The Bakugou home is silent except for the grandfather clock in the hall, a heavy, judgmental tick-tock that measures the distance between the kitchen and the living room. Izuku stands at the sink, his hands submerged in soapy water, the round, firm swell of his belly pressing against the counter’s edge. He’s six months along, and the uniform he’d once used as a weapon has been replaced by soft, stretched-out sweats that do nothing to hide the proof.

Inko watches him from the kitchen table, her nursing scrubs still crisp. “You’re glowing,” she says, her voice carefully neutral.

Izuku doesn’t turn. “Morning sickness finally stopped. That’s all.”

“That’s not all.” The chair scrapes as Inko stands. She comes to stand beside him, not touching, just looking at his profile, the curve of his jaw, the way his green curls fall against his neck. “You won’t tell me who he is. You won’t tell me anything. I’m your mother.”

“It doesn’t matter who he is.” Izuku’s voice is flat, final. He pulls a plate from the water, rinses it under the tap. The water is loud in the quiet.

“It matters to me.” Inko’s hand lifts, hovers near his arm, then drops. “Are you safe? Is he… kind to you?”

Izuku’s breath hitches. He thinks of Katsuki’s hands, possessive and rough, mapping the stretch of his skin. The way his Daddy’s voice goes dark and reverent when he whispers about the life they made. “He takes care of me.”

“That’s not an answer, Izuku.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” He shuts off the water, reaches for a towel. The movement shifts his weight, and his free hand comes thin to rest on the lower arc of his belly, a protective, unconscious gesture. Inko’s eyes track the motion, and something in her face fractures.

“You’re keeping secrets in my house,” she whispers. “You and your father both. He’s been… different. Distant. And you’re…” She gestures, a helpless flutter of her hand. “You’re here, but you’re not.”

The floorboard creaks in the hallway. Katsuki fills the doorway, still in his coaching gear, a duffel slung over one shoulder. His sharp red eyes sweep the scene—Inko’s worried posture, Izuku’s tense back, the intimate space between them. His jaw tightens.

“Talking about the weather?” Katsuki’s voice is a gravelly intrusion.

Inko turns, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Just mother-son talk. You’re home late.”

“Film review.” His gaze locks onto Izuku, who still hasn’t turned around. “Nerd. Come help me with these plays in the study. Need a second set of eyes.”

It’s a flimsy excuse. They all know it. Izuku drops the towel. “Okay, Coach.”

He moves past his mother, and as he does, Katsuki’s hand comes up. It doesn’t land on Izuku’s shoulder. It slides, possessive and deliberate, down the curve of Izuku’s back, over the swell of his ass, a claiming stroke hidden from Inko’s view by the angle of their bodies. Izuku shudders, a full-body tremor he can’t suppress.

Inko sees it. She sees the shudder, sees the way Katsuki’s hand lingers, sees the dark, hungry look that passes between them in the hallway’s shadow. The clock ticks. Her smile dies completely.

“Don’t be up too late,” she says, her voice hollow.

Katsuki doesn’t answer. He guides Izuku down the hall, away from the light of the kitchen, into the deeper dark.

The study door clicks shut behind them, a soft, final sound in the dark-paneled room. Katsuki doesn’t lock it. He drops his duffel bag to the floor with a heavy thud and turns. His hands are on Izuku before the echo fades, gripping his hips, lifting him onto the broad, polished surface of the desk. Papers scatter. A tablet clatters to the floor.

“Daddy—”

“Shut up.” Katsuki’s voice is a raw scrape. He pushes the soft fabric of Izuku’s skirt up higher, a flash of green rucked around his waist against his pale, freckled skin.

There are no panties. There haven’t been for months.

Katsuki’s own zipper is a harsh rip in the silence. He shoves his pants and briefs down just enough, and his cock springs free, thick and flushed and already leaking, curving heavily against his stomach. He doesn’t stroke it. He doesn’t need to.

He steps between Izuku’s spread thighs, his hands rough on the inside of his son’s knees, pushing them wider. The round, hard swell of Izuku’s belly rises between them, a taut curve Katsuki’s eyes drink in before he looks down, lines himself up. The head of his cock nudges against wet, swollen heat.

Izuku gasps, his head falling back. “Please.”

Katsuki drives into him. One brutal, deep thrust that sheathes him completely, that makes the desk shudder and Izuku cry out, a sharp, choked sound that’s half pain, half relief. He’s so fucking tight, even now, stretched and used and carrying his child, he’s still so tight around him.

“Fuck,” Katsuki grunts, his hips already pistoning, setting a desperate, punishing rhythm. The wet slap of skin fills the room, loud and obscene. “Fuck, you feel that? Taking all of me. My cock in my pregnant boy.”

Izuku’s hands scramble for purchase on the slick wood. “Yes—Daddy, yes—harder—”

“You want it harder?” Katsuki snarls, bending over him, one hand fisting in green curls, the other splaying possessively over the curve of Izuku’s belly. He can feel the firmness of it, the life inside, as he fucks into him. “You came in here smelling like her. Smelling like soap and worry. You let her touch you?”

“No—she didn’t—ah!” Izuku’s back arches as Katsuki angles deeper, hitting a spot that makes his vision white out. “Only you, Daddy, only you touch me—”

“Damn right.” Katsuki’s thrusts are losing all finesse, pure animal need. His balls slap against Izuku’s ass with every drive. Sweat drips from his brow onto Izuku’s chest, soaking into the thin cotton of his shirt. The small, swollen peaks of Izuku’s tits are visible through the fabric, dark and hard. Katsuki lowers his head, takes one into his mouth through the shirt, biting down on the stiff nipple.

Izuku screams, his hips bucking. “She knows! Mommy knows something!”

Katsuki releases the wet fabric with a pop. He doesn’t stop moving. “Let her know.”

“What?” Izuku’s eyes are glazed, his mouth slack.

“I said let her fucking know.” Katsuki pants the words against his son’s throat. “You think I care anymore? You’re full of me. You’re full of my kid. She can listen. She can watch through the goddamn keyhole for all I care.”

He punctuates the last word with a particularly vicious thrust that makes Izuku sob. The sound is loud. Unmistakable. Katsuki grinds into him, deep, letting the wet, filthy noise of their joining fill the air. He wants it heard.

On the other side of the thick oak door, Inko Bakugou stands frozen in the shadowed hallway. Her hand is pressed to her mouth. The heavy tick of the grandfather clock down the hall is drowned out by the sounds from the study: the rhythmic, driving impact of flesh, the low, guttural grunts of her husband, the high, broken cries of her son.

She hears a wet, squelching slide, then Katsuki’s voice, dark and ragged. “That’s it. Soak my cock. Your pussy’s dripping for me. Making a mess on my desk.”

Izuku’s reply is a whimpering chant. “Daddy, Daddy, I’m close, please—”

“Cum. Cum on my dick. Let her hear you come.”

There’s a sharp, gasping cry, then a sound Inko’s nursing mind recognizes instantly—the distinct, pulsing rush of fluid, not urine, something thicker, followed by Izuku’s shattered scream of release. It echoes in the hallway, raw and intimate and utterly devastating.

Katsuki’s roar follows, a choked, possessive sound. The desk legs screech against the hardwood floor once, twice, then go still. Heavy, ragged breathing is the only sound for a long moment.

Inside the study, Katsuki slumps over Izuku, his forehead pressed to his son’s shoulder, his cock still buried deep, pulsing as he empties himself. Izuku trembles beneath him, his fingers weakly clutching at Katsuki’s back, his own release slick between their stomachs and across the desk.

Katsuki finally lifts his head. He looks down at Izuku’s flushed, tear-streaked face, at the blissful ruin of him. He doesn’t pull out. He leans down and licks a stripe up Izuku’s throat, tasting salt.

Inko’s hand is on the doorknob. The brass is cold. The sounds haven’t stopped—the wet, rhythmic slap, the low groans, the high, keening whimpers that are so uniquely her son’s. She turns the knob. It gives. He didn’t lock it.

She pushes the door open.

The scene is lit by a single desk lamp, casting long, lewd shadows. Izuku is on his back across the ruined desk, his skirt a green pool around his waist, his pale thighs spread wide and trembling. Katsuki is between them, his coaching polo dark with sweat, his powerful hips driving forward in a relentless, piston rhythm. His pants are bunched around his thighs. His cock, thick and glistening, plunges in and out of Izuku’s body, the sight obscene and unmistakable.

Izuku’s head turns. His green eyes, glazed with pleasure, find hers in the doorway. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t cover himself. A slow, dazed smile touches his swollen lips.

Katsuki follows his son’s gaze. He doesn’t stop moving. His thrusts don’t falter. His red eyes lock with Inko’s, and there’s no guilt there. Only a dark, defiant heat. A challenge.

“Mommy,” Izuku breathes, the word a ragged sigh.

Inko stands there, her knuckles white on the doorframe. She says nothing. She can’t.

“See something you like?” Katsuki grunts, his voice gravel. He snaps his hips harder, making Izuku cry out, his back arching off the desk. “Or something that finally makes sense?”

“You… you animal,” Inko whispers, the words barely audible.

Katsuki barks a laugh, harsh and humorless. He leans over Izuku, one hand splaying over the pronounced curve of his belly. “This is your grandkid, Inko. My kid. Our kid. You want to hear the heartbeat?”

He fucks into Izuku with a deep, rolling grind, making the desk creak. Izuku moans, his hands coming up to clutch at Katsuki’s shoulders.

“Look at him,” Katsuki commands, his eyes never leaving his wife. “Look at your son. Look how good he takes me. How full he is.”

Inko’s eyes are wide, horrified, but they drop. They trace the joining of their bodies, the slick evidence, the way Izuku’s body opens for the brutal invasion. A traitorous flush heats her own cheeks.

“Daddy,” Izuku whimpers, his hips lifting to meet the next thrust. “She’s watching… she sees…”

“I know she sees.” Katsuki’s pace becomes punishing, a frantic, driving tempo. The wet sounds are louder now, amplified by the silent witness. “You like that? You like your mommy seeing what a slut you are for your father’s cock?”

“Yes!” Izuku sobs, his head thrashing. “Yes, Daddy, yes!”

Inko takes a stumbling step back, but her feet won’t carry her away. She’s rooted. The nurse in her catalogs the details: the healthy swell of the pregnancy, the way Izuku’s small breasts have grown, the dark nipples pebbled tight, the absolute surrender in every line of his body.

Katsuki’s control is fraying. His grunts are shorter, sharper. “Gonna cum. Gonna fill you up again. Let her see that, too.”

He slams home and stays there, his big body shuddering. A guttural roar tears from his throat as he pumps his release deep into Izuku’s clenching heat. Izuku screams, his own climax triggered, a fresh gush of fluid soaking Katsuki’s thighs and the wood beneath them.

For a long moment, there is only the sound of their ragged breathing. Katsuki remains buried inside, his forehead resting against Izuku’s. Then, slowly, he pulls out.

The sight is devastating. Izuku, spent and leaking, his body used and openly displayed. Katsuki, still half-dressed, his cock slick and glistening with their mixed release. He doesn’t bother to cover himself. He turns fully to face Inko, his expression unreadable.

“Close the door,” he says, his voice low. “Or stay. But decide.”

Inko’s mouth works. No sound comes out. Her eyes dart from her husband’s defiant stare to her son’s blissful, ruined face.

Izuku lifts a trembling hand towards her. “Mommy…”

It’s the plea in that broken, familiar word that undoes her. She steps fully into the room. Her hand reaches behind her, and she pushes the door shut with a soft, final click.

“Come here,” Katsuki says, his voice a low command that vibrates in the silent room. He hasn’t moved from where he stands, naked from the waist down, his cock still wet. “Come see what I’ve done to your son.”

Inko doesn’t move. Her back is pressed against the closed door, her hands flat against the wood as if to steady herself. Her eyes are fixed on Izuku, who lies sprawled across the desk, breathing in shallow, satisfied hitches.

“Mommy,” Izuku murmurs, his hand drifting down to rest on the swell of his belly. “It’s okay.”

“It is not okay,” Inko whispers, but the protest is weak, automatic. Her nurse’s gaze is cataloging: the flushed skin, the sheen of sweat, the way Izuku’s thighs are still parted, glistening.

Katsuki takes a step toward her. He doesn’t bother to cover himself. “You wanted to know who the father was. Now you know. So come look at your handiwork.”

“My handiwork?” Her voice cracks.

“You made him.” Katsuki’s smile is all teeth. “You gave him to me. Now look at what I’ve made with him.”

He turns and walks back to the desk. He places a broad hand on Izuku’s knee, pushing his leg wider. The movement is possessive, casual. It exposes everything.

Inko makes a small, choked sound.

“See?” Katsuki says, his finger tracing a path through the mess on Izuku’s inner thigh. It comes away slick. “He’s full of me. Our grandchild is swimming in it.”

Izuku shivers, a soft moan escaping him. His green eyes are heavy-lidded, fixed on his mother’s horrified face. “It feels… really full, Mommy.”

Inko breaks. A strangled sound tears from her throat, and she lurches forward, not towards the door, but towards the desk. Her hands flutter in the air before landing, one on Izuku’s damp, trembling thigh, the other hovering over the curve of his belly.

“Look at you,” she breathes, her nurse’s voice clinical and shattered all at once. Her fingers trace the stretched skin of his abdomen, feeling the firmness beneath. “Six months. You’re… you’re really six months.”

“Yeah, Mommy,” Izuku whispers, watching her face. He guides her hand lower, to where the evidence of Katsuki’s release is already beginning to seep out. “Daddy keeps me full.”

Katsuki watches, his arms crossed over his chest. A slow, dark satisfaction spreads through him. “Check him. Go on. You’re a nurse. Make sure your son is… healthy.”

Inko’s green eyes, so like Izuku’s, flick up to her husband’s face. There’s horror there, but beneath it, a terrible, fascinated compulsion. Her fingers, gentle and practiced, part Izuku’s folds.

Izuku gasps, his hips lifting slightly off the desk.

“He’s swollen,” Inko murmurs, almost to herself. “Very… engorged. From the pregnancy. And from…” Her thumb brushes his clit, and Izuku cries out, a fresh trickle of fluid wetting her fingers. “From use.”

“He’s always like that,” Katsuki says, his voice a low rumble. “Dripping. Begging for it. Even before the baby.”

“Is that true?” Inko asks her son, her gaze locked on where her fingers are exploring.

“Yes,” Izuku moans, his head falling back. “Always, Mommy. I can’t help it. Daddy’s cock… it ruined me. It feels so good inside. Especially now.”

Inko’s fingers are still inside him, feeling the swollen, slick heat, when Katsuki steps close. He grips her chin, turning her face away from their son and towards his cock. It hangs heavy and wet, already beginning to thicken again. “Suck it,” he says, his voice a low rasp. “Get me hard. I’m not done with him.”

Inko stares, her breath catching. The musk of sex is thick in the air. Her own arousal, a traitorous heat between her legs, is a shameful secret she can’t hide from herself.

“Do it,” Izuku moans from the desk, his hips pushing down against her hand. “Please, Mommy. Suck Daddy’s cock for me.”

The dual command breaks her. Her nurse’s composure shatters. With a shuddering exhale, Inko opens her mouth.

Katsuki guides himself in, not gently. The broad head pushes past her lips, stretching them. He tastes of salt and Izuku. She gags, her eyes watering, but he doesn’t pull back. He holds her there, his fingers tangled in her long green hair.

“That’s it,” he grunts, watching her struggle. “Take it. You wanted to know everything? Know this.”

Inko’s eyes flutter closed. Her other hand, still resting on Izuku’s thigh, grips tighter. She forces herself to relax her throat, to take him deeper. The act is clinical and obscene. She is servicing her husband so he can fuck her pregnant son again.

Izuku watches, panting. “Is she good, Daddy?”

“She’s trying,” Katsuki says, his hips beginning a shallow thrust. He fucks her mouth with the same possessive rhythm he used on Izuku. “Your mother’s a quick study.”

Inko’s moan vibrates around him. Her free hand comes up to cradle his heavy balls, her nurse’s mind noting their weight, their fullness. She is cataloging him even as she submits.

Katsuki’s cock swells fully, hardening against her tongue. He pulls out with a wet pop, his length glistening with her saliva. “Enough.”

Inko sags back, her lips bruised, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She looks dazed, ruined.

Katsuki turns back to the desk. He spreads Izuku’s thighs wider, his hands rough on the soft skin. “Look at him, Inko. Look at what you helped make. He’s built for this.”

Izuku’s entrance is flushed and puffy, leaking both their releases. Katsuki guides himself back, the thick head nudging against the soaked, stretched opening.

“He’s so loose for me now,” Katsuki says, his eyes locked on Inko’s. “The baby… my cock… he’s always open. Always ready.”

He pushes in. It’s a slow, deliberate invasion, the stretch visibly making Izuku’s belly jump. Izuku cries out, a sound of pure relief.

“Oh, God… Daddy…”

“Watch, Inko,” Katsuki commands, his voice strained as he sheathes himself to the hilt. “Watch how he takes me. How he needs it.”

Inko is frozen, her hand still on Izuku’s leg. She can feel the tremor that runs through her son’s body as he’s filled. She can see the way Katsuki’s abdomen presses against Izuku’s rounded stomach.

“Lick him,” Katsuki grunts, his hips beginning a slow, punishing rhythm that makes the desk creak. He doesn’t look down at Inko. His eyes are on the place where his body disappears into their son’s. “Lick his pussy. Lick my cock while I fuck it. Clean him up.”

Inko doesn’t hesitate. The command bypasses her shattered mind and goes straight to her body. She leans forward, her long green hair brushing Izuku’s trembling thigh. Her tongue, tentative at first, flicks out to catch the mixed fluid leaking from Izuku’s stretched entrance.

“Oh, Mommy,” Izuku whimpers, his hands flying to tangle in her hair. He holds her there, not guiding, just feeling. “Yes… taste it.”

The taste is musky, salty, profoundly intimate. It’s the taste of her husband and her son combined. Inko moans, the vibration against Izuku’s sensitive flesh making him jerk. She laps more earnestly, her nurse’s precision turning obscene as she tries to clean the slick mess with her tongue.

Katsuki’s next thrust is harder, pushing Izuku up the desk. The movement smears Inko’s face, pressing her nose and mouth against the base of his cock where it meets Izuku’s body. “Now me,” he orders, his voice tight with strain. “Suck where I’m inside him.”

Inko opens her mouth, taking the thick root of him into the wet heat of her mouth alongside her son’s swollen folds. She can feel the powerful flex of Katsuki’s shaft with every inward drive. She sucks, her tongue working the stretched ring of muscle.

“Fuck,” Katsuki hisses, his rhythm faltering for a second. “Just like that. You feel that, Izuku? Your mother’s tongue on my cock while it’s in your cunt.”

“I feel it,” Izuku cries, his back arching. His rounded belly is a taut curve, his small breasts jiggling with the force of his father’s thrusts. “It’s so hot… Mommy’s helping…”

Inko is lost in the sensation, in the taste, in the complete degradation of the act. Her own arousal is a soaking ache between her legs, undeniable. She moves with them, her mouth a wet seal around the joining of their bodies.

Katsuki’s hand fists in her hair, holding her firmly in place. “Good girl,” he rasps, and the praise, so rarely given, burns through Inko’s shame. “You always were a good nurse. Attentive.”

The pace quickens, becoming brutal, possessive. The wet, slapping sounds of skin on skin fill the study, punctuated by Izuku’s choked sobs of pleasure and the ragged pull of Inko’s breath through her nose.

“Gonna come,” Katsuki snarls, his hips stuttering. “Gonna fill him again. You swallow it, Inko. You swallow every drop that leaks out of our son.”

He slams home one final time, his body locking as he empties himself deep inside Izuku with a guttural roar. Inko feels the hot pulse against her tongue, tastes the new, bitter salt of his release as it floods past her lips.

Izuku screams, his body seizing. A fresh gush of clear fluid soaks Inko’s chin and neck as he squirts, the force of it pattering against the desk and her chest. His hands are claws in her hair, holding her through the convulsions.

For a long moment, there is only the sound of their panting. Katsuki stays buried, his weight slumped over Izuku. Inko remains on her knees, her face pressed into the wet, spent heat between them.

Slowly, Katsuki pulls out. He looks down at his wife, her face glistening with their mingled fluids, her eyes dazed and wide. He taps his softening cock against her bruised lips. “Clean it.”

Inko obeys, her tongue moving in slow, thorough strokes up his length. She cleans him with a devotion that feels like penance, or worship. She isn’t sure anymore.

When he steps back, she sags against the desk. Izuku is a boneless, panting mess beneath her, his green eyes hazy with fulfillment. He reaches a trembling hand to touch her cheek. “You’re so pretty like this, Mommy.”

Inko can’t speak. She turns her face into his palm and kisses it, a silent, broken admission.

Katsuki tucks himself away, his gaze sweeping over them both—his pregnant son splayed on the desk, his wife kneeling in ruin. A dark, possessive pride settles in his chest. “Get up,” he says, his voice quiet but absolute. “Both of you. We’re going to bed.”