The living room smelled of lemon polish and the sweet, heavy scent of peonies from the garden. Inko was arranging them in a vase on the coffee table, her movements precise, her focus absolute. The late afternoon sun slanted through the bay window, catching the dust motes and the deep, rich red of the rug. On that rug, Izuku Midoriya-Bakugo lay on his back, a mountain of pillows propping him up, his hands resting on the enormous, taut curve of his belly.

He was smiling. A soft, dazed, utterly contented smile that hadn’t left his face in months. His green curls were damp at the temples, his freckled skin glowing. He wore one of Katsuki’s old soft t-shirts, the fabric straining over the swell of his stomach, the hem riding up to expose the low band of his maternity leggings.

“He’s kicking,” Izuku murmured, his voice a sleepy hum. “Right here. Feel, Mom.”

Inko finished with the flowers. She wiped her hands on her apron and crossed the room, her expression softening into something that almost looked like peace. She knelt beside him, her own hand—small and familiar—pressing gently where Izuku guided it. A slow, rolling movement pushed against her palm.

“Strong,” Inko said, her voice quiet. “Just like his father.”

Izuku’s smile widened. “Or hers.”

The front door opened and closed, the sound of a briefcase being set down, shoes being toed off. Katsuki’s footsteps were heavy and sure on the hallway floorboards. He appeared in the archway, still in his teaching slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His crimson eyes went straight to Izuku, and the hard line of his mouth softened into something private, possessive, and genuinely warm.

“I’m home,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“Kacchan,” Izuku breathed, the name still a secret thrill, even now, even here in their shared home. He tried to sit up, a clumsy, gravid movement.

“Stay put,” Katsuki commanded, but the edge was gone, replaced by a fond exasperation. He crossed the room in three strides, bending to kiss Izuku—not a chaste peck, but a deep, claiming press of lips that had Izuku sighing into his mouth. Katsuki’s hand slid under the t-shirt, his broad palm spreading over the tight skin of Izuku’s belly. “How’s my boy?”

“Full of your baby,” Izuku mumbled against his lips, his own hands coming up to tangle in Katsuki’s spiky hair. “And happy.”

Katsuki pulled back just enough to look at him, his thumb stroking the underside of Izuku’s belly. “Good.”

Inko had risen silently and was retreating toward the kitchen. “I’ll start dinner,” she said, not looking back. “Your father will be home soon, Izuku.”

When the kitchen door swung shut, Katsuki sank to his knees on the rug beside Izuku. He nuzzled into the curve of Izuku’s neck, inhaling deeply. “Missed you.”

“You saw me this morning,” Izuku laughed, but he arched into the contact, his body already humming for him. Pregnancy had made him constantly, achingly receptive. A single touch from Katsuki could make him slick and desperate in seconds.

“Six hours is too long,” Katsuki growled. His hand drifted lower, fingertips slipping beneath the band of Izuku’s leggings. He found him soaked, the soft cotton already damp. “Fuck. Always ready for me, aren’t you?”

Izuku bit his lip, nodding, his eyes fluttering closed. “For you. Always for you, Kacchan.”

Katsuki kissed him again, harder this time. He worked the leggings down over Izuku’s hips, his movements practiced and efficient. The cool air of the room hit Izuku’s overheated skin, followed by the searing heat of Katsuki’s mouth as he ducked his head. He didn’t go for his cock, still trapped in his trousers. He went lower, spreading Izuku’s thick thighs, and licked a slow, flat stripe through his soaked folds.

Izuku cried out, his back bowing off the pillows. “K-Kacchan… Mom’s in the kitchen…”

“So?” Katsuki’s voice was muffled against him. He licked again, deeper, his tongue finding Izuku’s swollen clit. “She knows what you are. What we do.” He sucked, gently at first, then with more pressure.

Pleasure, white-hot and immediate, shot through Izuku. His hands fisted in the rug. Katsuki ate him like a man starved, his tongue delving inside, then circling his clit, his stubble rough on the soft inner skin of Izuku’s thighs. The wet, filthy sounds filled the sunlit room, mingling with Izuku’s broken gasps and the distant, safe sound of Inko chopping vegetables.

“Gonna come,” Izuku whimpered, his hips lifting off the floor. “Please, Kacchan, I’m gonna—”

Katsuki pulled off with a wet pop. “Not yet.” His own breathing was ragged. He unbuttoned his slacks, freeing his cock. It was thick and heavy, flushed dark, the head already beading with pre-come. He leaned over Izuku, bracing himself on one arm, the other guiding himself to Izuku’s entrance. The broad tip pressed against him, not pushing in, just resting there, a promise of stretch and fullness.

Izuku looked up at him, his green eyes wide and drowning in love and want. “Please. Need you.”

“What do you need, Izuku?”

“Your cock. Need my husband’s cock inside me. Need to feel you… in me, with the baby…”

Katsuki’s control slipped. A low groan ripped from his chest. He pushed forward, just an inch, a slow, inexorable invasion. Izuku was so wet, so open for him, his body softened and made even more perfect by pregnancy. Katsuki sank deeper, another inch, then another, until he was fully sheathed, his hips pressed flush against Izuku’s ass, his cock buried to the hilt in that tight, clutching heat.

They both went still, breathing harshly. Katsuki dropped his forehead to Izuku’s. “Fuck. You feel… you feel like heaven.”

He began to move. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that made Izuku see stars. Each thrust nudged against his swollen cervix, a deep, internal pressure that was almost too much, almost pain, but twisted into the most profound pleasure Izuku had ever known. His belly shifted between them with the motion.

“Harder,” Izuku begged, his nails digging into Katsuki’s shoulders. “Need to feel it… need you to claim us…”

Katsuki obeyed, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, the slap of skin filling the room. He was whispering into Izuku’s mouth, a stream of filth and devotion. “My perfect boy. My wife. Taking my cock so good, so deep, milking me… gonna fill you up, put another baby in you, you want that? Want my cum in your pregnant cunt?”

“Yes, yes, Kacchan, please, I’m yours, all yours—”

The front door opened again.

Footsteps halted in the hallway. Katsuki didn’t stop. He fucked into Izuku with a relentless, possessive rhythm, his eyes locked on his husband’s face. Izuku turned his head, his cheek pressed into the rug, and saw his father, Toshinori, standing frozen in the archway, his work bag dangling from his hand.

Toshinori’s face was a complex map of shame, hunger, and a weary, defeated acceptance. His eyes were dark as they watched his son get fucked by his teacher, his son-in-law, his belly jiggling with each powerful thrust.

“Dad,” Izuku moaned, the word slurred with pleasure. “He’s… he’s fucking me so good…”

Katsuki grinned, a feral, triumphant thing. He didn’t acknowledge Toshinori. He just kept moving, his pace becoming brutal, focused solely on wringing pleasure from Izuku’s body. “Gonna come. Gonna pump my seed so deep into you. Tell me you want it.”

“I want it! I want your come, Kacchan, please, fill me up, breed me—”

Izuku’s orgasm tore through him, sudden and catastrophic. His cunt clenched violently around Katsuki’s cock, a gush of fluid—squirt—soaking the rug beneath them. He screamed, his body convulsing, his toes curling. The intensity triggered Katsuki’s own release. With a guttural shout, he slammed home and held, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside Izuku’s womb, pulse after hot, thick pulse.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Katsuki collapsed carefully onto his side, pulling Izuku with him, his softening cock slipping out, followed by a trickle of their mixed release. He kissed Izuku’s sweaty temple, his hand returning to rest on the belly that housed his child.

Toshinori was still standing there. Inko appeared silently behind him in the kitchen doorway, her face blank. She looked at her husband, then at the entwined couple on the rug.

Izuku, blissed-out and boneless, nuzzled into Katsuki’s chest. Then he lifted his heavy-lidded eyes to his father. A slow, inviting smile spread across his kiss-swollen lips. “Hi, Dad.”

Toshinori’s bag hit the floor with a thud. He took a step into the room, his eyes not on Izuku’s face, but on the mess between his legs, on the evidence of Katsuki’s possession glistening on his inner thighs.

Katsuki finally looked at him. He didn’t move from his place wrapped around Izuku. His voice was a lazy, satisfied rumble. “Your turn. He’s still hungry.”

Izuku reached a hand out, his fingers curling in a come-hither gesture. “Please, Daddy?”

Toshinori crossed the room. He dropped to his knees beside them, his large hands trembling as he reached for his son. He bent his head, not to kiss him, but to lick a slow, shameful stripe through the mess on Izuku’s thighs, cleaning his son’s husband from his skin.

Katsuki watched, his crimson eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. He cupped Izuku’s belly again, feeling the baby kick once, hard, against his palm. He leaned close, his lips brushing Izuku’s ear. “Perfect,” he whispered, the word meant for Izuku alone. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

Izuku closed his eyes, the smile on his face one of pure, uncomplicated happiness. He had everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d been trained to need.

“Enough cleaning,” Katsuki said, his voice a low command that vibrated through Izuku’s back. He didn’t move from where he lay, one arm a possessive bar across Izuku’s chest. “Take your turn. Fuck your son.”

Toshinori froze, his tongue still against Izuku’s slick thigh. His eyes, wide with a familiar shame, flicked up to Katsuki’s face.

“You heard him, Daddy,” Izuku murmured, his hand coming up to card through his father’s hair. “I’m still so empty. Kacchan filled my pussy, but I need you too.”

With a shuddering breath, Toshinori rose to his knees. His fingers fumbled with his belt, his movements clumsy with a mix of desperation and self-loathing. He freed his cock, already hard and leaking, and positioned himself between Izuku’s spread legs. He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the mess Katsuki had left, the way Izuku’s hole glistened, swollen and used.

“Look at me,” Izuku whispered.

Toshinori’s eyes snapped to his son’s. Izuku’s expression was soft, inviting, utterly devoid of the horror Toshinori felt churning in his own gut. It was this purity of acceptance that undid him every time.

“Please,” Izuku said, simply.

Toshinori pushed inside. Izuku was so loose, so wet from Katsuki’s come and his own squirt, that he slid in to the hilt in one smooth, devastating stroke. A broken groan tore from Toshinori’s throat. He braced his hands on the rug on either side of Izuku’s head, his large frame trembling.

“That’s it,” Katsuki purred, his hand stroking Izuku’s belly. “Fuck your boy’s used cunt. Make him feel you.”

Toshinori began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was entirely his own—less brutal than Katsuki’s, more mournful. Each thrust made a wet, sucking sound. Izuku arched into it, a sigh of contentment escaping him. He reached up, pulling his father down for a kiss. It was messy, open-mouthed, tasting of salt and shame.

“You feel so good, Daddy,” Izuku gasped against his lips. “So deep. You fill me up just right.”

From the kitchen doorway, Inko watched. Her face was a careful blank, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the doorframe. She didn’t speak. She didn’t look away.

Katsuki watched her watching. A smirk touched his lips. He shifted, turning Izuku’s head gently to face his mother. “Look at her, Izuku. Look at your mom while your dad fucks you.”

Izuku obeyed, his green eyes glazing with pleasure as they met his mother’s. “Mommy,” he panted, as Toshinori’s pace quickened. “See… see how happy I am?”

Inko’s breath hitched. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.

“Tell her,” Katsuki commanded, his fingers tracing the tight skin of Izuku’s stomach.

“I have everything,” Izuku cried out, his body beginning to tighten around his father’s cock. “My amazing husband… my dad who loves me… my baby… I’m so full… I’m so loved…”

Toshinori was sobbing openly now, his thrusts becoming erratic, chasing his own ruin. “Izuku… my boy… forgive me…”

“Nothing to forgive,” Izuku moaned, his own climax building again, a bright coil of heat in his core. “Just come, Daddy. Come inside me. Mix with Kacchan’s. Make me yours, too.”

The permission, filthy and sweet, shattered Toshinori’s last restraint. He buried himself deep and stilled, a raw shout ripped from him as he pulsed inside his son, adding his own release to the pool already claimed by his son-in-law.

Izuku came a second later, a softer, rolling wave that clenched around his father’s softening length, milking him dry. He whimpered, his body going pliant and boneless against the rug.

Toshinori collapsed forward, his forehead resting on Izuku’s shoulder, his body wracked with silent tears.

Katsuki finally moved. He sat up, his own nakedness unashamed. He looked at Inko, his gaze challenging. “Get a washcloth,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Clean them up.”

Inko stood frozen for a heartbeat. Then, with the slow, resigned movements of a sleepwalker, she turned and walked to the kitchen sink.

Katsuki leaned down, brushing his lips over Izuku’s sweaty temple. “Perfect,” he whispered again, his hand resting on the place where their child kicked, a lively pulse beneath his palm. “My perfect wife.”

Izuku smiled, eyes closed, surrounded by the two men who owned him, in the home that was now their kingdom. He had never been more complete.