The creator of the "Number One Hero: All Might" comic franchise is struggling, almost dying, of stomach loss from a dreadful accident, and is slowly giving up on his series ...

Izuku is a huge fan of the All Might franchise and is an aspiring artist with a natural talent for bringing characters to life. Although his near-constantly angry boyfriend doesn't appreciate the talent and is determined to snuff it out to teach him his place, Izuku can't help but pick up a pencil when he thinks of the joy and strength that All Might gave to him in his dark hours, inspired to do the same.

Through his art, Izuku's future may yet be bright.


Also on Ao3 for those who prefer it there.


Izuku knocked on his own front door at four in the morning. He swallowed the usual shame that he faced every time he made his way back home. Whenever Bakugou got too mad, whenever he overreacted and got scared Izuku would instinctively take flight and run. He used to run as a hobby, as a way to see new things, meet new people, spot moments of inspiration for his art sketches. But nowadays, when their relationship blew up, he found himself running further and further, coming home with his tail between his legs. Ashamed that he'd run in the first place.

Wasn't he an adult? Bakugou wasn't one of his comic villains or even an All Might anti-hero! This was his boyfriend, so why did he always run?

He hung his head, just another negative thought away from crying out of self-pity. He really was a Deku … never brave, never strong, just stupid and small, overly dramatic and completely weak. He couldn't do anything right.

The door opened cautiously, the golden light spilling out over Izuku's muddy shoes – he had run further than he'd thought while lost in pain and panic – and Izuku finally raised his eyes to the man standing in doorway number three.

Bakugou didn't look tired. He often took night shifts in an attempt to see more active duty than deskwork, but perhaps he'd already had a nap?

He didn't dare open his mouth to ask.

Bakugou looked him up and down with a scowl that rolled down his straight nose like an ooze, the silent scorn stung almost as acutely as his vocalisations. Izuku half expected him to slam the door in his face, his eyes already pouring over with shame for his pitiful state. The artist found himself unable to utter an apology or even as an excuse as he silently cried.

Finally, Bakugou gestured for Izuku to step inside when his eyes had travelled him up and down five times over.

Izuku timidly stepped by him, his fingers shook so badly he couldn't get his shoes off. Bakugou merely relocked their door and went to sit at the kitchen table, snapping his fingers in the direction of the other chair to express his desire for a somewhat civil chat.

Izuku joined him and kept his eyes on his hands.

The ticking of the kitchen clock was too loud.

"I left it," Izuku whispered at last. "I-I did what y-you said."

There was a grunt opposite him, "I can see that, nerd." He got up, Izuku tensed, and pulled something out of the microwave to dump on the table before him.

Izuku inhaled a tantalising scent of ramen and his eyes widened when he spotted the heated pot before him. Chicken flavour, their local takeaway that held the place as Bakugou's regular. Izuku's stomach groaned painfully at the scent, but he still looked at the blond leaning against the counter for an affirmative nod before he took it in hand.

It tasted like a feast. Izuku's stomach protested slightly at the food intake, it had been empty a long time, but he swallowed and chewed under his boyfriend's critical gaze until it was half empty. Izuku warmed his hands for a moment and whispered. "Th-thank you …"

The blond grunted again, "Stupid Deku, … well, you did one thing right, just don't be so fucking idealistic again. You're not an Artist, you're a shopkeeper. Get it right."

Izuku ducked his head with a nod "Y-yes." Kacchan's right, he pays the bills, he works hard to earn. I shouldn't be waving dreams in his face when he faces hard reality every day. "I-I won't do it again."

Bakugou's hand firmly tilted Izuku's head up, his face silently saying 'I've heard that before', then with a soft jerk left and right he pecked Izuku's forehead hard enough that it felt like a brand, and went into the living room to unmute the TV.

Izuku relaxed now the grip on his face was gone, he rubbed at the spot of 'affection' with a troubled expression (kisses were rare). He couldn't believe he'd gotten off so lightly! Everything about Katsuki Bakugou was hard and hot and often furious. Though the kiss felt more like a burn the way he'd held his face still for it, like ownership, not affection- he shook his head; Kacchan was his boyfriend, he could kiss him whenever he liked.

He heard Bakugou sit down and grumble something foul about the game of some sport, he thought again how unbelievable it was that he'd off so nonchalantly!

He smiled in slight relief and almost inhaled the last of the ramen when he finally realised, yes, Bakugou wasn't going to throw another punishment his way, and, yes, it was safe to turn his attention away from him for a few minutes.

His next few bites were just shy of bliss. So good, he thought. It wasn't really, but it tasted amazing in the moment. Strange how perception could alter something as simple as how a cheap pot of ramen tasted. Maybe this sensation could be utilised?

He half closed his eyes and saw a character morph before his vision; a man in love with food, so much so he took on a task to end world hunger. What a funny design he was taking in Izuku's head! There was a little chef hat, mechanised arms to replace the army of cook's he'd need, the occasional cut or burn on flesh to show his practice. Oh, and his ginormous tears and wails at the thought of food waste, of binning a single crumb. Would he sing? Would he whiz back and forth? He was turning into a little hero already, Izuku thought fondly. He'd watch the surprise and the joy, the amazement of his clients as they tasted their first proper meal in ages and-

"Fucking loser! Concentrate for fuck's sake that was an easy fucking hit!" Bakugou swore.

It scared Izuku out of his daze.

He opened his mouth to ask if Bakugou was alright but froze.

He did it again. Seconds after promising not to!

He curled up in his kitchen chair, legs against his chest like a shield to the world, almost fetal position as he bit his lip. What was wrong with him? Why did everything set him off like that, he shook his head to banish the happy looking chef-hero in his mind away, hopefully forever, shame pulling at his eyes until he was blinking back tears.

He was terrible. A terrible boyfriend.

Izuku bit his lip to stifle the hiccups as he longed for the sketch pad he'd snatched from Bakugou hours before, the flame of the lighter so close to his precious creations hurt more than a physical burn. He longed to write down this new idea, sketch the new character and add a few funny character traits to it. His fingers twitched helplessly. He'd left it behind …

"Get back here you Fucking nerd! And if you have that shitty notebook with you I'll kill you!"

He left it, as asked. Izuku had promised not to start again, as asked … he clenched his fingers together and sighed. What a horrible boyfriend he was to Bakugou.

He wiped at his eyes and binned the empty ramen pot, shuffling briefly to the living room to stutter his intent to catch what sleep he could. He doubted he would sleep, the churning guilt and sadness in his gut had overtaken the glowing warmth of the food, and he didn't tend to sleep well while emotional or stressed. The bags under his eyes a testament to his constant emotional exhaustion.

Bakugou raised his head "Whatever."

Izuku hesitated for a second, wondering if Bakugou desired any kind of goodnight ritual, sometimes it was a pat on the back, or a pinch or even a grope … but his attention was gone. It was focused on the letters in his hands, occasionally the sound of the TV. Inching, Izuku made it to the door by the time Bakugou next spoke.

"There's a fucking useless training program they're sending me on this weekend."

Izuku glanced backwards, hand over his heart to stop it pounding so loudly. He silently scolded himself for being so jumpy, he had done everything he had been asked to so there was no reason for him to be in trouble yet. Yet.

Bakugou couldn't read minds, he didn't have to know how much of a Deku he really was.

Izuku smiled slightly, unsure what response this required. "S-sounds important."

"Fucking bullshit is what it is," the blond growled. He sat up and threw it on the table "I'll be gone from Friday to Monday. Stay home and don't do anything shitty."

Izuku nodded, thinking of the weekend dates and if he'd need to cancel anything or cook something lasting for a few days, and eyes widened at the numbers. "A-actually, K-Kacchan," he stuttered, his knees knocking already. Don't! You've just made up; he just forgave you for your stupid dreams. Stay quiet! "T-there's an All Might s-signing in town t-this weekend. I was hoping I c-could, you know … g-go?" he squeaked out at last with his eyes squeezed shut.

He sensed the looming presence before he opened his eyes to meet the angry gaze above him. His hand rose to Izuku's face so fast it made a whistle in the air, Izuku winced and flinched. He cringed again when that same hand pushed against his collarbone, so close to his throat and poised like he'd like to strangle him until his back hit the wall.

Izuku trembled.

Bakugou was growling, "I'm going to the shitty training program this weekend. You're staying home, and you're not going be a fucking nerd. Just like you promised." At the word 'Promise' Izuku was jerked into the wall again, his shoulders smarted and Bakugou's hand climbed higher …

Izuku lowered his head and nodded "Y-yes!" and, to his relief, the hand stopped inching.

The larger man let up on his pressing after a few more growled threats, and tugged on his arm, TV off and lights off soon too.

He pushed Izuku onto their bed, and the smaller inched backwards and away until his back hit the wall. Bakugou tugged his clothes off and then pulled at Izuku's, leaving only their underwear, he snapped at Izuku as he shook and shoved him onto his half of the bed, turning his back with more curses and nearly smacking his head onto his pillow.

He passed out two minutes later.

Two minutes after that, Izuku let himself breathe. He hesitantly tucked himself in and tried to soothe his frazzled nerves; It's okay, it's okay, Kacchan isn't up for it tonight. Your home, you're safe, just breathe … oh God, don't wake him up, just breathe … Eventually, he could breathe past the lump in his throat, and his heart stopped restricting his chest.

He didn't relax completely, he pressed his back against the wall and covered his eyes, reciting softly the All Might speeches about bravery and strength to himself in the dim light of pre-dawn. He was back, there would be food at breakfast, a warm shower, and Chiyo-san was expecting him in a few hours, and he may even be allowed to sleep in her shop.

With a tiny smile, he forgot his surroundings and his fear and ended his mumbles; "It's alright now, for I am here!" … Thank you, All Might.


"Why Midoriya! You look like you haven't slept a wink," Chiyo gasped when the young man greeted her.

She was shocked, he looked awful! Yesterday he had been fine, chipper and excitable and now he looked fragile and sick. His eyes were bloodshot and dull, he looked pale and exhausted, and he carried himself like he was expecting to run at any moment – the young man, still a child really, was too stressed for his age, and it showed. His eyes had bags under them, his hands shook, and she was almost positive he hadn't had any breakfast, he was getting too thin …

He tucked a hand behind his head and stifled a yawn, "O-oh, really? I was, um, I was just busy … yeah … K-Kacchan had a bad day at work, a-and, um, needed to r-relax." He winced at his own stuttering and the old woman anxiously pressed her hands together, wondering if she should comment her thoughts or just be a source of comfort for him.

Chiyo considered this young man her friend as much as her employee, she, a short little old woman and retired doctor who ran a small pharmacy, gave him a sour look as if he'd just offered her a lime. Against her better judgement, again, she took his word for it. She tutted, "That good for nothing boy … Dearie, go right back there and get some sleep," her eyes were moving all over him.

Midoriya snapped out of his sleep deprived daze at her orders, "I-I couldn't possibly, Chiyo-san, w-who will run the shop?" he protested. He looked ready to drop where he stood, and yet he kept pushing himself to try harder … it was so Izuku it almost brought a smile to her face.

The little woman tugged on his sleeve and waved her little walking stick, not listening to his objections; "I ran this shop before I met you Midoriya, I'm still young enough to use a till and stack some shelves," she grumbled, shuffling them forwards towards her office and treatment room.

Midoriya smiled shyly, his face always appeared preciously young and innocent with that expression. "You're not old Chiyo-san," he murmured.

The woman's round and wrinkled face lit up briefly, "Precisely!"

In the back room were two beds, unused for the most part, but occasionally Chiyo gave check-ups. Though she was retired and technically not part of the medical system anymore, she still helped people. Midoriya once told her that he thought she was a tiny hero, and he always blushed when he spotted the drawing he'd done of her – he had given it to her for Christmas and Chiyo was flattered. She knew him well enough to know that his artistic side was something he shared sparingly, with those he trusted, and she was pleased as punch with his interpretation of her.

Her stick was a large syringe, there was a smaller one to replace her variety of cute hair pins she was never seen without, he'd equipped her with a doctor's coat and given her a helmet with a vizier to replace her square glasses. It was shaped like a crash helmet for safety, and she had loved everything about it. Even the name: Recovery Girl. Because, no matter what society said, sixty was Not old.

She had put it up on the wall and smiled every time someone commented on it, beaming like it was the first day she was given it – after she had recovered her voice and hugged Midoriya until he could no longer feel his arms. He still blushed whenever he saw it, she acted like it was a national treasure and would have happily paraded it around all the time save the fact she knew it would embarrass him into hiding for the next ten years.

They passed the drawing-gift and into the backroom. Oh, boy, she thought, what would the lie be this time? The grey haired woman waited until he was sitting on the bed before assessing him with her eyes again … there didn't seem to be anything wrong on the surface. But that never meant much in her profession, most illnesses and injuries were easy to hide and hard to see unless brought into the open.

"Midoriya … do you need to tell me anything? Are there any pains keeping you awake? You can tell me," she reached for her stethoscope as she asked, mostly out of habit since she was a retired doctor.

Midoriya shook his head, his green curls getting in his eyes, also a lovely green. "N-no, nothing's wrong."

His response was not one that was altogether encouraging, the former doctor acknowledged. She wished she knew how to get him to talk, just a few words and she'd spring into action. But, though she had suggested many remedies to his situation, he insisted that it was all fine. For as long as he insisted, there was little she could do since he refused to help himself.

She put down the stethoscope and patted his knee – it was all she could reach – and sighed. "Very well. Get some sleep, I'll be back at lunchtime with something to eat … don't move from that bed unless it's an emergency or I'll keep you here overnight," she added as she turned away, waving the key to the bedroom menacingly before she locked him in.

Poor Midoriya, she thought to herself as she composed another tiny basket of sweeties for him, where's your hero when you need him?


Izuku chuckled to himself as he laid down, Chiyo-san locking him in overnight was funny. He sighed, the crisp sheets and lumpy pillows beckoning him to rest. He was out cold in seconds, surrounded by the comforting scents of an airy room, latex, cardboard boxes and impersonal cleanliness. It smelt safe.

Chiyo-san was always caring about him.

He had met Chiyo-san when he'd been out running, he'd pushed himself too far, and his entire body was wracked with overwork. He'd sat down on a bench close to her shop, nearly having a panic attack because his legs refused to carry him and he felt too weak to move, and then she was there.

She'd just stepped in like a superhero, water bottle in hand and a stern lecture on her lips. She had seen him running past her shop day after day and grew concerned, then when he finally dropped like she'd predicted she was there with a helping hand.

Izuku had been very grateful, he'd offered his help in her shop to repay her and their little friendship had started.

Soon enough, they were like family, Chiyo-san consistently dotted on him like the aunt he never had though he hardly deserved her, and he, in turn, helped her whenever he could. Izuku tried to run as many errands for her as possible to make her shop run smoother, nothing was too big or small for him, though he could hardly measure up to how generous she was. Without asking she had patched him up, replaced his destroyed art equipment and had given him a job in her shop so he didn't feel so useless in his relationship.

It was like she was also a mind reader.


Hours later, Chiyo-san woke Izuku up, a mug of tea and a sandwich in her hands and a smile on her round face, "Do you feel better, Midoriya?"

Izuku sat up with a large yawn, stretching until all his joints had popped and his muscles shook off their sleepy ache. He smiled at the short woman and accepted the tea with a bright: "Yes, thank you."

He felt her eyes on him as he sipped his tea, wow it was honey and lemon tea! His favourite. He gave her a curious look before shyly asking "What time is it?"

"It's two in the afternoon, dearie." She jumped up to sit on the end of her bed, offering the sandwich once he'd taken several gulps of the tea. He blushed when he spotted the All Might mug she had chosen for him- she never failed to get him the good merchandise, sometimes even before it was in stock! Though, she never failed to gently tease him for his obsession too …

Her teases never felt malicious, they were like gentle pokes and conversation starters.

He ate in silence as Chiyo-san chatted about how quiet it had been today, how she was thinking of closing the shop early since no one appeared to be out or interested in her stock today. He nodded along, thinking that now Kacchan was out for the weekend training program he'd have to put up with being idle for a few days. He wasn't supposed to go to the All Might signing, after all, he had promised …

Chiyo-san called his name, and he jumped, almost spilling his tea again "Ah! I'm s-sorry C-Chiyo-s-san!" he stuttered, heart racing until he remembered that this was his friend, a sweet little woman who'd never done more than raise her voice at him. Her expression was worried, and she held up her car keys with a slight smile, "I said, since we're done for today I can drop you off in town before I go see my family."

Izuku's eyes widened at the reminder of their plans – Chiyo-san would be off to see her family for the weekend and, because he'd been excited about it for weeks, Izuku had told her about the signing that was happening in town and she had insisted on giving him a lift in her car. She said he would need his energy to say everything he needed to say to the author, embarrassingly he had often admitted his love of the series to her.

Hands up, he tried to correct her, to protest that he couldn't possibly go. She shook her head and pulled at his hand "Midoriya, come now, it's not that big a burden for me to have company for a part of my drive, you're actually doing me such a big favour."

His heart fell into his stomach; how could he say no to that?

The tiny woman bustled about him as he internally panicked, she chuckled and cleaned up his plate, "Go get what you need, and I'll meet you in ten minutes."


Just like that. Izuku's voice failed, he was in Chiyo-san's car within the time frame, keys, and wallet in hand, and torn between delirious happiness and mountainous dread for breaking Bakugou's rule. He was going to the All Might signing, he was going to the All Might signing … a smile tugged at his lips: He was going to the All Might signing!

He turned to his friend and hesitantly asked, "What do you think the author will be like? Will he want to listen to me? Will he be cool like All Might is? I bet he will be."

Chiyo-san beamed at him and his new enthusiasm "Oh … I think you'll be surprised."


Randomly updated, also on Ao3!


Leave a comment if this struck home or if you have questions.