Archive of Our Own ^beta

{1}

The first time Izuku ever steals his hero's coffee, it's only a few months into knowing each other. They're sitting on a rooftop together, just about in arm's reach, and the hero has returned from a short trip to a coffee shop below their current rooftop, one where Izuku could see every move the hero made through the large windows, because he doesn't truly trust the man yet. Only a little bit. (A little more than his logic supports; but his heart already yearns to open up to this hero in little bits and pieces, not to give his identity or Quirk status or anything else so grave to the man, but something, even if it's only his favourite colour or cartoon character.)

Regardless, they're sitting beside each other now. And Eraserhead chose to buy him a hot chocolate of all things and, sure, Izuku is only a few weeks from being thirteen years old, which the hero doesn't technically know, but also.

This indignation makes it more than easy to eye-up the takeaway coffee cup left briefly beside the hero as he messes with something on his phone, probably a police alert or UA email or the like. Which leaves his coffee up for grabs. And there's no way Izuku isn't going to take some level of advantage of this; accordingly he doesn't even hesitate to enact a small, spur-of-the-moment plan, if it can even be called that. He turns part of the way back towards Eraserhead, lowering his mask back over his mouth and fiddling with his own cup, rolling the rim in little circles over his thigh.  (Izuku won't know it until the hero admits it several years later, but Aizawa had very much worried over Izuku's weight, had been more than relieved when year after year the kid had filled out, had gained definition and healthy weight until he was less bones and more muscles. The man will genuinely enjoy buying new clothing for his kid, even if he hates shopping itself, because he starts having to buy larger sizes, and each number up is a reassurance that Izuku is getting healthier all the time. That the hero is doing his job.)

For now though, Izuku fusses with his cup for a few moments, judging Eraserhead's focus, and decides that he might just manage what he wants. Without another pause or assessment, he moves to place his own hot chocolate down, the quiet noise of it utterly unobtrusive between their own breathing and the vague bustle of early-morning streets beneath them, and as quick as throwing a knife or quip, his hand darts away from the placed hot chocolate, and then the coffee is in his grasp.

"Kid-!"  Izuku is already plummeting down off of the roof, knowing coils of capture weapon will be catching him in moments, and as the wind whistles around him, he shunts his mask up a bit, coffee cup tucking underneath so that he can slurp up at least half of it in a few mouthfuls.

Okay, so he nearly chokes when there's support gear lashed around his waist and chest, but he manages to swallow what he's already drinking and knock his mask more-or-less back in place by the time he's yanked back onto the roof, faced with a scowling hero. Izuku can only grin, impish and satisfied beneath his mask, and judging by how one of Eraserhead's eyebrows twitches, the hero can tell and is at least a little infuriated.

So he did manage to get Eraserhead angry, or something like it, he's pushing boundaries and testing just how the hero really will react when Izuku is bad or wrong or weak-

"Kid," there are hands on Izuku's biceps, a tiny bit tight but not quite bruising, quickly turning him away from the edge of the roof,
"Please do not do that again, or at least not until I've taught you how to fall from a fair height, understood?"  Wait, what?
"Kid?"

"You... you're not angry?"  He's barely even conscious of the words, of the quiet tone that's far too meek for his vigilante self yet still a part of him, and he doesn't miss the small frown in amongst the hero's stubble, his capture weapon too loose around his shoulders to hide the expression.

"My worry can look a bit like anger sometimes, and I'm sorry for that, but I will not use either as an excuse to hurt you and over time you should be able to tell the difference, or I will learn to change it myself. Nobody should hurt you. It's unacceptable."

Izuku stares at the hero for several seconds, trying to compute any of the words, let alone the meanings behind them, the emotions, and finds himself flailing. Nobody- nobody has ever said anything like this to him, not Ka- Bakugou or teachers or caretakers (red hair and red eyes and red stains down his legs-) and Izuku is no longer quite so sure that Kaachan cares about him. No, Bakugou. He used to think maybe his childhood friend did but now, after so many scars and words and just everything between them, it's hard to know what to think or feel.

What Izuku can tell, however, is that Eraserhead is genuinely worried right now. He's scowling, and his hands are tight, but they're trembling too, and his gaze is molten, abyssal with something as much terrified as anything else. Maybe... maybe Eraserhead cares.

"I, uh, okay?"  It comes out as a question, but it still has something along the lines of Eraserhead's muscles relaxing, an expression almost a relieved smile creeping in amongst stubble,

"Good. Now then, if you've drunk any of that coffee I swear-"   Izuku snickers, letting the hero take back the half-empty cup. Maybe Eraserhead does care, and maybe, for now, that's alright.

{2}

"I really don't see why I'm getting the precinct coffees," Eraserhead grumbles, hands in pockets and face tucked in his capture weapon against the chill of the late winter night. Beside him, Kidilante is bundled up in Tsukauchi's spare coat of all things, because none of the officers had missed how the teen had been shivering violently, and it had been an unanimous decision to steal the warmest spare coat they could all find for the kid to borrow. And maybe they hadn't been able to see his smile from beneath the kitsune mask, but he'd visibly brightened up, taking the thick material with reverent hands. (More than one photo had been taken, shared in the precinct's Kidilante chat, and the officers not on shift tonight are apparently very jealous.)

"Because you give them more work to do?" Izuku snorts, a knife flickering between his fingers. The hero only rolls his eyes,

"By doing my job, brat."

"Well, yeh, but you have the sheer audacity to do it well."  They both ignore his added mutter of 'unlike lots of limelights' because, well, he's not wrong, but maybe Aizawa shouldn't be encouraging an even more cynical generation. Maybe. Or it can at least wait until the kid's older.

"What, the vigilante complimenting a hero on a job well done? Who'd have thought it." And now it's Kidilante's turn to roll his eyes, kicking a foot out to catch the man's ankle, probably not enough so to bruise.

"Oh, shut your gob Eraserdad."  A noticeably gentle fist raps knuckles against Izuku's shoulder, barely felt through the thick coat. It has the teen grinning, even as the man retorts with a half-hearted glare,

"Never."

They get to the coffee shop then, the teen letting the hero go in first, and he bobs on the balls of his feet as the orders get placed, prodding the man's shoulder rather viciously when Eraserhead glances down at him and, with a distinct smug look, orders a hot chocolate to go with the several coffees and few teas. Ugh.

Both annoyed and a little amused, Izuku decides to take advantage of the hero's distraction in paying, and when the cups are being placed in their portable trays, two of coffee and one final group with the hot chocolate and three lots of tea, Izuku takes note of where they're being placed. And, before the hero can note any minor details himself, Izuku grabs his hot chocolate with his right hand.

If he also takes Aizawa's very specific cup of coffee as well, in his left hand, then it doesn't really register with the hero when he's so busy trying to sort out the change according to the money he'd been given from the officers to get the drinks. And if it's the left-hand cup that he drinks from, replacing the hot chocolate into the gap in the coffee tray, then that goes just as unnoticed for now. In fact, it goes unnoticed until several minutes later, when they're leaving the shop, Izuku carrying one of the sets, Aizawa with the other two coffee trays, and they get most of the way back to the precinct before the hero takes his coffee, takes a sip midsentence, and then stops dead, head slowly turning to look at Izuku, the movement slow enough to be distinctly threatening. Oh shit.

Smiling beneath his mask, Izuku pushes it up just enough to loudly slurp the last of the the hero's coffee, and then pauses for another second.

Then he runs.

Tsukauchi's coat flaps around his legs, and when he hears a roar of his vigilante name from behind him, Kidilante wastes no time in throwing the empty cup over his shoulder, aiming vaguely without looking and satisfied by the disgruntled noise, skids around the next street corner as quickly as he can. Feet pounding, heart drum-thumping, Kidilante cackles, wild and bright and fierce, and runs even faster. The precinct is in sight, and, likely heralded by his rowdy laughter, Sansa appears at the door, peering out with furry eyebrows furrowed. Still cackling, Kidilante ducks beneath the officer's arm and charges further into the station, barely managing not to spill the disgusting drinks he's kept a hold of before he dumps them on someone's desk - Hanahi's, at a glance, and she deserves the tea for her awful driving - and makes a beeline for Tsukauchi, unable to help his laughter still, even when he can hear the hero barging into the police building as well. People are shouting and laughing and grumbling, but Izuku lasers his attention onto gripping Tsukauchi's shoulders, keeping the man in between himself and Eraserhead.

"Hey, h-hey, Tsuka!" Kidilante laughs, a little more panicked now because Eraserhead's eyes are blood-flaring and the scowl amongst his stubble is fierce.
"P-please do your job and- a-and protect a civilian?" The syllables are lost to laughter, even as he drags back the detective, maintaining the physical barrier between himself and the hero. 

Capture weapon lashes out then, curling around Tsukauchi to either grab Izuku out or bind the two together, and Izuku only laughs harder, one hand leaving its station in pulling the detective around to instead slash a knife across the capture weapon, redirecting it even though it doesn't cut into the fabric-metal alloy. Between them, Tsukauchi raises his hands, although he doesn't even flinch from the blade less than an inch from his face.

"Woah, you two, surely this can be resolved peacefully?" He pauses a second, assessing the pair of them, then gets a little Cheshire grin of his own,
"Or with less fucking violence at least."

"That's the Tsuka I was waiting for. Since when are you into that Symbol of Peace bullshit?" Izuku snarks, and all three of them laugh because it's a bit of an inside joke that Tsukauchi is friends with both them and All Might, because talk about two opposite sides of Heroics, even as Aizawa still lashes out with a few more coils of capture weapon, determined to get revenge.

But then Izuku pulls them backwards just enough to suddenly be able to kick up and back, ricocheting off the wall behind him so that he can flip up and forward, right over the top of Tsukauchi's head, and his foot crashes down towards his Eraserdad's face.

The hero dodges. A hand comes up, reaching for the vigilante's ankle, but Izuku twists away from it as he falls. When he catches himself on one hand, elbow bending and then flexing straight again, he pushes back up once more, feet-first. His calves loop around the hero's neck, ankles crossing and locking, and Eraserhead is yanked backwards with a choked noise, one hand pulling at the teen's ankles. His other, however, falls back to his capture weapon, and within moments the two are piled on the floor, twisted around each other and still, barring their heaving chests.

Tsukauchi stares down at them both, accepting a cup of coffee that gets offered to him by Sansa, looking down at them with a gaze so impossibly tired and amused all at once. 

"You two... you're both utter fools. Also, kid, I want that coat back in one piece at some point tonight."  The vigilante only grunts, wriggling. He barely moves a single centimetre, let alone gets out of their mutual hold. Whelp, he and Eraserhead are clearly gonna be stuck here for a while. (The Kidilante precinct chat gets several more pictures that night, suffice to say.)

{3}

It's too early in the morning for the teen's tastes, but he drags himself out of his bed all the same, Caitlin curled up in his arms, purring up a storm. And, well, it's hard to truly be grumpy when he has a precious baby all content and warm and pleasantly noisy in his hold.

"Dreaded time, kiddo."

"Mm," the greenette manages in return, rubbing at his eye. He's tired. Sleep wasn't the easiest thing last night, and he'd known that his Dad's been especially exhausted recently thanks to the combination of second year exams and a major investigation, so Izuku may or may not have stayed at his desk for most of the night, hacking and analysing and researching, trying to find out as much as he can about the hero's case because if he can find more information, more details and Quirks and identities, then he might just be able to lighten the load on his Dad. And that's worth a sleepless night or two.

But now it's twenty minutes before they need to leave for the school day and the greenette is absolutely shattered. 

Without a thought, Izuku reaches out for the cup in his Dad's hands, wrapping his fingers around the man's own as much as the ceramic in his half-asleep, desperate bid for liquid energy.

"I won't fight you on it," Aizawa grumbles, and so when the greenette readjusts and tightens his grip, the mug comes easily into his hold. Even better, a large callused hand follows moments later to pat his head, fingertips threading into his curls, affectionate. Izuku almost purrs with it, not willing to dislodge the hand even for the sake of actually drinking the coffee.

"Alright?"  He hums louder, nigh-on purring, leaning into the touch and slumping further against the kitchen counter. He doesn't know it, too busy nearly falling asleep on the spot with low lids and a lopsided smile, but his hero is smiling, a soft little thing that would normally be hidden by his capture weapon but not here, at home, where he doesn't need support gear or his fighting ability to be a hero. Not to be his son's hero.

His toast pings up moments later though, and he reluctantly retracts his hand to go and butter a slice for himself, and then the second for Izuku instead. The things he does for his brat, really.

It's worth it when, upon depositing the simple toast upon a plate in front of his drowsy son, Aizawa gets blessed with another sweet, sleepy smile, pretty green eyes crinkling up at the corners. Izuku, for his part, drinks the last mouthful of the man's coffee without thought, takes three bites of the toast, then blinks at his Dad. Oh. That was the hero's coffee he's just drunk, and judging by the left-out loaf of bread, also some of his toast. Yet before Izuku can even say a word, or think about any repercussions, his Dad is simply leaning over to refill the mug, not a word in protest or reprimand.

"Than's."

"Always, brat."

{4}

They're on a trip out. Neither of the Aizawas normally likes going out and about in the middle of the day, not fond of crowds and limited exits, but they need a new cat tree and more cat food and Izuku has grown out of half of his leggings and tighter exercise tops. And there may have been an incident a few days ago where four of their already-meagre six mugs got smashed.  (That incident may have also involved Kimchi being her usual bitchy self, Izuku being half-asleep, and Hizashi bursting into their apartment at eleven o'clock at night; Aizawa now has several thousand yen in his wallet taken from the blond in recompense.)

The crowds are noisy and close, although the throngs aren't as bad as they would be on a weekend. It's still enough to have Izuku clinging to his Dad's arm, both of them finding a grounding point in the contact.

"Think we should start with clothing? Less bulky to carry," Aizawa murmurs, just loud enough for his son to easily hear, and green curls shift against his shoulder in a distinct nod. The man brings his spare hand up to ruffle said curls for a few moments, a brief and casual affection, and begins to direct them towards a clothes shop that he knows has decent quality athletic wear at prices that his kid won't immediately balk at. One of the biggest struggles since adopting Izuku has been to get the teen to accept help and spent money and time; they've worked together for years now, but food and weapons are very different to apparently unnecessary things such as extra stationery or clothing like this. But Aizawa has been working, constantly and consistently, to drill into his son's thick skull that he's worth it, worth every penny and minute and thought. And, in the last few months in particular, he's seen progress. Seen Izuku accepting all of that. Seen his kid accepting that every single part of it comes from a place of love, that Izuku himself is worthy of it. There's no better realisation for the hero.

With this thought in mind, Aizawa switches the hair ruffle to a brief kiss, stubble rasping through soft curls, and they enter the store, shuddering under the sudden blast of air conditioning.

"Right then, kiddo, I know we mainly came for leggings, but it wouldn't hurt for you to get another pair of shorts. And you wanted some undershirts, right?"

"Mmhm."  Izuku has straightened a bit now, grip loosening on his Dad's arm, beginning to peer around at all the bright colours and monotone basics.

"Go wild then." Aizawa pauses for a moment, glaring briefly down at his kid,
"Or, well, not any sort of wild except actually getting yourself some decent clothing because Kami I do not trust you with blanket wildness permission. Not after the art shop."  And now his kid really is grinning, bright and beautiful.

"What, lil' old me can't be trusted?"

"Not with this you can't, imp," Aizawa retorts, ruffling the kid's hair again, rougher as he nigh-on shoves him away, the movement still too light to really be forceful.

"Aw, Dadzawa, whatever do you mean?" Izuku's grin only grows, teasing as he bumps their shoulders together. Before their banter can continue, the greenette scampers away, already headed for the leggings.

Twenty minutes later, with a rather large armful of clothing to try on, Izuku doesn't even bother to pull the changing room's curtain properly shut behind himself, quite happy to start shoving down his current pair of leggings without thought.

Following behind him, Aizawa huffs, tugging the curtain shut entirely behind his son,

"Fuck's sake, kid, people will think you're some weirdo." Izuku's voice isn't muffled at all by the thick fabric,

"Would they be wrong?"  They both snort at that, the man's distinctly more exasperated, though fond in equal measure,

"No, but it's a very different sort of weird."

"True."

Seconds after, the curtain is shoved open again, his kid wearing a completely new outfit, all greys and greens, block colours, and the man circles his finger, eyebrow raised. Still smiling, the teen does a slow spin, arms half-raised, letting his Dad assess the clothes.

"Seems to fit decently. Comfy?"

"Comfy!" The teen chirps, and they're both smiling then, even as Izuku steps back and slides the curtain half-shut, prompting his Dad to shove it the rest of the way with a wordless grumble. Neither of them have lost the smile though. And, hey, maybe this outing won't be so bad at all.

Aizawa nearly revises that opinion later when, after a quick meal, they decide to pick up a coffee as well, because why wouldn't they? The pair find a quiet corner, their couple of bags tucked between their feet, and take the time to savour the caffeine and taste. They don't talk, quite content to share the silence, pressed shoulder to shoulder (or rather shoulder to bicep, because Izuku hasn't grown much yet for all that he's put on a healthier weight) and simply watching people chatter and walk and eat. They don't even bother with idle analysis.

Just as they're finishing up their drinks, Izuku lists more abruptly into his  hero, almost managing to properly startle the man, and he takes advantage of that moment to pluck the near-empty cup away, slurping up the last dregs with an impish grin. Huffing, Aizawa raps his knuckles against the kid's knee in half-hearted reprimand, and presents an open hand to the greenette. With a roll of his eyes, Izuku deposits his own remnants into the hero's open hand, and doesn't actually complain when his Dad drinks the final half-mouthful of his son's coffee as well. Equivalent exchange. Better than the outright thievery of his liquid-life that Aizawa so often allows his son to get away with, the imp.

Lunch finished, they drag themselves back to their feet. Going back out into the throng of the crowds isn't quite so pleasant, but it's far from the worst thing ever. At least they're getting treats for the cats.

(It does turn out to be fun. Or something akin to it at least. There are people and noise and potential threats everywhere, but the Aizawas sink into the familiar safety of their relationship and their current goals in place of owt else, and it helps. Works. They leave the shopping centre with light feet and Izuku's giggles ringing in their ears; his Dad couldn't be happier, frankly.)

{5}

It's the beginning of lunchtime on a perfectly normal Tuesday and a certain greenette has sent his friends off ahead of himself, promising to join them within half an hour in their normal outdoors spot, before jumping up into the vents, shutting the grate with a cheeky wave to them, snickering under his breath. His group had simply exchanged amused glances before heading away. He's up to no good, they have no doubt about it, but they're at UA so it doubtless just has something to do with his family. Better to leave him to it. They do love to hear about his chaotic gremlin hours after all, and what better way to get new stories than to simply let him get on with it?

By now though, Izuku has been waiting in the vents for exactly twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds for his Dad to move. And, finally, he gets up from his desk, two sets of papers in hand that he's audibly grumbling about, trying to calculate how many of each packet he needs for which classes, and the fact that he should probably create a version of the fill-in worksheet with bigger spaces because some people (thank you so much Ashido, Kirishima, Nagasaki and Nejire) can't write any smaller than what the average seven year-old manages and really it doesn't really work for sheets like this and-

Having waited, bided his time, and satisfied that the hero is sufficiently distracted across the room by one of the two printers, grumbling as papers pile up, trying to organise the different groups, Izuku drops down from the vents.

Even as most of the room startles and the hero in question whips around, red eyes flaring and capture weapon rising, the greenette is moving away, running straight for the open window with his pilfered travel mug in hand.

"You shit!"  Izuku, however, is far too busy cackling to care about the unadultered rage in his Dad's voice (this hero's anger, when aimed at him, doesn't promise pain or control or neglect; it promises pranked revenge or vicious teasing, sure, but never hurt) and he carelessly drops straight from the open window, not caring in the least that he's several floors up into empty air. The coffee won't spill easily with its lid closed, so the teen can easily focus on kicking back against the school building, redirecting himself towards some of the trees not too far from the main part of the school building. He ignores the couple of shouts from the paths and gardens below, or from the open classroom windows, busy flinging himself from tree to tree now, ricocheting further downwards until he can stand on the grass and kick his indoor shoes off, not wanting them to get any dirtier. In lieu of heading back into the school building though, he simply carries them, unscrewing the lid so that he can slurp up some of his Dad's coffee as he ambles along. He's got boyfriends to eat lunch with.

Floors above, Aizawa is left, half-hanging out of the window and ignoring the snickering and gossiping of the other faculty behind him, to sigh to himself, dejected, but with one thought overriding all the rest:

"At least he knows how to fall safely by now."

{+1 - revenge}

It's late on a Saturday morning in the dorms when Izuku meanders over to his Dad, who is currently distracted by Kaminari apparently not being able to crack an egg open, and grabs up his cup of coffee, draining the last few mouthfuls from it in one long gulp. He dodges the kick that lashes out for his hip in retaliation, giggling. Although he does move to put on a fresh pot of coffee, swaying to avoid the flailing and egg-covered hand of a certain blond to do so.

"-ook, Kaminari, kid, you need to slow down. Just tap it, don't fucking smash it against the counter."  Izuku doesn't turn around, but he can easily picture the pout on Kaminari's face,

"But, Sensei, tapping it didn't break it!"  And he can imagine his Dad's scowl even more easily.

"Then tap it a second time."  

"....Ohhh."  He can't help but snort, not mean-natured but far too amused not to laugh at least a little, and he turns away from the now-brewing coffee pot to dig out a jelly pouch or two.

"Dad, did you leave the peach ones deliberately again?"

"Obviously not."  Well, that's a yes if ever Izuku's heard one. At least his Dad eats the orange-flavoured ones for him. Still though, Izuku really would've rather had the strawberry ones that he knows were still in the cupboard as of last night, but sometimes Aizawa is even more of a little shit than the teen himself, so it really shouldn't come as a surprise that the man has stolen them. 

"Bastard."

"Imp."  There's a pause where they meet eyes over their shoulders, both still faffing around with things in different parts of the kitchen, Aizawa settling on one of the barstools that's apparently been brought around to the main cooking space this morning,
"But you can have the watermelon ones in the next pack."

"Fuck yeh."  And whilst Izuku is genuinely pleased by that, he knows that something is up. That was nowhere near enough retribution for stolen coffee. There's still a catch here somewhere.

He finds that catch a few minutes later. He'd sucked up the first of his two nutrient pouches pretty quickly, and gone to root around in the fridge for some fruit or something, noticing his Dad pouring in sugar into the massive pot of coffee, and, well, if he's still got consequences coming then he might as well take full advantage. He could do with the energy. With this in mind, he darts forwards, leaving the fridge door to swing shut itself, and fluidly takes the entire steaming pot, clutching it close as he smoothly vaults over the counter to escape his hero's grasp, pausing so that they're staring at each other, all narrowed eyes and tense shoulders.

"No."

"Sounds like an invitation to me," Izuku returns, not quite provoking enough to get his Dad catapulting after him, and he doesn't like the gleam in the man's eyes. He's up to something. But that knowledge has never stopped the teen before, and it won't now either, so Izuku raises the pot and takes a sip of his stolen coffee. And for a long moment, he doesn't react at all. No blink, no twitch, no grimace, and he lowers the pot to meet his Dad's eyes once more.

He promptly chugs the entire pot of salt-laced coffee in one breath.

"Kid- kid, no, what the actual fuck."  His Dad is staring at him, eyebrows lowered and mouth pulled into the beginning of a scowl. The light of despair in his eyes is beyond glorious.

"Mm. Tasty."  The deadpan, accompanied by the Cheshire grin, has Aizawa slowly pushing to his feet, seat sliding back with an ominous screech.

"Two second headstart."

Nedzu doesn't reply to any of the alarmed emails or alerts regarding two figures - one adult, one student - that were seen parkouring up and across several of UA's buildings that morning, some combination of bladed and fabric weapons darting between the two. Instead he cackles, and personally places the entire school's next coffee bean order. How delightful his Aizawas are.