The first thing Izuku registered was the warmth. Not the stale hotel air or the distant hum of the AC, but the solid heat of a body against his—Katsuki's arm heavy across his waist, Katsuki's breath slow and even against his curls, Katsuki's heartbeat a steady drum under his cheek. He kept his eyes closed, afraid to break it. Afraid that if he moved, if he breathed too loud, the spell would shatter and he'd be back in the cold reality of an empty bed, the last three nights a cruel fantasy his brain had cooked up to punish him.
But the arm tightened. Just a fraction. A reflexive pull that dragged him closer, and Katsuki's voice came rough with sleep, rumbling through his chest: “You're awake.” Not a question. A statement of fact, wrapped in something that sounded almost like relief. Izuku opened his eyes and tilted his head back just enough to see Katsuki's face—crimson eyes already open, already watching him, soft in a way they never were when the world was watching.
“So are you,” Izuku whispered. His voice cracked. He didn't care. Katsuki's hand slid up his back, fingers threading into his curls, and the touch sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with cold. “Thought maybe I dreamed it.”
Katsuki's jaw tightened. For a second, something raw flickered across his face—vulnerable, unguarded, the mask stripped away by sleep and the quiet dark. “Yeah,” he said, rough and low. “Me too.” Then he leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn't hungry. It wasn't desperate. It was soft, almost tender, Katsuki's lips warm and dry against his, a question and an answer all at once. Izuku's eyes fluttered shut. He melted into it, into the simple, devastating truth of Katsuki's mouth on his without alcohol or panic or performance between them. This was just them. Just morning. Just real.
Katsuki pulled back first, but barely—forehead pressed to Izuku's, breath warm on his lips. “You okay?” he asked, and the gentleness in his voice was almost worse than the roughness. Almost harder to bear.
Izuku nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm…” He trailed off, searching for a word that fit. “I'm good. I'm really good.” He let out a shaky laugh. “That's terrifying.”
“Tell me about it.” Katsuki's thumb traced the line of his jaw, featherlight. “We've got a wedding today.”
Izuku groaned, pressing his face into Katsuki's chest. “Don't remind me.”
Katsuki's laugh was a low rumble, and his hand stayed in Izuku's hair, grounding and sure. “We'll get through it. Then we go home, and you can panic about the rest of it.”
Izuku's face was still pressed into Katsuki's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby that promised safety, when the thought hit him like a physical blow. His eyes flew open. The warmth drained from his body, replaced by a cold, creeping dread that started in his gut and radiated outward, numbing his fingertips, tightening his throat. He went rigid in Katsuki's arms, every muscle locked, a strangled gasp escaping his lips before he could stop it.
Katsuki's hand stilled in his hair. “Deku?” The tenderness in his voice cracked, replaced by sharp alertness. “What's wrong?”
Izuku couldn't breathe. He pushed himself up, the sheet falling away, the morning air cold against his skin. His mind was a hurricane of images—last night, Katsuki inside him, the wet warmth of his cum spilling into him, the way they'd collapsed together afterwards, the sticky evidence still drying on his thighs. He looked down at his own body, at the mess on the sheets, and the reality of it crashed over him like a wave of ice water. “Kacchan,” he whispered, his voice tiny and broken. “We didn't—we didn't use anything.”
Katsuki's red eyes widened. The softness from moments ago evaporated, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus that made Izuku's stomach clench even harder. “I know. I was—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “I got carried away. We both did. What are you—” He stopped again, reading the horror on Izuku's face. His voice dropped, rough and careful. “Are you on something?”
Izuku shook his head, the motion jerky, desperate. “No. I'm not. I've never—I never needed to be, Kacchan. I wasn't—I didn't think—” His hands flew to his face, pressing against his eyes, trying to block out the world. Tears burned behind his lids. “Fuck. Fuck, I'm not on anything. Nothing. Not even the pill.”
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Then the bed shifted as Katsuki moved, his hand coming to rest on Izuku's knee, warm and steady. “Hey. Look at me.” The command was gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. Izuku lowered his hands, meeting Katsuki's gaze. The fear was still there, mirrored in those crimson eyes, but beneath it was something else—a resolve that anchored him. “We'll figure it out. There's a pharmacy in town. I'll go, get the morning-after pill. It'll be fine.”
Izuku's lower lip trembled. “But what if it's too late? What if—”
“It's not.” Katsuki's hand moved from his knee to his cheek, cupping his face with a tenderness that made Izuku's heart ache. “It's the morning. We have time. I'm not going to let you go through this alone, Izu. I'm right here.”
The nickname—Izu—hit him like a punch to the chest. Katsuki only used it in their most vulnerable moments, when the walls came down. Izuku let out a shaky breath, the tears finally spilling over. He leaned into Katsuki's palm, let himself be held by that warmth. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.” But his mind was already racing ahead, counting hours, calculating risks, the dread coiling in his stomach refusing to fully release its grip.
Katsuki's hand was still warm on Izuku's cheek, grounding him in the moment even as his mind raced. He held Izuku's gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the panic to settle from a scream to a tremor. Then he pulled back, the loss of contact already cold. "Okay," he said, his voice shifting from soft comfort to something more practical, more Katsuki. "I need you to start getting ready."
Izuku blinked, the words not quite landing. "What?"
"The wedding. It's today." Katsuki was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the sheet pooling around his waist, his back a landscape of muscle and pale skin in the grey morning light. "I'll go to the pharmacy, get the pill. You shower, put on that ridiculous suit I picked out, and try not to spiral while I'm gone." He glanced over his shoulder, crimson eyes sharp but not unkind. "Can you do that?"
The question hung in the air, a challenge and a lifeline. Izuku swallowed, his throat dry. His hands were still trembling where they gripped the sheet. "I—yeah. Yeah, I can do that." He let out a shaky breath. "Just… hurry back."
Katsuki's jaw tightened. He turned fully, leaning across the bed, one hand cupping the back of Izuku's neck, pulling him into a kiss that was nothing like the soft, tentative one from moments ago. It was firm, deliberate, a seal on a promise. His lips pressed against Izuku's, warm and certain, and when he pulled back, his forehead rested against Izuku's for just a heartbeat. "I'm coming right back, Izu."
Then he stood, grabbing his jeans from the floor, pulling them on with quick, efficient movements. A t-shirt followed, the fabric stretching over his shoulders. He shoved his feet into sneakers, ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, and grabbed his wallet and phone from the nightstand. The whole transformation took less than a minute.
At the door, he paused. His hand rested on the handle, and he looked back at Izuku—still tangled in the sheets, still naked, still wide-eyed and fragile. Something crossed his face, too fast to name, too raw to hide. "I'll be back before you're out of the shower," he said, and the rough certainty in his voice made Izuku's chest ache. "Don't do anything stupid."
A ghost of a smile flickered across Izuku's lips. "No promises."
Katsuki huffed a laugh, the sound dry and warm, and then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The room fell silent, the absence of him a physical weight. Izuku sat there for a long moment, the cool air raising goosebumps on his skin, the ghost of Katsuki's kiss still warm on his lips. He pressed his fingers to his mouth, feeling the tingle, and let himself believe—just for a second—that this was real. That Katsuki would come back. That they would figure this out. Together.
The pharmacy was small, the kind of place that smelled like antiseptic and old carpet, with fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead like trapped insects. Katsuki's jaw was clenched so tight his molars ached as he rounded the corner toward the family planning aisle—and came face to face with Touya Todoroki, who was holding a box of condoms like it was the most natural thing in the world. Behind him, Shoto stood studying a shelf of pregnancy tests with the same intense focus he brought to everything, his mismatched eyes scanning the options like he was solving a math problem.
Katsuki's feet stopped moving before his brain caught up. The sound came back to him unbidden—the wet slap of skin, Touya's low growl, Shoto's breathless whimper through the hotel wall—and he felt his face heat with a cocktail of embarrassment and sheer, disbelieving disgust. He couldn't look at them. Couldn't meet those eyes, either pair, because he knew what they'd looked like last night, what they'd sounded like, the things they'd said to each other in the dark. *Brothers.* His brain kept short-circuiting on the word. *They're fucking brothers.*
Touya looked up first. His blue eyes widened for half a second before a slow, knowing grin spread across his face, the snake-bite piercings glinting under the harsh lights. "Well, well. Bakugo." He let the name hang, drawing it out like he was tasting it. "Didn't peg you as the early-morning pharmacy type. Everything okay?"
Katsuki's throat worked. He forced his gaze to land somewhere in the middle distance—Touya's collarbone, the edge of a tattoo peeking from his collar. "Fine," he bit out, the word too sharp, too fast. "Just need to grab something." He moved to step past them, but Touya shifted, blocking the aisle with his body, casual and deliberate.
"Funny running into you here," Touya said, his voice dropping into something almost friendly, almost warm, but with an edge that raked across Katsuki's nerves. "We were just getting supplies for the wedding night. Gotta be prepared, right?" He winked. Katsuki's stomach turned.
Shoto looked up then, his heterochromatic gaze landing on Katsuki with that unsettling, too-direct focus. "You look like you haven't slept," he said, and it wasn't a question. His voice was flat, observational, the same tone he'd use to note the weather. "Neither did we. The walls in this hotel are thin."
The words hit Katsuki like a punch to the sternum. His eyes snapped to Shoto's face before he could stop them—and there it was, the burn scar over his left eye, the calm, unblinking stare of someone who knew exactly what he was saying and didn't care. Katsuki felt his own composure crack, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Yeah," he ground out. "I fucking noticed."
Touya's grin widened, sharp and amused. "Oh, so you heard that, huh?" He didn't look embarrassed. He looked *proud*, preening, like he'd won some competition Katsuki hadn't known they were entering. "Hope we didn't keep you up too late. You and Midoriya seemed pretty cozy at dinner."
The mention of Izuku—of *Izu*, still warm and waiting back in their room, still scared and trusting him—snapped something into place in Katsuki's chest. He straightened, his shoulders squaring, the embarrassment hardening into something colder. "Don't," he said, his voice dropping low, dangerous. "Don't talk about him." He held Touya's gaze this time, held it until the amusement flickered, just for a second, into something wary. "I'm not here to trade stories about what I heard through the wall. I'm here to get what I need and leave."
The silence stretched, three heartbeats in the buzzing fluorescent light. Then Shoto turned back to the shelf, picked up a box—one of the pregnancy tests—and held it out to Katsuki without looking at him. "You should get this too," he said, matter-of-fact. "Just in case."
Katsuki stared at the box. His hand moved before he told it to, taking it from Shoto's fingers, the cardboard warm from his grip. He couldn't speak. Couldn't form a word around the lump in his throat. Shoto's gaze met his again, and for a moment—just a moment—there was something almost kind in those mismatched eyes. Understanding, even. "Accidents happen," Shoto said quietly. "It doesn't mean it's the end of the world."
Touya's hand found Shoto's lower back, a casual possessive touch that made Katsuki's skin crawl. "Come on, Sho. Let him breathe." He stepped aside, clearing the aisle, and Katsuki moved past them on autopilot, the box of emergency contraception and the pregnancy test clutched in his hands like evidence of a crime. He didn't look back. Couldn't. But he heard Touya's voice, pitched low, as he walked away: "*Cute that he thinks we didn't hear them too.*"
The harsh fluorescent buzz of the pharmacy clung to his skin like a second layer, but the moment Katsuki pushed open the door to their room, it sloughed off, replaced by the thick, quiet weight of the morning. The air was stale, but warm with the scent of them—sweat and sex and the faint vanilla of Izuku's shampoo. He was right where he'd left him. Still in bed, the white sheet pulled up to his chest, his green curls a riot against the pillow, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling. He hadn't moved. Not an inch. Something in Katsuki's chest cracked, then calcified into a fierce, protective resolve.
“Oi.” His voice came out rough, but not harsh. He crossed the room, setting the plastic pharmacy bag on the nightstand with a sharp crinkle. The box of condoms clattered against the pregnancy test he'd shoved in there—just in case, a ghost in the corner of his mind that he refused to acknowledge right now. Izuku blinked, his gaze slowly focusing on Katsuki's face. His lashes were wet. He'd been crying again, silently. Katsuki's jaw tightened. He pulled out the small box with the morning-after pill and a bottle of water. “Sit up. Take this.”
Izuku obeyed, the sheet falling to his waist, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, the pink lines of his top surgery scars—a map of the self he'd fought to become. His hands trembled as he took the box, fumbling with the seal. Katsuki watched him struggle for a beat before he took it from him, opened it with a quick, efficient motion, and pressed the single pill into Izuku's palm. Their fingers brushed. Izuku's were cold. He swallowed the pill dry, then coughed, taking the water Katsuki offered, drinking deeply. When he lowered the bottle, his eyes were clearer. “Kacchan—”
Katsuki leaned down and kissed him. It wasn't soft. It wasn't tentative. It was a brutal, desperate claiming—tongue and teeth and the taste of the water on his lips, the ghost of the pill dissolving between them. He poured everything he couldn't say into it: I'm sorry. You're safe. I'm not going anywhere. Izuku melted into him, a small, wounded sound escaping his throat, his hands coming up to fist in Katsuki's t-shirt. When they broke apart, foreheads resting together, breath mingling in the stale air, Katsuki's voice was a low rasp against his mouth. “We need to get in the shower.”
The bathroom was cold, the white tiles gleaming under the harsh light, a stark contrast to the dim, heavy warmth of the bedroom. Katsuki turned on the water, letting it steam, filling the small space with heat and the rhythmic hiss of the spray. He turned back to find Izuku standing naked behind him, arms crossed, looking fragile and fiercely beautiful in the same breath. Katsuki stripped off his own clothes without ceremony, the cool air biting against his heated skin. He reached out, his hand cupping Izuku's jaw, tilting his face up. “Come here.” The command was gentle, absolute. He pulled him under the scalding spray.
The water was hot, almost too hot, beating down on Katsuki's shoulders, cascading over the hard planes of his chest. Izuku stood beneath him, the water plastering his green curls to his forehead, streaming over his freckles, his closed eyes. Katsuki's hands were in his hair, tilting his head back, letting the water wash away the salt of dried tears and sweat. The fear on Izuku's face softened, his features relaxing into something raw and open. His hands slid up Katsuki's wet chest, fingers tracing the edge of a scar, the line of his collarbone—reverent, exploring. “Kacchan,” he breathed, and it was a question, a prayer, an opening.
Katsuki didn't answer with words. He sank to his knees, the water hammering against his shoulders, his back, pooling at his feet. Izuku's thighs were right there, pale and damp, slick with water. Katsuki looked up at him, a silent question, and got a shaky, desperate nod in return. He leaned in, his mouth finding Izuku's cunt, the taste of him mixed with the hot water—clean, intimate, undeniably his. A strangled moan cut through the steam. Katsuki's tongue found his clit, swollen and sensitive, and he laved it with his full mouth, tasting the familiar musk beneath the water, hearing Izuku's breathing fracture into gasps.
Izuku's fingers tangled in his wet hair, his hips bucking forward, a desperate litany of “please, please, please” mingling with the hiss of the spray. Katsuki sucked him, tongue flicking hard and fast against the sensitive nub, one hand gripping his thigh to steady him, the other pressed flat against the wet tile to keep himself anchored. He could feel the orgasm building in the trembling of Izuku's thighs, in the way his breath caught and stuttered. “That's it,” Katsuki growled against his slick skin, the words vibrating through him. “Cum for me. I've got you.” And he did, a sharp cry torn from his throat, his body tightening and releasing against Katsuki's mouth, the water washing the evidence down the drain.
Katsuki rose from his knees, water streaming down his body, his cock hard and aching against his stomach. He didn't ask. Didn't speak. He just hooked his hands under Izuku's thighs and lifted, hauling him up against the slick tile, the cold shock of it against Izuku's back making him gasp. The angle was perfect—Izuku's legs wrapping around his waist, his cunt pressing against the length of Katsuki's cock, slick and ready and desperate. Katsuki's forehead pressed against Izuku's, their breath mingling in the steam. "I need to be inside you," he said, and it wasn't a request anymore. It was a truth he couldn't swallow.
Izuku's nails dug into his shoulders, his green eyes blown wide and dark. "Then do it, Kacchan. Please." The word broke on a sob, raw and honest, and Katsuki answered by guiding himself to Izuku's entrance. He pushed in slow—deliberate, unbearable—feeling every inch of that tight, wet heat surrender around him. Izuku's head fell back against the tile, a moan torn from his throat, water catching on his lips. "Fuck… fuck, Kacchan—" The rest dissolved into a shudder, his body clenching around the intrusion, taking him deeper.
He was in—all the way, seated flush against Izuku's ass, his pelvis grinding against the slick, soaked skin. The feeling was so immense, so completely consuming, that Katsuki's breath punched out of him in a rough, unsteady rush. He pressed his forehead flat against Izuku's, the hot water sluicing over them, pooling at the juncture where their bodies met. "Fuck," he rasped, the single word dragged out of his chest, raw and reverent. "Fuck, Izu." He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting Izuku acclimate, feeling the flutter and clench of his cunt around the intrusion. He wasn't running. He wasn't pretending. This was real.
He pulled out with excruciating slowness, the drag of his fat, uncut cock against Izuku's slick walls drawing a shattered moan from the smaller man. Every ridge, every pulse, every desperate clench was a map Katsuki was committing to memory. He pushed back in, just as deliberate, just as deep, watching Izuku's face contort—eyebrows drawn together, mouth slack, a galaxy of freckles scattered over skin flushed pink from the heat. "More," Izuku gasped, the word breaking on a sob. His nails bit into Katsuki's shoulders, digging deep. "Kacchan—please, please, I need—"
Katsuki answered by setting a rhythm that was almost punishing in its gentleness. Deep, unhurried thrusts that bottomed out and held for a heartbeat before retreating. He wasn't fucking to chase a release. He was fucking to memorize. The way Izuku's back arched off the cold tile. The way his hole fluttered on the withdrawal. The desperate, helpless little sounds that caught in his throat with every roll of Katsuki's hips. "So fucking tight," Katsuki growled, the praise rough and low against Izuku's wet ear. "Taking me so well. Like you were made for this."
His thoughts were a tangle of heat and terrifying clarity. This is what I've been missing. This is what I spent years convincing myself I didn't need. Not just the sex—the feeling. The way he gasps my name. The way he pulls me deeper. The way he looks at me like I'm the only anchor in a storm. Katsuki's hips rolled in a slow, devastating circle, grinding his pubic bone against Izuku's swollen clit with every rotation. Izuku sobbed, his head falling back against the tile with a dull thud.
The water cascaded over Izuku's chest, beading on his freckled skin, catching on the pink lines of his top surgery scars. Katsuki lowered his head, latching onto a nipple, his tongue flat and hot against the tight bud. He sucked hard, a deep, possessive pull that drew a broken keen from Izuku's throat. Izuku's hips bucked, driving Katsuki deeper, and the new angle made stars burst behind Katsuki's eyelids. "Right there," Izuku slurred, his voice wrecked. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop, Kacchan—"
Katsuki released his nipple with a wet pop, his mouth trailing up Izuku's throat, his jaw, until his lips hovered over Izuku's. "Look at me." The command was low, absolute, a vibration against Izuku's wet skin. Izuku's green eyes—glassy, dark, pupils blown wide—focused on his with visible effort. "I want you to see me when you cum," Katsuki rasped, holding his gaze. "I want you to know exactly who's making you feel this way. Say my name."
"Kacchan," Izuku breathed, immediate, obedient, the word a sacred offering. He was trembling, his thighs shaking where they were wrapped around Katsuki's waist. "Kacchan, it's so good, it's so much—"
Katsuki angled his thrusts, searching for that deeper, wetter heat, the spot that made Izuku's mouth drop open. He found it. Izuku's body locked up, a silent scream tearing through his throat, and Katsuki drove into that spot again and again, the slow, deep rhythm fracturing into something harder, needier, but never shallower. "There," he grunted, watching Izuku shatter. "I fucking love the way you feel around my cock. I love the sounds you make for me. I love—" The words died in his throat, too heavy to voice. I love you.
The orgasm ripped through Izuku like a tide breaking. His cunt clenched, fluttered, and then flooded—hot liquid rushing around Katsuki's cock, gushing past the seal of their bodies, splattering against Katsuki's stomach and thighs. He came with a sharp, choked cry, his whole body convulsing against the tile, his release streaming down his skin, mixing with the shower water and vanishing down the drain. His grip on Katsuki's shoulders went slack, his head lolling forward, boneless.
The feeling of Izuku coming undone around him—the rhythmic, pulsing clench of his hole, the liquid heat, the desperate sob of his name—pushed Katsuki straight to the brink. His thrusts turned ragged, chasing his own peak, his rhythm faltering. "I'm close," he gritted out, the words ground between his teeth. He pulled back, almost completely out, his cockhead catching on Izuku's rim. "Where—" He couldn't finish the question. He needed to hear it.
"Inside," Izuku breathed, the word a frayed whisper against Katsuki's mouth. "Stay inside me, Kacchan. Please. I need to feel you." The permission, the raw, unguarded want in his voice, shattered whatever control Katsuki had left. He slammed back in, deep, impossibly deep, holding himself there as his cock pulsed—once, twice, a third time—emptying into Izuku's spent, clenching cunt with a long, guttural groan. His forehead pressed hard against Izuku's, their breath mingling in the steam, their bodies locked together in the scalding spray. When he finally opened his eyes, Katsuki found Izuku smiling—soft, exhausted, and so utterly real it made his chest ache. Izuku had nowhere else to be. And neither did he.
The water still hammered down, steam curling around them, and Katsuki's chest heaved against Izuku's, their breaths slow and ragged. He could feel Izuku's heart pounding through the thin wall of his chest, feel the tremor still running through his thighs where they were locked around his waist. His cock was still buried inside him, softening, and the warmth of his cum mixed with the stream of water, a gentle trickle that found its way down Izuku's skin. Katsuki's forehead pressed against Izuku's, his eyes closed, and he let himself have this—one more moment of stillness before the world clawed its way back in. He tilted his head, found Izuku's mouth, and kissed him. Not desperate this time. Slow, deep, a lingering press that tasted of water and salt and something achingly tender.
When he broke away, he was panting, his lips brushing against Izuku's as he spoke. "We're gonna be late for the ceremony."
Izuku's eyes fluttered open, hazy and dark, still sunk in the aftermath. A slow blink, and then a smile—soft, lazy, utterly unconcerned—curved his lips. "I don't care," he breathed, the words a warm ghost against Katsuki's mouth. His fingers slid up from Katsuki's shoulders, threading through his wet hair, tugging gently, keeping him close. "Let them wait, Kacchan."
Katsuki's throat tightened. He let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh—a rough, disbelieving sound. "You're gonna be the one explaining to your ex why we're late." His voice dropped, rougher, something raw flickering in the red of his eyes. "I don't give a shit what they think. But you—" He stopped, jaw clenching. His hand, still pressed flat against the tile beside Izuku's head, curled into a fist. "You sure?"
Izuku just gives a gentle nod. “I don’t think I care anymore…”