The bathroom light is too bright. It glares off the white tile, off the porcelain sink, off the little plastic stick Izuku holds with trembling fingers. He’s been sitting on the closed lid of the toilet for ten minutes, staring at the plus sign. It’s pink. Undeniable. His other hand drifts to his lower belly, pressing through the soft cotton of his nightgown. There’s a firmness there that wasn’t there a month ago. A slight, impossible curve.
“Mommy.” Katsuki’s voice is a low command through the door. “Open it.”
Izuku’s breath hitches. He stands, his legs shaky, and turns the lock. The door swings open to reveal Katsuki leaning against the hallway wall, dressed in just sweatpants, his arms crossed over his chest. His crimson eyes drop immediately to the test in Izuku’s hand.
“Well?”
Izuku holds it up. The plastic shakes. He watches Katsuki’s face, the sharp, handsome lines of it. For a second, nothing moves. Then a slow, profound smile spreads across his son’s features. It’s not joy. It’s conquest.
“Four months late was pushing it, even for you,” Katsuki says, his voice a husky rumble. He steps into the bathroom, crowding Izuku back against the sink. He plucks the test from his fingers, examines it, then tosses it on the counter. His big, warm hand replaces it, pressing flat against Izuku’s stomach. “Knew it. You’re already getting soft right here.”
“Kacchan…” Izuku whispers. His own voice sounds thin, awed, terrified.
“We’re seeing a doctor tomorrow,” Katsuki says, his thumb stroking a slow circle through the fabric. “I’ll make the appointment. You’re not going alone.”
“Your father—”
“Is at work. He’ll stay at work.” Katsuki’s hand slides up, cupping Izuku’s jaw, forcing his gaze up. “This is mine. You understand? This doesn’t concern him. Not ever.”
Izuku’s green eyes are wide, swimming. He nods, a tiny, helpless motion. “I understand.”
The doctor’s office smells clean and cold. The paper on the exam table crinkles loudly under Izuku’s thighs as he shifts, the gown gaping open at the back. Katsuki sits in the chair beside him, not touching, just watching. His presence is a heavy, possessive weight in the small room.
“The urine test is unequivocally positive, Mr. Bakugou,” the doctor says, a kind-faced woman with a gentle smile. She glances at Katsuki. “And this is your…?”
“Son,” Izuku says quickly, his cheeks flushing. “He’s my son. For support.”
“Right.” The doctor’s smile doesn’t falter. “Well, let’s have a look, shall we? We’ll do a quick ultrasound to confirm viability and get a measurement.”
The gel is cold. Izuku jumps at the touch of the transducer on his lower belly. Katsuki leans forward, elbows on his knees, his intense gaze locked on the grainy black-and-white screen. The room fills with a static, rushing sound—the whoosh-whoosh of a tiny, rapid heartbeat.
“There we are,” the doctor says, pointing. “See that flicker? That’s your baby. And based on the crown-rump length…” She takes a measurement, clicks the mouse. “I’d put you at about sixteen weeks. Four months along.”
“Four months,” Katsuki repeats, the words quiet, reverent. His eyes are burning into the screen, at the little peanut-shaped blur that is his child, his sibling, growing inside his mother.
“Everything looks perfect,” the doctor says, wiping the gel from Izuku’s skin. She hands him a towel. “I’ll give you two a moment. The nurse will be in with some paperwork.”
The door clicks shut behind her. The sound of the heartbeat is gone, replaced by a ringing silence. Izuku stares at the ceiling, the paper towel clutched in his fist. Four months. He’s been carrying this for four months and didn’t know. He feels Katsuki stand. Then the warmth of his son’s body is leaning over him, caging him on the table.
“You hear that, Mommy?” Katsuki murmurs, his voice thick. His hand spreads over Izuku’s bare belly, his touch hot and claiming. “My kid is in there.”
Izuku turns his head. He looks up into Katsuki’s fierce, triumphant face. The fear, the awe, the terrible love crashes through him like a wave. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in the front of Katsuki’s shirt. He pulls him down.
Their mouths meet. It’s not soft. It’s a desperate, clashing celebration. Izuku tastes salt—his own tears—and the familiar, dark spice of Katsuki. He opens for him, a low moan vibrating in his throat as Katsuki’s tongue sweeps in, possessive and deep. Katsuki’s hand fists in his green curls, angling his head back, devouring him right there on the crinkling paper, in the sterile room that smells of antiseptic and their shared, perfect sin.
"Fuck me right here, Kacchan."
The words leave Izuku’s mouth in a hot, desperate whisper against his son’s lips. His hands are fisted in Katsuki’s shirt, knuckles white, holding him there on the crinkling paper.
Katsuki pulls back just enough to look at him. His crimson eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. "Right here, Mommy?" His voice is a low, dangerous hum. "In this room?"
Izuku doesn't hesitate. He slides his feet into the cold metal stirrups at the end of the table, the paper crinkling violently. He spreads his knees wide, pulling the thin exam gown up to his waist. His pussy is already dripping, slick folds glistening under the clinical light. “Yes,” he breathes, green eyes locked on Katsuki’s. “Right now. I need it. I need you to fill me up, Kacchan. Get your cum deep in your baby’s home.”
Katsuki’s nostrils flare. A dark, hungry sound rips from his throat. He fumbles with his belt, his usually precise fingers clumsy with urgency. “Fucking look at you,” he grunts, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It’s already fully hard, thick and flushed, the uncut head glistening.
He steps forward, his hands gripping Izuku’s spread thighs. The head of his cock nudges against Izuku’s soaked entrance, smearing through the wetness. Izuku whimpers, pushing his hips down, trying to take him. “Please,” he begs. “Don’t make me wait.”
“You are such a desperate whore, Mommy,” Katsuki growls, he’s pushing forward, a slow, relentless invasion that makes Izuku cry out. The stretch is exquisite, familiar and shocking all at once. Katsuki sheathes himself to the hilt in one brutal, perfect thrust, his balls slapping against Izuku’s ass on the crinkling paper. “Fuck. Still so tight. My pregnant little mommy.”
He starts to move, hard and deep, setting a punishing rhythm that shakes the whole exam table. Izuku’s hands scramble, pulling the gown up higher, over his head, baring his small, soft tits to the cold air. They bounce wildly with every slam of Katsuki’s hips, his brown, puffy nipples pebbled hard. “Look,” Izuku gasps, arching his back. “Look at them, baby boy. They’re getting bigger for you.”
Katsuki’s rhythm stutters. He’s mesmerized, his crimson eyes glued to the frantic, jiggling flesh. With a groan, he leans over, bracing one hand on the table beside Izuku’s head, and captures a nipple in his hot, wet mouth. He sucks hard, pulling the tender bud between his teeth.
Izuku screams, his back bowing off the table. “Kacchan!”
Katsuki releases the nipple with a pop, lapping at it. “Gonna drink so much,” he pants against the slick skin, fucking into him harder, deeper. “When these pretty tits start leaking for me. Gonna suck you dry every morning. My own personal milk bar.”
“I’m so bad,” Izuku moans, his hands flying to Katsuki’s hair, tangling in the spiky blond strands, holding his head to his chest. “I shouldn’t… shouldn’t want to breastfeed my Kacchan again. It’s so wrong.”
“It’s perfect,” Katsuki snarls, switching to the other nipple, biting down gently before soothing it with his tongue. His hips are a piston, driving into the welcoming, slick heat of his mother. The room fills with the raw, wet sounds of their fucking, the slap of skin, the creak of the table. “You’re perfect. My perfect, fucking pregnant mommy. Taking my cock so good. Gonna put another one in you right after this one pops out.”
Izuku’s cries pitch higher. His legs tremble in the stirrups. He can feel his orgasm coiling, a white-hot wire pulled taut in his belly, right beside where his son’s child is growing. “I’m gonna cum,” he sobs. “Make me cum, Kacchan. Make your mommy squirt all over this table.”
Katsuki straightens, his hands gripping Izuku’s hips, thumbs pressing into the soft, firm curve of his lower belly. He drives into him, relentless, his gaze dropping to watch where they are joined. “Do it,” he commands, his voice rough. “Soak my fucking cock. Let me feel it.”
Izuku shatters. His pussy clenches in a violent, rhythmic pulse around Katsuki’s length, and a hot gush of fluid spills out around the driving cock, soaking the paper beneath them with a sound like a sigh. Katsuki grunts, his own control snapping. With three more brutal, deep thrusts, he buries himself as far as he can go and lets go. Izuku feels the hot, liquid pulse of his son’s release flooding his womb, marking the claimed territory all over again.
The living room rug is scratchy against Izuku’s bare back, the fibers digging into his sweat-slick skin. His enormous, eight-month belly rises like a mountain between him and the ceiling, taut and heavy. Katsuki’s hands are braced on either side of it, his hips pistoning, his cock driving into his mother’s slick, swollen pussy with a wet, rhythmic slap. Izuku’s head is thrown back, his green curls matted to his forehead, a continuous, low moan pouring from his throat.
“Fuck, Mommy,” Katsuki grunts, his voice ragged. He leans down, licking a stripe of sweat from the curve of Izuku’s breast. “I’m so fucking deep. I can feel your cervix. Right there.”
“It’s—ah!—it’s because you’re so big, baby boy,” Izuku gasps, his hands sliding over the immense swell of his stomach, fingers splaying possessively. “You fill me up so perfect. Even with your sibling in here.”
Katsuki groans, a raw, animal sound. He speeds up, the force of his thrusts jostling Izuku’s body, making the full, heavy breasts wobble. A thin, white trickle leaks from a brown nipple, tracing a path down the freckled slope. Katsuki’s eyes lock onto it. He ducks his head and catches the droplet with his tongue, then suckles hard.
Izuku cries out, his back arching. “Kacchan!”
“You’re leaking, Mommy,” Katsuki murmurs against the wet skin, his hips never slowing. “You’re always leaking for me now.”
“I can’t help it,” Izuku whimpers, one hand tangling in Katsuki’s spiky hair, holding him to his chest. “My body… it’s all for you. The baby, the milk… it’s all yours.”
Katsuki cums with a shuddering roar, flooding Izuku’s womb yet again, his release joining the mix already inside. He collapses forward, careful of the belly, his face buried between Izuku’s tits, breathing hard. They lie there, sticky and joined, for a long moment in the afternoon sun.
Later, in the nursery they’d prepared for Masaru’s theoretical grandchild, Izuku sits in the rocking chair. He’s naked, his massive belly resting in his lap. Katsuki is on his knees on the soft rug, his head in Izuku’s lap, his mouth latched onto a nipple. He suckles greedily, his throat working as he swallows mouthfuls of warm, sweet milk.
Izuku strokes his blond hair, his other hand wrapped around Katsuki’s flaccid, spent cock, idly stroking it back to life. “Does my big boy like his milk?” he coos, his voice soft and maternal, a twisted parody of lullabies.
Katsuki pulls off with a wet pop, his lips glistening. He looks up, and his crimson eyes are wide, deliberately innocent. “It’s yummy, Mommy,” he says, his voice pitched higher, younger. “I’m thirsty from playing.”
“You played so hard with Mommy, didn’t you?” Izuku whispers, his own breath hitching as his son’s cock thickens in his hand. The roleplay sends a bolt of pure, shameful heat straight to his core.
“Mm-hmm,” Katsuki nods, nuzzling the soft breast. He lets his head loll against Izuku’s stomach. “I’m still hungry, though. Not for milk.”
“What’s my little man hungry for?” Izuku asks, his thumb swiping over the leaking tip of Katsuki’s cock.
Katsuki looks up, the childish affect gone from his eyes, replaced by a dark, knowing hunger. “You. I wanna fuck my Mommy again. Right here. Before Daddy gets home.”
Izuku’s pussy clenches, empty and aching. He shifts forward in the chair, wincing at the weight of his belly, spreading his thick thighs. “Then come on, baby boy,” he breathes, guiding the head of Katsuki’s cock to his soaked entrance. “Mommy’s always ready for you.”
Katsuki pushes inside with a smooth, practiced roll of his hips, sheathing himself in the incredible, tight heat of his pregnant mother. He braces his hands on the arms of the rocking chair, setting a slow, deep rhythm that makes the whole chair creak in time. “My Mommy,” he chants, his voice dropping back into that guttural, possessive growl. “My pregnant, milk-filled Mommy. All mine.”
Izuku can only cling to him, his body thrumming with a perpetual, desperate arousal, knowing this is his world now. The nursery, the milk, the relentless fuckings—this is the perfect family he’d prayed for, delivered in the most blasphemous, beautiful package imaginable.
The rhythmic creak of the rocking chair stutters. Katsuki’s deep, possessive chant cuts off mid-word. Izuku feels the shift in his son’s body first—a sudden, vibrating tension in the arms braced beside him, a hardening of the cock buried inside him. He follows Katsuki’s crimson gaze over the swell of his own belly, to the nursery doorway.
Masaru stands there. His suit pants are undone, his dress shirt untucked. His fist is wrapped around his own hard, leaking cock, jerking it in a fast, frantic rhythm. His eyes are glazed, fixed on where his son is joined to his wife. A soft, desperate panting is the only sound he makes.
Katsuki’s hips grind to a halt, buried to the hilt. A slow, wicked smile spreads across his sweaty face. “Look who’s home early, Mommy,” he purrs, his voice dripping with dark delight. “Daddy’s watching us.”
“Masaru,” Izuku breathes, a flush of heat—shame and pride and pure arousal—washing over him. He doesn’t try to cover himself. His hands stay on Katsuki’s shoulders.
“He’s been a good boy, hasn’t he?” Katsuki continues, his tone shifting, taking on a mocking, instructive lilt. He begins to move again, a slow, deep roll that makes Izuku gasp. “Waiting his turn. Being quiet. You like watching your boy fuck your pretty wife full, old man?”
Masaru’s strokes falter. He nods, his jaw slack. “Yes,” he whispers, the word choked. “It’s… it’s beautiful. You’re both so beautiful.”
Katsuki’s laugh is a short, cruel bark. “Beautiful? We’re fucking, you pathetic cuck. We’re making a baby. My baby.” He punctuates each claim with a sharp, driving thrust that shakes the chair. Izuku’s moan is high and broken. “Come here. Kneel.”
Masaru shuffles forward without hesitation, his pants pooling at his ankles. He drops to his knees on the soft nursery rug, right beside the rocking chair, his cock still in hand. His eyes are level with Izuku’s swollen, dripping pussy stretched around his son’s girth.
“Look at that,” Katsuki grunts, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making Izuku cry out. “Look how wet Mommy is for me. Look how he takes all of his son’s cock. You could never fill him up like this, could you?”
“No,” Masaru whimpers, his hand moving faster on himself. “Never. You’re… you’re so much bigger. You fit him perfectly.”
“Damn right I do.” Katsuki’s pace turns brutal, a punishing, piston-fast rhythm that has Izuku sobbing, his large breasts bouncing wildly. Katsuki’s eyes lock on his father. “You wanna help, Daddy? Mommy’s all worked up. He needs his pussy eaten. You remember how to do that, don’t you? That’s all you’re good for now.”
Masaru’s eyes widen with desperate eagerness. “Yes. Please. Let me.”
“Then do it. Be a good daddy and clean your wife’s cunt while your son breeds it.”
Masaru doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans in, his tongue darting out to lap at the slickness coating Katsuki’s thrusting shaft, at the swollen, stretched lips of Izuku’s pussy. The taste—musk, salt, his son’s pre-cum—makes him moan against their skin.
Izuku arches, a shattered cry tearing from his throat. The dual sensation is overwhelming: the deep, brutal fullness of his son, and the wet, worshipful flick of his husband’s tongue. “Oh, god… both of you…”
“See, Daddy?” Katsuki pants, his rhythm becoming erratic, furious. “This is your job now. You take care of Mommy’s pussy. I take care of everything else.” He looks down at Izuku, his expression shifting, softening into a grotesque parody of a child’s pout. “Mommy? Daddy’s helping. Is he doing a good job?”
The roleplay, the switch in tone, sends a violent thrill through Izuku. He tangles a hand in Masaru’s hair, not pushing him away, but holding him there. “He’s… he’s being a very good daddy,” Izuku coos, his voice trembling with strain and lust. “A good daddy helps his big boy take care of Mommy.”
“I’m gonna cum, Mommy,” Katsuki whines, the childish affect warring with the primal fury of his thrusts. “I’m gonna put more baby in you. Make you even bigger. All mine.”
“Do it, baby boy,” Izuku gasps, his own climax coiling, fed by the obscene tableau. “Fill your Mommy up. Let Daddy taste it.”
Katsuki roars, burying himself deep as he pulses, hot release flooding Izuku’s claimed womb. The sensation triggers Izuku’s own shattering orgasm, a gush of fluid that spills out around Katsuki’s still-throbbing cock, right onto Masaru’s waiting, eager tongue.
Masaru drinks it down, his own neglected cock jerking in his hand, spilling onto the rug with a choked sob of submission and ecstasy. He rests his forehead against Izuku’s trembling thigh, panting, as Katsuki slowly pulls out.
Katsuki stands, his cock glistening and semi-hard, dripping with their combined release. He looks down at his kneeling father, then at Izuku’s spent, heavily pregnant form in the chair. A calm, absolute satisfaction settles over his handsome features. He taps Masaru’s cheek with the head of his slick cock. “Clean me up, Daddy. Then get Mommy a glass of water. He’s done a lot of work today.”
Masaru nods, tears of shame and fulfillment in his eyes, and obeys.
Masaru finishes cleaning the last of the sticky release from his son’s cock with a final, submissive swipe of his tongue. He looks up, awaiting his next command, his own spend drying cold on his thighs.
Katsuki doesn’t let him rise. He curls his fingers in his father’s graying hair, gripping tight. “Change of plans, Daddy. You’re still thirsty, aren’t you?” He guides the head of his rapidly re-hardening cock to Masaru’s slack, obedient mouth.
Izuku watches from the rocking chair, a hand resting on the tight curve of his belly. His pussy throbs, sore and used, but a fresh, slick heat gathers as he sees the head of his son’s cock press against his husband’s lips. “Open wide for your boy, honey,” Izuku murmurs, his voice thick with maternal encouragement and something darker.
Masaru opens his mouth. Katsuki pushes in, not slowly, not gently. He feeds his length in with a single, brutal thrust that makes Masaru’s eyes bulge, a wet gag choking in his throat.
“Look at him, Mommy,” Katsuki grunts, his hips beginning a ruthless, shallow pistoning motion that denies Masaru any rhythm to breathe. “Look how he takes it. Just a hole.”
Izuku’s breath hitches. He spreads his legs wider, his fingers finding his own swollen, sensitive clit. “He is, baby boy. Just a hole for my perfect son to use.” The vulgarity sends a shock through him, delicious and shameful. “Does Daddy’s throat feel good on your big cock?”
“Tight,” Katsuki spits out, his movements turning jagged, forcing Masaru’s nose to press into his blond pubic hair with every thrust. Gagging, wet sounds fill the nursery. Tears stream down Masaru’s reddening face. “Chokes on it like he chokes on everything. Can’t even suck his own son’s dick right.”
“You can do better than that, can’t you, Masaru?” Izuku coos, his own fingers working in frantic circles, his arousal a sharp, bright pain between his legs. He’s mesmerized by the obscene sight: his handsome son using his husband’s face, the powerful flex of Katsuki’s abdomen, the complete surrender in Masaru’s tear-filled eyes. “Be a good daddy and take it all for our boy.”
Katsuki’s free hand clamps on the back of Masaru’s neck, holding him still as he fucks deeper, his balls slapping against his father’s chin. Masaru’s throat convulses around the invasion, a continuous, ragged gagging that sounds like sobs.
“He’s crying, Mommy,” Katsuki observes, a cruel delight in his strained voice. His hips are a relentless machine. “You like that? You like seeing your husband cry on my cock?”
“Yes,” Izuku gasps, the admission torn from him. His back arches off the chair, his pregnant body bowing with a sudden, violent climax that isn’t from his own touch. It’s from the sight, the ownership, the utter humiliation. Fluid soaks the chair cushion beneath him. “Oh, god, yes, Kacchan… it’s perfect.”
Katsuki roars, his body locking as he shoves himself as deep as Masaru’s throat will allow. He pulses there, his release flooding down his father’s constricted esophagus. Masaru’s body seizes, his hands fluttering uselessly at his sides as he’s forced to swallow.
Katsuki pulls out with a slick pop. Masaru collapses forward onto his hands, coughing, drool and semen dripping from his ruine mouth. He draws in huge, shuddering breaths that sound like death rattles.
Katsuki looks down at him, then over at Izuku, who is panting and spent in the chair, a beatific, blissed-out smile on his freckled face. Katsuki’s expression softens into something terrifyingly close to tenderness. “See, Mommy?” he says, his voice rough but satisfied. “I to you we were perfect.”