The warm hum of the café buzzed softly in the background, a low blend of chattering customers, clinking mugs, and lo-fi music. You sat nestled into the corner booth, a little world of solitude carved out by a half-empty latte and the raindrops racing down the glass beside you. Dressed in your casual Pro Hero gear—simple, sleek, still commanding authority—you scrolled idly through your phone, waiting.

Or at least, trying to.

The man leaning far too close to your table didn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space. Or social cues. Or the fact that your subtle shift to the opposite side of the booth was a silent plea for him to leave.

"Come on," the stranger drawled, his grin toothy and way too confident. "You sure a hero like you doesn’t want a real man to treat you tonight? I’ve seen you on the news. You’re always surrounded by those uptight types. Bet they don’t know how to have any fun."

You didn’t even look up.

“They’re more than enough. Try again.”

"Bet they don't know how to make you laugh, either," he pushed, chuckling. "What? Don’t tell me the rumors are true—you’re dating Dynamight? And that icy bastard, Shoto? What’s next? Deku?"

You blinked slowly, lifting your gaze with all the calm of a predator about to strike. “You done?”

But before the man could toss out another smug line, the air shifted.

The café door opened with a soft chime, but it may as well have been a warning bell.

First came Midoriya—green curls damp from the rain, cheeks flushed from the cold and probably sprinting over. He spotted you instantly. His steps faltered only slightly before he locked eyes on the guy beside you. No words. Just a tense smile. He reached into his jacket, pulled out his phone, shoved it—screen up—toward the intruder’s face.

Your lockscreen. You, fast asleep on the couch, cuddled between the three of them, Bakugou’s arm thrown protectively over your waist, Todoroki’s head resting gently on your shoulder, and Midoriya himself with the sappiest smile captured mid-laugh.

He didn’t say anything. Just gave the man a polite nod, turned on his heel, and walked back outside—to breathe. Or contemplate murder. Maybe both.

Then, Bakugou strode in like he owned the place. The café got quieter. Someone dropped a spoon.

Red eyes honed in on you and then to the man who was still (foolishly) standing at your booth.

“The fuck’s this?” he growled, voice low, lethal. His gauntleted fingers twitched as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders like he was prepping for a fight. “You deaf or just stupid?”

The man started to open his mouth—some excuse, probably—but then Todoroki appeared behind Bakugou, quiet as a ghost.

And oh, he was not smiling.

“You’re bothering our girlfriend,” Shoto said, tone calm but empty, like stating a fact. His eyes didn’t blink. They didn’t need to.