Over a decade in underground heroics had left Aizawa with keen sleeping-hearing. That was the only conceivable reason he would have awoken from the blissful dream he'd been having. A dream that, once he opened his eyes, turned out to be real. Aizawa didn't consider himself a 'romantic' man, but damn if the younger man in his arms wasn't a dream come true.

The sound that had woken him came again—feather-light knocks against the downstairs rear door, almost hesitant in their cadence.

After stealing a glance at the clock (already noon; Aizawa couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in so late) he attempted to rouse his sleeping husband. Husband.

"Problem child, wake up. I think your employees are here for lunch."

The vigilante groaned, groggy with the remnants of the previous night's—no, early that morning's —pain meds. "C'n you do it?"

"I'll let them in but I draw the line at feeding them." "Mmkay."

"The things I do for love," the older man grumbled playfully. He kissed the nape of Izuku's neck and wiggled out of their bed.

Aizawa had just reached the door when he heard Izuku fall out of bed upstairs. Panicked feet scrambled across the wood floors above, the green-haired boy stumbling onto the landing.

"Sho, wait—"

But the warning was too late; Aizawa had already opened the door. Three pairs of eyes—four, if he counted his own—widened in horror and terror.

"No." He shut the door firmly in their faces.

"I told you that—"

"They tried to kill me. They tried to kill my students, Izuku."

"And they've served their time in Tartarus; they've been released into the rehabilitation program."

"But—"

"You listen to me, Aizawa Shouta. Himiko and Touya have been working for me for nearly two years, almost the entire time they've been out. And I am proud of the people they're turning into."

"But Shig—"

"And Tenko only got out three months ago. He's in an intensive outpatient program to deal with his mental health issues, and he's admittedly still rough around the edges. He needs help, Sho. And that's what I'm doing."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it. You just have to support me. Can I rely on you to do that?"

A hearty sigh, but the pro hero tugged his vigilante into his arms. "Always."

"Now, do you want to try opening the door again?"

Aizawa took a steeling breath before he once again turned the doorknob. He wasn't sure if the former villains would have stayed, when he'd made it clear how displeased he was to see them.

To his surprise—and Izuku's, if the shorter man's sharp intake of breath was any indication—Toga and Dabi were in a full dogeza bow, palms and foreheads flush against the filthy alley ground. At a kick from a burn-scarred ankle, Shigaraki dropped to his knees as well.

Izuku wanted to tell his employees to get up; it was evident in the way he was rubbing circles on Aizawa's back. It was equally clear that he was leaving it to the pro hero.

The older man sighed. He did that a lot when it came to Izuku, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. "Get up and get in."

The three villains—three former villains—slowly rose and made their way in, heading towards the café's kitchen. Izuku made as if to follow, but Dabi held up a hand.

"How about you and loverboy go put on some clothes first?"

Izuku looked down at himself—in his boxers (thankfully just green), chest bare except for the bandage over his ribs. The younger man turned red in embarrassment.

Of course, Izuku couldn't see what Dabi and Aizawa could: a violent ring of hickeys littering the vigilante's neck.

The pro hero, with only a too-short borrowed robe thrown on over his underwear, shrugged and nodded at Dabi. He'd fallen asleep with his new husband as his little spoon; of course he'd mauled the boy's neck as they both nodded off.

He ushered the vigilante up the stairs and they both threw on sweats, though Izuku needed Aizawa's help getting the t-shirt on.

"They're not as bad as they used to be." "Hmm?" Aizawa hummed inquisitively.

"Tenko's still got some anger issues, but he borrowed a book on meditation and I think it's working a bit. Himiko's a lot more laid back now that she's got a steady supply of blood. But both of them are messed in the head, and they might never be able to fully integrate into society."

"Hmm."

"Touya... actually, you'd probably get along well with him. I'm calling it, bromance incoming."

"Doubt."

"I think it's 'X for doubt,' don't your students teach you anything?"

Aizawa smirked and drew his new husband into a kiss, dipping him down dramatically while still being mindful of the healing ribs. Izuku chuckled against the man's mouth, pretending to swoon.

"I love you, Sho, but I'm hungry."

With a mock put-upon sight, Aizawa said, "Then I suppose we should head downstairs."

"Any requests for what to eat?"

"Fish?" The pro hero wasn't sure what the café's kitchen would even stock given they mostly sold pastries, but if Izuku cooked lunch down there frequently there was probably a good selection.

"You bet."

Hand-in-hand, the pair made their way down the narrow stairs and approached the swinging doors to the café's kitchen. Putting on his business face, the one that he wore as Eraserhead—the one designed to strike fear into villains—the hero entered the kitchen, making sure his smaller partner was behind him.

Apparently his villain-threatening glare still worked on former villains. The café employees looked terrified for a moment, expressions fading into relief as Izuku became visible. Aizawa was almost proud that his vigilante was able to foster such trust and reliance in the trio. Of course, the three employees had no idea that, nearly nightly, the green-haired man battled villains like they used to be—and almost always handed their asses to them.

"So, who wants to help me make fish?" the vigilante asked, plowing through the awkward vibe of the room. He didn't get any verbal replies but seemed to take two nods (and one dejected grimace) as an appropriate answer.

Izuku was a whirlwind in the kitchen, and it gave Aizawa a glimpse into how he must be when running the café.

"Himiko, whip out those knives you think I don't know about and start filleting these. Touya, do you remember how to make miso? Awesome, have at it." The young man's voice turned softer. "Tenko, do you think you can get the rice going on your own?"

From the panicked widening of Shigaraki's eyes, this was more responsibility than he was accustomed to. "Yes, Midoriya-san."

"What did I tell you—" Izuku flicked the ice-blue-haired man's forehead "—call me Izuku."

Shigaraki let out a grunt of acknowledgement, though not of agreement.

"Or Izukkun!" Toga (helpfully) chimed in.

"Or not," Dabi muttered.

"Are we doing four fillets or five?" Toga brandished her knife non-threateningly at her employer, throwing a nervous glance towards the still-silent Aizawa.

"Oh, I forgot introductions! Sho, these are Himiko, Touya, and Tenko, my valued employees. And this," he said, turning to the trio, "is my husband, Aizawa Shouta. Though you might know him better as the pro hero Eraserhead."

Dabi dropped the pot he'd been filling into the sink. "You're married?"

"Ooh! How was the wedding?"

Shigaraki echoed Dabi's question, followed by "...to him?"

"Yep." Izuku pulled out some spinach and green onions. "And I expect you—all of you—" he said, sending a look to his husband "—to play nice."

"Okay, Izukkun!" Toga said happily. She then pivoted to Aizawa and, with a terrified tremor in her hand, she held the knife up. The pro hero was genuinely touched by what she said next. "If you hurt him, I—we'll—"

Dabi finished for her without looking up, lighting the stove with a threatening fiery finger. "We'll destroy you and they'll never find your body."

Shigaraki nodded in agreement.

"Guys—" Izuku waved his arms, but was stopped by a hand from Aizawa. "Thank you for looking out for him," he said, a slight bow to each of them.

Their protective instinct of his young husband—and Shigaraki's non-reaction to being flicked in the forehead—let the pro hero know that their rehabilitation was working, at least to some extent. A shared nod with Dabi was the only response any of the former villains gave. However, Aizawa saw the slight relaxing of each of their postures.

The awkwardness carried through the rest of the cooking, and throughout the meal as well, punctuated only by overly-optimistic attempts by Izuku to start conversations.

"Oh, that reminds me," he said, finishing the last of his soup. "The café is closing early tomorrow."

"Why?" Toga—not quite 'Himiko' to Aizawa, yet—asked.

"Wedding," the pro hero mumbled. Izuku beamed at the other man's attempt at joining the conversation.

"I thought you were already married?" Dabi asked.

"Not ours. Present Mic's." The other pro hero's upcoming nuptials were celebrity news, so Aizawa had no hesitance letting the former villains know.

"To Midnight, right? Nice pull," Shigaraki mumbled into his remaining rice. "What did you get them for a gift?" Toga asked excitedly.

"...gift?"

"Sho, don't tell me—"

"I think we have to go back to the mall." Aizawa ducked his head, glad he'd worn his capture weapon over his sweatshirt.

Izuku sighed. "Can you three clean up?" At the former villains'—no, the employees'—nods, Izuku led Aizawa back upstairs to get ready to head out.

One jumpsuit—and one black t-shirt that said 'jumpsuit'—later, the pair was ready to head out. They walked out just behind Toga, Dabi, and Shigaraki. After parting words, Aizawa and Izuku got in the pro hero's car.

"Do I need to get a gift too?" Izuku asked. "I've never been to a wedding."

"You went to a wedding only a few hours ago," Aizawa said, cheekily referencing their own 2 A.M. marriage. Even though the older man didn't move his gaze from the road, he could feel his new husband roll his eyes beside him.

"You know what I mean. A real wedding. Suits and a poofy white dress and dinner and dancing and presents."

Aizawa was silent for a few heavy seconds. "Do you resent me?" "For what?"

"For not giving you a 'real' wedding." The pro hero gritted his teeth, genuinely fearful of the answer.

Izuku moved his hand to cover Aizawa's against the gear shift. "A secret wedding in the dead of night, performed by a judge that I'm pretty sure you either threatened or blackmailed—"

"No comment." Both.

"It was quintessentially us. So much of our relationship—including our five years together as at least friends—was conducted at the wee hours of the night, undoubtedly trespassing, occasionally bending the law. It was the perfect wedding for us."

Aizawa let out the breath he'd been holding.

"So, gift?" Izuku pressed. "We can probably do one together. That's a married couple thing, right?"

The hero shrugged. "Don't know, not like I've ever been married before. And I've never been to a wedding either."

"Oh, then do you have any idea on what to get them?"

"No fucking clue."

"Mmkay," Izuku said as they exited the car. "I guess we'll just have to cross our fingers and look."

"I'll show you crossed fingers," Aizawa growled, taking the younger man's hand and interlacing their fingers.

"That was either the smoothest or the corniest line I've ever heard." "It worked though."

"Sho, you could tell a fart joke and it would work."

After five stores, the husbands were running out of hope. Then, they passed a very familiar door. Aizawa tested the doorknob—still unlocked. Glancing both ways down the hall, he tugged his husband into the small supply closet.

"Did you see Present Mic again?"

Instead of answering, the hero captured the younger man's lips in a slow, passion-filled kiss, one filled with promises, the type of kiss they write songs about.

"Nope."

"Ah." Izuku nodded before initiating another. "Valid."

Several slow minutes passed, the two men exchanging sweet kisses—yes, with tongue, but without 'intent' as Aizawa had put it previously.

Finally, Izuku pulled back and smiled, or so the hero assumed, given the closet was pitch back. "We ought to keep looking for a gift, or we'll be in this closet all night."

"And what a shame that would be," Aizawa said teasingly, punctuating his words with a playful swat to his partner's ass.

"Save it for the second date." Izuku fell back on their running joke as he inched open the door. As he was about to lead them out, he stopped. "That's it! I know what to get them."

"What?"

"Just trust me," the vigilante stated, tugging the hero behind him.

"Here?" Aizawa's dubious voice didn't tamper Izuku's enthusiasm.

"Here," the green-haired boy confirmed, dragging the man into the sprawling hero merchandise store.

In under fifteen minutes they were exiting, a gift bag in the hand Aizawa didn't have laced with Izuku's. The haul? One nearly-racy Present Mic-branded women's nightgown, and one absolutely- racy pair of men's silk Midnight-themed pajamas.

"You are ridiculous," Aizawa said lovingly as they headed towards the car.

The younger man shrugged. "They're older, wealthy, and have been living together for years. I figured they didn't need another toaster."

"Ready to go home?" Their home. "You look ready to crash," Izuku said.

"I feel it. But if there's anything else you need—"

"Nope. Well, I 'need' you to take me home and cuddle for a few hours." "I'm pretty sure I can manage that. A nap sounds perfect."

"You're perfect."

"I know."

"Asshole."