The white marble of the altar reflected the late afternoon sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the entire room in a warm honey glow that seemed to have been designed specifically for this moment. Katsuki stood at the end of the aisle, hands clasped behind his back in a desperate attempt to keep them still, and watched as the first guests turned in their seats, their faces shifting toward the double doors at the back of the room.
The double doors at the back of the room swung open, and the entire congregation turned as one. Katsuki's breath actually stopped — not the soft catch people wrote about in poems, but a full halt in his chest like someone had punched the air out of him. Through the honey-gold light, through the sea of familiar faces, he saw them.
Natsuki first. His son. Tiny replica of Katsuki in miniature, ash-blond spikes already defying gravity at two years old, dressed in a perfect little suit that matched his father's. The same stubborn set to his jaw. But those eyes — those were Izuku's. Wide, green, curious, taking in the room with the same earnest wonder his husband to be brought to everything.
And behind him, clutching a woven basket of rose petals with both chubby hands, Izumi. His daughter. Small and soft where Natsuki was sharp, green curls spilling from beneath a flower crown, the picture of Izuku in miniature. But those eyes — crimson. Katsuki's own gaze staring back at him from a face so tender it made his chest ache.
"Holy shit," Katsuki breathed, and heard his own voice crack. He didn't care. The word hung in the sacred space, and somewhere in the audience, Denki snorted.
Mina walked beside Izumi, one hand hovering protectively near the toddler's back, dressed in a flowing mauve gown that matched the roses in her hair. Her face was already wet with tears. Eijiro flanked Natsuki, massive in his tuxedo, beaming so hard his cheeks had to hurt, his hand a steady presence between the little boy's shoulder blades.
Natsuki reached the altar first, his small brow furrowed with the seriousness of his mission. He stopped in front of Katsuki and held up the velvet pillow with the rings tied to it, and said, with perfect toddler gravity, "Daddy said no dropping."
Katsuki dropped to one knee, bringing himself to his son's level. "That's right. And you didn't. Good job, kid." His voice was rough, scraped raw. He pressed a kiss to Natsuki's forehead, and the little boy's face split into a grin so wide and so familiar it nearly undid him.
Izumi arrived next, but by then she'd gotten distracted. Half the petals were still in her basket, and she was methodically dropping them one by one onto the floor, examining each one as it fell. Mina crouched beside her, whispering encouragement, but Izumi was on her own schedule and she knew it.
"Sweetheart," Katsuki said, his voice softening in a way it only ever did for her. "You wanna bring me the rest of those?"
Izumi looked up at him with those crimson eyes, considered the request with the gravity of a diplomat, and then dumped the entire basket upside down. Petals showered across the white marble, across Katsuki's polished shoes, across the hem of his tuxedo pants. She held up the empty basket triumphantly. "All done!"
Mina burst into a sob-laugh. Eijiro was openly crying, tears streaming down his cheeks without shame. From the front row, Katsuki heard his mother — heard Mitsuki Bakugo — make a sound that was almost a choke, and when he glanced over, she was staring at her grandchildren with something raw and unguarded on her face.
"Get down here, both of you," Katsuki murmured, and Natsuki immediately stepped into the circle of his arms while Izumi toddled closer. He gathered them both, one on each side, and stood. Two small hands found his. Two tiny bodies warm against his legs.
The music shifted. The door opened wider.
And Izuku Midoriya stepped through.
The world stopped. No — the world didn't stop, the world became irrelevant, because Izuku was walking toward him and nothing else existed. White suit, tailored perfectly to his frame, the jacket open over a simple cream vest, a train flowing behind him to the floor similar to a wedding dress. Green curls tamed into something artful but still escaping at the edges, a vail beautifully pinned in his curls and long flowing down to meet his train behind him. Freckles visible even from here, even through the tears Katsuki could feel building behind his own eyes.
Izuku's hand was tucked into Inko's arm, but his gaze was locked entirely on Katsuki. On their children. On the altar that held everything he'd ever wanted.
Katsuki's jaw tightened. His eyes burned. Fuck. He was not going to cry. He was not going to —
Izuku smiled. That smile. The one that said I see you, I know you, I love you, and I'm walking toward you and I'll be walking toward you for the rest of our lives.
A tear escaped. Katsuki didn't wipe it away.
Izuku reached the altar, and Inko pressed a kiss to his cheek before taking her seat beside Masaru, who was already dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. Mitsuki sat beside him, rigid, jaw set, clearly fighting every instinct to cry. Inko reached over and took her hand, and Mitsuki didn't pull away.
"Hi," Izuku said softly, stepping up to face Katsuki. The twins still held Katsuki's hands, and Izuku crouched to press kisses to each of their foreheads. "You did so good, my loves. Mama's so proud of you."
Natsuki puffed up his chest. "I didn't drop."
"I saw. Perfect." Izuku stood, and a wedding coordinator gently guided the twins to sit with their grandmothers, where they immediately climbed into Mitsuki's lap. Her arms wrapped around them like she'd been waiting her whole life for this, and Katsuki watched a tear slip down his mother's cheek. She scrubbed it away with the back of her hand, muttering something about allergies.
Then Izuku was in front of him, and the officiant was speaking, and Katsuki heard none of it. He was drowning in green eyes and freckles and the impossible reality that this man — this beautiful, ridiculous, brave man — was about to be his husband.
"Katsuki."
The officiant's voice cut through. He blinked.
Izuku was smiling, soft and knowing. "You gotta take my hands, Kacchan."
Right. Hands. Katsuki reached out, and Izuku's fingers slipped into his, warm and calloused and steady. The same hands that had clutched his in the darkness of that hotel room. The same hands that had traced his scars with reverence. The same hands that had held their children through sleepless nights while Katsuki watched from the doorway, heart so full he thought it might burst.
"We've got vows," Izuku whispered, his voice trembling just a little. "If you wanna start."
Katsuki's throat worked. He'd written something. Practiced it. But now, with Izuku looking at him like that, the words rearranged themselves into something else entirely.
"I've loved you since I was four years old." His voice came out rough, scraped, and he cleared his throat. "I didn't know what it was. Didn't have a word for it. But I knew that when you smiled at me, I wanted to be the reason. Every time. For the rest of my life."
Izuku's lip trembled. He bit down on it.
"I didn't always know how to show it. I was an asshole. A jealous, angry asshole who didn't know how to say 'I love you' so he said 'stay away from me' instead. And you —" Katsuki's voice cracked. He pressed his lips together, hard, and forced himself to continue. "You stayed anyway. You always stayed. Even when I didn't deserve it, you stayed."
"Kacchan," Izuku breathed, the word carrying everything.
"I'm not that kid anymore. You made sure of that. Every day, just by existing, you made me want to be better. Want to deserve you." He squeezed Izuku's hands, and Izuku squeezed back. "I still don't know if I do. But I'm gonna spend the rest of my life trying. I'm gonna wake up every morning and try to be the man you see when you look at me. I'm gonna kiss you goodnight every night and I'm gonna hold our babies and I'm gonna love you so hard that you forget there was ever a time when you didn't know."
He stopped. Swallowed.
"I love you, Izuku. I've loved you my whole life. And I'm gonna love you for every second I've got left."
Izuku was crying openly now, tears streaking down his freckled cheeks, and he didn't bother wiping them away. He just held Katsuki's hands and let himself be seen.
"I wrote something," Izuku said, voice watery. "But I think I just need to say it."
Katsuki nodded, not trusting his own voice.
"I fell in love with you when we were four. I didn't know the word for it either. I just knew that when you grabbed my hand and pulled me into the fort you'd built, I felt safe. I felt like I was home. And I've been following you home ever since." Izuku laughed wetly. "Even when you pushed me away. Even when I dated other people. Even when I told myself it was just friendship. Some part of me was always, always looking for you."
"Deku —"
"Let me finish." Izuku's voice firmed, and Katsuki fell silent. "I was so scared. Of hurting you. Of losing you. Of wanting you so badly that I'd break us both. But you —" He shook his head, a tear dripping off his chin. "You never gave up on me. Not once. You showed up at that wedding for me. You wore that stupid suit and held my hand and pretended to be mine, and then you weren't pretending anymore, and I wasn't pretending. And I realized I'd been pretending my whole life. Pretending I didn't want this. Didn't want you."
He pulled one hand free and pressed it over Katsuki's heart, feeling it pound beneath the white lapel.
"You gave me our children. You gave me a home. You gave me a version of myself that I actually like, Katsuki. I look in the mirror now and I see someone worthy of being loved. I see someone you love. And that's —" His voice broke. "That's everything. That's the whole world. That's more than I ever thought I'd have."
He took a shaking breath.
"I vow to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you picked right. That you were always my first choice, my only choice. That I will never, ever stop following you home. Because you are my home. You always have been. You always will be."
The silence that followed was heavy with held breaths and muffled sobs. Mina was crying openly, mascara tracks down her rosy cheeks. Eijiro had given up entirely, tears flowing freely. Even Touya, in the third row, had his jaw tight, one hand gripping Shoto's.
Katsuki pulled Izuku forward, and they met in the middle. Their foreheads pressed together, and for a moment it was just them — just the two of them, breathing the same air, the entire world condensed to this single point.
"I love you," Katsuki whispered, a private word for a public moment. "Izu. I love you."
"I love you too," Izuku whispered back. "Kacchan. Forever."
The officiant cleared her throat, gentle. "The rings?"
Eijiro held out the pillow. Katsuki took the first ring — a simple platinum band, engraved on the inside with a message he knew by heart. He slid it onto Izuku's finger, his hands steady for the first time all day. Izuku took the second ring, his fingers brushing Katsuki's knuckles. He lifted Katsuki's hand and pressed a kiss to his palm before sliding the ring home. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. Izuku knew every detail of him, down to the half-millimeter.
"By the power vested in me," the officiant said, her own voice thick with emotion, "I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss your groom."
Katsuki didn't wait. He cupped Izuku's face in both hands — the same face he'd been memorizing since he was four years old, the same freckles, the same green eyes, the same nervous smile that had always, always been for him — and he kissed him.
Izuku melted into it, one hand finding Katsuki's waist, the other tangling in his hair. The kiss was deep and slow and tasted like salt and joy, and the congregation erupted into applause, cheers, whoops from Denki, a wolf-whistle from Touya, and the unmistakable sound of Mitsuki Bakugo sobbing.
Katsuki pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against Izuku's, and grinned.
"We did it," he said, voice rough with wonder. "We actually did it, nerd."
Izuku laughed, bright and real. "We did it. We got married."
Somewhere behind them, little Izumi's voice rang out, clear as a bell. "Daddy won! Daddy got the kisses!"
The laughter that followed swept through the room like a wave, and Katsuki felt it in his chest — a warmth so deep and so complete that he knew, with absolute certainty, that this was what happiness felt like. This was what forever would feel like.
Izuku was still holding his hand, their rings catching the light, and Katsuki turned to face their future together.
"Alright," he said, loud enough for the room to hear, one arm around his husband, the other reaching out to beckon his children. "Let's go celebrate."
The night comes after the joyous celebration and the door clicked shut behind them. The silence of the hotel suite wrapped around them like a held breath. The city lights of Paris bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the room in soft gold and shadow, the Eiffel Tower a distant sentinel against the night sky. A bottle of champagne waited in a silver bucket, condensation beading on the glass, two flutes standing at attention. Neither of them looked at it.
Izuku turned, his green eyes catching the light, still wearing the white suit that had made Katsuki's chest ache all day. His curls were slightly disheveled from the reception, a few freckled strands falling across his forehead, and his lips were swollen from kissing. He looked like a dream Katsuki was afraid to wake from.
"We're alone," Izuku said, and the words hung in the air, charged with meaning. His voice was soft, almost wondering, as if he couldn't quite believe it.
Katsuki crossed the distance between them, his hands finding Izuku's waist, pulling him close. "You're my husband," he said, the word tasting new and sacred on his tongue. "My husband, Izuku."
Izuku's breath hitched, his hands coming up to frame Katsuki's face, thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones. "Say it again."
"My husband." Katsuki's voice dropped, rough and low. "Mine. Forever."
Izuku kissed him like he was starving, like the years of wanting and waiting had finally collapsed into this single moment. His fingers tangled in Katsuki's hair, pulling him closer, deeper, and Katsuki groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down to cup Izuku's ass, squeezing hard through the fabric of his suit pants.
"Off," Katsuki growled against his mouth. "Everything. Now."
"Not so fast," Izuku said, and his voice had changed — lower, steadier, threaded with something that made Katsuki's pulse skip. He pressed a hand to Katsuki's chest, holding him at arm's length. His green eyes were dark in the dim light, pupils blown wide. "I've been planning something for months. You're not the only one who can keep a surprise, Kacchan."
Katsuki's breath caught. Izuku's fingers found his bow tie, tugged the loose end, and the silk slid free. "Strip," Izuku said, soft but firm. "Down to nothing. Get on the bed. Don't touch yourself. Don't touch me until I say you can."
The command hit Katsuki low in his gut, a hot pulse that made his cock twitch in his pants. He opened his mouth to argue — reflex, habit — but the look in Izuku's eyes stopped him. Certain. Hungry. In charge. "Fine," he managed, his voice rougher than he expected. He shed the jacket, the vest, the shirt, the pants, the boxers, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. His cock stood hard and heavy, pre-cum beading at the tip, and he saw Izuku's gaze drop to it, linger, then drag back up. He climbed onto the bed, propped himself against the headboard, and waited.
Izuku turned his back. His hands went to the buttons of his white suit jacket, and he shrugged it off slowly — deliberately — letting it slide down his shoulders and pool at his elbows before he let it fall. The vest followed. The shirt. Each movement was a performance, a striptease that made Katsuki's hands ache to reach out and grab. Then Izuku's fingers found the waistband of his suit pants, and he pushed them down, stepping out of them with a grace that made Katsuki's mouth go dry.
Katsuki forgot how to breathe.
Izuku turned around, and the hotel suite's golden light caught every detail of what he was wearing. A white lace bridal lingerie set — intricate, delicate, handmade, the kind of thing that belonged in a magazine or a dream. The bodice cupped his chest, the scalloped edges tracing the lines of his top surgery scars like they were part of the design, not something to hide. The panties were high-waisted, hugging his curves, with a garter belt attached to sheer white stockings that stopped mid-thigh. And between his legs, where the fabric should have been — nothing. Just an empty frame, a deliberate absence that left his pussy bare and glistening, already wet from anticipation. The lace of the panties framed it like to a gift waiting to be unwrapped.
"Holy fucking shit," Katsuki breathed, his voice cracking. His cock throbbed, a visible pulse running through it, and he had to force his hands to stay at his sides. "Izu. You — when did you —"
"I had it made months ago." Izuku's voice was soft, but his eyes were blazing. He stepped closer, the stockings rustling against his thighs, the garter straps catching the light. "I wanted to surprise you on our wedding night. I wanted to be beautiful for you."
"You're always beautiful." Katsuki's response came out raw, almost angry in its intensity. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, you dumb nerd. Every day. In everything. But this —" He shook his head, unable to find words big enough. "Come here."
Izuku climbed onto the bed, crawling toward him on hands and knees, the lace shifting and straining against his skin. Katsuki's gaze locked onto the empty space between his legs, the swollen pink of his folds visible through the gap in the fabric, slick and ready. He licked his lips, his mouth flooding with want.
"Sit on my face," Katsuki said, his voice a low growl. He reached out and gripped Izuku's hips, pulling him closer, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin above the lace. "Right now. Feed me that beautiful pussy, Izu. I've been dreaming about this taste all day."
Izuku's breath hitched, his hands finding the headboard for balance as he shifted forward, positioning himself over Katsuki's face. The heat of him was a palpable thing, the scent of his arousal thick and sweet, and Katsuki's mouth fell open in anticipation. "Yeah?" Izuku whispered, his voice trembling. "You want it, Kacchan?"
"I fucking need it," Katsuki said, and pulled him down. His tongue found Izuku's clit on the first stroke, and Izuku's cry broke open the quiet night.
Izuku's hips rolled forward, a slow, deliberate grind that pressed his clit hard against Katsuki's tongue. The lace of the bridal lingerie scraped against Katsuki's cheeks, the garter straps catching the dim light as Izuku found his rhythm. His fingers tightened on the headboard, knuckles white, his breath coming in sharp, punched-out gasps. "Kacchan," he moaned, the name spilling out like a prayer, like the only word that still held meaning in any language.
Katsuki's response was a low, guttural sound that vibrated through Izuku's entire body. His hands gripped Izuku's thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh above the stockings, pulling him down harder, deeper. His tongue moved in flat, broad strokes, then curled to flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves, over and over, relentless. The wet sound of his mouth working filled the room, obscene and perfect, and Izuku felt his legs begin to tremble.
"That's it," Izuku gasped, his voice breaking. He rolled his hips in a slow circle, grinding down, feeling the scrape of Katsuki's stubble against his inner thighs, the heat of his breath, the way his tongue seemed to know exactly where to press, exactly how fast. "You're so good at this. You're so—" He cut off with a sharp cry as Katsuki's tongue pushed lower, sliding through his slick folds, tasting him properly.
Katsuki's hands slid up, one palm flat against Izuku's stomach, the other gripping his ass, guiding his motion. He hummed against Izuku's cunt, a sound of pure satisfaction, and Izuku felt it in his bones. The vibrations sent a shiver up his spine, and he bucked forward, chasing the sensation. "Fuck, Kacchan, your mouth—" He couldn't finish the sentence. The words dissolved into a moan as Katsuki's tongue circled his entrance, teasing, tasting, then sliding inside.
Izuku's head fell back, his eyes squeezing shut. The city lights blurred behind his lids, the Eiffel Tower a distant smear of gold. All he could feel was the heat of Katsuki's mouth, the wet slide of his tongue, the possessive grip of his hands. He was so hard, so achingly full, the pressure building in his belly like a coiled spring. "I'm close," he whispered, his voice ragged. "Kacchan, I'm so close."
Katsuki pulled his mouth away just long enough to growl, "Then fucking cum on my face, Izu." His voice was rough, wrecked, thick with want. He pressed his tongue flat against Izuku's clit and sucked, hard, the pressure sudden and electric. Izuku cried out, his hips stuttering, grinding down desperately as the orgasm crashed through him. His body arched, his hands scrambling for purchase on the headboard, and he came with a broken sob, his release slick against Katsuki's tongue.
Katsuki didn't stop. He licked through it, slow and deliberate, drawing out every last tremor, swallowing every drop. His hands smoothed up Izuku's sides, thumbs tracing the lace edge of the bodice, gentle now, reverent. Izuku's thighs shook, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps, but he didn't pull away. He stayed, grinding down through the aftershocks, riding the wave of sensation until his body went slack.
"Come here," Katsuki said, his voice soft now, barely a whisper. He guided Izuku off his face, pulling him down until they were chest to chest, the lace of the lingerie pressed against his bare skin. Izuku's face was flushed, his eyes glassy, his lips parted and wet. Katsuki kissed him, slow and deep, letting him taste himself on Katsuki's tongue. "Beautiful," Katsuki murmured against his mouth. "Fucking beautiful."
Izuku laughed, a breathless, tear-thick sound, and buried his face in the curve of Katsuki's neck. "I love you," he said, the words muffled against his skin. "I love you so much it's stupid."
Katsuki held him tighter, one hand threading through his curls, the other pressed flat against the small of his back. "Love you too, nerd," he said, his voice cracking. Katsuki's hands found the edge of the lace bodice, fingers tracing the scalloped hem where it met Izuku's skin. "I need to be inside you," he said, the words rough and raw, stripped of any pretense. "Now, Izu. I can't wait."
Izuku's response was a shuddering breath, his hips rolling forward, grinding his wet cunt against Katsuki's thigh. "Then take me," he whispered, his green eyes dark and desperate. "Fuck me against the wall, Kacchan. I want to feel you everywhere."
Katsuki was moving before the sentence finished, rolling them over, pinning Izuku to the mattress with his body. His cock pressed against Izuku's slick folds, not entering, just resting there, the heat of him a promise. "Against the wall," he growled, and then he was pulling Izuku up, guiding him off the bed, pressing his back against the cool wallpaper. The lace of the lingerie scraped against the textured surface, and Izuku gasped, his legs wrapping around Katsuki's waist.
"Yes," Izuku breathed, his fingers finding Katsuki's hair, pulling him into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. "Yes, Kacchan, please—"
Katsuki didn't make him wait. He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against Izuku's entrance, and pushed. The stretch was sudden, electric, and Izuku's cry broke against his mouth. "Fuck," Katsuki groaned, the word swallowed by the kiss as he sank deeper, the heat of Izuku's cunt pulling him in, gripping him tight. "You feel—" He couldn't finish. There weren't words big enough.
Izuku's nails raked down Katsuki's back, leaving red lines in their wake. "Move," he demanded, his voice breaking. "Kacchan, move, I need—"
Katsuki fucked him against the wall, hard and fast, the rhythm desperate and driving. The wallpaper scraped against Izuku's back, the garter straps digging into his thighs, but he didn't care. All he could feel was the stretch of Katsuki's cock, the slap of skin, the wet sound of each thrust. "You're mine," Katsuki growled against his throat, his teeth finding the pulse point, biting down. "My husband. My everything."
"Yours," Izuku gasped, his legs tightening, pulling him deeper. "Always yours, Kacchan. Since we were four. Since before I knew what it meant."
Katsuki's hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering as the words hit him. He pulled out, ignoring Izuku's whimper of protest, and laid him back on the bed, the white silk sheets cool against Izuku's heated skin, and crawled over him, kissing a path down his body. The lace of the lingerie was a maze, and he traced it with his tongue, following the scalloped edges, the straps, the empty frame that left Izuku's pussy bare and glistening.
"Turn over," Katsuki commanded, his voice rough. "I want to fuck you from behind."
Izuku complied, rolling onto his stomach, pushing up onto his hands and knees. The lace of the panties framed his ass, the garter straps cutting across his thighs, and Katsuki made a sound that was almost animal. He positioned himself behind Izuku, his hands gripping the curves of his hips, and pushed inside in one smooth motion. Izuku's cry was muffled by the pillow, his fingers twisting in the sheets as Katsuki set a brutal pace, each thrust hitting deep, hitting that spot that made his vision go white.
"Look at you," Katsuki said, his voice ragged. He reached around, his fingers finding Izuku's clit, pressing and circling in time with his thrusts. "So beautiful. So fucking perfect. Taking my cock like you were made for it."
"I was," Izuku gasped, his hips pushing back, meeting each thrust. "Made for you, Kacchan. Always—" He cut off with a sharp cry as Katsuki's fingers pressed harder, faster, and the orgasm crashed through him, his cunt clenching around Katsuki's cock, a wet gush of release soaking the sheets.
Katsuki didn't stop. He fucked him through it, chasing his own climax, his thrusts growing sloppy and desperate. "Where?" he demanded, his voice breaking. "Where do you want it, Izu?"
"Inside," Izuku whispered, his voice raw. "Cum inside me, Kacchan. I want to feel you—"
Katsuki came with a groan that was almost a sob, his hips pressing deep, his release flooding Izuku's cunt. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed against Izuku's shoulder blade, both of them panting and shaking. "Fuck," he breathed, the word barely audible. "I love you. I love you so much it's destroying me."
Izuku laughed, a breathless, tear-thick sound. "Good," he said, turning his head to meet Katsuki's eyes. "Because I'm never letting you go, Kacchan. Not for a single second."
Katsuki pulled out slowly, watching his release leak from Izuku's pussy, smearing across the lace. He laid down beside him, pulling him close, the lingerie damp and rumpled between them. "You're gonna need another shower," he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of Izuku's cheek. "And I'm gonna need you again in about ten minutes."
Izuku smiled, slow and lazy and full of love. "The night's still young, Kacchan." His hand slid down Katsuki's chest, past his stomach, wrapping around his cock, which was already stirring again. "And I'm nowhere near done with you."
It's gonna be a long night and the couple would have it no other way.