Archive of Our Own

The neon sign above the entrance to Nitro pulsed in electric blue and violent pink, casting fractured reflections across the rain-slicked pavement. Izuku Midoriya stood beneath it, shivering slightly– not from cold, but from anticipation that had been building for three years as a sidekick under Hawks, then five more as full-fledged pro heroes, and now, finally, this.

Their own agency.

"Stop staring at the sign like it's gonna bite you, Deku," Katsuki Bakugou grunted, shouldering past him to push open the heavy metal door. "We've got shit to celebrate."

Izuku smiled, following his partner– his co-founder– into the thumping darkness of the club. The bass hit him like a physical force, vibrating through his chest as they navigated toward the bar. They'd earned this. After eight years of blood, sweat, and explosions, of saving civilians and taking down villains and learning when to follow and when to lead, they had finally scraped together enough reputation, enough capital, enough courage to break away from Hawks' shadow and build something that was entirely theirs.

The Midoriya-Bakugou Hero Agency. The name still made Izuku's heart stutter when he saw it on paper.

"Two whiskey sours," Katsuki barked at the bartender, sliding onto a stool. He glanced at Izuku, something unreadable flickering in those crimson eyes. "And make his a double. The nerd's gonna need it."

"I can hold my liquor just fine, Kacchan," Izuku protested, but he was smiling, already feeling the alcohol from the champagne they'd shared at the agency's empty office earlier warming his veins.

"Yeah, yeah." Katsuki knocked back his first drink in one go, slamming the glass down with a sharp grin. "Tonight we get fucked up, Deku. Tomorrow we start building an empire."

They'd booked a room across the street at the Hotel Celeste– Katsuki's idea, practical even in celebration. No driving. No responsibilities. Just one night to be young and stupid and victorious before they became bosses, before they had employees counting on them, before the weight of their own legacy settled onto their shoulders.

Izuku didn't realize how drunk he was getting until he stood up to use the restroom and the room tilted pleasantly sideways. The alcohol had stripped away his usual inhibitions, leaving him loose-limbed and warm, hyper-aware of the way his body moved inside his tight black jeans and the forest green button-down that matched his hair.

When he returned, Katsuki was gone from the bar.

Izuku scanned the crowd, eyes catching on a familiar shock of blond hair near the dance floor. But before he could navigate toward him, the music shifted– something slower, heavier, with a beat that seemed to resonate directly in Izuku's pelvis. He found himself moving toward the mass of swaying bodies, telling himself he just needed to find Katsuki, but his hips were already rolling to the rhythm, his body taking over where his mind had gone hazy.

He closed his eyes, letting the sensation wash over him. The alcohol had done something to his filter, to the careful walls he maintained around Katsuki after all these years of unrequited longing. He felt good. He felt sexy, something he rarely allowed himself to feel. His hips circled, his back arched slightly, and he was lost in the music when he felt it– 

Large hands gripping his waist from behind.

Izuku gasped, eyes flying open, but the touch wasn't unwelcome. The body behind him was solid, warm, moving with a confidence that made Izuku's knees weak. They swayed together, the stranger's front pressed against Izuku's back, and Izuku found himself grinding back instinctively, seeking friction, seeking more.

The hands on his hips tightened, pulling him closer, and Izuku could feel the hard outline of the man's arousal against the cleft of his ass. He should have been shocked, should have pulled away, but the alcohol had turned his brain to static and his body to liquid heat. He rolled his hips harder, hearing a low groan behind him that vibrated through his spine.

They danced like that for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, lost in the dark anonymity of the crowd, in the pulsing beat that dictated their rhythm. Izuku's head fell back against the stranger's shoulder, and he felt breath hot against his ear, a nose nuzzling into his curls.

It was the curls that did it, apparently.

"Fuck," the voice behind him rasped, suddenly familiar, suddenly devastating. "Deku?"

Izuku spun around, heart hammering against his ribs, and found himself face-to-face with Katsuki Bakugou. Those crimson eyes were blown wide, pupils blown out from alcohol and arousal, his blond hair disheveled, his mouth slightly open.

"K-Kacchan," Izuku breathed.

"I– I didn't–" Katsuki stammered, something Izuku had rarely heard in all their years of knowing each other. The hands on Izuku's hips jerked away like they'd been burned. "Shit, I didn't realize– I was just dancing and you felt– fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was–"

He tried to step back, shame coloring his sharp features, but Izuku's hand shot out, grabbing Katsuki's wrist with a strength that surprised them both.

"Don't," Izuku whispered.

Katsuki froze.

"Don't go," Izuku continued, the alcohol giving him courage he'd never possessed sober. He pulled Katsuki closer, until they were chest to chest, until he could feel Katsuki's heart racing as fast as his own. "Dance with me. Please."

"Deku, you're drunk," Katsuki said, but his hands were already finding their way back to Izuku's waist.

"So are you," Izuku pointed out, and then he did something he'd dreamed of for fifteen years– he reached up, threaded his fingers through Katsuki's hair, and pulled him down into a kiss.

The world stopped.

Katsuki made a sound like he'd been punched in the gut, a desperate, broken noise that Izuku swallowed greedily. Then Katsuki was kissing him back with a ferocity that stole Izuku's breath, all teeth and tongue and years of pent-up everything. His hands slid down to grip Izuku's ass, pulling their bodies flush together, and Izuku could feel how hard Katsuki was, could feel the heat of him even through layers of denim.

They stumbled sideways, somehow navigating through the crowd until Katsuki's back hit a wall near the emergency exit, pulling Izuku with him. The relative privacy of the corner seemed to unlock something in Katsuki– he spun them, pressing Izuku against the concrete, crowding into his space with a possessiveness that made Izuku's toes curl.

"Fuck, Deku," Katsuki growled against his mouth, biting at Izuku's lower lip hard enough to sting. "Do you have any idea how long I've– fuck, you taste like whiskey and sin."

"Kacchan," Izuku whimpered, arching into the contact. He'd imagined this a thousand times, ten thousand times, but his imagination had been a pale shadow of the reality. Katsuki's body was solid muscle and barely restrained power, his hands rough and demanding as they mapped Izuku's skin.

Katsuki's mouth traveled down Izuku's neck, sucking dark marks into the pale skin there, and Izuke's head fell back against the wall with a thud. "You feel so fucking good," Katsuki muttered, grinding his hips forward, letting Izuku feel the full extent of his arousal. "So warm, so– fuck, I want you."

"Yes," Izuku gasped, his hands fisting in Katsuki's shirt. "Please, Kacchan, please– "

Izuku's hand slipped between them, palming Katsuki through his jeans, and Katsuki groaned, the sound swallowed by the music around them. But Katsuki wasn't satisfied with just that– his hand slid around to Izuku's back, dipping lower, lower, until his fingers were teasing at the waistband of Izuku's jeans.

"Can I–" Katsuki started, his voice rough.

"Yes," Izuku said again, because he'd say yes to anything right now, to everything, to Katsuki forever. "Please, touch me, Kacchan–"

Katsuki's hand slid down the back of Izuku's pants, cupping his ass with a possessive groan. His fingers explored, teasing, and then– then one finger was tracing the cleft, finding the sensitive rim of Izuku's hole and rubbing in slow, maddening circles.

"Fuck, you're tight," Katsuki breathed, his other hand still working Izuku's front. "So fucking hot, Deku, I want to–"

His wandering hand shifted, moving around to the front, and Izuku knew the moment Katsuki realized. The moment his searching fingers found not the hard length of a cock, but the soft, wet heat of Izuku's cunt.

Katsuki went completely still, pulling back to stare at Izuku with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

"Izuku," he whispered, using his full name for the first time in years, the sound reverent and shocked. "You– you have–"

"Please," Izuku begged, because he couldn't bear the confusion, couldn't bear for Katsuki to stop. He rolled his hips forward, grinding against Katsuki's hand, and the friction sent sparks up his spine. "Please, Kacchan, don't stop, please–"

Katsuki's expression shifted from confusion to something dark and hungry. "Holy shit," he breathed, and then his fingers were moving again, exploring, finding the wetness that had soaked through Izuku's underwear. "You're so fucking wet, shit, Deku, you're–"

"Please," Izuku keened, riding Katsuki's hand shamelessly now. "Kacchan, please, I need–"

"Excuse me."

The voice cut through their haze like ice water. A security guard stood nearby, arms crossed, looking distinctly unimpressed. "If you gentlemen are planning to take this further, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. This is a dance floor, not a bedroom."

Katsuki's growl was nearly inhuman, his hand still pressed against Izuku's most intimate place, but Izuku's brain was starting to clear enough to feel the mortification creeping in. Or maybe that was just the blood rushing to his face.

"Sorry," Izuku squeaked. "We're leaving, sorry–"

Katsuki didn't apologize. Katsuki just grabbed Izuku's hand and dragged him toward the exit, his other hand adjusting himself in his jeans with a grimace. The cool night air hit them like a slap, and Izuku swayed on his feet, suddenly aware of how drunk he truly was, of how his body was throbbing with unfulfilled need.

"Hotel," Katsuki said, his voice guttural. "Now."

They stumbled across the street, unable to keep their hands off each other, kissing messily against the brick wall of the hotel, in the elevator where Izuku shamelessly ground against Katsuki's thigh until he was whimpering, down the hallway to room 412 where Katsuki fumbled with the key card three times before the door finally clicked open.

They fell into the room together, Katsuki kicking the door shut behind them, and then Izuku was being lifted, deposited onto the bed with a bounce that made him giggle– giddy, drunk, and so aroused he could barely see straight.

"Clothes off," Katsuki commanded, tearing at his own shirt, sending buttons flying. "Now, Deku, I need to see you–"

Izuku scrambled to obey, shucking his shirt, his jeans, his underwear, until he was naked and exposed and more vulnerable than he'd ever been with anyone. Katsuki paused, staring down at him with an expression that was almost reverent, taking in the sight of Izuku's body– the lean muscle, the scars, and between his legs, the soft pink folds of his pussy, glistening with arousal.

"Beautiful," Katsuki breathed, and then he was on him.

Katsuki's mouth was everywhere– sucking bruises into Izuku's neck, his collarbones, his nipples. He seemed determined to map every inch of Izuku's skin with his tongue, and Izuku was writhing beneath him, fingers tangled in Katsuki's hair, making sounds he'd never heard himself make before.

"Kacchan, please," Izuku begged, his hips rolling against empty air, seeking friction. "Please, I need you inside, please–"

"Patience," Katsuki growled, but his hands were already gentle as they spread Izuku's thighs, as he positioned himself between them. "Fuck, look at you, all wet and open for me. You want this, Deku? Want my cock?"

"Yes," Izuku sobbed, reaching down to touch himself, to spread himself open for Katsuki's hungry gaze. "Please, Kacchan, please fill me up–"

Katsuki groaned, the sound torn from his chest, and then he was guiding himself forward. Izuku felt the blunt head of Katsuki's cock against his entrance, thick and hot and big, bigger than anything he'd ever taken, and for a moment he worried he wouldn't be able to– 

"Relax, baby," Katsuki murmured, the endearment slipping out naturally, making Izuku's heart clench. "I've got you, I'll take care of you–"

He pushed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch, and Izuku's head fell back with a cry that was part pleasure, part stretch, part sheer overwhelming sensation. Katsuki was huge, filling him up until he felt impossibly full, until he could feel every vein, every twitch of Katsuki's cock inside him.

"Fuck," Katsuki gritted out, sweat beading on his forehead as he bottomed out. "Fuck, Deku, you're so tight, so fucking perfect–"

"Move," Izuku pleaded, his nails digging crescents into Katsuki's shoulders. "Please, Kacchan, move–"

Katsuki pulled back and thrust forward, and Izuku saw stars. He set a brutal pace, the bed slamming against the wall with each thrust, and Izuku was reduced to mindless moaning, his legs wrapped around Katsuki's waist, pulling him deeper, harder.

"So good," Katsuki was babbling, his eyes glazed with alcohol and lust. "So fucking good, taking my cock like you were made for it– fuck, Izuku, you feel like heaven–"

"Kacchan," Izuku gasped, the name falling from his lips like a prayer. "Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan–"

"Gonna fill you up," Katsuki growled, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. "Gonna stuff you full of my cum, Deku, gonna breed you so full– want to see you pregnant with my kid, want to see this pretty belly round with my baby–"

Izuku wailed, the filthy words sending him spiraling. He hadn't known Katsuki had this in him, this possessive, primal need, and it was unraveling him, destroying him, rebuilding him into something that existed only for Katsuki's pleasure.

"Please," Izuku begged, though he wasn't sure what he was begging for. "Please, Kacchan, please–"

"Gonna breed you," Katsuki repeated, his hand sliding down to rub at Izuku's clit, making him scream. "Gonna fill this tight little cunt until you're dripping with me, until you're carrying my kid– fuck, Izuku, I'm gonna–"

He came with a roar, burying himself to the hilt, and Izuku felt it– the hot, pulsing flood of Katsuki's release filling him, coating his walls, claiming him in the most primal way possible. Katsuki kept thrusting through his orgasm, milking himself inside Izuku's clenching heat, until he was spent and trembling above him.

They collapsed together, breathing hard, Katsuki's weight a comforting blanket that Izuku never wanted to lose. Katsuki's cock was still inside him, still hard, and Izuku squeezed experimentally, making Katsuki groan.

"Give me a minute," Katsuki mumbled against Izuku's neck. "Gonna fuck you again, Deku. Not done with you yet."

True to his word, Katsuki barely softened before he was hardening again, still nestled inside Izuku's warmth. He rolled them over until Izuku was straddling him, hands gripping Izuku's hips with bruising force.

"Ride me," Katsuki commanded, his eyes dark with renewed hunger. "Want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock."

Izuku whimpered, but he obeyed, planting his knees on either side of Katsuki's hips and slowly lifting himself up before sinking back down. The angle was different, deeper, and Izuku cried out, his head falling back as he found his rhythm.

"That's it," Katsuki encouraged, his hands guiding Izuku's movements. "Fuck yourself on me, take what you need– shit, you look so fucking hot like this, riding my cock like a good little slut–"

"Kacchan," Izuku moaned, his hands braced on Katsuki's chest for leverage. The words should have offended him, but they only made him hotter, made him roll his hips faster.

Katsuki sat up suddenly, wrapping one arm around Izuku's waist while his other hand found Izuku's ass, spreading his cheeks. "Gonna play with this pretty hole too," he murmured, his fingers finding Izuku's rim where his cock was already stretching him wide.

"W-what–" Izuku stuttered, but then Katsuki's finger was pressing against his asshole, slick with the cum that had already started to leak out of him, and Izuku's brain short-circuited.

"So full," Katsuki groaned, working his finger into Izuku's ass while his cock remained buried in his cunt. "Gonna fill both holes, Deku, gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to–"

Izuku was sobbing now, overwhelmed by the dual sensation, by the fullness, by the filthy words spilling from Katsuki's mouth. He bounced harder, desperate for release, and Katsuki met his thrusts, fucking up into him while his finger worked Izuku's ass in time with their movements.

"Touch yourself," Katsuki ordered. "Want to feel you cum on my cock, want to feel this pretty pussy milk me dry–"

Izuku's hand flew to his clit, rubbing frantic circles, and it didn't take long– he was already so close, so wound up from the first round and the alcohol and Katsuki's voice in his ear. He came with a scream, his body convulsing, his pussy clamping down on Katsuki's cock like a vice.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck–" Katsuki chanted, and then he was coming too, flooding Izuku's cunt with another hot load, his finger still buried in Izuku's ass as they shook together through their orgasms.

Izuku collapsed against Katsuki's chest, trembling, unable to form words. Katsuki held him close, his cock still pulsing inside him, and Izuku could feel the cum already starting to leak out, could feel the mess they'd made of each other.

"One more," Katsuki whispered, and there was something almost reverent in his voice now, beneath the filth and the hunger. "One more time, Izuku. Let me have you one more time."

They moved to the edge of the bed for the final round, Katsuki arranging Izuku on his hands and knees in front of the full-length mirror, wanting to watch his face as he fucked him.

"Look at yourself," Katsuki commanded, positioning himself behind Izuku, guiding his cock back to that dripping, swollen entrance. "Look at how beautiful you are, taking my cock like this–"

Izuku looked, and the sight nearly undid him– his own reflection, wrecked and debauched, his lips swollen from kissing, his neck covered in bruises, his eyes glazed with pleasure. And behind him, Katsuki, all sharp angles and predatory focus, his hands gripping Izuku's hips hard enough to leave fingerprints.

Katsuki pushed in slowly, letting Izuku feel every inch, and Izuku's arms trembled, barely holding him up. He was so sensitive now, so overstimulated, that every thrust felt like it was touching his soul.

"Gonna make you cum one more time," Katsuki promised, setting a deep, rolling pace that hit something inside Izuku that made him see stars. "Gonna fill you up until you're dripping, until there's no room for anything but me–"

"Kacchan," Izuku whimpered, his forehead resting against the cool hotel sheets. "Kacchan, it's too much, I can't–"

"You can," Katsuki insisted, his hand snaking around to find Izuku's clit again. "You will. Gonna cum for me one more time, Izuku, and then I'm gonna breed you so deep–"

The dirty talk was relentless, a constant stream of promises and possession that unraveled Izuku's sanity. He was close, so close, hovering on the edge, and then Katsuki shifted his angle slightly and– 

Izuku screamed, his body convulsing as he squirted for the first time in his life, the sensation overwhelming, terrifying, transcendent. He felt the hot rush of liquid leaving him, heard Katsuki's shocked, feral groan behind him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck–" Katsuki snarled, and then he was pulling out, spinning Izuku around, and burying his face between Izuku's legs.

"K-Kacchan–!" Izuku shrieked, sensitive and overwhelmed, but Katsuki was relentless, lapping at his spent pussy with a hunger that was almost animalistic, drinking down every drop, cleaning him with his tongue before fucking back into him with renewed vigor.

"Had to taste you," Katsuki growled against his thigh, his cock sliding back into Izuku's trembling heat. "Had to know what you taste like when you cum like that– fuck, Izuku, you're perfect, you're everything–"

He fucked Izuku through the aftershocks, through the oversensitivity that bordered on pain, until Izuku was crying tears of pleasure and Katsuki was trembling with his own need.

"Gonna breed you," Katsuki chanted, his thrusts becoming wild, uncontrolled. "Gonna fill you up, gonna put my baby in you, gonna– fuck–"

He came with a sound like breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, and Izuku felt the hot flood of Katsuki's release for the third time, felt his pussy clenching around Katsuki's pulsing cock, milking him for every drop.

They collapsed onto the mattress together, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and cum, neither able to move, neither willing to separate. Katsuki's cock stayed inside him, softening but still present, and Izuku felt every twitch, every aftershock.

"Don't pull out," Izuku mumbled, drunk and exhausted and strangely content.

"Wasn't planning to," Katsuki murmured against his hair. He shifted them onto their sides, spooning Izuku from behind, his cock still nestled in Izuku's warmth. His hand came to rest on Izuku's stomach, rubbing slow, possessive circles. "Gonna keep my seed inside you. Gonna make sure it takes."

Izuku hummed, too tired to process the words, but feeling warm and safe and loved in a way he never had before.

"Gonna have my baby," Katsuki continued, his voice dreamy and distant with alcohol and post-coital bliss. "Gonna be such a good mom, Izuku. Our kid's gonna be so loved... gonna have your eyes and your smile..."

Izuku smiled, tears pricking at his own eyes, and he covered Katsuki's hand with his own, holding it against his stomach. "Love you, Kacchan," he whispered, the confession slipping out in his exhaustion.

But Katsuki was already asleep, his breathing even and deep, his body curled protectively around Izuku's.

Izuku let himself drift off too, surrounded by Katsuki's warmth, filled with Katsuki's cum, dreaming of a future that felt suddenly, terrifyingly possible.

The morning light was cruel.

Izuku woke to a pounding headache and a body that felt like he'd been hit by a truck– then remembered that, in a way, he had been. Katsuki's arm was heavy across his waist, his chest pressed against Izuku's back, and Izuku became aware of several things in rapid succession:

He was naked.

He was sore in places he'd never been sore before.

Katsuki's cock was still inside him.

And he could feel the wetness between his legs– not just arousal, but the thick, unmistakable evidence of what they'd done, sloshing inside him with every slight movement.

Izuku's heart stopped.

He lay perfectly still, panic creeping in like ice water in his veins. He and Katsuki had– they'd slept together. They'd had sex. Three times. He'd begged for it, screamed for it, had begged Katsuki not to pull out, and now– 

Now Katsuki was going to wake up and realize what they'd done, and everything would be ruined. Their friendship, their partnership, their agency– all of it destroyed because Izuku had gotten drunk and thrown himself at his childhood friend who'd been too drunk to say no.

Izuku's eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall. He needed to move. He needed to get out before Katsuki woke up and saw him, before he had to face the humiliation of the morning after.

Carefully, excruciatingly carefully, Izuku shifted forward, whimpering as Katsuki's cock finally slipped free, followed by a rush of wetness that made his face burn with shame. He clamped his thighs together, desperate to keep the rest inside, and scrambled to his feet.

The room was a disaster– clothes strewn everywhere, the bedcovers tangled and stained, the mirror smudged with fingerprints. Izuku found his clothes with shaking hands, dressing as quickly as his sore body would allow. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and froze.

His neck was covered in bruises– hickeys, love bites, evidence of Katsuki's mouth on his skin. There were more on his chest, his hips, his thighs. He looked claimed, and the sight made his chest ache with something that felt dangerously like hope.

But hope was dangerous. Hope would destroy them.

Izuku grabbed his phone and wallet, then paused, looking back at Katsuki sleeping peacefully on the floor, blond hair mussed, face relaxed in a way it rarely was when he was awake. He looked young, vulnerable, and Izuku's heart broke all over again.

He couldn't face him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Izuku grabbed the hotel notepad and pen, scribbling a quick message: Had to leave early– Mom needed help moving furniture. Call you later. -Deku

He placed it on the nightstand where Katsuki would see it, took one last look at the man he loved more than anything in the world, and fled.

The convenience store across the street was blessedly empty at 6 AM. Izuku grabbed the strongest concealer he could find, a bottle of water, and– with shaking hands– the morning after pill. He paid with cash, avoiding the cashier's eyes, and walked to the bus stop in a daze.

At home, he took the pill with trembling fingers, then spent twenty minutes in front of his bathroom mirror, covering the bruises on his neck. He called his mother and told her he was fine, that the celebration had gone well, that he was just tired. He didn't mention the hotel. He didn't mention Katsuki. He didn't mention the way his body still felt full, still felt claimed.

He lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, and let himself cry for the first time since he'd run from the hotel room. He cried for the friendship he'd probably ruined, for the love that would never be returned sober, for the night that had been simultaneously the best and worst of his life.

He hoped Katsuki didn't remember. He prayed Katsuki didn't remember. Because if Katsuki remembered, then Izuku would have to face what they'd done, would have to face the fact that he'd kept secrets from his partner for the first time in their lives.

And so Izuku made a decision: he would pretend it never happened. Unless Katsuki brought it up, unless Katsuki remembered and confronted him, Izuku would bury that night so deep it might as well have been a dream.

It was the only way they could survive.

The phone call came two days later.

"Izuku." Katsuki's voice was strange– tight, controlled, nothing like the man who'd whispered filthy promises into Izuku's ear just forty-eight hours before. "We need to talk. Can you come to the office?"

Izuku's heart plummeted into his stomach. "Y-yeah, of course. I'll be there in twenty."

He spent the entire train ride practicing his denial, preparing his lies, steeling himself for the conversation that would end everything. Katsuki knew. Katsuki remembered, and he was going to tell Izuku that they couldn't work together anymore, that their partnership was over, that Izuku had taken advantage of him while they were both drunk and ruined everything.

The office was still mostly empty– they hadn't officially opened yet, their grand opening scheduled for the following week. Katsuki was sitting on the edge of the desk they'd chosen together, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," Izuku said softly, hovering near the door.

"Sit," Katsuki commanded.

Izuku sat in one of the client chairs, his hands twisting in his lap.

Katsuki sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

Izuku nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

"That night," Katsuki started, then stopped. He looked away, jaw tight. "I woke up naked in that hotel room. Completely naked, Deku. And I don't remember anything after we got to the club. I don't remember getting back to the room, I don't remember taking my clothes off– nothing."

Izuku's blood ran cold. Katsuki didn't remember. Katsuki didn't remember any of it.

"Did I–" Katsuki's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Did I do something stupid? Did I embarrass us? Embarrass you?"

Izuku stared at him, mind racing. Katsuki didn't remember. He didn't remember the dancing, the kissing, the three rounds of passionate, filthy sex. He didn't remember claiming Izuku, filling him up, whispering about babies and futures.

And Izuku had a choice. He could tell him. He could confess everything right now, could tell Katsuki that they'd slept together, that Izuku had run away like a coward, that he was desperately in love with him and had been for fifteen years.

But Katsuki's eyes were haunted, worried, and Izuku thought of what would happen if he told the truth. Katsuki would feel obligated. Katsuki would try to make it work out of guilt, or he would push Izuku away completely to avoid the awkwardness. Their partnership would dissolve. Their friendship would crumble.

And Izuku would lose the most important person in his life.

"Nothing happened," Izuku heard himself say, the lie smooth and practiced. "We both got really drunk, and I think you were just hot so you took your clothes off. You were asleep when I left, and I just... I didn't want to wake you. I should have covered you up or something, I'm sorry."

Katsuki's shoulders sagged with relief. "So I didn't– nothing embarrassing?"

"Nothing embarrassing," Izuku confirmed, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth. "We just drank too much and passed out. That's all."

"Good," Katsuki breathed. "Good. Okay. I just– I was worried I'd done something we'd both regret."

You did, Izuku thought. We did. And I'm already regretting lying about it.

"Nope," Izuku said, forcing a smile. "We're good. Agency opening in five days, right? We should focus on that."

Katsuki nodded, already moving on, already accepting the lie because it was easier than the truth. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Let's get to work."

And just like that, the night was buried. Izuku threw himself into preparations for the agency opening, into paperwork and interviews and equipment orders, and he tried to forget the way Katsuki's hands had felt on his skin, the way he'd whispered Izuku like a prayer.

But some things, once awakened, couldn't be put back to sleep.

The nausea started three weeks later.

Izuku was eating lunch with Katsuki in their new office– their second official week open, their first successful rescue mission completed, things finally feeling like they were settling into a rhythm– when the smell of Katsuki's spicy curry hit him like a physical blow. His stomach lurched, and he barely made it to the trash can before he was vomiting, his body convulsing with the violence of it.

"Izuku!" Katsuki was at his side in an instant, hand on his back, concern etched into every line of his face. "Shit, are you okay? Was the food bad?"

Izuku wiped his mouth, trembling. "I– I don't know. Maybe. Sorry, Kacchan, I just–"

"Don't apologize," Katsuki said sharply, but his hands were gentle as he helped Izuku sit down. "You should go home. Rest. I'll handle things here."

"But the paperwork–"

"Can wait," Katsuki interrupted. "You're no good to anyone if you're sick, Deku. Go home. Sleep. I'll check on you later."

Izuku nodded, too weak to argue, and gathered his things. He didn't notice the way Katsuki watched him leave, worry darkening his crimson eyes.

The vomiting continued. Not every day, but frequently enough that Izuku started keeping a change of clothes at the office. He was tired all the time, falling asleep at his desk, struggling to focus during meetings. His chest ached constantly, a strange tenderness that made even his hero costume feel too tight. And he was peeing constantly– running to the bathroom every hour, it seemed, his bladder suddenly the size of a thimble.

He tried to ignore it. He tried to convince himself it was stress, that opening the agency was taking a toll on his body, that he was just run down.

But his period was two months late.

And the night in the hotel room kept playing in his mind, Katsuki's voice whispering gonna breed you, gonna put my baby in you, and Izuku would press his hands to his stomach and try to feel something, anything, that would tell him he was being ridiculous.

He couldn't be. He'd taken the morning after pill. He'd been careful. The chances were minuscule, almost impossible.

But his mother had always told him he was special. That his body was special. That the doctors had called him a miracle when he was born, male in every way except for the secret place between his legs that made him capable of things most men weren't.

And Katsuki had filled him up three times. Had stayed inside him all night, his hand resting on Izuku's stomach, whispering about their baby.

"Izuku?"

He jumped, knocking over his coffee. His mother stood in the doorway of his apartment, concern written across her gentle features. He hadn't heard her come in– hadn't realized he'd given her a key for exactly this kind of emergency.

"Mom," he said, and his voice broke. "Mom, I think something's wrong with me."

Inko Midoriya crossed the room in three strides, pulling her son into her arms. "Tell me," she said softly. "Tell me everything."

And Izuku did. He told her about the symptoms, the nausea, the fatigue, the missed periods.

Inko was quiet for a long moment. Then she pulled back, her eyes searching Izuku's face with a knowing intensity.

"Izuku," she said carefully, "have you been intimate with anyone recently?"

Izuku's face burned. "Mom–"

"I need to know," Inko pressed, gentle but firm. "It's important."

Izuku looked at his hands, twisting in his lap. "...Yes," he whispered. "The night we went to the club to celebrate. With Kacchan."

Inko's eyes widened, but she didn't look surprised– not really. "I see," she said. "Stay here. I'll be back."

She returned twenty minutes later with a grocery bag that Izuku eyed with growing dread. She sat him down on the couch, her expression serious but kind, and opened the bag.

Three pregnancy tests stared back at him.

Izuku's stomach dropped through the floor.

"Mom–"

"When was your last period?" Inko asked.

"Two months ago," Izuku whispered. "Maybe a little more."

Inko took his hand. "Take the tests, sweetheart. I'll wait here."

Izuku's legs felt like lead as he walked to the bathroom. He peed on all three sticks, one after another, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped them. He set them on the counter and stared at the timer on his phone.

Five minutes, the box said. Wait five minutes.

Izuku waited fifteen, chickening out every time he tried to look.

When he finally picked up the first test, his vision swam. Two lines. Positive.

He dropped it in the sink and grabbed the second. Two lines. Positive.

The third. Two lines. Positive.

Izuku sank to the bathroom floor, the tests scattered around him, and sobbed. He sobbed until his throat was raw, until his chest ached with the force of it, until his mother's arms wrapped around him and held him through the storm.

"Oh, Izuku," Inko whispered, kissing his forehead. "Oh, my sweet boy."

"I'm pregnant," Izuku choked out, the words foreign and impossible. "Mom, I'm pregnant. With Kacchan's baby. And he doesn't even know. He doesn't remember. I lied to him."

Inko held him tighter. "You need to tell him," she said softly. "Izuku, this isn't something you can keep secret. He has a right to know."

"I can't," Izuku sobbed. "Mom, I can't tell him. It'll ruin everything. Our partnership, our friendship– he'll hate me. He'll think I trapped him, that I got pregnant on purpose to– to–"

"Did you?"

"No!" Izuku cried. "But that's how it'll look! We were drunk, we weren't thinking, and I ran away and lied about it and now I'm pregnant and I can't– I can't lose him, Mom. I can't."

Inko was quiet for a long time, stroking Izuku's hair as he cried. Finally, she sighed. "I don't agree with this," she said carefully. "I think he deserves to know. But... I can see how scared you are. If you need time to figure out how to tell him, I'll support you. But Izuku– you can't keep this secret forever. Eventually, you're going to show. Eventually, he's going to notice."

"I know," Izuku whispered. "I just... I need time. Please, Mom. Just give me time."

Inko kissed his forehead again. "Okay. But I'm coming to your doctor's appointments. And you're going to take care of yourself. For the baby's sake, if not your own."

Izuku nodded, his hand moving to his stomach, pressing against the flat plane of muscle there. Underneath, something was growing. Something that was half him, half Katsuki. Something that had been made in a night of drunken passion and whispered promises.

He was going to be a mother.

The thought terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him.

The first month was a special kind of hell.

Izuku went through the motions of running an agency, of being a hero, of being Katsuki's partner, all while his body betrayed him in a thousand small ways. The morning sickness came and went in waves, sometimes manageable, sometimes sending him running from meetings to vomit in the bathroom. He learned to keep crackers in his desk, to eat small meals constantly, to avoid the smells that triggered his nausea.

Katsuki noticed. Of course Katsuki noticed– he noticed everything about Izuku, always had, even when they were children.

"You're pale," Katsuki said one morning, leaning against Izuku's desk. "And you've been avoiding the cafeteria. What's going on?"

"Just stressed," Izuku lied, not meeting his eyes. "Opening the agency, you know? It's a lot."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, but he let it go. "You need to take care of yourself," he said gruffly. "Can't have my partner collapsing on the job."

"Yeah," Izuku managed a smile. "I'm fine, Kacchan. Really."

But he wasn't fine. He was exhausted and nauseous and terrified, and every time he looked at Katsuki, he felt the weight of his secret like a physical burden.

His first doctor's appointment was a blur of medical terminology and pamphlets about prenatal care. His mother held his hand through the whole thing, writing down notes when Izuku was too overwhelmed to listen, asking the questions Izuku couldn't formulate.

"Everything looks healthy," the doctor said, smiling at the ultrasound image that just looked like static to Izuku. "We'll schedule you for regular checkups. Based on your dates, you're about six weeks along."

Six weeks. Six weeks since that night in the hotel. Six weeks of carrying Katsuki's child in secret.

"Can you tell who the father is?" his mother asked carefully, glancing at Izuku.

The doctor shook her head. "Not from this. But we can do a paternity test after the birth, if needed."

If needed. As if Izuku didn't know exactly who the father was. As if he hadn't memorized every detail of that night, every touch, every whispered word.

He left the appointment with prenatal vitamins and a pamphlet about what to expect during the first trimester, his mother chattering about nutrition and exercise and stress management. Izuku just nodded, his hand resting on his still-flat stomach, wondering how he was going to survive nine months of this.

By month three, the morning sickness had finally faded, replaced by something almost worse: cravings.

Izuku found himself eating the strangest things at the strangest times. Pickles and peanut butter at 2 AM. Ice cream with hot sauce. Plain white rice with lemon juice. He kept a stash of weird snacks in his desk drawer, and Katsuki kept catching him eating them during meetings.

"Deku," Katsuki said one afternoon, staring at the concoction in Izuku's hands– yogurt mixed with potato chips. "What the fuck is that?"

"Snack," Izuku said defensively, taking a large bite.

"That's disgusting."

"It's good," Izuku insisted. "New diet. Trying to eat more... protein. And calcium. And... crunch."

Katsuki looked skeptical, but he let it go. He was letting a lot of things go lately– Izuku's fatigue, his frequent bathroom breaks, his sudden aversion to coffee. Izuku could see the questions building behind Katsuki's eyes, the suspicion growing, but he couldn't bring himself to confess. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The next appointment nearly broke him.

Izuku lay on the examination table, his shirt pushed up, gel cold on his stomach, while the doctor moved the wand across his skin. For a moment, there was nothing but static, and Izuku's heart seized with panic– 

Then the sound filled the room. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump– fast and strong and impossibly alive.

Izuku started crying immediately, tears streaming down his face as he listened to the first proof of his baby's existence. His mother was crying too, holding his hand, her own tears falling freely.

"Strong heartbeat," the doctor said, smiling. "Everything looks perfect."

Izuku sobbed through the rest of the appointment, overwhelmed by love and fear and the crushing weight of his secret. This was real. This was happening. He was going to have a baby, and Katsuki didn't know, and every day that passed made the lie feel heavier.

He went back to work that afternoon, red-eyed and emotional, and Katsuki took one look at him and demanded to know what was wrong.

"Fight with my mom," Izuku lied, the excuse feeling thinner every time he used it. "Just... family stuff. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Katsuki said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "You look like you've been crying for hours."

"I just need to work," Izuku said, turning to his computer. "Please, Kacchan. Let it go."

Katsuki let it go. But Izuku could feel his partner's eyes on him for the rest of the day, curious and concerned and increasingly suspicious.

Month five brought the first physical evidence that Izuku couldn't ignore.

He was getting dressed one morning, pulling on his usual baggy hoodie and sweatpants, when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He turned sideways, pulling the fabric tight across his stomach, and there it was– a small but unmistakable bump, the gentle curve of pregnancy just beginning to show.

Izuku sank onto his bed, his hand resting on the swell, and cried. But this time, they weren't entirely sad tears. There was joy mixed in now, wonder at the life growing inside him, love for the baby he hadn't met yet but already cherished.

He started wearing even baggier clothes to work, layers upon layers that hid his changing shape. Katsuki commented on it once– "You look like you're drowning in that hoodie, Deku"– but Izuku just laughed it off, said he was cold, said he was comfortable.

The doctor offered to tell him the gender at his next ultrasound, but Izuku declined. He wanted to be surprised. He wanted something to look forward to, something pure and happy in the midst of all this deception.

Month six was when things started getting complicated.

Izuku was planning the nursery with his mother one Saturday afternoon, paint samples spread across the floor, when he felt it– the fluttering sensation low in his abdomen, like butterfly wings or bubbles popping. He froze, his hand flying to his stomach.

"Izuku?" Inko asked, concerned.

"Mom," Izuku breathed. "I think– I think the baby just kicked."

Inko's eyes went wide, and then she was kneeling beside him, her hand pressing against his belly. They waited, breathless, and then– there it was again, stronger this time, a distinct thump against Izuku's palm.

"Oh," Inko whispered, tears springing to her eyes. "Oh, Izuku. That's your baby."

They sat there for an hour, feeling the kicks come and go, laughing and crying together as the reality of the situation settled over them. Izuku was really doing this. He was really having a baby. And soon, he wouldn't be able to hide it anymore.

The nursery took shape over the following weeks– a soft orange that reminded Izuku of explosions and crimson eyes, a crib assembled with help from his mother, a small bookshelf that held a framed photo of Izuku and Katsuki at their agency opening, smiling and triumphant.

Izuku sat in the rocking chair sometimes, late at night, rubbing his growing bump and whispering apologies to the baby. "Your daddy doesn't know about you yet," he'd say, his voice thick with tears. "But he would love you if he knew. He would be so proud. I'm sorry I'm keeping you a secret. I'm so, so sorry."

The guilt was eating him alive.

At work, the baby started moving more frequently, more strongly. Izuku would be in meetings and feel a sharp kick to his bladder, making him gasp and double over. He'd be training with new sidekicks and have to suddenly sit down, overwhelmed by the sensation of life moving inside him.

Katsuki noticed, of course. Katsuki always noticed.

"You're doing that thing again," Katsuki said one afternoon, watching Izuku rub his stomach with a wince.

"What thing?"

"Touching your stomach. Wincing like you're in pain. And you've been avoiding field work for weeks." Katsuki's eyes were sharp, assessing. "What's going on, Deku? And don't give me some bullshit about stress or your mom."

"Stomach ache," Izuku lied, the words tasting like poison. "Just... digestive issues. I'm seeing a doctor about it."

Katsuki didn't look convinced, but he let it go. "You'd tell me if it was something serious, right? We're partners. No secrets."

No secrets. The words were a knife to Izuku's heart. "Right," he managed. "No secrets."

He started avoiding Katsuki after that, making excuses about paperwork and training and meetings that didn't exist. He could feel the suspicion radiating off Katsuki in waves, could see the frustration building, but he couldn't face him. Not when his body was betraying him more obviously every day.

By month seven, the bump was undeniable. He lived in oversized hoodies now, grateful for the baggy style that had always been his preference. But he knew it was only a matter of time before someone noticed, before Katsuki noticed, before the whole carefully constructed lie came crashing down.

The horniness was unexpected and unwelcome.

Izuku had always known he was attracted to Katsuki– had known since they were teenagers, since the first time he'd realized that the fluttering in his chest when Katsuki smiled was something more than friendship. But pregnancy amplified everything, turned his usual attraction into a constant, aching need.

He found himself staring at Katsuki's hands during meetings, remembering how they'd felt on his skin. He'd watch Katsuki's mouth when he talked, remembering the filthy words that had spilled from those lips in the hotel room. He'd catch scent of Katsuki's cologne– something spicy and explosive, fitting for a man with his quirk– and have to excuse himself to the bathroom, where he'd grind against his hand or use his pen to relieve the pressure building inside him.

He felt ashamed every time. Ashamed of his body, of his desires, of the way he still wanted Katsuki even while hiding his greatest secret from him.

He started making excuses to avoid hero work entirely, terrified that his body wouldn't cooperate, that he'd be in the middle of a fight and have to pee, or that his growing bump would be obvious in his tight hero costume. He collaborated with Hawks, begging for help with a fake mission that would explain his absence.

Hawks had taken one look at him– at the hoodie that couldn't quite hide the swell of his stomach– and raised an eyebrow. "Undercover mission, huh?"

"Please," Izuku had begged. "I just need four months. Maybe five. I'll owe you forever."

Hawks had studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Fine. But Izuku–" he'd leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, "– heroes' birth certificates are on file.” Izuku’s heart lurched and Hawks chuckled at his panicked expression. “I don't care, and I hope you have a safe delivery. But you might want to actually tell your partner before you disappear for months."

Izuku had gone pale, but Hawks just smiled and waved him off. "Congratulations, kid. Try not to stress too much."

The next week, Izuku sat Katsuki down and explained the fake mission– a cult infiltration that required silence, innocence, and a quirk that wasn't flashy. He watched Katsuki's face fall, watched him argue and protest and finally accept that Izuku was leaving.

"Four months," Katsuki said, his voice tight. "You're going to be gone for four months?"

"Maybe longer," Izuku said, hating himself. "I'm sorry, Kacchan. But this is important. And you can't come– your quirk is too loud, your temper is too obvious. They'd spot you immediately."

"I don't like it," Katsuki growled. "I don't like you going alone. What if something happens? What if you need backup?"

"I'll have Hawks," Izuku lied. "And I'll check in when I can. I promise."

Katsuki pulled him into a hug then, fierce and desperate, and Izuku almost broke. He almost confessed everything right there, in the circle of Katsuki's arms, with their baby kicking between them. But he didn't. He just hugged back, memorizing the feel of Katsuki's heart beating against his own, wondering if it would be the last time he ever held him.

"I'll miss you," Katsuki mumbled into his hair, the admission so rare and precious that Izuku's tears finally spilled over.

"I'll miss you too," Izuku whispered. "Every day."

He went home that evening to find his mother painting clouds along the nursery walls, against that soft orange that matched Katsuki's explosions, that reminded Izuku of warmth and safety and home. The sight broke something inside him, and he collapsed against the doorframe, sobbing so hard his ribs ached.

Inko was at his side in an instant, guiding him to the rocking chair, holding him while he cried. "I can't do this," Izuku choked out. "Mom, I can't do this without him. I need him. The baby needs him. But I can’t– I can’t risk it."

She didn't say what she was thinking. Izuku could see it in her eyes—the plan she was formulating, the decision she was keeping to herself. But he was too tired, too overwhelmed, too pregnant to ask. He just let her hold him, let her rock him like she had when he was a child, and tried to imagine a future where this all worked out.

Months eight and nine were a special kind of torture.

Izuku was huge now, his belly round and heavy, pressing against his ribs, making it impossible to sleep on his stomach or his back. He had to pee every twenty minutes. His feet were swollen. His back ached constantly. He had heartburn that made him want to cry, and his emotions were so volatile that he once burst into tears because he couldn't reach a cup on the top shelf.

And he was alone. Technically his mother was there, sleeping on the pull-out couch in his living room, cooking for him and helping him bathe when he got too big to reach his own feet. But Katsuki wasn't there. Katsuki, who had texted him every day at first, then every few days when Izuku's responses became sporadic and vague. Katsuki, who called sometimes and left voicemails that Izuku listened to at 3 AM, crying into his pillow.

"You're being weird, Deku," one message said. "You never take this long to respond. If you're in danger, if something's wrong, you need to tell me. I can't protect you if I don't know where you are."

Izuku wanted to scream I'm not in danger, I'm having your baby, I'm miserable without you, but he just texted back: Mission going well. Communication limited. Don't worry.

He spent his days in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair, rubbing his belly and talking to the baby. "Your daddy is strong," he'd say. "He's the best hero I've ever known. He's loud and angry and he swears too much, but he's kind when it counts. He would love you so much. I wish he could be here."

The baby kicked in response, strong and insistent, and Izuku smiled through his tears.

The horniness hadn't faded either, which felt like a cruel joke. He was enormous and uncomfortable and constantly nauseous, but his body craved touch, craved Katsuki, with an intensity that kept him awake at night. He bought a vibrator on a whim, something small and discreet, and used it in the shower when the need became too overwhelming, imagining Katsuki's hands, Katsuki's mouth, Katsuki's voice whispering gonna breed you, gonna fill you up.

He always cried afterward, ashamed and aching and so desperately lonely.

By week thirty-eight, Izuku was ready to be done. He couldn't sleep more than two hours at a time. He couldn't eat without heartburn. He was hot all the time, stripping down to his underwear even in December, standing in front of the open freezer just to cool down.

"Any day now," the doctor said at his last appointment. "You're dilated almost two centimeters. It could be tonight, it could be two weeks. But soon."

Izuku went home and cried in the nursery, surrounded by orange walls and a crib that sat empty, waiting for a baby that would arrive into a world where only half its family knew it existed.

He went to bed that night curled around his belly, his mother's voice in the other room as she called to check on something with the hospital bag. He fell asleep dreaming of Katsuki's arms, of being held, of being known.

He woke to pain.

It started as a cramp, low and deep in his abdomen, different from the Braxton Hicks he'd been having for weeks. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, and felt the wetness spread beneath him– sudden, unmistakable, his water breaking in a rush that soaked the sheets.

Izuku sat up, panic flooding his system, and yelled for his mother.

Inko was in the room in seconds, taking in the situation with eyes that were calm despite the urgency. "Okay," she said, her voice steady. "Okay, sweetheart, it's time. Let's get you to the hospital. The bag is already in the car."

Izuku tried to stand, but another contraction hit him– stronger this time, making him double over and cry out. It was worse than he'd imagined, worse than any pain he'd ever felt, and he'd felt a lot of pain in his life.

"Mom," he gasped, tears streaming down his face. "Mom, I can't– I need–"

"I know," Inko said, helping him to the car, supporting his weight as another contraction ripped through him. "I know what you need."

She got him settled in the passenger seat, the towel beneath him already soaked, and started the engine. But before she pulled away from the curb, she paused, looking at Izuku with an expression he couldn't read– sadness and determination and love, all mixed together.

"I'm going to call him," she said quietly.

Izuku's heart stopped. "Mom, no, I said–"

"I know what you said," Inko interrupted, her voice firm. "But you're in labor, Izuku. You're about to have his child. He deserves to be here. And you..." She reached out, cupping his cheek. "You deserve to have the person you love with you when you bring your baby into the world."

Izuku wanted to argue, but another contraction hit, stealing his breath, making him scream against the seatbelt. When it passed, he was trembling, exhausted, and his mother was already dialing.

"Please," Izuku whispered, not sure if he was begging her to stop or begging her to make sure Katsuki answered.

Inko held the phone to her ear, waiting. Once, twice, three rings– 

"Hello?"

Katsuki's voice was thick with sleep, confused and rough, and Izuku sobbed just hearing it.

"Katsuki," Inko said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. "It's Inko. Izuku's mother."

There was a pause, then urgency. "Inko? What's wrong? Is Izuku okay? Why are you calling so late?"

"He's okay," Inko said, glancing at Izuku, who was panting through another contraction. "But you need to come to the hospital. Right now. As fast as you can."

"The hospital?" Katsuki's voice rose, panic bleeding through. "What happened? Is he hurt? Did the mission–"

"He's not on a mission," Inko said gently. "He never was. I'll explain when you get here. Just... please, Katsuki. Come now. He needs you."

She hung up before he could ask more questions, before Izuku could hear the confusion and betrayal in his voice. She pulled into traffic, driving carefully but quickly toward the hospital, while Izuku sobbed quietly in the passenger seat, terrified and relieved and overwhelmed.

Katsuki was coming. Katsuki would know everything soon. And Izuku had no idea if he would stay or run, if he would be angry or understanding, if he would want to meet his son or walk away forever.

The contractions were coming closer now, seven minutes apart, then five, then three. By the time they reached the hospital, Izuku could barely walk, barely think, barely breathe through the pain. Inko got him to the maternity ward, got him checked in, got him into a gown and onto a bed.

"He's seven centimeters dilated," the nurse announced. "This is happening fast. Someone page Dr. Yamamoto."

Izuku was dimly aware of his mother holding his hand, of nurses moving around him, of the beeping monitors tracking his heart and the baby's. He was aware of his own voice, screaming through contractions, begging for relief, for Katsuki, for this to be over.

"You're doing great," Inko whispered, pushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead. "You're so strong, Izuku. Just a little longer."

"Kacchan," Izuku sobbed. "I want Kacchan."

"I know," Inko said, and there were tears on her cheeks now. "I know, sweetheart. I hope you can forgive me for calling him. But he should be here. He deserves to be here."

Izuku didn't have time to respond before another contraction hit, stronger than the last, making him arch off the bed with a scream that tore his throat. When it passed, he was panting, exhausted, tears streaming down his face into his hair.

The door burst open.

Katsuki stood there in sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt, his hair wild, his eyes wide and frantic. He took in the scene– Izuku on the bed, legs spread, nurses at the end, monitors beeping– and froze, his face going pale.

"What– " he started, his voice breaking.

Inko stood, moving to him, grabbing his shoulders. "Sit down," she commanded. "You need to sit down, and I need to tell you something important."

Katsuki let her guide him to the chair, his eyes never leaving Izuku. "Izuku," he whispered. "What's happening? Why are you– why is there a–"

"Listen to me," Inko said, kneeling in front of him, taking his hands in hers. "I need you to prepare yourself. This is going to be a lot to take in."

She told him. She told him about Izuku's anatomy, about the night at the hotel, about the pregnancy tests and the secret keeping, about the months of lies and the baby that was about to be born. She told him everything in a rush of words that seemed to wash over Katsuki in waves, his expression shifting from confusion to shock to dawning realization.

"He's pregnant," Katsuki said slowly, like he was testing the words. "With my baby. And he didn't tell me."

"He was scared," Inko said softly. "He thought you'd hate him. He thought it would ruin everything between you."

Katsuki looked at Izuku then, really looked at him– at his swollen belly, at his tear-streaked face, at the way he was cradling his stomach even through another contraction. Something in Katsuki's expression cracked, broke open, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.

"How could you think that?" Katsuki whispered. "How could you think I wouldn't want to know? That I wouldn't want to be here?"

"He loves you," Inko said simply. "He's loved you since you were children. And love makes people do stupid things."

Katsuki stood abruptly, and for a moment, Izuku thought he was leaving, thought he'd heard enough and was walking out. But Katsuki just crossed to the bed, his movements jerky and desperate, and fell to his knees beside Izuku's head.

"Izuku," Katsuki breathed, reaching out to touch his face, his hair, his trembling hands. "Izuku, you fucking idiot. Why didn't you tell me?"

Izuku turned his head, meeting Katsuki's eyes, and the love he saw there– the love and the hurt and the overwhelming confusion– broke him completely. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Kacchan. I was scared. I didn't want to lose you."

"You wouldn't have lost me," Katsuki said fiercely, his hand gripping Izuku's tight enough to hurt. "You could never lose me, you stupid nerd. I love you. I've loved you since we were fucking teenagers, and you didn't–" His voice broke, and he pressed his forehead against Izuku's, breathing hard. "I missed everything. I missed the whole thing. You were alone for all of it."

"I'm sorry," Izuku repeated, because it was all he could say, all he could think. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry–"

Another contraction hit, stronger than the last, and Izuku screamed, his hand crushing Katsuki's. The doctor was there suddenly, checking him, her voice calm and professional.

"You're fully dilated," she announced. "It's time to push, Izuku. Are you ready?"

Izuku shook his head, terrified, but Katsuki was there, moving to the side of the bed, grabbing his other hand. "I'm here," Katsuki said, his voice steady now, sure. "I'm right here, Izuku. I'm not going anywhere. You can do this. We're going to do this together."

"Kacchan," Izuku whimpered.

"Push," the doctor commanded.

Izuku bore down, screaming with the effort, his body burning, his vision going white at the edges. He pushed until he thought he would break, until he thought he would tear in half, and then he collapsed back against the pillows, gasping.

"Good," the doctor said. "The head is crowning. One more push, Izuku. One more big push."

Izuku looked at Katsuki, at the tears streaming down his face, at the love and terror and awe in his crimson eyes. He squeezed Katsuki's hand and pushed with everything he had left.

The world stopped.

A cry pierced the air– loud, indignant, alive. Izuku collapsed back, his body going limp, tears streaming down his face as he listened to the sound of his baby crying for the first time.

"It's a boy," the doctor announced, smiling.

They placed the baby on Izuku's chest, small and slippery and perfect, and Izuku sobbed, his hands trembling as he touched the tiny back, the soft green hair, the perfect little fingers. He looked up at Katsuki, who was staring at the baby with an expression of pure wonder, tears streaming freely down his face.

"He has your hair," Katsuki whispered, his voice breaking. "Oh my god, Izuku. He has your hair."

"Kacchan," Izuku reached for him, and Katsuki leaned down, pressing his forehead to Izuku's, his hand coming to rest on the baby's back.

"Hi," Katsuki whispered to the baby, his voice soft and reverent. "Hi, little one. I'm your dad. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner. But I'm here now. I'm here now, and I'm never leaving again."

The baby stopped crying, his tiny hand wrapping around Katsuki's finger, and Katsuki made a sound like he'd been punched in the chest, overwhelmed by love.

They stayed like that for a long moment– a family, finally together– while the doctors cleaned Izuku up and checked the baby, while Inko cried quietly in the corner, while the world continued to turn outside their little bubble.

The next few hours were a blur of tests and checks and paperwork, of learning to breastfeed and changing the first diaper and watching Katsuki hold their son with a gentleness Izuku had never seen in him before. They named him Kaito—ocean and soar, a name that held both of them, earth and sky, green and gold.

Finally, they were alone in the hospital room, just the three of them, the afternoon light streaming through the window. Katsuki was sitting on the bed, holding Kaito in the crook of his arm, staring down at him with a softness that made Izuku's heart ache.

Izuku watched them, his own emotions a tangled mess of love and guilt and relief. He had been so sure that telling Katsuki would destroy everything, but instead, it had created something new, something whole.

"I'm sorry," Izuku said quietly, breaking the silence. "For not telling you. For lying. For keeping him a secret. I was so scared of losing you that I ended up almost losing you anyway. I'm so sorry, Kacchan."

Katsuki looked up, his expression serious. He shifted Kaito slightly, then reached out with his free hand to take Izuku's.

"Listen to me," Katsuki said, his voice firm but gentle. "I am upset. I'm upset that you went through all of this alone. I'm upset that I missed the first kicks, the first ultrasound, the whole fucking pregnancy. I'm upset that you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."

Izuku's eyes filled with tears, but Katsuki squeezed his hand.

"But I'm not upset about the baby," Katsuki continued. "And I'm not upset about that night. Izuku, I've loved you since we were fourteen years old. I've loved you through everything– through bullying you and fighting with you and watching you become the hero you are today. I loved you that night at the club, and I loved you every day since, even when I didn't understand why you were pulling away."

He looked down at Kaito, sleeping peacefully in his arms, then back up at Izuku.

"I'm upset because I wasn't there for you," Katsuki said softly. "Because you were scared and pregnant and alone, and I was just... working. Thinking you were on a mission. While you were growing our baby."

"I thought you'd hate me," Izuku whispered. "I thought you'd think I trapped you, that I got pregnant on purpose–"

"I don't care how it happened," Katsuki interrupted. "I mean, I care, because I wish I'd been sober enough to remember it, to make it good for you. But Izuku..." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Izuku's forehead. "I love you. I love this baby. I would have been here every step of the way if you'd let me."

"I know," Izuku sobbed. "I know that now. I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Katsuki said, but there was no heat in it. "Just... promise me. No more secrets. No more lies. We're partners, in hero work and in everything else. From now on, we do this together."

"I promise," Izuku said, meaning it with every fiber of his being. "No more secrets. I love you, Kacchan. I've loved you for so long."

"I know," Katsuki smiled, a real smile, soft and fond. "I love you too, Izuku. I should have told you sooner. I should have told you that night."

"Well," Izuku managed a watery laugh, "we have plenty of time now. To tell each other everything."

"Yeah," Katsuki looked down at Kaito again, his expression melting into adoration. "We have a family now. We're gonna need all the time we can get."

He shifted, moving carefully so as not to wake the baby, and climbed onto the bed next to Izuku. They arranged themselves together, Kaito nestled between them, Katsuki's arm around Izuku's shoulders, Izuku's head resting on Katsuki's chest.

They sat in silence for a while, watching their son sleep, marveling at the tiny perfection of him– the button nose, the rosebud mouth, the shock of green hair that marked him as Izuku's.

"He's perfect," Katsuki whispered.

"He is," Izuku agreed. "We made him, Kacchan. Can you believe it?"

"Not really," Katsuki admitted. "I still feel like I'm dreaming. Like I'm going to wake up and find out you really are on a mission, and this was all just... a really good dream."

"It's real," Izuku said, taking Katsuki's hand and placing it on his heart. "I'm real. He's real. And we're here."

Katsuki turned his head, capturing Izuku's lips in a kiss that was soft and sweet and full of promise. When they pulled apart, they were both smiling, tears drying on their cheeks, their son sleeping peacefully between them.

"Hey," Katsuki said, his eyes glinting with something familiar and mischievous. "You know what this means, right?"

"What?"

"We're gonna have to make another one," Katsuki grinned. "So I can actually experience the pregnancy this time. I want to feel the kicks. I want to go to the ultrasounds. I want to be there for all of it."

Izuku laughed, the sound bright and genuine, filling the room with light. "You're ridiculous. We just had this one!"

"Yeah, but I missed all the fun parts," Katsuki protested, leaning in to nuzzle Izuku's neck. "I missed the cravings and the mood swings and the horny second trimester–"

"How do you know about the horny second trimester?" Izuku asked, blushing.

"I read a pamphlet,” Katsuki said proudly. "While you and the baby were getting checked. Apparently pregnant people get really–"

"Okay, okay," Izuku cut him off, his face burning. "We can talk about... future plans... later. Much later. When I'm not recovering from childbirth."

"Deal," Katsuki kissed him again, slow and deep and full of love. "But I'm holding you to it. I want a big family, Izuku. I want the whole thing with you."

"Me too," Izuku whispered, looking down at their son, at the family they'd created despite everything. "Me too, Kacchan."

They held each other, held their baby, and watched the sun set through the hospital window. Outside, the city continued its endless rhythm– heroes saving lives, villains plotting, the world turning. But in this room, in this moment, there was only peace. Only love. Only the three of them, together at last, complete in a way they'd never been before.

Izuku thought about the long road that had brought them here– the years of rivalry and friendship, the night of drunken passion, the months of fear and secrets, the pain of labor and the joy of birth. It hadn't been perfect. It had been messy and complicated and terrifying.

But it had been worth it. Every moment, every tear, every lie and confession and desperate hope– it had all led to this. To Katsuki's arms around him. To their son's soft breathing between them. To a future that suddenly seemed bright and full of possibility.

"I love you," Izuku whispered, because it bore repeating, because he could never say it enough.

"I love you too," Katsuki whispered back. "Welcome home, Izuku. Welcome to our family."

And as Kaito stirred and opened his eyes– crimson, like his father's, like the dawn– they both smiled, knowing that this was just the beginning. The beginning of their life together, truly together, with no more secrets and no more fear.

Just love. Just family. Just the three of them, against the world.

Epilogue: One Year Later

The Midoriya-Bakugou Hero Agency was thriving. They'd taken on three new heroes, expanded to a second floor, and developed a reputation for being the team you called when things got messy– personally and professionally.

Katsuki stood in the doorway of their office, watching Izuku play with Kaito on the floor. Their son was walking now, toddling between furniture with his hands outstretched, his green hair fluffy and wild.

"Having fun?" Katsuki asked, smiling as Kaito giggled, falling onto his diaper-padded bottom.

"The best kind," Izuku said, looking up with eyes that still made Katsuki's heart skip. "How was the meeting?"

"Productive," Katsuki crossed the room, dropping to the floor to join them. He pulled Izuku into his lap, wrapping his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Izuku's shoulder. "Hawks wants to collaborate on something next month. A big bust. You up for it?"

Izuku leaned back into him, humming contentedly. "If you're there, I'm up for anything."

"Good," Katsuki pressed a kiss to Izuku's neck, then reached out to tickle Kaito's belly, making the baby shriek with laughter. "Because I have plans for tonight. Mom's taking the monster here for the weekend."

Izuku turned his head, eyebrows raised. "Oh? And what are these plans?"

Katsuki grinned, sharp and full of promise. "Let's just say... I want to try for a sibling. Properly this time. While I'm sober enough to remember every second."

Izuku's face went red, but his eyes were bright with desire. "Kacchan, we talked about this–"

"I know, I know," Katsuki laughed, nuzzling into Izuku's hair. "But Kaito's one now. And I meant what I said in that hospital room. I want the whole experience, Izuku. I want to be there from the beginning. I want to watch your belly grow. I want to feel the kicks. I want–"

"You want to fulfill your breeding kink," Izuku teased, though his voice was breathless.

"That too," Katsuki admitted shamelessly. "But mostly... I just want more of this. More of us. More family."

Izuku turned in his arms, straddling his lap, and kissed him slow and deep. "Okay," he whispered against Katsuki's lips. "Let's make a baby, Kacchan. Together this time."

Katsuki groaned, pulling him closer, and Kaito babbled happily between them, unaware that his parents were about to start working on giving him a little brother or sister.

Outside, the city bustled on. Heroes saved lives. The world turned.

But in this office, in this moment, there was only love. Only family. Only the promise of tomorrow, bright and explosive and full of hope.