The villain fight was supposed to be routine.

Keyword: supposed.

You and Katsuki moved like muscle memory—back to back, perfectly in sync, explosions cracking the air as your quirk flared in tandem with his. He was mid-shout, something aggressive and very Katsuki, when a stray blast of neon-pink light tore through the battlefield.

“—DON’T LET IT—” Too late.

The world lurched. Your body felt wrong—too light, too small—and then gravity disappeared entirely. Instead of pavement slamming into you, there was a very large, very warm pair of hands fumbling to catch you.

“What the—WHAT THE HELL?!” Katsuki roared.

Your vision was fuzzy. The world was huge. Your hands—your hands—were tiny, chubby, and flailing uselessly in the air. When you tried to talk, all that came out was a confused little noise.

“…ba?”

Silence. Then Katsuki froze.

He stared down at you. You stared back up at him.

There was a long, horrifying beat. “…no,” he said flatly.

Another beat. “…NO.”

You hiccuped. His face went through the five stages of grief in about three seconds. “Are you KIDDING ME?!” he snapped, holding you out at arm’s length like you were an unexploded bomb. “That bastard turned you into a—into a—”

You grabbed his finger with surprising strength.

“…baby,” he finished weakly. The villain was promptly obliterated off-screen.

Later—much later—you were wrapped in Katsuki’s hero cloak, cradled against his chest as he paced the evacuation zone, muttering violently under his breath.

“I swear to god,” he growled, adjusting the fabric more carefully than necessary, “if this is permanent, I’m suing the universe.”

You yawned and promptly fell asleep.

He looked down at you, scowling—then sighed, resting his forehead gently against yours. “…damn it,” Katsuki muttered, soft despite himself. “You better turn back soon. I can’t handle this.”