The morning sun poured through the kitchen window, casting long gold rectangles across the worn linoleum. Izuku stood at the counter with his phone in his hand, the screen showing 8:47 AM. The train had left the station seventeen minutes ago. He'd watched it happen from the porch, heard the distant whistle fade into the hills, felt the strange lightness of a choice made permanent by time.
The coffee Katsuki had pressed into his hands was still warm. His grandfather hadn't asked a single question at breakfast. He'd just made eggs, slid a plate across the table, and sat down across from Izuku with that same quiet watchfulness that said more than words ever could. Izuku's thumb hovered over his mother's contact. The name on the screen: Mom.
He pressed call before he could think himself out of it.
It rang twice. Three times. Then:
"Izumi! Thank goodness, are you on the train? I've been watching the clock all morning, I was so worried you'd miss it—" Inko's voice, bright and rushed, the same nervous energy she'd had his whole life. The name hit him like cold water down his spine. Izumi. Not Izuku. Never Izuku, not once since he'd told her, not even after the legal name change, not even when he'd begged her to try. He flinched, his jaw tightening, and something in his chest went hard and certain.
"No, Mom." His voice came out steadier than he expected. "I'm not on the train. I'm still at the farm."
A beat of silence. Then: "What do you mean you're still at the farm? Izumi, the train—you had to be on that train, your semester starts in three weeks, you need to—"
"I'm not coming home." He said it cleanly, each word separate and final. His hand moved unconsciously to his stomach, the small swell he could already feel beneath his palm. "I'm staying here. With Grandpa."
"You're not—Izumi, that's absurd. You have a life here. You have school, you have plans, you can't just throw all of that away because you've had a nice summer in the country—" Her voice was climbing now, that familiar edge of panic that always meant she was trying to control something she couldn't. "Did something happen? Did he say something to you? I knew I shouldn't have sent you out there alone—"
"Mom." Izuku's fingers tightened on the phone. "Everything happened. I'm happy here. I'm building something. I can't explain it in a phone call, but I'm not coming back."
"You're eighteen years old, you don't know what happy means—"
"I know it doesn't mean being called Izumi." The words came out sharper than he meant, and he felt them land, a silence on the other end of the line. He took a breath, steadied himself, and felt Katsuki's hand wrap around his free one—warm, rough, solid. "Mom. I love you. But I'm not your little girl. I haven't been for a long time. And I'm not coming home."
The silence on the line cracked open. "What did he do to you?" Inko's voice had gone thin, sharp, the sound of something breaking. "What did that bastard do to my little girl? Put him on the phone, Izumi. Put him on right now."
Izuku's hand tightened on the phone. Katsuki was already reaching for it, his jaw set, and Izuku let him take it without a word. The weight of the moment settled in his chest—this was the first time his mother and grandfather had spoken in twenty years, and it was happening here, in this sunlit kitchen, while Izuku's stomach still churned with the truth he hadn't told her yet.
"Inko." Katsuki's voice was rough, steady, the same voice that had called Izuku beautiful in the dark. "Izuku ain't a girl. He never was. And he's made his own choice to stay here."
A beat of static. Then Inko's voice, high and trembling: "You turned her against me. You always hated me, you bitter old man—what did you tell her? What lies have you been filling her head with?"
"I told him everything." Katsuki's jaw worked. "About us. About why you left. He knows."
Izuku stepped forward, his free hand finding Katsuki's arm. "Mom—I know. About the night you left. About the fight. About why you haven't spoken in twenty years. And I don't care. That was then."
The sound that came through the phone was not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. "You don't care? You don't care that he—that he that he betrayed my mother, betrayed me—" Inko's voice broke, then hardened. "What did you do to her? What did you do to my little girl?"
Something snapped in Izuku's chest. Not the quiet crack of a decision—the clean break of a bone that had been healing wrong. He grabbed the phone back from Katsuki, his voice rising raw and shameless. "He fucked me, Mom. That's what he did. He railed me, and I loved every second of it."
The words hung in the air like smoke. Katsuki's eyes went wide, his mouth falling open, but Izuku wasn't done. The confession poured out of him, hot and unstoppable, a dam he'd been building his whole life finally breaking. "He's been inside me every way a man can be inside someone. In the barn, in the kitchen, in the hayloft where anyone could hear. I spread my legs for him and begged him to breed me. I've never felt more alive, more wanted, more like me than when I'm full of his cum."
A choked sound from the phone. "Izumi—"
"It's Izuku." His voice cracked like a whip. "And he's my lover. He's my family. He's the father of my child."
The silence that followed was absolute. Inko's breathing came in ragged gasps, and Izuku could picture her standing in their old kitchen, gripping the counter, her world tilting. He didn't give her time to right herself.
"Goodbye, Mother." He pressed the red circle. The call ended with a soft click that felt like the closing of a door he'd been standing in front of for eighteen years.
The kitchen was quiet. The coffee had gone cold in his hand. He set the phone down on the counter, and when he looked up, Katsuki was staring at him, the disbelief stark across his weathered face. His lips parted, but no words came.
Izuku's thumb moved before he could think. He pulled up his mother's contact—the picture was old, a generic default icon—and pressed Block Contact. The confirmation box appeared. Block this caller? He tapped Yes without reading it twice. The phone vibrated once, a dull thud of finality, and her name vanished from his recent calls list like it had never been there at all. He set the phone face-down on the counter. Turned it over so the screen was hidden. Done.
Katsuki hadn't moved. He stood frozen by the table, his hands braced against the back of a chair, his knuckles white. The disbelief hadn't left his face—it was etched into the lines around his mouth, the furrow of his brow. He looked like a man who'd just watched a bomb go off and couldn't tell if everyone was safe or if the ringing in his ears was permanent. "You just..." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Izuku."
The sound of his real name on Katsuki's lips, in this kitchen, after everything—it hit him harder than his mother's tears ever could. Izuku crossed the space between them. He stopped close enough to smell the coffee on Katsuki's breath, the hay and sweat and woodsmoke that lived in his skin. "I don't want to hear her voice again," Izuku said. "I don't want her to call me that name. I don't want her to have any way back in." He reached up, his fingers brushing the stubble on Katsuki's jaw. "This is my home now. You're my family."
A sound escaped Katsuki's throat. Not a word—something lower, rougher, the noise a man makes when he's been holding up a wall for twenty years and someone finally offers to take the weight. His hands left the chair. One found Izuku's hip, the other slid up his back, palm flat against the curve of his spine. "I ain't gonna let you regret this." His voice was gravel. "I ain't gonna let you wake up one morning and wish you'd gotten on that train."
Izuku shook his head. "I won't." He pulled Katsuki down by the jaw, crushing their mouths together.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a collision—teeth and tongue and the desperate edge of two people who'd just burned a bridge and were standing on the same side of the fire. Izuku bit Katsuki's lower lip, tasted copper, and moaned into his mouth. Katsuki's arms wrapped around him, lifting him slightly, pinning him against the counter. The edge dug into Izuku's lower back, but he didn't care. He fisted his hands in Katsuki's robe, pulling him closer, needing him closer, like he could crawl inside his ribcage and live there.
Katsuki broke the kiss first, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to Izuku's. "You're somethin' else," he rasped. "You know that?"
Izuku laughed, a wet, broken sound. "Yeah. I'm yours."
"Fuck, yeah you are." Katsuki's voice came out rough and raw, his hands already finding the hem of Izuku's shorts—those tiny denim cutoffs that barely covered anything. He lifted Izuku onto the counter's edge like he weighed nothing, the wood cool against Izuku's thighs as Katsuki worked the button loose and dragged the shorts down his legs, taking the black thong with them in one rough pull. Izuku's breath caught at the sudden exposure, the summer air finding his wet cunt, and he watched Katsuki's crimson eyes darken as they landed on his body—on the soft swell of his belly, still so small, but there.
Katsuki parted his robe without ceremony. He was naked underneath, always naked underneath, and his cock stood thick and throbbing jetting out in front of his stomach, the head already slick with need. He stepped between Izuku's spread thighs and slapped the heavy length against Izuku's wet pussy—once, twice, the sound sharp and wet in the quiet kitchen. "This pussy," Katsuki growled, his voice low and wrecked, "I got this pussy pregnant. I claimed it with this cock every damn way a man can claim something."
Izuku moaned, his head falling back as he reached down and wrapped his fingers around Katsuki's shaft, guiding it against his swollen clit. The friction sent sparks through his whole body, his hips rolling instinctively, chasing the pressure. "Your pussy," he breathed, the words tumbling out between gasps. "I'm pregnant with your baby. My cunt is full of you. My grandfather's cum is inside me, making a baby—"
Katsuki's breath hitched, a sound caught between a groan and a curse. "Fuck, baby boy. Say it again."
"I'm pregnant." Izuku's voice cracked with the weight of the truth, with how much he loved saying it. "Your baby is growing inside me, Papa. You bred me so good." He rubbed Katsuki's cock harder against his clit, the wet slide of it making his thighs shake. "My pussy is so full of you. I can still feel you dripping out of me from last night."
Katsuki's control snapped. He grabbed Izuku by the hips and pulled him to the edge of the counter, lining himself up, and pushed inside in one thick, brutal thrust. Izuku cried out, his back arching off the counter, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on Katsuki's shoulders as that familiar stretch filled him completely. "That's right," Katsuki snarled, already pulling back and slamming in again, harder. "You're mine. This cunt is mine. This baby is mine. Everything you are, belongs to me."
Izuku couldn't form words. He nodded, his mouth open on a silent moan as Katsuki fucked him with a desperate, driving rhythm that shook the counter against the cabinets. Every thrust seemed to hit deeper, fuller, pressing against something that made his vision blur at the edges. The wet sound of Katsuki's cock sliding into his soaked pussy filled the kitchen, obscene and perfect, and Izuku felt his own arousal building, hot and undeniable, coiling low in his belly.
Katsuki leaned down, his mouth finding Izuku's, swallowing his moans as he fucked him. His hand slid down between them, fingers pressing against Izuku's clit in tight circles that made Izuku's hips buck. "That's it," Katsuki growled against his lips. "Cum for me. Let me feel you squeeze my cock while you carry my baby."
The words broke him. Izuku's orgasm crashed through him like a wave, his cunt clenching around Katsuki's cock, his whole body trembling as he cried out into Katsuki's mouth. He felt himself squirting, hot and uncontrollable, soaking Katsuki's thighs and the counter beneath them, and the sensation only made him climax harder, his vision going white for a long, perfect moment.
Katsuki followed a few thrusts later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and came, hot and thick, flooding Izuku's already-full cunt with another load. He stayed there, pressed inside, his forehead against Izuku's, both of them breathing hard and shaking. The kitchen was quiet except for their ragged breaths and the distant sound of chickens in the yard. Inko's name didn't cross either of their minds. The phone lay face-down on the counter, forgotten, while Katsuki's hand found Izuku's belly—pressed flat against the small swell—and Izuku covered it with his own.
The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and the faint, familiar musk of Katsuki's skin—that hay-and-woodsmoke scent that had become home to Izuku, now diluted by bleach and the hum of machines. Izuku sat in the hard plastic chair by the bed, his hand wrapped around Katsuki's, feeling the bones too close to the surface, the pulse too weak beneath his thumb. His belly had grown in the month since that phone call—a round, hard swell pressing against the fabric of his hoodie, a constant reminder of why he was fighting so hard to keep this man alive.
Katsuki's chest rose and fell with a shallow rhythm, the oxygen cannula taped under his nose, his eyes closed more often than open now. When they did open, those crimson irises found Izuku first, every time, like he was checking that he was still there. "You gotta eat somethin'," Katsuki rasped, his voice a dry scrape. "You been here three days."
"I ate." Izuku's lie came automatic, his thumb tracing circles on the back of Katsuki's hand. "The cafeteria had soup."
"Bullshit." Katsuki's fingers twitched, a weak squeeze. "I can see your ribs from here. You're carryin' my kid. You need to—" A coughing fit rattled through his chest, and Izuku leaned forward, his free hand hovering over the call button, but Katsuki waved him off with a shaking arm. "I'm fine. Don't you dare call that nurse."
Izuku's eyes burned. He hadn't slept more than an hour at a stretch, and each time he closed his eyes, he saw Katsuki collapsing in the barn—saw the way his grandfather's hand had clutched his chest, the way his face had gone gray before the ambulance came. "I'm not leaving you," Izuku said, his voice cracking on the last word. "Don't ask me to."
Katsuki's hand moved, dragging Izuku's palm to his chest, pressing it flat over the thin hospital gown where his heart beat a weak, erratic rhythm. "Feel that?" he whispered. "That's been goin' for sixty-five years. And every second of it, I was waitin' for somethin'. I didn't know what. Then you showed up." A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, tracking down the weathered groove beside his nose. "Four months. That's all I got. And it was worth every year that came before."
Izuku broke. He let himself fall forward, his forehead pressing into Katsuki's shoulder, his tears soaking the thin fabric. A sob tore out of him, raw and animal, the sound of a boy who had finally found his home only to watch it crumble. "It's not fair," he choked. "I just found you. The baby's not even here yet. You promised you'd fight."
"I am fightin'," Katsuki said, his voice thick with his own tears. His arm came up, weak but true, wrapping around Izuku's head, holding him close. "But sometimes... sometimes the body don't listen to the heart. Not the old, tired one. The one that loves you." He pressed a kiss to Izuku's hair, his lips dry and trembling. "I'm sorry, baby boy. I'm so damn sorry."
Izuku felt the words break something in his chest. He cried harder, his hand splaying over Katsuki's heart, feeling it stutter beneath his palm. "I can't do this without you," he whispered into the fabric. "I don't know how."
"You can," Katsuki said, his voice dropping to a strained, fierce whisper. "You got Eijiro. You got his brother. You got the farm—it's yours now, all of it. And you got that little one." His hand found Izuku's belly, palm flat and warm, cradling the swell through the hoodie. "You tell 'em about me. Tell 'em their old man was a grumpy bastard who loved their mother more than he ever thought he could love anything."
Izuku lifted his head, his face a mess of tears and snot, his green eyes red-rimmed and swollen. "You're not dying," he said, the words fierce and desperate. "You're not. I won't let you."
Katsuki smiled—a small, tired, heartbreaking thing. "You can't stop the tide, baby boy. But you can damn sure ride it 'til the last wave." He squeezed Izuku's hand, his thumb brushing over the knuckles. "I love you. I ain't said it enough. I love you more than I ever loved anyone, and that includes myself."
"Papa—" Izuku's voice broke on the word, the name he'd claimed as his own, the name that meant everything in this sterile room.
"I know." Katsuki's eyes fluttered closed, his hand heavy on Izuku's belly. "I know. Just stay with me. That's all I need."
Izuku lowered his head again, pressing his cheek to Katsuki's chest, listening to the heart that had given him everything. The monitor beeped its steady, fragile rhythm, and outside the window, the first leaves of the season began to fall.
Izuku's cheek was still pressed to Katsuki's chest when the air changed just outside their hospital room. His exhausted brain took a full second to register it—the rhythm shifting, a hurried commotion happening. He jerked upright, his hand still splayed over Katsuki's heart, and saw the nurse burst through the door, her face lit with something he couldn't name.
"There's a match," she said, breathless. "A heart. They just called it in—twenty minutes out by helicopter. We need to move."
Izuku's mouth opened. Nothing came out. He looked down at Katsuki, whose crimson eyes had cracked open, glassy and confused, and then back at the nurse, and the word finally broke free. "What?"
"A donor heart," she repeated, already pressing buttons, pulling the bed brakes. "Someone's family said yes. We've got a surgical team standing by."
Katsuki's hand found Izuku's wrist, grip weak but real. "Baby boy—" His voice cracked, raw and disbelieving.
"I'm here." Izuku was crying again, but different this time—wet, messy, relieved sobs that made his whole body shake. "I'm here, Papa. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna—" He couldn't finish. He pressed his forehead to Katsuki's, felt the older man's breath hot and uneven against his skin. "I love you. I love you so much."
Katsuki's hand came up, trembling, and cupped Izuku's jaw. "I love you too," he rasped, and then, with the nurse already unlocking the bed's wheels, he pulled Izuku down and kissed him. It wasn't gentle—it was desperate, urgent, the kiss of a man who might not get another chance. He tasted like hospital air and tears, and Izuku clung to him like he could anchor him to this world through sheer want. The nurse said nothing, just turned her back and gave them the moment.
They were pulling Katsuki through the double doors when Izuku caught Eijiro's voice behind him—he and Tetsutetsu must have run the whole way, their boots squeaking on the linoleum. "Is it true?" Eijiro gasped, and Izuku could only nod, his eyes locked on the gurney disappearing into the operating wing. Katsuki's hand rose, a weak wave, before the doors swung shut. Izuku stood there, his chest heaving, his hand pressed to his belly where the baby shifted, and let himself believe.
The waiting room chairs were plastic and unforgiving. Izuku sat between Eijiro and Tetsutetsu, their shoulders bracketing him, a wall of warmth in the sterile cold. Eijiro's hand found his and squeezed, rough calluses against shaking fingers. Tetsutetsu sat on his other side, silent and solid, occasionally reaching over to rub Izuku's back in slow, grounding circles. Hours passed. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, then one, then two. Izuku didn't sleep—couldn't sleep—his eyes fixed on the doors, his mind running through every possible outcome, every prayer he'd never learned to pray.
When the surgeon finally emerged, her scrubs wrinkled, her mask pulled down, Izuku was on his feet before she could speak, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat. She smiled. "He's doing well. The heart is beating strong. We'll keep him sedated for a few hours, but he's stable."
Izuku's knees buckled. Eijiro caught him, hauling him upright, and Izuku buried his face in the other man's shoulder and sobbed—ugly, desperate, grateful sounds that echoed off the waiting room walls. Tetsutetsu let out a low, shaky breath and slumped back into his chair, his head falling back, a grin splitting his face.
They let Izuku into the recovery room just before dawn. Katsuki lay in the bed, tubes and wires everywhere, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that wasn't fragile anymore—steady, strong, true. Izuku kicked off his shoes, climbed carefully onto the narrow mattress, and pressed himself against Katsuki's side, his ear over the new heart, listening. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. A sound he'd thought he'd never hear again. He draped his arm across Katsuki's chest, his hand finding the warm skin above the bandages, and let the exhaustion finally pull him under.
Katsuki woke to sunlight and the weight of Izuku's body tucked against his side. His chest ached—a deep, surgical throb—but his lungs filled with air that didn't burn, and his heart beat in a rhythm that felt like a second chance. He looked down at the mess of green curls pressed into his shoulder, at the hand splayed over his heart, at the small swell pressing against his hip, and felt something crack open in his chest that had nothing to do with the incision. His arm came up, heavy and slow, and wrapped around Izuku's shoulders, pulling him closer. "Hey, baby boy," he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. "Mornin'."
Izuku stirred, his eyes blinking open, unfocused and red-rimmed. He looked up at Katsuki's face, at the color in his cheeks, the light in his crimson eyes, and a sound escaped him—half laugh, half sob. "You're awake."
"So are you." Katsuki's thumb traced the line of Izuku's jaw. "Come here."
Izuku rose on his elbow, careful of the wires, of the bandages, of the fragile new thing beating in Katsuki's chest, and pressed his lips to his grandfather's. The kiss was soft, tender, a slow and deliberate prayer of gratitude. Katsuki's hand slid into his hair, holding him close, and when they broke apart, his eyes were wet. "Thank you," he whispered, and Izuku knew he wasn't talking about the surgery. "For stayin'. For believin'. For lovin' a mean old bastard like me."
Izuku laughed, watery and bright, and rested his forehead against Katsuki's. "Forever, Papa. I'm not going anywhere."
They lay there for a long moment, the only sound the steady lub-dub of Katsuki's new heart beneath Izuku's ear. A sound that meant tomorrow. A sound that meant the baby would know their father. Izuku's hand, still splayed over Katsuki's chest, began to move—slow, reverent, tracing the edge of the bandage, then sliding lower over the firm plane of his stomach. Katsuki's breath hitched, a sharp intake that wasn't pain.
"Baby boy." His voice was still a rasp, dry from the tube, but there was a warning in it—or maybe an invitation. Izuku didn't stop. His fingers found the waistband of the hospital gown, slipping beneath it, brushing the coarse hair that trailed down from Katsuki's navel. The skin was warm, alive, his.
"I thought I lost you," Izuku whispered, his voice cracking on the words. His hand kept moving, tracing the v-line of muscle that had softened just slightly from the weeks in bed, but was still there—still him. "I sat in that chair by his bed for three days. I watched them wheel you away. I didn't know if you were coming back." His fingers found the head of Katsuki's cock, half-hard already, and wrapped around it with a gentleness that made Katsuki's jaw clench.
"Izuku." Katsuki's hand came down, covering Izuku's, not pushing it away—just holding it there, his calloused fingers lacing between Izuku's. "I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere."
"I know." Izuku lifted his head, his green eyes meeting Katsuki's crimson ones. There were tears on his cheeks again, but he was smiling—a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. "I just need to feel you. All of you. To make sure." He squeezed gently, and Katsuki's cock twitched in his grip, thickening, lengthening, responding to the touch like it had a mind of its own.
Katsuki let out a shaky breath, his head falling back against the pillow. "You're gonna give my new heart a heart attack, brat." But there was no bite in it—just affection, just relief, just the raw, overwhelming gratitude of a man who had been given a second chance.
Izuku laughed, wet and bright, and shifted lower on the bed, his hand still wrapped around Katsuki's cock, his lips finding the skin just above the bandage. He pressed a kiss there, soft and deliberate, then another, trailing down the center of Katsuki's chest, over the firm muscle, the coarse hair, the steady thrum of the heart beneath. "I love this heart," he murmured against the skin. "I love that it's yours. I love that it's still beating."
Katsuki's hand found his hair, fingers threading through the green curls, tugging gently. "Come here." His voice was rough, thick with emotion. Izuku crawled up, his body pressing against Katsuki's side, careful of the IV line, careful of the monitors, careful of the fragile new thing in his chest. Their foreheads met, and Katsuki's hand slid down to cup Izuku's jaw, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. "I love you. I ain't said it enough. But I'm gonna spend every day from now on sayin' it until you're sick of hearin' it."
Izuku's breath caught, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. "I could never get sick of that."
Katsuki kissed him—soft, slow, a promise sealed with lips and tongue and the taste of hospital air. Izuku's hand was still wrapped around his cock, and as the kiss deepened, his grip tightened, sliding up to the tip, feeling the slick bead of pre-cum that had gathered there. Katsuki groaned into his mouth, his hips twitching, and Izuku smiled against his lips—a knowing, hungry smile that said I'm not done yet.
"Don't move, Papa." Izuku's voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he released Katsuki's cock and shifted lower on the narrow hospital bed. The monitors beeped their steady rhythm, the IV line swayed, and the antiseptic smell of the room faded beneath the scent of Katsuki's skin—medicine and sweat and something deeper, something that was just him. Izuku's lips found the jut of Katsuki's hipbone, pressing a kiss there, then another, trailing down the trail of coarse blond hair that disappeared beneath the hospital gown. "I just—I need to—" His voice broke, and he didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
Katsuki's hand found his hair, fingers threading through the green curls. "Take your time, baby boy." His voice was still rough, still recovering, but there was a tenderness in it that made Izuku's chest ache. "Ain't goin' nowhere."
Izuku's fingers found the hem of the hospital gown, pushing it up, exposing Katsuki's cock—thick and fully hard, the foreskin pulled back, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum. He'd seen it a hundred times, had it inside him in every way possible, but this time felt different. This time it meant Katsuki was alive. Izuku leaned down, his breath hot against the shaft, and pressed a kiss to the tip. Soft. Reverent. A prayer. "I thought I'd never get to do this again," he whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin. "I thought—" His voice cracked, and he pressed another kiss, harder this time, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of the pre-cum. "I'm so grateful, Papa. I'm so—"
"I know." Katsuki's voice was thick, his hips twitching slightly. "I know, baby. Me too." His hand tightened in Izuku's hair, a gentle pressure that said I'm here. "Show me. Show me how grateful you are."
Izuku's mouth opened, and he took Katsuki's cock into his mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. His tongue traced the vein on the underside, felt the pulse against his lips, and he let his eyes fall closed. The weight of it on his tongue, the taste of it—salt and skin and the faint bitterness of pre-cum—it was familiar. It was home. He sank lower, his throat relaxing, letting the head push past the soft palette until he felt the familiar pressure of it against the back of his throat. He swallowed around it, felt Katsuki's cock twitch, and a soft, muffled sound escaped him—half moan, half whimper.
"Fuck," Katsuki breathed, his head falling back against the pillow. "Fuck, baby boy. Just like that. Just—" His hips bucked involuntarily, and Izuku's throat clenched around him, a reflexive gag that he rode through, his nose pressing into the coarse hair at the base. He held there for a long moment, his throat full, his eyes watering, his hands gripping Katsuki's hips to keep him still. When he pulled back, he gasped for air, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the tip of Katsuki's cock, and he looked up at his grandfather with red-rimmed, adoring eyes.
Katsuki stared down at him, his chest heaving beneath the bandages, his new heart pounding a rhythm that felt like a miracle. Izuku's lips were swollen, wet, parted. His cheeks were flushed, his freckles standing out against the pink of his skin, and there was a desperation in his green eyes that made Katsuki's breath catch. How did I get this lucky? The thought cut through him, sharp and crystalline. How did a mean old bastard like me end up with a boy who looks at me like I hung the goddamn moon?
"Again." Katsuki's voice was a rasp, almost a plea. "Please, baby boy. One more time."
Izuku's smile was watery and bright. "Anything for you, Papa." He lowered his head again, his tongue circling the head, tasting the fresh bead of pre-cum that had gathered there, and then he took him deeper, his throat opening, his nose pressing into Katsuki's skin. He bobbed his head, finding a rhythm, his hand wrapping around the base of Katsuki's cock holding him steady. Katsuki's hand stayed in his hair, and Izuku let himself get lost in it, in the taste and the weight and the alive of it.
"I love you," Katsuki whispered, the words falling out before he could stop them, raw and unguarded. "I love you so fuckin' much, Izuku."
Izuku pulled off with a wet gasp, his chin slick, his eyes wide and shining. "I know, Papa." He pressed a kiss to the tip, soft and lingering. "I know." He took him back into his mouth, his throat relaxing, his tongue working, and he let the minutes stretch, let the moment become the only thing that existed. The heart monitor beeped. The IV dripped. And in that narrow hospital bed, a boy worshipped the man who had given him everything, one slow, reverent bob of his head at a time.
Izuku felt Katsuki's cock twitch against his tongue, felt the familiar tension ripple through the thick shaft, and he doubled down—his throat relaxing, his hand gripping the base, his nose pressed into the coarse blond hair. He wanted it all. Every drop. Every proof that his grandfather was alive and hard and here. Katsuki's hand tightened in his hair, a warning, a plea, and then the first hot pulse hit the back of Izuku's throat—thick and salty, flooding his mouth. He swallowed instinctively, felt the second pulse, the third, his throat working around the cock in his mouth, drinking down everything Katsuki gave him like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Katsuki's hips bucked once, twice, a low groan escaping his lips—raw and broken, the sound of a man who had almost died and was now coming down his grandson's throat. "Fuck—Izuku—" His voice cracked, and Izuku felt the last pulse of cum hit his tongue, warm and thick, and he swallowed it all, his eyes fluttering closed, a soft moan vibrating around Katsuki's cock. He held there for a long moment, his throat full, his mouth sealed around the head, savoring the taste of his grandfather's release—salty and bitter and utterly his.
When he finally pulled back, gasping for air, a string of saliva and cum connected his swollen lips to the tip of Katsuki's cock. He didn't wipe it away. He looked up at Katsuki through wet lashes, his cheeks flushed, his green eyes bright with tears and gratitude, and then he lowered his head again—not to take him in his mouth, but to press a soft, reverent kiss to the head, tasting the mix of their fluids. He licked along the shaft, slow and deliberate, cleaning every trace of cum from the skin, his tongue tracing the thick vein that pulsed with Katsuki's heartbeat.
Katsuki's chest was heaving beneath the bandages, his new heart pounding a rhythm that matched the beeping of the monitor. His hand was still tangled in Izuku's hair, his fingers trembling, and when Izuku finished licking him clean and pressed one last kiss to the tip, Katsuki let out a shaky breath that sounded almost like a sob. "Baby boy," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Come here."
Izuku crawled up the narrow hospital bed, his body pressing against Katsuki's side, careful of the wires and the bandages and the fragile new thing beating in his chest. Their lips met, and Izuku tasted himself on Katsuki's tongue—the salt of his own saliva, the bitter tang of cum, the familiar warmth of the man he loved. The kiss was slow, unhurried, a deep and loving exploration that said I'm here, you're here, we made you feel it. Izuku's hand found Katsuki's jaw, holding him gently, his thumb tracing the line of his stubbled cheek.
"I love you," Izuku murmured against his lips, the words muffled but clear. "I love you so much, Papa."
Katsuki's arm wrapped around him, pulling him closer, his hand splaying across the small of Izuku's back. "I love you too, baby boy." His voice was still rough, still recovering, but there was a clarity in it now—a certainty that hadn't been there before. "More than anythin'. More than this new heart."
Izuku laughed, a wet, happy sound, and kissed him again—deeper this time, his tongue sliding against Katsuki's, tasting the familiar warmth of his mouth. The door to the recovery room was open. A nurse walked past, glanced in, and smiled softly before continuing down the hall. Izuku didn't care. Let them see. Let the whole hospital know. After almost losing Katsuki, after three days of sitting in that plastic chair, after watching them wheel him away not knowing if he'd come back—there was no room left for shame. Only love. Only gratitude. Only this.
"We're gonna tell everyone," Izuku breathed against Katsuki's lips, his voice fierce and certain. "Eijiro. Tetsu. My mom. The whole damn town if I have to. I don't care who knows anymore, Papa. I don't care what they think."
Katsuki's crimson eyes met his, bright with emotion, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his weathered face—a smile that made the years fall away, that made him look young and alive and full of hope. "Yeah?" His thumb traced the curve of Izuku's jaw. "You sure, baby boy?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." Izuku's hand slid down, finding Katsuki's, lacing their fingers together over the bandages on his chest. "You're my family. You're my future. And I'm gonna spend every day proving that."
Katsuki's breath hitched, and he pulled Izuku into another kiss—deeper, slower, a promise sealed with lips and tongue and the steady lub-dub of his new heart. They lay there, tangled together in the narrow hospital bed, making out like teenagers, like the world outside didn't exist, like the only thing that mattered was the warmth of each other's mouths and the certainty of tomorrow. And for a long, beautiful moment, that was enough.
The delivery room smelled like antiseptic and sweat and something metallic that Izuku couldn't quite place, but none of it mattered because Katsuki was holding his hand—really holding it, not the careful grip of a man recovering from surgery, but the solid, grounding pressure of someone who had been given a second chance and was using every second of it. Izuku's green curls were plastered to his forehead, his face slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps as another contraction rolled through him, and Katsuki's thumb traced circles on the back of his hand, steady and sure.
"You got this, baby boy." Katsuki's voice was rough but strong, nothing like the weak rasp from five months ago. His crimson eyes were bright, focused, his hand warm and calloused. "You're the strongest person I know. Just breathe."
Izuku let out a half-laugh, half-sob, his free hand gripping the bedrail so hard his knuckles went white. "Easy for you to say—you're not the one pushing a whole human out of your—" He cut off with a groan, his back arching as the pressure built, his face twisting. The heart monitor beeped steadily, and Izuku's mind raced through the pain, through the haze of it, finding the one thought that kept him grounded: He's here. He's healthy. He's alive. We're doing this together.
"I know, I know." Katsuki leaned in, pressing his lips to Izuku's damp forehead, his free hand coming up to cup the back of Izuku's head. "I got you. I ain't goin' anywhere. You're doin' so good, baby. So fuckin' good."
"Alright, Izuku, I need you to push on the next contraction." The doctor's voice cut through the haze, calm and professional, and Izuku nodded, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on Katsuki's. The contraction came—a wave of pressure that stole his breath and made the room blur at the edges—and he pushed, screaming through it, his grip on Katsuki's hand turning bruising. Katsuki didn't flinch. He just held on, his forehead pressed to Izuku's, his voice a low, steady stream of praise and encouragement. "That's it. That's my boy. So fuckin' strong. Almost there."
The next push brought a new sound—a sharp, indignant cry that cut through the room like a blade, and Izuku collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing, his chest heaving, his entire body trembling. The nurse lifted a tiny, squirming bundle—red-faced and wailing, his little fists clenched, a shock of dark hair plastered to his head—and Izuku's world narrowed to that sound, that sight, that perfect, furious little life. That's ours. That's—that's our son. The thought slammed into him, making him gasp, and fresh tears spilled down his cheeks.
"Congratulations," the nurse said, her voice warm. "You have a healthy baby boy."
Katsuki made a sound—a choked, broken noise that was half-laugh, half-sob—and his hand tightened around Izuku's, his crimson eyes welling with tears. "We did it," he whispered, his voice cracking. "We—fuck, Izuku. We made a person."
Overcome with emotion, Izuku didn't bother holding back his tears; he let them fall freely, his lips trembling. "Can I—can I hold him?"
The nurse placed the baby on Izuku's chest—warm and wet and so impossibly small, his tiny fingers curling against Izuku's skin, his wails settling into soft, hiccuping cries as he felt the familiar heartbeat beneath his ear. Izuku stared down at him, at the scrunched-up face and the dark hair and the way his little mouth worked, searching, and his breath caught. He's perfect. He's—fuck, he looks like Katsuki.
"Hey there, little guy." Katsuki's voice was thick with emotion as he leaned over Izuku's shoulder, his calloused finger gently tracing the curve of the baby's cheek. "Welcome to the world. Your mommy and I have been waitin' for you."
Izuku looked up at Katsuki, his vision blurry with tears, and managed a wobbly smile. "Natsuki," he breathed, the name falling from his lips like a prayer, like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. "His name is Natsuki."
Katsuki's breath hitched, and he pressed his lips to Izuku's, soft and salty and full of everything they had been through—the fear, the loss, the hope, the survival, the miracle. "Natsuki Bakugo," he murmured against Izuku's mouth, tasting the tears and the joy and the future. "Our son."
Izuku laughed—a bright, watery sound that made the baby stir—and leaned into the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Katsuki's neck. He felt complete, whole, like every terrible moment had led to this one perfect second. "Natsuki Bakugo," he repeated, the name settling into his bones. "I like the sound of that."