Denki says casually, licking his own cone.

Katsuki turns his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he takes in the chocolate mess spreading on the fabric.

“I just cleaned this car.”

Kirishima laughs. “You’re the one who said this car needed ‘more room for the kids.’ This is what you signed up for, man.”

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Denki adds, grinning.

Haruki bursts out laughing. Yuzuki kicks her feet, pleased with herself.

Katsuki drags a hand down his face and groans, not even trying to hide his pain. “We’re getting it detailed tomorrow. I don’t care what it costs.”

The camera shifts slightly as Katsuki adjusts it, then turns it toward the window. Outside, the sunset spills gold and orange over the buildings, casting long shadows. Izuku’s reflection is visible in the passenger-side glass, both hands steady on the wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

In the back, the noise softens—Denki teasing, Kirishima laughing, Haruki telling Yuzuki she has chocolate on her nose.

Katsuki doesn’t say anything else. He just lets the camera roll as the sun dips lower, and the car hums with the sound of family.

—

TOP COMMENTS:

@heroobserver:
Katsuki almost said “friends” again? I’m still laughing. These two really keep him on his toes. 😂
↳ @quirkqueen:
Right? It’s like watching a grumpy cat almost purr. Precious.
↳ @strategistfan:
Honestly, that’s progress for Ground Zero. Baby steps!

@vlogfanatic:
Love how he actually gave us a full tour of the agency! Super informative but still with that classic Katsuki attitude.
↳ @mediajunkie:
Yeah, it’s cool seeing the “behind the scenes” without the usual hero chaos.
↳ @prinsider:
Also, shoutout to the PR team for keeping this mess from going viral in a bad way lol.

@kidscaregiver:
The end with the ice cream and kids crammed in the backseat? That’s pure family goals.
↳ @dadlifepro:
Literally the best kind of chaos. Love seeing this side of Katsuki. Also red riot and denki crammed in there too. You just know they begged ground zero for ice cream too🤣
↳ @yuzukifan:
Gremlin stealing the show with that ice cream mess haha.

@agencyinsider:
So why doesn’t Katsuki own the agency if he’s top 5? Curious how that works.
↳ @herohistorybuff:
Some agencies are corporate-owned or partnered, not necessarily hero-owned.
↳ @industryvet:
Yeah, ownership is complicated. He’s never out right said it but I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to deal with that.

@teammates4life:
Kirishima and Denki teasing Katsuki is the best part of this vlog. Those subtle cracks in his armor are gold.
↳ @friendlycritic:
They keep him human, you know? Even Ground Zero needs friends.
↳ @chillvibesonly:
Can’t wait to see what they roast him about next!

TOP TAGS:
#HeroAgencyTour #GroundZeroOnDuty #PRTeamBlameGame #KirishimaAndDenkiRoast #RooftopLunchBreak #FamilyCarChaos #IceCreamMafia #RealLifeHeroBusiness #BehindTheScenesHeroLife

Chapter Text

The office lights buzz overhead, casting sterile shadows across the hallway as Katsuki trudges in. His patrol gear is crusted with grime, one sleeve torn, a shallow cut still leaking sluggishly down his bicep. He smells like sweat, smoke, and sewer sludge. Every step echoes like a curse. He’s already dreading the mountain of reports waiting on his desk.

With a scowl, he slams open the office. His desk is messy with paperwork, a busted old phone charger, and a glossy white envelope edged in gold foil.

He narrows his eyes.

On the back, in loopy cursive, it reads:
"For Katsuki. Don’t forget your manners. —Hana"

He rips it open like it insulted him.

“You are formally invited to the Annual Hero Gala.
Attendance expected.
Formal wear required.
You are given 2 extra tickets for your mate and oldest pup.”

Katsuki’s lip curls. “Fucking glittery ass scam event.”

He storms down the hall and slams open Hana’s door without knocking.

"What the fuck is this?"

Hana doesn’t even flinch. She's reclined behind her desk, scrolling through two monitors at once, sipping red wine from a dainty floral teacup. Her reading glasses are perched on the edge of her nose like she’s in a period drama.

“Tickets to the Hero Gala,” she says, not bothering to look up. “Didn’t Jake tell you about it?”

“Jake?”

“New intern. Sweet boy. From America. Scared of you.”

Katsuki’s eye twitches.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s festive.”

“It’s a trap.”

“It’s PR, Katsuki.”

She finally looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t show up with your mate and your adorable, overachieving child, people start asking questions. Like whether your marriage is collapsing. Or whether you’ve stopped contributing to the Hero Network's charity fund.”

“We do charity every damn week.”

“Not in a tux, you don’t.”

Katsuki groans. Loudly. But he takes the damn envelope,muttering under his breath.

“Fucking hate galas.”

“Wear something nice this time,” Hana calls sweetly as he slams the door behind him.

—

The next day after work Katsuki finally found a moment to tell Izuku and Haruki that they are going to the hero gala.

“What?!”
“Cool, can I pick what I wear?"

They speak at the same time

Now Katsuki and Izuku are sitting at the kitchen table making phone calls to every babysitter they can think of. In the background, the kids are screaming—Taiga is chasing Yuzuki through the living room wielding a feather duster like a sword.

They’re hunched over the dining table with a babysitter list between them.

“Okay… Uraraka and Iida are both going. Gala stuff.”

“Yeah. Shinsou offered, but—”
Taiga screeches. Something crashes.
“Yuzuki bit him last time.”

still hopeful “What about Aizawa?”

“Picked up. Said ‘absolutely not.’ Hung up.”

A beat of silence. Another crash. Then Izuku sighs.

“Thats fair, he does have to deal with Haruki all day at school. We could ask your parents.”

Katsuki groans like it physically hurts him.

“My mom’ll feed them sugar and teach Taiga to swear in six languages.”

-Mitsuki on a video call.-
She’s already holding a mug of wine and looks delighted.

“Of course I’ll babysit. I live those gremlins. MASARU WE'RE BABYSITTING.

The soft voice of masaru comes through the phone “oh how fun”

The kids cheer like it’s Christmas morning when they find out.

—

Izuku stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sheer black tie around his neck for the third time. The copper clamp caught the soft light of the vanity, warm and gleaming. The sheer fabric of his top rested light against his skin, the delicate forest green leaf shapes almost blending into the deep green of his tailored jacket and pants. It was understated, but elegant. Heroic, even, in its own quiet way.

He exhaled. The knot sat neatly now. His fingers lingered on the copper clasp, grounding himself.

From the bedroom doorway, he heard Katsuki’s voice.

“You decent?”

Izuku turned, one brow raised. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

The door opened with a quiet click, and Katsuki stepped in, still adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. He looked—

He looked good.

The burnt orange vest under his black tuxedo brought warmth to the sharp lines of his suit, and the folded green pocket square—Izuku’s green—was a quiet nod only he would understand. His blond hair was tamed just enough, and the gleam of his emerald studs matched the slight green tint in his eyes, the ones that softened when they landed on Izuku.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then Katsuki muttered, low and gruff, “Damn.”

Izuku laughed under his breath and looked down. “Too much?”

“No,” Katsuki said, walking closer. “You look like—like the forest itself came alive and got class.”

Izuku blinked at him, startled, then flushed. “That’s not even a real sentence.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t a poet,” Katsuki said, reaching out. His fingers found the copper clasp at Izuku’s neck, brushing against his skin. “But you look perfect.”

Before Izuku could say anything else, there was a knock at the door.

“You guys done being gross?” Haruki’s voice filtered through, muffled but playful.

Izuku stepped back, straightening his jacket. “Come in.”

Haruki entered, already dressed, though he was fussing with the sleeves of his suit. He paused when he saw them, standing there in soft lighting and coordinated colors, the small space filled with quiet love.

And they paused, too.

Haruki’s suit was sharp black, tailored to his frame, but it was the back that took Izuku’s breath. When Haruki turned slightly, the sheer forest green swirl cutout across his back caught the light just enough to shimmer. The copper and green embroidery at his cuffs and hem looked like flames curling into leaves—delicate, deliberate, and entirely him.

“You look beautiful,” Izuku said before he could stop himself.

Haruki groaned dramatically. “Mom—”

“Let him say it, dumbass,” Katsuki said, but his voice was gentler than usual. “Because he’s right.”

Haruki ducked his head, lips twitching. “You two match like a couple at prom. I feel like I should stand a few feet behind so people don’t get confused.”

“You’ll outshine us both,” Izuku said, stepping forward to fix the fold in Haruki’s sleeve. “Like always.”

Katsuki added, “Just don’t trip on the damn carpet.”

Haruki narrowed his eyes. “I won't."

The three of them laughed, the air easier now, the nerves of the evening softened by years of routine and closeness.

Izuku stood back to look at them, heart aching with how full it was. Katsuki in burnt orange and black. Haruki in swirling dark green. Himself, standing between them.

A family, ready to face the lights.

—

The car door swung open with a soft click, and Katsuki was the first to step out, golden light from the event’s entrance spilling across his suit like fire. He turned back without hesitation, one hand reaching inward. Izuku took it, careful in his movements, shoes hitting the curb with practiced grace. Katsuki’s other hand came to rest instinctively on the small of Izuku’s back, steadying, guiding. As soon as Izuku was beside him, they both leaned down slightly, offering hands to the third figure still inside.

Haruki stepped out, a mix of nerves and pride fluttering behind his careful posture. The cameras hadn’t started yet. For just a second, everything was quiet. Then—

Flash.
Flash.
Flashflashflash.

The press came alive, camera shutters clicking in a tidal wave of light. Katsuki didn’t flinch. His arm slid from Izuku’s back to settle across Haruki’s shoulder, anchoring both of them with calm certainty.

“Let’s go get some pictures taken,” he muttered, more to them than the cameras.

They walked together, Katsuki between his mate and their son, flashes bathing their path like a lightning storm. Izuku’s hand brushed against Katsuki’s, and Haruki lifted his chin with a quiet kind of pride, eyes straight ahead.

The red carpet was a sea of black and gold and velvet ropes, but it didn’t take long to find familiar faces cutting through the chaos.

“Todoroki!” Izuku called, and the stoic man turned mid-pose, face breaking into something soft as he spotted them. Nearby, Mina in a backless sparkling gown twirled, pink skin glittering under the lights, and Kirishima threw up a massive grin.

“Katsuki! Bro!” Kirishima bellowed. “Get over here!”

Soon they were swallowed into the chaos of their old classmates and friends all together, laughing louder than the cameras could keep up with.

Mina grinned wickedly and struck a pose, back turned to the cameras as she looped her arm around Haruki. “Hey, sunshine! Show off that suit!”

Haruki blinked, then caught on and turned his back to the press just like her, throwing a casual look over his shoulder. Their backs—sparkling dress and crisp tailored lines—drew another wave of camera flashes.

Kirishima, always the showman, flexed a bicep and hoisted both Izuku and Uraraka up by an arm each. They dangled like they weighed nothing, all three of them grinning like kids at recess.

Denki jumped in and struck a dramatic pose like he was a supermodel mid-stride. Jirou just rolled her eyes, but sidled up next to him anyway.

It wasn’t long before someone called for a full group photo. Katsuki and Izuku ended up dead center, Katsuki’s arm tossed lazily over Izuku’s shoulders. Izuku leaned into it, barely tall enough to press his head into Katsuki’s collarbone. His shorter frame looked even smaller next to Kirishima and Iida towering next to them .

To their left, Mina and Kirishima leaned into each other, red and pink clashing beautifully. On the right, Uraraka and Iida clasped hands—her in a soft peach gown, him in tailored navy. In the front row, Todoroki crouched low next to Haruki and Momo, the three of them carefully placed to balance the frame. Momo’s hand was resting lightly on Haruki’s shoulder.

A few seconds later, Todoroki and Momo stood and, with minimal coordination, formed a large heart shape with their arms. Haruki was herded into the middle of it, slightly confused but grinning anyway. The cameras loved it.

Then, in a rare moment of chaos, Mina stormed over to Katsuki between photos.

“Stand up straight, you gremlin,” she barked, reaching out to mess up his hair—something only she would dare at a formal event.

Katsuki ducked too slow, scowling half-heartedly as her fingers ruffled his carefully styled hair.

“Dumbass,” he muttered.

She beamed. “Love you too.”

Behind them, Haruki laughed. Izuku did too—shoulders soft, smile real.

The cameras kept flashing, but for once, it didn’t feel like a performance.

The double doors opened with a soft but commanding creak, spilling light onto the waiting corridor. One by one, they stepped in—not as scattered pro heroes, but as something tighter, older, familiar. Friends. A found family.

Todoroki led with quiet elegance, Momo on his arm, poised and radiant. Jirou followed with Denki at her side, her heels clicking confidently across the marble. Kirishima grinned as he strolled in with Mina, both dressed to stand out, and both very aware they were succeeding. Iida walked tall beside Uraraka, ever the gentleman, adjusting his cuffs with precise care.

At the back of the group, Katsuki, Izuku, and Haruki brought up the rear, their matching silhouettes calm and striking. No one said a word, but heads turned anyway.

As they crossed the threshold together, laughter rising in soft pockets, they looked less like guests and more like the heartbeat of the room.

The ballroom responded like a living thing. Conversations dimmed just enough to let their entrance be felt. Flashbulbs cracked from the sides of the room—paparazzi positioned discreetly behind flower arrangements, gala staff pretending not to angle their phones.

Izuku smiled graciously, the motion tight but practiced. Haruki held his posture, hands clasped neatly in front of him, his sharp-shouldered jacket catching the low gold lighting. Beside them, Katsuki didn't smile at all. He didn’t have to. His presence alone pulled attention like gravity.

A server swept by with flutes of sparkling juice. Jirou snagged one and handed it to Haruki with a wink, which earned a quiet thanks and the barest quirk of a smile. Mina waved off the tray—she already had something more colorful in hand—and dragged Kirishima toward the dance floor where couples swirled in graceful motion.

From the raised dais at the front of the room, a sleek voice called out over the mic. "And here we have the Agency Alpha guests of the evening," the emcee announced. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our heroes and their families!"

Polite applause followed, refined and rhythmic.

Iida bowed at the waist. Todoroki nodded once, his expression unreadable but his hand resting lightly at the small of Momo’s back.

Izuku gave a little wave before reaching to fix Haruki’s collar, voice barely above a whisper. “You good?”
Haruki nodded. “Mhm. Just nervous.”
Katsuki murmured, “Don’t trip,” in the way only he could—gruff but secretly fond. Haruki snorted and instantly relaxed.

They began moving again, splitting naturally into smaller circles as the crowd folded around them. Donors approached with sparkling jewelry and sharper smiles, hoping for just a moment of attention.

Haruki stood beside Izuku near the center floral display, nodding politely at every compliment on his suit. The outfit had been a point of debate online since the first photo leaked—dark, minimal, cropped at the waist with a high collar and sheer detailing at the sides. Risky for his age, some had said. But Haruki stood tall in it, surrounded by people who had seen him through every version of himself. He wore the suit like armor.

“Excuse me,” came a soft voice. A reporter in a navy dress hovered at the edge of their space, holding her mic in one hand and her press badge in the other. “Just a quick one, if that’s alright?”

Izuku’s expression didn’t falter. “We’re here to support the cause tonight.”

“Of course, of course,” the reporter nodded. “But can we ask—Haruki, was that suit your idea?”

Haruki blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. I worked with a designer. They let me help sketch it.”

A flicker of surprise, then a smile. “It’s bold.”

Haruki shrugged. “So’s my family.”

That earned a louder chuckle from Katsuki nearby, which the mic thankfully didn’t catch. The reporter smiled, nodded her thanks, and backed off, sensing the boundary.

As the string quartet picked up a sweeping melody, Todoroki and Momo began a slow waltz at the edge of the floor. More couples followed—Denki and Jirou, then Mina pulling Kirishima into a spinning mess of limbs and laughter. Even Iida took Uraraka’s hand with the solemn grace of a dance instructor.

Izuku felt a hand slip into his. “Wanna dance?” Katsuki murmured.

“I’ll step on your foot.”

“You always do.” He tugged him toward the floor anyway.

Haruki stayed where he was, watching. Just… taking it all in. These were the people who shaped his world. Bright, fierce, imperfect. Not idols. Not legends. Just people.

His family.

And tonight, they were together.

—

Article Title: Hero Gala 2025: Fashion, Fundraising, and a Flurry of Rumors
By Aimi Fushiguro | HeroWatch Japan

The 2025 Annual Hero Gala dazzled fans and media alike this year, with the red carpet showcasing everything from classic hero couture to daring personal statements. Among the highlights were appearances by Japan's top heroes—including Ground Zero, Freezeburn, Creati, Chargebolt, and Uravity—and not for the first time, their families.

Haruki Midoriya-Bakugou, son of Ground Zero and a rising face in the public eye, made a splash not only by walking the carpet with his father but by wearing a tailored black velvet suit featuring a tastefully backless design, paired with delicate gold jewelry and his signature confidence. While praised by many for pushing the envelope of traditional alpha presentation, the outfit also sparked backlash online, with some critics deeming it "inappropriate" or "attention-seeking." Fans quickly fired back in support, citing his grace, self-expression, and the double standard often applied to alpha-presenting individuals. #LetHarukiBreathe trended worldwide by the end of the night.

Despite the noise, the evening was a success in its mission: over ¥83 million was raised for orphaned children of retired or deceased heroes, with several anonymous donations believed to come from high-ranking pros. An additional ¥2.3 billion—record-breaking—was raised for trauma recovery and Quirkless Youth Support.

As expected, the event was also rife with whispers and speculation—dating rumors made their rounds yet again. Long-standing suspicions about Todoroki and Yaoyorozu re-surfaced after the pair were seen arriving together, while familiar gossip surrounded Kirishima and Ashido, who were reportedly seen arguing and later sneaking away hand-in-hand. Sources claim the two have had an on-and-off relationship for years. Other fan-favorite “pairings” back in the spotlight include Denki Kaminari and Kyoka Jiro (who arrived together but declined interviews) and Ochako Uraraka and Tenya Iida, both of whom were seated beside one another during dinner and spotted laughing with each other well into the afterparty.

While reps for all involved declined to comment, fans—and tabloids—remain hungry for confirmation.

Still, beneath the glamor and rumor mill, the gala carried a tone of unity and quiet celebration. As the night wore on, many heroes and guests were spotted simply enjoying each other’s company—shoes off, suits wrinkled, laughter spilling from half-finished wine glasses and glittering under the soft chandelier light. A rare moment of rest, humanity, and earned peace in a world that rarely offers it.

Comments:

@heroics4life: Haruki Midoriya-Bakugou is shaping up to be just as iconic as his parents. That suit? That confidence? Absolute serve.

@supportquirklessorg: So proud to see trauma recovery and Quirkless youth getting real support for once. We need more of this.

@bluelantern22: I’m all for charity, but the red carpet drama was louder than the actual cause. Hope the money still goes where it’s needed.

@anon_nomore: It’s the fact that they let their FOURTEEN YEAR OLD walk around a red carpet basically half-naked. At that age my mama would’ve slapped the sh*t out of me if I wore a crop top.

@momodailynews
For the record: Haruki is 14, not 8. And this is a red carpet, not a school hallway. There were stylists involved.

@bloominglady: Can we talk about how stunning everyone looked? Mina and Kirishima radiated couple energy, don’t even lie.

@kiricanonsoclose:
Can we just acknowledge Kirishima lifting two full-grown adults with one arm each?? That's MY number one hero.

@alphaomega: ¥2.3 billion?? That’s history-making. Say what you want, but this generation of heroes shows up.

@enoughalready: Momo and Todoroki have been “just friends” for years but always show up together? Yeah okay. PR stunts 101.

@realtruthhero: ¥2.3 billion? For what? So spoiled little brats can pretend to be relevant again? Pass.

@quirklessandbitter: All this money and still no real change. Quirkless kids don’t need gala speeches—they need rights.

@quirkwatcher52
Shoto and Cerati have made multiple statements that they’re just friends. Let them breathe. Neither of them is dating anyone publicly so they just come to these things together.

@micdrop_jiro
Jirou literally said she's gay. Like, out loud. Into a mic. In front of cameras. Can we stop shipping her with Kaminari now?

@denki4days
Denki has said multiple times he’s dating someone but doesn’t want to expose them for safety reasons. Respect that.

@supportdeku
Izuku’s always been private about his family and Haruki’s almost never seen in public. (Until Private Feed) You can disagree with the outfit without accusing them of being bad parents.

@mediaethicspls:
I know it’s fun to speculate but maybe let a 14-year-old exist without being picked apart online for once?

@quirkylemonade:
Haruki’s outfit wasn’t even revealing by industry standards. Y’all really only mad because it doesn’t fit your idea of how an alpha “should” look.

Chapter Text

“Dad…”

“Dad…”

“Dad.”

Katsuki’s eyes fly open at the sound of his name, paired with a cold hand pressing against his arm. He turns his head, blinking against the darkness. Haruki stands beside the bed — hair a mess like he’s been tossing and turning for hours, hands trembling faintly in the low light.

“Can we go for a drive?”

“What? It’s like midnight,” Katsuki rasps, voice still thick with sleep. “Why?”

Haruki hesitates. “Bad dream.”

Now that Katsuki’s more awake, he can see it clearer — the way Haruki’s usually warm hands are ice cold, the way his hoodie is half-on like he threw it over himself in a rush. The kind of look no parent could say no to.

Katsuki sighs and sits up. “Give me a minute. Get dressed. And I hope you know you’re picking the music.”

Haruki gives a tiny nod and runs out of the room. Katsuki rubs his face, then turns to Izuku, nudging his shoulder.

“Izu, baby, wake up.”

A muffled, “What?” comes from the blankets.

“I’m taking Haruki on a drive. Just wanted to let you know.”

“It’s late…” Izuku murmurs.

“I know.”

“Be safe.”

Katsuki leans over and kisses his cheek. “Always.”

He pulls on a t-shirt, grabs his wallet and keys, and walks out to find Haruki already by the front door — hoodie zipped up, shoes on, phone in hand… and a small camera dangling from its strap.

“You’re bringing the camera?” Katsuki asks.

Haruki just nods and fidgets with his fingers.

Katsuki steps into his sneakers, ruffles Haruki’s hair as he passes, and opens the front door.

“Let’s go.”

By the time the car starts, the camera is on and Haruki’s phone is connected to the aux.

—

Uploaded: Sunday, September 14— 9:54 AM
Title: Private Feed episode 10:Midnight drive
Runtime: 47:26

___

The low hum of the engine fills the mic as the car backs slowly out of the driveway. Streetlights catch on the windshield, casting slow-moving shadows across the dash. A notification sound blips faintly—Haruki’s phone connects to the aux.

A moment later, Martine Blue by Dark Live begins to play. Smooth. Slow. Like waves crashing on velvet.
The timestamp flickers in the corner of the screen. Nothing else moves.

Haruki doesn’t speak. He’s slouched slightly in the passenger seat, hoodie pulled over his head, phone resting in his lap. His face is turned toward the window, where dark trees blur past in soft motion.

Katsuki’s eyes stay forward, one hand resting loose on the wheel, the other gripping the shifter. The soft blue light of the dash reflects in his eyes. His jaw is tight—not angry, just awake. Present.

The camera captures the slight movement of the car shifting lanes, the rhythm of passing headlights, the flicker of Haruki's fingers tapping against his thigh in time with the music.

A full minute passes. Then another.

No words.

Only music and the quiet ache of an unspoken something—too fragile to touch, too loud to ignore.

The city lights blur by in streaks of amber and red, reflected in the windshield like fireflies trying to escape.

By the time the eighth song comes on—“Through the Night” by IU—the silence has thickened into something heavy, something waiting.

Katsuki exhales through his nose, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. He doesn’t glance over, but his voice breaks the stillness, low and even.

"You want to just go for a drive... or pick something up?"

Haruki doesn’t answer right away. He shifts slightly in his seat, eyes still trained on the dark horizon where the road meets nothing. The soft glow of the dashboard paints his face in blues and greys, turning his quiet profile into something older than it should be.

Finally, he shrugs. “I don’t know. Drive, I guess.”

Katsuki nods, even though Haruki isn’t looking. “Alright.”

They lapse back into silence, but something’s changed. The question cracked the surface, just a little. The weight in the car shifts—not gone, but noticed.

Haruki thumbs through his playlist again. A few seconds later, the music changes to something a little warmer, slower. Therapy by KAYAM plays.

Katsuki glances over this time, just for a second.

Katsuki doesn't press. Won't press. He could. He sees the way Haruki’s jaw is tight, how his fingers won’t stop moving. But not tonight. Not yet.

Instead, he taps his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat and mutters, “I kind of want a coffee.”

Haruki cracks a small smile, barely there but real. “Can we get pancakes too?”

“Pancakes,” Katsuki echoes, as if testing the word. “Middle of the night, in my slippers, and you want pancakes.”

Haruki finally turns to look at him, the light from a passing streetlamp catching in his eyes. “Is that a yes?”

Katsuki huffs. “ok”

They don’t say much after that, just drive. The road is open, the night wide and forgiving. For now, the silence between them feels less like something broken and more like something healing.

The camera cuts to Katsuki and Haruki sitting in a 24-hour diner, the booth lit by the soft yellow glow of a hanging lamp. A faint hum of chatter and the sizzle from the kitchen drift in the background, along with the clink of silverware from another table. Outside, the parking lot is mostly empty, streetlights throwing pale halos onto wet asphalt.

A waitress with tired eyes but an easy smile steps up to the table, pen poised over her pad.

“Hi there. What can I get started for you?”

“I’ll get a waffle,” Katsuki says without glancing at the menu, “side of scrambled eggs and bacon.” He tilts his head toward Haruki. “Kid, what you want?”

Haruki fumbles with the laminated menu for a second, then sets it down. “Uh… can I get a stack of pancakes with the same sides? Oh— and a fruit bowl.”

“Plus an extra cup of coffee,” Katsuki adds, already fishing his wallet out to hand her a card.

“Of course. I’ll get that started, and your coffee will be right out,” she says, giving them a nod before disappearing toward the kitchen.

The next minute is quiet except for the scrape of Haruki adjusting his seat. Then a different waiter—a young woman, probably in her early twenties—sets down the steaming mug of coffee. She pauses, eyes widening.

“Oh my god… you’re Ground Zero,” she says in a rush, almost dropping her tray. “That’s— that’s so cool. Could I maybe… have an autograph?”

Katsuki’s jaw tightens, but he pulls a pen from his jacket pocket and scrawls his name on the back of a receipt. “Here.”

She beams. “Thank you! My brother’s gonna freak.” She hurries off, leaving Haruki half-hidden behind his hand, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

When the food finally comes, the plates are still steaming. Haruki pushes his eggs onto Katsuki’s plate without hesitation, then forks half of Katsuki’s waffle with practiced speed.

“You’re gonna have to eat eggs one day,” Katsuki says around a sip of coffee.

“I’ll die before that day comes,” Haruki replies without missing a beat.

Katsuki huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. They eat in a comfortable silence, the kind that says more than words.

Once the plates are empty, Katsuki drops a few bills on the table and slides out of the booth. They step outside into the cool night, breath puffing in the air.

“So,” Katsuki says, unlocking the car, “home or more driving?”

Haruki glances at the empty streets. “It’s, like, 2 a.m. Don’t you have work?”

“Yeah, I do. You’ve got school. But if you need to keep going, we can.”

Haruki shakes his head. “Let’s go home.”

The drive back is warmer, music spilling softly through the speakers—Lockdown by Koffee, the beat bouncing just enough to get them both singing along under their breath. By the time Golden by Huntrix comes on, the singing’s louder, laughter filling the car.

The camera fades out just as the headlights sweep across their driveway, the music still playing as the screen goes black.

—
TOP COMMENTS:

@LateNightWithHaru:
This felt so… safe? Like watching two people just exist in each other’s company without needing to fill the silence. 🥹
↳ @sleepyplaylist:
Right?? The no-talking parts hit harder than anything they could’ve said.
↳ @dinerjunkie:
It’s like we were just… sitting there with them at 2am.

@EggsAreTheDevil:
Haruki sliding the eggs onto Katsuki’s plate IMMEDIATELY is peak stubbornness and I respect it.
↳ @scramblelife:
One day he’s gonna give in and the internet will never let him live it down.
↳ @EggsAreEvil:
Not happening. Ever. 💪

@KatsukiStan89:
The way Katsuki just said “ok” to pancakes like he wasn’t gonna fight it at all 🫠 Dad of the year.
↳ @pancakeprophet:
He knows better than to argue with middle-of-the-night pancakes.
↳ @fluffywaffles:
Facts. Pancakes are a peace treaty.

@GroundZeroMain:
The autograph moment had me wheezing—Haruki trying not to laugh was the best part 😂
↳ @sugarandsass:
You know Haruki brought it up in the car just to tease him more.
↳ @bkguhater2lover:
That silent laugh >>>>>

@SoftEdges:
Katsuki saying “home or more driving?” like he’d actually keep going if Haruki needed to… my heart is in shambles.
↳ @teaandquiet:
That’s love, and not the loud kind—like the steady, reliable kind.
↳ @cloud_hero:
He really said “the road’s yours, kid.” 😭

@UnexpectedVibes:
Okay but I was fully expecting Ground Zero and Haruki to blast rock or metal… instead we got cozy nighttime indie???
↳ @latecarrides:
Right?? It was giving “drive through a small town at 1am after the rain.”
↳ @goldenlight:
Haruki’s music taste just healed my inner child.

Chapter Text

Uploaded: Sunday, September 21 — 8:12 AM
Title: Private Feed Episode 11: Farmer’s Market Mornings
Runtime: 53:18

—

The video opens mid-movement — the lens swings a little before settling, catching the quiet sway of leaves in early morning light. A deep sky, pale blue and still heavy with dawn chill, stretches above the tops of stalls and tents. Voices are low, the market not yet in full swing.

The camera dips, revealing Izuku walking ahead, one hand holding Taiga on his hip, the other adjusting the strap of a cloth tote. Taiga’s wrapped snugly in his soft, faded blue blanket, the fabric bunched under Izuku’s arm like it’s been carried that way a thousand times.

Izuku glances back over his shoulder. “You’re filming while walking, aren’t you?”

Haruki (off-camera): “Gotta keep up somehow.”

Izuku shakes his head. “If you trip and break the agency’s camera—”

“It’s fine, I’ve got steady hands,” Haruki says, voice edging toward a laugh.

Izuku sighs but doesn’t push it, turning his attention forward. “Alright, game plan — we’re here for veggies for dinner, fruit for the week, and something from that bakery stall. The one with the apple turnovers.”

Haruki: “You mean dessert for breakfast?”

Izuku grins without looking back. “I’m the mom, I decide what counts as breakfast.”

The shot steadies as they pass under the shadow of a red-striped canopy. The air is different here — louder now, with a faint mix of roasting coffee, fresh herbs, and baked bread drifting in from all directions. Stalls line the walkway in uneven rows, splashes of color from crates of tomatoes, bright peppers, and piles of apples.

Izuku slows at a produce table overflowing with greens. Taiga leans toward the crates, fingers twitching toward a bunch of carrots still topped with leafy fronds.

“Not for chewing,” Izuku tells him softly, bouncing him on his hip.

The vendor, an older woman with sun-creased cheeks, smiles warmly. “He’s curious, that’s a good sign. Let him hold one, maybe?”

Izuku hesitates, then nods. She plucks a small carrot from the pile and hands it over. Taiga grips it like treasure, blanket sliding slightly down his arm.

Haruki (off-camera): “That’s gonna end up in his toy box.”

Izuku chuckles. “Probably.” He turns back to the crumpled shopping list, eyes scanning the sharp, slanted handwriting that is very obviously not his own. “Okay, we need spinach… maybe kale—”

He freezes, brow furrowing.

A beat passes. “...Haruki, call your father, because what the fuck is a mizuna–komatsuna hybrid and why did he put it on our list?”

The camera shakes as Haruki laughs under his breath. “Language, Mom.”

“I’m serious!” Izuku lifts the paper like evidence in court. “It’s right here, between ‘apples’ and ‘milk.’ Like it’s just… a normal thing people buy. Does it sound normal to you?”

Cut to Haruki now holding the phone to his ear, Izuku recording from behind him. Katsuki’s voice is muffled but gruff on the other end: “It’s a leafy green. Just buy it.”

“Why?” Haruki asks, deadpan.

“Because it’s good for you and I said so.”

Before Haruki can reply, a small hand reaches up and grabs the camera lens — the shot going black as Taiga’s blurry face presses in close.

—

The next section is slower — Haruki films over Izuku’s shoulder as he weighs apples, checks peaches for softness, and debates which kind of bread to bring home.

At the bakery stall, Izuku orders two apple turnovers and a paper bag of fresh rolls. Taiga, now shifted to Izuku’s other hip, points insistently at a display of iced cookies shaped like animals.

Izuku: “We’re not here for cookies.”

Haruki: “...But we could be.”

Izuku squints at him, then sighs, sliding a small fox-shaped cookie into the bag. “Fine. But you’re sharing it.”

The shot moves between stalls — piles of tomatoes, rows of honey jars catching sunlight, baskets of figs with deep purple skins. Haruki occasionally turns the camera toward the crowd, catching snippets of overheard conversation and the sound of buskers playing soft acoustic guitar near the market’s center.

At one stall, Izuku pauses to chat with a man selling fresh herbs. The camera catches the moment Taiga rests his head on Izuku’s shoulder, thumb in his mouth, blanket clutched tight.

There’s no rush to the way the morning moves. The video lingers on textures — the creak of wooden crates under weight, the soft rustle of paper bags being filled, the tap of Haruki’s sneaker against the ground while waiting in line.

—

By the time they’ve looped the market, Izuku’s tote is heavy and Haruki’s hands are full with the camera and a bag of apples.

Izuku: “Okay, last stop — coffee.”

They approach a small stand with a hand-painted sign. The smell hits first, rich and warm. Izuku orders a cappuccino for himself and a chai latte for Haruki.

While they wait, Haruki turns the camera toward Izuku. “Rate the market haul.”

Izuku adjusts the tote higher on his shoulder. “Pretty good. We got spinach, that mystery hybrid, tomatoes, apples, bread, and way too many sweets.”

Haruki: “The correct amount of sweets.”

The coffees come out, steam curling into the cool air. Izuku takes a long sip and sighs. “Okay, that’s worth the trip alone.”

—

The next few minutes are a walking montage — the camera catching flashes of sunlight between tents, close-ups of produce, and the occasional glimpse of Taiga’s blanket trailing as Izuku carries him.

They pass the busker again, this time closer. The man’s playing a mellow, wordless tune on guitar. Izuku slows for a few seconds, rocking Taiga gently while Haruki films from behind.

At a flower stall, Izuku stops entirely. He sets Taiga down for a moment — the toddler still clutching his carrot — and crouches to his level. “You want to smell the flowers?”

Haruki lowers the camera slightly but still catches the moment Taiga leans forward, nose barely brushing the petals of a sunflower. Izuku beams, steadying him with one hand. “Okay, careful. These are for looking.”

They don’t buy flowers, but Izuku walks away with a smile that lingers until they reach the parking lot.

—

The final scene is from the car. The trunk’s open, the camera propped inside as bags are set down one by one. Izuku organizes them automatically — produce in one corner, bread in another, sweets in the smallest bag so they don’t get crushed.

Taiga’s carrot ends up tossed in with the apples.

Izuku (off-camera): “...Yeah, that’s definitely ending up in the toy box.”

The video holds on the full trunk for a moment before fading to black, ending not with words, but with the quiet morning sounds of the market carrying into the distance.

—
Top Comments:

@MorningMarketMaven:
Haruki is such a good cameraman?? The steady shots, the pacing — feels like I’m there.
↳ @HeroHousehold:
It’s so weirdly calming?? Like domestic slice-of-life ASMR.
↳ @BakusquadForever:
Domestic Bakudeku >>> hero fight scenes.

@VeggieVisionary:
“Call your father” over a vegetable is peak married life.
↳ @GreenQuirkFan:
Especially since it was on the list. Katsuki is a menace.
↳ @HaruKatsIzuFan:
This is why they work so well though 😭

@BlueBlanketAppreciator:
Blue clutching that carrot like it’s treasure is my new favorite thing.
↳ @SleepyBean:
And then he tried to grab the camera 😭 baby content always wins.
↳ @SoftGroundZero:
That carrot’s gonna be in the next vlog in his toy box, I’m calling it now.

@ProducePanic:
Not Izuku looking like he was facing down a final boss over “mizuna komatsuna hybrid.”
↳ @VeggieExpert22:
For the record, it’s just a leafy green.
↳ @HeroOfTheKitchen:
Tell him that while he’s glaring at the shopping list.

@CasualHeroContent:
Can we talk about how Izuku’s tote was perfectly organized by the end??
↳ @OrganizedChaos:
Of course it was. Man’s got “mom efficiency” down to an art.
↳ @BakuboiMoments:
Meanwhile Katsuki would’ve just shoved everything in the trunk loose.

@MarketMusicLover:
The little clip of the busker playing while they walked?? Gorgeous.
↳ @QuietMorningVibes:
It made the whole market feel alive without rushing.
↳ @FanOfHaruki:
Haruki’s music taste even leaks into the editing and I love it.

Top tags: #FarmersMarketMornings #BlueAndTheCarrot #BakudekuDomestic
#Momizuku #GroundZeroOffDuty #HarukiCam #DomesticHeroLife #BakudekuVlogs #CarrotInTheToybox #BlueBlanketClub

Chapter Text

Uploaded: Sunday, September 28 — 11:48 AM
Title: Private Feed episode 12: the inner workings of a hero analyst
Runtime: 49:03

—

Izuku adjusted the camera on his desk for the third time, frowning at the tiny preview window until he decided it was… passable. He wasn’t Katsuki—he didn’t have the presence to make a camera bend to him, didn’t have the energy to sweep people up with loud words and sharper smiles. But Haruki had begged him—“Dad, please, just one video of you at work, no one even knows what you do all day!”—and Katsuki had smirked and seconded it, so now here he was.

The angle caught mostly his shoulders and the corner of his desk. Behind him, a wall of whiteboards and pinned-up charts blurred into anonymity. Nothing sensitive, nothing identifiable. He’d checked twice. The legal contract he’d signed when he’d first started work at Red Riot’s agency had drilled it in: never record or share classified material, not a single note.

So this was what people would get. A neat, unremarkable desk. A man in a button-up shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, tie loosened a little. His hair was still a little messy, because he hadn’t bothered to smooth it down for the camera.

Izuku cleared his throat. “Uh. Hi, everyone.” His voice cracked at the end, and he winced. “This is… um, I guess this is my work vlog. I was told it’d be interesting, though I’m not really sure why. My job’s not exactly—flashy.”

He gave a small smile, nervous but genuine.

“Technically, my title is ‘tactical analyst.’ It means I take the information from patrols, past incidents, villain profiles, and… I try to predict what’s most likely to happen next. Which areas are higher risk, which villains are escalating, which heroes should be paired together on certain missions. Kind of like… chess, I guess, if the pieces had personalities and superpowers and a tendency to ignore the rules.”

He tapped his pen against the desk absentmindedly. “I can’t show you the actual files, obviously, but my day mostly looks like this—”

He turned the camera slightly, showing a blank notebook, a stack of sanitized reports with the names blacked out, and a fresh cup of tea. “Writing. Cross-checking. Writing more. Sending reports. Occasionally meetings, if there’s something big coming up. Sometimes it feels like I spend more time talking people into cooperating than actually analyzing, but that’s… normal, I think.”

The feed cut, then resumed with Izuku in a different position—elbow propped on the desk, chin resting on his palm. “Meetings are tricky. Analysts are supposed to be… objective, right? But the second you suggest that Hero A shouldn’t work with Hero B because their quirks don’t mesh, or because their egos clash in the field… people take it personally. Even though it’s not supposed to be personal.”

He exhaled softly. “I’ve gotten better at it. Explaining things, I mean. At first I just dumped statistics on them and hoped they’d understand. That didn’t go well. Numbers don’t mean much unless you translate them into people.”

The next clip showed Izuku sitting in a small conference room with three other analysts, their faces blurred for privacy. He was speaking quietly but firmly, gesturing toward a chart in his notebook. “—so if we assign too many top-level heroes to this district, the smaller incidents in the next ward get overlooked, and the villains there escalate. It’s a pattern we’ve seen three times already this year. Balancing forces looks inefficient on paper, but it prevents long-term fallout.”

The other analysts nodded, murmuring agreement. Izuku didn’t notice the way one of them glanced at the camera in surprise—he was too focused on keeping his explanation concise.

The vlog cut again. Izuku was back at his desk, nibbling at the end of his pen. “I don’t really know what else to show you. Most of my day is just… thinking. Which doesn’t make for exciting footage.”

He tilted his head, almost shy. “But I guess that’s kind of the point. Hero work isn’t just battles. It’s people behind desks, running logistics, double-checking patterns. If we do our jobs right, you never hear about it. You just see heroes showing up in the right place at the right time.”

There was a pause. He seemed to consider saying more, then shut his notebook and smiled at the camera instead.

The next clip picked up with a different kind of energy. The camera jostled slightly, as if someone else had grabbed it.

“Oi, nerd. Lunch.” Katsuki’s voice came from off-screen.

Izuku sputtered. “Kacchan—! I—I’m recording—”

“Don’t care. You’ve been glued to that damn desk since eight this morning.” Katsuki appeared in frame, scowling but unmistakably smug. His jacket was thrown over one shoulder, hair damp from a post-mission shower. He reached across the desk, grabbed Izuku’s wrist, and tugged.

“Kacchan!” Izuku protested, scrambling to shut his notebook and shove his chair back. “I was in the middle of—”

“You’ll finish after you eat. C’mon.” Katsuki glanced at the camera, eyes narrowing. “What’re you even—oh, this stupid vlog thing. Figures.”

Izuku flushed. “It’s not stupid. Haruki asked me to—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Katsuki sighed, leaning down to kiss the top of Izuku’s messy curls before straightening again. “Fine. Finish your nerd video after lunch. Let’s go.”

The camera cut abruptly there.

When it came back, Izuku was sitting in the agency cafeteria with a tray of food, cheeks still faintly pink. He cleared his throat. “Uh… sorry about that. Kacchan thinks I forget to eat if he doesn’t drag me away from my desk. He’s not… wrong.”

Katsuki’s voice called from off-screen, “Damn right I’m not.”

Izuku tried to stifle a laugh, failed, and shook his head. “Anyway. Lunch is… not particularly exciting either. But it’s nice to have a break, I guess.” He picked up his chopsticks and glanced sideways at where Katsuki was definitely sitting just out of frame. His expression softened, fond despite his embarrassment.

The rest of the lunch footage passed in snippets: Izuku nibbling while Katsuki ranted about the latest mission; Izuku humming agreement, jotting a quick note on a napkin when Katsuki mentioned something relevant to his analysis; Katsuki catching him and groaning, “Deku, stop working during lunch!”; Izuku sheepishly tucking the note away.

The final clip returned to his desk, later in the evening. The office lights had dimmed. Most of the other analysts had gone home. Izuku leaned toward the camera, tired but calm.

“I think that’s… about it for today. Sorry if this wasn’t very entertaining. My work isn’t meant to be entertaining. But I thought maybe it’d help people see the other side of hero agencies. It’s not just costumes and fights and… explosions.” He smiled faintly, thinking of Katsuki.

“It’s also paperwork. Meetings. Schedules. Numbers. Quiet moments that no one notices. And that’s… okay. That’s what I’m good at. So.” He gave a small wave. “Thanks for watching. I’ll see you later.”

The screen cut to black.

—

Top Comments:

@quirkynerd42:
Why is this man’s desk so clean??? my workspace looks like a crime scene
↳ @penlover:
you can tell he actually uses those pens tho lol
↳ @harukisfan:
no bc he organizes his notes like he’s writing an academic paper every time

@groundzero_no1fan:
NOT KATSUKI DRAGGING HIM AWAY FROM HIS DESK 😭😭
↳ @blastyblond:
katsuki said “touch grass” but meant “eat your damn food”
↳ @izusangel:
the way he didn’t even fight it tho he just grabbed his notebook and went 💀

@heroanalysisgeek:
i could watch him write equations all day idc what anyone says
↳ @mathispretty:
bro same it’s like??? soothing??
↳ @shoto_loves_tea:
the background scribbling noises >>> my brain feels calm

@ochakofan88:
his little smile when the other analysts laughed in the meeting 😭😭
↳ @greenbeansforever:
HE’S SO BABY
↳ @bakuboomwife:
katsuki is 100% rewatching that part on loop

@dynamightdefender:
izuku talking quietly while katsuki’s voice is just BOOM in the background during lunch had me wheezing
↳ @kacchansdog:
it’s literally sunshine and thunderstorms energy
↳ @ashidoedits:
They’re so married it’s insane

@feedaddict23:
crazy that he can’t even show us the actual work but i’m still hooked???
↳ @spilledink:
that’s the power of charisma 😌
↳ @heroedits:
nah that’s the power of ✨midoriya izuku✨

Top tags:
#WorkVlogWithDeku, #AnalystLife, #HeroBehindTheScenes, #DeskJobButImportant, #LunchBreakWithGroundZero, #SupportHeroWork, #CoupleGoals, #SmartestInTheRoom, #GroundZeroAndDeku, #EverydayHeroLife

Chapter Text

The bar was loud, the kind of buzzing warmth that came from too many overlapping voices, clinking glasses, and the comfortable hum of people who had survived together. It wasn’t the first time Class 1-A had gotten together like this since graduation, but it was one of the rare times everyone managed to be in the same room. No missions pulling them away, no last-minute calls from agencies, no excuses.

Katsuki had almost skipped it. The thought of wasting hours in some cramped dive surrounded by nosy extras wasn’t his idea of a good night. But Kirishima had nagged him into coming—something about bro nights and how “the whole class wants to see you, man!”—until Katsuki finally gave in.

He was glad, in a way. The liquor burned nice on the way down, loosening his jaw just enough to let him sit without snapping at every idiot question thrown across the table. He’d ditched his jacket halfway through the night, heat from the crowd making his skin prickle. The thin black shirt he wore underneath slid at his shoulder each time he reached for his drink, the collar stretched a little from age.

He didn’t notice at first.

But Mina did.

“Whoa, hold up—” she leaned forward, eyes narrowing like she’d spotted treasure. “Bakugou. Is that… is that a bite mark?”

The table quieted in an instant. Heads swiveled. Katsuki felt the weight of their stares like spotlights, and his grip on his glass tightened.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, yanking the shirt back up.

“Nothing my ass,” Kaminari snickered, leaning across the table for a better look. “That’s a mating bite. Holy shit, you’re mated?!”

The air shifted. It wasn’t hostile—no one was laughing at him, exactly—but the excitement was sharp, too curious, too loud.

“Since when?” Sero asked, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Who is it?” Mina all but squealed, bouncing in her seat. “Oh my god, wait, is it someone we know? It has to be someone we know, right?!”

“Back off.” Katsuki’s voice cut like a knife, low and dangerous, but the edge only seemed to feed the fire.

“Aw, c’mon, man,” Kirishima grinned, trying to smooth things over. “You don’t gotta keep it a secret from us. We’re family.”

Family. The word stuck in his throat.

He should’ve said nothing. He should’ve shoved his chair back, thrown money on the table, and stormed out before they could pry deeper. That would’ve been the smart thing—the safe thing. But he was on his third glass already, and the warmth in his chest was blurring the hard lines he usually kept drawn.

Katsuki grit his teeth, staring down at the amber swirl in his drink.

“Since when?” Jirou pressed.

“Yeah, seriously,” Kaminari added, grinning like he’d stumbled onto the world’s juiciest secret. “Bakugou freaking Katsuki—our boy went and got mated and didn’t tell us?!”

Katsuki’s shoulders tightened. He could feel the words scraping at the back of his throat, raw and hot.

“Seven years,” he said finally, almost a growl.

Silence. Then—

“Seven years?!” Mina shrieked loud enough to turn heads from the other side of the bar. “You’ve been hiding a mate for seven years?!”

“It’s not hiding,” Katsuki snapped, glaring.

“Yes it is,” Kaminari shot back, half-shocked, half-laughing. “seven years, dude! That means you were mated during school!”

The table erupted, voices overlapping in disbelief, laughter, questions flung faster than he could dodge.

“Wait, was it someone from UA?”
“Was it during our second year?!”
“No way, who the hell would put up with you?”
“Is it a pro? Someone from another agency?”
“Tell us, c’mon, you gotta tell us—”

He wanted to shut them up, wanted to shove their curiosity back down their throats, but the burn of the alcohol was heavier now, settling in his stomach and loosening his tongue. The collar of his shirt slipped again, and this time he didn’t bother fixing it. His chest rose and fell, breaths sharp as he stared them down.

“You wanna know so bad?” His voice cut through the chaos, sharp enough to make them pause. “Fine. It’s izuku.”

The name cracked through the air like an explosion.

Every face around the table went slack, disbelief painted in wide eyes and dropped jaws.

“…What?” Mina’s voice was barely a squeak.

Katsuki leaned back in his chair, jaw tight. “You heard me. I’m mated to Izuku.”

The silence that followed was almost worse than the shouting. He could feel the disbelief rolling off them in waves, the way they blinked like they hadn’t heard him right, like their brains were trying to rearrange reality into something that made sense.

Sero’s mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. Jirou stared at him like he’d grown two heads. Kaminari was the first to break, choking on a laugh.

“No way. No fucking way. Midoriya?!”

“It’s not—” Katsuki’s voice cracked, frustration boiling. He slammed his glass down, the sharp clink jolting the table. “It’s not a fucking joke.”

And before he could stop himself—before the filter in his head could drag the words back—he added, “We have a kid.”

That did it.

The table erupted, the sound deafening.

“WHAT?!”
“A kid?!”
“Holy shit, Bakugou, you’re a dad?!”
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god—”

Chairs scraped back, voices rose, the chaos spilling past their corner of the bar until it rippled into the room around them. Heads turned, curious strangers staring as Class 1-A lost their collective minds. Mina was half out of her chair, practically climbing across the table. Kaminari’s laughter had turned high-pitched and frantic. Even Todoroki’s eyes had widened, the closest thing to shock anyone had ever seen on his face.

Katsuki sat there in the center of the storm, throat tight, heart pounding against his ribs. He hadn’t meant to tell them. Not like this.

But it was too late. The secret was out.

The bartender was already glaring, making his way over to shush them, and Katsuki could see the inevitable end of the night written on his face.

Class 1-A was about to get kicked out of the bar.

And it was all his fault.

—

[1-A Group Chat: The Golden Years]

> RoundFace_2018: Kacchan. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and disappear.
< GroundZero_OG: Watch me.

> Shoto_ColdHot_4Life: We’re still waiting.
< GroundZero_OG: For what, Half’n’Half?

> Pinky_PromQueen: YOUR CHILD??!! We NEED to meet them 🥺
< GroundZero_OG: No you don’t.

> Engine4Ever: Bakugou, it is quite irresponsible to withhold the existence of your offspring from your peers!
< GroundZero_OG: “Peers”? You’re all nosy brats with hero licenses.

> Uravity_GlowUp: 🫢🫢🫢 Soooo does Izuku know you spilled it???
< GroundZero_OG: Tch.

> Denki_KingOfZap: LMAOOO bet Midoriya roasted your ass after you got home
< GroundZero_OG: Say that again, Dunce Face.

> Sero_TapeGod69: 🔥🔥🔥 He totally did.

> RoundFace_2018: Please Kacchan! We just want to meet him!!
< GroundZero_OG: No.

> Shoto_ColdHot_4Life: We’ll find him ourselves.
< GroundZero_OG: Try me, I’ll blow your ass up.

> Pinky_PromQueen: Soooooo playdate??? 🥺✨
< GroundZero_OG: THIS ISN’T A DAMN PLAYDATE.

> Denki_KingOfZap: It could be tho 👀

> Uravity_GlowUp: the kid deserves to know his chaotic uncles and aunts 💕
< GroundZero_OG: He already has enough chaos with his parents.

> Sero_TapeGod69: bet ur kid is cooler than u already
< GroundZero_OG: Shut the hell up.

—

And that’s how Class 1-A ended up standing outside of Katsuki Bakugou’s apartment door, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like a pack of nosy rats.

At least, that was how it felt from his side of the damn door. Twenty-something faces crammed together in the hallway, whispering and elbowing each other like idiots, waiting for him to let them in. And behind his leg, Haruki’s little hand clenched at his sweats like the kid thought he might actually run away and leave him stranded with the mob.

“No,” Katsuki said flatly, already shoving the door back into the frame.

“Wait—wait!” Kirishima, of course, stuck his foot in before it closed. “Come on, bro! Don’t be like that.”

“I said no. The hell are you even all doing here? Don’t you losers have jobs?”

“We do,” Mina chirped, peeking around Kirishima’s shoulder. “But this is way more important! You’ve been keeping secrets, Bakugou. Big ones!”

Behind her, Kaminari gave him finger guns. “Mate and kid secrets. Pretty big deal, man.”

Katsuki bared his teeth. “I’ll kill you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Uraraka leaned forward with pleading eyes. “We just wanna meet him. Please? Just a little hello?”

Haruki tugged on his leg, whispering so low Katsuki almost missed it. “Too many people.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki muttered down at him. “I know, bud.”

He shoved harder against the door, but Kirishima’s arm braced it open. “Don’t you think it’s kinda inevitable, man? They were gonna find out sooner or later.”

“I could’ve gone my whole damn life without this,” Katsuki growled. “Get lost—”

“Bakugou!” Mina squealed, pointing past his shoulder. “Is that him?!”

Haruki immediately ducked behind Katsuki’s thigh, pressing his face into sweatpants fabric. His small fingers twisted tighter into the cloth.

Katsuki’s patience snapped. “No. Out. All of you.”

But Class 1-A had never once listened to him when he said that.

It happened fast. Kirishima grinned sheepishly, shoved the door wider, and somehow the flood of bodies slipped through like water breaking a dam. Within seconds, Katsuki’s living room was packed wall to wall with his old classmates, shoes kicked off, voices bouncing around like they owned the place.

Katsuki stood frozen in the doorway, Haruki latched to his leg like a barnacle. He counted ten—no, fifteen—people already, and another cluster still trying to squeeze inside.

“Don’t touch anything!” he barked. “I mean it, extras—”

“Aw, this is cozy,” Mina sang, spinning in a circle. “Way smaller than I thought it’d be, though. Do you even have enough space for a kid?”

“None of your damn business.”

But nobody heard him. They were too busy chattering.

Kaminari crouched a little, peering at Haruki from a “friendly” distance. “Hey, little man. I’m Kaminari! Wanna know something cool? Your dad once blew up an entire—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll fry you,” Katsuki snapped.

Uraraka bent her knees, hands braced on them as she smiled at Haruki. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

Haruki buried his face deeper, refusing to look.

“Aww,” Mina whispered. “Shy! That’s cute.”

Haruki’s small voice, muffled against Katsuki’s leg, said, “Too many people.”

Katsuki glared at the crowd. “You heard him. Too many. Out.”

But instead of leaving, they all immediately started whispering to each other, strategizing like they were on some kind of rescue mission. Denki and Mina exchanged a nod, Uraraka gave a “leave it to me” thumbs-up, and suddenly three idiots were crouching in front of Haruki at once, each trying to coax him out.

“Wanna see a magic trick?” Kaminari asked, sparking tiny harmless zaps between his fingers.

“I can float stuff for you!” Uraraka said brightly, lifting a throw pillow into the air.

Mina wiggled her arms like they were made of jelly. “Or I can dance! Bet you’ve never seen moves like—”

Haruki made a distressed squeak and plastered himself tighter to Katsuki’s side.

“Back off,” Katsuki growled. “He said no.”

The apartment was chaos. Half the class swarmed toward Haruki, half wandered off poking into every corner like this was a damn museum tour. Sero had already stuck his head into the kitchen, whistling. “Wow, Bakugou, you actually clean? Kinda shocking.”

“Get your tape out of my fridge or I’ll hang you by it.”

Yaoyorozu frowned at the crowded space, wringing her hands. “Oh dear, this can’t be very comfortable for you, can it? Twenty guests all at once…”

“No shit,” Katsuki muttered.

Shoto, perched stiffly on the arm of the couch, tilted his head. “Your child is smaller than I expected.”

Katsuki whipped around. “The hell does that mean?! He’s four!”

“I was larger at four.”

“Well, good for you, half-and-half. Get out.”

Meanwhile, Jirou had quietly crouched a few feet away, not making eye contact with Haruki, just strumming lightly at the strings of her earjacks like a soft guitar riff. The noise was barely audible under the chatter, but Haruki’s head turned a fraction, peeking one eye out.

Katsuki noticed. Jirou noticed too, but didn’t push it. Just kept idly playing, letting the kid sneak glances at her without pressure.

At least one of these idiots had sense.

The longer they stayed, the more Katsuki’s nerves frayed. He barked at Denki when the idiot tried to sit too close. He snapped at Mina for reaching toward Haruki’s hair. He shoved Sero out of the kitchen and threatened to explode anyone who so much as breathed near Haruki’s toys.

“Don’t crowd him!” he yelled when Mina and Uraraka leaned in again.

“Don’t ask dumb questions!” when Kaminari blurted, “So is he like, Baby Dynamight?”

“Don’t touch that!” when Sero picked up one of Haruki’s toy cars.

Every warning came sharp and fast, but beneath it was a coiled, anxious protectiveness. Anyone looking close enough could see the tension vibrating under his skin wasn’t just anger—it was fear. Fear that they’d overwhelm Haruki. Fear the kid would hate this. Fear they’d ruin everything.

And then, mercifully, the bathroom door clicked open.

Katsuki’s head whipped around. Izuku stepped out with damp hair sticking to his forehead, towel draped around his shoulders. He froze mid-step at the sight of twenty people in the living room, green eyes wide.

“Oh,” Izuku said weakly. “Um. Hi?”

The room erupted.

“izuku!” Mina squealed.
“Midoriya, hey!” Kirishima waved.
“Hey it's been awhile!" Uraraka beamed.
“Looking good, man,” Denki grinned.

The mood lightened instantly. The class surged toward him, pelting him with greetings. And unlike Haruki, Izuku smiled nervously and hugged a few of them back, towel slipping on his shoulders.

Katsuki swore under his breath, but the tension in Haruki’s little body eased slightly. Izuku noticed too. He knelt down, meeting Haruki at eye level. “Hey, Ru. It’s okay. They’re just excited to see us.”

Haruki peeked out again, lips pressed thin. Izuku’s hand rested warm on his back, rubbing gently. “Think you can say hello?”

Haruki shook his head fiercely.

“That’s okay,” Izuku murmured. “No rush.”

The chatter around them dimmed as Izuku carefully introduced Haruki. “Everyone, this is our son, Haruki. He’s a little shy, but he’s very brave.”

“Hi, Haruki,” Mina said softly, waving.

“Nice to meet you,” Uraraka added, smile gentle now.

“Yo, bud,” Kirishima said, keeping it casual. “Your dad and I go way back.”

Haruki pressed closer into Izuku, but after a long pause, whispered, “…Hi.”

The room melted. Half the class audibly squealed. Even Shoto’s expression shifted a millimeter toward soft.

Kaminari, unable to help himself, grinned. “So, do you like your mom or dad more?”

Silence. Katsuki’s glare could’ve incinerated him.

“You’ve got ten seconds to leave before I launch you out the window.”

Denki yelped. “Joking! Just joking!”

Haruki giggled, tiny and quick, before hiding again.

Katsuki froze. The sound punched him straight in the chest, chasing away some of the knot in his throat. Idiots or not, at least the kid was laughing.

Eventually, even Class 1-A realized they’d overstayed. Momo clapped her hands politely, urging everyone toward the door. Kirishima promised they’d keep things quiet. Mina swore they’d “schedule a proper playdate next time,” earning another round of Katsuki’s growls.

Izuku stood in the entryway with Haruki half-hidden behind him, guiding the boy’s hand into a small wave. “Say goodbye, Ru.”

“…Bye,” Haruki whispered, peeking out.

The class melted all over again. A chorus of “Bye, Haruki!” echoed down the hall as they finally filed out.

Katsuki shut the door behind them with a sharp click, leaning his forehead against it for a second. “Never again.”

Izuku smiled faintly, tugging the towel off his shoulders. “You say that every time.”

“’Cause I mean it.”

Haruki tugged at his hand. “…They were loud.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki agreed, scooping him up. “Too loud. Next time, I’m blowing up the door before they even get here.”

Izuku rolled his eyes, but his smile softened, green gaze lingering on the way Haruki curled into Katsuki’s chest, safe again.

And that was how Class 1-A met the Bakugou family.

Chapter Text

Uploaded: Sunday, October 12 — 10:58 AM
Title: Private Feed episode 13: the inner workings of a UA student
Runtime: 28:11
—

The camera flicked on with a little shake, the image stabilizing to show Haruki’s bedroom. His hair stuck up in every direction, sleep still clinging to his half-lidded eyes. He leaned close to the lens, voice low and scratchy.

“Good morning.” he mumbled, then yawned. “Ugh, it’s too early for this.”

He turned the camera around briefly to show his room—school bag half-packed on the desk, hero posters taped crookedly to the walls, a pile of notebooks stacked beside a tangle of charging cords. Then he flipped it back to himself, running a hand through his hair and only making it worse.

The camera cut to the kitchen. Haruki, now in his UA uniform shirt, was shoveling rice into his mouth with one hand while holding the camera with the other. Katsuki’s voice growled off-screen.

“Oi, stop filming and eat properly before you're late!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Haruki muttered, grinning as he angled the camera toward his dad—still in sweats, arms crossed, glaring like he was ready to blast the camera out of Haruki’s hands.

From the other side of the counter, Izuku’s voice chimed in, much softer but twice as stressed.

“Haruki, your tie—no, wait, you can’t leave it like that, let me—”

“I’ve got it, mom,” Haruki said, but Izuku was already fussing with the knot, hands quick and practiced. The camera wobbled as Haruki tried to show both his mom tugging the tie into place and himself rolling his eyes dramatically.

Finally, outside Haruki swung the camera around to capture the street as he walked, his bag bouncing against his side. “Okay, so today’s video is… drumroll…” He smacked his palm against his thigh for effect. “Day in the life of a UA student. You’re coming with me to school.”

The morning sun caught on his grin as he panned the shot to the crowded sidewalk.

Halfway down the street, two figures jogged up to him.

“Oi, Haruki, wait up!”

The first was Yamato Itsuki—already taller than most grown men despite only being a student, dark hair cropped on the sides but a little too long on top, sticking up in messy tufts. His tie hung loose, jacket open, and a massive sports bag was slung over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. He gave the camera a lopsided grin, waving lazily.

Next to him was Hoshino Mei—shorter, quick on her feet, with sharp, choppy black hair streaked with bleached sections that framed her face. A spray of freckles ran across her nose, and her neat uniform contrasted with the bright yellow headphones looped around her neck. She immediately leaned into the camera, talking fast and with her hands.

“Hi, Private Feed! I’m Mei, and I walk faster than both these losers because they never get up on time.”

“Don’t introduce yourself like you’re my co-host,” Haruki groaned, but the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.

He swung the camera toward Itsuki. “You gonna introduce yourself too?”

“Sup. I’m Itsuki.”

Haruki blinked. “…That’s it?”

Itsuki shrugged, totally unbothered. “That’s it.”

Together, the three of them filled the frame as the gates of UA came into view ahead—tall, shining, and buzzing with students inside.

Haruki turned the camera back on himself, eyes sparkling. “And that’s the start of a regular day. Wish me luck.”

The hallway was already alive with noise. Students were running, slamming lockers, shouting across the hall. Someone was juggling pens. Someone else was half-asleep against the wall.

“It already looks like a zoo,” Haruki muttered, angling the camera to catch a group of classmates arguing over seats. “Say hi, guys, you’re gonna be famous.”

A boy with messy curls threw up a peace sign. “Subscribe!”
“Don’t listen to him,” a tall girl cut in, shoving his shoulder. “He still writes his name wrong on paperwork.”

The camera turned briefly toward Itsuki, who stood at his locker with his earbuds in, completely ignoring the chaos. Haruki zoomed in obnoxiously.
“Unbothered king,” Haruki narrated, voice dripping with mock admiration.

A few minutes later, the shot cut to the classroom door opening. The chatter immediately dulled like someone hit a mute button.

Shouta Aizawa walked in, older but unchanged—his hair tied back, scarf loose, under-eyes still carrying decades of exhaustion. He set a coffee thermos down with a thud.

Haruki whispered into the mic.

“That’s him. Eraserhead. You’ve probably seen the old footage—capture scarf, eyes glowing red, the glare that could freeze villains mid-step. He built half the reputation of the underground without ever chasing the spotlight.”

Aizawa scanned the room, eyes flat. “Bakugou, If I catch you recording, it’s confiscated.”

The video jolted abruptly—Haruki had clearly shoved the camera off, but his voice came in later as a voiceover laid over a blurry shot of the whiteboard.

“So, yeah, I cut the camera before I lost my phone for the whole day. Man still has those dead fish eyes that make you rethink your life choices. But hey, I survived homeroom. Barely.”

The footage ended with a quick montage of notes scrawled in Haruki’s notebook, a blurry shot of a classmate accidentally dropping their pencil case, and Itsuki side-eyeing Haruki’s whisper commentary mid-lecture.

The camera wobbles a little before settling on the middle of the lunch table. Haruki leans back so his friends come into view. The background noise of the cafeteria hums—clattering trays, laughter, a few shouts from another table.

“Alright, welcome to the chaos that is UA’s lunch period.” Haruki says

One of his classmates immediately leans in, flashing a grin.
“Me first! I’m Hoshino Riku, quirk’s Static Charge. Makes me a living battery. Beta. Hero name pending, but I’m campaigning for ‘Overdrive.’”

The kid next to him snorts.
“Campaigning implies anyone supports it. I’m Tsubaki Reina, Omega, quirk’s Petal Mirage. I can make illusions out of flower petals. Hero name? Illusia.”

Haruki hides a laugh behind his hand before nudging the camera toward the next person.

A quiet boy shrugs, then waves shyly.
“Uh—Kojima Yuta. Alpha. My quirk’s Shock Absorb—I can take in impact and release it back stronger. Thinking of ‘Rebound’ for a hero name.”

From down the table, someone calls, “Don’t undersell yourself.”

Haruki spins the camera toward another girl already mid-bite of her sandwich. She chews quickly, then waves.

“Mori Hana. Beta. Quirk’s Inversion—I can take in energy through my eyes and release it in its opposite state. Fire turns to ice, force becomes vacuum, heat becomes cold. Thinking of the hero name Invertia.”

Then Mei suddenly leaned forward, mid-chew.
“Wait, wait—” she grabbed Itsuki’s arm dramatically, nearly making him drop his chopsticks. “We were supposed to say our quirks? Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

Itsuki gave her a flat look.

“Whatever,” Mei grinned at the camera and jabbed a thumb toward her chest. “My quirk is Vibration. I can create a vibration or Soundwave—shake stuff up, make it ring in your ears, all that. Also, I’m a Beta.”

Then, without warning, she yanked Itsuki closer into frame. “And this guy—this brick wall of a human—his quirk is Super Strength. He’s an Alpha.”

Itsuki sighed, resigned, and waved at the camera.

They continue to go around the table one by one, quirks ranging from flashy to deceptively practical. Each introduction ends with a little cheer from the group, the camera catching their camaraderie.

When the lens swings back toward Haruki, someone teases
“What about you, Bakugou? Gonna introduce yourself?”

Haruki sighs dramatically, slumping forward onto the table.
“They already know me from the other vlogs,” he grumbles.

“Still it’ll be fun,” someone prods.

“Fine, fine.” Haruki sits up, waving a hand lazily.
“Haruki Midoriya-Bakugou. Alpha. Quirk’s Fire Control. I can directing flames, bending them however I want. Hero name’s… still in the works.”

There’s a pause. Then one classmate smirks, leaning into frame.
“And also—Ground Zero’s kid.”

The table erupts with groans and laughter.

Haruki throws up his hands.
“Oh my god, we are not doing this again.”

“Sorry, man, you can’t just breeze past being literally related to one of the top heroes.” said Riku.

Haruki rolls his eyes and reaches to block the lens with his palm.

The camera cuts off to the sound of his classmates laughing.

The camera was set down on a bench, angled just enough to catch the bustle of the locker room. A couple of his classmates threw playful glares his way.

“Really?” one groaned, tugging at the straps of their training gear.

Haruki only grinned, already pulling on his boots. “Relax, it'll be quick.”

“Pretty sure no one wants to see me sweaty,” another muttered, but they still leaned into frame, flexing dramatically. The room burst into laughter.

The camera cut to a shot of the floor. A muffled voice came from behind the camera, as Haruki tilted it downward. “Please, Mr. Aizawa,” he coaxed, voice dripping with mock-innocence. “It’ll be good to watch the spar back.”

A long, exhausted sigh answered him. “Fine.”

The camera tilted back up, catching Haruki’s triumphant smirk.

The scene shifted again, this time catching the sparring ring. Haruki squared off against a classmate with a grin sharp enough to match the sparks already licking across his knuckles. His opponent’s quirk—manipulating gusts of compressed air—whipped around them in sudden bursts.

The match was a blur of movement. Fire twisting in controlled arcs as Haruki swung it, only for the wind to snatch it midair and fling it back. He darted forward, pivoting on his heel, flames coiling tight around his fists before he slammed them downward, redirecting his opponent’s own gust to blast them off balance.

The camera caught the moment they both collapsed on the mat, laughing, smoke and steam curling faintly around them.

Haruki’s voice, ragged but thrilled, carried over the noise. “That—was—awesome.”

The next cut came with a jarring shake as it was picked it up. The screen clearing to reveal Haruki, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his uniform singed at the sleeve. His chest heaved, but his grin was wild.

Someone yelled from the back, “Tell them about the accident!” and the laughter rose again.

Haruki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, okay. So. I may have uh redirected a fireball at the wrong angle. And may have hit the wall.” He gestured sheepishly off-screen. “...And set off the sprinklers.”

The camera panned briefly toward a wet patch in the ceiling, dripping steadily into a bucket placed below.

“Anyway,” Haruki said quickly, steering it back to himself, cheeks still red. “Lesson learned. Control before power. But hey, it made training… memorable.”

The afternoon sun was already dipping low, painting long shadows across the courtyard as the flood of students spilled out through the front gates. The usual chatter and laughter filled the air, some kids still buzzing from sparring matches, others dragging their feet after drills that had gone a little too hard.

Haruki slung his bag over one shoulder, phone tilted lazily in his hand to catch the flow of people leaving. “Another day in paradise,” he muttered, letting the camera pan to Mei and Itsuki, who walked just ahead of him. Mei was animated, rattling off an idea for some new support gear for her, while Itsuki nodded along with a grin, only half keeping up.

The walk home was filled with the same easy back-and-forth—Mei talking, Itsuki cracking jokes, Haruki occasionally swinging the camera to catch some moment he knew would look good. By the time they split ways at the corner, the streets were calmer, the buzz of school life fading into the background hum of the city.

When Haruki finally pushed open the door to his room, he dropped his bag like it weighed a ton and fell face-first onto the bed with a long, dramatic groan. He rolled onto his back, hair sticking to his forehead, and lifted the phone again to point it at himself.

“I’ve still got homework,” he said, voice muffled with exhaustion, “but I’m gonna take a short nap first.”

He gave the camera a lazy little wave, eyes already half-shut, before the screen tilted sideways into the ceiling. The recording cut off with the faint sound of him sighing, leaving the day on a note of tired, ordinary peace.

—

Top Comments:

@quirkyNerd45:
Ok but I had so much fun getting to see Haruki's friends.
↳ @techjunkie:
fr, and we also got the see the next gen of heros.
↳ @class1afan:
Lowkey felt like when we first met 1-A back in the day, kinda nostalgic.

@heroWatcher:
Love how natural he is on camera, like he’s just chatting with friends 🫶
↳ @coffeehero: that’s what makes it fun to watch, feels real
↳ @editqueen: yeah it’s not staged at all, super refreshing

@UAthrowback:
Crazy how he’s only 14 but already this confident about his quirk + school
↳ @allmightfan:
he grew up around heroes, it shows
↳ @meimeimeii:
and he still seems so humble about it

@sparkyfan88:
The little side comments made me laugh so hard 😂
↳ @ohsnapitsk:
my favorite was when he sighed about homework lmao
↳ @pencilstash:
same, so relatable even without the quirk stuff

@analyzethis:
I think it’s cool he explains his quirk without flexing, like just matter-of-fact
↳ @quirkstudies:
yeah, it’s actually informative for younger kids watching
↳ @firestarterfan:
and you can tell he got that style from his dad, Katsuki does the same in interviews

@softflame:
Him walking out of the gates with Mei and Itsuki was wholesome af 🥹
↳ @friendshipgoals:
their trio energy >>>
↳ @midnightnote:
protect this friend group at all costs

@sleepywatcher:
ending with “nap before homework” is too relatable 😭
↳ @afterclassblues:
for real, that’s every student’s struggle
↳ @deskcrasher:
the sigh at the end was peak authenticity

Top tags:
#UAHigh, #HeroCourse, #StudentHeroLife, #UAClass1A, #TrainingArc, #FutureHeroes, #QuirkTraining, #BehindUA, #UAStudentVlog

Chapter Text

Uploaded: Sunday, October 26 — 9:57 AM
Title: Private Feed episode 14: Fall Festival
Runtime: 29:16

—

The camera clicked on with a familiar shuffle of fabric and the faint rattle of a car vent. The screen swayed for a moment before focusing on Haruki’s face, his messy hair lit up by the glow of passing streetlights. He grinned wide at the lens, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks.

“Alright,” he said, “Fall festival day. It's just the four of us since the baby is too young. He’s staying with Grandma and Grandpa instead.”

The camera tipped sideways as Haruki panned across the car. Yuzuki’s car seat came into view, the five-year-old half-asleep with a plush dragon clutched tight in his lap. She blinked blearily at the camera and then hid her face behind the dragon’s wings.

“Say hi,” Haruki coaxed.

“No,” Yuzuki mumbled, muffled against the toy.

Haruki cackled. “Classic.”

The camera jerked forward toward the passenger seat. Izuku turned his head in surprise, wide green eyes caught in the flash of the screen. He had on a knitted green scarf looped twice around his neck, curls sticking up from where the wind had tousled them earlier.

“Haruki,” Izuku said gently, though his mouth tipped into an embarrassed smile. “Don’t record while we’re still driving, okay?”

“but I’m not the one driving,” Haruki shot back, flipping the camera toward the driver’s seat.

Katsuki scowled at the lens, one hand tight on the wheel. “Hey. Don’t point that thing at me. Focus on something else, not making the stupid video.”

“Im making a family memory archive. You’ll thank me later when you’re old and grumpy and we've all moved out.”

“I’m already old and grumpy,” Katsuki muttered.

Izuku covered his mouth to hide his laugh. Haruki caught it anyway. “See? Mom thinks I’m funny.”

The ride dissolved into a mix of light banter and Yuzuki’s occasional squeaks whenever they passed a particularly bright set of street decorations. When they finally pulled into the festival parking lot, Haruki swung the camera toward the glowing archway of autumn leaves strung with fairy lights.

“Boom,” he announced. “Festival time.”

—

The air was crisp when they climbed out, filled with the warm scent of cider and fried food. Yuzuki was instantly more awake, bouncing in her little sneakers as she grabbed Izuku’s hand. Haruki adjusted the camera to show the bustling festival crowd—families in cozy coats, teens clutching caramel apples, a group of kids racing toward the hay bales.

Katsuki shut the car door with a grunt, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m telling you right now,” he said, glaring at no one in particular, “I’m not carrying anyone today.”

Izuku glanced down at Yuzuki, who was already tugging him toward the entrance, then back at Katsuki with a small, knowing smile. “Oh? And what if she gets tired? You expect me to carry her the whole day?” He flexed his arms dramatically, voice dripping with mock-suffering. “These poor, fragile limbs?”

“Fragile my ass,” Katsuki muttered, but the tips of his ears were already red. He leaned down just enough to brush a hand over Yuzuki’s head, muttering something too soft for the camera to catch.

Haruki flipped the camera around on himself, biting back a grin. In a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “Little does he know, I’m gonna make him carry me at some point today.”

The shot shook as he muffled his own laugh behind the mic, the sound of Katsuki and Izuku’s bickering carrying faintly in the background.

The first stop was the corn maze. Haruki filmed them at the entrance, zooming in dramatically on Katsuki’s unimpressed expression.

“This man,” Haruki narrated in mock-documentary voice, “believes he can solve any maze because he has the spatial reasoning of a pro hero.”

Katsuki snorted, rolling his shoulders. “Damn right. Get behind me.”

Izuku stepped up beside him, scarf tucked neatly around his neck, eyes scanning the map pinned at the start. “Actually,” he said with quiet confidence, “if we stick left at the first three junctions and then cut right, we’ll hit the center faster.”

Katsuki paused, side-eye sharp. “…You sure?”

Izuku gave him that look—the one that always meant yes, I’ve already thought five steps ahead. “Pretty sure.”

“Fine. You’re lead, nerd,” Katsuki muttered, but there wasn’t any bite in it.

The maze turned into a rhythm, Izuku calmly calling the turns, Katsuki grumbling but following, Yuzuki darting ahead to announce, “Daddy, you’re losing!” every time they slowed down. Haruki kept the camera steady, catching Katsuki’s muttered commentary

“This is stupid—no way a bunch of corn is smarter than me” and Izuku’s amused little huffs of laughter.

They reached the center faster than Haruki expected, emerging from the stalks into the small clearing where festival workers were handing out stamps to prove you’d made it through.

“Victory interview,” Haruki said, thrusting the camera at his dad. “How does it feel to be carried through by Mom’s brainpower?”

Katsuki batted the camera away but not before the lens caught the faint curve of a smile. “Shut up.”

Izuku just laughed, reaching down to ruffle Yuzuki’s hair. “See? Strategy and teamwork.”

—

The evening rolled on with candied apples, games, and a few rides Yuzuki was tall enough for. Haruki captured a few little clips. his dad competing in a ring toss (and winning in one throw, of course), his mom trying—and failing—to knock down milk bottles, Yuzuki cheering with sticky hands.

But it was when Izuku stopped near one of the booths—hands busy fishing change from his pocket for a small bag of roasted chestnuts—that it happened.

Haruki had the camera angled lazily toward the crowd, yuzuki perched on his hip, when a stranger sidled up to Izuku. He was taller, broad-shouldered, maybe mid-twenties. His posture was casual, but his smile lingered too long.

Haruki blinked, tilting the camera to catch it.

The guy leaned in a little, saying something Haruki couldn’t hear over the bustle. Izuku startled, cheeks going pink, shoulders curling inward. He gave the polite half-smile Haruki had seen a hundred times—the one that meant he’s trying to be nice, but he’s uncomfortable.

Before Haruki could call out, Katsuki’s voice cut sharp behind him.

“Watch your sister.”

The camera jerked as Haruki twisted, catching his dad’s furious scowl before Katsuki stormed across the gravel.

“Oh my god,” Haruki whispered, laughter bubbling up. He panned quickly back to the scene. Katsuki closing in like a thunderstorm, shoulders tight, jaw set. The stranger straightened as Katsuki stepped between him and Izuku, the air almost crackling with unspoken threat.

The mic didn’t pick up what Katsuki said but the way the guy’s face drained of color was enough. He muttered something and bolted, disappearing into the crowd.

Izuku stood frozen, chestnuts forgotten in his hand, eyes wide as Katsuki muttered a few more clipped words to him. Izuku’s blush deepened, somewhere between flustered and embarrassed, before Katsuki turned on his heel.

As Katsuki stalked back toward them, Haruki was already laughing, unable to stop. The sound filled the mic, muffled by how hard he was trying not to drop the camera.

The lens caught Katsuki’s glare as he passed. “Shut it.”

The camera flipped then, Haruki turning it to point at himself. His face was red from trying to hold back laughter, Yuzuki perched on his hip looking confused but amused.

“And that,” Haruki whispered to the camera. “was the protective dad moment of the day. Tune in next time when someone else makes the mistake of flirting with my mom in public.”

Behind him, Izuku was covering his face with his scarf, still pink to his ears, while Katsuki grabbed the bag of chestnuts like he was ready to fight it too.

—

The rest of the festival was calmer, though Izuku stayed close to Katsuki’s side, and Katsuki kept a hand hovering near Izuku’s back like he wasn’t letting him out of reach again.

On the walk back toward the parking lot, Haruki flipped the camera around one last time, the frame jostling as he clung to Katsuki’s back. Katsuki muttered under his breath about being “done carrying people for the day,” but his hands were steady under Haruki’s legs. The fourteen-year-old just grinned wide at the lens, cheek pressed against Katsuki’s shoulder like he’d won something.

Behind them, Izuku trailed with Yuzuki asleep against his chest, her little arms curled around him. Izuku’s own smile was soft, caught half in the lamplight, following close as if the three of them were strung together by something invisible.

When they finally piled back into the car, Yuzuki conked out immediately in her car seat, cheeks sticky with sugar. Haruki ended the recording with one last grin at the lens.

“I feel like this was a pretty successful night.”

He winked, then tapped the camera off.

—
Top Comments

@pumpkinpatchfan:
I can’t get over Katsuki saying “I’m not carrying anyone today” and then ending the night with Haruki on his back 😭 classic dad move
↳ @greenteanerd: Izuku literally baited him into it earlier too lmaoo he KNEW
↳ @mazemaster44: He had no chance, that’s just marriage physics

@festivaljunkie:
Izuku in the scarf >>> autumn boyfriend aesthetic unlocked 🍂💚
↳ @sparklersoda: The way Katsuki hovered behind him after the booth incident though 😭😭😭 he’s so protective it hurts
↳ @koiiheart: Izuku hiding in his scarf was peak shy husband energy

@ciderandspice:
Gremlin clutching that dragon like her life depended on it 🐉💕 cutest part of the vid
↳ @tinybean98: She said “camera? nope” and vanished behind the wings 😂
↳ @fallvibesplease: Can we talk about how Izuku matched her pace the whole time?? Mom goals

@bakugrumpy:
Protective Katsuki activating like a storm cloud had me in TEARS. Dude didn’t even say much and that guy RAN 💀
↳ @izukunoodles: Izuku hiding in his scarf afterwards oh my god he was so flustered
↳ @heroarchive: That was straight up a pro hero glare, 10/10 would not survive

@familyvloglover:
I love how Haruki narrates like this is a documentary and Katsuki’s just done the whole time 😂
↳ @cameraobsess: Haruki calling it a “family memory archive”?? stop my heart 🥹
↳ @sunsetghost: Katsuki pretending he hates it while secretly smiling… caught in 4K

@cozycore:
The ending shot… Izuku smiling with gremlin asleep, Katsuki carrying Haruki. That was such a warm family vibe 🥹
↳ @cryingoverscarf: It felt like a movie ending scene ngl
↳ @littlestitch: Haruki’s grin was so smug like “I won” and he DID

@candiedappleaddict:
Haruki whispering “little does he know” early on and then actually succeeding at piggyback revenge >>> storytelling KING
↳ @plotarmorpro: That was full foreshadowing, man knew his arc
↳ @caramelclown: Katsuki carrying TWO kids in one night… he lost the war and didn’t even realize it

Top tags
#FallFestivalVlog, #ProtectiveKatsuki, #ScarfZuku, #SiblingChaos, #GremlinAndHerDragon, #CornMazeChamp, #PiggybackWin, #FamilyMemoryArchive, #FestivalVibes, #ProHeroDadEnergy, #CaughtIn4K

Chapter Text

@PrivateFeedOfficial:
Heads up! This Sunday we’re going live for a test stream + Q&A 👀 We’re mostly checking the face-blur program so Blue and Gremlin stay private, but you’ll also get to bug Ground Zero with questions while he cooks.

—

Streamed live: Sunday, November 2 — 1:37 PM
Title: Private Feed Stream 1: Test Stream + Q&A
Duration: 1h 02m

—

Katsuki hated this already.

He leaned both hands on the edge of the kitchen island, jaw tight, glaring at the glossy black camera perched on its little tripod like it had personally insulted him. The stupid thing’s red light blinked steadily, waiting.

“Why the hell do we have to test this live?” he demanded, not looking at Hana but directing the words straight at her anyway.

@quirks4days: lmao Ground Zero is PISSED
@haru-nation: Haruki stirring the pot already 😭

Their PR manager leaned casually against the counter across from him, sipping coffee like this was just another Sunday. “Because editing and live-streaming use different processing. We need to know the blur program runs without a hitch in real time. Otherwise, if one of your kids wanders through by accident, their faces aren’t protected.”

Katsuki bristled, heat rising in his chest. “Then we don’t test it with them. I’m not putting them on camera.”

From his perch on the counter behind him, Haruki snorted. “Like we’d agree to that.”

Katsuki spun half around, glaring at his eldest. “Don’t start, brat.”

Haruki raised both hands in mock surrender, but his grin gave him away. The little shit was enjoying this.

“I didn’t say we were using the kids,” Hana cut in smoothly. “Relax, Dad of the Year. I’ll be the guinea pig. My face, my problem.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “…You’re sure?”

She tilted her head, giving him one of those tired looks that reminded him why she got paid too much money. “I’m not the one with death threats lurking in my inbox. Nobody cares if my face glitches on a test run. You pay me to worry about your image, not mine.”

Katsuki huffed but didn’t argue again. He couldn’t. She wasn’t wrong.

He crossed his arms, muttering, “Fine. But the second this thing lags—”

“—you’ll throw it out the window?” Haruki offered helpfully.

Katsuki jabbed a finger at him without turning around. “Watch it.”

@groundzeroed: THE TENSION HELP
@fanofgremlin: wait are they talking about blue and gremlin???
@izusdelulu: dad protecting his pups

Before Hana could fire up the test, the sound of tiny sock-feet pattering on tile broke through the tension.

“*****—!” Izuku’s voice came from down the hall, rushed but already too late.

Katsuki’s head snapped up just in time to see his three-year-old barreling toward the counter like a determined puppy. Toward right in front of the camera.

“Shit—”

Two things happened at once, Haruki dove off the counter like he was leaping into battle, arms outstretched, while Katsuki lunged forward. Izuku, a second too late, skidded around the corner, reaching.

Haruki managed to grab Taiga under the arms just before the kid could crash into the tripod. Katsuki’s hand clamped around the back of the boy’s shirt, hauling him back upright. Izuku steadied them both, breathless, curls falling into his face.

@bluegremlinfan: WAS THAT GREMLIN?
@hero-watcher: I HEARD LITTLE FEET
@cameraroll: HARUKI SACRIFICED HIMSELF LMAO

“Not the kitchen,” Katsuki snapped, heart thundering. He set Taiga down firmly, his hand still on the boy’s shoulder.

Taiga blinked up at him, wide-eyed, then grinned, utterly unbothered. “I was racing!”

Haruki wheezed, still crouched on the floor with one hand braced against the tile. “God. He’s gonna kill me before the villains do.”

Izuku gathered Taiga against his side, brushing a hand over his hair. “Let’s play in the living room, okay? Away from the camera?”

Taiga pouted but nodded, already distracted as Izuku guided him out.

Katsuki turned slowly back to Hana, his chest still heaving. “This is exactly why I said we’re not testing with my kids in the damn house.”

Hana raised both brows, unflinching. “Point taken. Let’s run it now while your guard dog is out of the frame.”

Haruki groaned from the floor. “I am not a guard dog—”

“You dove headfirst off the counter,” Katsuki cut him off. “Shut up.”

@bakugobangz: LOLLLL
@fanfictionnerd: this is better than tv

He stalked back to the island, watching as Hana leaned into the frame. The blur kicked in instantly, her face fuzzed into a nondescript oval.

“See?” she said, her distorted features turning to him. “No problem. We’re good to go.”

Katsuki studied the screen, unwilling to relax until he was satisfied. After a few seconds, he gave a grudging nod. “Fine. It works.”

Hana grinned, stepping back. “Which means we can actually start the Q&A now instead of arguing about it.”

Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Why the hell did I agree to this?”

Haruki climbed back onto the counter, smug. “Because people love you.”

“Bullshit.”

But the red light on the camera blinked steadily, and the chat feed was already filling in rapid-fire on Hana’s laptop. No backing out now.

The questions started easy enough. Hana scrolled, reading aloud as Katsuki half-listened, arms crossed.

“‘What was your experience of being a teen dad?’”

Katsuki’s spine stiffened. He hadn’t expected that one so fast. His mouth opened, then shut again.

Haruki was watching him, head tilted, waiting.

Katsuki exhaled slowly through his nose. “Hard. That’s it. Don’t recommend it to anyone.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away from the lens. “But… worth it. Every damn second. Wouldn’t trade it.”

@boomfan: 🥺🥺🥺
@groundzeroed: he’s so real for that
@greenbeanlover: izuku looking at him like that im crying

Haruki ducked his head like he was hiding a smile, and Katsuki felt his chest loosen just a fraction.

“‘How did you and Izuku meet?’”

Katsuki snorted, finally smirking. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Grew up together. He followed me around like a damn duckling. He’s been annoying me ever since.”

From the hallway, Izuku’s voice floated back: “I heard that!”

Katsuki smirked wider. “Still does.”

The chat lit up faster, hearts and laughing emojis scrolling like a flood.

@delulucrew: childhood friends to lovers trope REAL
@bakudeku4life: HE SAID GREW UP TOGETHER AHHHH
@spicyboom: ‘annoying me ever since’ = true love confirmed

Hana’s lips twitched as she read another. “‘How did your friends react to meeting your kids?’”

Katsuki leaned on the counter, remembering. “Depends. Half of them cried, half of them tried to act cool and failed. Kirishima cried. Like, ugly cried. Denki dropped a baby bottle on his foot and cried too, but that doesn’t count. Mina screamed because she thought the kids were so cute.”

Haruki snorted loudly behind him. “You’re outing them on livestream.”

“Damn right.”

Hana scrolled again. “‘Why did you change your hero name from Dynamight to Ground Zero?’”

That one hit a nerve, but Katsuki didn’t dodge. “Because it wasn’t mine anymore. Dynamight was the kid who thought explosions were enough to win. Ground Zero… that’s me now. Where the fight starts. Where I end it.”

For once, the chat slowed.

@heroanalysisfan: HE SAID IT SO CASUALLY 😭
@izusdelulu: izuku definitely helped him pick it tbh
@quirknerd: you just KNOW he did

Haruki let out a low whistle. “That was kinda badass, Dad.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki muttered, but his ears burned.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and sesame oil by the time the next round of questions started. Katsuki had slipped into his comfort zone—knife in hand, pan heating behind him, the steady rhythm of prep calming the restless edge that always came with being on camera.

Haruki perched on the counter again, one leg swinging as he peeked at Hana’s laptop. “Chat’s going crazy,” he reported with a grin. “Half of them want you to yell, half of them want you to kiss Mom on stream.”

Katsuki froze mid-chop. “Not happening.”

@bakudekubrainrot: HE DIDN’T DENY WANTING TO 😭
@boomfan: he’s BLUSHING HELP

“Anyway,” Hana said quickly, smothering a laugh as she scrolled. “Here’s one, ‘Will we ever get a face or name reveal of the kids?’”

“No.” Katsuki didn’t even look up. His knife kept moving, crisp against the cutting board. “Not now at least. Maybe when they're older and can actually decide they want to, but for now it's a no. They didn’t sign up for the shitstorm that comes with me.”

@izusdelulu: he’s so serious about protecting them im 🥺
@groundzeroed: respect. king behavior.

The camera caught Haruki's grin as he gave the lens a mock whisper. “Protective dad alert.”

Katsuki snorted. “Damn right. Next.”

Hana nodded, satisfied, and moved on. “Okay—‘If you weren’t a hero, what job would you have?’”

Katsuki huffed, scooping the chopped vegetables into a bowl. “Chef. Easy. Or maybe combat trainer. Something where I still get to yell at dumbasses who don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Wow,” Haruki deadpanned. “Truly branching out.”

“Shut up.”

@noquirknerd: lmaooo he’s so consistent
@chefboom: cook book when 👀

Hana leaned forward again. “‘What song do you put on repeat when you’re working out?’”

Katsuki smirked, tossing the veggies into the sizzling wok. “Depends on the workout. But if I need to push through, it’s ‘Kingslayer.’ Loud as hell. Gets the blood pumping.”

Haruki groaned. “You’ve blasted that at six a.m. before. The walls shake.”

“Good. Builds character.”

@metalheadfan: GROUND ZERO TASTE 🔥🔥🔥
@haru-nation: haruki suffering for our sins lol

Hana scrolled, then grinned. “Ooh, this one’s for Haruki—‘What’s the dumbest thing you’ve caught on camera?’”

Haruki lit up instantly. “Oh my god, easy. Dad walking straight into a glass door. Like, full stride, nose-first. I’ve never heard a thud that loud in my life.”

“Hey!” Katsuki spun, spatula raised like a weapon.

Haruki cackled, ducking away. “I still have the recording, chat. Never deleting it.”

@glassdoortruthers: POST THE FOOTAGE 😭😭😭
@bakusufferclub: haruki’s blackmail folder is real confirmed🤣

Katsuki muttered under his breath as he turned back to the stove, ears hot. “Brat.”

“Moving on,” Hana said, amused. “Here’s a sweet one. ‘What’s your favorite thing about Izuku?’”

Katsuki nearly dropped the spatula. His grip tightened, shoulders stiff. “…The hell kinda question is that?”

“An honest one,” Hana said.

He stared at the sizzling food, jaw working. The chat was flying too fast for him to look at. Finally, he muttered, “Everything. Idiots.”

Haruki’s grin softened into something smaller, warmer.

@greenbeanlover: CRYINGGGGGGG
@bakudekubrainrot: FAVORITE LOVE CONFESSION EVER
@izusdelulu: he said EVERYTHING im gone

“Okay, balance it out,” Hana said, eyes glinting. “‘What’s the most annoying thing Izuku does?’”

That one was easier. Katsuki slammed the spatula down and turned, scowling at the camera. “He takes notes. On. Everything. I can’t sit down without him analyzing my fighting stance like I’m one of his homework projects.”

From the hallway, Izuku’s voice called faintly, “You’d have bad knees by thirty if I didn’t!”

“See?!” Katsuki barked, pointing toward the hall. “Never stops!”

Haruki was doubled over laughing.

@quirknerd: LMFAO
@momdefenseforce: Izuku's just trying to keep him healthy 😭

“Alright,” Hana cut in before Katsuki combusted. “‘How did you two end up together?’”

That made him pause again. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, spatula dangling loosely in one hand. “…We were stupid kids. Bonded too young. Screwed it up a hundred times. But he never let go. Neither did I.” His gaze flicked toward the hall where Izuku’s voice had come from. “Guess we figured it out.”

@childhoodfriends2lovers: THIS IS SO REAL
@boomfan: HE SAID THEY NEVER LET GO IM SOBBING

“Here’s one,” Hana continued gently. “‘Do you ever watch his analysis work and get impressed?’”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but there was no bite in it. “Of course I do. He’s a pain in my ass, but he’s smart as hell. Half my wins come from his strategies. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Too late,” Haruki sing-songed.

@strategistfans: POWER COUPLE ERA
@groundzeroed: parents hyping each other up omg

“‘How did you pick Haruki’s name?’” Hana read.

Katsuki actually smiled at that one, just a little. “Izuku picked it,” Katsuki said finally. His voice dropped a little, softer than before. “Said it meant ‘sunlight.’ Back then… things were dark. He was dark. Depressed as hell after everything. But he said when Haruki was born, it felt like there was light in his life again. So he gave him a name that carried that. Sunlight.”

The room went quiet.

Haruki’s ears burned red. He ducked his head, voice low. “That’s… actually nice.”

@namenerds: IZUKU PICKING NAMES 😭
@haru-nation: SUNLIGHTTTTTTT
@cryingoverthis: Fuck we have to bring back calling Haruki sunlight

“‘Who is everyone’s favorite hero?’” Hana asked.

Katsuki didn’t even pause. “All Might. Always.”

Haruki swung his legs from the counter, shrugging. “Mine changes a lot. Right now? Probably Fat Gum. He gave me free takoyaki once.”

Katsuki snorted. “Figures.” He set down the knife and added, “Gremlin’s obsessed with Mirko and Nejire-chan. Blue’s stuck between Red Riot or Froppy.”

He wiped his hands on a towel, shaking his head. “Of course nobody likes me as a hero.”

From down the hall, Izuku’s voice carried back, indignant: “I like you as a hero!”

Katsuki smirked at the camera. “You don’t count.”

The chat exploded.

@marriedenergy: izuku yelling in the background IM CRYING
@groundzeroed: no one likes me → izuku: im your #1 fan
@herofans: THE KIDS HAVE TASTE

Hana scrolled again, eyebrows up. “‘Why did Haruki pick a more feminine suit for the hero gala?’”

All eyes swung to Haruki. He blinked, then straightened, a little defensive. “Because I liked it. It looked good. Why’s that even a question?”

Katsuki shot him a sharp look. “Damn right it did. You wore what you wanted. That’s it.”

Haruki relaxed, smiling faintly.

@slayqueen: HARUKI SERVED IDC
@dadbackup: katsuki backing him up immediately 🥺

“Okay, this one’s funny,” Hana said, grinning. “‘What’s the most embarrassing date you guys went on?’”

Katsuki groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Haruki perked up. “Storytime.”

Katsuki scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fine. It was supposed to be a picnic. We dragged all this food out to the park, laid the blanket down, everything. Five minutes in, the sprinklers turned on. Whole damn thing soaked. We had to run like idiots carrying soggy rice balls.”

He scowled at the cutting board, clearly not interested in saying more.

The chat was already spamming crying emojis.

@gremlinwatch: SPRINKLERS LMAOO
@groundzerotrash: pls tell me he fell 🤣

Before Hana could scroll, Izuku’s voice came from the hallway, muffled but unmistakable. “Katsuki, that’s not the full story!”

Katsuki froze. “Don’t—”

Izuku padded in anyway, Taiga on his hip, curls sticking up like he’d been laying on the couch. “He forgot to mention he tripped on the blanket while we were running and face-planted. In the mud.” Izuku’s smile was all teeth. “I had to drag him up before the sprinklers got him again.”

“Don’t tell them that!” Katsuki barked, ears red.

Haruki nearly slid off the counter, howling with laughter. “Dad got wrecked by PARK SPRINKLERS. Oh my god.”

@haru-nation: DEAD DEAD DEAD
@bakudeku4life: IZUKU RAT HIM OUT 😭
@boomfan: the romance of dragging ur angry bf out of the mud

Katsuki stabbed the air with his spatula. “That story dies here.”

Izuku just pressed a kiss to Taiga’s hair, eyes sparkling as he walked away. “Sure, Katsuki.”

“Last one,” Hana said, still laughing. “‘Do you want more kids?’”

Katsuki froze, spatula hovering over the pan. Slowly, his gaze flicked toward the hall again. He could hear faint giggles—Izuku corralling the little ones.

“…Maybe,” he said finally, voice low. “If Izuku wanted to. But I’m not gonna push it. We’ve got enough chaos.”

@delulucrew: MAAAAAYBE????
@chatgremlin: blue would riot lol

Hana closed the laptop with a snap. “And that’s all we’ve got time for, chat. Ground Zero has to feed his family.”

“Finally,” Katsuki muttered, plating the stir fry with practiced efficiency.

Haruki slid off the counter, still grinning. “You survived, Dad. Kinda.”

Katsuki flicked a grain of rice at him. “Brat.”

The camera’s red light blinked steadily, then cut out.

For the first time all evening, the kitchen felt quiet.

—

The camera clicked off with a soft chime. Silence settled into the kitchen, broken only by the faint sound of Taiga humming to himself as he stacked toy blocks in a different room.

Izuku leaned over the counter, smiling at Hana. “You’re staying for dinner, right? There’s plenty.”

Hana shook her head as she slid her tablet back into her bag. “Tempting, but no. I’ll leave you guys to the circus. Besides, I’ve got reports to file.”

“You sure?” Izuku asked again, earnest as ever. “It’s no trouble—”

“Positive,” she said, waving him off. “Though I expect leftovers as payment next time.” She glanced at Katsuki with a smirk. “Good job not blowing up the stream, by the way. Character development.”

Katsuki grunted, too busy setting the table to answer, and Hana laughed her way out the door.

A few minutes later, everyone was gathered around the table. Taiga wiggled in his booster seat, already reaching for the rice. Yuzuki tried to copy him, and Izuku shot them both a look before serving small portions onto their plates. Haruki leaning back with his chopsticks and sighing like he hadn’t eaten in years.

Everything was quiet. Just clinking dishes, low chatter, and the comfortable weight of family.

Katsuki let the moment stretch, then glanced at Haruki. “So,” he said, casual but pointed, “your birthday’s coming up. What do you want to do?”

Haruki froze mid-bite, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He chewed slowly, stalling, and then shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Uh… I was thinking… maybe something kinda big this year?”

Izuku tilted his head, curious. “Big?”

“Not huge,” Haruki rushed to explain. “But—like, invite everyone. Grandma, Grandpa, Auntie Mina, Uncle Eijirou… all of them.” His ears turned red, and he ducked his head. “And, uh, maybe stream it. Just so my friends at UA can tune in. The ones who can’t come.”

The table went quiet for a second. Even Taiga paused, spoon hovering in midair.

Katsuki raised a brow, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should smirk or scowl. “So that’s why we had to waste a Sunday testing the blur shit.”

Haruki winced. “...Maybe.”

Izuku’s hand landed gently on their son’s shoulder, smiling. “That’s a wonderful idea. It’ll be safe now, thanks to Hana’s program. And… I think everyone would love to see you celebrate.”

Taiga piped up, mouth full. “Cake!”

“Obviously cake,” Haruki said, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling.

Katsuki leaned back, watching them all with something tight and warm in his chest. The world outside could wait—right now, it was just them.

Chapter Text

Streamed live: Thursday, November 13— 11:02 AM
Title: Private Feed Stream 2: Haruki’s B-day Celebrate
Duration: 6h 36m

—

The low hum of the engine fills the mic as the car glides down the street, sunlight spilling across the dash. A faint notification sound pings—Haruki’s phone connects to the aux.

A moment later, Nissan Altima by Doechii kicks in. Bass-heavy, sharp, the kind of song that makes the windows vibrate if you turn it up too loud.

Haruki’s still scrolling through his phone, thumb moving lazily. When the music starts, he glances up at the little red light on the dash camera. “Oh—hey,” he says, voice casual but bright. “We’re live. Uh… good morning? Birthday stream officially started, I guess.”

—
@izustan4ever: happy bday haruki 🥳

@camera_gremlin: lmao he didn’t even notice the cam was on

@kacchanrules: “uh good morning?” it’s literally 11pm bro 💀

@goodvibesonly: good morning king 👑 even tho it’s afternoon

@partyemoji: HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY

@rightontime: can’t believe i made it right as it started 🫡

—

Katsuki doesn’t look away from the road. His grip on the wheel is loose but steady, eyes flicking from the windshield to the mirrors with practiced ease. He doesn’t add to the greeting. Just lets Haruki handle it.

The city rolls by outside the window—fall trees, streaks of gold and orange flashing past. The music fills the silence, track shifting halfway through the drive to Buy U a Drank by T-Pain. Smooth, playful, a total contrast to Katsuki’s stone-faced quiet.

Haruki shifts in his seat, turning toward him. “You’re not gonna say hi?”

Katsuki just grunts. “We’re driving.”

Haruki laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “Fine. Don’t say hi. People are here for me anyway.”

A twitch of Katsuki’s mouth, almost a smirk, but he keeps his eyes ahead.

—

@ashido_hype: not katsuki refusing to say hi 😭 (it's fine 🥲)

@boomgoesdynamite: “we’re driving.” bro calm down 💀

@allmightfanclub: haruki’s right tho we’re here for HIM 🎉

@softomega: i saw that smirk 👁️👁️ he can’t hide it

—

By the time Mmmh by Kai starts, they’re pulling into the lot of the grocery store. The silver reflection of the building’s glass doors flashes across the windshield. Katsuki kills the engine, the song fading into the background hum of the lot.

He finally turns, looking straight at Haruki. “Okay. I’ve gotta pick up your cake. Your mom told me not to let you see it, so we split up for a bit.”

Haruki perks up, grinning. “Alright. Meet me in the snack aisle?”

“Yeah. Don’t take forever.”

They both get out. Haruki grabs a cart by the entrance, pushing it easily with one hand, the camera following every step. Katsuki doesn’t bother with one—just jams his hands into his pockets and heads toward the bakery section without a word.

The sliding doors whoosh open, fluorescent lights swallowing them both. Haruki keeps the camera angled on his own face as he walks. “Mom’s already got most of the decor,” he explains, voice low but steady. “I just need to grab candles and a lighter. Easy.”

He drifts through the aisles, wheels of the cart squeaking faintly against the tile. When he finds the decorations, the camera dips briefly to show his hands hovering over rows of colored candles. “Let’s go with green. Classic.” He tosses a pack into the cart with a soft clatter. “And… lighter. Done.”

—

@quirkydecor: wait this store looks so aesthetic ngl 👀

@boom_boom_boi: bet Katsuki told him NOT to forget the lighter lmaooo

@snackgremlin: bro get sparklers instead of candles 👏

@sugarlight: imagine showing up w/ no candles 💀💀💀

@minasquad: silver is the only right answer tbh 💚

@omegalover: does this mean izuku decorated everything?? 🥺 i bet it’s gorgeous

@late2theparty: we better see the cake later 😤

—

The camera swings back up as he makes his way toward snacks, humming under his breath as Before the Morning by cthruRio starts up—soft, airy, the kind of track that makes even the fluorescent aisles feel mellow.

By the time Haruki rolls into the snack aisle, Katsuki’s already there, waiting with a box tucked under one arm. He’s got that look—the one that says he’s trying not to scowl, but his patience is already half-spent.

“What’d you get?” Haruki asks.

“Cake,” Katsuki answers shortly. “Don’t look.”

Haruki grins, exaggerated, and looks straight at the ceiling. “Not looking.”

They start down the aisle together. Haruki reaches for a bright red bag of chips and drops it into the cart. “Oh, we should get these. Aunty Mina likes them.”

Katsuki doesn’t argue—just adds a bag of his own, glancing at his phone when it buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, reads a message, and sighs hard enough that the mic picks it up.

“Mhm,” he mutters, tucking the phone back away. “Told him we needed more.”

“More what?” Haruki asks, curious.

“Avocados. Come on.” Katsuki steers him out of the aisle, toward the fruit section.

The playlist shifts, sliding into Senses by Mico. The melody is airy, faintly bittersweet. The cart rattles faintly over a seam in the tile as they roll into produce.

Haruki swings the camera to the piles of fruit, catching Katsuki leaning over the avocados, testing each one with a squeeze that’s probably way more aggressive than necessary. He mutters under his breath, “Too hard. Too soft. Finally—this one.”

Two avocados go into the cart. Katsuki straightens, brushing his hands off like he’s just finished a mission. “Done.”

They make their way toward the registers, music fading into BoyBig Dawgs by Hanumankind. It’s more upbeat, fitting as sunlight slants through the wide front windows.

Back in the car, Haruki keeps the camera angled as bags are loaded into the trunk. The playlist picks up again—Hiss by Megan Thee Stallion thunders in, sharp and confident, filling the silence as the car pulls away from the store.

The drive back is quicker, conversation light, half-mumbled between the beat of songs. By the time 100 Ways by Jackson Wang plays, the house comes into view—warm light spilling from the windows, Izuku’s silhouette briefly visible at the kitchen counter.

The engine shuts off. Doors slam. The screen jolts as Haruki grabs the bags and follows Katsuki inside.

Inside, the stream shifts into the warmth of home. Izuku’s already moving through the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hands busy arranging plates. The faint sound of little feet skittering carries from the living room, followed by a high-pitched giggle—Yuzuki.

Taiga’s voice cuts in next, distorted but loud and insistent. “Haruki! Play with us!”

Haruki glances at Katsuki, who’s already setting bags on the counter with a grunt. Then he smiles, turning the camera toward the living room. “Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

The music softens into interclue: wings by BTS, faint under the noise of the house. The camera swings as Haruki sets the bags aside and makes his way into the living room, Yuzuki already bouncing in place with a stuffed animal clutched tight. Taiga is crouched low, ready to pounce.

—

@siblinggoals: gremlin bouncing 🥺 she’s too precious omg

@denkimain: BLUE ABOUT TO TACKLE THIS MAN LMAOOOO

@familyfeed: this is my fave part of the streams ngl…the chaos w/ the kids feels so real

@plushieluv: wait what stuffed animal does Gremlen have?? show us!!

@screaminginternally: why do i feel like Haruki’s gonna LOSE this game against a 5yo and a toddler 💀

@streamjunkie: the bg music + kid noises = vibes unmatched

—

“Gotcha—” Haruki lunges forward, scooping Taiga up around the middle, spinning him once before dropping onto the couch with a laugh. The camera wobbles but stays upright, catching Yuzuki climbing straight onto his lap.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Izuku and Katsuki move around each other easily—plates, utensils, and ingredients spread across the counters. Katsuki lights the stove, pulling out marinated meat from the fridge. Izuku threads streamers through his fingers, stretching them out to tape against the wall above the doorway.

Hours stretch like this—easy, unhurried. Haruki plays with Yuzuki and Taiga, swapping between building block towers and mock wrestling matches. Katsuki checks the grill outside, adjusting the heat until smoke curls in steady lines. Izuku keeps moving, small decorations finding their places, bowls of snacks piling higher.

The music flows with the hours—Money by Cardi B loud enough that Taiga starts dancing on the couch, On My Mama by Victoria Monét setting the rhythm as Yuzuki insists Haruki twirl her around the living room. Later, Uma Thurman by Fall Out rattles faintly through the speakers as the golden light of afternoon begins to spill through the blinds.

By the time Poser plays, the backyard is ready—the grill sending up curls of smoke, the table set with plates and drinks, sunlight filtering through the trees overhead. The stream lingers on Haruki stepping outside, camera catching the backyard in full.

—

@vibin24: this is the chillest bday stream ever ngl

@minafan: NOT BLue DANCING TO CARDI B I’M CRYIN 😭😭

@snackattack: izuku setting out snacks like he’s hosting the hero gala rn 💀

@sugarhigh: gremlins lil spin 🥺 my heart can’t take it

@songbird: haruki twirling her to on my mama >>>>> cutest thing today

@bgcam: katsuki vs the grill… place ur bets ppl 👀🔥

@blockmaster: ok but who’s winning the tower wars??? i need answers

@goldenhour: the LIGHT rn??? perfect timing, this backyard looks magical ✨

@fandommom: i feel like i’m literally just hanging out with this family 🥹

—

“Almost time,” Katsuki mutters from the grill, flipping the first pieces of meat with practiced ease.

Haruki turns the camera on him, smiling. “Almost.”

The music fades into Top Ten Statues That Cried Blood by Bring Me the Horizon, heavy, atmospheric. The golden-hour light stretches long shadows across the yard, the last breath before guests begin to arrive.

The doorbell rings.

Haruki perks up from where he’s crouched on the grass with Taiga, holding the toddler steady as he climbs onto the plastic slide. “Hold on, I got it!” He sets Taiga down at the bottom, steadying him with a pat before jogging into the house. The camera, set on the kitchen counter, tilts to catch him disappearing down the hall.

The muffled sound of the front door opening.

Then Haruki’s voice, warm and familiar: “Hey! You’re early.”

It’s Itsuki, his classmate from UA. Tall, dark-haired, in a jacket despite it being pretty hot, gift bag dangling awkwardly from one wrist.

—

@firstarrival: first guest spotted 👀

@ua_alum: omg ITSUKI i didn’t think he’d actually show up early lol

@giftbag: man came PREPARED, look at that bag 😂

@shippercore: jacket??? in THIS weather??? bold choice

@classwatch: he looks nervous but it’s cute ngl 🥺

@cameraeye: haruki’s “hey you’re early” sounded way too soft 👀👀👀

@bdayhype: THE PARTY OFFICIALLY STARTS NOW 🎉

—

“Uh… happy birthday, Haru.”

“Thanks, dude.” Haruki grins, taking the bag and waving him in. “C’mon, backyard. My dad’s already losing his mind over the grill.”

The mic picks up Katsuki’s distant bark from outside: “I can hear you, brat!”

Haruki just laughs, leading Itsuki through the house. The camera shakes as he grabs it off the counter, turning it briefly to show his friend waving shyly before the lens swings back toward the back door.

The yard is bright and busy with half-finished decorations—Izuku’s touch, streamers looped across the fence, paper lanterns swaying gently from the tree branches. The playlist is still rolling, the thrum of Mikrokosmos light against the sounds of sizzling food.

Katsuki is at the grill, black apron on, tongs in hand, already scowling at skewers like they’ve personally offended him. Smoke curls in thin ribbons into the warm air.

Katsuki calls without looking up.

“Hey, Itsuki.”

“Hi, Bakugou-san.” Itsuki answers quickly, a little nervous but smiling.

Haruki grins at the camera, then back at his friend. “See? He likes you. He never says hi first.”

Katsuki growls but doesn’t argue, too focused on flipping chicken wings.

—

@grillmaster: chef kacchan in his natural habitat 🔥🍗

@firsthello: WAIT did he just say hi first?? 👀👀

@itsuki_fan: awww he called him “Bakugou-san” that’s so polite 🥺

@grumpydad: katsuki growling is basically his love language lol

@proof: haruki’s right, that’s like… the highest compliment possible 😂

—

The door creaks again, and this time it’s Mina who comes crashing through, sunglasses perched in her hair and a tray balanced in her hands.

““Party people!” Mina shouts the second she steps through the door, grinning wide. “Where’s my favorite birthday boy?”

Haruki groans, ducking her hug but getting caught anyway. The camera wobbles in his hands as he protests, “Ah—Aunty Mina!”

She plants a loud kiss on his head before dropping the foil-covered tray onto the table with a triumphant clatter. Then her eyes catch on the lens, and she gasps. “Are we live?”

Before Haruki can answer, she snatches the camera, holding it high and striking a dramatic pose. “Helloooo, internet! You’re welcome—I just made this stream ten times prettier.”

Laughing, she hands it back to Haruki, who shakes his head laughing too.

“Careful what you say,” Katsuki mutters from the grill.

Mina winks at the lens. “Me? Careful? Never.”

—

@pinkqueen: AUNTY MINA ENTERS THE CHAT 💖✨

@chaoticgood: she really said “this is my stream now” 😂

@wingman: katsuki at the grill like 😑 while mina steals the spotlight lol

@glowup: not her calling herself prettier—she’s right tho 👏

@nevercareful: “me? careful? never.” that’s her whole brand tbh 💅

—

From there, the tide rolls in. One by one, more people arrive.

The door doesn’t get a chance to close before the next wave of guests rolls in. Kirishima’s first through, both hands hooked around grocery bags clinking with bottles of soda.

“Delivery service!” he calls, grinning wide.

Behind him, Jirou follows at her usual unhurried pace, guitar slung over one shoulder like it belongs there more than anywhere else. Sero ducks through the doorway next, arms stacked high with bags of store-bought chips and candy that clearly don’t match his so-called diet plan. He just winks at the camera when Haruki tilts it toward him.

Then Mei barrels in, arms wrapped around a giant box almost bigger than her torso. She stumbles a little under the weight but beams like she’s carrying treasure.

Hot on her heels, Kojima walks in with Mori Hana, his arm slung casually around Tsubaki’s shoulders. A little girl, no taller than Yuzuki, maybe the same age, skips a few steps ahead of them, face blurred as the camera settles on the group.

Yuzuki spots her instantly. She shrieks with delight and runs full-tilt across the room. The two girls collide in a jumpy, giggly hug, bouncing on their toes like they’ve been waiting all year for this exact moment.

Each arrival shifts the atmosphere louder, brighter. The yard fills with laughter and overlapping conversations, the playlist bouncing seamlessly into Kingslayer by Bring Me the Horizon. Mina cheers, headbanging exaggeratedly as she tears open a bag of chips.

—

@rocksteady: KIRI WITH THE SODA DELIVERY 🚚💥

@stringtheory: JIROU + GUITAR = instant concert?? 👀

@serofan: Sero winked at ME specifically I just know it 😭

@techqueen: MEI DRAGGING THAT BOX LIKE IT’S A MECH PART 💀

@familywatch: WHO’S THE LITTLE GIRL?? mini gremlin spotted!!

@yuyu-squad: GREMLIN SCREAMED 😭 besties unlocked!!!

—

The camera pans across the chaos of the party.

Kirishima clapping Haruki on the back hard enough to make him stumble.

Jirou rolling her eyes but smiling as Yuzuki tugs at her sleeve, demanding to see the guitar.

Sero surrounded by kids, Yuzuki perched on his shoulders declaring she’s the tallest person alive.

“Gremlin, get down before you break his neck,” Katsuki barks, but there’s no bite in it.

Haruki jogs into frame, scooping Taiga off the grass before he can toddle straight into the grill. “Blue, slow down! He’s not as fast as you.”

Yuzuki pouts but sticks her tongue out and races off again, Taiga squealing as Haruki swings him around.

The stream catches all of it—the noise, the chatter, the faint hiss of the grill in the background.

Hours blur in that way only birthdays can.

Mina and Kirishima arguing about who can eat more skewers, both already stuffed.

Jirou strumming a lazy tune in the corner, Yuzuki watching like she’s at a stadium concert.

Taiga sneaking grapes from the fruit bowl, caught mid-chew when Katsuki yells, “Don’t even think about it.”

Haruki sprawled on the grass with his UA friends, tossing a ball back and forth, laughter rising every time someone fumbles the catch.

The sun dips lower, turning the yard golden. The playlist cycles, sliding into A Match Into Water by Pierce the Veil, guitar-heavy and sharp, blending strangely well with the sizzling food.

Katsuki wipes his hands on a rag, glaring at the smoke curling in his face. “Damn grill,” he mutters. He grabs a tray of half-cooked skewers off the side table and shoves it toward Haruki. “Oi. Watch this for a sec. Don’t screw it up—I need more plates.”

Haruki takes the tray and the tongs, flashing the camera a grin as he sets them down. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve seen you do this like, a million times. I got it.” He flips a skewer with a little too much flourish, then lifts the camera in one hand. “See? Easy. Might even be better than him.”

Katsuki mutters something sharp under his breath, already stalking toward the back door.

For a few seconds, the camera lingers on the grill—the meat sizzling, smoke puffing up into the golden light. Haruki hums along with the music under his breath, half-focused, until the sizzle flares a little too high.

“...Yeah, okay, I’m not babysitting this thing alone.”

—

@grillmaster99: OMG Haruki’s got skills 😎🔥

@sizzlesquad: Katsuki looking grumpy is peak content lol

@foodie_fan: Can you stop making me hungry?? 🥩😩

@flippyboi: Haruki doing the flourish… iconic. Teach me your ways

@smokeyeyes: That flare-up had me scared for a sec 😬

—

He clicks his tongue, snatches the camera, and jogs after Katsuki.

The house is quieter, cooler. The lens swings past the hallway and settles as Haruki pushes into the kitchen, finding Katsuki already pulling open cupboards for extra plates.

“Dad,” Haruki says, voice lower now, serious in a way he hasn’t been all afternoon. “Hey—can I talk to you for a sec?”

Katsuki pauses, stack of plates in hand, turning halfway toward him. “What’s up? Something wrong?”

Before Haruki can answer, footsteps echo down the hall. Izuku enters, his face tight, voice sharper than the easy laughter he’s been carrying outside.

“Katsuki,” he says, quiet but heavy. “Why did you invite my mother?”

Chapter Text

The plates in Katsuki’s hands clinked faintly, too loud in the silence that followed Izuku’s words. Somewhere out in the backyard, the bass of a speaker rattled faintly against the walls— “Liar Liar” thrumming in the distance, almost taunting in its timing.

Katsuki’s head jerked up, sharp and fast, eyes narrowing. “What?!” he barked, like the question itself was an insult.

Izuku’s voice wavered, though his eyes stayed steady. “Why did you invite my mother—did you not invite her?”

Katsuki froze, the words hitting deeper than they should have. His reply came sharp, almost wounded. “No. Why the fuck would I invite her after what she did to you?”

The room seemed to shrink around Haruki. His fingers tightened on the camera, the red light blinking like it was counting down to something inevitable.

“Then who—” Izuku started, disbelief sharp in his tone.

“I invited her.”

The words came from the doorway, clipped, unapologetic.

All three of them turned.

Mitsuki leaned against the frame like she owned the place, arms crossed over her chest, chin lifted.

Katsuki’s eyes widened, then hardened into something sharp. “Mom,” he snapped. “Why would you do that?”

—

@kacchanrules: uh why does it feel tense all of a sudden??
@greenteaomega: wait was that grandma?? 👀

—

The house seemed to pulse with the bassline of the music from outside.

Haruki’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. His voice slipped out before he could stop it, low and unsure. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

Katsuki cut him a quick glare, but it didn’t stick. His attention locked back on Mitsuki instantly.

“You knew how this would—” he started, voice rough, but the sound of footsteps cut him off.

They echoed down the hallway. Then Inko stepped into the kitchen.

She held a gift bag against her chest like it was a shield. Her eyes moved quickly—Katsuki, Haruki, Izuku—and then stayed on Izuku. “I’m sorry for arriving uninvited,” she said softly, the words tumbling into the space like fragile glass. “I just wanted to say happy birthday to Haruki. And…” her voice caught, but she pushed on, still looking only at Izuku. “And to say I’m sorry.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that made Haruki’s pulse hammer in his ears. Even the music outside seemed muffled, like the whole house was holding its breath.

—

@p1nk_acid: 😳😳 omg is that??
@streamlurker22: dude this is live??
@sunnydaysfan: someone pls say smth funny im uncomfy

—

And then—

“Get out.”

The sound cut through the air like a blade.

Everyone thought it was Katsuki. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, every line of his body screaming with tension.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Izuku.

His voice rang out again, sharper, louder this time. “Get out of my house.”

—

@cryingindeku: IZUKU SAID THAT??
@boomgoeskacchan: holy shit i felt that
@uwusuki: not on Haruki's bday 😭

—

Inko froze. Her face crumpled for half a second before she smoothed it away, her expression turning brittle. She set the gift bag on the counter without another word, the soft rustle sounding too loud in the dead air.

And then she turned and left. The sound carried like a slammed door anyway. “All I Wanted” drifted faintly from outside, a sharp contrast—raw, aching, too fitting.

Haruki stared at the gift, at the neat little bow pressed against glossy paper. His chest ached with something hot and restless. His hand hovered over the handle. “I could burn it,” he muttered.

Izuku didn’t even look at him. He just walked away, his footsteps fading down the hall.

The beat outside shifted again, “Homesick” spilling into the air, a hollow echo of Haruki’s chest.

Katsuki let out a long, heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “Kid,” he said, his voice tired in a way Haruki rarely heard. “Just… put it down. Go hang out with your friends.”

His eyes flicked toward the camera. “Take that with you.”

—

@izustan4ever: u got this haruki 💪💚
@partywatcher: cake time soon right?? pls
@boomgoeskacchan: BRUH THIS STREAM IS CRAZY

—

Haruki swallowed hard, adjusting his grip on the lens until it stopped shaking.

When he looked back up, Katsuki’s focus was already locked on Mitsuki, hard and unblinking. “We’re gonna talk,” he said, low and dangerous.

The weight of it pressed between Haruki’s shoulders as he slipped out of the kitchen, the noise of the party rushing back in from the yard like a tide trying to cover everything that had just cracked open. “Ease Off” by YNG Martyr thumped faintly now, bass pushing against the walls like nothing had happened at all.

The red light of the camera blinked steady in his hands. His throat felt tight, but when the screen caught Mina holding a chip above Yuzuki’s head like bait, Haruki forced a grin and angled it toward her.

“Stop terrorizing my sister,” he called.

Mina turned, gasped dramatically, then shoved the chip into her own mouth before Yuzuki could grab it. “Caught in 4K!” she said with her mouth full, finger pointing at the lens.

—

@mina_bestgirl: HAHAHA classic Mina
@quirkyqween: poor lil sis can’t get a chip 😭

—

Yuzuki pouted. “Aunty Minaaa.”

“Don’t ‘Aunty Mina’ me,” Mina teased, crouching low to boop Yuzuki’s nose.

Kojima snorted from one of the chairs set out. Mori had already sprawled out on the grass and stolen a blanket. Tsubaki perched neatly beside them, laughing quietly. Mei waved a hand from the floor where she sat cross-legged, picking at the tape on her giant gift box.

“Where’s *****?” Haruki asked, tilting the camera like he expected his little brother to pop out of nowhere.

“Here!” Taiga shouted immediately, launching himself from under the table. He made a monster noise and tried to grab Haruki’s legs.

The camera jerked with Haruki’s laugh. “Dude, you can’t sneak-attack me when you scream first.”

“I can if I’m scary,” Taiga insisted, clinging like a koala until Haruki pried him off.

—

@Bluefan21: lil bro JUMPSCARE 😂
@harukisquad: Haruki laughing >> my serotonin rn
@prohero_watcher: kid’s got Bakugou energy already

—

Itsuki leaned against the table, smirking faintly. “You let him win too easy.”

“Not true,” Haruki said, pointing the lens at him. “You just haven’t seen me go full big brother mode.”

“Full big brother mode,” Mei mocked in a deep voice, stretching her arms wide.

Mori groaned into the blanket. “Please don’t, he already acts like he’s running a YouTube channel.”

—

@meimemequeen: she’s not wrong 💀
@midnightwatcher: full big brother mode when?? 👀
@katsukifan: Haruki just streaming lol

—

“I basically am running a YouTube channel,” Haruki shot back, then glanced down at Yuzuki tugging on his sleeve.

“Can we go to the park?” she asked, bouncing on her toes. “Pleaseee. It’s dark, it’ll be fun.”

Miyu appeared right beside her, quiet but bright-eyed, holding Yuzuki’s hand like they were already best friends. “Yeah. Park?” she echoed, her voice smaller but just as hopeful.

Two sets of puppy eyes. Haruki sighed dramatically for the camera. “I’m weak. Let’s go.”

—

@softheart_hero: omg he’s the best brother 😭😭
@Gremlinstan: PARK TRIP PARK TRIP 🏞️
@camerakingharu: ‘I’m weak’ SAME bro

—

That lit the fuse—suddenly everyone was on their feet, voices overlapping. Mei shouted about needing fresh air, Kojima groaned but stood anyway, Mori rolled her eyes but followed, and Tsubaki quietly tied he shoes. Itsuki glanced at Haruki once, eyebrows raised, like he was asking if this was really happening.

Haruki nodded back. “C’mon. Park adventure.”

—

@partyfeedlive: squad goals 🔥
@izustan4ever: best bday stream ever 🥹

—

The stream caught the chaos of everyone pulling on sneakers and jackets, the girls giggling as they raced for the door, Taiga already halfway outside before anyone could grab him. The music inside dimmed as the group spilled into the night air, trading bass-thump for the chirp of crickets and the distant buzz of streetlights.

The little red light kept blinking steady as Haruki lifted the camera to catch them all—eight teenagers, two five-year-olds, and one chaotic three-year-old—spilling down the sidewalk like they owned it.

Miyu skipped ahead with Yuzuki, the two of them swinging their joined hands. Taiga darted from one side of the path to the other, pretending every crack in the sidewalk was lava. Mei yelled encouragement, laughing too loud when he nearly tripped.

Behind them, Kojima and Tsubaki walked close, shoulders brushing, Mori Hana teasing them from a step back. Itsuki lingered near Haruki, not too close but not far either, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

Haruki angled the camera to catch everyone in the glow of the streetlights. “Squad roll-out,” he announced. “Park episode starting now.”

—

@izustan4ever: squad deep rn 👀
@mailover: BLUE IS THE MVP ALREADY 😂
@quirkchat_jpn: Haruki narrator voice is sending me

—

The walk wasn’t long. Streetlights painted little golden pools onto the cracked pavement, everyone’s shadows stretching and tangling as they went. By the time they reached the park, the music from the house was a distant thump behind them, traded for the chirp of cicadas and the squeak of the swings in the breeze.

The park wasn’t fancy—just a small playground with two slides, a set of swings, a jungle gym, and an open field beyond. But to Yuzuki and Miyu, it might as well have been Disneyland. They sprinted across the grass the moment the playground came into view, still hand in hand, their laughter ringing high and clear.

“Don’t run too fast!” Haruki called, jogging after them with the camera bobbing in his grip. He tilted it towards the ground, sighing exaggeratedly. “They’re gonna wipe out and guess who’s responsible? Me. Guess who gets yelled at? Also me.”

—

@softieheart: he’s such a protective big bro 🥹
@mina_bestgirl: yelling at kids 101 💀

—

Taiga charged past him like a rocket. “Race you!” he shouted, aimed directly at the jungle gym.

Kojima groaned behind them. “Three kids under six and we’re supposed to be in charge? This is a bad idea.”

Tsubaki just laughed softly. “You’ll survive.”

“Yeah, but will they survive?” Kojima muttered, pointing at Taiga, who was already trying to climb the outside of the slide instead of using the ladder.

Mei jogged past them, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Go, *****! You’re basically Spider-Man!”

Mori Hana deadpanned, “Spider-Man didn’t break his face on a slide.”

“Spider-Man could,” Mei shot back, laughing as she dashed up the ladder after him.

—

@meimemequeen: SPIDER-MEI 🕷️💥
@quirkyqween: mori’s humor is lethal 😭
@bakusquadfan: Blue really said ‘no ladder’ lmao

—

The camera swung to follow the chaos, Taiga scrambling, Mei pretending to slip, Yuzuki and Miyu shrieking on the swings as Tsubaki gave them a gentle push. Their legs pumped hard, sneakers flashing against the night sky.

Haruki dropped onto one of the benches, angling the camera to catch everything at once. The laughter, the squeaks, the overlapping voices—it all tangled together in a blur of motion and sound.

Itsuki sat down beside him, elbows resting on his knees. “You look like you’re running daycare,” he said dryly.

“Shut up,” Haruki muttered, but he was smiling. “You’re literally part of this daycare staff now.”

Itsuki tilted his head. “Do I get paid?”

“You get exposure,” Haruki teased, turning the lens just enough to catch his unimpressed face. “Say hi to your fans.”

“I don’t have fans.”

“You do now,” Haruki said, grinning.

—

@itsuki_stan_acc: YESSS FINALLY CAMERA TIME 😍
@lolkoji: unpaid daycare worker vibes 💀
@harufeed: ngl Haruki + Itsuki = duo I didn’t know I needed

—

Itsuki shook his head, muttering something under his breath, but Haruki caught the curve of a smile.

On the playground, Taiga had officially conquered the top of the slide, throwing his fists in the air. “I win!”

“You didn’t even race anyone,” Mei said, crawling up after him.

“I still win!”

Haruki laughed, swinging the camera to catch it. “This is what peak male performance looks like, guys. Three years old and already undefeated.”

Mori plopped onto the bench on Haruki’s other side, stretching her legs out. “He’s gonna kill himself one day.”

“Optimistic,” Haruki muttered.

“No, realistic,” she said, but there was no bite to it.

Meanwhile, Miyu and Yuzuki were chanting something together—half song, half nonsense—as they tried to swing higher and higher. Tsubaki stood behind them, steady hands on the chains whenever they tilted too far.

“Look at us!” Yuzuki yelled toward the camera. “Higher, higher!”

“You’re already breaking atmosphere,” Haruki called, but his grin gave him away.

The stream caught the way Miyu leaned into Yuzuki, whispering something only she could hear, and then both of them burst into giggles loud enough to carry across the park.

“They’re besties now,” Haruki said to no one in particular.

Kojima came up behind the swings, hands shoved in his pockets, expression soft as he watched his little sister. He didn’t say anything—just let the girls laugh and kick their sneakers against the night sky—but Haruki caught the faintest twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Mei hopped down from the slide, brushing dirt off her jeans. “Okay, group challenge,” she announced. “Monkey bars race. Winner gets bragging rights.”

Taiga’s hand shot up instantly. “Me!”

“You can’t even reach the bars,” Mori said flatly.

“I can climb!”

“You can fall,” Mei corrected.

Haruki groaned, standing. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. But only so none of you break your necks.”

The camera caught him handing it briefly to Itsuki, who raised his eyebrows but took it anyway.

Haruki jogged to the monkey bars, shaking out his arms like he was preparing for battle. “Okay. Who’s challenging me?”

“Me,” Mei said immediately.

“And me,” Mori added, surprising everyone.

“What, you?” Kojima said. “You don’t even like sweating.”

Mori gave him a sharp look. “Shut up.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

The “race” ended in pure chaos—Mei flung herself across the bars with wild abandon, Haruki kept up until his arms gave out halfway, and Mori, to everyone’s shock, actually made it to the end with perfect composure.

“You didn’t even look tired,” Mei complained, hanging upside down.

“Because I’m not,” Mori said, brushing her hair back.

“Cheater,” Haruki muttered, flopping into the grass.

Itsuki tilted the camera down toward him. “Peak male performance, huh?”

“Shut up,” Haruki said, but he was laughing, breathless.

The younger kids immediately swarmed him—Taiga bouncing on his stomach, Yuzuki tugging his arm, Miyu sitting primly on his legs. “Get up!” they chorused.

“Dead,” Haruki wheezed. “Tell my story.”

“You’re not dead,” Yuzuki said, pouting. “You’re lazy.”

“Same thing,” Haruki muttered, covering his face.

Itsuki snorted, voice caught faintly on the mic.

—

@streamjunkie: RIP HARUKI 💀💀💀
@quietcorner: Mori winning casually was the REAL highlight

—

For a while, the stream just drifted. Miyu and Yuzuki sliding again and again, Taiga pretending the jungle gym was a pirate ship, Mei dramatically narrating it like a sports commentator, Kojima trying and failing to keep Tsubaki from laughing at his dumb jokes.

It wasn’t quiet—never quiet—but it was easy. Light.

And for Haruki, sitting on the grass with the weight of the camera propped against his knee, it was the first time in an hour that the knot in his chest felt like it might loosen.

—

@izustan4ever: happiest I’ve seen him all night 🥹
@lurkeracct: stream got real quiet but… this is nice
@heartemoji88: you can tell he needed this 🖤

—

The walk back had a different rhythm than the walk there. The night air was cooler now, cicadas humming in the dark, the glow from the streetlamps pooling across the sidewalk. The kids were quieter, the younger ones drooping with exhaustion after running wild at the park.

Taiga rested heavy against Haruki’s shoulder, half-asleep but still mumbling nonsense every so often. Yuzuki and Miyu shuffled side by side, hands linked, kicking at stray pebbles. Behind them, Mori Hana and Mei bickered lazily about who was faster on the monkey bars, neither really trying to win the argument anymore.

Kojima walked with his hands shoved in his pockets, glancing between the group and Haruki. “You actually didn’t suck at this,” he said eventually.

Haruki raised a brow. “At what?”

“Keeping everyone alive.”

Haruki rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at his mouth. “High praise.”

Itsuki drifted at the edge, camera angled toward the group. The red light blinked steady, catching the blur of motion—Yuzuki yawning, Miyu stumbling, Haruki shifting Taiga higher on his shoulder.

“You’re still filming?” Haruki asked.

Itsuki shrugged without looking at him. “You told me to keep it.”

“You could’ve handed it to someone else."

“I didn’t want to.”

The words landed heavier than they should have, making Haruki’s stomach twist. He shoved the thought aside as their house came into view.

Even from the corner of the street, the noise of the party spilled out—music thumping, voices overlapping, laughter sharp and bright. King for a day was playing. Light poured from the windows, silhouettes moving back and forth behind the glass.

“Ground rules,” Haruki said, raising his voice just enough for Yuzuki to hear him too. “One: don’t ditch me as soon as we step inside. Two: no sugar unless dad says. You already had a lot and now you're tired. Three—”

“Three is you stop acting like you’re thirty,” Mori cut in.

Haruki snorted, pointing and Mori. “Three, you stop being annoying.”

By the time they reached the gate, the bass from the speakers rattled faintly in Haruki’s chest. The door wasn’t locked—of course it wasn’t, not with people streaming in and out all night. Haruki pushed it open with his foot, adjusting Taiga’s weight.

The warmth and chaos of the party hit them all at once. Voices, laughter, the clatter of dishes, the pulse of whatever song was playing—it was like stepping from one world into another. The younger kids blinked against the sudden brightness, and Miyu tightened her grip on Yuzuki’s hand as if she didn’t want to get swallowed up.

“Alright,” Haruki muttered, leading them through the crowd like a tired shepherd with too many sheep.

—

@justdancequeen: the PARTY VIBES OMGGG
@minasnumber1: WHERE IS SHE PUT MINA BACK ON SCREEN

—

“Shallow” by Magnolia park thumped faintly now, bass pushing against the walls like nothing had happened at all.

Haruki and the others pushed back through the side gate, the backyard was a blur of movement and sound. Katsuki was still at the grill, tongs in hand, apron smeared with sauce like battle paint. Smoke curled in thick lines into the dark, lit by the string lights overhead. People were everywhere—sprawled across the patio chairs, crowded near the folding tables stacked with snacks, shouting over each other to be heard.

Inside, laughter roared. Someone had dragged the TV to the middle of the living room, hooked up Just Dance, and already half the crowd was yelling instructions that no one followed. Mina was in the middle of it, hair bouncing as she stomped through choreography with absolutely no rhythm, Kirishima howling encouragement while Sero filmed her meltdown from two angles.

The younger kids tore away from Haruki immediately. Yuzuki bolted for the snack table, Miyu hot on her heels, both of them shrieking about “first dibs” on cookies. Taiga toddled after them, tripping over his own sneakers but determined. Hana caught him by the collar just before he face-planted into the grass, scolding and laughing in the same breath.

“Oi, you dragged back half the damn park,” Katsuki barked when he caught sight of Haruki returning with his small crowd of friends. But his voice wasn’t sharp—more the gruffness of a man juggling grill smoke, chicken wings, and the chaos of a backyard full of teenagers.

“Better than losing them in the dark,” Haruki muttered, setting the camera steady again. He edged toward the sliding door, following the louder noise.

Inside, the music shifted—“Fell in love with a cowboy” thrumming under the chaos, bass thick enough to shake the floorboards. The camera tilted as Haruki ducked into the living room, catching Mina mid-spin. She almost tripped over her own foot but covered it with a wild hair whip, shouting, “STYLE, BABY, STYLE!” as if that explained anything.

Kirishima nearly fell off the couch laughing. “That’s not even the move!”

“Who cares?!” Mina hollered back. “I’m killing it!”

“More like killing us!” Jirou drawled from her seat against the wall, plucking lazy notes on her guitar just loud enough to cut through the din.

Sero shoved the controller at Haruki before he could dodge. “Your turn, birthday kid. You versus Itsuki. C’mon, don’t embarrass us.”

“What? No way—” Haruki started, but Itsuki was already there, jacket off, grinning like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“Unless you’re scared,” Itsuki teased.

The camera wobbled as Haruki laughed nervously, heat prickling up the back of his neck. “Fine,” he muttered, grabbing the second controller. “But don’t cry when I destroy you.”

The song switched to "Tummy Hurts”, the rhythm clashing hilariously with how seriously everyone suddenly took the competition. Haruki did his best to follow the flashing moves onscreen, but his arms lagged a half-beat too slow, his legs crossing when they shouldn’t. Itsuki was just as bad, if not worse, tripping over his own feet with a grin plastered across his face.

The crowd loved it. Every mistake was met with howls of laughter, shouts of “left, LEFT!” or “bro, what was THAT?!” filling the room.

—

@chaoscrew: bro haruki got ZERO coordination
@heartemoji: nah he’s adorable look at him
@harustans: ITSUKI VS HARUKI I BEEN WAITING

—

Halfway through, Yuzuki and Miyu shoved themselves onto the “dance floor,” their tiny arms flailing in exaggerated mimicry of the moves. Taiga waddled in after them, jumping in place and clapping like he’d just invented rhythm. The teens gave up immediately, cheering the kids on instead. Mina bent double laughing as Miyu yelled “I WIN!” even though she wasn’t holding a controller.

When the song ended, Haruki collapsed onto the couch, face hot, lungs burning from laughter more than exertion. Itsuki dropped beside him, shoulder bumping his, grinning wide despite their mutual failure.

“See? Told you I’d win,” Itsuki said breathlessly.

Haruki rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You didn’t even—”

Before he could finish, Mina dragged Jirou and Mori into the next round, starting another battle that had the whole living room shaking with cheers. The music jumped again—King for a day by Peirce the veil blasting loud enough to rattle the windows.

Hours blurred. Smoke and spice drifted in from the grill. Plates piled high with food made their way inside—Katsuki’s skewers disappearing within minutes, Izuku shuffling in with stacks of side dishes balanced on his arms. Haruki caught flashes of it all through the lens: Mina and Sero arguing over hot sauce, Kirishima making a tower of skewers, Yuzuki sneaking extra cookies until Izuku caught her, Miyu sprawled across Tsubaki’s lap clutching a juice box like treasure.

By the time everyone settled a little, the gift pile had migrated to the center of the living room.

“Alright, Haruki,” Mina declared, clapping her hands. “Time to embarrass you properly.”

“No, we don’t—” Haruki started, but it was useless. The camera tilted down as his hands reached reluctantly for the first bag.

The unwrapping stretched into chaos. Mina’s gift was exactly what everyone expected—an obnoxiously bright hoodie covered in glittering decals that read “KING OF STREAM.” She made him try it on immediately, cheering like she’d just won an award.

Kirishima’s was nicer—new gloves for training, sturdy and clearly chosen with thought. He ruffled Haruki’s hair when he muttered a soft “thanks,” grin wide.

Sero, of course, went full gag gift. A bobblehead of Katsuki with exaggerated angry eyebrows. The entire room dissolved into laughter when Haruki shook it, the head wobbling furiously. Katsuki muttered from the kitchen, “That’s not funny.” Which only made it funnier.

—

@streaming-hero: LMFAO THE GROUNDZERO BOBBLEHEAD
@bakulover77: bakugou in the bg like 👿👿👿

—

Mei shoved her box at him next—big, almost the size of her torso, wrapped in bright metallic paper.

Haruki tore it open and blinked when a huge, ridiculously soft plushie tumbled out into his arms. Round ears, big stitched eyes, and an unmistakable tail.

“A Raccoon?” Haruki said, half laughing, half stunned.

“I know it’s your favorite animal!” Mei declared, hands on her hips, beaming like she’d just solved rocket fuel. “You don’t shut up about them, so now you’ve got one the size of your bed.”

Haruki hugged it instinctively, grinning wider than he meant to. “Thanks, Mei. Seriously.”

“Obviously,” she sniffed, but her grin matched his.

—

@plushielover: THAT PLUSHIE IS EVERYTHING
@meifan101: mei really said I KNOW MY BOY

—

Then came the smaller gifts—candy, sketchbooks, a CD from Jirou with hand-picked tracks, each one labeled in her messy handwriting. Mori Hana gave him a book she said reminded her of him; Tsubaki handed over a scarf she’d knit herself. Itsuki’s gift came last, wrapped carefully in plain brown paper: a limited-edition figure Haruki had once offhandedly mentioned months ago. His throat tightened as he unwrapped it, and he mumbled a quiet “you didn’t have to” that Itsuki waved off with a grin.

Izuku and Katsuki’s gift waited at the bottom of the pile. 6 concert tickets, enough to take all his friends. Haruki froze, staring at it, blinking against the sudden tightness in his chest. Izuku reached over, brushing his shoulder lightly. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he said, soft enough that the chaos around them seemed to dim for a beat.

—

@izustan4ever: AHHHHHHH PARENTS OF THE YEAR
@cryingrn: he bouta cry STOP THIS IS TOO CUTE

—

Cake came last. The living room lights dimmed, voices dropping to a hum of anticipation. The cake appeared—frosting swirled, candles glowing bright.

“Happy birthday to you—”

The voices rose, loud, off-key, some deliberately singing too slow or too fast. Haruki laughed through it, cheeks burning as the lens caught everyone crowded in, faces glowing in the candlelight.

“Make a wish!” Yuzuki shouted, bouncing up and down.

Haruki leaned forward, eyes slipping shut. For a second, the noise faded, the warmth settling around him like a blanket. He blew out the candles, smoke curling into the dark.

The cheers erupted instantly. Katsuki cut the cake with military precision while Mina tried to smear frosting on Jirou, only to get tackled by Sero instead. Taiga ended up with icing in his hair, Miyu wore frosting like war paint, and Yuzuki stuffed her cheeks until Izuku gently pried the plate away.

The camera swayed, catching it all—the laughter, the mess, the clatter of plates and voices overlapping.

—

@cakeaddict: CAKE TIME LETS GOOO
@partyvibes: best stream ever fr
@streamdone: goodnight chat <3 happy bday haruki

—

The stream ended there, on the image of Haruki laughing too hard to keep the lens steady, cake plate balanced precariously in his other hand. The chaos froze on-screen, a perfect snapshot of a night that felt too big, too loud, and just right all at once.

—

The house was finally quiet. Paper plates stacked, wrapping paper shoved into bags, the faint smell of grilled food still clinging to the air. Everyone had gone home, and his parents had gone to bed hours ago.

Haruki lay awake staring at the ceiling, the sound of Yuzuki’s soft breathing carrying down the hall. He should have been asleep, but his chest still felt heavy.

Careful not to wake anyone, he slipped from his bed, padding barefoot down the hall. The house creaked around him, settling into silence. The kitchen was darker now, only the moonlight slipping across the counter where he’d seen it earlier—the plain little box his grandmother had left behind.

For a long moment he just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, fighting with himself. Then he moved.

He pulled the box closer, fingers careful as he opened it.

Inside was a small stuffed bear, worn-soft even though it was new, and a folded note in handwriting he almost didn’t recognize.

He read it once, twice. The words blurred.

—

Bonus scene:

Katsuki stared his mother down as Haruki slipped out of the kitchen, the doorframe swallowing him.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Katsuki growled, voice rough with barely contained rage.

Mitsuki didn’t flinch. Arms crossed, chin lifted, she snapped back, “I was thinking that she wanted to apologize—to all of you. I was thinking she has a right to try and fix what she broke.”

“Fix it?” Katsuki’s voice cracked sharp. “Maybe if it had just been kicking Izuku out. But she ignored him when he reached out—after Yuzuki was born. You think that’s fixable? Mom, I almost lost him. He tried to kill himself.”

Mitsuki’s lips trembled for half a second before she bit down on them. “You think I don’t know that?! I know, Katsuki. But if their relationship doesn’t get fixed—”

That’s when Matsaru walked in, confusion cutting across his usually even face. “Why did I just see Inko leaving the house?”

“Because your wife invited her,” Katsuki bit out, never breaking eye contact with Mitsuki.

Matsaru blinked, stunned. “What?!”

“Okay, I know it was wrong,” Mitsuki started quickly, her voice turning defensive. “But to be fair—Haruki asked me about her.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, sharp as glass. “Don’t blame my kid.”

“I wasn’t! I was just—”

“Get out,” Matsaru cut in, voice heavy with a finality that made the room still. His gaze hardened as he looked at Mitsuki. “We are not ruining Haruki's birthday with this. So either get out, or act like this didn’t happen. Both of you.”

The fight drained out of Mitsuki’s stance, shoulders sagging as silence thickened between them.

“…Is Izuku okay?” she asked finally, her voice small in a way Katsuki had never heard from her.

Katsuki’s jaw worked, anger still alive in every line of him, but his answer came quieter. “He’ll be fine. Just… needs a few.”

—
Bonus scene 2:

Izuku couldn’t breathe.

The walls pressed in too tight, the sound of voices in the kitchen blurring into white noise. He had to get out. He couldn’t—he couldn’t stand there another second.

His feet carried him down the hall before he even thought about it, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the lock on their bedroom door. It clicked shut behind him.

And then he broke.

Izuku slid to the floor, back against the wood, curling in on himself until he was small, until he could pretend he was invisible. The tears came hot and endless, spilling faster than he could catch them. He pressed his palms to his eyes until it hurt, until the ache dulled everything else.

When it finally stopped—when he was wrung dry, nothing left but a hollow ache in his chest—he stayed there, listening to the sound of his own ragged breathing.

But this wasn’t about him. Not today.

Today was Haruki’s birthday. His boy deserved joy, not the shadow of his Mother’s grief. Izuku would not fail him again. Not on this day.

Hands trembling, he reached for his phone. The glow of the screen blurred in his vision, but he found the app, forced himself to type with steady fingers. A therapy appointment. This weekend. No excuses, no delays. It was the only thing he could do to keep moving forward.

He wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve, pushed himself to his feet, and forced his legs to carry him to the bathroom. Cold water shocked his skin awake as he scrubbed away the evidence of tears. He straightened his shirt, looked at himself in the mirror, and told his reflection quietly, yet firmly. You’re not failing them today.

Izuku let out a breath and pressed a hand to the doorframe, grounding himself. At least he knew they were happy. At least he knew they were okay.

And when Katsuki appeared a few minutes later, expression sharp but softened at the edges for him, Izuku moved instinctively closer. Close enough to breathe in the grounding scent, close enough to let himself borrow strength.

Because that was all he could do right now—stay close, and try again.

Chapter Text

Haruki,
I don’t expect you to forgive me—not today and maybe not ever. I only want you to know that I think of you every day, and I’m proud of the person you’re becoming, even if I haven’t been there to see it. You deserved so much better than what I gave you, and if I could take it back what I did, I would. I know now that my reaction to your mother was wrong, and I regret it every day. Please take care of your little brother and sister, and if you can be gentle with your mother. He has always needed more love than he lets on.
Love, Inko

—

Izuku lay in bed, sheets pulled up to his chest, but sleep refused to come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the small box in Haruki’s hands, the way his son’s expression had crumbled when he’d read the note inside. Izuku had wanted to shield him from it, to take the sting himself, but Haruki had carried it upstairs anyway—alone.

The door creaked open. Izuku’s breath caught, but he didn’t move, not until he heard Haruki’s voice, quiet and frayed.

“…Mom? Can I—can I lay with you guys?”

Izuku rolled onto his side, blinking through the dark. Haruki stood in the doorway, clutching the edge of his hoodie sleeve like he was ten years younger. Izuku’s chest ached at the sight.

“Of course,” he whispered. His voice came out rough, but he forced a small smile and lifted the blanket in invitation.

Haruki crossed the room quickly, like if he hesitated he might change his mind. The bed dipped as he climbed in, squeezing himself between Izuku and Katsuki. Izuku shifted back, making space even though there wasn’t much to give, and Haruki pressed into his side. He smelled faintly of smoke and the forest, his shoulders trembled as though he was holding something back.

Izuku wrapped an arm around him without a word. Haruki didn’t speak either. They just breathed together, slow and uneven, until Katsuki stirred on the other side with a low, grumbling sigh.

“Knees outta my ribs, dumbass,” Katsuki muttered, still half-asleep. But then his hand reached over, heavy and warm, and settled against Izuku’s hip—covering them both.

For the first time that night, Izuku let his eyes close.

The next time Izuku opened his eyes it was morning, and Katsuki was hissing in pain.

It took him a second to realize why—Haruki’s knees were digging sharp into Katsuki’s stomach, his arm thrown over Izuku’s chest like he was trying to anchor himself there. The boy was dead asleep, mouth slack, hair a wild halo against the pillow.

Izuku blinked the sleep from his own eyes and whispered, “Haruki… sweetheart… you’re crushing your dad.”

Haruki stirred but didn’t wake, only burrowed closer, his nose pressing into Izuku’s shirt. Katsuki groaned.

“Damn kid sleeps like a fuckin’ octopus,” Katsuki muttered, his voice still raspy with sleep. He carefully pushed at Haruki’s knee, earning a muffled protest from their son, but the weight finally shifted. Katsuki exhaled like he’d been freed from a chokehold.

Izuku’s lips twitched. “You sound dramatic.”

“Because I am,” Katsuki shot back, then glanced past Izuku, his expression softening despite himself. “He slept through the night, though.”

Izuku swallowed, brushing his hand lightly down Haruki’s back. The boy had curled in so tightly, like he thought letting go meant losing something. Izuku knew that feeling all too well.

“Yeah,” Izuku whispered. “He did.”

For a while they stayed like that, the three of them tangled in sheets and sunlight, until Katsuki sat up with a wince and rubbed the back of his neck. “We need a bigger bed.”

Izuku laughed under his breath, quiet but real. The sound made Haruki stir again, and this time his eyes cracked open, bleary and still heavy with sleep.

“…Morning,” Haruki mumbled.

Izuku kissed his hair. “Morning, baby.”

Before anyone could move, the bedroom door creaked open.

Two sets of footsteps padded across the floor, uneven and impatient. Yuzuki climbed right onto the bed without hesitation, her hair sticking up in every direction, dragging her favorite stuffy behind her like a cape.

“mama,” she mumbled, crawling straight into Izuku’s lap as if she had been summoned there in her sleep. “Taiga wanted breakfast but I said we come here first.”

Taiga trailed close behind her, clutching his blue blanket, his thumb half in his mouth. He stopped at Katsuki’s side of the bed, blinking up at him with big eyes.

“You two gremlins couldn’t give us five more minutes?” Katsuki grumbled, but he was already leaning down to lift Taiga up and set him between himself and Haruki.

Haruki groaned at the intrusion, trying to tug the blanket higher over his head, but Yuzuki squealed and flopped down against him, effectively pinning him. “Nii-chan, scoot over!”

The bed sagged with the weight of all of them now. Izuku couldn’t help it—he laughed. Not the nervous, fragile laugh he’d been carrying the past few days, but something soft and genuine that startled even him.

“Careful, Yuyu,” Izuku said, smoothing her hair back. “Haruki didn’t sleep well.”

“I didn’t either,” she declared, as if it were a contest. “Taiga kicked me.”

Taiga huffed. “Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Oi,” Katsuki cut in before it escalated, though his voice was rough with sleep, not anger. He reached out, pulling Yuzuki across Haruki so she was tucked against his side. “No fighting first thing in the morning. You want breakfast? Then shut it.”

Yuzuki only giggled, her face pressed to Katsuki’s chest. Taiga climbed higher until he was practically sprawled on Izuku’s legs, staring up at him with sleepy trust.

And just like that, Izuku felt the ache in his chest shift. The exhaustion was still there, heavy and bone-deep, but it was wrapped in something warmer now.

The bed was far too full, but no one seemed willing to leave.

Izuku shifted carefully, making space where he could. Yuzuki had burrowed under the blanket, clinging to Katsuki’s side like a limpet, while Taiga had somehow arranged himself across Izuku’s lap with the blanket squished between them. Haruki, despite his earlier complaints, hadn’t moved an inch—just pulled the covers higher and curled closer against Izuku’s shoulder, as if admitting defeat.

“Alright,” Katsuki muttered, voice muffled by Yuzuki’s hair. “Everybody up. We’ve got work. School. All that shit.”

A unified chorus of groans rose from the bed.

“Nooo,” Yuzuki whined immediately, clutching his shirt tighter. “I don’t wanna go to school.”

Taiga echoed her with a pitiful little hum, muffled by the fox pressed to his face. “Don’t wanna.”

Even Haruki cracked an eye open just long enough to sigh. “Can’t you call in, Dad? Just this once?”

Izuku felt the corner of his mouth twitch despite the weight pressing down on his chest. The thought of moving—of pushing himself out of bed, finding his work clothes, pretending like he hadn’t fallen apart yesterday—made his body ache in protest. And Katsuki, for all his bluster, looked wrecked too: hair wild, eyes still shadowed, his arm pinned awkwardly under Yuzuki.

Katsuki noticed him looking and frowned. “Don’t give me that face, nerd. You’re not skipping out on breakfast.”

But his voice didn’t carry its usual bite. It was soft, tired, almost pleading.

“Maybe…” Izuku said slowly, adjusting Taiga against his chest. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if we all stayed home today. Just one day.”

Yuzuki sat up instantly, triumphant. “See? Mama says no school!”

Taiga’s thumb popped out of his mouth, his face lighting up. “No school!” he echoed.

Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re all brats,” he muttered, but the fight had already left him. His arm curled protectively around Yuzuki again, pulling her closer.

Haruki shifted, finally sitting up enough to look at both of them. His eyes were still puffy from the night before, but his voice was steady. “I think it’s a good idea,” he said quietly. “We all… kinda need it.”

Izuku’s throat tightened. He smoothed a hand through Haruki’s hair, letting the silence stretch. For once, no one argued. No one rushed to get up.

The world could wait one more day.

Chapter Text

Izuku couldn’t breathe.

The little plastic stick shook in his hands, blurring every time he blinked, but no matter how many times he tried to refocus, the lines stayed the same. Positive. It couldn’t be positive. Not now. Not when they had just moved into their first house, when Haruki was still adjusting to a new school, when Katsuki was finally—finally—in a good place with his work.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Izuku’s chest ached with every inhale, sharp and shallow. His knees buckled, and he sat down hard on the edge of the tub, staring at the test like if he just waited long enough, the result might change. He told himself it was wrong, defective, a mistake—except he knew it wasn’t. His body had been off for weeks, and deep down, he had already guessed.

Still, seeing it confirmed in dark, unshakable lines made the room spin.

A baby. Another baby.

Izuku buried his face in his hands. He should be happy—shouldn’t he? They had a house, a family, Katsuki’s arms to hold him. But instead of joy, a hollow dread spread through his ribs, and the guilt of it pressed heavier than the air in his lungs.

He whispered to the empty bathroom, voice breaking, “I can’t do this. Not again.”

The sound of his own voice startled him. It echoed against the tiles, raw and thin, like it belonged to someone else. He pressed his fists against his mouth, trying to hold the sob in, but it only made his chest hurt worse.

His thoughts scattered—Haruki’s wide eyes when he look up at him, Katsuki’s tired smile after a long patrol, the way Izuku could barely drag himself out of bed some mornings even now. How could he tell them? How could he explain that instead of joy, all he felt was the crushing weight of failure?

A knock at the door jolted him upright.

“Izuku?” Katsuki’s voice came muffled through the door, steady but laced with concern. “You okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

Izuku froze, the test still clutched in his hand. He wanted to hide it, to swallow the truth down until it stopped choking him—but his fingers wouldn’t let go. His chest ached too much to lie.

He forced himself up, legs trembling, and turned the lock with a click that sounded too loud. When he opened the door, Katsuki was standing there in sweatpants and a faded shirt, hair sticking out in every direction. His sharp eyes softened instantly when he saw Izuku’s face.

Red. Puffy. Wet tracks on his cheeks.

“Izu…” Katsuki’s voice dropped, rougher now. He reached out, thumb brushing beneath Izuku’s eye. “What happened? Did someone—”

Izuku couldn’t answer. His throat closed, and the only thing he could do was lift his shaking hand. The test lay across his palm, damning in its simplicity.

For a second, Katsuki just stared at it. His brows furrowed, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite form the words. Then his eyes flicked back to Izuku’s, searching.

“You’re… pregnant?” His voice cracked on the word, half disbelieving, half stunned.

Izuku’s lip trembled. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say no. All that came out was a strangled, “I’m sorry.”

Katsuki blinked, shoulders squaring as if the apology made no sense. “Sorry? What the hell are you apologizing for?”

“I—I can’t—” Izuku shook his head, tears burning hot again. “We just got the house, Haruki’s finally okay at school, you’re working so hard, I just started at the agency—” His voice broke. “We’re not ready for this, Kacchan. I’m not ready.”

Katsuki caught his wrist, gently prying the test from his hand and setting it on the counter. Then he pulled Izuku into his chest, wrapping him tight despite Izuku’s trembling.

“Hey. Look at me.” Katsuki’s voice was low, firm, the way it always got when he was holding them both steady. “We’ve done hard shit before. We’ll do this too. You don’t have to be ready right now. You just… gotta be here with me. That’s it.”

Izuku pressed his face into Katsuki’s shirt, clutching at the fabric like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground. The sob that ripped out of him felt like it came from somewhere far deeper than his chest.

Katsuki’s hand found the back of his head, holding him steady. “Don’t you ever apologize for this. You hear me? Don’t.”

Izuku hiccupped against his chest, the sound muffled by the cotton of Katsuki’s shirt. His whole body felt wrung out, shaky and fragile, like one more breath might break him. Katsuki just held him tighter, grounding him with steady warmth.

After a long silence, Katsuki’s chin dipped, his breath stirring Izuku’s curls. “Izu,” he said softly, the word roughened at the edges, “I don’t care if we weren’t planning this. I don’t care if it’s messy or hard or whatever else. What I care about is you. You’re not alone in this. You hear me?”

Izuku nodded weakly, though his throat ached too much to answer. The weight in his chest didn’t vanish, but it shifted—less sharp, less suffocating—just from being shared.

Katsuki pressed a kiss to his temple, lingering there. “We’ll figure it out. Together. We always do.”

Izuku clung harder, fingers curling tight into Katsuki’s shirt, and for the first time since he’d seen those two dark lines, he let himself believe it.

—

September evenings always smelled different—cooler somehow, the edge of summer burned away by the promise of fall. Rain tapped softly against the living room window as Haruki lay belly-down on the rug, pencil smudging the side of his hand while he worked through his math homework. The TV hummed quietly in the background, and from the kitchen came the faint crackle of something Katsuki had thrown on the stove.

Izuku sat on the couch, leg bouncing, his fingers twisting together so tightly it almost hurt. The test from a week ago still burned in the back of his mind, even though it was hidden away now in the bathroom trash, buried under tissues. His throat tightened every time he glanced at Haruki—his son, his bright, messy miracle—and thought about telling him.

Katsuki walked in with two mugs of tea, setting one on the table in front of Izuku. His other hand brushed over Izuku’s knee, a grounding touch that said we’re doing this together. Then he looked over at the boy on the floor.

“Oi, squirt,” Katsuki said, voice lighter than usual. “Take a break from that mess of numbers and get over here.”

Haruki groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling like the weight of third-grade math was crushing his soul. “But I’m almost done!”

“Then finish after,” Katsuki countered, one brow raised.

Grumbling, Haruki scrambled up and plopped onto the couch beside Izuku, his pencil still tucked behind his ear. “What’s up? Did I do something?”

Izuku shook his head quickly, forcing a smile that trembled at the edges. “No, sweetheart. We just… we have something to tell you.” His voice came out softer than he meant, cracking halfway through.

Haruki’s brows furrowed. He looked between his parents, worry pinching his expression. “You’re not mad at me, right?”

“No, dummy,” Katsuki said, tugging him into a side hug. “It’s nothing bad.” He glanced at Izuku, waiting.

Izuku swallowed, his palms damp. He wished the words would come easier, but every time he tried to say them, his chest locked up. Finally he managed, barely above a whisper: “You’re… going to be a big brother.”

Silence stretched.

Haruki blinked. His eyes went wide. “Wait.” He leaned forward, like he wasn’t sure he heard right. “Like—a baby?”

Izuku nodded, his throat tight.

For half a second, Haruki froze. Then he shot to his feet, bouncing on the couch cushions like springs. “No way! No way! That’s awesome!” He threw his arms in the air, grinning so hard his cheeks crinkled. “I’m gonna be the best big brother! Oh my god, when are they coming? Do you know if it’s a boy or girl? Do I get to name them?”

Izuku laughed, but it broke on the edges, tears welling despite himself. Haruki didn’t notice.

“Do they get their own room? Or do we, like, share? I can totally share! I’ll give them my Present Mic blanket—wait, no, they might drool on it, but I’ll still share—” Haruki kept rattling off ideas, barely stopping to breathe.

Katsuki barked a laugh, ruffling his son’s hair until it stuck up in every direction. “Calm the hell down, squirt.”

Haruki wriggled out of his grip, eyes still sparkling. “This is the best! I always wanted a brother or sister. I mean, I never said it ‘cause I didn’t wanna make it weird, but—” He stopped, tilting his head, suddenly serious. “Wait. Are you happy? ‘Cause you look kinda… um…”

Izuku’s breath hitched. His smile wavered, and he felt every bit of Haruki’s gaze, sharp despite his age.

Katsuki stepped in quickly, pulling them both close. “We’re good, kid. Just surprised, that’s all. It’s big news.” His voice was steady, grounding, like it always was when Izuku’s knees felt ready to give out.

Haruki nodded slowly, then leaned into Izuku’s side, his warmth small but fierce. “It’s okay if you’re nervous,” he said simply. “I’ll help, too. I’ll take care of them. I promise.”

Izuku’s throat burned. He wrapped an arm around his son, pressing a kiss to his hair. “You already take care of us, Haru.”

The boy’s grin returned full-force. “Then I’ll just take care of everyone! I’m gonna start making lists.” He jumped up, darting off toward his room. “Names! Toys! Stuff we’ll need! This is gonna be the best birthday present ever!”

His footsteps thundered down the hall until the door clicked shut behind him.

The living room fell quiet again, except for the rain.

Izuku let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His smile slipped away, replaced with the heavy ache in his chest. He stared at the dark window, the reflection of himself barely visible in the glass, and whispered, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Katsuki’s hand covered his, squeezing tight. “You don’t have to do it alone.” His voice was low, rough but certain. “We’ll figure it out. Just like we always do.”

Izuku leaned into him, closing his eyes as another tear slid free. Haruki’s laughter echoed faintly from down the hall, bright and unstoppable, and Izuku clung to it like a lifeline—even if he couldn’t quite feel the same joy himself.

Chapter Text

Uploaded: Sunday, November 23— 12:26 PM
Title: Private Feed Episode 15: A Rare Day Off
Runtime: 42:31

—

The camera wobbled a little before settling into focus, the soft rustle of fabric and the creak of the couch the only sounds in the frame.

Izuku sat cross-legged, hair a sleep-mussed mess, drowning in an oversized black T-shirt that was definitely Katsuki’s. The neckline hung low enough to show a mark on his collarbone, and his eyes were still puffy from sleep.

“Good morning,” he mumbled to the camera, voice scratchy but warm. “It’s—” he squinted at the phone in his hand, “—eight-thirty? I think?” He yawned, rubbing his face. “We’re both off today, which hasn’t happened in, like, forever.”

A door opened somewhere behind him.

“Oi,” came a gravelly voice, still heavy with sleep.

The camera tilted toward the hallway. Katsuki appeared in the frame, shirtless, hair sticking up in every direction like he’d fought a small explosion and lost. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his eyes were half-lidded as he blinked at the light.

Izuku tried not to laugh. “You look like you just got hit by a truck.”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” Katsuki muttered, scratching the back of his neck as he made his way toward the kitchen. “Why’re you filming already? You didn’t even brush your damn hair.”

“I’m setting the vibe,” Izuku said, smiling faintly. “It’s a ‘slow morning’ kind of vlog.”

Katsuki snorted. “Yeah, real slow. Coffee’s not even made yet.”

There was the faint click of the coffee machine turning on, followed by the sound of Katsuki rummaging through cupboards. Izuku zoomed the camera in on him, voice teasing “The viewers love domestic Katsuki moments, you know.”

“Yeah? They can love me makin’ coffee then,” Katsuki shot back over his shoulder.

The camera caught the curve of Izuku’s grin. “You say that like you’re not secretly enjoying it.”

Katsuki turned, mug in hand, giving him a pointed look. “If I didn’t make it, you’d blow something up tryin’ to.”

Izuku gasped dramatically. “Excuse you! I’m perfectly capable of not burning water.”

Katsuki arched an eyebrow. “You burned ramen last week.”

“That was one time,” Izuku protested, laughing now, the sound light and real.

Katsuki just shook his head, setting a mug down in front of him. “Drink. You look half-dead.”

The steam curled between them, soft and golden in the morning light. Izuku reached out, wrapping his hands around the mug, letting the warmth sink into his fingers. “Thanks,” he murmured.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the coffee machine and the distant chirp of birds outside the window.

Izuku shifted the camera slightly, aiming it between them. “So,” he said, smiling up at Katsuki, “what’s the plan for today?”

Katsuki leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes. “Tires gotta get changed. You said somethin’ about groceries. Then we can hit that bookstore you like.”

Izuku perked up instantly. “The one with the little café in the back?”

“Yeah, that one,” Katsuki said, smirking at the way Izuku’s face lit up. “Figured you’d want to go.”

Izuku turned the camera toward him with a mock-accusing look. “You pretend to hate it, but I know you like browsing with me.”

“I don’t ‘browse,’” Katsuki replied, pouring his own coffee. “I get dragged.”

Izuku laughed again, softer this time. “Dragged willingly.”

Katsuki didn’t deny it.

The video cut to a short clip a few minutes later — Izuku brushing his curls in the mirror, mumbling something about being “presentable,” while Katsuki passed behind him holding his hero hoodie and keys.

“Are you taking the camera with us?” Katsuki asked.

“Of course,” Izuku said, glancing at their reflection. “Gotta prove we actually know how to relax.”

Katsuki scoffed but didn’t argue.

The frame lingered one last time on them heading out the door together — Katsuki locking it behind them, Izuku humming under his breath, sunlight spilling into the entryway.

The video cuts to the camera balanced on the dashboard, catching the morning sun spilling through the windshield. A soft lo-fi song hums in the background. The car hums down the street, the sound of tires against asphalt and Katsuki’s low sigh filling the silence.

Katsuki’s one hand is on the steering wheel, the other draped lazily over the gearshift. His sunglasses hide most of his face, but the faint smirk tugging at his mouth is unmistakable. Izuku sits in the passenger seat, hoodie zipped halfway, hair still a little messy from earlier.

Izuku’s voice breaks the calm. “Okay, say good morning properly this time.”

Katsuki huffs. “I did.”

“You grunted.”

“Same thing.”

Izuku laughs, and the camera tilts slightly as he adjusts the focus. “It’s not! People like it when you actually talk, Katsuki.”

“I’m drivin’,” Katsuki says, leaning into the turn signal click. “You want me to crash so they can hear my beautiful voice?”

Izuku hums, unconvinced. “I don’t think you’d crash just from saying hi.”

“Fine.” Katsuki’s voice deepens like he’s doing a bit. “Good mornin’, extras. Hope you’re havin’ a blast sittin on your asses while I run errands.”

Izuku gasps, mock-offended. “Katsuki!”

“What? You said talk.”

Izuku’s laugh turns into that little hiccup of a giggle that always seems to make Katsuki’s smirk grow. “You’re awful,” Izuku says, swatting his arm.

“‘M funny,” Katsuki says simply.

The next cut shows the car pulling into a familiar drive-thru. Izuku has taken over the camera now, holding it toward himself and the passenger window. “Okay, we’re getting coffee! Katsuki always says he doesn’t want anything but ends up drinking mine—”

“I don’t,” Katsuki cuts in immediately.

“—but we all know how that goes.”

Katsuki looks right at the camera, deadpan. “Lies.”

Izuku tilts the camera toward him. “What do you want then?”

“Black. Two sugar.”

Izuku snorts. “You hate black coffee.”

The clip jump-cuts again — now they’re parked, coffees in hand. Izuku’s cup is a ridiculous seasonal flavor, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles. Katsuki’s is, as promised, plain black. He takes a sip, then immediately reaches for Izuku’s.

“See!” Izuku says, laughing so hard the camera shakes.

Katsuki tries to keep a straight face as he takes another drink from Izuku’s cup. “It’s fine,” he says, tone betraying him completely.

“Uh-huh,” Izuku teases. “You just like drinking mine because it’s mine.”

Katsuki raises a brow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Izuku’s eyes widen slightly at the teasing tone. He laughs again but doesn’t answer — instead, he pans the camera toward the window where the early autumn light hits the trees. The leaves outside are just starting to change, streaks of gold and red blurring as cars pass by.

“Alright,” Izuku says softly, voice calmer now. “Next stop, grocery store and the tire place. Then—” he glances at Katsuki, who’s taking another drink of his coffee, “—maybe the bookstore?”

Katsuki hums, pretending to think about it. “If you don’t spend the grocery budget on books again.”

“I don’t—!”

He raises an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe once.”

“Twice.”

Izuku groans, hiding his face in his hand as Katsuki laughs — a real, unrestrained one that fills the car. The camera wobbles slightly as Izuku gets out of the car.

The vlog cuts in with the sound of a sliding glass door and the faint squeak of cart wheels. The camera’s angle is low at first — pointing up from where Izuku’s set it in the baby seat of the shopping cart. Katsuki walks just ahead, sleeves pushed up, reading something off the list on his phone.

Izuku’s voice comes from behind the camera. “We’re doing the boring part now. Grocery run.”

“You’re the one who said we needed to restock everything,” Katsuki says, not looking up. “We could’ve done this tomorrow.”

Izuku laughs softly. “If we waited until tomorrow, there’d be no milk for the kid's cereal, no coffee, and no eggs.”

“Sounds like peace,” Katsuki mutters, gently tossing a carton of eggs into the cart.

The camera tilts slightly as Izuku leans in to whisper, “He pretends he doesn’t like grocery shopping but he’s the one who knows where everything is.”

Katsuki stops mid-aisle, turning to glare lightly at him. “Because you forget the route every time!”

Izuku hums innocently. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Your charm is bein’ a natural disaster,” Katsuki grumbles, reaching for a box of tea.

The scene cuts — now they’re in the produce section. The lighting is warmer, the camera perched somewhere between the apples and oranges. Izuku zooms in as Katsuki inspects a bunch of spinach like he’s judging a battlefield plan.

“You act like you’re picking bombs, Katsuki.”

“They are bombs if they rot in two days,” Katsuki says. “You pick the wrong one, it’s over.”

Izuku laughs again, the sound soft and bright under the supermarket hum. He hands Katsuki a bag of apples. “Fine, Commander Bakugou. Choose wisely.”

Katsuki side-eyes him, then picks up a different bag. “These are better.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“I looked.”

The cut transitions to the checkout line — quick flashes of scanned items, Katsuki packing the bags with military precision, Izuku trying to fit the camera on the counter without it falling over.

Izuku whispers toward the camera, “He says I overpack bags. But look at him—look at this technique.”

Katsuki doesn’t glance up. “Say that again when the bread ain’t squished.”

“See?” Izuku says, smiling toward the camera. “Hero and homemaker in one.”

Katsuki smirks faintly. “You’re more of the homemaker.”

“You cook more.”

“’Cause you burn things.”

“I burned one thing—”

“Pancakes. Twice.”

Izuku groans, hiding his face behind a grocery receipt while Katsuki chuckles.

The next clip fades in, to the sound of gravel crunching under tires. The car’s parked at a small tire shop — the kind with mismatched signs and faded posters on the wall. Katsuki’s outside, talking with a mechanic while Izuku films from inside the car, coffee in hand.

“Okay,” Izuku says softly, angling the camera toward the window. “Katsuki's talking to them about the tires. He’s pretending to understand everything, but I can see his eyebrow twitching.”

The camera zooms on Katsuki, who gestures at the car, nodding solemnly.

“See?” Izuku whispers, snickering. “The eyebrow.”

Katsuki suddenly glances toward the car — right at the lens. Izuku gasps and ducks, laughing. “He knew!”

Cut to the waiting room.

Plastic chairs, a TV murmuring weather reports, a table stacked with car magazines. The camera sits on the coffee table, angled up. Katsuki sits beside Izuku, legs stretched out, holding a Styrofoam cup of vending machine coffee.

“They said it’ll be about forty-five minutes,” Katsuki says.

“That’s not too bad,” Izuku replies, flipping open a magazine. “You ever notice these are all about trucks?”

Katsuki smirks. “You gonna start reviewing truck models now?”

Izuku hums playfully. “Izuku’s Auto Reviews. I rate this one a solid vroom out of ten.”

Katsuki snorts mid-sip, shaking his head. “You’re such a dumbass.”

The camera shakes slightly as Izuku laughs. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey!”

“it's too early for this,” Katsuki mutters, rubbing his face — but he’s smiling.

A quiet moment follows. The kind that settles comfortably between them. Izuku leans his head on Katsuki’s shoulder, off-camera but visible in the reflection behind them — two tired heroes in a cheap waiting room, sharing silence and burnt coffee.

“You okay?” Katsuki asks after a beat.

“Mhm.” Izuku hums. “Just tired. It’s been a long few weeks.”

“Yeah.” Katsuki’s voice softens. “You’ve been doin’ too much.”

“So have you.”

Katsuki huffs out a laugh. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

Izuku lifts his head, smiling faintly. “At least we’re idiots together.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but his hand shifts — barely brushing Izuku’s knee. The kind of casual affection that’s more habit than thought.

Katsuki’s voice, calm again.
“Bookstore next, right?”

Izuku nods from behind the camera. “Bookstore next.”

The next scene opens with the chime of a doorbell and the smell of paper you can practically feel through the screen. Rows of shelves stretch up toward warm yellow lights, sunlight spilling in through the front windows.

The camera’s a little shaky — Katsuki’s holding it. You can hear his quiet grunt as he adjusts the strap around his wrist.

“Alright,” he mutters. “We’re in nerd heaven.”

Izuku’s voice drifts from somewhere deeper in the store. “You love it here.”

“Yeah, because you go quiet for once.”

The camera pans slowly, catching Izuku halfway down an aisle, scanning the spines of books like he’s on a mission. His hair’s still a little messy from the morning, and the oversized jacket he’s wearing hangs loose over his frame.

Izuku runs his fingers along the shelf, murmuring titles under his breath before pulling one out. He flips it open, reads a page, hums, and then — without even looking — holds it backward toward Katsuki.

“Hold this.”

Katsuki snorts behind the camera. “You didn’t even ask if I wanted to.”

“You don’t have to want to, you just have to hold it,” Izuku says distractedly, scanning another section.

Katsuki sighs dramatically but takes the book anyway, filming the exchange. “You’re lucky I like you, nerd.”

“You mated me, so I hope you like me,” Izuku replies absentmindedly, pulling another book free.

Katsuki groans as a second one is shoved into his free hand. “What is this one?”

Izuku perks up, eyes bright. “Oh! It’s a hero psychology book. The author used to do field studies with retired sidekicks, so it’s all firsthand experience—”

“Uh huh,” Katsuki interrupts, zooming the camera in on Izuku’s animated expression. “I stopped listenin’ halfway through, babe.”

Izuku glances at the camera, mock-offended. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a dork.”

“An educated dork,” Izuku corrects, grinning.

The footage cuts — now Katsuki’s filming from the next aisle over, peeking through the gaps in the shelves. Izuku is on the other side, crouched down, carefully rearranging a stack of books someone left out of order.

Katsuki whispers into the mic, “He can’t help himself. I told him not to fix things. He’s fixin’ things.”

Izuku looks up like he heard it through telepathy. “I heard that!”

Katsuki laughs. “Good!”

The camera shakes slightly with laughter as Izuku straightens up, mock-glaring. “I just don’t like when they’re out of order!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki says. “You’re gonna start workin’ here at this rate.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Izuku mutters — but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

Cut again — they’re in the reading corner now, soft chairs and a low table stacked with hardcovers. Katsuki’s finally sitting down, camera perched on his knee, the pile of Izuku’s “maybes” towering on the floor beside him.

Izuku is crouched in front of a display, tilting his head as he reads another back cover.

“You know,” Katsuki says, zooming in slightly, “you’ve been sayin’ ‘just one more’ for the last four books.”

“I mean it this time,” Izuku replies distractedly.

“Uh huh.” Katsuki shifts the camera to show the stack again. “You plannin’ to read all these in one lifetime?”

“Maybe,” Izuku says with a little shrug. “If I start now and don’t sleep.”

“That sounds about right for you,” Katsuki mutters.

There’s a beat of silence. Then Katsuki lowers the camera just enough that you can hear him set it on the table, but the shot stays steady — Izuku framed in warm light, hair glowing gold at the edges.

“You’re cute when you’re like this,” Katsuki says quietly, almost to himself.

Izuku looks up, caught off guard, cheeks warming. “Katsuki—”

“Don’t ‘Katsuki’ me,” Katsuki says, leaning back in his chair. “You are. You’re all focused and happy and hummin’ under your breath. Drives me nuts.”

Izuku huffs, smiling despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says simply. “For you.”

Izuku laughs softly, turning away to hide the blush. “Stop. People are gonna think we’re one of those couples.”

Katsuki smirks. “We are one of those couples.”

“Not in public!”

“Too late.” Katsuki lifts the camera again, catching Izuku mid-glare, mid-blush. “Smile for the vlog, babe.”

Izuku groans, covering his face. “Delete that later.”

“Nope.”

“Katsuki!”

The next clip cuts to them walking toward the register, Katsuki juggling the camera and a precarious stack of books.

“You know we came here for one thing,” he says.

“I got one!” Izuku defends, gesturing at the top of the pile.

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, and ten of its friends.”

Izuku grins, handing the cashier a membership card. “They were lonely.”

“You’re insane.”

“Mated me anyway,” Izuku says, not missing a beat.

Katsuki hums. “Yeah. Guess I did.”

—

Top Comments:

@proheroeditss:
i’m crying this vlog felt like a slice of peace 😭 the morning scene?? katsuki half asleep and izuku in his shirt?? END ME.
↳ @vlogdeku:
they’re so domestic it hurts 🥹
↳ @izukuscoffee:
katsuki bullying him before caffeine is peak marriage energy 😭💀

@kacchanfanclub:
the way katsuki pretends to hate errands but does everything anyway 😭 he’s such a husband it’s disgusting
↳ @greenteapuff:
“you’re lucky i like you, nerd” — he says that like he wouldn’t go to war for izuku
↳ @dynamightspouse:
the soft little “for you” in the bookstore??? sir please 😭😭

@vlogjunkie101:
izuku rearranging the shelves in the bookstore is the most izuku thing ever 💀💀💀
↳ @softheroedits:
katsuki whispering “he’s fixin’ things” like it’s a nature documentary 😭
↳ @midnightomega:
“he can’t help himself” I SNORTED

@coffeequirk:
not katsuki clowning black coffee only to steal izuku’s frilly sugar bomb again 💀💀
↳ @mochaloverr:
“you just like drinking mine because it’s mine” ??? EXCUSE ME
↳ @boomxnerd:
the way izuku blushed but kept filming 😭 they’re so stupidly in love

@harukisfavparents:
the grocery scene was peak married energy. katsuki organizing the cart like it’s a tactical mission while izuku narrates?? iconic.
↳ @domesticdynamight:
“Hero and homemaker in one” had me in TEARS 😭😭
↳ @izukusjournal:
you know katsuki loves that line though

@quietalpha:
the tire shop… idk it just felt real. them sitting there in silence with coffee?? domestic serenity.
↳ @bkdkburnout:
katsuki asking “you okay?” so casually killed me 😭
↳ @greendorkdefenseforce:
and izuku just leaning on his shoulder?? i need them to adopt me pls

@pagebybakugo:
the BOOKSTORE. katsuki filming him like he’s art. the little “you’re cute when you’re like this” whisper???
↳ @booknerdomega:
i paused the video there and screamed into a pillow
↳ @explosionking:
the fact that he set the camera down just to talk to him softer?? bye.
↳ @shoto_loves_drama:
If they don't love me the way katsuki loves Izuku I don't want them

@marriedandexplosive:
izuku: “they were lonely”
katsuki: “You’re insane.”
izuku: “mated me anyway”
THIS EXCHANGE LIVES RENT FREE IN MY HEAD.
↳ @heroeditqueen:
the fact that they said it so casually like it’s the most normal thing 😭
↳ @fanficnerdling:
someone write this as a romcom please. oh wait. they are the romcom.

@lofimidoriya:
this vlog was so soft it felt like breathing after a long day. no drama, no noise, just love. thank you, izuku 🫶
↳ @katsukifilms:
and katsuki’s camera work?? he’s lowkey good at this
↳ @nerdyblossoms:
petition for katsuki to take over more vlogs 😤

Top Tags:

#DayOffVlog #DomesticLife #BookstoreDate #CoffeeRun #SlowMorning #OldMarriedEnergy #SoftMoments