The silence in the house had texture. It was a thick, woolen thing, stretched over three months of shared meals where only the clink of cutlery spoke, of Katsuki’s heavy footsteps retreating down the hall, of Izuku’s soft, closed-door sobs after he’d typed out the final, wretched message to Shoto. “We can’t. I’m sorry. It’s not you.” The ghost of a good man he’d been forced to ghost. Izuku moved through the rooms like a curator in a museum of his own life, touching nothing, changing nothing.
The nausea started as a low tide, then became a daily storm. He’d clutch the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink, heaving up nothing but bile and dread. His small breasts, usually quiet beneath his shirts, ached with a deep, familiar throb. He ignored it. Blamed stress. Blamed grief for a future he’d barely tasted.
Then, in the shower one morning, the water hitting his chest sent a sharp, electric jolt through his nipples. He looked down. A single, pearly drop beaded at the tip of his right nipple. Then another. It wasn’t sweat. It was milk. His vision tunneled. The steam choked him.
He fumbled the pregnancy test from the back of the medicine cabinet, an old one, bought in a fleeting moment of hope with Shoto. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the stick into the toilet. He set it on the edge of the sink and backed away, wrapping his arms around his tender, leaking chest.
Two lines. Dark. Unmistakable. Positive.
The floor dropped. Condom. Shoto wore a condom. He hadn’t been with anyone else. He hadn’t been with anyone at all. But the dreams… the hot, shameful, vivid dreams of weight and fullness and Katsuki’s low growl in his ear… they crashed back in, not as fantasies, but as memories. The soreness he’d woken with. The taste in his mouth. The feeling of being… used. His stomach roiled. He vomited into the bathtub, acidic and burning.
Night Six
Outside, the sky bruised to a deep purple. Wind lashed the old house, making the windows rattle in their frames. Weather alerts blared on his silenced phone: seek shelter, stay inside. The lights flickered once, twice, and died with a sigh. Darkness, absolute and roaring with storm, swallowed the house.
Izuku moved by feel. His artist’s hands found the candles in the kitchen drawer, the old matchbook. The scrape, the flare, the sudden bloom of fragile light. He lit three, carrying them on a chipped saucer into the living room. The shadows leaped and danced on the walls, a pantomime of his terror.
Katsuki was already there, a darker shape in the flickering gloom, sitting on the couch. He’d been watching the storm. Now he watched Izuku. “Power’s out,” he said, his voice a low rumble under the wind’s scream.
“I’m pregnant.” The words fell from Izuku’s lips, flat and final, like stones dropped into a well.
Katsuki went perfectly still. Then a slow, radiant heat seemed to emanate from him. His sharp red eyes gleamed in the candlelight. A smile, wide and genuine and utterly terrifying, split his face. “Yeah?” he breathed, the word full of awe. “Fuck. That’s… that’s amazing, Mommy.”
The tender name, the sheer joy in his son’s voice, snapped the last thread holding Izuku together. The candlelight swam in his green eyes. “You fucked me while I was asleep,” he whispered, the raw truth tearing out of him. “You impregnated your own mother in my sleep.”
Katsuki was off the couch in a blur of motion, his hands closing around Izuku’s trembling forearms. He pulled, not rough, but inexorable, until Izuku stumbled forward and was gathered against the solid, unforgiving heat of his son’s chest. “No,” Izuku gasped, his hands coming up to push weakly at Katsuki’s pecs. “Let go. This is wrong. We can’t—you’re my son.”
“You’re shaking,” Katsuki murmured into his hair, his voice thick with a reverence that felt like sacrilege. He didn’t let go. One broad hand slid up to cradle the back of Izuku’s head. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Both of you.”
Izuku cried then, hot, silent tears that soaked into Katsuki’s shirt. The horror was a cold stone in his gut, but wrapped in his son’s arms, a traitorous warmth was spreading through his veins. He knew he should be screaming. He should be fighting. But looking up—seeing the raw, unguarded joy on Katsuki’s face, the way his red eyes shone with something like worship—it snuffed out the fury, leaving only a devastating, hollow ache. “Kacchan,” he whimpered, the childhood name a plea and a condemnation.
“I love you,” Katsuki said, the words a low, fervent vow against Izuku’s temple. “I have always loved you. More than that old man ever did. More than any of those extras could. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of our baby. You’ll never want for anything more, Mommy. Never.”
“It’s a sin,” Izuku whispered, even as his body softened, yielding into the embrace. His tender, leaking breasts pressed against Katsuki’s hard chest, a jolt of sensation that made him gasp. “What you did… what we are… it’s monstrous.”
“It’s us,” Katsuki corrected, his hand drifting down to splay possessively over Izuku’s lower back, pulling their hips flush. Izuku could feel the hard, thick line of his son’s erection, a promise and a threat, even through their clothes. “It’s always been us. Everyone else was just noise.”
Izuku shook his head, a feeble denial. He tried to summon the outrage, the disgust. But all he felt was a terrifying, lonely yearning, and the profound fatigue of three months of silence. “I’m your mother.”
“You’re mine,” Katsuki breathed, and then he closed the last inch of space.
His mouth was hot and demanding. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a claiming. Izuku froze, his lips parted in a stunned gasp that Katsuki took full advantage of, his tongue sweeping in, tasting him, owning him. The flavor was storm-air and salt and something inherently, uniquely Katsuki. Izuku’s hands, still trapped between them, curled into fists. He made a broken sound, a moan that was mostly protest.
Then something in his chest shattered. A dam of loneliness so vast it had become his foundation gave way. His fists unclenched. His fingers crept up to clutch at the fabric of Katsuki’s shirt. He kissed him back. It was clumsy, desperate, wet with tears, but it was acceptance. A surrender more complete than any he’d given while unconscious.
Katsuki growled into his mouth, the sound vibrating through both of them. He walked Izuku backward until his knees hit the edge of the couch and they tumbled down into the cushions, a tangle of limbs in the flickering dark. He broke the kiss only to stare down at Izuku, his face flushed, his breathing ragged. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
Izuku looked up at him, at his son, at the man who had shattered his world and rebuilt it in this twisted, dark image. The candlelight danced in Katsuki’s hungry eyes. Outside, the storm screamed its approval. Izuku’s throat worked. He felt the truth of it, a sickening, beautiful seed taking root in the wreckage. His whisper was barely audible over the wind. “I’m yours.”
The words hung in the candlelit air, a surrender that changed the axis of the world. Izuku stared up at his son, at the raw, triumphant hunger in Katsuki’s eyes, and something broke open inside him. All of it—the shivers he never pushed away, the heat in his gut when Katsuki’s hands lingered, the secret, shameful sessions in the shower where his fingers worked his pussy to the image of his baby boy’s face—it wasn’t confusion. It was a truth he’d been too terrified to name.
“Mine,” Katsuki breathed again, as if tasting the word.
“Yes,” Izuku whispered, and then he moved. He pushed up from the cushions, his hands finding Katsuki’s shoulders, and he kissed him. It wasn’t the stunned acceptance from before. This was hungry, messy, full of a decade of repressed want. He licked into Katsuki’s mouth, tasting the storm on his tongue, and a low, shocked groan rattled from Katsuki’s chest.
Izuku’s artist’s fingers went to the hem of Katsuki’s shirt, tugging it up. “Off,” he murmured against his son’s lips, his voice trembling not with fear, but with need. “I want to see you.”
Katsuki obeyed, yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it into the dark. The candlelight danced over the hard planes of his chest, the sweat-sheened skin. Izuku’s gaze dropped lower, to the formidable bulge straining against Katsuki’s jeans. A hot, slick pulse echoed between Izuku’s own thighs. How could he have ever wanted another man? This was his. This beautiful, monstrous thing was his son’s, and it had been inside him.
“Mommy,” Katsuki warned, his voice strained, as Izuku’s hands went to his belt.
“Shh,” Izuku said, the word soft, maternal, and utterly obscene in this context. He undid the buckle, the button, the zipper. The denim gave way, and Katsuki’s cock sprang free, thick and heavy and already leaking at the tip. It was a weapon, a promise, a part of the son he loved. Izuku stared at it, his green eyes wide. “It’s so beautiful, Kacchan.”
He slid off the couch, his knees hitting the worn Persian rug. He didn’t break eye contact as he leaned forward, his breath ghosting over the swollen head. Katsuki’s hands fisted in his own hair, his chest heaving. “Fuck, Mommy.”
Izuku’s tongue darted out, a shy, testing lick at the bead of pre-cum. The taste was salt and musk and uniquely Katsuki. A moan escaped him, genuine, needy. He opened his mouth wider, taking the head inside, letting his tongue swirl around the crown.
“Yeah,” Katsuki hissed, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk. “Just like that. Take it, Mommy. Take your baby’s cock.”
The filthy endearment sent a jolt through Izuku. He relaxed his jaw, letting the thick weight push deeper. He’d never taken anything this big. He focused on the feeling of it, the hot, velvety skin, the prominent vein underneath his tongue. He sank lower, his nose brushing the coarse blond hair at the base. He swallowed around the intrusion, his throat working.
Katsuki saw stars. “Holy shit. You’re taking all of it.” His voice was a ragged wreck. He looked down, watching his own massive length disappear between his mother’s freckled, willing lips. “You were made for this. Made for me.”
Izuku pulled back, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Katsuki’s glistening shaft. “I was,” he panted, the admission freeing. “I am.” He dove back down, finding a rhythm, his head bobbing, his hands coming up to cradle Katsuki’s heavy balls. The wet, sucking sounds filled the room, louder than the storm.
Katsuki’s control snapped. One hand buried itself in Izuku’s green curls, not guiding, just holding, feeling the movement. “So good. My perfect Mommy. Gonna fill your pretty mouth.” His hips began to pump in shallow thrusts, fucking into the tight, wet heat. “Taste me. Swallow it all.”
Izuku’s eyes watered, but he didn’t pull away. He sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, drinking in the moans tumbling from his son’s mouth. This was worship. This was penance. This was home.
Katsuki’s hips stuttered, his fingers tightening in Izuku’s hair. “Mommy—I’m gonna—” The warning was a choked growl.
Izuku hummed around the thick shaft, a vibration of pure encouragement. He took him deeper, his throat relaxing, opening, until his nose was buried in coarse blond hair. He swallowed deliberately, and that was it.
Katsuki came with a shout that ripped through the storm’s noise, his body bowing. Izuku kept him buried, drinking down the hot, bitter pulses as they flooded his mouth, his throat working. He didn’t pull back until the last tremor had subsided, until he’d licked every drop from the oversensitive head.
He sat back on his heels, looking up at his son. A stray trickle of cum escaped the corner of his swollen lips. He caught it with a finger, popped it into his mouth, and smiled. “All clean, baby.”
Katsuki was breathing like he’d run a marathon, his chest glistening. He stared down at Izuku, his red eyes wide with something beyond lust—awe, disbelief, rapture. “You… you swallowed it all.”
“You told me to,” Izuku said softly. He rose to his feet, his knees shaky. The candlelight played over his freckled skin, over the gentle swell of his belly. “My turn to show you something.”
He reached for the hem of his own soft sleep shirt. He pulled it over his head in one slow, deliberate motion, letting it fall to the rug. His small, swollen breasts were bare, his puffy nipples dark and tight. A thin, pearly bead of milk glistened at the tip of one. “See?” he whispered.
“Fuck,” Katsuki breathed, transfixed. He was already hardening again, his cock lying heavy against his thigh. “You’re leaking.”
Izuku swayed his hips, a slow, rolling movement that made his thick thighs brush together. He ran his hands over his curves, over his belly, cupping his own breasts. His thumbs brushed his nipples, and more milk welled, tracing silvery paths down his skin. “It’s for you, Kacchan. All of it’s for you.”
Katsuki surged off the couch. “Come here.” His voice was gravel.
“Uh-uh.” Izuku took a step back, a teasing glint in his green eyes. “You watch.” He turned, giving him a view of his round backside, and looked over his shoulder. “This is what you wanted, right? Your mother. All yours.”
Izuku hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his soft leggings. He bent over, presenting the full, round curve of his bubble butt to his son’s hungry gaze, and slowly pushed the fabric down over his thick thighs. He stepped out of them, kicking the leggings aside. All he wore now were a pair of simple cotton panties, and the damp, dark patch at the front was clearly visible in the candlelight.
“See how wet you make me, baby boy?” he murmured, looking back over his shoulder. He hooked his fingers into the sides of his panties and peeled them down, inch by inch, until his pussy was bare. It was plump and glistening, his folds swollen and parted, already dripping. He let the panties fall to his ankles and stepped free.
He turned to face Katsuki fully, completely naked now except for the shadows that clung to his curves. He brought his hands to his small, tender breasts, his thumbs circling his puffy, dark nipples. He gave them a firm squeeze. Two thin, pearly streams of milk arced through the air, catching the light before splattering onto the rug between them.
Katsuki made a sound like he’d been punched. “Mommy.” His cock was fully hard again, a thick, veined column against his stomach, the head flushed and leaking. “Please. I need to fuck your tits. Please, let me.”
“You don’t have to beg, Kacchan,” Izuku said, his voice a soft, loving caress. He cupped his breasts, pushing them together, creating a soft, milky valley. “They’re yours. Come here.”
Katsuki closed the distance. He knelt before Izuku on the rug, his hands trembling as he took his own heavy cock in hand. He guided the swollen head to the crevice between his mother’s breasts, rubbing the tip through the spilled milk, smearing it over Izuku’s freckled skin.
“God, you’re so perfect,” Katsuki choked out, his eyes wide and fixed on the sight. He pushed forward, his thick shaft sliding between the soft, warm flesh. More milk welled from Izuku’s nipples with the pressure, coating his length in silky wetness.
Izuku moaned, his head falling back. “Yes. Just like that. Use me, baby.”
Katsuki set a rhythm, his hips pumping, his cock gliding smoothly in the slick channel. The wet, squelching sounds mixed with the storm’s fury. He could feel the heat of Izuku’s skin, the pebbled texture of his nipples brushing against the sensitive underside of his shaft with every thrust. “Fuck, Mommy. Your milk… it’s everywhere. Smells like you.”
“It’s your milk now,” Izuku breathed, looking down to watch his son’s cock disappear between his breasts, glistening and white-streaked. He felt delirious, powerful. “You put the baby in me. This is all because of you.”
Katsuki’s rhythm faltered. A broken sob tore from his throat. “I love you. I love you so much it’s gonna kill me.” He fucked into the softness harder, his balls slapping against Izuku’s sternum. The pre-cum leaking from his tip mixed with the milk, creating a sticky, sweet glaze on Izuku’s skin.
“It won’t,” Izuku whispered, leaning down to kiss his son’s sweaty forehead. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you. Now come for me again. Mark me up, Kacchan. Let everyone see I’m yours.”
With a guttural roar, Katsuki obeyed. He pulled his cock free from the soaked cleft and aimed it at Izuku’s chest. Thick, white ropes of cum shot out, striping across his mother’s collarbone, his breasts, his throat. He painted him with it, his body shuddering through the release.
Izuku shuddered too, a fresh rush of wetness soaking his inner thighs. He looked down at the mess, at the proof of his son’s possession mingling with his own milk. He swiped a finger through it, bringing it to his lips. “Thank you,” he said, his green eyes dark and endless. “Now I need you inside me. For real this time.”
Izuku lowered himself onto the worn couch, his green eyes locked on Katsuki’s. He didn’t break contact as he lifted his thick, freckled legs, his flexibility a silent surprise. He folded himself, bringing his knees to his shoulders, then pushed further until the soles of his feet were pointing at the ceiling, his legs behind his head. He hooked his own hands behind his knees, holding himself wide open. His plump, glistening pussy was fully exposed, his soaked entrance visibly fluttering in the candlelight. “Now fuck me, baby boy.”
Katsuki’s breath left him in a sharp punch. “Jesus Christ.” He moved between his mother’s spread thighs, his huge cock jutting out, dripping with his milk and his own spend. He guided the swollen head to her entrance, rubbing it through his slick folds. “Look at you. My filthy, perfect Mommy.”
“I’m yours,” Izuku panted, his back arched off the couch cushions. “All yours. Put it in. I need to feel you stretch me open.”
Katsuki pushed. The broad head pressed against his tight ring of muscle, and for a second, it resisted. Then it yielded, and he sank an inch into the blistering, clutching heat. A ragged groan tore from both their throats. “Fuck. You’re so tight. Like you’re trying to keep me in.”
“I am,” Izuku gasped, his knuckles white where he gripped his own legs. “I will. More, Kacchan. Give me all of it.”
He obeyed, driving forward in one slow, relentless thrust until his hips were flush against his ass, his full ten inches buried to the root inside his mother. The couch groaned beneath them. Izuku screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound of pleasure-pain. “Yes! That’s it! That’s your home!”
Katsuki froze, embedded completely, feeling his inner walls flutter and squeeze around his shaft. “My home,” he echoed, voice wrecked. He leaned down, bracing his hands on the couch by his head, his face inches from hers. “You feel that? My dick is right back where it started. In your womb.”
“Fuck it back in there,” Izuku moaned, his eyes wild. “Fuck your cum so deep it makes another baby. Do it, you monster. My beautiful monster.”
Katsuki pulled back and slammed home. The wet, meaty sound of their joining filled the room. He set a brutal, pounding rhythm, each thrust driving the couch into the wall with a rhythmic thud. “You made this. You grew this dick inside you. It’s yours.”
“I know!” Izuku cried, milk leaking from his nipples with each jolt, streaking his chest. “I feel it! I feel you splitting me open! Harder!”
Katsuki’s control shattered. He fucked into him with a wild, animal fury, his balls slapping against his ass. The storm outside mirrored their violence, rain lashing the windows. “Say it. Say who you belong to.”
“You! Katsuki! My son!” Izuku sobbed, the words ripped from him. “My baby boy owns me! He owns my pussy, he owns my tits, he owns my womb!”
“Damn right!” Katsuki roared, pistoning into him. Sweat flew from his skin. “And I’m gonna fill it. I’m gonna pump you so full of me you’ll taste it in your milk.”
Izuku’s body was coiling tight, a frantic pressure building low in his belly. “I’m close, I’m so close! Don’t stop! Breed me, Kacchan! Make me a mommy again!”
The plea destroyed the last of Katsuki’s sanity. He drove into him, deep and unrelenting, his rhythm faltering as his own climax was close. “Take it! Take my fucking seed, Mommy!”
Izuku’s body snapped taut. A guttural scream ripped from his throat as his climax detonated, not as a pulse but as a flood. A jet of clear fluid erupted from his soaked pussy, splashing over Katsuki’s pounding cock, his balls, his lower stomach. It didn’t stop. It kept coming, a continuous, shocking torrent that soaked the couch cushion beneath them, dripped onto the rug, and pooled on the floorboards. His inner walls clamped down in vicious, milking spasms around Katsuki’s shaft, pulling his son’s orgasm from him with a brutal yank.
Katsuki roared, burying himself to the hilt as his own release tore through him, pumping thick ropes of cum deep into his mother’s clenching heat, mixing with the relentless flow. Izuku kept squirting, his body convulsing, his vision whiting out. He’d never felt anything like it—a total, drowning surrender.
Finally, the torrent slowed to a trickle, then stopped. They collapsed together onto the soaked couch, a mess of sweat, milk, spend, and squirt. The only sounds were their ragged gasps and the rain against the windows.
Katsuki lifted his head from where it lay on Izuku’s chest. He looked at the glistening mess covering them both, the couch, the floor. A slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face. “Holy fuck,” he panted, voice wrecked. “Look at that. Only I can make Mommy squirt like a fucking fountain.”
Izuku could only nod, dazed, his green eyes hazy. He was utterly spent, yet every nerve still hummed. “Only you,” he whispered, the admission leaving him in a breath. “Never… never like that. Not with anyone.”
Katsuki’s smirk softened into something dangerously possessive. He brushed a damp curl from Izuku’s forehead. “Told you. You’re mine.” He shifted, his softening cock slipping from Izuku’s body with a wet sound. He didn’t pull away. He kissed Izuku, deep and hungry, tasting the sweat on his lips. “Can’t stop,” he murmured against his mouth.
“I know,” Izuku breathed back, his own hands coming up to tangle in Katsuki’s spiky hair. The exhaustion was there, but beneath it was a desperate, renewed ache. The storm inside him mirrored the one outside. “Need more.”
They stumbled from the ruined couch, legs unsteady. Katsuki guided him, his grip firm on Izuku’s hip. They didn’t make it far—just to the center of the worn Persian rug. Katsuki turned him, pressing his front against the back of the armchair. “Here,” was all he said, his voice a low command.
Izuku braced his hands on the fabric, arching his back, presenting himself. He was already dripping again, a mix of them both. Katsuki sheathed himself inside in one smooth, claiming thrust, and Izuku cried out, his knees buckling. Katsuki held him up, an arm banded around his waist, and set a relentless, driving pace. The wet slap of skin filled the room, a counter-rhythm to the rain.
They moved through the house like ghosts in the candlelight, leaving a trail of their joining. Against the cool kitchen counter, Izuku’s milk smearing the tile. On the stairs, Katsuki taking him from behind, each thrust jolting them up a step. In the hallway, Izuku on his knees, taking Katsuki deep into his throat until he gagged, his own arousal a slick mess on his thighs.
They finally crashed into Izuku’s bedroom, falling onto the bed in a heap of exhausted, sated limbs. The storm had begun to quiet, leaving a heavy, tranquil silence. Katsuki pulled the quilt over them, then dragged Izuku against his chest, wrapping himself around his mother’s back. His nose pressed into the sweaty nape of Izuku’s neck.
“I love you, Mommy,” Katsuki whispered, the words raw and true in the dark.
Izuku’s hand found Katsuki’s where it rested over the gentle, new curve of his stomach. He interlaced their fingers. “I love you too, baby boy.”
Within minutes, their breathing evened out, deep and synchronized. They slept, entangled, as the last of the candlelight guttered and died.