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Izuku thinks he's getting fired.

When he's called into Nezu's office over the intercom on a seemingly peaceful Tuesday morning during his lunch break, (a little less peaceful because he has to hang up on his husband to go to that meeting, who was not happy about it) he assumes he's being fired.

Like a normal person.

“What do you mean you’re being called into Nezu’s office,” Katsuki says sharply through the speaker. “Did you fuck something up?”

“No!” Izuku hisses, glancing around the empty staff lounge like someone might overhear him getting fired in real time. “I mean- no, I don’t think so? It’s probably nothing.”

The blonde snorts loudly. "That's never true."

"He said it wasn't a bad thing. But then again, everyone says that now because of my tendency to cry," he mutters, dejectedly poking at his rice with his chopsticks.

Bakugo makes a sound that Izuku recognizes immediately as ominous. “Deku. If that rat fires you over some bullshit-”

“He’s not firing me,” Izuku lies, immediately and unconvincingly. He shifts in his seat and makes an uncomfortable noise.

“You’re hanging up on me,” Bakugo realizes.

“I have to go,” Izuku reinforcing his husband's fear, already standing to shove the rest of his lunch into his mouth like it might be evidence later. “I’ll see you after work, okay?”

“Don’t you fucking dare-” Katsuki starts.

Izuku hangs up. He swallows the rest of his lunch in three hurried bites that barely register, tosses the container back into his bag, and speed-walks down the hall toward Nezu’s office with the stiff, upright posture of someone walking to their own execution.

Okay, he thinks. Okay. It’s fine. This is fine.

He starts mentally packing his desk.

The hero notebooks will take at least two boxes. Maybe three, if he includes the older ones he keeps hidden in the bottom drawer. The All Might mug was a gift- he can’t leave that behind. The plant on the windowsill probably won’t survive the move, but he can try. He’ll need to take down the class photos. That’ll hurt. He shouldn’t do it in front of the students.

He'll do it after school is over.

And then- telling Katsuki.

He winces.

That’s going to be the hardest part. Because Katsuki is already on edge, and Izuku getting fired from U.A. is exactly the kind of thing that could make him blow up the entire school and everyone in it on principle. Izuku can already hear it.

Izuku reaches the door to the principal’s office and pauses, straightening his tie with trembling fingers.

Okay, he thinks again. Deep breath. You can do this.

He knocks. The door opens almost immediately.

“Ah! Midoriya!” Nezu chirps, sitting behind his desk with a cup of tea like this is the most pleasant part of his day. “Right on time. Please, come in.”

Izuku steps inside on shaky legs, the door closing softly behind him.

This is it.

He sits down, folds his hands in his lap, and braces himself.

Whatever happens, he just hopes Katsuki doesn’t find out before he gets home.

Twenty minutes later, Izuku walks out of Nezu's office. No- floats.

Izuku steps outside the door and has to stop himself from laughing.

Not a hysterical laugh that comes with suddenly losing a job, no. Not a relieved sob. Just this bright, buoyant feeling in his chest that makes his shoulders feel lighter, like someone quietly untied a knot he hadn’t realized was choking him.

He's not fired.

He actually thinks he's been... promoted? At least temporarily.

Aizawa’s out sick, Nezu had explained, calm and matter-of-fact. Bronchitis. Poor man can't say more than two wrods- not that he ever does anyways. But that coupled with the fact that All Might's out of the country for the next few weeks, and Nezu's got a real problem on his paws. Graduation can’t be postponed. And Izuku- Izuku is more than capable of stepping in to do the finishing speech, right? He’d spoken with warmth about continuity, about the students respecting him, about how sometimes the best speeches come from people who don’t try to sound grand at all.

"I’d like you to do it," Nezu had said, smiling into his teacup.

Izuku presses a hand briefly to his chest as he walks down the hall, still riding the high of it. A graduation speech. Him. He’s already thinking about structure, about what he wants them to feel when they leave their seats, about Aizawa sitting somewhere in the crowd pretending not to care while secretly listening to every word.

He turns toward his desk, steps light, mind buzzing. And then that feeling hits. The uh-oh feeling. The one that makes his smile falter as his brain scrambles backward.

He slows. Stops.

“…I forgot something,” he murmurs, reaching up to scratch at his head.

On the other side of the city, Katsuki Bakugo is vibrating. Not literally- yet- but it’s close. He’s standing in the middle of his agency office with his arms crossed, jaw set, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. The call ended too fast. Izuku had sounded nervous. Then gone. And now- nothing.

Time stretches. The longer it goes on, the more certain Katsuki becomes.

They fired him.

Because of course they did. Because U.A. is full of idiots who take people like Izuku Midoriya for granted until they’re gone. Because that’s how the world works. Because Izuku always gives more than he’s asked for and people think that means they can take even more.

A sidekick clears their throat nervously, trying to get his attention for paperwork or some other bullshit reason he doesn't care about at the moment.

“Uh- boss? Dynamight, sir?”

Katsuki doesn’t look at them. His teeth grind together.

“If they fired my husband,” he says to himself, low and lethal, “I’m leveling that entire fucking block. I don’t care who’s in the blast radius.”

He pulls out his phone again, thumb hovering above his husband's name.

Call, he thinks. Now.

Back at U.A., Izuku stares down at his phone in dawning horror.

“Kacchan,” he breathes, already dialing, heart spiking for an entirely new reason.

Because apparently, surviving Nezu’s office was the easy part.

Izuku’s phone barely makes it past the first ring before it’s answered.

“What,” Katsuki snaps, voice sharp and coiled tight. “The hell happened.”

“I’m not fired,” Izuku blurts out immediately.

There’s a beat of silence on the line. “What.”

“I’m not fired,” Izuku repeats, a little breathless but smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “I’m okay. Everything’s okay. I should’ve called sooner, I’m sorry, I just- Kacchan, I’m doing the graduation speech.”

Another pause. Bakugo exhales. Long. Controlled. Like he’s forcing something volatile back down.

“You’re doing what.” He sounds calmer this time, still tense, but less like he's going to storm U.A. and force a hostage situation.

Izuku pushes off the wall and starts walking again, slower now, calmer. “Aizawa-sensei’s out sick, and Nezu asked me to step in. He said he trusts me. He said the students would listen to me.”

The blonde scoffs softly, but there’s no heat in it this time. Just relief bleeding through the cracks. “Damn right they would.”

Izuku laughs, small and fond. “You were… really mad, weren’t you.”

“I was three seconds away from going over there,” Bakugo admits without shame. “Had a whole thing planned. Lots of yelling. Just for you.”

Izuku winces, guilt coming back full-force. “I’m really sorry I hung up like that.”

“Tch. You’re lucky you called back before I showed up there in person.”

“I would’ve been very embarrassed,” Izuku says, grinning.

“You’d have been fired then,” the other man says flatly.

They walk in silence for a moment- Izuku through U.A.’s halls, Katsuki through his agency- both of them letting the adrenaline drain away.

“You nervous?” Katsuki asks eventually, slowly, like a teenage boy on the first phone call with a girl he likes.

Izuku hums, considering. “A little. But mostly I’m excited. It feels important. Like- like I get to send them off properly.”

His husband snorts. “You always take that stuff seriously.”

Izuku smiles at that. “Someone has to.”

There’s another pause. Then the other man adds, quieter, “You’re gonna do great.”

Izuku slows again, chest warm. “…thanks.”

He reaches his desk at last, setting his bag down, fingers still curled around his phone. “Hey, Kacchan?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll tell you all about it tonight.”

Katsuki grunts. “You better.”

They hang up.

Izuku sits down, exhales, and finally lets himself grin- really grin- at the empty room. Graduation. Okay. Yeah. He can do this.

Later that night, their apartment is loud in a familiar, lived-in way.

Bakugo’s cooking, which means there’s the aggressive sizzle of a pan, the sharp thunk of a knife against the cutting board, and the low muttering of a man who refuses to admit he finds this relaxing. Izuku sits at the dinner table, grading a few papers he brought home “just to stay ahead,” watching Katsuki move around the kitchen with practiced ease.

“So,” the blonde says, elbow-deep in prep. “You’re really doing that graduation speech.”

Izuku looks up, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Tch,” his husband snorts. “Good for them. They should be jumping for joy that you agreed to do that shit.”

Izuku laughs. “Kacchan-”

“I’m serious,” Bakugo says, sliding something into the pan. “They should be grateful.”

He plates the food with sharp, efficient movements and drops a dish in front of Izuku before sitting across from him. For a minute they eat in comfortable silence. Then Bakugo groans. Telltale sign of bullshit incoming.

“I swear to fuck,” he says, rubbing his temples. “My sidekicks are gonna put me in an early grave.”

Izuku perks up instantly. He loves hearing about his husband's day- and more so Dynamight's. “What happened?”

“They don’t talk,” the man says, stabbing at his food. “They communicate exclusively in noises and half-words and references I do not understand.”

Izuku hums, amused. “That’s not true.”

“It absolutely is,” his husband snaps. “One of them said ‘it’s not that deep’ to me today.”

Izuku blinks. “That’s… pretty common, I think.”

The blonde points his fork at him. “Don’t defend them.”

He leans back, clearly warming up now. “Another one keeps saying ‘real’ at me. Just ‘real.’ No sentence. No context. I asked what the hell that meant and they laughed.”

“They laughed?”

“They giggled,” the hero says, affronted. “Like I’m some kind of museum exhibit.”

Izuku bites his lip, trying not to laugh.

“And don’t even get me started on the break room,” the angry man continues. “I walk in and they’re filming something. Phone propped up. Music blasting. Doing-" he gestures vaguely with his hands, “-this.”

“Dancing?”

“I don’t know what the hell it was,” Katsuki answers. “I asked why they were filming and one of them said, ‘content.’”

Izuku snorts and shakes his head.

“I demanded to know what kind of content,” he goes on. “They said ‘TikTok.’ I told them to get back to work. They asked if I was ‘okay.’”

Izuku laughs outright now. “Oh no.”

“They said I ‘killed the vibe,’” the hero says darkly. “What vibe. This is a workplace.”

Izuku wipes at his eyes. “You did kill the vibe.”

“Good,” Bakugo says. “That was the goal.”

He shoves another bite into his mouth, shaking his head. “Kids these days don’t make any damn sense. They’ve got their own language. Their own rules. You ask a question and suddenly you’re the weird one.”

Izuku’s laughter starts to fade. Because something about that… sticks.

Katsuki keeps going, unaware. “They think everything’s a joke. Everything’s a bit. You try to be serious and they look at you like you’re speaking another language.”

Izuku stares down at his plate. A slow, creeping realization crawls up his spine.

His husband exhales sharply. “I swear, half the time I don’t think they hear a word I say unless I’m yelling.”

Izuku’s grip tightens on his fork. He can see it now. The auditorium. The rows of graduates. The restless shifting. The whispers. The phones hidden in sleeves. The polite applause that means nothing. Adults talking. Kids smiling. Nobody really listening.

“Oh,” Izuku says quietly.

The blonde looks up. “What.”

Izuku’s stomach drops. “…oh god.”

His husband frowns. “Deku?”

Izuku lifts his head slowly, eyes wide with horror. “What if,” he says, voice thin. “They don’t listen to me because I sound like you in the break room.”

The hero blinks. “…the fuck is that supposed to mean.”

Izuku ignores him and presses his hands to his face. “What if I get up there and I’m just another adult talking and they tune me out and nothing I say actually reaches them.”

The other stares at him for a long second. Then he groans. Loud. “Oh no,” he says flatly. “You’re spiraling.”

Izuku lets out a miserable laugh. “I think I am.”

The blonde pushes back from the table and stands, chair scraping. He walks over, grabs Izuku’s shoulders, and makes him look up at him.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly. “You are not some out-of-touch asshole yelling about vibes.”

Izuku swallows.

“You mean what you say,” he continues. “They can tell. Even if they don’t get it at first.”

A beat.

“And if they don’t,” his husband adds, scowling. “That’s their problem.”

Izuku exhales, shoulders slumping. “Okay.”

The hero releases him and goes back to his plate. “Finish your food.”

Izuku nods, managing a small smile.

But later, curled up in bed while his husband sleeps beside him, Izuku stares at the ceiling, thoughts racing. They have their own language, he thinks. How do you communicate with someone who speaks an entirely different language?

And slowly- dangerously- an idea starts to form.

Saturday morning comes soft and bright, sunlight spilling across the apartment like it has nowhere better to be.

Bakugo’s already half-dressed and annoyed about it. “Why do villains not respect weekends,” he grumbles, yanking on his boots at the front door. “Criminal behavior.”

Izuku hums sympathetically from the kitchen, handing him a travel mug. “Be safe.”

The man takes it, leans in, and presses a quick kiss to Izuku’s temple. “Don’t spiral.”

Izuku smiles. “I won’t.”

Katsuki squints. "That was too fast to be true.”

“I said I won’t!”

“Tch.” The blonde heads for the door. “I’ll be back later. Don’t rewrite that speech into a manifesto.”

“No promises,” Izuku calls.

The door shuts. The apartment goes quiet.

Izuku exhales. Okay. Speech time.

He sets up at the dining table with his laptop, notebook, and a very serious cup of tea. He opens a fresh document and starts typing, fingers moving quickly, instinctively. He knows how to do this. He’s given talks before. He’s spoken to crowds, to students, to the public.

The first draft is earnest. Thoughtful. Safe. He rereads it. Deletes half.

The second draft is warmer. More personal. Less polished. He rereads it. Still not right.

The third draft leans heavier into advice. Warnings. Responsibility. He grimaces.

The fourth draft is shorter. Cleaner. Almost… distant.

Izuku leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling.

His husband's voice echoes in his head.

They’ve got their own language.

His chest tightens. He can’t let last night go. He just can’t. Because what if he’s wrong? What if he gets up there and means every word and it still doesn’t land? What if sincerity just isn’t enough anymore?

He scrubs a hand down his face.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself. “What do you actually do?”

He thinks about his students. What they talk about when they think he’s not listening. What they do when class lets out. What they’re definitely not doing in their free time. Studying is out. Training, maybe- but even then, someone’s always got a phone out. And the answer hits him so hard it’s almost embarrassing.

“TikTok,” he says aloud. Duh.

Even Kacchan knows what TikTok is, and he actively resents it.

Izuku frowns at his phone as he reaches for it. Neither of them have it. Bakugo because it would “steal hours of his life and give nothing back,” and Izuku because YouTube already does everything he needs; analysis videos, hero breakdowns, educational essays. Why mess with a good thing?

He hesitates. Then, with the air of a man making a dangerous but necessary sacrifice, he taps the app store. Download. The app opens.

And- “Oh,” Izuku breathes.

The screen explodes into motion. Sound. Color. Faces talking directly to him like they know him. Captions flying past at lightning speed. A video cuts to another cuts to another before his brain can catch up. Comments scroll by- and wait.

"Are those pictures?” he murmurs.

People are communicating with images. Reaction photos. Screenshots. Entire conversations happening visually. He scrolls, fascinated.

Then he hears it. Words he does not recognize. Phrases he has never heard spoken aloud. Entire videos dedicated to explaining what other videos mean.

“This is-” Izuku whispers, eyes wide. “This is an ecosystem.”

He watches one video. Then another. Then one titled “if you don’t get this it’s because you’re over 25”- which feels personal. Izuku and Katsuki are only twenty-seven. But then-

“Oh!” he says suddenly.

A video pops up breaking down slang. Definitions. Examples. Context. Another creator stitches it with corrections. Someone in the comments adds nuance. Someone else argues.

Izuku’s fingers fly. He opens his notebook. Starts writing.

“This is incredible,” he mutters, half in awe, half in academic fervor. “They’re explaining it to each other. In real time.”

He scrolls faster now, more deliberate. Learning the rhythms. The pacing. The way meaning is implied instead of stated outright. The way sincerity is packaged differently- but still exists.

His heart starts to race.

“Oh,” he says again, but this time it’s excited. Dangerous. Inspired.

He looks back at his laptop. At the four abandoned drafts. A slow smile spreads across his face.

“Okay,” Izuku says softly, already typing again. “I see you.”

This speech- this speech is going to be good.

Bakugo’s key scrapes the lock and the door swings open, and immediately there’s that familiar thrum of energy he brings home. Izuku freezes mid-gesture, like a kid caught sneaking cookies. Quickly, he shoves the laptop off the counter, closes the notebook, and tucks it all into the drawer like he’s hiding evidence of a crime. His phone slides under a stack of papers, barely missing a crash. Heart racing.

“Hey,” Katsuki says, tossing his bag onto the chair. “How was your- ugh- speech day prep today? Let me hear it. I know you rewrote that shit like, nine times, huh?”

Izuku swallows. “Well… eleven, actually.”

His husband freezes mid-step. “What.”

“Eleven drafts. I might’ve overdone it,” Izuku admits quietly. His fingers twitch nervously in his lap.

The hero groans and drops into the chair across from him, glaring like the words themselves have offended him. “Dammit, Izuku. I told you not to overdo it. Let me hear your speech.”

Izuku laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh…” He glances at the carefully hidden notebook like it’s a ticking bomb. “I- I don’t think you should see this one yet. It’s still… uh… evolving.”

His husband blinks. “Evolving? Evolving!” His voice is half laughter, half exasperation. “Come on, Deku, let me hear it! You’ve been locked in here all day- what, plotting world domination in case they laugh at you?”

Izuku bites his lip. His brain fires like a blender on high. Think, think, think!

And in a heartbeat, his mind snaps into Hero Mode. Speech Mode. “Okay! Okay, I’ll… um… give you the gist,” he says, clearing his throat. And then, like a hero standing in front of a crowd, he launches into it:

“Dear students,” he begins, voice steady, hands gripping the edge of the counter for emphasis. “Today marks the end of one journey and the beginning of another. You’ve faced challenges you didn’t think you could overcome. You’ve pushed past fear, past doubt, and past every obstacle standing in your way.

“And even though today feels like a celebration, it’s more than that. It’s proof. Proof that persistence, courage, and caring for others can move mountains- sometimes literally. You’ve grown into heroes in ways no one could have predicted. But remember: being a hero isn’t just about power. It’s about responsibility, empathy, and the choices you make when no one is watching.

“Look around at the people beside you. Those friendships, those bonds, those moments of support and understanding- they’re what will carry you forward. Treasure them. Protect them. Learn from them. Because the world you’re about to face doesn’t just need strong heroes. It needs compassionate ones, thoughtful ones, ones who never forget the value of the people they fight for.

“And yes, the future is uncertain. There will be moments of doubt, fear, and failure. But every single challenge you face is also an opportunity to become the hero you’re meant to be. I believe in you. Your teachers believe in you. And most importantly, I hope you believe in yourselves, because you are stronger, smarter, and braver than you know.

“So go forward. Take risks. Make mistakes. Celebrate victories. Learn from defeats. And above all… never stop trying to be the best version of yourself. That is what makes you truly heroic. That is what makes you unforgettable. Congratulations, graduates. The world is waiting for you.”

Katsuki stares at him for a long beat. Then he exhales sharply, the tension in his shoulders visibly melting away. He leans back, smirking faintly. “Thank fuck,” he mutters. “See? That’s a damn good speech. Concise. Hopeful. Generic enough that everyone gets the message without drowning in your hero nerd energy.”

Izuku blinks. “Kacchan, really? Generic?”

His husband smirks, reaching across to ruffle his hair in that infuriatingly fond way he does. “Really. You’re the symbol of hope, Deku. You always get the message across. Blah blah, save the world, blah blah. You’ve got this. Don’t overthink it.”

Izuku exhales, trying to calm his racing heart. “Thanks.”

Later, when they’re in bed, the blonde already asleep with one arm draped possessively over Izuku’s waist, Izuku stares at the ceiling, staring straight at the darkness above him.

Did I really get it right? Are they going to listen? What if generic hope isn’t enough?

He curls tighter against Bakugo, mind spinning. Even with the reassurance, even with the warmth, doubt creeps in.

It happens on a Wednesday night.

 Izuku’s curled up on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, phone held a little too close to his face, volume turned down just enough to be suspicious. His thumb flicks upward again. Another video.

“Okay so if someone says ‘6 7,’ they’re not talking about numbers-”

 “Deku.”

 Izuku jolts like he’s been shot. He fumbles the phone, nearly drops it, and looks up to see Dynamight standing in the doorway, jacket still on, boots unlaced, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Hi?”

 The blonde's gaze flicks to the phone. Back to Izuku. Slowly. Dangerously. “You just ignored my call,” he says flatly, holding up his darkened phone.

 Izuku freezes. “I- uh-”

 Katsuki steps closer. “You’re ignoring me to watch TikTok?”

 “I- uh, educational purposes,” Izuku blurts, blinking rapidly, half-standing from the couch like he’s been caught doing something deeply forbidden.

 The hero stares at him. Then he exhales through his nose, sharp and controlled. “We will be having a talk later tonight.”

 Izuku wilts instantly. “Yes, dear.”

 Bakugo drops his bag with a thud and rubs a hand down his face. “Okay. No. Stop. What the fuck is wrong with you lately?”

 Izuku stiffens.

 Katsuki points at the phone. “I know you don’t have the balls to cheat on fucking me, so what else are you doing on that damn phone of yours all day?”

 Izuku’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again./p>

 “…research?”

 The blonde squints pointedly. “You already said that.”

 Izuku swallows. “It’s for the graduation speech.”

 “That speech better be curing cancer,” his husband snaps. “Because you’ve been acting like a man with a second life.”

 Izuku laughs nervously. “I don’t!”

 “You ignored my call,” the other man says again, quieter this time. “You hide your screen. You flinch when I walk in. What am I supposed to think?”

 That hurts a little.

 Izuku steps forward immediately. “Kacchan- no, I swear, it’s not like that. I promise. I just-” he gestures helplessly with the phone. “I’m trying to understand how they think.”

 Katsuki's brow furrows. “Who.”

 “The students,” Izuku says softly. “They communicate differently. I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to sound like every adult who talks and never listens.”

 Bakugo studies him for a long second. Then he clicks his tongue, frustrated. “You’re an idiot.”

 I know.”

 “But you’re not lying,” he sighs. “I can tell.”

 Izuku relaxes a fraction.

 His husband plops down on the couch beside him, elbows on his knees. “You better not say some dumb shit in that speech.”

 Izuku smiles, small and secretive. “I won’t.”

 The man glares back. “And stop ignoring my calls.”

 “Yes, dear,” Izuku repeats, automatically.

 The other man snorts despite himself. “Damn right.”

 Later that night, the hero's arm draped over him in bed, Izuku stares at the dark ceiling again, phone face-down on the nightstand.

 He’s doing this for the kids. He’s doing this for the speech. He just hopes- when it matters- that all this secret research pays off.

The next two weeks are hell.

Pure, concentrated hell.

Katsuki takes one look at Izuku pacing the apartment, mumbling half-formed sentences under his breath, and goes, “You’re letting me hear that speech. Once a day. Minimum.”

Izuku stops dead. “Once a- Kacchan, that’s excessive.”

“You’re excessive,” he fires back. “I’m quality control. You're doing too much shit, Izuku. You're going to burn yourself out for a ten-minute speech. Shit's not healthy.”

So one day, the blonde plants himself leaning against the doorframe into their bedroom, and crosses his arms. “Go.”

Izuku lasts exactly seven seconds before panicking.

"Or,” he says brightly, standing up and stepping closer. “We could have sex instead?”

Bakugo blinks. “What?”

“To, um. Distract you.”

There’s a beat.

Then the man grabs him by the wrist and growls, “You’re disgusting.”

It works. Shamefully. Repeatedly. By day four, the blonde is fully aware he’s being manipulated, but honestly? He’s too fucked-out to fight it. Izuku is riding for his life out here.

The night before graduation comes faster than Izuku is ready for.

He’s just finished showering, steam still clinging to his skin, hair damp and curling at the ends as he pads into the bedroom in an old t-shirt and shorts. teeth freshly flossed and brushed.

Katsuki's already in bed, leaning back against the headboard, phone in hand.

“Oh,” he says casually, not even looking up. “Guess what.”

Izuku pauses halfway through toweling his hair. “Yeah?”

The man finally looks over. Wicked grin. Sharp eyes. Way too pleased with himself. “I’m going to the graduation tomorrow.”

The towel slips from Izuku’s hands. He freezes. Full deer-in-the-headlights. Eyes wide. Soul leaving body. “You’re-” his voice cracks. He clears his throat. “You’re what?”

His husband snorts. “Relax. You heard me. What kind of husband would I be if I wasn't there to watch your first official speech at U.A.?”

Izuku’s brain absolutely blue-screens.

“You- Kacchan- you hate ceremonies,” he says faintly. “You hate crowds. You hate-”

“I hate boring speeches,” the blonde corrects. “Yours better not be.”

Izuku stares at him like he’s just announced he’s joining a monastery. “You can’t,” he whispers.

The hero raises a brow. “Too late. I already took off work.”

“I haven’t even-” Izuku gestures wildly. “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“That’s the fun part. And whose fault is that anyways? Every time I asked, you dragged me here to the bed. This shit is your own fault.”

Izuku sinks down onto the edge of the bed, hands buried in his damp hair. “I’m going to throw up.”

Bakugo reaches out and grabs his wrist, grounding him. “You’re not.”

“You can’t sit in the audience,” Izuku continues, spiraling. “What if I mess up? What if I say something wrong? What if the students hate it? What if-”

Katsuki tugs him closer until Izuku’s knees bump against the side of his legs. “Hey.”

Izuku looks up.

His husband's expression softens- just a little. Enough to matter. “You’re gonna be fine,” he says. “You always are.”

Izuku laughs weakly. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists. “And even if it isn’t? I’ll still be there.”

Izuku swallows."You’re evil.”

Katsuki grins. “You married me.”

They crawl into bed not long after, lights off, the world quiet again. The blonde falls asleep fast, arm slung heavy and warm across Izuku’s waist like an anchor.

Izuku, on the other hand, stares at the ceiling. Heart pounding. Speech looming. Husband in the audience.

He exhales slowly.

“Well,” he murmurs into the dark, barely loud enough to hear himself. “I’m going to die tomorrow.”

The alarm buzzes at 7:00 a.m., merciless and precise. Izuku jolts awake, heart already hammering. He sits up, staring at the ceiling like he can somehow will the day to not exist.

His hero husband is already in the kitchen, apron on, flipping eggs and humming something that vaguely sounds like a rock song. “Get up, Deku,” he calls over his shoulder. “Breakfast won’t eat itself.”

Izuku nods mutely, sliding out of bed and immediately retreating to his desk. There, in the privacy of his tiny fortress, he opens a blank Word document. A single line at the top: My Last Will and Testament (for Kacchan's sake, in case I die giving this speech).

He types furiously, glancing occasionally at the kitchen where Katsuki is performing culinary miracles. Pancakes, eggs, toast. Perfectly packed lunches. Coffee just the way Izuku likes it.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, his husband suddenly peeks over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “You seriously writing a will right now?”

Izuku freezes. “Just in case,” he mutters.

The man smirks, shaking his head, leaning forward to press a kiss against the nape of his lover's neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

Breakfast is eaten in near silence, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of a fork or Bakugo muttering instructions at himself while packing Izuku’s lunch. Then, with all the precision of a pro-hero doing a tactical extraction, the man presses a quick kiss to Izuku’s temple, slings his bag over his shoulder, and grins.

“I’ll be there at five,” he says. “Don’t die before then. Otherwise I won't be there to see it.”

Izuku swallows audibly. “I'll panic anyway,” he whispers.

The hero snorts. “Good. Stay consistent.” And he’s gone, leaving Izuku in a suddenly quiet apartment, heart hammering like a drumline.

calls Nezu immediately, pacing like a caged animal.

“Nezu! I-I-I can’t do it! I’m backing out! I can’t do this!”

“Oh no,” Nezu says, calm as ever. “You can’t do that, Midoriya. It’s too late to change the plan, and Aizawa unfortunately still has bronchitis.”

Izuku stops pacing mid-stride. “…Wait. He’s had it for two weeks now?”

“Hmm,” Nezu hums casually. “Yes. We’re still in a medically safe range. I’ll see you tonight!” Click.

Izuku stares at the phone like it just lied to him. Two weeks? Two weeks of bronchitis? Two weeks that have somehow left him responsible for the graduation speech of the century?

He exhales shakily, grabs his bag, and mutters to himself. “Well. I guess I’m going to school.”

Outside, the city hums and life continues, oblivious to the apocalypse quietly forming in one teacher’s mind. Today. This is it. There’s no turning back now.

The school day drags like it’s underwater.

Izuku sits at his desk, trying to grade papers, but every few minutes his ears catch a snippet of conversation. The students aren’t quietly chatting- they’re buzzing, full of energy, slang, inside jokes, references he barely understands.

“Wait… wait… do I actually understand anything?” he mutters under his breath, shoulders slumping. “Or was I just lying to myself all these weeks?”

He listens harder. Laughing bursts, whispers, the rapid-fire pace of their words. Every time a term pops up, a TikTok reference, a phrase he studied, he thinks he gets it- but half the time, he’s only guessing. By lunch, he’s gripping his pencil so tight it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap. He wants to cry. He wants to run. He wants to scream.

The day continues in a blur of classes, hallway passes, last-minute questions from students who are far too bright for their own good. Every face he passes reminds him: they are watching me. They are judging me.

Finally, the last bell rings.

He gathers his things like a zombie, shoulders heavy with impending doom, and trudges home. The apartment is quiet. Bakugo won’t be home until 4:30, thanks to his pro-hero job.

Izuku heads straight to the shower, and that’s when it hits. All the tension, all the panic, all the hours of preparation and TikTok research- they collapse. He cries. Sobs quietly. The water streams down his face, washing away the makeup of a confident, prepared teacher. He lets himself break. When he steps out, wrapped in a towel, water dripping into the drain, he’s still crying.

And then, the phone rings. It’s his husband.

“Kacchan,” Izuku chokes out his husband's name, sniffling.

“Yeah,” Bakugo says, calm and clear. “I know.”

Izuku hiccups. “I think everyone’s going to hate my speech. I’m going to mess it up. I can’t-”

Katsuki interrupts, uncharacteristically soft. “You overthink everything, crybaby. You’re gonna do fine. Do you even remember Aizawa’s speech from when we graduated?”

Izuku wobbles. “Yes…”

“Of course you do. Well,” he sighs, “…I don’t. That’s the point. These aren’t supposed to be long-lasting speeches that stay with you forever. They’re for the moment. Everyone’s scared at a graduation; parents, teachers, students. You do this speech to remind them of why they’re graduating. How proud you are of them. That’s it. Okay?”

Something clicks in Izuku’s chest. A flash of clarity. An epiphany. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “You’re a genius.”

The blonde smirks through the phone, ever so slightly smug. “Fuck yeah. Sex tonight?” Click.

Izuku hangs up.

Heart racing. Tears still wet on his cheeks. Adrenaline mixing with relief and inspiration.

His speech is going to be lit. Because finally, he understands. It’s about the moment. Not the words. Not the legacy. The moment. And tonight, he’s going to set that moment on fire.

Izuku steps up to the podium, palms sweaty, heart hammering like it’s trying to escape his chest. The auditorium feels massive. Lights glare, faces blur into rows of expectant students, parents, teachers.

Nezu is perched at the side, calm and observant as ever. Aizawa sits slouched, (not looking like a man that's been suffering from a throat disease for two weeks) eyebrows raised just slightly, and Present Mic is bouncing in his seat like a human jack-in-the-box. All Might sits front and center, looking impossibly proud, even though he was supposed to be out of the country for another week or so. Nezu, you damn liar. Kacchan is leaning against the balcony railing, arms crossed, eyes sharp as daggers.

Izuku swallows. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s do this.” He straightens his tie, clears his throat, and looks out at the sea of students.

“Good evening, graduates. Today isn’t just a ceremony. It’s a celebration. A proof. Proof that you’ve worked hard, faced challenges, and- yeah- survived high school.”

A few students chuckle quietly. Encouraging.

“You’ve learned a lot here- not just in textbooks, or in training, or even in the piles of homework that definitely shouldn’t exist- but also about yourselves. About your limits, about friendship, about… how to function as human beings in a chaotic world.”

A nervous laugh escapes him. “And yes, I know some of you spent more time scrolling than studying. I see you. I get you. I’ve been there. That’s why I had to do research too.”

He clears his throat, shifting slightly. “But the point is, whether you’re aiming to be heroes, artists, scientists, or literally just survive the next chapter of life, the skills you’ve built here? They’ll carry you further than any lecture ever could.”

He gestures to the students. “You’ve worked together. You’ve argued, laughed, trained, and maybe cried a little- but you’ve done it as a team. And that’s the most important part. Being a hero isn’t about power or recognition. It’s about responsibility, and compassion, and showing up even when it’s hard.”

A few parents nod. Some students whisper “yeah” under their breath. Izuku’s gaining confidence.

“And remember,” he continues, a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Life is going to hit you with all kinds of challenges. Some days, you’ll feel mid. Some days, you’ll feel like the goat. Some days, you’ll wonder why you even showed up. That’s okay. All of it counts. All of it makes you stronger.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. Now for the kicker.

“So yeah, chat,” he says, louder, clearer, a twinkle in his eye. “That’s the sauce. Keep cooking, stay goated, never be mid, and FR- study hard and go rizz up that knowledge."

The auditorium freezes for a beat. Then- absolute chaos. Students are cheering, some jumping out of their seats, phones out, recording. Parents are laughing. Teachers are raising eyebrows and clapping. His husband's jaw actually drops, arms falling to his sides.

Present Mic is practically bouncing out of his seat screaming, “Yes! Yes! Love it!”

All Might stands, fist to chest, voice booming with pride. “That was incredible, Izuku!”

Nezu tilts his head, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. Aizawa lets out the tiniest hum of approval.

Izuku, blinking rapidly, heart exploding in his chest, realizes- he did it. He actually did it. And maybe, just maybe, TikTok research saved the day.

Later that night, the apartment is quiet.

Izuku and Katsuki are curled up in bed, pillows fluffed, lights dimmed, the day finally behind them. Izuku keeps replaying the speech in his head, heart still a little high from adrenaline.

“You know,” Bakugo says, yawning. “That ‘goated’ line? Not bad. You nailed it. I actually kinda get it now.”

Izuku giggles, leaning against him. “I’m just glad it didn’t sound like a total disaster. And thanks for trusting me.”

His lover smirks. “I wasn’t worried. You always overthink everything, but you pulled it off. And the slang? Honestly, you didn’t sound like a grandma trying to be cool.”

Izuku laughs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I studied TikTok for two weeks straight for a speech. I had to take it off my phone it was so exhausting.”

The blonde's eyes flicker with amusement. “And here I thought my hero job was exhausting. At least I didn’t have to scroll through endless memes to avoid dying of embarrassment.”

They chuckle together, the room warm and safe. For the first time in almost three weeks, Izuku feels calm.

Just as they’re about to settle under the covers, Katsuki sits up, eyes glinting with that familiar wicked grin. “Wanna smash? Rawdog it?”

Izuku freezes. Entirely. Completely. Stars practically explode behind his eyes. He slowly lifts his head, voice barely above a whisper. “Kacchan?”

His husband leans in, grin widening. “I’ve been doing my own research.”

Izuku blinks, heart hammering, breath catching. He doesn’t even know what to say.

Katsuki smirks, reaches over, and flicks the lamp off. Darkness envelops them, quiet except for the soft sound of laughter and their racing hearts.

And somewhere in the darkness, Izuku whispers, “…I’m definitely not surviving this night.”

But he doesn’t care. Not one bit.