The living room feels too quiet, too staged, like a set before the actors ruin it. Izuku sits on the edge of the cream-colored sofa, his hands pressed flat against the slight, firm curve of his stomach. The storm that battered the windows all afternoon has faded to a distant grumble, leaving the air thick and charged.
Katsuki stands by the fireplace, a silhouette against the grey light. He doesn’t look at Izuku. He’s looking at the door. “One more time.”
“The father’s not in the picture.” Izuku’s voice is too high. He clears his throat. “It was a mistake. He’s gone.”
“He’s a deadbeat.” Katsuki turns, his red eyes cutting through the dim room. “You say ‘deadbeat.’ It’s more final.”
“Right. A deadbeat.” Izuku’s fingers dig into the soft knit of his sweater. “And I… I have nowhere else to go. My parents aren’t an option. I chose this job over college.”
“You didn’t choose it. It chose you.” Katsuki walks over, his steps silent on the rug. He stops in front of Izuku, looking down. “This family. This house. It’s what you have. We’re what you have. You say that. You mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
“I know you do.” Katsuki’s hand comes up, his thumb brushing over Izuku’s lower lip. It’s not a kiss. It’s a brand. “But she needs to hear it and believe it. She needs to think letting you stay is her benevolent idea.”
Izuku’s breath stutters. “What if she says no? What if she makes me leave?”
“She won’t.”
“But what if—”
Katsuki’s hand drops to Izuku’s throat, not squeezing, just holding. The warmth of his palm seeps into Izuku’s skin. “Look at me. You’re not going anywhere. This is your home. That’s my son in your stomach. You think I’d let anyone take you from this house?”
Izuku’s eyes burn. He shakes his head, a tiny movement against Katsuki’s hold.
“Good.” Katsuki releases him, straightening up. “Remember, you’re staff. You’re family. We take care of our own, even when they fuck up. That’s the story. You’re a loyal kid who got unlucky, and we’re the generous employers who don’t abandon loyalty. She’ll eat that shit up.”
Headlights sweep across the front window, painting the walls in a slow, white arc. The crunch of gravel under tires cuts through the last of the storm’s rumble.
Katsuki doesn’t move. “Showtime.”
Izuku stands, his legs unsteady. He smooths the sweater over his belly, a useless, nervous gesture. The front door lock clicks, a precise, familiar sound.
The door opens. Ochako steps inside, a suitcase trailing behind her, her short brown hair damp at the ends from the humid air. She stops, her brown eyes taking in the scene: her husband standing like a sentinel, the green-haired babysitter rising from the couch with a visibly rounded stomach under his clothes.
Her pink cheeks lose a shade of color. “Katsuki? Izuku? What’s going on?”
Izuku swallows, the rehearsed words sticking in his throat. "I'm pregnant."
Ochako’s gaze drops to his stomach, then snaps back to his face. She doesn’t move from the doorway. "I can see that."
"The father’s not in the picture," Izuku continues, his voice too quick. "He’s a deadbeat. It was a mistake."
"He’s gone," Katsuki adds, his tone flat, final. "The kid has nowhere else to go. His parents aren’t an option. He chose this job over college."
Ochako’s suitcase handle clicks as she releases it. She takes two steps into the living room, her eyes never leaving Izuku’s swollen middle. "You chose this job."
"This family is all he has," Katsuki says. "We take care of our own. Even when they fuck up."
Silence fills the space after his words, thick and heavy. Ochako’s pink cheeks are still pale. She finally looks at her husband, her brown eyes sharp. "How far along?"
"Four months," Izuku whispers.
"Four months." She repeats it slowly, like she’s tasting the timeframe. Her eyes drift back to Katsuki. "And you knew."
"I know now."
"You didn’t think to mention it? In a text? A call? ‘Hey, Ochako, the babysitter’s knocked up. Welcome home.’"
Katsuki’s jaw tightens. "We’re telling you now. The point is, he stays. He’s loyal. He’s Natsuki’s primary caregiver. We don’t abandon loyalty."
Ochako lets out a soft, breathless sound that isn’t a laugh. "Loyalty." She walks past them, her fingers trailing over the back of the sofa. She stops in front of the cold fireplace, turning to face them. "So let me get this straight. Our eighteen-year-old live-in babysitter is pregnant by some phantom deadbeat. He has no family, no prospects. And your solution is to keep him here, in our home, with our son, and raise his baby as… what? A charity case?"
"As part of the staff," Katsuki corrects, but his voice has lost its rehearsed ease. It’s lower now, a warning rumble.
"Part of the staff." Ochako’s smile is thin, humorless. "He doesn’t look like staff right now, Katsuki. He looks like he lives here. He looks… comfortable."
Izuku feels the words like a physical touch, cold and assessing. He fights the urge to smooth his sweater again.
"He is comfortable," Katsuki says. "He’s done nothing wrong."
Ochako’s brown eyes are flat. “When are you two going to drop the act?”
Izuku’s breath stops in his chest.
“This is a bad lie,” she continues, her voice too calm. “A stupid one. Four months. That’s how long he’s been living here, Katsuki. Four months.”
Katsuki doesn’t move. “Coincidence.”
“Is it?” She takes a step closer, her gaze slicing from Katsuki’s face to Izuku’s stomach and back. “The timeline is very convenient. He moves in. He gets pregnant by a ghost. And now he never has to leave.”
“That’s not—” Izuku starts, but his voice cracks.
“He looks at you,” Ochako says, ignoring Izuku, speaking only to her husband. “He stands like he’s waiting for your signal. Staff don’t do that. Pregnant teenagers terrified of being thrown out don’t stand like that. They beg.”
Katsuki’s right hand flexes at his side. “What’s your point?”
“My point is you’re fucking him.”
The words land in the silent room like glass shattering. Izuku feels them in his knees.
Ochako’s smile is a grim, knowing slash. “Aren’t you?”
“You’re out of line,” Katsuki growls, but it’s a reflex, thin and defensive.
“Am I?” She finally looks at Izuku, really looks, her eyes traveling over his rounded middle, his flushed face, the way his hands are clenched at his sides. “You’re carrying his child.”
It isn’t a question. Izuku’s throat works, but no sound comes out. His eyes burn, blurring the image of her—pale, furious, right.
Katsuki takes a step forward, putting himself slightly between Ochako and Izuku. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know the smell,” Ochako snaps, her calm shattering. “I know the way a man looks when he’s been satisfied. I know my own husband. You think I haven’t noticed? You think I’m blind?”
Ochako laughs. It’s a sharp, ugly sound in the quiet room. “I knew you were fucking him. But I didn’t think you were this stupid. Reckless enough to get your little whore pregnant.”
Katsuki’s breath stops. His eyes widen, just a fraction, the first crack in his controlled facade.
She sees it. Her laughter grows, louder now, bordering on hysterical. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re shocked? At least I had the decency to make my lover wear protection.”
“Your… what?” The words come out of Katsuki strangled.
“My lover.” Ochako tilts her head, her smile cruel and bright. “Where did you think I was for the past week, Katsuki? At a spa? I was in Waikiki. Getting railed by my girlfriend. She’s trans, too. Funny, isn’t it?”
Izuku feels the floor tilt. The cold marble seems to rush up toward him. He locks his knees, his hands flying to the curve of his stomach, a protective instinct he doesn’t understand.
Katsuki is a statue beside him, every muscle corded tight. The ozone-and-sandalwood scent of him turns sharp, dangerous. “You’ve been cheating.”
“And you haven’t?” Ochako spreads her hands, a mockery of a shrug. “You brought your affair into our home. You put your bastard in his belly. I just took a vacation.”
“You left our son.”
“With his other mother, apparently.” She looks at Izuku, her gaze a physical scrape. “He calls you ‘Mama,’ doesn’t he? I heard the staff gushing about it. Tell me, does it feel good? Stealing my family?”
Izuku’s mouth is desert-dry. He shakes his head, a tiny, helpless motion.
“Don’t you fucking talk to him,” Katsuki snarls, the command ripped from deep in his chest. He takes a full step forward, now fully blocking Izuku from Ochako’s line of sight.
“Or what?” Ochako doesn’t back down. She steps closer, until they’re almost chest to chest. “You’ll hit me? Go ahead. It’ll make the divorce settlement even sweeter.”
The word hangs in the air. *Divorce.*
“You don’t want that,” Katsuki says, but his voice lacks its usual conviction. It’s flat. Assessing.
“I haven’t wanted *this* for years.” Her voice drops, loses its hysterical edge, turns frighteningly calm. “You think I didn’t know? You think I didn’t see the security tape from the interview? I saw you bend him over your desk. I saw you push that fucking candy into his mouth before you fucked him with it.”
She takes a sharp breath, the memory vivid and acid in her throat.
“You hired him for me. To help *me*.” Her voice is a raw scrape. “You didn’t hire him so you could bend him over your desk. You didn’t pay him so you could shove that fucking candy in his mouth and fuck him with it.”
Izuku’s vision blurs. He hears a floorboard creak upstairs. Natsuki. Sleeping through the end of his parents’ world.
Katsuki is silent for a long beat. His right hand is clenched so tightly the knuckles are white. “What do you want, Ochako?”
She looks past him, to where Izuku stands, a hand still pressed over their child. “I want you to look me in the eye and tell me it’s not yours.”
The room holds its breath. The hum of the central air kicks on, a distant, mechanical sigh.
Katsuki doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t look at Izuku. He keeps his crimson eyes locked on his wife’s brown ones. He says nothing.
Ochako nods, once, slow. A confirmation she already had. “That’s what I thought.” She turns, walks back to her suitcase, and snaps the handle up. “I’ll be at the Hilton. My lawyer will call yours.”
She doesn’t look back. The front door opens, then closes with a soft, final click.
The silence she leaves behind is total, and ringing.
Katsuki lets out a long, slow breath. It’s not a sigh of defeat. It’s a release. The tension drains from his shoulders, leaving them loose for the first time in hours. “Fuck,” he says, quietly. Then, clearer: “That was for the best.”
Izuku stares at him, his hand still plastered over the curve of his stomach. His vision is swimming. “What?”
“This was inevitable.” Katsuki turns to face him fully. His crimson eyes are clear, focused, almost peaceful. “I haven’t loved her for a long time.”
He closes the distance between them in two strides. His hands come up, framing Izuku’s face, thumbs brushing away the tears Izuku didn’t realize had fallen. “Look at me.”
Izuku tries. His breath hitches.
“I love you,” Katsuki says. The words are simple. Direct. A statement of fact, like announcing the time. He pulls Izuku into his arms, crushing him against the solid wall of his chest. “I love you, you stupid, perfect boy.”
Izuku’s body is rigid for a second, locked in shock. Then a sob breaks loose from his throat, harsh and ugly, and he collapses into the hold. He fists his hands in the back of Katsuki’s shirt, burying his face against his neck. The smell of sandalwood and ozone is the only solid thing in the world.
“She saw the tape,” Izuku chokes out, the words muffled against skin. “She knew. The whole time.”
“I know.” Katsuki’s hand is a heavy, warm weight on the back of his head, fingers tangling in green curls. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”
“It changes everything.”
“No.” Katsuki leans back just enough to look down at him. His eyes are fierce. “It just stops the lying. To her. To the staff. To ourselves.” He slides a hand down, splaying his palm over Izuku’s belly, over the swell of their child. “This is mine. You are mine. That’s the only fact that matters now.”
Izuku shudders. The possessiveness in the words, the claim, should feel like a cage. It feels like a floor. Something to stand on. “What happens now?”
“Now?” Katsuki’s mouth quirks, a ghost of his usual smirk. “Now we go upstairs. We check on our son. Then I take you to bed—my bed—and I hold you while you fall apart. Because you’re shaking, Izuku.”
Izuku is. A fine, constant tremor runs through his limbs. The adrenaline is leaching away, leaving him hollow and cold.
Katsuki leans in, presses his forehead to Izuku’s. His breath is warm. “And in the morning, my lawyer calls her lawyer. We start figuring out the rest. You and me. Okay?”
“Okay,” Izuku whispers. The word feels fragile. Real.
“Say it back.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Katsuki’s voice is a low rasp. “I said it. Say it back.”
Izuku closes his eyes. Breathes in the scent of him. Lets the truth, the terrifying, glorious truth, rise up from the wreckage of the evening. “I love you.”
Katsuki’s mouth quirks into a little smirk. His thumb brushes the tear track on Izuku’s cheek. “I know.”
Izuku lets out a wet, hiccupping giggle, the sound bursting free from the tension. “Cocky bastard.”
“Your cocky bastard.” Katsuki leans in and kisses him, not hard, but deep and slow and full of a claiming tenderness that makes Izuku’s knees go weak. It tastes like salt and truth.
When they break apart, Katsuki keeps their foreheads pressed together for another breath. Then he nods toward the stairs. “Come on. Let’s go see our boy.”
He takes Izuku’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and leads him up the marble staircase. Izuku’s legs feel like water, but the grip is solid, an anchor.
They push open the door to Natsuki’s nursery. The nightlight casts a soft blue glow. In his crib, Natsuki is a small, peaceful lump under his blanket, one fist curled near his mouth. His breathing is a soft, even rhythm.
“Didn’t even stir,” Izuku whispers, his voice thick.
“Kid sleeps like a rock. Takes after me.” Katsuki squeezes his hand. “See? Not a care in the world.”
They watch him for a full minute, just breathing in the quiet. Then Katsuki tugs Izuku back into the hall.
He doesn’t lead Izuku to the guest room. He turns left, toward the master suite. The door is ajar. He pushes it open.
The room is massive, all dark wood and clean lines. It smells like Katsuki’s cologne and, faintly, like a floral perfume that isn’t Izuku’s. Katsuki flicks on a single lamp by the bed.
“It’s your room now,” Katsuki says, his voice low. “Ours. She’s not coming back in here.”
Izuku stands just inside the doorway, trembling again. The reality of it—the king-sized bed, the walk-in closet he knows is half-empty now, the sheer permanence—hits him like a physical wave.
Katsuki turns to face him. His crimson eyes are dark in the lamplight. “You with me?”
“Yeah,” Izuku breathes. “I’m with you.”
Katsuki closes the distance. His hands come up to the hem of Izuku’s soft t-shirt. “Arms up.”
Izuku obeys, lifting his arms. Katsuki pulls the shirt up and off, tossing it aside. The cool air hits Izuku’s skin, pebbling his nipples. Katsuki’s gaze drops to the swell of his belly, to the faint stretch marks beginning to show. He doesn’t say anything. He just lays his palm flat against the curve, his touch warm and possessive.
“My turn,” Izuku whispers, his fingers going to the buttons of Katsuki’s dress shirt. His hands shake, making the task clumsy.
Katsuki lets him fumble. Watches him. When the last button is free, Izuku pushes the fabric off Katsuki’s broad shoulders. It falls to the floor.
Katsuki’s chest is a landscape of hard muscle, dusted with pale hair. Izuku presses his palms against it, feeling the heat, the steady beat of his heart. He leans forward and presses his lips to Katsuki’s chest.
“Bed,” Katsuki rasps.
He guides Izuku backward until his calves hit the mattress, then pushes him gently down. Izuku scoots up, watching as Katsuki unbuckles his belt, unzips his slacks, and lets them pool at his feet. His cock is already half-hard, thick and heavy against his thigh.
Katsuki kneels on the bed, crawling over Izuku until he’s caging him. He lowers himself, settling his weight carefully, and kisses him again. It’s slower this time, open-mouthed and searching.
“I love you,” Katsuki murmurs against his lips, the words a hot breath. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” Izuku gasps, arching up into him. “I love you, I love you—”
Katsuki kisses him to shut him up, a smile playing on his mouth. His hands slide down, hooking in the waistband of Izuku’s leggings and underwear. He pulls them down in one rough, efficient motion.
The cool air hits Izuku’s cunt. He’s already wet, the slickness gleaming in the lamplight. Katsuki groans at the sight, low and appreciative. He spreads Izuku’s thighs with his hands, his thumbs rubbing circles on the soft skin of his inner knees.
“Look at you,” Katsuki says, his voice rough. “All mine.”
He bends his head. Izuku expects his mouth, but instead, Katsuki presses a kiss to his belly, right over their child. Then another, lower, just above his pubic bone. His breath is hot against Izuku’s skin.
“Katsuki—”
“Daddy,” Katsuki corrects, looking up at him. His eyes are burning. “Say it.”
Izuku’s throat works. “Daddy.”
Katsuki’s smirk returns. Then he lowers his mouth to Izuku’s cunt.
His tongue is broad and hot, licking a slow, firm stripe from his entrance all the way up to his clit. Izuku cries out, his back bowing off the bed. Katsuki holds his hips down, pinning him, and does it again. And again. The room fills with the wet, obscene sound of his mouth on Izuku’s pussy.
“Oh god—”
Katsuki sucks his clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, and Izuku shatters. The orgasm rips through him, sudden and violent, his cunt clenching around nothing. He squirts, the warm fluid soaking Katsuki’s chin and the sheets beneath him.
Katsuki doesn’t stop. He drinks him down, licking through the aftershocks until Izuku is writhing and sobbing, oversensitive and begging.
“Please, Daddy, please, I need—”
“Need what?” Katsuki pulls back, his mouth glistening. His own cock is fully hard now, leaking against his stomach.
“You. Inside. Please.”
Katsuki moves up his body, aligning himself. The thick head of his cock nudges at Izuku’s entrance, spreading the wetness. He doesn’t push in. He just rests it there, letting Izuku feel the weight, the heat.
“Look at me,” Katsuki commands.
Izuku opens his eyes, meets that fierce crimson gaze.
Katsuki pushes inside.
It’s a slow, inexorable stretch. Izuku is so open, so wet, but Katsuki is big, and he feels every inch. His mouth falls open on a silent gasp. Katsuki watches him, his own jaw tight, until he’s fully seated, his hips flush against Izuku’s ass.
“Fuck,” Katsuki breathes. “You feel that? That’s where you belong.”
He starts to move. Not hard, not punishing. Deep, rolling thrusts that grind against something inside Izuku that makes his vision whiten. Each stroke is measured, possessive. Katsuki’s eyes never leave his face.
Izuku wraps his legs around Katsuki’s waist, pulling him deeper. He can feel the slight curve of his own belly pressed between them, a new, profound intimacy. He reaches up, tangling his fingers in Katsuki’s spiky hair.
“I love you,” Izuku whimpers, the words punched out with every thrust. “I love you so much.”
Katsuki’s rhythm stutters. He buries his face in Izuku’s neck, his breath hot and ragged. “Again.”
“I love you.”
Katsuki drives into him, harder now, losing the careful pace. The wet slap of their skin fills the room. Izuku can feel his own slick dripping down his thighs, can feel the building pressure coiling in his gut again.
“Gonna cum,” Katsuki grunts against his skin. “Gonna fill you up. My boy. My fucking boy.”
“Yes—Daddy, please—”
Katsuki’s thrusts turn frantic, his hips pistoning. Izuku feels the exact moment he loses control. Katsuki slams deep and stills, a raw, guttural sound tearing from his throat. Izuku feels the hot pulse of his release deep inside, flooding him.
The sensation tips Izuku over the edge. His cunt clenches violently around Katsuki’s cock, milking him, and he comes with a broken cry, squirting again, the fluid soaking the sheets beneath them both.
Katsuki collapses on top of him, his full weight a welcome burden. He’s still inside him, still twitching. They lie there, tangled and breathless, the only sound their ragged breathing.
After a long moment, Katsuki shifts, pulling out slowly. Izuku feels the immediate, warm trickle of cum leaking from his used cunt. Katsuki notices. He swipes two fingers through the mess and brings them to Izuku’s lips.
Izuku opens his mouth without hesitation, sucking Katsuki’s fingers clean, tasting salt and musk and them.
Katsuki’s eyes darken. He kisses him, deep and filthy, sharing the taste. Then he rolls onto his back, pulling Izuku with him, tucking him against his side. His hand settles on Izuku’s belly again, a warm, heavy weight.
Izuku nuzzles into the crook of his arm, breathing in sandalwood and sweat and sex. His body feels heavy, spent, profoundly claimed.
In the silence, Katsuki’s voice is a quiet rumble. “Go to sleep.”
Izuku closes his eyes. The last thing he feels is the steady thump of Katsuki’s heart under his ear, and the gentle pressure of his hand on their child.