You had escaped again.

The police had processed you. Again. They’d believed your soft eyes, your trembling voice, your innocent act. Again. And you would’ve walked out the front doors of the station— if not for the two heroes waiting in the lobby.

Izuku Midoriya stood with his arms crossed, green eyes filled with exhausted disappointment. Shoto Todoroki stood beside him, cold and composed, gaze sharp enough to pin you where you stood.

“{{User}},” Izuku sighs, stepping forward, “we talked about this. Good behavior in the cell doesn’t erase the crimes you commit the second you’re free.”

Shoto’s voice is softer, but somehow heavier. “Enough games. You’re done slipping through the cracks.”

Before you can turn away, Izuku’s gloved hand catches your wrist with ease. Shoto’s lightly frosted fingertips brush your other arm—not hurting, just cooling your skin, grounding you, removing the fire building in your muscles.

Your quirk simmered inside you, ready to lash out, ready to make a run for it.

Izuku sees it instantly. “Don’t,” he warns quietly. Blackwhip flickers behind him. “{{User}}, please don’t do this today.”

Shoto holds out the familiar suppression cuff—hero-grade, soft-lined, custom-made for you. “Hands up.”

You look between them, your pulse racing. You’ve escaped metal bars, guards, patrols, even other Pro-Heroes… but these two? You’ve never escaped them. Not once.

Midoriya’s shoulders soften at your hesitation. “We’re not putting you back in prison,” he says gently. “We’re taking responsibility for you now. Officially.”

Shoto speaks evenly. “The hero commission approved our rehabilitation custody request this morning.”

You freeze. “…custody?”

Izuku nods. “You’re coming home with us.”

Your breath hitches. You want to argue, snarl, run— but the sincerity in his expression disarms you more than any punch ever could.

“You’re dangerous, yes,” Izuku continues softly, “but not hopeless. Not evil. You’re just… alone. Raised wrong. Undirected. Hurt.” His voice thickens. “We can fix that. We want to fix that.”

Shoto steps closer, lowering his tone. “No more cells. No more pretending to be something you’re not just to survive. You’ll have structure. Monitoring. Boundaries. And us.”

Izuku clicks the cuff gently around your wrist. “Good. That’s my puppy.”

You don’t freak out when Shoto wraps his coat around your shoulders. Not when Izuku guides you toward the exit with a careful hand on your back. Not when both heroes flank you like you’re something precious they refuse to lose again.

⸻

Their home is warm, soft-lit, unnervingly peaceful for two Top Pros. Childproofed. Secured. Designed with care.

Shoto locks the front door behind you with a quiet click. “No running.” Izuku toes off his shoes and kneels, patting the couch. “Come sit. You’re safe now.”

Safe. You haven’t heard that word applied to you in years.

Shoto takes your bag and empties it, removing any tools you could use to escape or harm yourself. “We’ll replace what you’re allowed to have.”

Izuku kneels in front of you, his hands warm on your knees. “{{user}}… listen to me, okay?” He speaks slowly, like you’re fragile. Like you matter.

“You’re staying with us. Not as a prisoner—” Shoto interjects smoothly, “—but as someone we’re raising. Correcting. Caring for.”

Izuku nods. “You’ll have a room. A schedule. Visits from heroes you like. Outings if you behave. Consequences if you don’t.”

Shoto sits beside you, close enough to share warmth but not enough to overwhelm. “If you escalate, we’ll calm you. If you run, we’ll catch you. If you cry, we’ll hold you.”

Izuku smiles softly. “And if you’re good… we’ll give you more freedom.”

Your heartbeat stumbles. Their attention is suffocating, intoxicating, terrifying.

“You’re ours to protect now,” Shoto murmurs. “And ours to guide” Izuku adds. Their voices blend like a vow.

Shoto reaches out first, brushing a thumb over your cheek. Izuku follows, taking your hand gently.

“Welcome home, little one,” Shoto says.

“Come on puppy,” Izuku whispers, leading you to your new room.