Loki is a genius and this would not leave my brain so here we go. krbk to kirikacchako https://twitter.com/_loki_dokey/status/1379477322756153346

Katsuki puts two and two together the day they go see Mina’s baby. Such a pink and tiny thing, the baby doesn’t do much more than blink and squirm and gurgle, but Eijirou’s eyes are wet and wide and filled with awe and longing. And Katsuki never gave much thought to

children, but the image of big bulky Eijirou cradling that vulnerable little thing to his massive chest makes Katsuki ache in a deep and new and shocking way.

They talk about it when they get home—just some far-off dreaming, a fantasy they couldn’t ever bring to life. But even still, it lights a fire between them, and Eijirou moves like a man possessed, fucks Katsuki down into the mattress and up against the wall

and one last time in the tub before he lets them rest. And it’s good, and it’s hot, and it leaves Katsuki staring up at the ceiling in the early morning hours, gutted by his own inadequacy. Eijirou wants a baby, there’s no doubt about it now, and Katsuki will never

give him one, at least not one that’s /theirs./

So he does a little research. Calls some clinics and some agencies, finds out a lot about surrogacy and quirk assisted pregnancies. And he needs someone to vent to, because, god, it’s a lot, and he doesn’t want to get

Eijirou’s hopes up, doesn’t want to dangle their shared but secret want only to snatch it away later.

So he meets Ochako one night after patrol and grumbles his predicament into a pint of beer, cause she’s the only one of all their friends he trusts to really /hear/ him.

And she listens, and she smiles. And flips through some brochures with him, until they’re both a little buzzed, Ochako flushed and smiley and giggling at the idea of them as fathers.

But then reality descends, and Katsuki reminds her of the obstacles he’ll face

applying for a surrogate. And the bartender says ‘last call,’ and Katsuki waits until Ochako’s distracted to sniffle and brush the ghost of a tear from his eye.

She sees anyway, and because she knows him, she doesn’t point it out. She just leans a little harder against

his side as he pays, and slips her arm in the crook of his elbow on the walk back home. He’s grateful for the contact, though he won’t ever say so—but he doesn’t have to, and that’s what’s nice about her.

And just as he’s about to say goodbye, to usher her into her

little studio, she turns, and looks at him for a long, tense moment. Katsuki’s irritation flares, and he almost growls at her, but then she smiles so sweet and wistful that it drains the fight right out of him.

“I’ll do it,” she says, her voice low and quiet and even.

And he wants to ask her ‘you’ll do /what?/‘ but his throat spasms on a dry gasp, because he knows exactly what she means, and his heart jumps up in his chest like he’s run for miles.

He doesn’t want to hope just yet, in case she takes it back when she’s sober.

But he can’t help the way his lips twitch like they want to smile, can’t help the way he bends to press a kiss to her forehead.

He can’t help the way he floats home on a cloud, can’t help but smother Eijirou with filthy, fevered kisses, he just can’t help but /hope./

Katsuki lets a few days go by before he calls Ochako again, out on the balcony of his agency office where he hopes no one can hear. Where he hopes no one can see the nervous pinch to his face or the way he sweats just a little more than usual, because his heart is jackhammering

in his chest as he growls his way through pleasantries. And she /laughs/ at him, because he sounds a wreck and she knows exactly why he’s calling, and yes, she’s serious, and there will be time soon, time away from field duty and danger and it’s just too good to be

true.

So Katsuki doesn’t run with the idea, though hope still spins inside his chest. He stops at the butcher on the way home and cooks Eiji’s favorite meal, as a sort of apology for what feels like hiding something big. And Eijirou is cautiously excited, because he can feel

the tension in the air—a good tension, something giddy and ticklish and warm. Katsuki lays it out as he’s clearing plates, says it low and quiet with a feigned indifference, talks about his research and the timing of it all, says, “Ochako could have our baby,” and

as soon as the words ‘our baby’ are out of his mouth he feels his chest clench. Eijirou stands so abruptly he knocks his chair over, and he crowds Katsuki up against the kitchen counter and kisses him so hard it burns. He’s frantic and stirred up and viciously hard,

clawing at Katsuki’s back, nipping at his neck, pressing him for details. And the details are there—everything is all in line, because Bakugou Katsuki is his mother’s son and he doesn’t do half-way things. And before he’s done explaining all the details, laying out the plan

he’s been growing in his mind, Eijirou is laughing and weeping into the crook of his neck, crushing them together, speechless with joy.

Katsuki was never one for soft sex—he likes it hard and rough just a touch mean, and anything less has him yawning. But not tonight. No, tonight Eijirou lays him down and worships every inch of his body, from his toes to the clumps of blond hair matted to his sweat-damp

forehead. Tonight, Eijirou makes love to him with slow rolls of his hips and whispered praises, whispered gratitude, with tears dripping down his flushed cheeks and a helpless smile on his face the whole time.

And when they’re finally both spent, they lay there

on their backs and whisper back and forth, about how they’ll go about it. There are doctors—but Eijirou’s a romantic, and he wants to do it naturally. Wants them both there, wants them both to have a chance at being their baby’s father and—Katsuki will have to ask Ochako,

will have to make sure she’s all right with it...with /them/...but he’d be lying if the thought didn’t appeal to him. To make a child. Himself. To both of them cradle her between them, carve out a little hopeful place in time for something big to happen to them all.

And Katsuki can’t help himself, that hope is wriggling up his throat, and it’s three in the morning but still he picks up his phone and texts her, asks her if, and how, and when. He dozes, dreaming of her answer, dreaming of her round cheeks even rounder and her little

pink-tipped hands in Eijirou’s as they walk her to the doctor. And before he falls asleep completely, he hears his phone buzz on the night stand.

She wants it their way—prefers it, even. And in just a week, if she charted right, they can start to try.