The first grey light of dawn silhouettes Katsuki’s naked form against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city below is a silent, twinkling grid. He stands perfectly still, one hand braced against the cool glass, the other holding Izuku’s cracked, All Might-stickered phone. The screen casts a pale glow on the sharp planes of his face. His thumb scrolls through contacts—fan clubs, hero forums, a few classmates—before landing on the one labeled simply ‘Mom’. He taps the call icon and brings the device to his ear. It rings once. Twice.

In the bedroom, Izuku sleeps deeply, a small shape in the center of the massive bed. The sheets are fresh, his skin clean from where Katsuki had wiped him down hours ago. He is naked, one hand curled loosely near his parted lips. A faint bruise is blooming on his hip.

The phone rings a third time. A fourth. Katsuki’s expression doesn’t change, his gaze fixed on the sleeping city. Then, a frantic click.

“Izuku? Izuku, honey, is that you? Where are you? I’ve been calling all night! I was about to call the police!” The voice is high, trembling, a torrent of worry that crackles through the speaker.

Katsuki lets it flow. He listens to the breathless panic, the muffled sounds of her probably pacing a kitchen somewhere. He can picture her: a smaller, softer, older version of the boy in his bed, wringing her hands.

“—and you didn’t answer any texts, I thought something terrible happened at that event, I told you those crowds could be dangerous, oh my baby—”

“Midoriya-san.” His voice cuts through the static, low and calm, a boulder in a stream. The chatter stops dead. “This is Dynamight.”

A sharp, shocked inhale. “D-Dynamight? The… the pro hero? Is Izuku—?”

“He’s safe,” Katsuki says, his voice a flat, professional line. “He’s asleep in my bed right now. The event was overwhelming. He needed a quiet place to recover.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence on the line. Then, a hesitant, “Your… bed? Dynamight-san, I don’t understand. Why isn’t he in a guest room? Or on a couch?”

Katsuki’s thumb traces the edge of Izuku’s cracked phone case. He watches a single car crawl along the distant highway. “Because I fucked him, Midoriya-san. All night. His little pussy’s so raw he could barely walk when I was done with him. So yeah, he’s in my bed.”

A choked sound, like she’s been punched. “What? No. That’s—you’re a hero. You’re lying. Izuku would never—”

“He did.” Katsuki’s tone doesn’t shift. It’s a recitation of facts. “He begged for it. Came three times before I even got my cock in him. Squirts like a fountain. I had to teach him everything. What a clit is for. How to deep throat. He didn’t even know the words for his own parts. Called his cunt a ‘kitty’. It’s pathetic. And sweet.”

“He’s a child!” The words are a shriek, frayed with horror. “He’s my baby! How could you—a grown man—you monster!”

“He’s eighteen.” Katsuki cuts through her hysteria, sharp as broken glass. “I checked his ID. He’s legal. An adult. He can fuck whoever he wants. And last night, he wanted to fuck me.”

He can hear her ragged breathing, the wet sound of tears. He waits. The city lightens from grey to a cold, pale blue.

“I’m calling the police,” she whispers, the threat trembling. “I’m telling them everything.”

“You do that.” Katsuki turns from the window, his naked body a stark silhouette against the dawn. “You tell them Pro Hero Dynamight had consensual sex with a legal adult fan who attended his event. You give them my name. My agency’s lawyers will have a field day with you. And while they’re dragging my name—and your son’s—through every tabloid in Japan, I’ll be right here. In this penthouse. With him. He won’t want to leave. He cried my hero name when he came. He’s mine now.”

The silence this time is different. It’s the silence of a door slamming shut, of options evaporating. It’s the sound of a mother realizing the predator isn’t in the shadows. He’s on the phone, and he’s already won.

“He’s not your baby anymore,” Katsuki says, his voice a flat, bored dismissal of her sobbing. “He’s my boy wife. My little fanboy sex slave. He’s gonna have my babies. He’s probably already pregnant after last night. I came in him too many times to count. Made sure it stuck.”

Inko’s breath hitches, a wet, ragged sound. “You… you can’t just—I’ll get a lawyer, I’ll expose you, I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing.” Katsuki interrupts, turning his back fully on the city. The dawn light glints off the scars on his shoulders. “He’s mine. His body, his mouth, his little cunt. All mine. You can fuck right off.”

The line erupts. It’s not words anymore, just a raw, maternal scream of fury and grief, a sound so primal it vibrates through the phone’s tiny speaker. Katsuki holds the device away from his ear, watching the screen with detached interest as the tinny shriek fills the silent penthouse.

He lets it go on for three seconds. Five. The scream cracks, dissolving into hysterical, choking sobs. He brings the phone back to his mouth, his lips almost brushing the microphone.

“Bye, Mom.”

He ends the call. The screaming stops. For a moment, there is only the hum of the climate control and the faint, sleeping breath he can just hear from the bedroom.

Katsuki looks down at the cracked phone in his palm. The All Might sticker is peeling at the corner. He walks to the window, the cool glass kissing his bare thigh. He doesn’t hesitate. He slides the window open a foot. The chill morning air rushes in, raising goosebumps on his skin.

He holds Izuku’s phone out into the void, fifty stories above the waking city. He opens his fingers.

It falls silently, a tiny speck of plastic and light, swallowed by the distance. He doesn’t watch it hit. He slides the window closed, cutting off the wind.

The suite is silent again. Profoundly so. The last tether, severed. He turns, his gaze going to the dark hallway leading to the bedroom. To where his boy sleeps, naked and filled and utterly unaware that his old life just shattered on the pavement below.

Katsuki’s mouth curves, not a smile, but a slow, satisfied acknowledgment. A claim settled. He’ll get Izuku a new phone tomorrow. One with no saved contacts. One that only calls him.

Katsuki walks back to the bedroom, the plush carpet silent under his feet. The room is dark, the heavy curtains still drawn against the dawn. In the center of the massive bed, Izuku is a small, pale shape curled on his side, his green curls stark against the white pillow. He’s deeply asleep, his breathing slow and even, one hand tucked under his cheek.

Katsuki slides into the bed beside him, the sheets cool. He doesn’t pull Izuku close right away. He just lies on his side, propped on an elbow, and looks. The boy’s lashes are dark fans against his freckled cheeks. His lips are parted, swollen from use. There’s a faint, purpling mark on his neck, just above the collarbone. A claim.

“There you are,” Katsuki whispers, his voice a low rumble in the quiet. He reaches out, his calloused fingers barely skimming the line of Izuku’s spine. The skin is warm, impossibly soft. He traces the bumps of vertebrae, down to the dip of his lower back, then back up. A slow, repetitive stroke.

Izuku sighs in his sleep, a soft, contented sound. He shifts slightly, pressing back into the touch.

“That’s it,” Katsuki murmurs. His thumb rubs a gentle circle between Izuku’s shoulder blades. “Sleep, baby. You earned it. Took me so good. Took every inch.”

He leans down, his breath stirring Izuku’s hair. He presses his lips to the boy’s forehead. The kiss is dry, lingering. “My good boy. My perfect little wife. All mine now. No one to call. No one to miss you.”

Izuku’s breathing hitches, but he doesn’t wake. His eyelids flutter.

“Shhh,” Katsuki soothes, his hand still moving in that slow, possessive rhythm on Izuku’s back. “Just dreaming. Dreaming of me, yeah? Dreaming of my cock in that pretty little cunt. Dreaming of being full.”

He lets his gaze travel down the slender body. The sheet is pooled at Izuku’s waist. In the dim light, Katsuki can see the slight, tender swell of his belly. Filled. Packed. The thought makes his own cock stir, heavy and interested against his thigh. He ignores it. This moment isn’t for that.

“Gonna keep you,” he whispers, his lips close to Izuku’s ear. “Gonna get you a new phone tomorrow. One that only calls me. You won’t need anything else. Just my voice. Just my bed.”

Izuku makes another small sound, a sleepy mumble. His hand twitches.

Katsuki catches it, lacing their fingers together. His own hand swallows Izuku’s completely. He brings their joined hands to his mouth, kisses the boy’s knuckles. “Sleep,” he commands, his voice softening to something almost tender. “Your hero’s right here. I’ve got you. Forever.”

The He settles back, pulling Izuku gently against his chest. The boy fits perfectly, his head tucked under Katsuki’s chin. Katsuki wraps an arm around him, his big hand splayed over Izuku’s stomach, holding him close. He can feel the slow, deep rhythm of Izuku’s breath. He can smell the clean, soapy scent of his skin, and beneath it, the faint, musky trace of their sex.

Outside, the city is fully awake. Inside, in the dark, Katsuki Bakugou holds what he’s stolen, and he watches the dawn light finally find a crack in the curtains. It paints a single, bright line across the floor, stopping at the edge of the bed. It doesn’t touch them.

The wedding is a spectacle of light and sound, a hero society gala with Izuku Midoriya at its glowing center. He stands at the altar, eight months pregnant, his white dress flowing over the pronounced curve of his belly. The lace sleeves strain slightly over his fuller arms, and his freckled face is radiant, tears of pure joy tracking through his careful makeup as he looks up at Katsuki Bakugou. Dynamight, in a tailored black tuxedo, doesn’t smile for the cameras. He looks only at Izuku, his red eyes possessive and satisfied, as he slides a heavy platinum band onto the boy’s finger.

“You did good, kid,” Katsuki murmurs, the words lost in the roar of applause from the assembled heroes. All Might beams from the front row. Best Jeanist gives a solemn nod.

Izuku’s voice is a breathless, happy whisper. “Kacchan… my husband.”

Later, in the penthouse suite—a different one, larger, permanently theirs—the silence is a physical relief. The door clicks shut, locking out the world. Izuku sags against it, a hand resting on the hard swell of his stomach. “I’m so tired,” he laughs, but his eyes are bright.

Katsuki is already loosening his tie, his gaze dark. “Not too tired.”

“No,” Izuku agrees softly, pushing away from the door. He walks toward the bedroom, his steps a careful, wide-legged waddle. He looks over his shoulder, a shy, knowing look. “I need my husband.”

Katsuki follows, shedding his jacket. The bedroom is lit by city lights, the bed turned down. Izuku stands beside it, struggling with the intricate buttons at the back of his dress. His fingers fumble.

“Let me.” Katsuki’s hands are there, pushing his aside. He works the buttons with surprising deftness, his knuckles brushing the heated skin of Izuku’s back. The dress pools at Izuku’s feet, leaving him in just a pair of white lace panties that strain over his belly and the full curve of his ass. His breasts are heavier, his nipples dark and sensitive. Katsuki’s breath hitches, a low, hungry sound.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice rough. He palms the tight globe of Izuku’s tstomach. “All round with my kid. My wife.”

Izuku shivers, leaning back into the touch. “Yours. Always.”

Katsuki turns him, not gently, and pushes him backward onto the bed. Izuku goes with a soft gasp, his belly a proud mound between them. Katsuki strips, his cock already thick and eager, curving up against his stomach. He kneels on the bed, between Izuku’s spread thighs, and hooks his fingers in the lace panties. He tears them. The sound is sharp in the quiet.

Izuku’s pussy is swollen, glistening, the lips flushed and full. The scent of his arousal is rich, deeper now. Katsuki groans, leaning down to drag his tongue through the wetness. Izuku cries out, his back arching off the bed, his hands flying to his stomach.

“Kacchan, please… I need you inside. Now.”

“Demanding,” Katsuki growls against his skin, but he’s positioning himself, the broad, leaking head of his cock nudging at Izuku’s entrance. He looks down, watching. “See how you open for me? Even now. Always hungry for it.”

He pushes in. Not slow. A single, deep, claiming thrust that seats him to the hilt. Izuku screams, a raw, ragged sound of fullness. His body clutches desperately around the invasion, his pregnant belly jutting upward. Katsuki stills, buried, his own breath coming in harsh pants. He looks wrecked.

“Fuck,” he grates out. “Tighter. Like you’re trying to keep me in there forever.”

“I am,” Izuku sobs, his hips making tiny, involuntary circles. “I will. Please, move. Please, husband.”

Katsuki moves. He sets a brutal, pounding rhythm from the start, each thrust jolting Izuku up the bed, making his belly quiver. The wet, slapping sound of their joining fills the room. Katsuki’s hands grip Izuku’s hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh, holding him open, taking him.

“This is it,” Katsuki snarls, sweat dripping from his chin onto Izuku’s heaving chest. “This is what you wanted. My name. My ring. My kid in your belly. My cock in your cunt. You’re full of me. Every part of you.”

“Yes!” Izuku wails, his hands scrambling over Katsuki’s scarred shoulders. His eyes are wild, unfocused with pleasure. “All yours! I’m all yours!”

Katsuki’s pace becomes punishing, erratic. He’s close. He shifts, driving deeper, and Izuku shatters. His orgasm rips through him, a gush of fluid soaking the sheets beneath them, his body clamping down in rhythmic, milking pulses around Katsuki’s cock. The sensation tips Katsuki over the edge. He shouts, a raw, unheroic sound, and pumps his release deep into Izuku’s clutching heat, grinding his hips hard against him, ensuring every drop is deposited where it belongs.

He collapses forward, catching his weight on his elbows, his forehead resting against Izuku’s. They are both breathing like they’ve run a marathon. Katsuki is still inside him, softening, but lodged deep. Izuku’s legs tremble where they’re hooked around Katsuki’s waist.

After a long moment, Katsuki presses a kiss, surprisingly soft, to Izuku’s swollen lips. “Mrs. Bakugou,” he whispers, the title a final brand.

Izuku’s smile is tired, sated, utterly complete. “Forever,” he breathes back.