Izuku woke to the unfamiliar weight of another body pinning him to the mattress, not in frantic heat but in deep, claiming rest. Katsuki’s arm was a solid band across his ribs, his hand splayed possessively over Izuku’s sternum. Katsuki’s breath was warm and damp against the nape of his neck, the steady rhythm of it a vibration Izuku felt in his own bones. The world had narrowed to the scent of their shared sleep—clean cotton, male sweat, the faint vanilla of Izuku’s skin—and the terrifying, beautiful truth of being kept.

He didn’t move. He barely breathed. The desk lamp was still on, casting the room in a dim, amber glow, outlining the wreck of Katsuki’s discarded tie on the floor. This was the ‘more’ they’d whispered about in the dark. Not a fuck. Not a secret. A holding.

Katsuki’s fingers twitched in sleep, brushing a nipple. Izuku stifled a gasp. The touch was unconscious, domestic. It lit him up more than any deliberate caress ever had.

“You’re awake.” Katsuki’s voice was a sleep-roughened rumble against his spine. The arm tightened.

“How’d you know?”

“Your breathing changed.” Katsuki nuzzled the spot behind Izuku’s ear. “Stopped pretending.”

Izuku let out the breath he’d been holding. “I wasn’t pretending. I was… memorizing.”

“Memorizing what?”

“This. The weight. The way you smell when you’re not thinking about it.” Izuku shifted, turning slightly within the circle of Katsuki’s arms until he could see his profile. The glasses were gone. In the low light, Katsuki looked his age—the lines at the corners of his eyes, the stern set of his mouth softened by sleep. “You look different.”

“I look tired,” Katsuki grunted, but his eyes stayed closed.

“You look like mine.”

That made Katsuki’s eyes open. Red, sharp, instantly focused. He searched Izuku’s face. “I am.”

The two words, simple and absolute, landed in Izuku’s chest and bloomed. He’d orchestrated every step to this moment, but he hadn’t prepared for the reality of it. The promise made in the dark was one thing. Daylight was another.

“What happens now?” Izuku whispered.

“Now,” Katsuki said, his hand sliding down from Izuku’s chest, over the flat plane of his stomach, coming to rest low on his abdomen. “We get up. We face it.” His thumb stroked the sensitive skin just above Izuku’s pubic bone. “But first, I wake up properly.”

Izuku could feel him, hard and thick against the small of his back. A familiar ache pulsed between his own thighs. “How does the great Katsuki Bakugo wake up properly?”

“Like this.”

Katsuki rolled him onto his back, the movement fluid and overwhelming. He settled his weight between Izuku’s spread thighs, not yet grinding down, just letting Izuku feel the full, heavy length of him. The morning light from the window caught the silver in his ash-blond hair. He looked down, his expression unreadable.

“Tell me you’re sure,” Katsuki said, his voice low. “Not about the sneaking. Not about the fucking. About the wreckage. The leaving. The morning after the morning after.”

Izuku’s throat tightened. He reached up, tracing the line of Katsuki’s jaw. “I’ve been sure since the day you walked into our living room and took off your coat. You hung it on the back of the chair like you owned the place. I wanted you to own me.”

Katsuki closed his eyes for a second, a muscle in his jaw feathering. When he opened them, they were blazing. “Then you have me.” He bent, capturing Izuku’s mouth in a kiss that was nothing like the night before. It wasn’t desperate. It was deep, slow, a deliberate taking of territory. He tasted like sleep and certainty.

Izuku moaned into it, his hips arching up. The silk of his boxers did nothing to hide his wetness, the fabric already damp. Katsuki broke the kiss, breathing harshly, and looked down between their bodies.

“Always so fucking ready for me,” he murmured, almost to himself. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of Izuku’s boxers and peeled them down, exposing him completely to the cool morning air and Katsuki’s hotter gaze. Izuku shivered.

Katsuki didn’t move to enter him. Instead, he leaned down and put his mouth on Izuku’s cunt.

The shock of it—the heat, the rough drag of his tongue through slick folds—made Izuku cry out. He fisted his hands in Katsuki’s hair. This wasn’t the frantic, hungry mouth of their balcony encounter. This was something else. Methodical. Worshipful. Katsuki licked into him like he was learning a map, tracing every contour, circling his clit with a pressure that made Izuku’s thighs tremble.

“Katsuki—Daddy—oh god—”

“That’s it,” Katsuki growled against his skin, his lips brushing Izuku’s inner thigh. He looked up, his red eyes glinting in the low light. “Moan loudly so Mommy hears. Let her catch us. Let her see Daddy make her boy feel so good.”

Izuku’s breath hitched, a thrill of pure terror and want shooting through him. He’d dreamed of this, the ultimate transgression, but the reality of Katsuki demanding it, orchestrating it, was a different kind of nakedness. He bit his lip, stifling the sound.

Katsuki’s hand came up to grip his jaw, forcing his head back. “I said loud. Don’t you want her to know who owns this now?” His thumb pressed against Izuku’s bottom lip. “Who makes it drip?”

He punctuated the question by surging up, sliding back into Izuku’s body in one deep, relentless stroke. The stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that stole the air from Izuku’s lungs. A broken cry tore from his throat, high and shameless, echoing in the quiet room.

“Yes,” Katsuki hissed, beginning to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that hit every perfect, deep place. “Just like that. Let the whole house hear.”

Izuku obeyed. He let every gasp, every choked sob of pleasure, every filthy, begging word spill out unfiltered. “Daddy—right there, please, oh god, please—” His voice bounced off the walls, surely carrying down the hall to the master bedroom where his mother slept alone. The thought made him clench tight around Katsuki’s cock, a fresh gush of wetness easing the slide.

Katsuki’s control was a live wire. He fucked into him with measured, powerful thrusts, his own breath coming in harsh grunts near Izuku’s ear. “You feel that? That’s me. In your mother’s I don't know house. In her son’s bed.” He drove deeper, making Izuku arch off the mattress. “You planned all of this. Now take the consequences.”

“I am,” Izuku whimpered, his nails scraping down Katsuki’s sweat-slick back. “I want her to know. I want her to see.”

“She will.” Katsuki captured his mouth, swallowing his next cry, turning trying it into a shared, breathless groan. The kiss was possessive, final. When he broke away, his forehead rested against Izuku’s. Their eyes locked. The frantic heat was settling into something slower, more profound. The performance for an absent audience faded, leaving only the two of them, joined, in the stark truth of morning.

Katsuki’s hips stilled, buried to the hilt. He was breathing hard, his big body trembling with the effort of holding back. He looked down at Izuku, his expression raw, stripped of all lawyerly armor. “This is it,” he said, his voice quiet now, just for them. “The first morning. You still sure?”

Izuku reached up, tracing the sweat at Katsuki’s temple. His own certainty was a solid, unshakable thing in his chest. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” He shifted his hips, a subtle, inviting roll. “Now move. I want to come with you inside me. Just us.”

Katsuki’s eyes darkened. He began to move again, this rhythm not for show, but for them. Deep, connected strokes that made Izuku see stars. The world narrowed back down to the weight, the heat, the feel of being utterly claimed. The fear of discovery was still there, a bright thread of danger, but it was woven now into something else—the beginning of a life. Izuku clung to him, his quiet moans lost against Katsuki’s shoulder, as the tension coiled and snapped, pulling them both under.

The climax hit them together, a shared, shuddering collapse. Katsuki drove deep one final time, his big body locking as he spilled inside Izuku with a raw, guttural sound. The heat of it, the intimate pulse, sent Izuku over the edge a heartbeat later. His back arched off the mattress, a silent scream on his lips as his cunt clenched and fluttered around Katsuki’s cock, soaking them both.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet, slick slide of their bodies still joined. Katsuki’s forehead dropped to Izuku’s shoulder, his sweat dripping onto the sheets. “Fuck,” he breathed, the word muffled against skin.

Izuku’s hands, which had been gripping Katsuki’s back hard enough to leave marks, slowly unclenched. He traced the ridges of muscle, feeling the tremors that still ran through the older man. “Daddy,” he whispered, the title soft now, awed.

Katsuki didn’t answer with words. He turned his head, pressing his lips to the freckled skin of Izuku’s shoulder in a kiss that was closer to a promise. Then, with a careful, almost reluctant movement, he shifted his weight and pulled out. The loss made Izuku gasp, a fresh trickle of wetness—both of theirs—escaping him.

Katsuki rolled onto his back beside him, one arm thrown over his eyes. Morning light was filling the room now, painting everything in stark, honest detail. The rumpled sheets, the discarded silk tie, the sheen of sweat on both their bodies. “Christ,” he said.

Izuku propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at him. Katsuki’s cock, still thick and spent, lay against his thigh. His stomach was slick. Izuku reached out, running his fingers through the mess. “Mine,” he said, simply.

Katsuki’s hand slid from Izuku’s hip to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the dark curls. He pulled him down into a slow, claiming kiss. It was a seal on everything they’d just done, a silent affirmation in the stark morning light. His mouth was soft, deliberate, tasting of salt and sleep and them.

Izuku melted into it, a quiet sigh escaping into Katsuki’s mouth. When they parted, he rested his forehead against Katsuki’s. “So what now, Daddy?”

“Now we get up.” Katsuki’s voice was gravel, his breath warm on Izuku’s lips. “We clean up. We face the house.”

“She’ll be making coffee.” Izuku’s gaze drifted toward the closed bedroom door. “She always listens to the news in the kitchen. The volume’s too loud. She wouldn’t have heard… anything.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“A little,” Izuku admitted, a faint smirk touching his mouth. “It would’ve been simpler. An explosion. Then cleanup.”

Katsuki’s hand slid from the back of Izuku’s neck to cup his cheek. His thumb stroked the flushed skin. “I can still make that happen.”

Before Izuku could process the words, Katsuki was moving. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, the morning light carving the hard lines of his body. He didn’t reach for clothes. He simply bent, hooked an arm behind Izuku’s back and another under his knees, and lifted him from the tangled sheets.

“Kacchan—Daddy, what are you—”

“Showing you what ‘more’ looks like.” Katsuki carried him, naked and exposed, out of the bedroom and into the cool, silent hallway. The floorboards were cold under his bare feet. Izuku clung to his neck, his heart hammering against Katsuki’s chest.

He carried him down the stairs, each step a deliberate, possessive descent. The living room sprawled before them, all soft carpets and tasteful furniture. The unmistakable sound of a cabinet closing came from the kitchen, followed by the low murmur of a news anchor on the radio. Inko. Just beyond the archway.

Katsuki didn’t hesitate. He walked to the large, plush sofa and dumped Izuku onto it. The cushions swallowed him, the fabric cool against his heated skin. Katsuki stood over him, a nude, powerful silhouette against the bright window. His cock, already half-hard again, hung thick between his thighs.

“Well?” Katsuki’s voice was low, a rumble that vibrated in the quiet room. The news droned on in the kitchen. “You ready to show your mother how much of a slut you are for your Daddy’s cock?”

Izuku’s breath caught. The reality of it—the nearness, the domestic sounds of his mother just making coffee—sent a violent shiver through him. His cunt, already sensitive and wet from their earlier fucking, clenched empty. “She’ll see.”

“That’s the point.” Katsuki knelt on the couch, caging him in. He leaned down, his lips brushing Izuku’s ear. “You wanted an explosion. Let’s give her one. But you have to be loud, baby. Louder than the radio.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He kissed him, deep and consuming, as his hand slid between Izuku’s splayed thighs. His fingers found his slick entrance easily, circling, not entering. Izuku moaned into the kiss, his hips lifting off the cushion.

Katsuki’s hand wrapped around the base of his thick cock, guiding the heavy, flushed head through Izuku’s slick folds. He slapped it down against his pussy once, twice, a wet, obscene sound that echoed in the quiet living room. “Christ,” Katsuki breathed, his red eyes locked on where they were about to join. “Soaked. You’re fucking dripping. Is it the open air, baby? Knowing she could walk in?”

Izuku’s head fell back against the cushion, a shivering moan escaping him. His thighs trembled in Katsuki’s grip. “It’s you,” he gasped. “It’s always you.”

“Liar.” Katsuki notched himself at his entrance, applying just enough pressure to make Izuku’s breath hitch. “It’s the danger. It’s the fucked-up thrill. Admit it.”

“Both,” Izuku whimpered, his hips lifting, trying to impale himself. “Just fuck me, Daddy. Please.”

Katsuki didn’t. He held himself there, letting Izuku feel the blunt, insistent pressure without giving him the fullness. From the kitchen, the tinny voice of a news anchor discussed market trends. A spoon clinked against a ceramic mug. “She’s adding sugar,” Katsuki murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble. “Two spoons. Always two.”

“How do you know that?”

“I pay attention.” He finally pushed forward, a slow, devastating inch that made Izuku’s back arch off the sofa. “To everything.”

Izuku cried out, a sharp, bitten-off sound he tried to stifle in his own fist. Katsuki’s free hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling it away from his mouth. “No. I said loud.” He sank another inch, the stretch glorious and burning. “Let her hear the son she raised getting split open on his stepfather’s cock.”

The vulgarity, the truth of it, punched through Izuku’s last shred of restraint. A raw, high sound tore from his throat as Katsuki sheathed himself to the hilt in one final, smooth thrust. The fullness was breathtaking, a deep, claiming ache that rooted Izuku to the spot. Katsuki held there, buried, his own body trembling with the effort of control.

“Feel that?” Katsuki gritted out, his hips giving a minute, grinding roll. “Every inch. In her living room.”

Izuku could only nod, his eyes wide and wet. His cunt fluttered wildly around the invasion, a fresh gush of wetness easing the impossible stretch. Katsuki began to move, a slow, deliberate withdrawal followed by a driving, penetrating push. Each thrust jolted Izuku up the cushion, the rough fabric of the sofa abrading his skin. The rhythm was a brutal, possessive declaration.

“You’re mine,” Katsuki grunted, his pace increasing, the wet slap of their joining now keeping time with the distant radio. “This cunt is mine. This house is mine. That life she thinks she has—” He drove deep, making Izuku sob. “—it’s over. You understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Izuku chanted, his hands scrambling for purchase on Katsuki’s sweat-slick shoulders. “Yes, yes—”

Katsuki captured his mouth, swallowing his cries, the kiss as consuming and relentless as his thrusts. When he broke away, his forehead was beaded with sweat. “Then scream for me. Let her come see what she lost.”

The command broke him. Izuku’s voice shattered, loud and unfiltered, echoing off the high ceilings as Katsuki fucked into him with punishing, perfect precision. He was unraveling, the coil of pleasure wound so tight he thought it would snap his bones.

"Yes, Daddy! Fuck me, Daddy!" Izuku screamed, the sound raw and torn from his throat as Katsuki hammered into him, each brutal thrust slamming the sofa into the wall.

Katsuki roared right back, his voice a guttural crack of possession. "Fuck yes! This is Daddy's fucking pussy! Say it, you slut! Say who's pussy this is!"

"Yours!" Izuku sobbed, his head thrashing against the cushion. "It's yours, Daddy, only yours—"

His words dissolved into a high, shattered keen as Katsuki's pace became punishing, a relentless piston drive that stole the air from Izuku's lungs. The wet, slapping rhythm was louder than the radio now, a filthy percussion to Izuku's cries.

Izuku’s scream died in a choked gasp. His eyes, glazed with pleasure, snapped into sharp, horrified focus over Katsuki’s heaving shoulder. Through the archway to the kitchen, standing frozen with a steaming mug in her hand, was Inko. Her face was a blank slate of incomprehension, then a slow, tectonic shift of dawning horror.

Katsuki felt the change in Izuku’s body—the stiffening, the internal clench—and followed his gaze. His thrust, already in motion, did not stop. He buried himself deep, grinding against Izuku’s core, and held there. His eyes locked with his wife’s. He didn’t look away.

“Katsuki?” Inko’s voice was a thin, shattered thing. The mug trembled in her hand, coffee sloshing over the rim onto her fingers. She didn’t seem to feel it.

“Mom,” Izuku whimpered, the word a broken plea.

Katsuki’s hand, which had been gripping Izuku’s hip, slid up to cradle his jaw, forcing his face back toward him. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough but perfectly clear in the silent room. The radio had been switched off. “You look at me.” He pulled back and slammed home again, a deliberate, claiming stroke that made Izuku cry out—a sound equal parts shame and shattered pleasure.

“Stop,” Inko whispered. Then louder, a scream tearing from her throat. “Stop it! Get off of him!”

Katsuki didn’t stop. He set a brutal, rhythmic pace, his gaze now burning into Izuku’s wide, wet eyes. “You see her?” he gritted out, each thrust punctuating his words. “You see what we’re doing to her?”

Izuku nodded, a tear tracing a path through the freckles on his temple. His body was a contradiction—trying to arch away from the sight of his mother, yet pushing back onto the cock that was ruining him. “Daddy…”

“Tell her,” Katsuki demanded, his hips pistoning. The wet, slapping sounds were obscenely loud in the new silence. “Tell her who I am.”

“You’re… you’re my Daddy,” Izuku sobbed, the admission ripped from him. It wasn’t a secret anymore. It was a weapon.

Inko made a sound like a wounded animal. The mug fell from her hand, shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen. She didn’t move. She just stared, her hand pressed to her mouth.

Katsuki’s control was a live wire, his own climax coiling tight at the base of his spine. He was fucking Izuku with a desperate, final intensity, as if branding him in front of the only witness that mattered. “And who do you belong to?”

“You!” Izuku screamed, his voice raw. “I belong to you! Your slut, your son, yours—!”

The words broke Katsuki. With a guttural roar that came from the depths of his chest, he drove in one last, devastating time and came, pulsing hot and deep inside Izuku’s clutching cunt. Izuku followed instantly, his back bowing off the sofa as he shattered, a sharp, broken cry tearing from his throat as his release soaked between them, joining the mess already there.

For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Katsuki stayed buried, his forehead pressed to Izuku’s shoulder, his body trembling with the aftershocks. Slowly, he turned his head. Inko was still there. Staring. The horror had settled into something hollow and still.

He pulled out, the sound wet and final. He didn’t cover himself. He stood, naked and spent, facing his wife. Izuku lay boneless on the ruined couch, exposed and trembling, his own come glistening on his stomach.

Inko’s eyes moved from Katsuki’s face, down his body, to her son splayed on the furniture she’d picked out. Her voice, when it came, was hollow. “How long?”

Katsuki wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The wedding night.”

A flinch. A tiny fracture in her stillness. “My wedding night.”

“Yes.”

She looked at Izuku then, a mother’s gaze searching for the child she knew. “Izuku… why?”

Izuku drew a shuddering breath. He pulled his knees up, a feeble attempt to cover himself, his green eyes swimming with tears. “Because I wanted him.” The simplicity of it was more brutal than any excuse.

Inko’s face crumpled. She took one step back, then another, as if the air in the room had turned toxic. She looked at Katsuki, the man she’d married, the lawyer who’d saved her. “You were supposed to be the good one,” she whispered, the betrayal a physical weight in the words.

Katsuki said nothing. There was nothing to say that wasn’t already screaming in the space between them.

She turned and walked away, her steps unnervingly steady. They heard the soft click of her bedroom door closing upstairs. A lock turned.

Katsuki didn't move to the other sofa. He sank down onto the ruined one where Izuku still lay, the cushions damp and warm. He gathered Izuku’s trembling body against his own, pulling him up and into his lap, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin. His large hand spread over the knobs of Izuku’s spine, rubbing slow, firm circles.

“Breathe,” Katsuki murmured into his curls. His own voice was shot, graveled. “Just breathe.”

Izuku’s breath hitched, a wet, broken sound. He fisted his hands against Katsuki’s chest, his nails digging into skin. “She saw.”

“I know.”

“She heard… everything.”

“I know.” Katsuki kept rubbing his back, his touch steady, a counterpoint to the quaking. “Are you okay?”

Izuku let out a choked laugh that was mostly a sob. “No. I’m not okay.” He pulled back just enough to look at Katsuki’s face. His green eyes were red-rimmed, devastated. “Are you?”

Katsuki studied him. He used his thumb to wipe a tear track from Izuku’s freckled cheek. “I will be. We will be.”

“She’s never going to forgive me.”

“Probably not,” Katsuki said, the truth blunt and heavy. “But that was the price. We knew that. You asked for wreckage. This is what it looks like.”

Izuku shuddered and buried his face against Katsuki’s neck again. His voice was muffled. “It hurts.”

“I know it does.” Katsuki held him tighter, his palm a warm, solid weight between Izuku’s shoulder blades. The silence of the house was absolute now, a thick, listening quiet. Upstairs, the lock on Inko’s door was a period at the end of a sentence.

They stayed like that for a long time, skin cooling, sweat drying sticky between them. Katsuki’s cock, spent and softening, was still nestled against Izuku’s thigh. The evidence of what they’d done was smeared on both their stomachs. Katsuki didn’t seem to care.

“What happens now?” Izuku whispered.

“Now,” Katsuki said, his voice low and certain, “I take you back to bed. I hold you. We sleep. Tomorrow, I call my firm and tell them I’m taking a leave. Then I call a realtor.”

Izuku lifted his head. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. You wanted a life. I’m building it. The foundation’s a fucking mess, but it’s ours.” He shifted, gathering Izuku up against his chest as he stood. Izuku’s arms looped around his neck, holding on.

Katsuki carried him through the silent living room, past the shattered mug on the kitchen floor. He didn’t look at it. He took the stairs slowly, each step a commitment. He shouldered into Izuku’s bedroom and laid him down on the tangled sheets. He didn’t pull the comforter over them. He just stretched out beside him and drew him close, chest to back, his arm a heavy band across Izuku’s waist.

Izuku’s hand found Katsuki’s where it rested on his stomach. He laced their fingers together. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thank you.” The words were so quiet they were almost lost in the sheets.

Katsuki pressed a kiss to the nape of Izuku’s neck. He inhaled the scent of him—sex, salt, and something uniquely, fundamentally Izuku. “Go to sleep,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

And in the dark, with the wreckage of their old lives smoking quietly downstairs, Izuku believed him. He let his eyes close. The weight holding him down wasn’t a trap. It was a claim. It was keeping.