The morning light crawled through the kitchen windows, pale and indifferent. Izuku stood at the stove, humming softly as he flipped pancakes, the apron tied neatly over his sundress. Behind him, footsteps hesitated at the threshold. He didn't turn around. He knew those footsteps. Knew the weight of them, the hesitation that wasn't there yesterday.
"Morning, Kacchan." His voice stayed light, airy, the same warmth he always poured into that name. "Sleep well?"
Katsuki didn't answer. Izuku felt the gaze on his back, hot and searching, tracing the curve of his shoulders, the swell of his belly where the apron pulled tight. He flipped another pancake, let the silence stretch.
"You're up early." Katsuki's voice was rough, still thick with sleep. Accusatory. "Been up all night or something?"
Izuku smiled into the pan. "Couldn't sleep. Pregnancy does that. Your little brother's got opinions about when I should be awake." He set a plate on the counter, steam curling off the stack. "Sit. Eat. You've got school."
He watched Katsuki move past him out of the corner of his eye, watched him slide into the chair, jaw tight, red eyes tracking every movement. The suspicion was a living thing between them now, breathing, pulsing. Katsuki picked up his fork but didn't eat. Just watched. Izuku poured himself tea, took a slow sip, let his hand rest on his belly as if nothing in the world was wrong. Nothing at all.
"Mom." The word came out wrong. Cracked. Katsuki's fork clattered onto the plate. "Did you—"
"Did I what, baby boy?" Izuku turned. Innocent. Soft. The same look he'd worn a thousand mornings. "More syrup?"
Katsuki's jaw worked. His knuckles went white around the fork handle. Then he looked down at the pancakes and said nothing. Izuku felt the victory in his chest, small and sharp and guilty. Hold the line. Tonight. Tonight, you give him what he needs.
The day passed in a haze of small motions. Laundry folded. Lunch packed. A nap on the couch that wasn't really sleep, just waiting, counting hours until the house went dark. Masaru came home. They ate dinner. Izuku laughed at something his husband said, touched his hand across the table, let his foot brush Katsuki's ankle under the chair and pretend it was an accident. Katsuki flinched. Izuku smiled at his plate.
The clock on the nightstand read 11:47 when Izuku heard Masaru's breathing even out. Deep and steady. The reliable rhythm of a man who trusted his wife completely. Izuku slipped out of bed, bare feet on cold hardwood, and moved through the house like a ghost. The lingerie was waiting in the bathroom, laid out on the counter like an offering. Black lace. Delicate. Expensive. A bra that lifted his small tits, pushed them up, made them look fuller. A matching thong that rode high on his hips, the fabric a thin whisper between his legs. He put them on slowly, savoring the slide of silk against skin, the way the bra cups framed his nipples. Then he pulled his apron over his head, tied it at his waist. The thin fabric did nothing to hide what was underneath. It was meant to do the opposite.
He stopped in front of the mirror. The apron covered him like a promise, the black lace peeking out at the edges, his pregnancy-swollen belly pressing against the fabric. His green curls were tousled. His eyes were dark, pupils wide. He looked like a mother. He looked like a whore. He looked like exactly what his son needed.
The hallway was dark. The house held its breath. Izuku's hand hovered over Katsuki's door, trembling, and then he knocked. Three soft taps. The sound was absurdly loud in the silence.
A pause. A scuffle. Katsuki's voice, rough and wary: "What?"
"Kacchan." Izuku's voice came out soft, fragile, the way it did when he was scared. "Can you open the door?"
More silence. Seconds stretched into something unbearable. Then the lock clicked. The door cracked open. Katsuki's face appeared in the gap, flushed, hair wild, chest bare. He looked younger in the dim light, the hard lines of his jaw softened. His eyes found Izuku's face first, then traveled down. Down to the apron. Down to the black lace pushing out at the edges. Down to his mother's body, barely hidden, deliberately displayed. His breath caught.
Izuku let him look. Let the moment stretch. Let the heat build between them until it was thick enough to taste. Then he reached up and untied the knot at his waist. The apron slipped. It pooled on the floor at his feet, and he stood there in the doorway of his son's bedroom, wearing nothing but black lace, his pregnant belly curving between them, his small tits pushed up and spilling out of the bra cups. He watched Katsuki's pupils blow wide. Watched his throat bob. Watched the word form on his lips, reverent and broken.
"Mommy."
The word hung in the air between them, fragile and electric. Izuku felt it settle into his chest, into that hollow place that had been aching since the first time he heard it through the crack in the door. Mommy. He stepped forward, over the threshold, into his son's room for the first time in months. The door clicked shut behind him. His hand found the lock, twisted it. The sound was final, a door sealing, a line crossed that couldn't be uncrossed.
"Kacchan." His voice was soft, deliberate, the same tone he used when Katsuki was small and scared of thunderstorms. "I know."
Katsuki's back hit the wall. His chest was heaving, bare skin flushed, those red eyes wide and wild and fixed on Izuku's body like he was trying to memorize it. "Know what." The words came out flat, a last attempt at defense, but they cracked at the edges.
Izuku walked toward him, slow, letting his hips sway, letting the black lace catch the dim light from the desk lamp. He stopped when he was close enough to touch, close enough to smell the sweat on Katsuki's skin, the salt and heat of him. "I know about the panties, baby boy." He let the words land. Watched Katsuki flinch. "I know you've been stealing them. I know what you do with them."
Katsuki's jaw clenched. His hands were shaking at his sides. "I don't—"
"I watched you." Izuku's voice dropped, barely a whisper. "Through the crack in your door. Last night. The night before. I saw you, Kacchan. I saw you wrap my panties around your cock and moan for me."
The confession stripped something from Katsuki. His shoulders sagged, his head dropped, and when he spoke again his voice was small, broken, the voice of a boy who'd been caught and didn't know how to beg. "Mommy, I— I didn't mean— I couldn't stop—"
"Shh." Izuku reached out, let his fingers brush Katsuki's cheek. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but Katsuki leaned into it like a dying man finding water. "I'm not angry, Kacchan. I'm not mad." He let his hand slide down, cup Katsuki's jaw, tilt his face down until those crimson eyes met his. "I understand. You needed me. And I wasn't there."
"You have the baby." The words came out bitter, jealous, the petulant whine of a child who'd been told he wasn't special anymore. "You're always thinking about the baby."
"I'm thinking about you right now." Izuku stepped closer, pressed his pregnant belly against Katsuki's bare stomach. The heat of him, the solid muscle, the way Katsuki's breath stuttered at the contact. "I'm right here, Kacchan. And I noticed you're running out of mommy's panties." He let a smile curl at the corner of his mouth, slow and knowing. "Aren't you?"
Katsuki swallowed. Nodded. "The pink ones. I— I used them last night. They're—"
"I know." Izuku's hand slid down from Katsuki's jaw, traced the line of his collarbone, the swell of his chest, the hard ridge of his abdominals. "And I thought, maybe my baby boy would like something better than a pair of panties." He let his fingers drift lower, brushed the waistband of Katsuki's sweatpants, felt the heat of the erection straining beneath. "Maybe mommy's body is better than just mommy's scent."
The question hung in the air. Izuku watched Katsuki's face crumble, watched the teenager vanish, watched the little boy emerge from behind the walls of anger and pride. His eyes went wet. His lip trembled. And when he spoke, his voice was high and small and terrified.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, baby boy?"
"I—" His hand came up, grabbed Izuku's wrist, held it against his stomach. "I have a hard willy, Mommy." The words tumbled out, childish, desperate. "It hurts. I don't know what to do. It won't stop hurting."
Izuku felt his heart crack open and fill with something dark and tender and absolute. He pressed closer, let his lips brush Katsuki's forehead, let his free hand cradle the back of his son's head, fingers threading through the spiky blond hair. "Mommy knows, sweetheart. Mommy knows exactly what to do." He pulled back just enough to meet those wet red eyes. "Do you want Mommy to help you? Do you want me to take care of my baby boy?"
Katsuki nodded, frantic, broken. "Please, Mommy. Please. I need you. I need you so bad."
"Then lay down on the bed, Kacchan." Izuku's voice was soft, commanding, the voice of a mother who knew exactly what her child needed. "Lay down and let Mommy take care of everything."
Katsuki's hands fumbled at his waistband, trembling, impatient. Izuku watched him struggle for a moment, then reached out, brushed his son's fingers aside with gentle authority. "Let Mommy do it."
His fingers hooked into the elastic of Katsuki's sweatpants, the fabric warm from his body. He pulled them down slowly, deliberately, letting them catch on the jut of Katsuki's hips, the hard ridge of his erection straining against the cotton. The waistband slid lower, exposing the trail of blond hair beneath Katsuki's navel, the sharp V of his hips, and then—
Izuku's breath stopped.
The sweatpants fell to Katsuki's ankles, and his son's cock sprang free, thick and heavy and achingly hard, curving up toward his stomach. The head was flushed dark, glistening with a bead of precum that caught the dim lamp light. His balls hung full and tight, heavy with need. Izuku's mouth went dry. He bit his bottom lip, felt the sting of it, felt the heat pooling between his own thighs beneath the black lace thong. Oh. The thought was simple, animal, pure. Oh, baby boy.
"Mommy?" Katsuki's voice was small, uncertain. His hands forming nervous fists, knuckles white. "Is it— is it okay?"
Izuku tore his gaze away from his son's cock, met those red eyes, saw the fear there, the desperate need for approval. His heart cracked open. "It's perfect, Kacchan." His voice came out husky, raw. "You're perfect. Now lay down for Mommy."
Katsuki obeyed immediately, scrambling backward on the bed until his head hit the pillow, his cock standing proud and desperate between them. Izuku followed him onto the mattress, climbing up slow, positioning himself over his son's body. The black lace of his bra pressed against Katsuki's bare chest. His pregnant belly rested warm against Katsuki's stomach. He could feel the frantic thud of his son's heartbeat through the skin.
He leaned down, let his lips brush Katsuki's forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "Tell me what you want, baby boy." His voice was soft, honeyed, the voice of a mother who would give his child anything. "Whatever it is. Mommy will do it. No limits, Kacchan. Nothing is too much for my baby."
Katsuki's hands came up, grabbed at Izuku's hips, his fingers digging into the lace, the skin beneath. His chest was heaving, his eyes wet, his voice broken when he finally spoke. "I want— I want Mommy's mouth." The words tumbled out, shame and need tangled together. "I want to feel your tongue, Mommy. I want— I've dreamed about it. I've thought about it every night, I—"
"Shh." Izuku pressed a finger to Katsuki's lips, felt them warm and trembling against his skin. "You don't have to explain. Mommy knows." He shifted his weight, moved down Katsuki's body, let his lips trace a path across his son's chest, his stomach, the sensitive skin just below his navel. He felt Katsuki's abs clench, heard the sharp intake of breath, the whispered "Mommy" that fell from his lips like a prayer.
Izuku settled between Katsuki's thighs, the black lace of his thong the only barrier between his cunt and his son's skin. He could feel the heat of Katsuki's cock inches from his face, could smell the salt and musk of him, could see the way the head throbbed with each frantic heartbeat. He wrapped his hand around the base, felt the weight of it, the thickness, the way it jumped at his touch.
"Mommy's gonna take care of you, Kacchan." He leaned in, let his breath ghost over the sensitive head, watched Katsuki's hips buck, heard the desperate whine that escaped his throat. "But I need you to tell me if it's too much, okay? I need you to use your words for Mommy."
"Yes, Mommy. Yes, I promise, I'll—" Katsuki's words cut off as Izuku's tongue darted out, tasted the bead of precum, salty and bitter and so purely his son that Izuku felt a moan rise in his own chest. He closed his lips around the head, sucked gently, felt Katsuki's whole body convulse.
"Mommy!" The cry was high and broken, a child's voice, desperate and reverent. Katsuki's hands flew to Izuku's hair, fingers tangling in the green curls, trying to anchoring himself. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy—"
Izuku took him deeper, let his tongue trace the vein along the underside, felt the pulse of blood beneath the sensitive skin. He moved slow, deliberate, savoring every inch, every sound, every tremor that ran through his son's body. His own cunt was aching, slick and swollen beneath the lace, but this wasn't about him. This was about Kacchan. About giving his baby boy everything he'd been starving for.
He pulled back, let his lips brush the tip, and met Katsuki's eyes. "Is this what you needed, baby?" His voice was hoarse, thick with desire. "Is this what you've been dreaming about?"
"Yes, Mommy. Yes." Katsuki's face was streaked with tears, his voice ragged. "I need— I need more. Please, Mommy. Please don't stop."
Izuku smiled, soft and dark and full of love. "Mommy's not going anywhere, Kacchan." He lowered his head again, took his son's cock back into his mouth, and let the world narrow to this one sacred thing.
Izuku's lips sealed around the crown, and he let his jaw relax, let his throat open. He'd done this before—for Masaru, in the early years, when passion still burned bright between them. But this was different. This was Kacchan. His baby boy. He breathed through his nose, focused on the taste of precum and skin, and pushed forward. The head pressed past the back of his throat, and he felt the instinctive gag reflex, the clench of muscle, but he breathed through it, relaxed into it, and took another inch. And another. His nose brushed against Katsuki's pubic bone, and his throat was full, stretched, aching in a way that made his eyes water and his cunt clench.
Katsuki's hands fisted in the sheets, his back arching off the mattress. "Mommy— Mom— fuck—" The words dissolved into a sob, a broken sound that vibrated through Izuku's bones. He held there, his son's cock buried to the hilt in his throat, and let himself feel it—the weight, the heat, the pulse of Katsuki's blood against his tongue. He swallowed around him, felt Katsuki's whole body convulse, heard the desperate whine that tore from his throat.
Slowly, Izuku pulled back, letting his lips drag along the length, savoring every ridge and vein. When the head slipped free, he licked the slit clean, tasting the salty bead that welled up, and met Katsuki's eyes. His own were red-rimmed, tears streaking down his freckled cheeks, but he was smiling—a soft, tender, knowing smile. "See, Kacchan?" His voice was hoarse, raw from the intrusion. "Mommy can take all of you. Every inch."
He shifted, one hand wrapping around the base of Katsuki's cock, the other bracing against his son's hip. "I need you to listen to me, baby boy." He pressed a kiss to the inside of Katsuki's thigh, felt the muscle jump. "Don't be afraid. Don't hold back. Mommy can take it. I want you to fuck my mouth. Use me however you need."
Katsuki's eyes went wide, wet, desperate. "Mommy, I— I don't want to hurt you—"
"You won't." Izuku's voice was firm, gentle, absolute. "Mommy's throat was made for his baby boy. I've been waiting for you, Kacchan. I've been dreaming about this. Now give me what you need." He lowered his head again, parted his lips, and took the head back into the wet heat of his mouth. Then he nodded—a small, encouraging motion against Katsuki's cock.
For a moment, nothing. Then Katsuki's hips twitched, tentative, a shallow thrust that pushed another inch past Izuku's lips. Izuku hummed his approval, the vibration making Katsuki gasp. "Fuck— Mommy—" His hands found Izuku's hair, fingers tangling in the green curls, and he thrust again, deeper this time, the head sliding into that familiar tight space at the back of Izuku's throat.
Izuku's eyes watered, but he didn't pull back. He took it. He relaxed his throat, opened himself, and let his son fuck into him. Katsuki's rhythm was clumsy at first, desperate and uncoordinated, his hips jerking in sharp, hungry thrusts. "Mommy— Mommy, I can't— I need—" The words dissolved into a sob, and he pulled back, almost all the way out, then drove forward again, burying himself to the hilt in Izuku's throat.
Izuku moaned around him, the sound swallowed by flesh, and his own body responded—his cunt clenching around nothing, slick soaking the black lace of his thong. He pressed his thighs together, trying to find friction, but he didn't touch himself. This was for Kacchan. Every breath, every tear, every inch of his throat belonged to his son right now.
Katsuki's thrusts grew harder, faster, his grip on Izuku's hair tightening. "Mommy— Mommy, I'm gonna—" His voice was high, broken, a child on the edge of something too big to contain. "I'm gonna cum, Mommy—"
Izuku pulled off, just for a second, gasping for air, saliva and precum stringing from his lips to Katsuki's cock. "Cum in Mommy's mouth, baby." His voice was wrecked, but clear. "Let me taste you. I want all of it." Then he surged forward again, taking Katsuki deep, his tongue working the underside as his son's hips bucked wildly.
Katsuki's orgasm hit like a wave—his whole body arching, a raw, sobbing cry tearing from his throat. "MOMMY!" And then his cock pulsed, thick ropes of cum flooding Izuku's mouth, hot and bitter and so purely Katsuki that Izuku felt tears stream down his own cheeks. He swallowed, swallowed again, his throat working around the head as more cum filled him, and he didn't stop, didn't pull away, until Katsuki's hips stilled and his grip on Izuku's hair went slack.
Slowly, Izuku pulled back, letting his son's softening cock slip from his lips. He swallowed the last of it, licked his lips, and looked up at Katsuki. His baby boy lay sprawled on the bed, chest heaving, face streaked with tears, eyes glassy and unfocused. Izuku crawled up the bed, settled beside him, and pulled him into his arms, cradling his head against his chest.
"Mommy's here, Kacchan." He pressed a kiss to the blond spikes, felt the tremors still running through his son's body. "Mommy's not going anywhere. I've got you. I've always got you."
Katsuki's hand found his, small and trembling, and clutched it like a lifeline. "Mommy—" The word was barely a breath, soft and grateful and broken. "I love you, Mommy."
Izuku's heart cracked open, and he held his son tighter, feeling the swell of his pregnant belly pressed against Katsuki's side. "I love you too, baby boy. More than anything."