Katsuki’s hips pistoned, a brutal, steady rhythm that rocked the entire bed. Izuku’s swollen belly jostled with every deep thrust, a tight, heavy globe between them, skin stretched shiny and taut.

“Fuck,” Katsuki grunted, his voice a raw scrape. He bent his head, mouth latching onto Izuku’s left nipple, suckling hard. A sharp, sweet pull, and warm milk flooded his tongue, leaking from the corner of his mouth to mix with the sweat on Izuku’s heaving chest.

Izuku cried out, hands fisting the sheets. “D-Daddy—!”

Katsuki pulled off with a wet pop. “Tastes like you, baby boy. Sweet.” He ran a thumb over the slick, puffy nub. “Your tits are finally good for something.”

“They’re for the baby,” Izuku whimpered, even as he arched into the touch.

“They’re mine.” Katsuki slammed deeper, making Izuku gasp. “Everything that comes out of you is mine. Milk. Cunt juice. My kid.” His hand splayed over the curve of Izuku’s stomach, possessive. “Feel that? He’s kicking. Loves his daddy fucking his mommy.”

A faint, fluttering thump against Katsuki’s palm punctuated the claim. Izuku sobbed, a wave of heat crashing through him. His pussy clenched, sopping wet, around Katsuki’s thick cock.

“See?” Katsuki’s grin was feral. “Even he knows you’re just a hungry little cunny boy. Made for this.”

“I’m not—I’m your wife,” Izuku choked out, the contradiction a familiar ache in his throat.

“You’re my pregnant, leaking wife.” Katsuki leaned down, his breath hot against Izuku’s ear. “Who takes my cock like a whore. Who cums when strangers piss on him. Who begged me to put a baby in this greedy hole.” He punctuated each word with a punishing thrust. “Say thank you.”

Izuku’s vision blurred. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank you for what?”

“For—for fucking me. For filling me up. For making me a mommy.” The words were a broken chant, a truth he couldn’t escape.

Katsuki’s rhythm faltered, a shudder running through him. He stilled, buried to the hilt, and just looked. His crimson eyes traced the mess of milk and sweat on Izuku’s chest, the tremble of his bitten lips, the huge, round proof of his ownership between them.

His calloused hand came up to cradle Izuku’s jaw, thumb pressing against his throat. Not choking. Not yet. Just holding. “Mine,” he breathed, the word softer than anything else in the room.

Then he moved again, slower now, deeper, dragging his cock out until just the head remained before surging back in, a claiming so complete it stole the air from Izuku’s lungs. The wet, slick sound of their joining filled the space, a filthy, intimate music.

The warmth hit Katsuki’s thighs first, a sudden gush that wasn’t sweat or slick, flooding between their joined bodies with a distinct, salty smell that cut through the musk of sex.

Katsuki froze, his cock still buried to the root. “The fuck?”

Izuku’s eyes flew wide, a sharp, startled gasp escaping him. Then his entire body seized, his back bowing off the mattress as a brutal, tightening wave clenched his swollen belly. “Ah—Daddy—!”

“Your water just broke, you stupid little bitch.” Katsuki’s voice was low, almost amused. He didn’t pull out. He ground his hips deeper, feeling the incredible, clenching heat of Izuku’s pussy around him. “You’re in labor.”

“It hurts,” Izuku sobbed, but his hips jerked upward, seeking more of Katsuki’s cock even as the contraction peaked, a vicious, rending pain. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop fucking me, it—it helps, it helps—”

“Helps?” Katsuki barked a laugh, raw and wild. He started moving again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. “Your hole’s trying to push my kid out and you’re begging for my dick. You really are just a cunny boy, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Izuku screamed, nails raking down Katsuki’s back as another contraction began to build, a terrible pressure mounting under his skin. “I’m your cunny boy, please, Daddy, I need it—”

Katsuki’s control snapped. He drove into him, the wet, slapping sounds now mingled with Izuku’s pained, pleasured cries. The bed shook. Amniotic fluid soaked the sheets beneath them. Katsuki captured Izuku’s mouth in a biting kiss, swallowing his sobs.

He broke the kiss, panting. “You feel that? That’s my son. He’s coming. And you’re gonna take us both, you greedy fucking hole. You’re gonna squeeze my cock while you push his head out.”

The image, the visceral truth of it, made Izuku’s mind white out. His pussy fluttered, clenching in a sudden, sharp orgasm that ripped through the pain, milking Katsuki’s cock inside him. He screamed, a raw, tearing sound.

Katsuki groaned, his thrusts becoming ragged, brutal punches. “That’s it. Cum around your daddy’s dick while you have his baby. Perfect little whore. Perfect wife.”

The contractions were coming faster now, waves of agony that Izuku could only ride by focusing on the relentless stretch and burn of Katsuki filling him. He was split in two, body wrecked between two impossible purposes, and he wanted both. He needed both.

“I can’t—I have to push, I really have to push—” Izuku begged, tears streaming through the sweat on his face.

“Then push,” Katsuki growled, fucking into him with relentless force. “Push around my cock. Show me what you’re made for.”

The burn was unlike anything Izuku had ever felt, a white-hot ring of fire stretching around both his daddy’s cock and the hard, crowning head of his baby. He bore down, a guttural scream tearing from his throat, body seizing with the primal need to expel.

Katsuki groaned, a deep, shattered sound. “Fuck. I can feel him. His head’s right there, squeezing my dick out.” He didn’t retreat. He ground forward, his thick shaft a ruthless plug against the advancing child. “You’re so fucking open, Izu. Ruined.”

“It burns, it burns, Daddy, please—” Izuku sobbed, his hands flying to his own spread knees, shaking violently.

“Push,” Katsuki commanded, his voice rough with strain and awe. He leaned back on his haunches, his cock still buried, and watched. “Push our son out around me. Show me.”

Izuku screamed again, back arching, every muscle in his body corded and trembling. The pressure was monstrous, a splitting, rending fullness that bordered on agony. But beneath it, threaded through the fire, was the relentless, stretching pleasure of Katsuki filling him. He pushed, and the baby’s head inched forward, a slick, impossible stretch.

Katsuki’s breath hitched. His hand slid from Izuku’s belly down to where they were joined, his fingers brushing the sweat-slicked, swollen place where his own flesh met his child’s. “Look at that,” he murmured, raw and hushed. “My good boy. Taking us both so deep.”

“I can’t—I need—” Izuku panted, tears and snot streaking his face. Another contraction seized him, a tidal wave of force. He bore down with a broken cry, and the baby’s head bulged further, a slick curve of dark hair emerging, crowned by the thick base of Katsuki’s cock.

“There he is,” Katsuki growled, his own hips giving a shallow, involuntary thrust. The movement made Izuku shriek, a sound of pure, overloaded sensation. “One more, baby boy. Push my son into my hand.”

Izuku’s vision tunneled. He gathered the last shreds of his strength, a desperate, animal noise tearing from his chest as he pushed with everything he had. The burning ring stretched, stretched, and then released in a sudden, slippery rush.

The baby’s head slid free into Katsuki’s waiting palm, followed by one shoulder, then the other, the small body twisting out in a gush of fluid and blood onto the soaked sheets between Izuku’s thighs. A thin, reedy wail pierced the air.

Katsuki stared, motionless, his cock still sheathed inside Izuku’s convulsing, bleeding heat. His large, calloused hands cradled the tiny, messy newborn—a son, with a shock of dark, wet hair—with a terrifying, absolute stillness. His crimson eyes were wide, unblinking.

Izuku collapsed back against the pillows, utterly spent, his chest heaving. He felt hollowed and full all at once, Katsuki’s presence inside him a constant, claiming throb amidst the aching relief. “Daddy?” he whispered, voice shot.

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just looked from the crying infant in his hands to Izuku’s wrecked, open body beneath him, his expression something feral and shattered. Slowly, he lifted the baby, bringing him to rest on Izuku’s heaving, milk-damp chest. Then, his gaze locked on Izuku’s, he began to move his hips again, a slow, deliberate roll.

Izuku gasped, oversensitive and raw. “He’s—he’s here, you can’t—”

“I can,” Katsuki corrected, his voice a low thrum. He leaned down, bracing himself over them both, his thrusts deepening once more. “You’re not done. You still have me.” He nuzzled the baby’s head, then bit Izuku’s earlobe. “Both of us. My wife.”

The baby’s mouth latched onto Izuku’s puffy nipple with a wet, desperate sound, the sudden suction pulling a ragged gasp from Izuku’s throat. Katsuki watched, his thrusts never slowing, a dark, possessive gleam in his crimson eyes. “Look at that,” he growled, his voice rough with exertion. “Feeding my son while I fuck my wife. You really are the perfect little bitch, aren’t you?”

“Daddy—” Izuku sobbed, his body a live wire of conflicting sensations—the sharp, drawing pull on his tit, the brutal, stretching fullness below, the tiny, warm weight of his son on his chest. He was being used in every possible way, and his oversensitive cunt clenched hard around Katsuki’s cock in a weak, involuntary pulse.

Katsuki groaned, his hips snapping forward harder, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room. “Tightening up already? Greedy. You just pushed a whole person out and you’re still milking my dick.” He leaned down, his breath hot against Izuku’s ear. “Your pussy’s bleeding all over me. Sore and split open. And you’re still taking every inch.”

Izuku could only nod, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He cradled the baby’s head with one trembling hand, the other fisting in the ruined sheets. “Yours,” he choked out. “It’s all yours.”

“Damn right it is.” Katsuki’s pace turned punishing, a crazed, animal rhythm that shook the bed. He dropped his head to Izuku’s other breast, capturing the leaking nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. The dual pull—his son on one side, his daddy on the other—drove a shattered scream from Izuku’s lungs.

Katsuki pulled off with a wet pop, milk beading on his lower lip. “Tastes so good,” he rasped, fucking into him with deep, grinding rolls. “Sweet and mine. Your body made this. Made him. And it still takes my cock better than anything.”

“I was made for you,” Izuku panted, the words a broken mantra. His vision swam, the pain and the pleasure blurring into a single, white-hot purpose. “Only for you.”

“Say it again.” Katsuki’s hand slid from Izuku’s hip up to his throat, not squeezing, just holding. A claiming. His thrusts grew erratic, desperate. “Tell me what you are.”

“Your cunny boy,” Izuku gasped, his hips lifting to meet each savage drive. “Your wife. Your—ah!—your good boy.”

Katsuki’s control shattered. He fucked into him with a final, brutal series of strokes, his cock pulsing deep inside Izuku’s ravaged, bleeding heat as he came with a raw, guttural shout. He collapsed over them both, his weight a heavy, possessive blanket, his forehead damp against Izuku’s temple.

For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the soft, suckling noise of the baby nursing. Katsuki nuzzled into the junction of Izuku’s neck, his lips moving against the sweat-slicked skin. “My perfect boy,” he whispered, the words so low they were almost lost. “You did so good.”

Izuku shuddered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. He turned his face into Katsuki’s hair, breathing in the scents of whiskey, sex, and blood. “I love you, Daddy,” he murmured, the admission as natural as the ache in his body.

Katsuki went very still. Then he pressed a hard, closed-mouth kiss to Izuku’s lips. “I know,” he said, the words rough, almost ashamed. He didn’t say it back. He didn’t have to. It was in the way his arms tightened around them both—his son and his son’s mother—holding his entire, ruined world together.

The ambulance arrived with blaring sirens that Katsuki muted with a sharp gesture, his hand still covered in drying blood and fluid as he barked orders at the EMTs. He never let go of Izuku’s hand, even when they transferred him to the gurney, the baby—their son—swaddled and placed on Izuku’s chest. “You watch him,” Katsuki growled at a young EMT who moved to adjust the blanket. “That’s my wife and my son. You touch either without my say-so and I’ll break your fingers.”

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and sterile smell, a shocking contrast to the musk and blood of their bedroom. Nurses clucked over Izuku’s torn body, their professional masks slipping into barely concealed horror at the circumstances of the birth. Katsuki stood sentinel in the corner, arms crossed, his crimson eyes tracking every movement, every touch. “He’s fine,” he stated whenever a new person entered. “They’re both fine.”

“Your husband isn’t leaving much room for an examination, honey,” an older nurse murmured to Izuku as she checked his blood pressure.

Izuku, exhausted and floating on a wave of painkillers, turned his head on the pillow to find Katsuki’s gaze. “He stays,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from screaming. “Where he goes, I go.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. Something raw flickered in his eyes before he looked away, staring out the window at the city lights.

The baby was perfect. Seven pounds, two ounces, a shock of dark green hair, and lungs that screamed with a healthy, furious vibrato. The pediatrician pronounced him flawless, and Katsuki finally sank into the chair beside Izuku’s bed, his shoulders slumping with a tension he’d been holding for hours. He reached out, a single calloused finger tracing the baby’s pink cheek. “Natsuki,” he said, the name a rough exhale.

Izuku’s breath hitched. “After you?”

“He’s mine, isn’t he?” Katsuki didn’t look up, his finger moving to brush the baby’s tiny, grasping hand. “My blood. My name. My legacy.”

Kirishima and Tetsutetsu arrived the next morning, their booming voices hushed by the maternity ward. Eijiro’s eyes were suspiciously bright as he peered at the bundle in Izuku’s arms. “Holy crap, Kats. He’s got your scowl already.”

“Fuck off,” Katsuki muttered, but there was no heat in it. He was leaning against the wall, a cup of terrible hospital coffee in his hand, watching Izuku show the baby to their friends.

“He’s beautiful, Izuku,” Tetsutetsu said, his usual bravado softened. “You did good.”

Izuku smiled, a tired, real thing. “Thank you.” He looked past them to Katsuki. “We did.”

After they left, the room settled into a quiet hum. Natsuki slept in the clear bassinet beside the bed. Katsuki finally moved from the wall, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His hand found Izuku’s, his thumb rubbing over the raw knuckles Izuku had scraped against the headboard. “Hurts?” he asked, his voice low.

“Everything hurts,” Izuku admitted. “In a good way.”

Katsuki brought Izuku’s hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the bruised skin. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a seal. An apology. A claim. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered against his fingers.

“You didn’t stop,” Izuku whispered back.

“I know.” Katsuki lifted his head, his crimson gaze holding Izuku’s. “And you begged me not to.” He leaned in, his forehead resting against Izuku’s. “My perfect, fucked-up boy.”

Izuku closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of him—whiskey and spice beneath the hospital soap. “I love you, Daddy.”

The silence stretched, thin and fragile. Then Katsuki’s breath shuddered out. “I love you, too.” The words were gravel, torn from a deep, hidden place. He said it like a confession, like a wound.

Izuku’s eyes flew open. Katsuki was staring at him, his expression utterly bare, stripped of all cruelty and control. In its place was a terrifying, overwhelming devotion. Izuku cupped his cheek, pulling him down until their lips met. It was soft. Chaste. A promise.

When they parted, Katsuki’s gaze drifted to the bassinet, then back to Izuku’s face. He shifted, carefully sliding onto the narrow hospital bed beside him, his large body curving around Izuku’s sore form. One arm draped over Izuku’s waist, his hand splaying possessively over the loose, empty swell of his belly. The other reached out, his fingers curling around the edge of the bassinet, holding his son within reach. “My family,” he murmured into Izuku’s hair.

Izuku nestled back against him, wincing only slightly. He placed his hand over Katsuki’s on his stomach, where their child had grown. “Yours,” he agreed, his voice thick with tears. “Always.”