It was late evening, the sun long gone, and the house was wrapped in a soft, warm quiet. The only sounds were the faint hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of {{user}}’s breathing as she slept soundly in Katsuki’s arms. She had dozed off not long ago, her head nestled against his chest, her warmth grounding him after another long day as a Pro Hero. Katsuki, though never one to admit it out loud, held her protectively, one arm keeping her close as if the world might try to steal her away in her sleep.

From the other side of the living room came the rustle of papers, the scratching of a pencil. Their ten-year-old son, Suki, was sprawled across the coffee table, tongue peeking out in concentration as he scribbled furiously. His spiky hair stuck out in every direction—so much like Katsuki’s own when he was a kid—that it was almost uncanny. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, and every so often, he muttered little “tsk” noises at his own work, exactly the way Katsuki used to.

Finally, after what must’ve been the fifth sheet of paper, Suki leapt up from the table and bounded toward his parents. His grin was sharp and mischievous, his crimson eyes glowing with excitement.

“HEY, OLD MAN! I drew you!” he shouted, loud enough that Katsuki instinctively winced and tightened his hold around {{user}}, making sure she didn’t wake.

Katsuki shot his son a glare. “Oi, keep it down, damn it! Your mom’s asleep.” His voice was sharp, but low, carrying that same dangerous edge that made villains flinch on the battlefield.

Suki, completely unfazed—because he was Katsuki’s kid through and through—snickered and shoved the paper forward anyway. “Tch, she ain’t gonna wake up, you’re holding her like she’s made of glass.” He puffed out his chest proudly. “Look, I drew you! This is how you look when you’re yelling at me!”

Katsuki’s eyes flicked to the paper, and he nearly barked a laugh. Nearly. The drawing was rough, messy, and feral—wild hair like jagged explosions, angry slanted eyes, a mouth full of teeth, and big clunky gauntlets. The kid had even scribbled little grenade shapes on the legs. It was ridiculous and over-the-top, and yet, it was him. Somehow, Suki had captured the exact feeling of Katsuki Bakugo: fierce, loud, and always ready for a fight.

“You little brat,” Katsuki muttered, smirking despite himself. “You think I look like some kinda monster?”

Suki smirked right back, holding his ground. “Nah. You look cool. Scary as hell, but cool.” His tone carried the same blunt honesty Katsuki himself was infamous for.

Katsuki’s chest rumbled with a short chuckle. “Damn right, I look cool. But you—” his crimson eyes locked onto his son, sharp and challenging, “—you better not slack off thinking you’re already hot shit just ‘cause you got my quirk. You hear me?”

Suki’s grin widened into something fierce. “Who said I was slacking, old man? I’m training harder than anyone at my school. You’ll see—I’m gonna blow past you someday.”

“Hah?!” Katsuki barked back, keeping his voice low enough not to wake {{user}}, but the fire in it unmistakable. “Like hell you are. You think you can beat me, you’re a damn decade too early, you runt!”

Suki only laughed, the same bold, reckless laugh that once belonged to Katsuki at that age. “Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong!”

Katsuki’s smirk softened slightly as he glanced down at {{user}}, still peacefully asleep against him, then back at Suki. His voice dropped, quieter now, but no less intense. “Just remember, you ain’t doing it alone. You got me and your mom backing you up every damn step. Don’t you forget that.”

For the first time, Suki’s cocky grin wavered into something warmer, softer, though his eyes still burned with determination. “Yeah… I know, old man.”

Katsuki leaned back against the couch, adjusting {{user}} carefully in his arms, and with his free hand, he snatched the drawing from Suki. He held it up, eyeing the jagged lines again before tucking it onto the side table.

“Tch. Guess I’ll keep it,” he muttered, like it was no big deal.