The days blurred into a single, endless rut.
They fucked in the kitchen, Izuku bent over the counter with flour still dusting his forearms, Katsuki driving into him from behind hard enough to rattle the spice rack. They fucked in the hallway, Izuku shoved against the wall with his legs wrapped around Katsuki's waist, the family photos rattling with every thrust. They fucked on Masaru's leather sofa, Izuku on his back with his pregnant belly rising like a monument between them, Katsuki's cock splitting his mother's cunt while Izuku squirted across the dark cushions until they gleamed. They fucked in the laundry room, against the rumbling dryer, Izuku's moans swallowed by clanking metal. They fucked in Katsuki's childhood bedroom, surrounded by old posters and trophies, Izuku on all fours on the floor while Katsuki mounted him from behind and buried his face in his mother's green curls, breathing him in like oxygen.
Every surface. Every room. The house reeked of sex and Izuku's sweet, musky slick. The carpets were ruined. The furniture was ruined. Izuku's body ached in ways he hadn't known were possible—his thighs burning, his cunt sore and swollen, his asshole tender from Katsuki's relentless claim. His tits leaked milk constantly now, dripping down his chest whenever Katsuki's mouth wasn't latched on, leaving white streaks across his belly and the floor wherever he went.
On the fourth day, Izuku limped to the phone and hired a cleaning service. "Deep clean," he said, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Every room. The whole house." The woman on the other end quoted him a price that made his eyes water, but he paid it without hesitation. The team arrived the morning of Masaru's return, wearing masks against the smell, and Izuku watched them work from the bathroom doorway, too exhausted to feel shame.
Now, the house was pristine again. The leather sofa gleamed. The carpets smelled of fresh shampoo. The walls had been scrubbed. But Izuku's body remembered every single place Katsuki had taken him, and the soreness in his muscles was a sweet, thrumming ache that made him want to weep with gratitude.
The bathwater was warm, almost hot, and Izuku had added lavender oil until the steam itself was fragrant. His pregnant belly rose above the waterline, round and tight and heavy, and Katsuki was draped against his chest with his head pillowed on Izuku's tits. The boy's spiky hair was damp and soft for once, and Izuku's fingers moved through it slowly, stroking, soothing. Katsuki's breathing was deep and even, his body loose with exhaustion, his cock soft and spent against Izuku's thigh under the water.
"We're not moving for a week," Izuku murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "My body's done, baby boy."
"Mine too," Katsuki mumbled against his chest. His lips brushed Izuku's nipple, but it was accidental, lazy. "Can't feel my fucking legs."
"Good." Izuku traced the shell of Katsuki's ear with his fingertip. "We needed this. Just… this."
The silence stretched, comfortable and warm. The water lapped softly against the sides of the tub. Outside, rain tapped against the bathroom window, a gentle counterpoint to their breathing. Izuku felt Katsuki's fingers drift up and rest on the curve of his belly, right where the baby was doing slow, sleepy rolls inside him.
Katsuki's voice, when it came, was small. Smaller than Izuku had heard it since all of this started. "Mommy?"
"Hmm?"
"You're not gonna…" Katsuki's throat worked. His fingers pressed a little harder against Izuku's belly. "You're not gonna do any of this with him, right? With my brother. When he's born."
Izuku's hand stilled in Katsuki's hair. The question hit him in the chest like a physical blow—not because it was unexpected, but because he could hear everything beneath it. The terror. The jealousy. The desperate, childlike need to be the only one. His baby boy was still so afraid of being replaced.
The tears came before Izuku could stop them, hot and silent, sliding down his cheeks and dripping into Katsuki's damp hair. His throat closed up so tight he couldn't speak for a long moment, could only hold his baby boy harder against his chest, pressing Katsuki's face into the soft swell of his tits where his heart was beating hard and fast and broken.
"No," he finally managed, and the word came out wet and cracked. "No, baby. Never."
Katsuki went still against him. The kind of still that meant he was listening with his whole body, every muscle tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"This is only for you, Kacchan." Izuku's fingers curled tighter in his son's hair, not pulling, just holding. Anchoring. "This is special. You're special. Nobody else gets this. Nobody else ever will."
"Not even Dad?" Katsuki's voice was barely a whisper, muffled against Izuku's chest. Small. So fucking small it made Izuku's chest ache.
Izuku closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the top of Katsuki's head. "Not even your father." The words came out steady even though his heart was pounding. "I stopped having sex with him the night I first came to your room, baby boy. The night I took you in my mouth. That was the last time anyone else touched me."
Katsuki pulled back so fast water sloshed over the edge of the tub. His red eyes were wide, searching Izuku's face like he was looking for the lie. "You—" His voice cracked. "You stopped? With Dad? For real?"
"For real." Izuku cupped Katsuki's cheek in his palm, his thumb brushing away a stray droplet of bathwater. Or maybe it was a tear. It was getting hard to tell. "My body belongs to you now, Kacchan. Only you. This pussy is yours. This ass is yours. These tits are yours." He let his hand drift down, pressing Katsuki's palm against the swell of his belly. "Everything. All of it. I'm your mother and I'm yours, and that's not changing."
"Holy shit." Katsuki's breath came out in a rush, his fingers spreading wide over Izuku's belly. His cock twitched against Izuku's thigh—a reflexive little jump—but he didn't move to do anything about it. He was too stunned, too overwhelmed. "Mommy, I didn't—I thought you were still—"
"I wasn't going to share myself between you," Izuku said softly. "That wouldn't be fair. You needed all of me, and I wanted to give you all of me. So I did."
"And the baby?" Katsuki's hand pressed a little harder against Izuku's belly, and right on cue, the little one kicked—a sharp flutter against Katsuki's palm. Katsuki flinched but didn't pull away.
Izuku covered Katsuki's hand with his own, pressing it back down. "The baby gets my milk. That's what he needs from me. But you—" He leaned in, his lips brushing Katsuki's forehead. "You're welcome to feed too, Kacchan. Whenever your baby brother nurses. I have more than enough milk for both my babies. You know that by now."
Katsuki didn't answer with words. He turned his face into Izuku's chest and pressed his nose into the soft swell of his mother's tit, breathing in deep like he was trying to memorize the smell of him. His arms wrapped around Izuku's ribs under the water, squeezing tight, and when he spoke his voice came out muffled and wet and raw.
"I love you so fucking much, Mommy." The words tumbled out like he'd been holding them behind his teeth for years. "More than anyone. More than anything. I don't—I don't want anyone else to ever have you. Not Dad. Not the baby. Just me. I wanna be the one who takes care of you forever."
Izuku's heart stuttered in his chest, a painful, beautiful squeeze that made his eyes sting. He stroked through Katsuki's damp hair, his fingers trembling. "Oh, baby boy."
"I mean it." Katsuki pulled back just enough to look up at him, those red eyes blazing even through the exhaustion. His jaw was set but his lower lip trembled. "I wish I could marry you, Mommy. I wish you could be my wife and I could be your husband and we could just—just be together. Like that. Forever."
The tears spilled over, running hot down Izuku's cheeks and dripping into the bathwater. His chest ached with a love so big it felt like it might crack him open. "Kacchan." He cupped his son's face in both hands, thumbs brushing the sharp lines of his cheekbones. "I wish that too. More than you'll ever know."
"Yeah?" Katsuki's voice cracked on the single syllable. Hopeful. So fucking hopeful it made Izuku want to scream at the world for not letting him give his baby boy everything he deserved.
"Yeah." Izuku pressed a kiss to Katsuki's forehead, lingering there, his lips warm against his son's skin. "We can't get married, baby. But I can promise you the next best thing. I'm yours, Kacchan. Only yours. Forever. No one else touches me. No one else gets this. Just you." He pulled back and met Katsuki's eyes. "Let me be your mommy-wife. Let me take care of you the way no one else ever could."
Katsuki's breath hitched. His fingers dug into Izuku's back, gripping hard, and then his gaze dropped to Izuku's chest—to the pale swell of his tits, the puffy dark pink nipples already beading with milk just from the proximity of his baby boy's mouth. "Can I—" He swallowed. "Mommy, can I please—"
"Always, baby boy." Izuku shifted in the water, settling back against the curve of the tub and guiding Katsuki's head to his chest. "Whenever you need me. I've got so much milk for you, Kacchan. All for you."
Katsuki latched on instantly, his mouth sealing over Izuku's nipple with a desperate, hungry sound that vibrated through Izuku's whole body. The suction was strong, practiced now after days of nursing, and Izuku felt the immediate answering tug deep in his breast as his milk let down—that sweet, almost painful rush of release. Katsuki groaned against his skin, his eyes fluttering closed, and his whole body went limp against Izuku as he suckled.
Izuku cradled his son against his chest, one arm wrapped around Katsuki's broad shoulders, the other hand still stroking through his hair. The water lapped gently around them. The rain kept tapping at the window. Katsuki's mouth worked rhythmically at his breast, and Izuku could feel every pull, every swallow, every small needy sound his baby boy made as he drank. His other breast leaked too, milk dripping warm down his belly and into the bathwater, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered except the boy in his arms.
"My Kacchan," Izuku whispered, pressing his lips to the crown of Katsuki's head. "My most important baby. My everything." And he held him like that—like Katsuki was the whole world and always had been, the baby in his belly just a distant second, a footnote to the love he felt for his firstborn.
The front door opened downstairs.
Izuku heard it—the familiar click of the lock, the soft shuffle of Masaru's shoes on the entryway tile, the pause as he hung up his coat. His husband was home. The business trip had ended a day early, apparently. Or maybe Izuku had lost track of the days entirely. It was hard to tell anymore. Hard to care, really, when Katsuki's mouth was still sealed around his nipple, suckling in slow, dreamy pulls, his body heavy and warm against Izuku's chest in the cooling bathwater.
Katsuki didn't react. His eyes stayed closed, his lashes dark against his cheeks, his lips working rhythmically as he nursed. One hand rested on Izuku's belly, the other had drifted up to cup Izuku's other breast, fingers kneading the soft flesh idly the way a much younger child might. Milk beaded at that nipple too, dripping into the bathwater in thin white threads. He was so deep in his regressed state, so completely gone into that warm place where he was just Mommy's baby, that the sound of his father's return didn't even register.
"Masaru's home," Izuku murmured, but he didn't move. Didn't shift to cover himself. Didn't gently detach Katsuki or reach for a towel. His hand kept stroking through his son's damp hair, slow and steady, as the footsteps came up the stairs.
"Mommy's here," Katsuki mumbled against Izuku's breast, his voice thick and sleepy. "Don't care." His tongue lapped lazily at the nipple, coaxing another thin stream of milk, and he swallowed with a soft, satisfied sound. His fingers squeezed Izuku's other tit, and more milk dribbled down his knuckles into the water.
The bathroom door was already half-open. Izuku hadn't bothered to close it. There hadn't seemed to be any point. So when Masaru appeared in the doorway, still in his traveling suit, his briefcase in one hand and a tired smile frozen on his face, there was nothing between him and the scene in the bathtub. His wife, naked and pregnant, cradling their eighteen-year-old son against his chest. Their son, mouth fastened to Izuku's tit like an infant, nursing without shame.
Masaru's glasses slipped down his nose. He didn't push them back up. "Izuku?" His voice came out strangled, caught somewhere between confusion and something that hadn't yet decided to be horror. "What... what's going on?"
"Welcome home, dear." Izuku's voice was calm. Utterly, perfectly calm. He didn't flinch. Didn't blush. His hand kept moving through Katsuki's hair in those same slow, soothing strokes. "Your trip ended early. I'm sorry, I lost track of the time. Katsuki was feeling a little clingy tonight, so I thought a bath would help."
"Clingy." Masaru repeated the word like it was in a foreign language. His eyes were fixed on Katsuki's mouth, on the way their son's lips sealed around Izuku's nipple, on the tiny dribble of milk that escaped the corner of his mouth and slid down his chin. "Izuku, he's... he's eighteen. He's nursing. From you."
"He's always been a mama's boy." Izuku smiled down at Katsuki, and the smile was genuinely tender, genuinely maternal, with no edge of guilt or defensiveness. "You know how he gets. The baby's been making him anxious. This helps him settle. It's perfectly natural."
Katsuki's eyes cracked open, just barely—red slits that flicked toward his father with something close to annoyance. "Dad," he said, the word muffled around Izuku's nipple. "Kinda busy." Then his eyes closed again, and he gave a particularly hard suck that made Izuku's breath catch, made his milk let down in a sudden rush that Katsuki gulped eagerly. His hand on Izuku's other breast squeezed again, and Izuku's nipple sprayed a thin arc of milk across the surface of the bathwater.
"See?" Izuku cupped the back of Katsuki's head, pressing him closer. "He's just a baby. My baby. Nothing to worry about." He looked up at Masaru, his green eyes soft and untroubled. "You must be exhausted from the trip. Why don't you go get some rest? We'll be out soon."
Masaru stood in the doorway for a long moment, his face cycling through expressions too fast to track. His knuckles were white around the handle of his briefcase. He adjusted his glasses with his free hand—a jerky, automatic gesture. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "I... I think I need a drink."
"There's scotch in the study," Izuku said pleasantly. "I'll make you something to eat in a little while. Just let me get this one settled first." He looked back down at Katsuki, who had returned to slow, sleepy nursing, his whole body limp and trusting against his mother's chest. Izuku's fingers traced the shell of his ear, gentle and reverent. "He's had a long few days."
Masaru backed out of the doorway. His footsteps retreated down the hall, slower than they'd come, with a hesitation that hadn't been there before. The study door closed. The house settled back into silence except for the rain and the soft, rhythmic sounds of Katsuki suckling at his mother's breast.
Izuku felt it before he saw it—the way Katsuki's breathing changed against his chest, going from slow and sleepy to something shallower, needier. The mouth at his nipple faltered, then pulled back just enough for Katsuki to press his face harder into the soft swell of Izuku's breast. Under the water, Katsuki's hips shifted. Once. Twice. A small, unconscious rocking motion that made the bathwater lap higher against Izuku's belly.
"Kacchan." Izuku's voice stayed soft, the same voice he'd used when Katsuki was small and feverish and needed to be coaxed into taking medicine. His hand stilled in Katsuki's hair. "Is something else awake, baby boy?"
Katsuki didn't answer with words. He pressed closer, and Izuku felt it then—the hot, rigid length of his son's cock pressed against his thigh through the water. Throbbing. Insistent. Already leaking enough that Izuku could feel the slick smear of precum against his skin even submerged.
"Oh, my sweet boy." Izuku's heart squeezed with something too big to name—love and hunger and a fierce, possessive tenderness that made his own cunt clench despite the exhaustion screaming through his muscles. "Does my baby need Mommy to suckle out his milk too? Hm?" He cupped Katsuki's jaw, tilting his face up so he could meet those blown-out red eyes. "You've been so good for me. Letting me rest. But your poor cock is so hard. It must hurt, doesn't it?"
Katsuki nodded, a jerky, desperate motion that made him look so young it cracked something open in Izuku's chest. His jaw was tight, his eyes wet, and when he spoke his voice came out small and rough. "Hurts, Mommy. Need—need you to make it better."
"Of course you do." Izuku pressed a kiss to Katsuki's forehead, then another to the bridge of his nose. "Mommy's going to take care of you, baby. But first you have to let go of Mommy's tit so I can get to what really needs me. Can you do that?"
It took Katsuki a long moment—his jaw worked like he was physically fighting his own mouth to release the nipple—but finally he pulled back. The sound was obscene in the quiet bathroom: a wet, lewd pop that echoed off the tiles, followed by a thin string of milk and saliva that stretched between his lower lip and Izuku's nipple before breaking. Milk still beaded at the tip, dripping down Izuku's belly in slow white rivulets.
Katsuki stood. Water sluiced off his body in sheets, and Izuku's breath caught at the sight of him—broad shoulders, narrow waist, the tight ladder of his abs flexing as he rose. And his cock. God, his cock. Ten inches of thick, uncut flesh jutting up toward his belly button, the flushed head already slick with precum, the heavy curve of it making Izuku's mouth water. His balls hung full and low underneath, visibly churning with the load Izuku knew was waiting for him.
"Look at you." Izuku shifted forward in the tub, his pregnant belly brushing against Katsuki's thighs, and reached up to wrap both hands around the base of that massive cock. He couldn't close his fingers all the way. He never could. "So big. So perfect. Mommy's going to worship this cock, baby boy. Every inch." He pressed his lips to the wet tip, kissing it with the same reverence he'd once used to kiss Katsuki's scraped knees. "Starting here."
He worked his way down, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along the veined underside of Katsuki's shaft, his tongue darting out to trace each ridge and pulse point. Katsuki's whole body shuddered above him, his hands fisting at his sides, and Izuku murmured praise against his skin—"such a good boy, so hard for Mommy, you taste so good, baby"—before finally reaching the base and nuzzling into the heavy weight of his son's balls. He took one into his mouth, then the other, sucking gently, rolling the hot flesh on his tongue the way he knew Katsuki liked.
"Fuck, Mommy—" Katsuki's voice broke high and desperate, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
The bathroom door swung all the way open.
Masaru stood frozen in the doorway, still in his traveling suit, still holding the glass of scotch Izuku had told him to pour. His face had gone a color Izuku had never seen on his husband before—something between ash and sickness. His glasses had slipped completely down his nose now, and he made no move to push them up. The scotch trembled in his grip, sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"I—Izuku?" His voice cracked on the name. His eyes were fixed on the scene in front of him: his pregnant wife on his knees in the bathtub, mouth sealed around their son's balls, both of them naked and wet and utterly, completely unashamed.
Izuku pulled off Katsuki's balls with a soft, wet sound. He didn't scramble. Didn't cover himself. Didn't look away. He simply turned his head toward his husband, one hand still wrapped around the base of Katsuki's enormous cock, and smiled. The same smile he gave Masaru every evening when he came home from work. Warm. Pleasant. Utterly unremarkable.
"Oh, Masaru." Izuku gave Katsuki's cock a slow stroke, up and down, the precum making the slide slick and audible. "I'm sorry, dear. Katsuki's having a difficult moment. He really needs his mommy right now." Another stroke. Katsuki's hips bucked into his grip, and Izuku tightened his fingers just enough to make his son groan. "Would you mind ordering pizza for the three of us? The spicy one Katsuki likes, from that place on Fourth Street."
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned back to Katsuki's cock, opened his mouth, and swallowed it.
All ten inches, right to the root, in one smooth, practiced motion. His throat bulged visibly around the girth, the column of his neck distending as Katsuki's cock head pushed past his gag reflex and lodged deep. Izuku gagged—a wet, choking sound that filled the bathroom—and kept going. His nose pressed into the trimmed blond curls at the base. His eyes watered. His jaw ached. And he held himself there, throat convulsing around his son's cock, while Katsuki's hands finally came up to fist in his green curls.
"Fuck yeah, Mommy." Katsuki's voice had changed—deeper now, rougher, the age-regressed edge sharpening into something older and hungrier. He rolled his hips, grinding deeper into Izuku's throat, and Izuku moaned around him. "Take it. Take all of it." Then Katsuki looked up, meeting his father's shell-shocked gaze with a lazy, almost bored expression. His hips never stopped moving. "Hey, Dad. Can you get the spicy pizza? The one with the chili flakes? Mommy said he'd order but he's kinda busy."
Katsuki pulled back, dragging his cock out of Izuku's throat until just the tip rested on his mother's swollen lips. Izuku gasped for air, spit and precum dripping down his chin, his green eyes glazed with devotion. Then Katsuki shoved forward again, burying himself to the hilt, fucking into Izuku's face with a wet, violent thrust that made Izuku's whole body lurch.
"And extra cheese," Katsuki added, like this was a normal conversation. Like his mother wasn't choking on his cock two feet away. Like his father wasn't watching his wife's throat get reamed by their son. "The good kind. None of that cheap shit."
Masaru didn't move. The scotch glass trembled in his grip, condensation dripping down his fingers like a cold sweat. His mouth opened around words that wouldn't come. His wife's throat was bulging around their son's cock. The wet, obscene sounds of Izuku gagging and slobbering filled the bathroom, punctuated by Katsuki's low grunts of pleasure. And neither of them—not his wife, not his son—looked even slightly concerned that he was standing right there.
Katsuki pulled out with a wet, sucking pop that echoed off the tile. Izuku gasped, a long strand of thick spit and precum connecting his swollen lips to the flushed head of Katsuki's cock. His green eyes were glassy, unfocused, his face a wreck of smeared fluids. And still he smiled—that same gentle, maternal smile he'd worn while bandaging scraped knees and packing school lunches.
"What's wrong, Dad?" Katsuki's voice was casual. Cocky. The age regression had vanished, replaced by the sharp-eyed teenager who captained the basketball team and talked back to teachers. He didn't bother covering himself. His cock jutted out, wet and throbbing, still aimed directly at his mother's open mouth. "You look like you've never seen a guy get his dick sucked before."
"You—" Masaru's voice cracked. The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the tile, scotch spreading in a dark puddle around the shards. He didn't look down. "That's your mother."
"Yeah." Katsuki rolled his hips forward, dragging the slick head of his cock across Izuku's parted lips, smearing precum over the swollen flesh. Izuku's tongue darted out to lick it clean, a soft, eager sound escaping his throat. "I know who he is."
"Stop. Stop this right now." Masaru's voice pitched higher, cracking into something raw and desperate. His hands came up, trembling, like he might physically pull them apart. "Izuku, get up. Get away from him. This is—this is insane. He's our son. He's a child."
"He's not a child." Izuku's voice was hoarse from the throat-fucking, but still calm. Still that same soft, reasonable tone he used to discuss grocery lists and parent-teacher conferences. He didn't get up. He didn't move away from Katsuki's cock. His hand stayed wrapped around the thick base, stroking slowly, rhythmically, the wet slide of his palm filling the silence between words. "He's eighteen. And he needs me. Our baby boy needs his mommy."
"Needs you?" Masaru's laugh was a broken, hysterical thing. His glasses had fallen completely off his face now, landing somewhere in the scotch puddle, and without them his brown eyes looked naked, exposed, filled with a horror that was finally crystallizing into something sharper. "He's fucking your throat, Izuku. He's—" He doubled over suddenly, one hand slapping against the doorframe to steady himself, his breath coming in ragged, heaving gasps. "Oh god. Oh god, I'm going to be sick."
"Spicy pizza," Katsuki said, like his father wasn't having a complete breakdown three feet away. His hand fisted tighter in Izuku's green curls, yanking his mother's head back until Izuku's throat was bared, vulnerable, the column of it still visibly stretched from accommodating ten inches of cock. "Don't forget."
Then he shoved forward again, and this time there was nothing gentle about it. The wet, meaty sound of his cock ramming into Izuku's throat was obscene—a thick, choking gurgle that made Masaru jerk like he'd been electrocuted. Katsuki didn't stop at the root. He pulled back and slammed in again, harder, his balls slapping wetly against Izuku's chin. And again. Harder. The violence of it made the bathwater slosh over the tub's edge, made Izuku's small hands fly up to grip Katsuki's thighs for balance.
Izuku moaned. Deep and guttural and drenched in pleasure, his throat vibrating around the massive cock buried inside it. His eyes rolled back. His thighs squeezed together beneath the water, his pregnant belly trembling with each brutal thrust. When Katsuki yanked his head back by the hair, forcing him off the cock just long enough to gasp a single ragged breath, Izuku's voice came out wrecked and worshipful: "Yes, baby. Fuck Mommy's throat. Use it. It's yours."
"Izuku!" Masaru's scream shattered the humid air. He was shaking all over now, his neat traveling suit rumpled and stained, his face blotchy red and white. He looked like a man watching his entire world collapse in real time. "What is wrong with you? What is wrong with both of you? This is—this is—"
"Family," Katsuki finished. He pulled out again, slow this time, letting his father watch every inch of wet, veined flesh emerge from his wife's stretched lips. Izuku's tongue followed it, lapping at the underside, moaning like he was being deprived of something sacred. "This is family, Dad. You wouldn't get it."
"I'm calling the police." Masaru fumbled for his phone, his hands so unsteady he nearly dropped it twice before managing to pull it from his pocket. "I'm calling someone. I'm—"
"And tell them what?" Katsuki didn't slow down. His hips kept pumping, a lazy, cruel rhythm that pushed his cockhead past Izuku's lips and pulled back before the gag reflex could trigger. Teasing. Owning. "That your wife's sucking my cock? That your son's got a bigger dick than you ever did?" He laughed, short and mean. "Go ahead. Tell them. See what happens."
Izuku pulled off just long enough to speak, his voice scraped raw and dripping with devotion. "Kacchan's right, dear. This is private family business. There's no need to involve anyone else." He pressed a kiss to the leaking tip of Katsuki's cock, then another, then opened his mouth wide in silent, eager offering. "Now, if you'll excuse us, my baby boy still needs to finish."
Katsuki didn't make him wait. He grabbed Izuku's head with both hands, fingers twisted tight in sweat-damp green curls, and fucked into his mother's throat with a violence that made the bathroom echo. The wet slap of his balls against Izuku's chin. The choked, rhythmic gagging that Izuku didn't fight—welcomed. The animal grunts tearing from Katsuki's chest as he used his mother's face like a toy. Harder. Faster. Deeper. The bathwater churned and splashed, soaking the floor, soaking the scattered shards of broken glass.
Masaru's phone clattered to the tile. He didn't pick it up. He stood frozen, watching his pregnant wife get face-fucked by their teenage son, watching Izuku's hands come up to cradle his own swollen belly—protecting the unborn child inside while his firstborn destroyed his throat. A thin line of drool spilled from Izuku's stretched lips, dripping down his chin and onto his breasts, onto the belly where his second son grew, and still he didn't push Katsuki away. Still he moaned like this was the only thing he'd ever wanted.
"Gonna cum, Mommy." Katsuki's voice had gone ragged, the cockiness cracking around the edges. His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as he chased his orgasm. "Gonna—fuck—gonna cum down your throat—"
Izuku's only response was to grab Katsuki's hips and pull him closer, deeper, forcing the entire length into his throat and holding it there. His nose pressed flat against the trimmed blond curls. His throat bulged obscenely. His eyes streamed tears, but they were fixed on Katsuki's face with an adoration that was unmistakable—worshipful and hungry and utterly, devastatingly maternal.
Katsuki came with a roar that shook the bathroom, his cock pulsing violently as he emptied himself directly into his mother's stomach. Izuku swallowed around him, throat milking every last drop, his own body shuddering through a climax that sent a fresh gush of squirt spraying into the bathwater. The mingled sounds of Katsuki's release and Izuku's choked, desperate moans filled the room, obscene and sacred and completely unbroken.
Katsuki didn't soften. After the last thick spasm of cum had left his balls and flooded his mother's belly, he pulled back with a wet, sucking pop that echoed off the tile like a challenge. Izuku's lips—swollen, glazed with spit and seed—clung to the flare of his cockhead for a heartbeat before releasing. A long strand of white clung to his chin, stretching, breaking, dripping into the bathwater. Izuku's throat worked, swallowing, but his mouth stayed open, a wet cavern of devotion. And Katsuki's cock stayed hard. Throbbing. Thick with veins that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, the head flushed deep purple and gleaming with his mother's spit.
Katsuki didn't look down at Izuku. He kept his eyes on Masaru. A slow, lazy smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth—a smirk that said he'd won something his father never would. His chest heaved, sweat beading on his pecs, running down the washboard ridges of his stomach. The hand still fisted in Izuku's green curls tightened, tilting his mother's head back, exposing the long line of his throat where the bulge of Katsuki's cock had been visible moments before. "Hey, Dad. You see that? He swallowed everything. Didn't waste a drop."
Masaru's mouth opened. Closed. The shattered glass crunched under his shoes when he shifted his weight, but he didn't look down. His eyes were locked on the thick, wet cock jutting from his son's groin, on the way it bobbed with each ragged breath Katsuki took. On the way his wife—his pregnant, soft-spoken, cupcake-baking wife—knelt in the bathwater, mouth hanging open, waiting for more. "You're sick. Both of you. This is—"
"Mommy?" Katsuki cut him off, ignoring his father's sputtering. His voice dropped, roughening with that age-regressed edge that made the word sound like a plea and a command all at once. He tugged Izuku's head back further, forcing eye contact with those glazed green eyes. "Can I show Dad the gift you gave me? The one nobody else gets?"
Izuku's tongue swept over his lower lip, smearing the slick mess there. His voice came out wrecked, a ruined rasp that couldn't hold a note of modesty. "Of course, baby boy. Show him. Show him what's yours." His hand drifted from Katsuki's thigh to his own belly, cradling the heavy swell where his second son grew. His other hand reached back, fingers finding the cleft of his ass beneath the water's surface. He spread himself open without shame, the tight ring of muscle visible for a split second before the water lapped over it. "Make Mommy squirt everywhere again, Kacchan. Want him to see what you do to me."
Katsuki didn't waste a second. He released Izuku's hair and slid off the tub's edge, water splashing over the side in a warm tide that soaked into the broken glass and scotch on the floor. He moved behind Izuku in the bath, settling his weight on the submerged bench, his legs bracketing his mother's thick thighs. His hands found Izuku's hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh where his waist flared into the heavy curve of his ass. He pulled Izuku up and back, chest to back, the swell of his mother's pregnant belly pressing into his forearms. The head of his cock nudged against the cleft of Izuku's ass, sliding through the slickness of bathwater and something thicker—the lube from their earlier marathon, still coating Izuku's hole.
"Watch this, Dad." Katsuki's voice had lost the age-regressed tremor. It was pure teenage arrogance now, sharp and cruel. He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock catching on the rim of Izuku's asshole. "This is my hole. Mommy gave it to me. It's mine, and nobody else gets to touch it. Not you. Not the fucking baby. Not anyone." He shoved forward in one brutal, practiced thrust, and Izuku's ass swallowed him to the root.
The sound was obscene—a wet, sucking squelch that filled the bathroom as Katsuki's ten inches buried themselves in his mother's tight, claim passage. Izuku's back arched, a raw, guttural moan tearing from his ravaged throat. His hands flew to the edges of the tub, gripping the porcelain with white-knuckled desperation. His inner muscles clamped down on the invasion, fluttering, milking, so accustomed to being filled by this cock that they welcomed it like a homecoming. His belly tightened, the unborn child inside him shifting against the sudden pressure.
"That's right." Katsuki's lips brushed Izuku's ear, but his eyes stayed on Masaru. "He's never let anyone in here. Has he, Mommy? Not Dad. Not doctors. Nobody. Just me. Tell him." He pulled back, dragging his cock out until just the tip stretched the rim, then slammed back in. Harder. The water churned around them, waves lapping over the tub's side. "Tell him whose hole this is."
"Yours." Izuku's voice broke on the word, dissolving into a sob that was half-plea, half-worship. His hips bucked back to meet Katsuki's thrust, his ass clenching greedily around the cock spearing him open. "It's yours, Kacchan. Only yours. Mommy's asshole belongs to you. Nobody else. Never anyone else." His head lolled back onto Katsuki's shoulder, green eyes rolling toward Masaru with a glazed, apologetic look that didn't match the words spilling from his lips. "I'm sorry, Masaru. I couldn't give you this. It was always supposed to be for our baby. For my firstborn."
Then Katsuki started to really fuck him. There was no build-up, no gentleness. Just the piston-pump of his hips, the thick, veined length of his cock ramming into Izuku's ass with a rhythm that made the bathwater slosh and spray. Each thrust forced a choked cry from Izuku's throat, his small frame jerking in Katsuki's grip. The wet slap of Katsuki's balls against his mother's soaked skin echoed off the tile, a percussion to the ragged grunts tearing from the boy's chest. Izuku's tits bounced with the force of it, the dark pink nipples hard and leaking thin streams of milk that mixed with the churning water.
"Look at him, Dad." Katsuki's words were punctuated by thrusts, each one driving deeper, harder. "Look at what I do to him. You ever see him like this? Ever?" He bit down on the curve of Izuku's neck, sucking a dark mark into the freckled skin. "He's gonna squirt for me now. Watch." His hand slid from Izuku's hip to his belly, pressing down on the swell as his cock pounded into the tight heat of his mother's ass. "Cum for me, Mommy. Squirt everywhere. Show Dad what he's never gotten."
Izuku shattered. The orgasm hit him like a physical blow—his whole body locked up, back arching so hard Katsuki had to wrap an arm around his chest to hold him steady. A sharp, ragged wail tore from his throat, and then the first gush of clear fluid sprayed from between his thighs, shooting over the tub's edge in a thick stream that splattered against Masaru's shoes. It was nothing like a normal orgasm. It was a deluge, a fountain, jetting out of him in pulsing waves that kept coming as Katsuki continued to thrust. The water around them turned cloudy with it, and the scent—musky, sweet, utterly raw—filled the humid air.
Masaru stumbled back. His feet slipped on the wet tile, and he caught himself against the doorframe, eyes wide behind the glasses he'd already lost. A strangled sound escaped his chest—something between a sob and a scream. He'd never seen Izuku do this. In eighteen years of marriage, he'd never once been allowed near his wife's asshole, had never once seen him squirt. And now it was spraying across the bathroom floor, coating his son's thighs, dripping down the pregnant belly of the man he'd shared a bed and a life with. "Stop it. Stop it right now. Izuku, please—this isn't you. This isn't—"
"This is exactly me." Izuku's voice was wrecked but steady, the words riding on the tail of another gush of squirt that splashed over Masaru's feet. His hand came up to tangle in Katsuki's hair, holding his son's mouth against his neck as Katsuki bit and sucked and thrust. His inner walls clenched down on the cock still pounding into him, milking it, demanding more. "This is what I am. Kacchan's mommy. His slut. His hole to use." He moaned, hips rolling shamelessly back into the thrusts, another orgasm building in the tight coil of his belly. "I'm sorry you never got this. But it wasn't yours to have."
"You hear that, Dad?" Katsuki pulled out just long enough to flip Izuku around—a wet, graceless maneuver that sent water cascading over the floor. He sat back on the tub bench, dragging Izuku down onto his lap, facing outward. His cock slid back into Izuku's ass in one smooth motion, and Izuku cried out, legs spreading wide, putting everything on display. His swollen pussy was visible now, the tight lips glistening and puffy, his clit a hard pink nub. And as Katsuki thrust up into him, another stream of squirt jetted out, soaking Masaru's trousers all over again. "He's mine. Every hole. Every orgasm. Every last drop."
Masaru slid down the doorframe, his legs giving out. He landed in the puddle of bathwater and broken glass and his wife's sexual fluids, his nice traveling suit soaked and ruined. His hands came up to cover his face, but he couldn't stop watching—couldn't stop seeing the way Izuku rode their son's cock with a desperate, practiced rhythm, the way his belly bounced, the way his voice keened "yes, yes, yes" with every thrust. His phone lay forgotten in the mess, the screen cracked and dark. He was a spectator in his own marriage, watching his pregnant wife get ass-fucked by their teenage son, and all he could do was tremble.
Katsuki met his father's hollowed gaze over Izuku's shoulder. His hips didn't slow. His smirk didn't fade. He tightened his grip on Izuku's hips, pulling his mother down harder onto his cock, grinding deep into the clenching heat of his ass. "You should thank me, Dad. I'm taking care of him. Better than you ever could." He punctuated the words with a brutal upward thrust that made Izuku's whole body jolt, made another gush of squirt spray from his pussy. "Now watch. Mommy's gonna cum again."
Izuku's scream didn't stop. It built—a raw, tearing wail that climbed octaves as his body convulsed on Katsuki's lap, the thick cock buried in his ass triggering something primal and unstoppable. The first gush of squirt had barely splattered across Masaru's shoes when the second hit, more powerful, spraying clear across the bathroom in a thick arc that painted the fogged mirror. His pussy clenched on nothing, the tight lips spasming, his clit a rigid pink pearl that throbbed with every pulse of the orgasm. His inner walls gripped Katsuki's cock like a fist, milking it, demanding what was coming. "Kacchan—Kacchan, I'm—oh fuck, Mommy's—"
The third squirt hit the ceiling. It was a jet, a fountain, spraying upward in a thick stream that rained back down on both of them, on the churning bathwater, on the shattered glass and soaked tile. Izuku's back arched so violently that Katsuki had to wrap both arms around his chest to keep him from falling, his hands cupping the heavy swell of his mother's pregnant belly. He could feel the baby kicking, a frantic flutter against his palms, even as Izuku's body kept gushing. The fourth squirt soaked the doorframe where Masaru sat crumpled. The fifth splattered against the vanity. The sixth just kept going, a continuous flood that made the water around them cloudy and thick with the scent of his mother's arousal.
"Take it, Mommy. Take all of it." Katsuki's voice was strained, his hips still pumping upward in short, brutal thrusts that drove his cock deeper into Izuku's ass with every clench. His balls were tight, heavy, drawn up against his body. He could feel the cum boiling in them, a pressure that had been building through the whole confrontation, through the throat-fucking and the ass-fucking and the sight of his father broken on the floor. "Gonna fill you up. Gonna pump you so full—" He slammed in to the root and stayed there, grinding, his pubic bone pressed flush against the curve of Izuku's ass. Then he let go. The first spurt hit Izuku's insides like a shot, thick and hot and overwhelming. Katsuki groaned, a guttural animal sound, as his cock pulsed and pumped and emptied what felt like gallons of seed into his mother's claimed hole.
It didn't stop. Spurt after spurt, rope after rope, flooding Izuku's ass until the white began to leak out around Katsuki's shaft, dripping down his balls into the bathwater. Izuku felt the heat of it spreading inside him, felt his belly—already swollen with child—bloat slightly with the sheer volume of his son's release. His own orgasm peaked again at the sensation, and another gush of squirt sprayed from his pussy, weaker now but still coming, his body wrung out and still giving. "Love you, Kacchan," he sobbed, his voice destroyed, barely audible over the splash of water and Masaru's broken weeping. "Love you so much, baby boy. Mommy loves you more than—more than anything—"
"Love you too, Mommy." Katsuki's voice cracked on the word, the age-regressed tremor bleeding through the arrogance. He pressed his forehead to the back of Izuku's neck, his breath hot and ragged against the freckled skin. His hips gave one last weak thrust, milking the final drops of cum into his mother's ass, and then he sagged, spent. His arms tightened around Izuku's belly, holding him close, holding him like he'd never let go. "Ain't nobody gonna take you from me. Not Dad. Not the baby. Nobody. You're mine, Mommy. Mine."
Masaru wept. It was the only sound left in the room besides their ragged breathing—a low, hopeless sobbing that came from somewhere deep in his chest. He'd stopped trying to get up, stopped trying to speak. He just sat in the puddle of his wife's fluids, his ruined suit clinging to his skin, his glasses lost somewhere in the mess. The phone lay dark and cracked beside him, useless. Everything was useless. He watched his wife and his son cling to each other in the cooling bathwater, Katsuki's cock still buried in Izuku's ass, both of them trembling through the aftershocks, and he knew—with a certainty that hollowed him out—that he had never been part of this. He had never even been close.