The shower still ran upstairs, a distant drum against the tile. Izuku's knees ached against the cold kitchen tile, but he didn't shift, didn't rise. The apron was all he wore — thin cotton, tied at the back, nothing underneath. His pregnant belly pressed against the fabric, heavy and full, and between his thighs he could feel himself growing slick just from waiting. From knowing.
He heard the footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Katsuki's tread on the stairs, the creak of the fifth step that always gave him away. Izuku's breath caught, held, released slow. He kept his hands resting on his thighs, palms up. Open. Ready.
The kitchen doorway framed his son — blond hair still sleep-tossed, grey sweats hanging low on his hips, no shirt. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, and when his crimson eyes found Izuku on the floor, something in them flared. Dark. Hungry. Young.
Izuku held his gaze. He didn't speak. Didn't need to. His mouth opened, tongue sliding out to rest on his lower lip, pink and waiting. A silent offering.
"Fuck," Katsuki breathed, the word cracking at the edge.
He crossed the kitchen in four long strides, the slap of bare feet on tile loud in the morning quiet. His hands found Izuku's curls, fingers twisting into the green mess of them, and he didn't pull — he held. Grounding himself. Claiming. The grey sweats had already tented, a dark wet spot spreading at the tip where precum had soaked through.
"Mommy." It came out broken, almost a question, the voice of a boy who needed permission even as his body screamed for release.
Izuku nodded, just barely. "Mommy's here, baby boy."
Katsuki's sweatpants dropped. His cock sprang free — thick, flushed dark red, the head slick and glistening, a bead of precum trailing down the shaft. He wrapped his hand around the base and stepped closer, the tip almost touching Izuku's waiting tongue.
"Open," Katsuki said, and it was not a request.
Izuku opened wider. Katsuki pushed in.
The first thrust was everything — the stretch of Izuku's throat, the salt-bitter taste of precum flooding his tongue, the way Katsuki's hips slammed forward without warning, without mercy. Izuku's hands flew to Katsuki's thighs, gripping for balance as the full length buried itself deep, cutting off his air, pressing against the back of his throat until his eyes watered.
"Yeah," Katsuki groaned, his hips pulling back and slamming forward again. "Yeah, fuck, Mommy — take it, take all of it —"
Izuku's throat convulsed around him, trying to swallow, trying to breathe, but Katsuki didn't slow. His grip in Izuku's hair tightened, holding him in place as he fucked into that warm, wet heat with desperate, punishing strokes. The kitchen counter dug into Izuku's back as he was pushed against it, his belly pressed between them, and all he could do was take it. Take his son. Take every inch.
The sound was obscene — wet and choking and punctuated by Katsuki's ragged moans, the slap of his thighs against Izuku's face, the desperate whimper that escaped Izuku's throat every time he was allowed a half-second of air before the next thrust buried him again. Tears streamed down Izuku's cheeks, mascara staining pink, and he didn't care. This was what a good mother did. This was what his baby boy needed.
"Mommy — Mommy, I'm gonna —" Katsuki's rhythm faltered, his hips stuttering, his whole body tensing. He pushed in one last time, held there, and came with a cry that was almost a sob. Hot and thick, pulse after pulse flooding Izuku's throat, and Izuku swallowed. Swallowed everything. Let it coat his tongue, slide down his raw throat, warm him from the inside.
When Katsuki finally pulled out, Izuku stayed on his knees. His mouth was red and swollen, lips slick with spit and cum, and he looked up at his son with bleary, adoring eyes. Above them, the shower cut off. Masaru would be down soon.
Katsuki's hand brushed Izuku's cheek, trembling. "Good mommy," he whispered, and the words were a brand.
Izuku's throat burned in the most beautiful way, still coated with the heat of his son's release. Katsuki's cock softened against his cheek, slick and spent, and for a moment the kitchen held only the sound of their breathing. But Izuku's fingers found that shaft again, stroking gently along the underside, feeling it twitch against his palm.
"Baby boy," Izuku murmured, his voice wrecked and tender, "Mommy's not done with you yet."
Katsuki's eyes widened, red-rimmed and glassy. "But I already—"
"Shh." Izuku's thumb traced the sensitive ridge, and he felt it — the pulse of blood returning, the slow swell of another need rising. His tongue slid out, tracing along the shaft, tasting himself and his son mixed together. He reached the head and pressed his tongue under the foreskin, rolling it back with deliberate care, revealing the purpling tip beneath. It glistened, raw and hypersensitive, a bead of leftover cum pearling at the slit.
Katsuki gasped, his hips jerking. "Mommy — too much —"
Izuku pulled back just enough to look up at him. His green eyes were soft, warm, the color of spring leaves after rain. He smiled — a mother's smile, full and loving and patient. "It looks like my baby boy needs more."
He pressed a kiss to the tip, featherlight, and Katsuki shuddered above him. "Keep fucking mommy's mouth and throat until you're satisfied, Kacchan. Fuck mommy's mouth pussy all you want, baby."
Katsuki made a sound — small, broken, the whimper of a boy who had been given permission he didn't know he was allowed to ask for. His hand found Izuku's hair again, trembling, and Izuku opened wide, tongue flat and waiting.
"Mommy," Katsuki breathed, and pushed in.
The angle was different this time — slower, Izuku's throat already raw and pliant, the stretch a familiar burn. Katsuki's cock filled him inch by inch, and Izuku's hands found his son's thighs, steadying himself, breathing through his nose as that thick length settled deep. He swallowed around it, and Katsuki gasped.
"Yeah — yeah, fuck —" Katsuki's hips began to move, shallow thrusts that built a rhythm, each one pushing a little deeper. His grip in Izuku's curls tightened, and he watched — watched his mother take him, watched his own cock disappear into that wet heat, watched tears spill down freckled cheeks.
Above them, a door opened. Masaru's footsteps padded across the bedroom floor.
Katsuki didn't stop. Didn't slow. He fucked his mother's throat with desperate, methodical strokes, each one saying mine, mine, mine. And Izuku took it, every inch, every thrust, his hands stroking Katsuki's thighs, his eyes never leaving his son's face.
Izuku's throat worked around the thick shaft, muscles contracting in a desperate rhythm as Katsuki fucked deeper, faster, harder. The wet slap of heavy balls against his chin was obscene, a percussion that echoed off the kitchen tiles, each impact leaving a smear of spit and precum across his freckled skin. He didn't mind. He *wanted* it — wanted the mess, the proof, the way his son's body claimed every inch of his mouth.
His own pussy clenched around nothing, slick and aching, and he felt the warmth spreading beneath him, a wet patch growing on the tile where his thighs pressed together. The apron was soaked through, clinging to his pregnant belly, and he could smell himself — sharp and sweet, the musk of a mother who needed his son as much as his son needed him.
*Mommy's enjoying this too much,* he thought, the words a distant alarm in the back of his mind. *Masaru's coming down. Any second. We have to stop.* But Katsuki's cock was so thick, so hot, the taste of salt and skin flooding his tongue with every thrust, and Izuku's hands gripped his son's thighs and *held on.*
"Mommy —" Katsuki's voice was wrecked, high and desperate, the sound of a boy who had forgotten everything except the wet heat of his mother's throat. His hips bucked faster, chasing something, and Izuku felt the cock twitch against his palate, felt the pulse of blood quicken. "Mommy, I'm close — I'm —"
Izuku moaned around him, the vibration drawing a gasp from Katsuki's lips. He wanted it. Wanted his baby boy to fill his throat again, wanted to swallow every drop, wanted to taste Katsuki on his breath for the rest of the day. He sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing along the underside of that shaft, and Katsuki's whole body shuddered.
The footsteps on the stairs were clear now. The creak of the third step. Masaru's soft hum, some tune from the radio, drifting down like a warning bell.
Katsuki's hand tightened in Izuku's hair, twisting, holding him still. "Don't stop," he begged, and his voice was the voice of a child — small, terrified, *needy.* "Please, Mommy, please don't stop."
Izuku's eyes met his son's. Red and green, locked together, a promise passing between them. He blinked slowly — once, twice — and his throat relaxed, opened wider, *invited.*
Katsuki came with a cry that he bit off, muffled behind his teeth, his hips slamming forward and holding there as pulse after pulse of hot cum flooded Izuku's waiting mouth. Izuku swallowed. Swallowed again. Let it coat his throat, warm and thick, and when Katsuki finally pulled out, Izuku's tongue darted out to catch the last drop that pearled at the tip.
He stayed on his knees, panting, his chin slick and dripping, his pussy still clenching around nothing. The kitchen door swung open, and Masaru's voice floated in — warm, oblivious, wrapped in the scent of fresh coffee.
Masaru stepped through the kitchen doorway, drying his hands on a towel, and Izuku's heart seized. He knelt frozen behind the counter, Katsuki's thick cock buried deep in his throat, the head pressed against the soft palate. His hands gripped his son's thighs, knuckles white, and he didn't dare breathe.
"Katsuki? You're up early." Masaru's voice was warm, oblivious, drifting toward the coffee maker. "Where's your mother? I thought I heard him down here."
Katsuki's hand tightened in Izuku's hair, a warning and a plea. His voice came out rough, controlled, a teenager's bored shrug wrapped in gravel. "Dunno. Said he had an errand or somethin'. Left like fifteen minutes ago."
Izuku's tongue pressed along the underside of Katsuki's shaft, tasting salt and precum, and he felt his son's cock twitch against his palate. The lie tasted wrong in his own throat, but he couldn't speak, couldn't move, could only kneel there like a secret made fleshlight.
"Huh. Didn't mention anything to me." Masaru yawned, opening the fridge, the clink of a milk carton filling the silence. "Well, I'm heading out. Tell your mom I'll be home by six."
Katsuki grunted, and the back door swung shut. The lock clicked. The house settled into stillness.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Katsuki's grip loosened, and he pulled out slowly — inch by inch, letting Izuku feel every ridge, every pulse, until the tip slipped free with a wet, obscene pop. A string of saliva and cum connected them, breaking as Katsuki stepped back, his cock still hard, still slick with Izuku's spit.
Izuku looked up at him, lips swollen, chin glistening, green eyes wide and worshipful. His throat burned, raw and perfect, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Katsuki beat him to it.
"More." It wasn't a request. It was a need, a child's demand wrapped in a man's voice. Katsuki's cock throbbed, bobbing in the morning light, the head purple and weeping. "I want more, Mommy."
Izuku nodded, a frantic, eager motion, his hands already reaching for his son's hips. "Anything," he breathed, his voice wrecked and beautiful. "Mommy will give you anything, baby boy."
He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Katsuki's heavy sac, kissing the skin there — warm, drawn tight with need. His tongue traced along the seam, feeling the weight of his son's balls, the heat radiating from them. He took one into his mouth, sucking gently, rolling it against his tongue, and Katsuki's knees buckled.
"Fuck — Mommy —"
Izuku hummed around the soft flesh, his hands stroking Katsuki's thighs, his thumbs pressing into the muscle. He pulled off with a wet sound, pressing a kiss to the other ball, laving it with his tongue until it was slick and shining. "Mommy loves you so much, Kacchan," he whispered against the skin, his voice a broken hymn. "Loves your perfect cock. Your perfect balls. Every part of you."
He looked up, meeting his son's eyes, and the adoration there was absolute. "Mommy is always here to serve her big boy's cock. Always."
Izuku's lips pressed a final, lingering kiss to Katsuki's sac before he pulled back, his green eyes hazy with adoration. He looked up at his son — this beautiful, desperate boy who needed him so badly — and felt something shift inside his chest. Not guilt. Not shame. Purpose.
"Kacchan," he whispered, his voice a wrecked, honeyed thing. He reached up, fingers trailing along Katsuki's thigh, tracing the muscle there with reverent pressure. "Mommy's mouth is yours. All of it. Every time you want it, every way you need it." He swallowed, tasted his son's skin on his tongue. "This is your fleshlight. Mommy's throat is your toy."
Katsuki's red eyes widened, something raw and hungry flickering behind them. His cock twitched, still hard, slick with spit and the ghost of Izuku's tongue. "What?" The word came out rough, disbelieving, a boy who couldn't quite trust the gift being offered.
"Anything, baby boy." Izuku's hand slid higher, cupping Katsuki's heavy balls, feeling their warmth settle into his palm. "Whenever you need to cum, you come find Mommy. Whenever you're hard and it hurts, you use Mommy's throat. And if you ever need to —" He paused, his cheeks flushing, but his eyes never dropped. He can say this. He can offer this. He wants to offer this. "If you ever need to pee and Mommy's mouth is here — you use it for that too. Mommy doesn't mind. Mommy wants every part of you."
Katsuki's breath caught. "You'd let me —" He couldn't finish the sentence. His hand came up, fingers carding through Izuku's green curls, tugging gently. "You'd let me piss in your mouth, Mommy?" The word piss hung in the air between them, obscene and electric, and Izuku felt his pussy clench around nothing, a fresh wave of wetness soaking through his apron.
"Mommy would let you do anything, Kacchan." Izuku's voice was certain now, steady, a mother's vow carved in bone. He tilted his head back, opening his mouth wide, tongue flat and pink and waiting. "Anything. Mommy's mouth is your property. Your toy. Your place to put whatever you need." He pressed a kiss to the head of Katsuki's cock, soft and worshipful. "Even if it's just warm. Even if it's just you. Mommy wants it."
Katsuki's hand tightened in Izuku's hair, a shudder running through his entire body. "Fuck, Mommy." His voice cracked, splintered, the age-regressed boy peeking through. "You're — you're really my mommy, right? You're not gonna leave me for the baby?" The question was small, broken, a child's deepest fear rising like a bubble through dark water.
Izuku's eyes burned. He reached up, cupping Katsuki's cheek, his thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "Kacchan. Look at me." His voice was soft but absolute. "You are my first baby. My most important baby. Nothing will ever change that. The baby in my belly is yours too — a little brother or sister who's gonna love you, and I'm gonna love you every single day, the way I always have." He pressed his lips to Katsuki's thigh, lingering. "But this — Mommy's mouth, Mommy's body, Mommy's everything — it's yours. It's always been yours."
Katsuki's lower lip trembled. Just once. Before he masked it with a sharp exhale and a roll of his shoulders. "Then prove it," he said, his voice steadier now, the demand sliding back into place like armor. He stepped closer, his cock brushing against Izuku's lips. "Show me what Mommy's fleshlight can take."
Izuku smiled — soft and adoring and utterly, completely claimed — and opened wide.
Izuku's throat accepted him again, a warm, wet sheath that welcomed every inch with desperate greed. His tongue flattened along the underside, pressing against the thick vein that pulsed against his palate, and his hands found Katsuki's hips, gripping the sharp jut of bone, pulling him deeper. The taste of his son's skin mixed with the lingering salt of his own spit, and Izuku moaned around him, the vibration drawing a sharp gasp from above.
Katsuki's grip tightened in Izuku's hair, twisting, yanking his head back until his throat was a straight, vulnerable line. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice a ragged growl that didn't quite hide the tremor underneath. Izuku's green eyes, wet and hazy, lifted to meet crimson. "You wanted this. You wanted to be my toy." Each word was punctuated by a thrust, hard and punishing, driving his cock deep into that willing heat. "Then fucking take it."
Izuku's lashes fluttered, but he held his son's gaze, his throat working around the intrusion, swallowing reflexively as the head pressed against the soft palate. He didn't fight, didn't pull away. He relaxed, opened, let his baby boy use him exactly as he needed. *This is what a good mother does,* he thought, the mantra steadying him. *A good mother gives her son everything.*
Katsuki fucked his mouth with a violence born of desperation, each stroke faster, rougher, the wet sounds of Izuku's throat filling the kitchen. Spit coated his lips, dripped down his chin, pooled on the tile floor beneath his knees, but Izuku didn't care. He hummed, encouraging, his own hips rocking against the apron's fabric, his pussy clenching around nothing, soaking through the lace of his thong.
Then Katsuki's rhythm faltered. His hips stuttered, and his hand in Izuku's hair trembled. "Mommy —" The word was small, childlike, the age-regressed boy peeking through the mask of the young man. "Mommy, I gotta — I gotta pee." His voice cracked, shame and need tangled together. "It's — it's coming, I can't —"
Izuku's heart swelled. He pulled back slowly, letting Katsuki's cock slip from his mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting them. He looked up, his lips swollen, his chin slick, and reached up to cup his son's face, his thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "That's okay, baby boy," he whispered, his voice wrecked but steady. "Mommy's got you. You can pee in Mommy's mouth." He pressed a kiss to the inside of Katsuki's thigh, lingering. "Mommy wants you to."
Katsuki's red eyes widened, something raw and disbelieving flickering behind them. "You — you mean it?" The question was a child's, desperate for permission, for proof that this gift was real. "You'll let me — in your *mouth*?"
Izuku nodded, a slow, certain motion. He tilted his head back, opening wide, his tongue flat and pink and waiting. "Whenever you need, Kacchan. However you need. Mommy's mouth is yours." He swallowed, tasted his son's skin on his lips. "Pee in Mommy's mouth. Let Mommy drink you."
Katsuki's breath hitched. His hand trembled as he guided his cock back to Izuku's lips, pressing the head against the soft, waiting warmth. "Okay," he breathed, the word a surrender. "Okay, Mommy."
Izuku closed his eyes, his hands settling on Katsuki's thighs, steadying them both. He felt the first hot spurt hit his tongue, salty and sharp, and he swallowed reflexively, accepting it, welcoming it. *This is love,* he thought, the truth burning through him like a brand. *This is what it means to be a good mother.* He opened his mouth wider, let the stream fill his throat, drank his son's offering with a reverence that transcended shame.
Katsuki's stream slowed, then stopped, a final few drops landing on Izuku's tongue before the cock in his mouth softened slightly. Izuku swallowed, the taste of his son's urine mixing with the salt of his own spit, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with temperature. He closed his mouth around the head, sucking gently, cleaning the tip with his tongue, and Katsuki gasped, his hand tightening in Izuku's hair.
"Mommy—" The word was a broken whisper, and Izuku looked up, his green eyes wet and shining with adoration. He pulled off slowly, a final kiss pressed to the sensitive head, and smiled.
"Thank you, Kacchan," he breathed, his voice wrecked but certain. "Thank you for using Mommy. For needing Mommy." He pressed his cheek against Katsuki's thigh, nuzzling the warm skin there, feeling the tremble run through his son's body. "Mommy loves being your toy. Your fleshlight. Your everything."
Katsuki's breath hitched, and he tugged gently at Izuku's hair, pulling him up. Izuku rose, his knees aching, his throat raw, his apron stained with spit and cum and the ghost of his son's offering. He reached up, cupping Katsuki's face, his thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw, and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his son's cheek.
But Katsuki's hand caught the back of his neck, pulling him back, turning his head, and then their lips met—full and deep and hungry. Izuku's eyes widened, a surprised sound caught in his throat, but he melted into it, his hands sliding into Katsuki's spiky blond hair, holding him close. Katsuki kissed him like he was drowning, like Izuku was air, his tongue sliding against his mother's, tasting himself—the salt of his cum, the sharp tang of his own piss, the sweetness of Izuku's spit—and he didn't care. He wanted to taste himself on his mommy's tongue. He wanted to know that his mommy had swallowed him, that every part of him was inside him.
Izuku moaned into the kiss, his body pressing against Katsuki's, his pregnant belly a warm barrier between them. He could taste it too—his son's cum, his son's piss, the evidence of his son's need still warm on his tongue—and it made his pussy clench, a fresh wave of wetness soaking through his thong. This is love, he thought, the truth burning through him like a brand. This is what it means to be a good mother. To give him everything. To take everything. To let him claim me completely.
Katsuki pulled back, his crimson eyes hazy and wet, his lips swollen and red. "Mommy," he whispered, the word a confession, a prayer, a claim. "You're mine. You're mine."
Izuku smiled, a soft, broken, beautiful thing, and pressed his forehead against his son's. "Always, baby boy. Mommy is always yours." He kissed the corner of Katsuki's mouth, soft and lingering. "Now let Mommy clean you up. Let Mommy take care of her big boy."
He dropped to his knees again, his hands finding Katsuki's hips, and pressed one last, reverent kiss to the softening cock before looking up with worshipful eyes. "Mommy loves you, Kacchan. More than anything."