“all fics baked with love!”

but this morning is special, highlighted in still-wet red ink and circled twice for good measure. it’s rare that shouto got to spend the entire weekend with you, patrols and paperwork a never ending dance. fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who you’d ask, he’s been a little too overzealous his last few patrols, expended a little too much of his quirk to be healthy. with the combined force of you and his rather frightening manager, he’s on verifiable house arrest for the weekend, all yours in every sense of the word. the real trouble you face at the moment is wiggling out of his hold without immediately waking him — a monumental task, one you’ve failed many times before. as such, you’ve got a plan of attack.

the first step is to acclimate him slowly; little movements, careful and gentle as not to alert him. his grip tightens around your waist at the first few, as though even in sleep he couldn’t bear to be separated from you. it’s unbelievably sweet, and it nearly derails your mission — you spend a precious few minutes cooing over him silently, brushing stray red and white strands off his forehead. but you won’t be deterred, not that easily, and after two years of dating you like to think you’re immune to how beautiful he is in the morning, lost to dreams and peaceful sleep. you are in fact, not immune, hence the delay.

then you have to make up for your lack of warmth, of course — shouto’s horribly perceptive, and you can’t just slip out of his arms so easily. a pillow is necessary, but not one of the many that litter the bed — no, he’d recognize that far too easy. it has to smell like you, be warmed by you, and as such you carefully nudge the pillow that had been resting beneath your head into the gap you’ve made between his arms and yourself. it’s always risky, watching with bated breath to see if he’ll wake, but the universe seems to agree with you this morning, and all he does is breathe a little deeper and hug the pillow close. success, a victory ! it only makes you that much more determined to execute your plan, even if the sight of him sleep-warm and cozy is tempting enough to leave an ache right alongside your heart. you allow yourself the lightest kiss to the crown of his head before starting your day, tiptoeing to the bathroom.

ordinarily you’d be content to linger with him through the morning, let the rain keep you both in some hazy impersonation of sleep, but you know better — shouto isn’t one to relax easily when there’s work that could be done, and you know the stacks of paperwork left behind at his agency are still weighing heavy on his mind. if you’re to convince him that staying put is the only option, you’ve got to get a headstart on taking care of him before he’s too awake to protest it. he’s a stubborn one, your hero, and far too good at making counter arguments — namely, kissing you so sweetly you forget everything you meant to say. you don’t have very much time despite your tricks, as clever as they were; shouto’s never stayed asleep longer than twenty minutes after you’ve left the bed, some sixth sense to the lack of your presence. he’s like that always, whether you’re out with friends or enjoying a casual day at home — mina likes to call it his lovesickness, as if he actually grows ill the longer you’re apart. silly.

still, not ten minutes after you’ve left him you can hear the bedroom door creaking, the sound of the bathroom faucet. then it’s a few curious steps here and there, heavier than usual from his clear exhaustion, until he finally finds you in the kitchen. he’s sleep rumpled and adorable, looking every bit as tired as you know he is. you can’t even pretend to be annoyed when you meet his eyes, knowing your ‘breakfast in bed’ plan was never going to work — more a fleeting fantasy, but you can adapt. instead you hold out your arms for him, letting him find comfort with his face buried in your neck, muffling whatever he’s saying into your skin. you let him go after a moment so you can hear him properly, fixing his bangs with gentle care — a motion you’ve done a million times and will a million more, just for the way he melts into your hand.

“good morning, love,” he manages after a long moment, catching your wrist gently before you can pull your hand away, dropping featherlight kisses to your knuckles. “would you like help ?” his voice is sleep-worn and soft, a low quiet rumble that lingers in the peaceful little bubble you’re both sharing. his eyes trail from your face to the counter, eyeing the ingredients laid out; simple, an easy but comforting breakfast. for a moment you almost nod, more focused on the gentle affections he’s layering over your skin — little pinprick kisses over your fingers, your palm, the pulse point over your wrist. but you’re not so easily swayed, and you reaffirm yourself for a moment; you’ve got defenses, immunity to a sleepy and warm shouto that looks at you with so much love you think you’ll burst. no, you don’t.

“not this morning, young man. you’re going to sit your very handsome self down on the couch and relax. this weekend is all about relaxing,” you inform him playfully, finally taking your hand back from his onslaught of kisses. he looks put out for a moment, tracking your movements slowly, a half beat too late. “and don’t try to tell me you don’t need to relax — breaks are important for everyone, especially pro heros,” you scold playfully, even if your tone is nothing but sticky-sweet fondness. one eyebrow raises at you, as if about to challenge that statement with some quietly murmured statistic — one midoriya had no doubt supplied him with, and as much as you love to hear shouto talk, you’re not having it today.

carefully, you cup his face in your hands, pull him in close; the gentle act has him leaning in without question, always weak for the gentleness of your hands, the easy affection that follows. you press kisses to his forehead, his nose, both cheeks, even his chin with a soft giggle, before finally pressing one to his mouth, a reassuring one. all your distracting little kisses have allowed you to back him out of the kitchen slowly, until you gently push him to sit on the couch, tucking a blanket over him far too pleased. you might not have any defenses or immunity against shouto, but he didn’t have any against you either, and you’re smug about it. “just rest, please ? afterwards we can do something nice together — maybe read a little,” you say softly, coaxing him into leaning back against the cushions. he’s got that pout on, the one you’re so terribly weak for, but you’re holding strong, the need to take care of him stronger than your desire to melt to his every whim.

thankfully, he seems to acquiesce; the pout faintly lining his features shifts, molds into that familiar fondness you’re so used to seeing when he gives in to your wishes. if you’re bad at saying no to him, he’s nearly incapable of saying no to you, and he easily lets you bully him into laying back onto the couch, all joss former resolve weakening in an instant. “i suppose that sounds … nice,” he admits, although you’re a little suspicious he’s laughing at you behind that quiet acceptance. “i will wait here then, and ignore any sounds of distress.” you squawk a little at his teasing, a light swat to his chest even if you’re giggling — that bratty youngest child mentality will never leave him it seems, always slipping out when you least expect it.

“i’m perfectly capable of making you breakfast, you know,” you protest, carefully tucking the blanket around him, and for a moment there’s a teasing smile resting at the corners of his mouth. “i know. i meant from the pans,” he says solemnly, and earns himself another swat for his troubles. it’s true that occasionally — occasionally ! — you’re known to be a little chaotic in the kitchen, but you’ve improved a lot in the past two years, and his teasing is mostly unwarranted. “just for that, i’m burning the edges of your eggs,” you huff, even if you both know you’d never.

even from the kitchen, you know he’s watching you; every move you make is tracked, monitored, and with you chance a peek over your shoulder you can see him on the couch, siren eyes keeping close watch of you. “you’re supposed to be resting,” you remind him, but it’s sweet the way he can’t seem to look away. “i have not moved,” comes his pouting reply, although he pauses. “considerably.” he’s on his stomach now, one arm tucked beneath a couch pillow, just his eyes and the unruly mop of bedhead peeking out from the armrest of the couch. still, you take it as a sign to hurry up — any more restlessness from him and he’ll get up, and you can’t have that.

returning with two steaming plates stacked high, you nudge him with your knee so he’ll make space, settling yourself comfortably in his lap as he takes one of them with drowsy eyed interest. it’s not the fanciest, but it’s comforting, warm to offset the chill of rain just outside the window. “have you decided on a book ?” you ask softly after a few minutes, breaking the cozy silence with a tilt of your head towards the shelves. he’s quiet, finishing off the last of his breakfast as he looks between the shelves and you, setting his plate down on the coffee table before gently taking yours as well. then he’s slotting his ankles over yours and twisting, ignoring your startled yelp as he flips your positions, burying his head against your chest. “no,” he says simply, but there’s an undercurrent of smugness to the muffled words. his eyes peer up at you, pleased with himself despite your exasperated expression.

“am i not meant to be resting ?” he asks, smug in the fact that he’s getting his way, that he’s turned the tables. “this is how i shall rest. you make a fine pillow.” in a way, he’s still falling for your plan — relaxing, catching up on much needed rest. he’s just doing it on his own terms, and you can begrudgingly admit that this is better than him trying to sneak off to the agency. “fine, fine,” you giggle, carefully brushing his hair back from his forehead. “whatever makes you happy, sho.” he hums, letting his eyes close, and for a moment you think he’s drifting off to sleep already. the rain pours steadily, and you can’t deny how comfortable you are either, so you close your eyes as well, let the lazy warmth of sleep find you too. you almost miss it, the whispered words he presses to your skin, the soft kiss he leaves against your neck as you both drift off.

“you make me happy.”