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Eijirou wakes up with his nose squished into Katsuki’s hair. He knows it’s Katsuki’s hair because nobody else smells quite like him, like brown sugar and cinnamon and the ever present hint of smoke. Katsuki smells like their kitchen does whenever he’s baking Eijirou’s favourite sugar cookies. Technically, Eijirou knows this is because of his nitroglycerin and shampoo and constant explosions– still, it’s nice to imagine that Katsuki bakes his favourite thing so much that the scent has become a part of him.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Kats, wake up, man.”

A low groan emits from the Katsuki-shaped lump cuddled up against him. “Shu’ th’ ‘uck up.”

Eijirou jostles him a little, grinning. It’s payback for all the times that Katsuki’s woken him up at five a.m. to drag him out for a run. “C’mon, bro, up and at ‘em!”

Katsuki shifts as far as he can go before dropping off the edge of the couch (huh, they hadn’t even made it to the bed last night, what did they do?) and decisively shoves his trademark pointy elbows into Eijirou’s stomach. Eijirou’s very, very delicate stomach that is very angry at Eijirou for accepting three shots of Vodquila last night. 

“Please get up,” Eijirou manages, valiantly holding back the bile creeping up his throat, “because I need to throw up so–”

Katsuki rolls off the couch with a dull thud. Eijirou races across the hotel room for the bathroom, throws himself over the toilet, and classily proceeds to hurl his guts out. His untied hair is starting to fall closer and closer to his mouth and he inwardly panics, not present enough to hold it back–

And then there are soft, steady hands, gently pulling his hair back and rubbing comforting circles into his skin. 

A few awful dry heaves later and Eijirou relaxes, sitting back, breathing heavily.

Katsuki makes a noise and it sounds insultingly close to a laugh. “Vodquila?”

“Vodquila,” Eijirou huffs. “That… can stay in America.”

Katsuki snorts. “What, you don’t want to bring a bottle back and break it out for the extras at the reunion?”

“Japan needs them,” Eijirou says, gravely, “so no.”

“Not all of them,” Katsuki replies. “The fuck is Deku even doing? Kicking villains super hard? I was doing that shit in kindergarten.”

“He’s the number fifteen hero,” Eijirou points out.

“And you’re fourteenth, dumbass, what’s your point?”

Eijirou smiles, unbidden. For all that the press rags on Ground Zero for being full of himself, they’ve never seen Katsuki, the man that brings up Eijirou’s own hero ranking before his own higher one. 

“Get cleaned up,” Katsuki says, standing up. “I’ll get you some coconut water.”

“I love you,” Eijirou calls against his retreating back.

“Use mouthwash,” Katsuki yells back. “You smell like shit!”


It takes Eijirou a while but, after copious amounts of gargling and a forty-five-minute long shower, he manages to walk into the kitchen a new man, infinitely more comfortable in his sweatpants than the creased slacks from last night. 

They’d come to Las Vegas to celebrate the start of their new hero agency after three years of side-kicking and two years of building reputations as solo heroes. Twenty-two, many have told them, is a scarily young age to start a hero agency. (Sixteen is a young age to face the League of Villains by yourself, Katsuki always responds. Sixteen is a young age to raid a yakuza hideout, Eijirou always responds. They’ve been too young their whole life, they might as well get a better paycheck out of it.) 

All Might had offered Katsuki and Eijirou a spot in one of the fanciest hotels in Vegas as congratulations and Eijirou had forced Katsuki to say yes. The suite is huge, with a fully-functioning kitchen and gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Katsuki’s got the curtains closed because he’s a king among men. He’s standing by the stove, stirring a pot of simmering water, and the soft glow of late-morning sunlight sets the sharp line of his jaw alight. 

There’s a bottle of coconut water on the counter than Eijirou chugs gratefully.

Shit,” he moans, at the instant feeling of relief. “Who was I trying to outdrink last night?”

Katsuki smirks. “Me.”

Eijirou playfully glares at him. Katsuki’s mom is half-Russian which hasn’t really resulted in much other than Katsuki knowing the language’s swear words and having an insane tolerance for alcohol. In all the years that Eijirou’s known him, Katsuki’s never once woken up with a hangover.

“You’re lying,” Eijirou accuses. “I gave up trying to outdrink you after that time we ran into Aizawa-sensei and Mic-sensei doing tequila shots off of Ms. Joke.”

“I was going to make you breakfast but if you’re going to bring that shit up–”

“No, no, I’m sorry!” He rests his head on Katsuki’s shoulder. “Wait, bro, did you make me poached eggs? Is that a hollandaise?” (It’s important to note that the only reason why Eijirou knows the names of either of those things is because of many, many evenings together spent surfing the Food Network and critiquing wildly experienced chefs with his own culinary experience being grilling meat and microwave ramen.)

“Go sit down,” Katsuki grunts. “You’re ruining my plating aesthetic.”

“I’m a delight!” Eijirou insists. “The only reason your plating game is so baller is because of the literal years I spent teaching you not to suck at Mario Kart.”

Katsuki squints at him. “How the fuck are those two things related?”

“It’s the finger dexterity,” Eijirou explains. “Where would you be without your finger dexterity, Katsuki?”

“I’m going to shove my fingers into your small intestine,” Katsuki says. “Then you can talk to me about fucking finger dexterity.”

“So you admit that I’m the reason you’re good at plating–”

“Eijirou, I am so fucking close to throwing out these fucking eggs–”

Katsuki’s doing that thing where he angles his face away from Eijirou in an attempt to hide his smile, but it stopped being successful sometime in high school because Eijirou knows how Katsuki works and he can see the way his lips are stubbornly pressed together and, in these situations, there’s one thing that usually succeeds at calming his best friend down. 

Eijirou wraps his arms around Katsuki’s waist and presses his grin into his shoulder. “Bakubro, Kit-Kat, Catsuki, my best friend in the whole entire world, future number one hero, my light at the end of the tunnel, the one who completes me, the smartest, funniest, kindest guy I know, I am so sorry for not appreciating the fact that you made my very sick hungover ass eggs Florentine, please forgive me?”

“You’re so embarrassing,” Katsuki says, leaning into the hug. “I can’t fucking stand you.”

They sit down to eat breakfast; Eijirou posts a picture of it on his Instagram and tags Ground Zero’s account, which he exclusively uses for posting pictures of stupid looking cats and whatever else his publicist demands. Katsuki shits on Eijirou’s alcohol tolerance the entire time but he also pulls out a strawberry banana protein smoothie when they’re finished and Eijirou thinks he could probably marry him and be more than okay with it.

Later, he does the dishes and cleans up the kitchen while Katsuki scrolls through his phone.

“Hey,” Katsuki says, and there’s something strange in his voice, “Eijirou, did we get married last night?”

“I think I’d remember something like that happening,” Eijirou says, slowly.

“Not if you were trying to outdrink me,” Katsuki argues. “You were all “c’mon, it’s the end of an era!” or whatever.”

Eijirou frowns. “Does my voice really sound like that?”

“Yes,” Katsuki says, moving to show him his phone. “Look, you took a selfie of us with this fucker, who I’ve never seen in my fucking life, but we all look pretty fucking happy.”

The guy’s wearing an all-black ensemble, with a white-collar poking out by his neck. He’s holding a Bible. Eijirou’s face is flushed and grinning and Katsuki’s voluntarily smiling in the picture, which Eijirou usually has to bribe him with his signature ribs to do.

“That’s a priest,” Eijirou observes. “Why did we take a selfie with a priest?”

They look down at their ring fingers at the same time. Gold shines merrily in the dim sunlight, looking strangely fitting against Eijirou’s tanned skin. The identical ring on Katsuki’s finger looks just as right on his hand.

“Huh,” Katsuki says.

“I think we got married last night,” Eijirou says.

They both stare at the picture some more. 

“I can help with the dishes,” Katsuki says, finally.

“What? No, you made breakfast and a smoothie and coconut water. Well, you bought the coconut water, but you made the other stuff! Seriously, you’ve done so much. Go shower, bro!”

Katsuki smiles at him and it’s one of his gentle smiles, the kind that glows more from his eyes than his lips, the kind that Eijirou wants to take pictures of and put in a scrapbook titled Reasons Why Katsuki Should Accept That Dragun Beauty Sponsorship Offer. He nudges Eijirou with his shoulders before heading off, his footsteps loud and familiar. Eijirou makes a mental note to avoid whoever’s staying in the suite below them.

The sound of the shower running complements the run of the tap. Eijirou looks at his ring again and wonders how it already manages to look like he’s had it for years.


Being married to Katsuki is not very different from being friends with Katsuki. Eijirou hadn’t really worried it would be because, in comparison to watching his pseudo-dad, Aizawa-sensei, the only hero he’s ever respected more than Crimson Riot, doing tequila shots off of renowned pro hero Ms. Joke, getting married to Katsuki doesn’t even break the top ten weirdest moments of his life.

They talk to their bank about it because that sounds like the proper grown-up thing to do and end up setting up a joint bank account after Katsuki announces that, “we might as well have all our shit in the same place.” Eijirou agrees because he thinks it sounds less stressful than having to maintain his own bank account all by himself. 

Everything else is in order. They already live together and buy furniture together and, in all honesty, paying their bills together as a married couple lifts a weight off Eijirou’s shoulders because Katsuki is the most by-the-book person he knows and that extends to filing taxes and making sure Eijirou doesn’t accidentally shut off their electricity.

He wonders if he should have the whole “so how is dating going to work?” conversation in case Katsuki wants to bring someone else home, before realizing that neither of them has dated anyone, well, ever. Has he ever wanted to date anyone? Eijirou doesn’t know. That’s probably something he should think about, considering it’s all anyone else had talked about in high school when they weren’t trying to survive a rude amount of murder attempts. Then again, he’s one of the most well-known rookies out there and, at number twelve, Katsuki’s on the cusp of breaking the top ten.

Eijirou realizes, with a steady sense of dread, that he’s become one of those dads that joke about being “married to his job.”

“Oi, Eijirou.” Katsuki’s glaring at him from across their small dining table. “Why do you look like Garnier announced they’re discontinuing your hair dye?”

Eijirou freezes. “Don’t even joke about that, man, I would actually cry.”

“Well, you look pretty close to it already, so just spit it out.”

Eijirou sighs. “I just realized something,” he says, mournfully, “I’ve become Mic-sensei. I’m married to my job.”

Katsuki looks at him like he’s stupid. “No you’re not,” he says, staunchly. “You’re married to me.”

He smiles a little, inviting Eijirou in on the joke. It’s enough to make the stress of being a self-diagnosed workaholic seem less daunting. 

“Yeah,” Eijirou says, grinning. “I guess I am.”

The conversation drifts, then, to what they’re going to bring to the five-year-reunion and if Tenya, Denki, and Hitoshi have gotten their shit together yet. Katsuki coughs and Eijirou pours him a glass of water.

Casually, quietly, almost unnoticeably, it becomes another part of their life. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Eijirou and Katsuki are married. 


Yaomomo had volunteered her home for the reunion. The number one in their class had gone on to become the first of their class to break the top ten, to absolutely nobody’s surprise. Sometimes, Eijirou looks at Momo and wonders how she even exists. Between her inhuman smarts, ridiculously OP quirk, and enthralling personality, at least half their class has told Kyouka that, if she wasn’t going to propose soon, they would for her.

She lives in a glitzy penthouse which is small compared to her childhood estate and gigantic compared to everyone else’s apartments. The party’s on the rooftop, strung up with lights, decorated with flowers and tables laden with food. Izuku and Rikido are by the chocolate fountain, inhaling marshmallows and strawberries like they’ve got nothing to live for. Tenya and Mezo are eyeing them warily, eating honeydew and cantaloupe (cut into hearts) at a much more leisurely pace.

“She really went all out for us, huh,” Eijirou says, looking around.

Katsuki huffs. “It’s Momo, what the fuck else is she here for?”

“Saving the good citizens of Japan,” Eijirou reminds him.

“I’m going to murder you.”

“Ringing endorsement for this party,” Momo laughs, pulling them both into a warm hug. “Thank you both for coming!”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Eijirou says, kissing her on the cheek. 

“I would,” Katsuki says. His face settles into a soft smile, then, too content to hold up the facade. “You did good, Momo. Place looks gorgeous.”

“Ah, thank you Katsuki!”


Mina slams into them with all the force of a hurricane. Eijirou stumbles backwards but manages to stay upright as she wraps her legs around his waist and hugs him like she’s trying to crush his spine. By the sound of Katsuki’s shaky inhale, Tooru’s definitely trying to do the same to him. Succeeding, too, because the last time Eijirou had seen her flex, the outline of her bicep mirrored the size of Mina’s head.

“What the fuck, did you get even fucking stronger since the last time I saw you?”

“Don’t get mad just ‘cause my gains outweigh yours!”

“You fucking wish–

“If anyone’s going to fight Blasty first, it’s going to be me!” Ochako announces, joining their little circle. She slings an arm around Eijirou and presses her face against his, before affectionately doing the same to Mina. “Missed you guys.”

“Didn’t miss me enough to not subject me to physical violence,” Katsuki grumbles.

Ochako playfully punches him in the shoulder and he unceremoniously turns it into a hug. Her eyes widen. “You’re such a softie!”

“Never mind,” Katsuki deadpans, still hugging her. “Physical violence is back on the table.”

“It is not,” Momo says, hurriedly, her bright grin giving away her amusement. “Alright, you’re all good to sleepover, yes? Denki, Hanta, Shouto, Kyouka, and Tenya are, as well. Other than Tenya, they’ll all be here soon, I think! Izuku, Rikido, and Mezo need to leave around eleven, Fumi and Hitoshi are coming around two, and everyone else is going to be here tomorrow morning for brunch!”

Her eyes are sparkling, hands clasped together the same way they always were in high school when she’d invite as many people as possible over for tea and tutoring. 

“Yaomomo,” Tooru says fondly, “we don’t deserve you.”

“Hear hear!” Izuku cheers, raising a glass as he heads towards them. It sets off another round of tearful greetings, only exacerbated when Tenya and the other join in. Katsuki keeps attempting to frown everyone into standing a two-metre radius away from him, but he looks too happy for anyone to take him seriously. When Shouto shows up with a scarily expensive bottle of wine in hand, he doesn’t even pause before engulfing Katsuki in a hug.

Eijirou looks around the rooftop, breathes in the cool evening air, and relishes in the idea that he has so many people to love.


Denki tackles him from the back with a war cry. Hanta and Kyouka are cackling at the side, utterly unhelpful. Katsuki and Mina are bent over wheezing and even Tenya just gives Eijirou a small smile. 

“Traitors, all of you,” Eijirou groans. “Denki, what the hell, dude, we had patrol together three days ago.”

“It was two long days without my brother-in-arms,” Denki declares, fake sobbing against Eijirou’s back. Eijirou pats him on the head, before shaking himself off and pulling Denki up. There’s traces of dust on his sweater, which is unfortunate because it’s one of the only articles of clothing he owns that don’t have a hero’s face or a copious number of tropical fruit on it.

“Wow, dude, that’s a nice ring,” Denki says, examining Eijirou’s left hand. “You really dressed up for today, I’m impressed!”

“You shouldn’t be,” Katsuki says, crossing his arms. “This fucker was ready to wear his yellow Hawaiian shirt, the one with the flamingos sipping margaritas.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! Wearing the rings was my idea and Denki says they’re good fashion accessories!”

Katsuki rolls his eyes but acquiesces. Everyone else slowly turns to him and gawks at the ring on his finger. Turns back to Eijirou. It’s unnerving.

“Eijirou,” Mina says, slowly, “mind explaining why you and Kats are both wearing matching golden rings?”

“Oh!” Her face looks too nervous for such a simple question. “They’re our wedding rings!”

Mezo drops his plate of melon. Ochako chokes on her glass of wine. Hanta, who wasn't raised right, does a glorious spit take. It splatters against Eijirou’s shirt. 


“Say that again,” Tenya says, hoarsely. “I believe I misheard you.”

“They’re our wedding rings,” Katsuki repeats, impatiently. “We were drunk and got married in Vegas.”

Kyouka stares at him. “You guys didn’t annul it?”

Katsuki pauses. He looks at Eijirou.

Eijirou blinks. “Uh. Well.”

“Oh my god,” Kyouka murmurs. “Oh my god.”

“We just didn’t think of it!” Eijirou protests. “And it’s not like anything’s changed, really, because we already live together. The bank account thing is nice, though, because I’m less worried about keeping everything in order… now… Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“Sorry,” Rikido says, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “do you two have a joint bank account?”


“What the fuck’s the matter, it’s easier to have everything in one place!” Katsuki barks.

“I’m confused,” Shouto says, voice strained. “How is accepting the fact that you are now husbands easier than just annulling your marriage?”

Katsuki glares at him. “We’re not husbands, dumbass, we’re just married.”

Deku’s glass breaks. It’s pink lemonade because he doesn’t drink, but that’s two drinks spilled on Eijirou, now, and he’s never dressing up for one of these again. “Sorry,” he says, sheepishly. “I thought I heard Kacchan say that you guys weren’t husbands.”

“We’re not,” Eijirou says. “We’re best friends, just…”

“With a joint bank account,” Tooru says. “And a marriage certificate.”

“Yeah, you get it!”

There is the sound of a palm meeting face. Hanta provides a visual example.

“Let’s go eat,” Mezo says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Their classmates almost trip over themselves following him to the buffet table. Katsuki and Eijirou walk behind them, trading confused glances.

“They’re overreacting right?”

“It makes perfect fucking sense,” Katsuki grumbles. “We’re married but we’re not in love.”


Behind them comes a heavy thud. Eijirou turns around. Mashirao’s standing there, his overnight bag on the ground. “I was able to catch an early flight,” he explains, face pale. “What’s this I hear about you two being… platonically married?”

Eijirou pulls him into a hug. “That’s the name for it! Thanks, dude!”

“Not an answer,” Mashirao says, faintly.


(They get a similar reaction from Fumikage and Hitoshi when they arrive in the middle of the night. 

“The bar is so low for you guys,” Hitoshi says, shaking his head. “And yet, you managed to tunnel beneath it each time.”

“I’m going to shave your head in your sleep,” Katsuki tells him, seriously.)


(And again, the next morning, at brunch. Yuga immediately squeals over the ring and inquires about the wedding, letting them know that his cousin is a brilliant florist.

 “Do not waste your breath, my friend,” Fumikage warns him. 

“We’re platonically married,” Eijirou explains, winking at Mashirao, who studiously stares at the ceiling.


“Don’t bother,” Momo sighs.)


One month into the start of their joint hero agency, it dawns on Eijirou that marriage is, probably, something they should tell their PR and HR people about. Katsuki points out that it makes sense for their assistants to know as well, for scheduling reasons, and it snowballs from there until it becomes an agency-wide meeting.

“This isn’t anything important, really,” Eijirou placates. “Ground Zero and I just wanted to let you all know that we’re married, in case that affects… anything.”

The room is silent for a good two seconds. It then erupts with noise. Eijirou’s not surprised; Katsuki brings noise with him wherever he goes.

“How long have you two been married?”

“Was there a wedding?”

“Is this going to be secret or public?”

That last one actually matters. Eijirou and Katsuki look at each other. Katsuki looks cool and uncaring but Eijirou knows him enough to know that he doesn’t want to do anything that could potentially jeopardize the momentum they’ve built up. Simultaneously, they both turn to their head of PR, Akabane Himari.

“It’s your choice,” he tells her. “Whatever you think is best.”

She takes a deep breath. “It might be best to go public with it,” she says, after a short pause. “Your reputations already precede you, but this could be an extra bit of good publicity. Get people’s eyes on you, as the first married pro hero duo to open an agency together.”

This is how they end up on Present Mic’s talk show. This is also why Mic asks them to play “the Newlywed Game,” which, in all honesty, sounds pretty fun. Or, at least, more fun than the grammar games he used to make them play in high school.

“You both get whiteboards,” he says, passing them down, “and I’ll ask a question, you write the answer down, and then we’ll turn them around and see if they match!”

“Sounds good, sensei,” Eijirou says, giving him a thumb-up.

Katsuki snickers. “He hasn’t taught us in five years, dumbass.”

Eijirou raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Call him ‘Present Mic.’ Right now. Do it.”

Katsuki glowers at him, but he slouches back into the couch. “Start the fucking game already.”

The audience laughs. Eijirou grins at the sound of it and elbows Katsuki. Look at you, connecting with the audience.

“The first question is for you, Riot! Zero’s going to write the answer he thinks is right and you’re going to write the actual answer. We’ll start easy– what is Red Riot’s star sign?”

Eijirou has to think about this one. Katsuki’s already scribbling on his board, which prompts more laughter from the audience. He stretches his neck a little and– 

“Red,” Katsuki deadpans. “Are you actually trying to cheat off of me because you don’t know your own star sign.”

“I– Bro, I’m just trying to make sure I got it right!”

“No, I’m the one that’s supposed to be trying to get it right.”

“But you already know, so that’s just unnecessary!”

Katsuki growls and whips around his board. “You were born on October 16, which means that you’re a Libra sun and an Aries moon.”

Present Mic is leaning back in his chair, smirking. “You’re into astrology, Ground Zero?”


Eijirou knocks at his head affectionately. “Can I tell him the story?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, so, Zero’s dad is really into astronomy, right?”


“And he used to take baby Zero on all these super cute stargazing trips. Zero Lite, here, really wanted to impress his dad by how much he knew about the stars, so he started doing, like, an excessive amount of research. Only, when his dad said astronomy, Zero heard astrology and now he knows a weird amount about star signs and all that stuff.”

The audience awws. Katsuki slumps back farther into the couch. “I want a divorce,” he says, loudly. 

“I think we can assume that Riot won’t know Zero’s astrology sign, so we’ll move onto the next question,” Mic says, chuckling. “Zero, which item of Riot’s clothing do you hate the most?”

Katsuki smirks at Eijirou. “Have the audience give us a countdown, we’re going to say it at the same time.”

“Oh, confident! You heard the man, let’s start counting! Five, four, three, two, one–”

“His fucking crocs.”

“It’s my crocs.”

The audience bursts out in laughter, clapping.

Eijirou pouts. “Chargebolt’s gotten me novelty crocs every year for my birthday since I was fifteen,” he explains. “I have a whole shelf of them in our closet, it’s pretty awesome. For my twenty-second birthday, Chargebolt, the man, the myth, the legend, managed to get his hands on some limited-edition Ground Zero crocs.”

“I genuinely considered ending my hero career,” Katsuki deadpans.

“I don’t wear them too often because I don’t want to wear them out, you know? I’m pretty sure there are some pictures of me wearing them– yeah, there we go! Anyway, they’re my favourite pair of shoes–”

“Crocs aren’t shoes–”

“They are because I wear them on my feet and they’re not socks which means they’re shoes. Zero hates them because he says they’re,” and, here, Eijirou contorts his face into Katsuki’s signature sneer, “‘an affront against my legacy and everything I stand for, not just as a hero, but as a man.’”

“I’ve never said that in my life.”

“I have a video in my Instagram archives that says otherwise.”

“You do not.”

Mic stops them before they can get too childish for two heroes who are supposed to put forward a front of maturity and professionalism. “And Riot? Which item of Zero’s clothing do you hate the most?”

Eijirou and Katsuki look at each other. Katsuki grins at him, smug and proud. Eijirou sighs.

“I don’t think I hate anything he wears,” he says, honestly. “There’s some stuff I think looks dumb but–”

“There’s nothing in my closet that is anything less than high fucking fashion you inept–”

But he looks good in everything,” Eijirou finishes. “And I can’t even hate that, for obvious reasons. So. Yeah. Nothing.”

Katsuki abruptly stops his rant, face turning the same colour as Eijirou’s hair. Mic-sensei innocently offers him a glass of water, citing his “flushed look,” which only heightens the audience’s amusement.

“I think,” Eijirou says, smirking at his friend, “that we should move on to the next question.”

“Right you are, listener! This one should be easier for you both, even though it’s a toughie. What are you most likely to argue about?”

Eijirou turns his board around first.

“We do our best to separate hero work from our home life but you should know how hard that is.” Mic nods. “Most of the time, our big arguments are about how we were too reckless and ended up getting injured.”

Katsuki turns around his board. Too reckless=got hurt= 💥 

“We have arguments about dumb shit, too,” he says. “Like when Red fucks with my toothpaste order. But it’s like he said. As heroes, our first instinct is always to save and, sometimes, that means getting a little banged up.” The room is silent, for a little while, like they’re waiting for something. Katsuki winces. “It’s… good, though,” he says, haltingly. “That our big arguments are usually only about things like that. It means we’ve always got someone looking out for us.”

And at this, the audience reacts, looking torn between clapping at Katsuki’s statement and getting emotional over the soft look Eijirou’s undoubtedly sporting right now. Even Mic looks a little teary. As much as he hates doing it, Katsuki’s a riveting speaker when it matters. Apparently, the subject of his life with Eijirou matters. Eijirou knocks his knee against Katsuki. Lets it rest there. 

“Looks like we’ve only got time for one more,” Mic-sensei says, softly. “What is your favourite thing about each other?”

“You’re really trying to ruin my reputation, aren’t you?”

“It is my job!” Mic agrees, with a winning grin.

He’s my image of victory. He always wins. He makes me want to try harder. He pushes our entire class forward. He’s so bright, it’s like staring at the sun. He’s dedicated to making up for his mistakes. He’s not afraid to show his emotions. He’s always focused on improving. 

He smells like my favourite cookies. He bakes them for me at least once a month. He lets me decorate them with coloured icing that he makes from scratch. 

I see him in the early morning sunlight and the midnight starlight and the dandelion seeds that fly across the wind. He makes me look at everything closer because he is everything and I’ve never paid attention to anything the way I pay attention to him. He makes everything better just by being there. 

Eijirou writes one sentence.

He finally lifts his head to silence. Mic is looking at him, something close to parental in the curve of his smile. Katsuki’s looking at him the same way he does whenever Eijirou makes the two of them breakfast in bed, complete with fluffy pancakes, caramelized peaches, and copious amounts of whipped cream. It’s Katsuki’s guilty pleasure breakfast and Eijirou always makes it for him on special occasions, when he’s more amenable to accepting it.

“You go first,” Katsuki says, gruffly. Eijirou shrugs and turns around his whiteboard.

He never stops trying to make things better.

The audience coos.

“Doesn’t matter how big or how small,” he tells Katsuki. “Whether it’s your own strength or the literal world, you never stop trying to make things better, stronger, more functional, safer. The whole world tells you to settle and you refuse. It’s why you’re such a good hero. You never settle for what’s considered satisfactory or enough. Your job isn’t done until you’ve won.”

Katsuki looks at him for a long moment. He groans and turns around his whiteboard. “You’re a goddamn copycat,” he says, sounding both immeasurably annoyed and fond, the second more than the first. Eijirou reads the words on his whiteboards and feels the skin on his hands hardening.

He makes everything better.

“You’re everything,” Katsuki says, simply. “You hold our class together. You push me to be better. You encourage everyone you meet to follow their fucking dreams, or whatever. Yesterday I actually saw you help an old woman across the street. You’re a kickass hero and you make starting a joint agency at twenty-two sound badass instead of hard as fuck. You make everything better.” He squints. “Are you crying?”

“No,” Eijirou says, blinking rapidly. 

“Me neither,” Mic interjects, his eyes looking glassy. “How amazing is it that all three of us are completely unaffected by this game?”

“So amazing,” Eijirou sobs. “Thank you for having us.”

“Let’s never do this again,” Katsuki says, looking at them, bewildered.


stream folklore @itsalovestory



kamui wood gives me wood @treesexual replying to @itsalovestory



ZERO LITE @blackhermione replying to @itsalovestory



nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou replying to @itsalovestory



instant ramen more like instant regret @sojohnifyoureoutthere replying to @itsalovestory

look ik this thread is filled with caps but. i just- maybe love does exist.

<gif of Present Mic, captioned “What is your favourite thing about each other?”>

<gif of Ground Zero immediately writing on his white board captioned “0.02 seconds later”>

<gif of Red Riot smiling softly at his whiteboard captioned “he did this for two whole minutes”>


stream folklore @itsalovestory replying to @sojohnifyoureoutthere

shoutout to @sojohnifyoureoutthere for coming in hot on the ninth day


stan creati @godisawoman 

everyone talking ab groundriot which!! valid!! but i cant stop looking at the way number 12 pro hero ground zero drew a lil explosion on his whiteboard on primetime :((


birdy @birdyblues 

thinking ab how everyone on the planet calls red riot either by his full name or just riot bc gz is the only one that calls him red-


stream earphone jack’s album on REPEAT @chargebolt 

Great interview as always @presentmic! Loved seeing @groundzero and @redriot on the show. Super happy to see my gift-giving skills being given the respect they deserve!


electric chair but consensual @chargeboltschargedbolt replying to @chargebolt

is this a cry for help


“Dude,” Eijirou calls, opening their apartment door. “We’re trending on Twitter! We even have a ship name: GroundRiot!”

“My mother called me today,” Katsuki growls from where he lies, sprawled out on the sofa. “She clowned me for ten minutes on my fucking explosion doodle.”

“It was super cute, bro.”

“It’s your fault,” Katsuki says, glowering at him. “You made me draw all those fucking diagrams in your notes to ram chemistry through your brain and now I don’t know how to act right in public.”

“Hey, don’t be like that!” Eijirou heads for the kitchen and waits until there’s approximately twenty feet of space between him and Katsuki. “You’ve never known how to act right in public!”

Katsuki ends up chasing him around the apartment until Eijirou gets the drop on him and tackles him into the living room carpet. 

If nothing else, Akabane will be happy. The reception to their marriage seems overwhelmingly positive and the agency is picking up sponsors because of it. She’d begged Mic not to ask them about the actual story of their engagement so he hadn’t, simply sticking to Katsuki and Eijirou’s “natural chemistry.” It makes sense, Eijirou thinks. Getting hitched in Vegas isn’t the best image to present as two pro heroes with impressionable young fans. 


“I still don’t understand why Aizawa-sensei called us in for this,” Katsuki grumbles, sipping angrily at U.A.’s criminally decaffeinated coffee. Eijirou has a theory that Aizawa actually siphons the caffeine out of the grounds and injects them all into his own coffee, leaving the rest of them to drink bean water and suffer.

“He wants us to talk to the kids about being married pro heroes! Especially since we’re both doing a lot right now, it makes sense to ask us.”

“He and his husband have been married for a damn decade,” Katsuki points out. “The fuck do we do if someone asks how we got married? Sensei’s gonna crucify us if we inspire the next generation to get married in Vegas.”

Across the teacher’s lounge, Midnight chokes on her coffee. Snipe pats her back.

“Sorry,” she says, clearing her throat. “I thought Mic was kidding when he told me that’s how you two got married.”

“As long as you’re in love,” Thirteen muses, “I don’t think it matters how you get married, as long as you do, don’t you think?”

“Ah, we’re not in love,” Eijirou corrects. “Just married.”

This time, Snipe isn’t available to help Midnight, overwhelmed in his own coughing fit.

“Stop making my colleagues reevaluate their teaching careers,” Aizawa-sensei monotones, from the doorway. “They’re ready for you, problem children.”

“We’re twenty-fucking two–”

“Problem children.”

Aizawa calls them that in front of the kids, too, which spurs the braver kids to laugh. It relaxes Eijirou ever so slightly, though, in the face of twenty bright-eyed hero-hopefuls, most of whom look more than a little starstruck to be in the same room as him and Katsuki.

“Ground Zero and Red Riot are here to answer whatever questions you have,” Aizawa says. “Keep it appropriate or I’m expelling all of you.” He glowers at Katsuki when he says this, who furrows his brow, affronted. 

The questions come rolling in. The first, a boy with glasses that reminds Eijirou of a young, baby-faced Tenya, asks about how being married has affected their functionality as heroes (not much, their communication channels have become more streamlined, but that’s also their agency at play). A student with a neon-green mohawk asks them how they deal with the press. 

(“Horribly,” Katsuki says, dryly. “The paparazzi is the second worst thing in my life.”

“Ah, Ground Zero, what’s the first?”

“My partner.”


One girl shyly raises her hand. Eijirou smiles and calls on her and she looks faint, but determinedly asks her question.

“Especially with establishing your agency, how do you guys maintain a work-life balance?”

“Good question!” Eijirou reassures her. “For us, it kind of helps that we work together and have been through a lot of the same things. So if either of us is stressed about meeting a deadline or down about… some of the darker parts of the job, the other knows how to help them out, because we’ve been there too. If some of you don’t want to get married, that’s super valid. If some of you end up marrying civilians, that has its own benefits! But, speaking as two married pro heroes, it’s nice to have someone who understands what you’re going through and knows how to help. The balance feels less… difficult to maintain when you can both help each other through it. You got anything to add, Zero?”

“Not much,” Katsuki says. “The opposite can be true, too. If we’re both working on the same thing, we can encourage each other to spiral because we don’t have someone outside of hero work to tell us to stop. Scheduling and finding time together can be a bi– t of a pain, especially if you don’t work at the same agency, like we do. We do our best to keep hero stuff at work and personal stuff at home, to draw a clear distinction.”

“That makes sense, thank you!”

“Nice save,” Eijirou mutters, elbowing Katsuki.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

A girl in the front giggles, apparently having heard their conversation. Eijirou winks at her and she raises her hand.

“Has being married made you stronger heroes?”

Aizawa sits up at that, eyeing the two of them curiously. It’s strange. When he and Mic had talked to them about this same thing, years ago, Yaomomo had asked the same thing. The answer had been affirmative. Similar to what Eijirou had explained earlier, Mic had explained that having that extra bit of support helped with mental health and emotional stability, two things that emboldened critical thinking and decision-making, both of which were integral to being an effective hero.

“I don’t think so,” Katsuki says, slowly, looking at Eijirou. He nods.

“I’ve heard other hero couples say differently but for us specifically, our path to becoming heroes started together. Zero’s been supporting me since day one. I’ve never not had his voice in the back of my head, making me stronger. Ground Zero’s always made me a better hero; being married didn’t change that.”

Beside him, Katsuki cracks a smile. They’re almost always on the same page, but it never stops making Eijirou giddy to witness proof of how in-tune they are with each other.

“I’ve never been a hero without Red,” Katsuki says, steadfast. “Dunno if you guys remember the first LOV attack in our first year, but we fought together then, too. It’s not being married that makes me a stronger hero, it’s Red.”

Eijirou kind of wants to hug him but Katsuki might blast him for that, so he holds out a fist instead. Katsuki rolls his eyes but he stills bumps him. It’s nothing they don’t know already. Still, it’s always nice to hear.


nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou

1/ incoming thread because i just had the best moment of my fuckig LIFE in homeroom and i need to tell all of you


nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou

2/ so aizawa-sensei tells us groundriots gonna come in to talk to us about being married as a pro hero and we all scream because the present mic interview was a cultural reset right?? like these two are literally the youngest pro hero couple to ever start an agency together theyre TWENTY TWO like i just???? icons


nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou



nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou

4/ k im back. so i laugh and red riot number 14 pro hero WINKED. AT. ME. best believe im putting that on my resume. i raise my hand 2 ask them if being married made them stronger bc im curious and. YALL. the answers??????? i need to take an ibuprofen. Fuckin hell. 


nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou

5/ remember that moment on present mics talkshow when he asked them what their fav thing about each other was and it was the Same Gotdamn Thing?????? “he makes everything better” “he never stops trying to make things better” retweet if u were also on the ground sobbing. WELL.


nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou

6/ riot: ground zero’s always made me a better hero; being married didn’t change that.

zero:  it’s not being married that makes me a stronger hero, it’s red.

me, in tears: I LOVE THIS SONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou



nfwmb type beat @felledbyyou

8/ for anyone wondering they Do still call aizawa-sensei “sensei” it was the cutest thing ever omg



Super inspiring to see @groundzero and @riotofficial doing their part for the community and talking to the kids! Role models for the next generation!


citrus friend @grapenotfruit 

mom pick me up im scared What Is Going On With disaster class twitter

<screenshot of @uravity’s tweet: “Very inspiring to see @groundzero and @riotofficial doing their part for the community and talking to the kids! Role models for the next generation!”>

<screenshot of @chargebolt’s tweet: “Great interview as always @presentmic! Loved seeing @groundzero and @redriot on the show. Super happy to see my gift-giving skills being given the respect they deserve!”>

<screenshot of @todorokishouto’s tweet: “so glad i decided not to write romance.”>


“Honey, I’m home!”

“Us being married doesn’t fucking justify you saying that, Shitty Hair.”

“Bro, you got to leave work early, let me have this.”

Katsuki snorts but says nothing, continuing to water their plants. Eijirou’s moms had passed on their green thumb and he’d begged Katsuki to bring some plants into their apartment. His best friend had been wary at first, but now they’ve got pothos plants trailing across their kitchen cabinets and a ten-foot-tall monstrera in their living room.

“Wash yourself,” he says, running his eyes over the grime caking Eijirou’s skin. “Sensei invited us over for dinner.”

Eijirou gasps. “Is Eri going to be there? Do you think she’ll make me another rainbow loom bracelet?”

“Yes and probably, since you wore the last one to the literal hero banquet.”

“Dude, you wore the one she made you to that press conference with–”



For all Katsuki’s griping, they get there on time. Eri is nowhere to be found, which, while being unusual, isn’t a cause for concern. Hitoshi answers the door, smirking.

“C’mon in, guys.”

He leads them to the living room, which is absolutely packed with people. Izuku, Ochako, Tenya, and Tsu share one couch. Denki’s got his head resting against Iida’s knee and Shouto’s legs are thrown over Denki’s lap. Yaomomo and Kyouka are sharing the loveseat. Tooru’s perched on the second couch beside Aizawa, Present Mic, and All Might. Mina is set to facetime on Tooru’s phone, just as Hanta’s face looks out from Denki’s.

“This is an intervention,” Tenya announces. 

Eijirou blinks. “What?”

“You two,” Momo says, “seem to be under the impression that you’re not in love. Which has already gone long enough, regardless, but now you are married.”

“Platonically married–”

Aizawa’s eyes flash red. “That is not a thing,” he hisses. “And even if it was, that is not what you two are.”

“Kacchan. Eijirou.” Deku sets his jaw. “Why do you think it is that you were both so okay with being married?”

Eijirou frowns. “Well, it’s not like a lot changed–”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Because we’re best friends…?”

There is a loud, collective groan. 

“You guys used to sleep in each other’s rooms at least three times a week,” Hanta says. 

“You practically read each other’s minds,” Mic says. “Do you remember the interview?”

“That interview,” Katsuki seethes, “is ruining my life.”

“You’re running a hero agency together,” All Might says, placating him. “Which, I can say from experience, is a most difficult experience that one only partakes in with someone they trust wholeheartedly.”

Katsuki huffs. “If you guys are trying to say something, then just say it.”

“You guys love each other,” Denki blurts out.

Katsuki stares at him. “And?”

Denki buries his head in his hands. A blurry, pixelated Mina does the same.

“He means,” Tooru says, “that you’re in love with each other. Romantic love. “I’m okay with being married to you,” love.”

Eijirou pauses. He turns to Katsuki.

This isn’t something they talk about often. He loves Katsuki. Katsuki loves him. It’s an unshakeable fact. But there’s something different, there, something a little to the left of friendship, the same thing that makes Eijirou want to wake up beside Katsuki for the rest of his life. Eijirou realizes that the only reason he’s never thought much about it is because he’s always conflated that feeling with everything else that Katsuki makes him feel.

It’s slightly embarrassing, to have been in love with his best friend for so long that he doesn’t remember a time where he wasn’t.

They’re wearing the rings today, the way they usually do when they’re off the clock. The existence of it familiar, like they’ve had it their whole lives. Maybe they have. Katsuki’s eyes are fixed on his and there’s that same spark of realization in his eyes, in the lift of his chin and the tilt of his head. He nods, once, and Eijirou takes in the beginning of his most beautiful smile curving across his lips, the one that looks like the arch of a bow before an arrow strikes its target.

“Should we have a reception?” Katsuki asks. “The hag keeps harassing me about it.”

“Yeah, dude! My mama keeps sending me pictures of venues even though I haven’t told her anything yet–”

“Wait, is it the one by the cherry farm, because she sent me that one too–”

“Shit, really? I like the one in the mountains more, though–”

“My dad did a photoshoot there, once, he’ll probably help us out–”

“What is happening,” Kyouka deadpans. “What is. What is this.”

“We’re husbands,” Eijirou explains. “And Katsuki won’t admit it but he wants a super fancy reception with all of you there, so we’re going to have one!”

Tooru topples onto the floor, her shoulders shaking with either laughter or tears, Eijirou can’t tell.

“Is the phone lagging?” Mina asks the room at large. “Did I miss the reason why we’re talking about venues?”

Katsuki crosses his arms. “You fuckers gave us such a hard time about getting married in Vegas and now that we’re planning a reception, you don’t want to come?”

Izuku’s muttering something that sounds like a prayer. Tsu’s rubbing circles in his hair but even she looks paler than usual.

“I think,” Tenya says, carefully, “that you’re going to need to spell it out for us.” The others nod. Katsuki huffs and elbows Eijirou which, fair, he tends to have a higher metric of patience when their friends are being weird.

“We are married,” Eijirou says, slowly. “Turns out it’s romantic, not platonic.”

Turns out,” Aizawa mutters into his hands. 

“Since none of you were there for our wedding, we figured we’d have a more public one! Also, we’re probably going to get a cat. Hey, sensei’s, if we register them as our legal child do we get tax credits?”

“No,” All Might says, with an awkward look on his face. “Believe me, you do not.” 

“Sorry,” Izuku interjects, “you guys are planning on having kids?”

Katsuki scowls. “No, dumbass, we’re planning on getting a cat. We’re not having kids until we’re, what, thirty?”

“Something like that,” Eijirou agrees.

Hitoshi’s staring at the ceiling. 

“You’ve talked about having kids together,” he says through gritted teeth. “You were ready to adopt another human being before you talked about your romantic feelings.”


Hitoshi clenches his fingers like he’s strangling the air. 

Shouto exhales, before abruptly standing up. “This has been incredibly illuminating,” he says, straight-faced. “Let’s please eat dinner and never speak of this again.”


Eijirou wakes up to the scent of brown sugar and cinnamon. Katsuki’s not in bed with him, though, and the scent is something more than the remnants embedded on a pillow. Yawning, he shuffles into the kitchen, where Katsuki is washing mixing bowls in the sink. The cookies are drying on the cookie rack and Katsuki’s already got piping bags full of coloured icing lined up on the counter. 

Eijirou melts against his husband’s back, slides his arms around his waist and presses a kiss to his neck. “Good morning.”

Katsuki hums, twisting his head slightly so that Eijirou can kiss him properly. “They’ll be cool enough to decorate in a few minutes.”

“Lucky for you,” Eijirou replies, pulling him closer, “I think I know how we can pass the time.”