The leather sofa in the formal living room was cool and smooth under Katsuki’s bare thighs. He wore only a pair of low-slung sweats, his torso bare, a deliberate display. Eight months had carved his body into something even more defined, a monument to restless energy with nowhere to go but here. His eyes tracked Izuku across the room.

Izuku moved with a new, weighted grace, one hand perpetually cradling the pronounced swell of his belly. He wore a soft, cream-colored maternity dress that stretched tight over the curve. He was refilling a platter of pastries, his freckled fingers precise. The room was full of his friends—women from his baking circles, a few neighbors—their chatter a bright, buzzing cloud. They cooed over the baby clothes spread on the coffee table.

“You gonna put a shirt on, man?” Eijiro asked from the armchair beside him, voice low. He’d been quiet since he arrived, his usual toothy smile subdued. His red eyes kept flicking from Katsuki’s possessive stare to Izuku’s serene movements.

“My house,” Katsuki said, not looking away from Izuku. “I’ll dress how I want.”

“It’s a baby shower.”

“And?” Katsuki finally turned his head, a sharp, challenging grin on his face. “You got a problem with the decor, Shitty Hair?”

Eijiro held up his hands. “No problem. Just… making conversation.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping further. “He looks good. Healthy.”

“He’s perfect.” Katsuki’s reply was immediate, absolute. His gaze drifted back. Izuku was laughing at something a gray-haired woman said, the sound light and airy. His free hand brushed over his stomach, a slow, circular motion. Katsuki’s own abdomen tightened in response, a phantom echo.

One of the women, a brunette named Suki who always brought overly sweet wine, called out. “Izuku, honey, you’re glowing! Motherhood becomes you.”

Izuku’s green eyes found Katsuki’s across the room. A secret, knowing smile touched his lips before he turned back to Suki, his voice a melodic ripple. “Thank you. I feel wonderful. My Kacchan takes such good care of me.”

The use of the childhood nickname in public, here, now, sent a hot pulse straight to Katsuki’s groin. He shifted on the leather, the material sticking slightly to his skin.

“See?” Eijiro muttered, almost to himself. “That.”

“What?” Katsuki’s voice was a low warning.

“Nothing.” Eijiro took a long drink from his soda can. He set it down with a soft click. “Just… eight months ago, you were… different. And now you’re… here. Not at school much. Not… out.”

Katsuki watched as Izuku excused himself, waddling carefully toward the hallway bathroom. The dress pulled tight across his back, outlining the swell of his ass. “Got everything I need here.”

“Yeah.” Eijiro’s voice was flat. “I guess you do.”

The bathroom door clicked shut. The chatter in the room continued, oblivious. Katsuki counted the seconds. At ten, he stood up.

“Where are you going?” Eijiro asked.

“To piss. That a problem too?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He walked past the clusters of women, ignoring the way some of their eyes dipped to his chest, his abs. The hallway was quiet, insulated from the party noise. He stopped outside the bathroom door. No sound came from within.

He didn’t knock. He turned the handle and slipped inside, locking the door behind him.

The room was warm, humid. Izuku stood at the sink, not using it, just staring at his reflection in the mirror. His hands were braced on the porcelain edge. He didn’t turn.

“Kacchan,” he breathed, watching him in the glass. “You should be with our guests.”

“Fuck the guests.” Katsuki moved behind him, not touching. He could feel the heat radiating from Izuku’s body. He saw the way Izuku’s eyes darkened in the mirror, the way his breath hitched. The cream dress was thin. Katsuki could see the outline of Izuku’s underwear through it, the heavy curve of his ass. “You’re hurting.”

“My back,” Izuku admitted, the soft performance dropping for a moment, revealing the ache beneath. “It’s just a little—”

Katsuki’s hands were on him then, sliding around his sides, settling on the hard dome of his stomach. He pressed his bare chest against Izuku’s back, leaning down to bury his face in the crook of his neck. He inhaled deeply. Green tea. Vanilla. The dark, musky scent of his skin. “I got you, Momma.”

Izuku melted against him, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His head lolled back onto Katsuki’s shoulder. In the mirror, their eyes locked. Izuku’s hand came up to cover Katsuki’s on his belly. “You do,” he whispered. “You always do.”

Katsuki’s thumbs stroked the taut skin under the dress. He could feel the life inside, a subtle shift under his palm. His cock, already half-hard from watching him all afternoon, thickened against the small of Izuku’s back. Izuku pressed back into the contact, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

“They’re right out there,” Izuku murmured, but he was grinding back now, his ass rubbing against Katsuki’s length.

“Let them hear.” Katsuki’s voice was rough. One hand slid down from Izuku’s stomach, over the dress, cupping him between his legs. The material was already damp. Izuku gasped, his knees buckling slightly. Katsuki held him up, his other arm a band of steel across his chest. “You’re soaked, Mommy. Just from me walking in?”

“Yes,” Izuku panted, his eyes fluttering shut. “Always. For you.”

Katsuki rubbed him through the fabric, a firm, slow pressure. Izuku’s hips jerked. A low, desperate sound crawled up his throat. The dress was getting darker, wetness spreading. Katsuki kissed his neck, open-mouthed, sucking at the skin. “Gonna make you squirt. Right here. With all your nice friends outside talking about onesies.”

“Kacchan—”

“You want that?” Katsuki’s fingers pressed harder, finding the swollen shape of him through the cotton. “You want to ruin this pretty dress? Let everyone see what you really are?”

“I’m your whore, Kacchan,” Izuku gasped, the words a hot, broken confession against the mirror. “Your pregnant little whore.”

Katsuki’s growl was pure possession. He shoved the cream dress up around Izuku’s waist, the fabric bunching. His fingers hooked into the sides of Izuku’s soaked panties and yanked them down his thick thighs, letting them fall to the tiled floor. He didn’t bother with his own sweats, just shoved them down enough to free his cock, already leaking and hard. He positioned himself at Izuku’s entrance, the swollen head pressing against the slick, hot furl of him.

“Look,” Katsuki commanded, his eyes locked on Izuku’s reflection. “Watch me take what’s mine.”

He thrust in. One brutal, deep push that buried all ten inches inside the clutching, wet heat. Izuku cried out, a sharp, ragged sound he muffled by biting his own fist. His other hand scrabbled against the sink, knuckles white. The stretch was immense, perfect, a familiar fullness that made his vision blur. Katsuki didn’t move, letting them both feel it, letting the reality of the violation sink in. The party chatter was a distant hum beyond the door.

“Fuck,” Katsuki breathed, his forehead dropping to Izuku’s shoulder. He could feel the tight, living curve of Izuku’s stomach pressed against his own abdomen. “So fucking good, Momma. Always so good for me.”

He pulled back and slammed home again. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin filled the humid room. Izuku’s moans were choked, desperate. Katsuki reached around, his hands fumbling with the front of the dress. He pulled the material down, exposing Izuku’s swollen, heavy tits. The dark, puffy nipples were already hard. Katsuki palmed one, then the other, his thumbs rubbing rough circles over the sensitive peaks.

“Kacchan—” Izuku whimpered, his back arching.

“Look,” Katsuki repeated, fucking into him with deep, punishing strokes. He pinched a nipple, hard. A thin, white stream of milk shot from the tip, arcing through the air to hit the mirror with a soft patter. Izuku sobbed, his entire body clenching around Katsuki’s cock. “See that? You’re made for me. Every part of you.”

He squeezed the other breast, massaging it as he pistoned his hips. More milk beaded and spilled, dripping down his fingers, onto Izuku’s trembling stomach. The scent of it, sweet and musky, mixed with the smell of sex and sweat. Katsuki bent to lick a stripe up Izuku’s neck, tasting salt. “Gonna fuck you full of my cum. Knock you up again while you’re still round with this one. That what you want, Mommy?”

“Yes,” Izuku chanted, his eyes glazed, fixed on their joined reflection. On the way Katsuki’s powerful body enveloped his, on the milk slicking his skin, on the obscene, beautiful proof of their union. “Yes, baby, please. Give me another. I can take it. I’m yours.”

The admission shattered Katsuki’s control. His thrusts lost rhythm, turning frantic, animal. He fucked into the dripping, tight heat, chasing his peak, spurred on by Izuku’s broken pleas. The mirror fogged with their breath. Somewhere outside, a woman laughed, bright and oblivious.

Izuku came first, his pussy clamping down in violent, fluttering waves. A gush of fluid soaked Katsuki’s thighs, the counter, the floor. He screamed into his fist, his body bowing. The convulsion milked Katsuki over the edge. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he emptied himself inside with a raw, guttural shout, his teeth sinking into Izuku’s shoulder to muffle the sound.

They slumped together against the sink, panting, dripping. Katsuki’s softening cock slipped out, followed by a trickle of their mixed release. He kept his arms locked around Izuku, holding his weight, nuzzling into the sweaty green curls. In the mirror, their faces were flushed, wrecked, utterly satiated.

“They’ll be wondering,” Izuku murmured after a long minute, his voice hoarse.

“Let them.” Katsuki kissed his shoulder where the teeth marks bloomed. He reached for a hand towel, ran it under warm water. Gently, he cleaned the milk from Izuku’s chest, then wiped between his thighs. He pulled the dress back into place, smoothing it down. The wet spot on the front was small, hidden by the fabric’s ruching. The panties he stuffed into his own pocket. “There. Perfect hostess again.”

Izuku turned in his arms, his green eyes soft, adoring. He cupped Katsuki’s face. “My perfect boy.”

Katsuki captured his mouth in a slow, deep kiss, tasting himself on Izuku’s tongue. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against Izuku’s. “Love you, Momma.”

“I know.” Izuku’s smile was real now, radiant. “Now go entertain your friend. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Katsuki fixed his sweats, gave Izuku’s ass one last, possessive squeeze, and unlocked the door. He slipped back into the hallway, closing it quietly behind him. The party noise swelled. He walked back to the living room, his gait loose, a faint, smug smile on his lips. He dropped onto the leather couch beside Eijiro.

Eijiro looked at him. Really looked. At the fresh bite mark on Katsuki’s own lower lip. At the satisfied, predatory gleam in his red eyes. At the way he seemed to hum from the inside out. Eijiro’s cheerful mask slipped for a second, revealing something hollow and sad underneath. He picked up his soda can. It was empty. He set it back down.

“Everything okay?” Eijiro asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Katsuki leaned back, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. He watched the bathroom door down the hall. “Never better.”

Eijiro watched the bathroom door swing open. Izuku emerged, his cream dress smooth, his smile serene. He glided back into the living room, accepting a hug from a guest. Eijiro looked from him to Katsuki, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Izuku since he’d reappeared. The hollow feeling in Eijiro’s gut solidified into a cold, certain weight.

“That’s your baby, isn’t it?” Eijiro’s voice was low, meant only for Katsuki’s ear. There was no accusation in it. Just a flat, exhausted truth.

Katsuki’s smug smile didn’t waver. He finally turned his head, those sharp red eyes cutting to Eijiro. “Damn right it is.”

“Katsuki…”

“Just fucked him, too.” Katsuki leaned closer, his voice a rough, proud whisper. “Bent him over the sink. He’s still dripping with it. Squirting all over the goddamn floor, crying for it. Tits leaking while I pounded him. You hear that laugh?” He nodded toward where Izuku was chatting, a hand resting on his rounded stomach. “That’s my cum inside him making him smile like that.”

Eijiro stared. His big, toothy smile was gone. His face was pale. “He’s your mom.”

“And?” Katsuki’s eyebrow arched. He took a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “He’s mine. This one’s mine.” He gestured with his chin toward Izuku’s belly. “Gonna put another in him the second this one’s out. Keep him round and full forever. That’s the plan.”

“The… the others. Denki. Mina. Yo.” Eijiro’s words were halting. “They didn’t just disappear, did they?”

Katsuki’s smirk widened, a cruel, knowing curve. He leaned back against the leather, his eyes never leaving Eijiro’s pale face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Shitty Hair.”

The party wound down around them, a slow drain of laughter and goodbyes. Izuku moved through the remaining guests with effortless grace, accepting gifts and cheek kisses, his hand never leaving the swell of his stomach. One by one, the house emptied. The front door clicked shut for the final time, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

Izuku turned. His serene smile softened into something private, intimate. He walked toward the couch, his steps slow, and without a word, he lowered himself into Katsuki’s lap, straddling him. Katsuki’s hands came up to cradle Izuku’s hips, his thumbs stroking the cream-colored fabric.

“Long day, Momma?” Katsuki murmured, nuzzling into Izuku’s neck.

“Mmm. Worth it.” Izuku’s eyes slid to Eijiro, who sat frozen on the other end of the sofa. “Is Eijiro staying for dinner?”

“Maybe,” Katsuki said, his voice rough. He gathered the hem of Izuku’s dress in his fists and began to lift it, slowly, revealing thick thighs, the dark thatch of curls, the glistening, swollen lips below. He pulled the fabric up to Izuku’s waist, baring him completely. “Look, Ei. See what you were asking about?”

Eijiro’s breath hitched. Izuku was soaked, creamy white fluid leaking from his reddened pussy, dripping onto Katsuki’s sweats. The scent of sex, musky and thick, filled the space between them.

“You can stay and watch if you really want,” Katsuki said, his gaze locked on Eijiro’s horrified face. His hands gripped Izuku’s ass, spreading him open slightly. “Just keep your fucking hands to yourself. This is mine.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He shifted Izuku’s weight, positioned himself, and with a single, powerful upward thrust of his hips, he sheathed himself inside to the hilt. Izuku cried out, his head falling back, his hands clutching Katsuki’s shoulders. The wet, obscene sound of the penetration echoed in the quiet room.

“Fuck,” Katsuki groaned, his eyes rolling back for a second. He began to move, setting a brutal, deep rhythm, pounding up into the clutching heat. Izuku rode him, meeting every thrust, his pregnant belly jostling between them. “See him, Momma? See him watching?”

Izuku turned his head, his green eyes glazed with pleasure. He looked at Eijiro. A tear tracked through his freckles, but he was smiling. “Thank you for watching, dear.”

Eijiro didn’t speak. He couldn’t look away. His own hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, down to the front of his jeans. He palmed himself through the denim, a sharp, pained gasp escaping his lips. He was hard.

“That’s it,” Katsuki panted, his thrusts becoming erratic, savage. He fucked up into Izuku with a wet, slapping sound that was too loud in the formal living room. “Stroke it, you fucking pervert. Watch how he takes me. Look at his tits.”

Izuku’s small breasts bounced with the force of Katsuki’s pounding, the dark nipples pebbled tight. Eijiro fumbled with his belt, his fingers clumsy. He got his jeans open, pulled his cock out. It was thick, flushed red. He wrapped a hand around himself and began to jerk off in slow, stunned strokes, his eyes wide and fixed on the place where they were joined.

“He’s so deep,” Izuku moaned, his voice breaking on each drive of Katsuki’s hips. “Feels him in my womb, Eijiro. Right where our baby is.”

Katsuki snarled, burying his face in Izuku’s chest, biting at the fabric covering his tit. “Gonna fill you up again. Right here. Right in front of him.” His pace became frantic, desperate. The couch groaned under them. “You gonna come, Mommy? Come all over my cock while he jerks off to it.”

Izuku’s answer was a shattered scream. His body locked, his back arching violently. A gush of clear fluid sprayed from him, soaking Katsuki’s stomach, the couch cushion beneath them. His pussy clenched in visible, rhythmic spasms around Katsuki’s thrusting length. The sight tore a ragged groan from Eijiro, whose own hand moved faster on his cock.

Katsuki followed, his own release ripped from him with a guttural roar. He held Izuku down, grinding deep as he emptied himself inside, his whole body shuddering. For a long minute, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the slick, frantic sound of Eijiro’s hand on his own cock.

Eijiro came with a choked, silent cry, his cum striping his own shirt and the expensive leather of the Bakugou’s sofa. He slumped back, panting, his face a mask of shame and helpless arousal. He couldn’t meet their eyes.

Katsuki, still buried inside Izuku, turned his head. His smirk was back, triumphant, vicious. He looked at the mess on Eijiro’s clothes, then back up to his friend’s shattered expression. “Welcome to the family, shitty hair.”