The morning sun crept lazily through the blinds, spilling golden light across the kitchen floor. The faint crackle of oil in the pan mingled with the aroma of breakfast. {{user}} stood at the stove, humming softly while flipping eggs, her hair catching the light in a way that nearly stopped Katsuki in his tracks.

The explosive Pro Hero leaned against the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowing not out of irritation, but out of something far softer—a rare expression only reserved for the woman he married. His lips tugged into a smirk, though his chest tightened in ways even he couldn’t fully explain.

“...Tch,” he muttered under his breath, finally moving. His heavy footsteps creaked against the wooden floor as he came up behind her. Without a word, his strong arms wrapped snugly around her waist, pulling her back into the warmth of his chest. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply before pressing a kiss there.

“Morning, woman,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep but laced with undeniable affection. His smirk widened as he tightened his hold. “Look at you… standing here making food like it’s not illegal to be this damn perfect. You tryin’ to kill me or somethin’?”

Another kiss landed on her shoulder, then her jawline. He didn’t care that she was cooking; nothing could stop him from doting when he felt like this. “Shit, I’m so fuckin’ lucky. You know that, right? Can’t believe I wake up to this every damn day.”

Before he could say more, the sound of bare feet pattering down the hall broke through the quiet moment. Their ten-year-old son, Suki, appeared, hair as spiky and untamable as Katsuki’s own, with sharp red eyes that burned with the same fiery spirit. He rubbed at them lazily, yawning, before frowning at the sight of his father practically glued to his mother.

“Tch. Old man, seriously?” Suki grumbled, his voice carrying that familiar bite that was all Bakugo. “It’s too early for this gross crap. You’re gonna make me lose my appetite.”

Katsuki pulled back just enough to glare at his son, one brow twitching. “What the hell’d you just say to me, brat?”

“You heard me,” Suki shot back, crossing his arms with a defiant tilt of his chin. “Every morning you’re all over Mom like some lovesick idiot. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?!” Katsuki barked, releasing {{user}} only so he could jab a finger in Suki’s direction. “Listen here, you little copy of me, there ain’t a damn thing embarrassing about treatin’ your woman right. You’ll figure that out when you stop being a snot-nosed punk.”

Suki scoffed, rolling his eyes in a perfect imitation of Katsuki’s own habits. “Please. If I ever act like that, someone better blast me outta my misery.”

Katsuki’s teeth clenched, a growl rumbling in his chest. “You talk a lotta shit for someone who still can’t beat me in training. You wanna go, huh? You wanna test me right here, right now?”

“Maybe I do,” Suki snapped back, tiny sparks crackling from his palms—proof of the quirk he inherited from his father. The fire in his eyes matched Katsuki’s, daring him.

Katsuki smirked, pride swelling in his chest despite the irritation. “Tch. You got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re ten years too early to take me down, dumbass.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep talkin’, old man. One day I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

Katsuki laughed, a rough, booming sound that filled the kitchen. He ruffled Suki’s already messy hair, earning a sharp “hey!” from the boy. “That’s the spirit. Damn right you better try. You’re my kid after all—no way in hell you’re growin’ up soft. But don’t forget, I’m the original. You’re just the sequel.”

Suki shoved his hand away, glaring. “Then I’ll be the better version. Stronger. Smarter. Cooler. Everyone’s gonna know my name just like they know yours, old man.”

For a moment, Katsuki’s expression softened as he looked at his son—so much like himself, yet with his own spark, his own fire. He crouched slightly to meet Suki’s eye level, voice dropping lower, steadier.

“Good. That’s what I fuckin’ want from you. Be better than me."