The afternoon light filtered through the kitchen windows as Izuku moved through his cleaning routine, dusting the living room shelves with one hand while the other rested on the swell of his belly. Six months. The baby kicked gently, a reminder that his body was still learning what it meant to carry life. He paused at the hallway mirror, catching his reflection — apron tied over his simple house dress, curls messy as always. The fabric across his chest felt damp. Uncomfortably damp.
He pressed a hand to his breast and felt the wetness soak through his dress, through the bralette beneath. Izuku's breath caught. He untied his apron, pulled the dress over his head, and stared down at the dark circles spreading across the lace of his bralette. Not sweat. Not water from the sink. He unclipped the bralette and let it fall, and there it was — a thin trickle of milky white beading at the tip of his nipple, trailing down the curve of his breast. His fingers came away wet, and he brought them to his lips without thinking. Sweet. Familiar. But wrong. Too early.
"I didn't start like this until after Kacchan was born," he whispered to the empty room, his voice trembling with confusion. "Why now?" The milk kept coming, slow and steady, dripping onto his belly, and he grabbed a dish towel to press against his chest.
The front door clicked open. "I'm home." His son's voice, flat and ordinary, cutting through the silence of the house. Izuku's heart lurched. He stood frozen in the kitchen, topless, bralette on the floor, a dish towel pressed to his leaking chest. "Mom?" Katsuki's footsteps stopped at the kitchen entrance, and Izuku turned to face him.
Katsuki froze mid-step, his bookbag sliding off one shoulder and hitting the floor. His sharp red eyes locked onto Izuku's bare chest, locked onto the thin white trickle trailing down his mother's skin, and something in his expression cracked open. His mouth fell open, his breath coming out in a shuddering exhale. "Mommy?" The word came out small. High. A child's voice. "Mommy, what's that?"
Izuku's hand moved to cover himself, but the instinct died halfway. He let his arm fall. "It's milk, baby boy," he said softly, and the words tasted like surrender. Like offering. "Mommy's making milk for the baby."
Katsuki's eyes went wide, his pupils blown, his chest rising and falling too fast. He dropped to his knees in the kitchen doorway, his hands gripping the frame as if he needed it to hold himself up. "Please," he breathed, and the word was a sob, a prayer, a child begging for the only comfort he knew. "Please, Mommy, can I have some? Please, I need it, I need your milk, I need—" His voice broke, tears welling in his crimson eyes. "I need my mommy."
Izuku felt his own eyes sting. His boy. His first baby. Looking at him like he was the only source of warmth in the world. And maybe he was. Maybe he always had been. "Of course, baby," he said, crossing the kitchen slowly, letting the dish towel fall away. He stopped in front of Katsuki, close enough that his son could smell the milk, could see it beading fresh at his nipples. "Mommy's here. Mommy's got plenty." He cupped his own breast, thumbing the nipple gently, and a fresh pearl of milk rose to the surface. "You want some, Kacchan?"
Katsuki nodded frantically, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Yes, Mommy, yes, please, I've been so good, I've been waiting, please—" He leaned forward, his hands coming up to grip Izuku's hips, his face inches from the offered breast. "Can I? Can I really?"
Izuku guided his son's head, threading his fingers through the spiky blond hair, and pulled him gently to his chest. Katsuki's lips parted, his tongue darting out to catch the first drop, and the sound he made — a broken, desperate whimper — went straight through Izuku's heart. Katsuki latched on, his mouth warm and hungry, and Izuku gasped at the sensation — that familiar pull, that deep ache of milk letting down, flooding into his son's waiting mouth. "That's it," he whispered, cradling Katsuki's head as his baby boy nursed, as his body did what it was made to do. "That's my good boy. Mommy's got you."
Izuku guided Katsuki's head gently away from his chest, the sudden absence of suction making him shiver. "Come on, baby boy," he murmured, his voice thick with tenderness. "Let's get more comfortable. Mommy wants to hold you properly." He took Katsuki's hand and led him to the living room, where the leather sofa sat dark and cool beneath the afternoon light filtering through heavy curtains. Izuku lowered himself onto the cushions, the familiar creak of leather welcoming his weight, and grabbed a throw pillow from the corner. He settled it in his lap, patting the soft surface. "Lay down, Kacchan. Put your head here. This way you can nurse as long as you need."
Katsuki's eyes were glassy, still wet with tears, his breathing uneven as he moved on autopilot. He crawled onto the couch, his body folding into the space beside Izuku's thighs, and let his head fall onto the pillow in his mother's lap. The moment his cheek touched the fabric, his hand came up to grip Izuku's apron, clutching it like a lifeline.
"Mommy," he breathed, his voice cracking on the word.
"I'm here, baby," Izuku whispered, and guided his son's mouth back to his nipple. Katsuki latched on immediately, desperate and hungry, and Izuku felt the familiar pull deep in his chest as the milk let down again, flowing warm into his son's waiting mouth.
Izuku's fingers threaded through Katsuki's spiky hair, stroking gently as his son nursed. The rhythm of it was soothing, almost hypnotic — the soft suckling sounds, the occasional swallow, the way Katsuki's body slowly relaxed against him. But Izuku's other hand, resting on his own thigh, noticed something else. The fabric of Katsuki's school pants was tented, tight and obvious. His baby boy was hard. Izuku's breath caught, his cheeks flushing as he watched Katsuki's hips shift slightly, an unconscious rut against the couch cushion.
"Kacchan," he said softly, his voice carrying a knowing warmth. "Is something else bothering you, baby?"
Katsuki's eyes fluttered open, meeting his mother's gaze with a dazed, childlike confusion. He didn't stop nursing, but his cheeks reddened, and he made a small, embarrassed sound against Izuku's breast. Izuku's hand slid down from Katsuki's hair, trailing along his shoulder, his arm, until it rested on his son's hip.
"It's okay," Izuku murmured, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the fabric. "Mommy can help with that too. You don't have to hide anything from me." He moved his hand lower, palming the obvious bulge through Katsuki's pants, and felt his son shudder, a broken moan escaping around his nipple.
Izuku worked the button of Katsuki's pants open with practiced ease, his fingers sliding the zipper down. He reached inside, past the waistband of his son's boxers, and wrapped his hand around the thick, hot length of Katsuki's cock. The familiar weight of it filled his palm, already slick with precum, and Izuku's own body responded — his pussy clenching, a fresh wave of warmth spreading through his thighs. He began to stroke slowly, his hand gliding along the shaft in a steady, unhurried rhythm, matching the pace of Katsuki's nursing.
"That's it," he whispered, his voice low and soothing. "Mommy's got you."
Katsuki's hips bucked into Izuku's grip, his nursing growing erratic as pleasure rippled through him. He pulled off the breast with a wet pop, gasping, "Mommy, feels good, feels so good—" before latching back on, desperate for the comfort of milk and touch at once. Izuku's thumb circled the head of Katsuki's cock, spreading the slick moisture, and his son's whole body trembled.
"I know, baby boy," Izuku cooed, his hand moving faster, firmer, the wet sounds of his stroking filling the quiet living room. "Mommy knows what her good boy needs. You just keep drinking your milk. Let Mommy take care of the rest."
Katsuki's free hand came up to grip Izuku's apron, twisting the fabric as his breathing turned ragged. His hips thrust into Izuku's fist, chasing the friction, and his mouth worked hungrily at his mother's breast, swallowing in quick, desperate gulps. Izuku felt the milk flowing freely, felt his son's need pulsing against his palm, and the intimacy of it — the complete, consuming dependency — made his heart ache with a dark, possessive tenderness.
"That's my baby," he whispered, his voice cracking. "My first baby. My good boy. You're never going to be replaced, Kacchan. Never. Mommy loves you so much."
Katsuki's body tensed, a low whine building in his throat as his climax approached. His nursing slowed, his mouth going slack around Izuku's nipple, and he pulled off just enough to gasp,
"Mommy, I'm gonna— I'm gonna—" Izuku's hand tightened around his cock, stroking him through the peak, and Katsuki came with a shuddering cry, hot cum spilling over Izuku's fingers and onto his own stomach. His body went limp in Izuku's lap, his head falling back onto the pillow, his breath coming in soft, broken pants. Izuku continued to stroke him gently, easing him down, his other hand cradling Katsuki's head as his son's eyes fluttered closed.
Izuku looked down at the mess on his fingers, at the cum cooling on his son's stomach, at the milk still beading at his own nipple. He brought his hand to his mouth without thinking, licking his fingers clean, tasting the salt and musk of his baby boy. His pussy was soaked, throbbing with a need he couldn't name, but he pushed it aside. This wasn't about him. This was about Kacchan. He pulled Katsuki closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and whispered, "Rest now, baby. Mommy's right here. Mommy's not going anywhere."
The bedroom was dark, the only sound Masaru's soft, even breathing beside him. Izuku lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his hands pressed against his chest. His breasts ached, swollen and heavy, the pressure building until it was all he could think about. The milk had been leaking steadily since the afternoon, soaking through his nightgown, leaving damp patches on the sheets beneath him. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but every movement sent a fresh throb through his tender nipples. His body was screaming for release, for the pull of a mouth that would drain the pressure and give him peace. His baby boy. Kacchan. The thought made his pussy clench, a warm pulse of need spreading through his thighs. He needed his son. His body needed his son.
Izuku slipped out of bed, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor as he padded down the hallway. The house was still, the only light a sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. He stopped outside Katsuki's door, his hand hovering over the knob. His heart pounded, a familiar mix of shame and desperate hunger twisting in his chest. He pushed the door open slowly, the hinges groaning softly in the quiet. The room was bathed in the dim glow of a nightlight, Katsuki's sleeping form curled beneath the sheets, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Izuku crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached out, brushing a strand of blond hair from his son's forehead. "Kacchan," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Baby boy, wake up. Mommy needs you."
Katsuki stirred, his eyes fluttering open, hazy with sleep. He blinked up at his mother, confusion softening into recognition, then into something hungrier. "Mommy?" His voice was thick, rough with sleep. "What's wrong?"
Izuku took his son's hand and pressed it against his breast, letting him feel the swollen heat, the tautness of his skin. "Mommy's tits hurt, baby boy," he breathed, his voice trembling with need. "They're so full. They need to be drained. They need you."
Katsuki's fingers curled against the fabric of his nightgown, his eyes darkening as he realized what his mother was asking. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, and pulled Izuku closer, pressing his face against his mother's chest. "Let me help, Mommy," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."
Izuku's breath hitched as Katsuki's hands found the hem of his nightgown, gripping the soft cotton. With a sharp tug, Katsuki ripped it open, the fabric tearing down the front, exposing Izuku's swollen breasts to the cool air of the room. Izuku gasped, his nipples hardening instantly, beading with fresh milk that glistened in the dim light. Katsuki's eyes locked onto them, his pupils dilated, his breathing growing ragged.
"So full," he whispered, his voice reverent. "So pretty, Mommy." He leaned forward, his hands coming up to cup Izuku's breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive nipples. A pearl of milk welled up, and Katsuki leaned down to catch it with his tongue, licking it away with a soft, possessive sound.
"Kacchan, please," Izuku whimpered, his head falling back, his hands gripping his son's shoulders. "They hurt. Please, baby, I need you to—" He couldn't finish the sentence. The need was too raw, too overwhelming.
Katsuki answered by pressing Izuku's breasts together, his palms squeezing until both nipples were aligned, side by side, a dual offering of milk and warmth. He lowered his head, opening his mouth wide, and took both nipples into his mouth at once. The sensation was electric, a shock of pleasure so sharp Izuku cried out, his hips bucking against the mattress. Katsuki sucked, hard and deep, drawing the milk from both breasts simultaneously, his tongue working between the two nipples, pulling and teasing until Izuku's vision went white.
"Oh, fuck— Kacchan—" Izuku's voice broke, his hands flying to Katsuki's head, threading through his spiky hair, holding him in place.
The pull of his son's mouth was overwhelming, the pressure releasing in waves of liquid relief that left him shaking. His milk flowed freely, streaming into Katsuki's throat, and his son swallowed greedily, never breaking suction, his cheeks hollowing with each desperate gulp. Izuku's head spun, the pleasure building in his chest, spreading through his body like wildfire. His pussy was soaked, dripping onto the sheets as he ground against the edge of the mattress, desperate for friction he couldn't give himself.
"Mommy's milk," Katsuki gasped between swallows, pulling off just enough to speak, his voice wrecked and worshipful. "Tastes so good, Mommy. Need all of it. Need every drop." He latched back on, his hands squeezing Izuku's breasts harder, forcing more milk into his waiting mouth.
Izuku sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks, his body trembling with the force of his release. Not an orgasm, but something deeper—a primal, maternal climax that left him boneless and gasping, his milk flowing in a steady stream as his baby boy drank his fill. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only feel the pull of his son's mouth, the ache in his chest slowly easing as Katsuki drained him.
Izuku's thighs were trembling, his nightgown bunched around his waist, his cunt exposed and soaking wet. He didn't care. He couldn't bring himself to care. All that mattered was the warm mouth on his chest, the soft sounds of his son swallowing, the way Katsuki's hands kneaded his breasts with a possessiveness that made his heart ache. He looked down, watching his milk disappear into his son's throat, and felt a surge of love so fierce it scared him. This was where he belonged. This was what his body was made for. His baby boy needed him, and he would give everything—every drop of milk, every inch of his body—until there was nothing left.
Katsuki finally pulled off, his lips glossy with milk, his eyes glassy and satisfied. He licked the last traces from his lips, then leaned forward to press a soft, tender kiss to his mother's nipple.
"Thank you, Mommy," he whispered, his voice small and grateful. "Thank you for your milk."
Izuku's breath still came in soft, shuddering waves as Katsuki's lips lingered on his nipple, the tender kiss sending aftershocks through his milk-drained chest. But his son's body told a different story—the hard length pressing against his thigh, the way Katsuki's hips twitched involuntarily, seeking friction. Izuku's eyes drifted down, taking in the thick, angry erection jutting from between Katsuki's legs, the tip already slick with a pearl of precum.
"Oh, baby boy," Izuku murmured, his voice thick with a knowing tenderness. "Mommy's milk helped your tummy, but your willy still hurts, doesn't it?" He reached down, his fingers brushing against the heated shaft, and Katsuki whimpered, his hips bucking into the touch. Izuku's own body responded—a warm pulse between his thighs, his pussy clenching around nothing, soaking through his ruined nightgown.
"Mommy," Katsuki whined, his voice high, childlike, desperate. "It hurts, Mommy. It's so hard. Make it better, please."
Izuku's heart swelled with a dark, possessive love. He shifted, easing Katsuki back onto the pillows, and then, with slow, deliberate movements, he rid himself of the torn nightgown, letting the shredded fabric fall away until he was completely bare before his son. His pregnant belly curved beneath his breasts, a soft, round evidence of the life growing inside him, but he paid it no mind. All that mattered was the need in his baby boy's eyes.
He lay back on the bed, positioning himself so his breasts were aligned with Katsuki's aching cock. His hands came up, pressing his tits together, the soft mounds of flesh squeezing against each other, creating a warm, tight channel of skin. Milk still beaded at his nipples, a thin trickle of white that glistened in the dim light. He looked up at Katsuki, his eyes wet with devotion, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Put your hard willy between mommy's tits, baby. Fuck them. Please, Kacchan. Mommy needs to feel you."
Katsuki's breath caught, his red eyes wide and glassy. He moved without thought, guided by instinct and hunger, crawling forward until his cock rested against the cleft of Izuku's breasts. The sensation was electric—warm, soft, wet with milk and sweat. He pushed forward, his cock sliding between the plush mounds, the head emerging at Izuku's chin, smearing precum across his mother's lips.
Izuku moaned, his hands pressing his breasts tighter around his son's shaft, creating a perfect, slick tunnel. "Yes, baby boy," he breathed, his tongue darting out to taste the salty bead at the tip of Katsuki's cock. "Fuck mommy's tits. Use them. Mommy wants to feel you cum all over them."
Katsuki's hips began to move, a slow, experimental thrust that deepened as he found his rhythm. His cock slid through the valley of Izuku's breasts, the friction building, the milk lubricating the movement until it was slick and easy. He gripped Izuku's shoulders, anchoring himself, and fucked into the softness with increasing urgency, his breathing ragged, his moans turning into broken cries of "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy."
Izuku's hands worked in concert with his son's rhythm, squeezing and releasing, guiding each thrust. The weight of Katsuki's cock between his breasts, the heat of it, the sight of his baby boy using his body with such desperate need—it made his head spin. His pussy ached, dripping onto the sheets, but he didn't reach for himself. This wasn't about his pleasure. This was about giving his son everything.
"That's it, baby," Izuku whispered, his voice a low, reverent hum. "Mommy's tits feel good, don't they? Take what you need. Take all of it. Mommy's here. Mommy's always here."
Katsuki's thrusts grew frantic, his hips slapping against Izuku's chest, the wet sound of skin against milk-slicked flesh filling the room. His head fell back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as his climax built, hot and unstoppable. "Mommy, I'm gonna— I'm gonna—"
"Cum for Mommy," Izuku commanded, his voice fierce with love. He pressed his breasts together with all his strength, tilting his chin down to catch the head of Katsuki's cock with his lips. "Cum in mommy's mouth, baby boy. Let me taste you."
Katsuki cried out, his body convulsing as he came, hot ropes of cum shooting from his cock, the first spurts landing on Izuku's waiting tongue, the rest painting his breasts and throat in thick, white ribbons. Izuku swallowed greedily, his mouth closing around the tip, sucking the last drops from his son's spent cock as Katsuki collapsed forward, trembling and gasping, his face buried in Izuku's neck.
Izuku held him, his hands stroking Katsuki's sweat-damp hair, his own body humming with a satisfaction that went beyond pleasure. He pressed a kiss to the top of his son's head, tasting the salt of his skin, and whispered, "Mommy's good boy. Mommy's perfect baby. You never have to worry about the new baby, Kacchan. You'll always be my first. You'll always have all of me."
Katsuki's breathing slowed, his body relaxing into sleep as Izuku's words wrapped around him like a blanket. Izuku lay there, milk and cum drying on his skin, his son secure in his arms, and felt a peace he hadn't known in months. This was where he was meant to be.
This was his purpose.