The damp grass soaked through the blanket Katsuki had thrown down, the smell of cut turf and cold metal bleachers thick in the evening air. The stadium light buzzed like an angry insect overhead, carving the squad into islands of light and deep shadow. “Alright, listen up!” His voice cut through the chatter, a gruff bark that made a few freshmen jump. “Dynamic stretches first. Partner up. Don’t be gentle.”

Izuku’s hand shot up immediately, his green curls bouncing. “Coach Kacchan?” The title was sugar on his tongue. “I don’t have a partner.”

Ochako, already paired with Himiko, gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Mina whispered something to Yuga, who just shrugged with a glittery smile. The whole squad had felt the weird tension since the tryouts; they were giving the coach’s son a wide, polite berth.

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. He could feel every set of eyes on him. “Ashido. Pair with him.”

“But Coach,” Izuku said, his voice soft but carrying. “You always say a coach should know his athletes’ limits. To spot them properly. Shouldn’t you… check my flexibility?” He blinked, all wide green innocence. “Since I’m new.”

A low whistle came from somewhere near the bleachers. Kirishima, leaning against the railing with a clipboard, grinned like a sunbeam. “He’s got you there, Bakubro!”

Katsuki’s red eyes locked on his son. A challenge, laid bare in front of his team, his best friend. To refuse was to admit something was wrong. To accept was to walk into the fire. “Fine. Over here. Now.”

Izuku practically skipped to the center of the blanket, the short skirt flaring with each step. He settled on his back, knees bent, feet flat. “Ready, Coach.”

Katsuki knelt at his feet, the position immediately, violently intimate. His huge hands gripped Izuku’s ankles, the skin warm under his palms. “Leg up. Slow and controlled.” He pushed the right leg upward, guiding it toward Izuku’s head. The kid was flexible, obscenely so. The skirt slid down, pooling at his hip. The inside of his thigh was pale and freckled.

“Deeper, Coach,” Izuku breathed, just for him. His hips lifted off the blanket, seeking more pressure. The cropped top rode up, exposing the soft, flat plane of his stomach. Katsuki’s gaze snagged on the line of green fabric, the shadow beneath it. He knew what wasn’t there.

“Switch,” Katsuki growled, lowering the leg with a roughness he didn’t intend. He grabbed the other ankle. This time, as he pushed the leg up and out into a lateral stretch, the skirt had nowhere to go. It fell open.

Katsuki stopped breathing. The stadium light shone directly between his son’s spread thighs. Completely bare. Shaved smooth and gleaming faintly. Pink and vulnerable. Izuku held the split perfectly, a picture of athletic grace and utter debauchery. His green eyes were dark, watching his father’s face.

“See, Daddy?” Izuku whispered, the word a hot brand in the cool air. “I’m so open for you.” His own hands came down, not to adjust his skirt, but to settle on his inner thighs. Two fingers hooked, and gently, deliberately, he spread himself wider. The soft lips parted, revealing the swollen, throbbing bud of his clit, and the darker, glistening hole beneath, already wet. A silent, shameless display. Just for him.

Katsuki’s body was a wall, his broad back blocking the view from the squad. His hand shot out, not to adjust or cover, but to punish. His thumb rubbed once, rough and dry, over the exposed, glistening flesh. Then his index finger snapped forward, flicking hard against Izuku’s swollen clit.

Izuku jerked, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. His thighs trembled around Katsuki’s wrists.

“Keep the split, slut,” Katsuki growled, the words a low, venomous whisper only his son could hear. He flicked again, a stinging, precise strike. “This what you wanted? My attention?”

“Daddy—”

“Quiet,” Katsuki snarled, his thumb replacing his finger, grinding a hard, wet circle over the swollen bud. “You’re dripping on my blanket, you little whore. That what happens when Daddy pays attention? You make a mess?”

Izuku’s head fell back, a choked whimper escaping his parted lips. His hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk. “Yes—yes, Daddy—”

“You think anyone else gets this?” Katsuki’s voice was a low, venomous rumble, his face a mask of cold fury for anyone looking, his hands delivering a secret punishment. “You think any of these girls get their coach’s fingers on their filthy cunt during stretches? You’re a special kind of slut, aren’t you?”

He flicked his wrist, a sharp, stinging snap against Izuku’s clit that made his whole body tense. The wet sound was obscenely loud between them. “Answer me.”

“I’m your slut,” Izuku gasped, his voice trembling. His fingers dug into his own thighs, knuckles white. “Only yours, Daddy. Always—”

Katsuki leaned closer, his broad shadow swallowing Izuku whole. “Look at you. Spread open on a high school field. My son. A cheerleader. You’re nothing but a hungry, dripping hole begging for it.” His thumb smeared the wetness, coating the tiny, throbbing nub. “You want the team to see? You want Kirishima to know what a desperate little bitch I’m raising?”

“No,” Izuku moaned, but his hips lifted, seeking the pressure. “Just you. Only you see, please—”

“You don’t get to say please.” Katsuki delivered another cruel flick, then pressed the pad of his thumb down hard, holding it there. Izuku’s back arched off the blanket, a silent scream on his face. “You lost that right when you put this skirt on. You’re just a hole now. A warm, wet hole I get to play with until I decide what to do with you.”

From across the field, Kirishima’s voice boomed. “Everything good over there, Bakugou? Form looks solid!”

Katsuki didn’t turn. His hand didn’t stop. He kept his thumb moving, a relentless, degrading pressure. “Tell him you’re fine,” he whispered, his red eyes burning into Izuku’s glazed ones.

Izuku’s chest heaved. He forced his voice to carry, sweet and strained. “Y-yes! Coach is just… checking my flexibility!”

“Atta boy!” Kirishima called back, his attention turning back to his clipboard.

“Good boy,” Katsuki murmured, the praise a dark, twisted thing. His index finger slid down, through the slick folds, and pressed bluntly against Izuku’s entrance. Not going in. Just resting there, a threat. “So open. So wet for me. You’d take my fingers right here, wouldn’t you? In front of God and everyone.”

“Yes,” Izuku sobbed, his control shattering. His thighs shook violently around Katsuki’s wrist. “Daddy, please, I’m—I’m gonna—”

Katsuki’s hand vanished. He sat back on his heels, leaving Izuku exposed and trembling on the edge, his whole body clenched in desperate, denied release. The cold evening air hit Izuku’s wet flesh, making him gasp.

“Don’t you dare fucking cum, brat,” Katsuki snarled, his voice a dark, guttural promise. His index finger pressed harder, breaching the tight, slick ring of muscle with a single, brutal thrust. Izuku’s back arched off the blanket, a choked scream trapped in his throat. Katsuki didn’t stop. He added a second finger, stretching him wide, the wet, filthy sound of it echoing in the space between their bodies.

“Look at you,” Katsuki growled, his face a mask of cold fury for anyone watching, his hand working deep inside his son. “Taking my fingers like a cheap little whore. So fucking hungry for it.” He curled his fingers, scissoring them, a ruthless stretch. “You’d take my whole fist, wouldn’t you? Right here on the goddamn field.”

Izuku could only gasp, his hips jerking in tiny, helpless circles. “Daddy—I can’t—please—”

“I said don’t you fucking cum,” Katsuki repeated, driving his fingers in harder, faster. The heel of his palm ground against Izuku’s swollen clit with every thrust. “You cum without my permission, I’ll walk away and leave you here, dripping and empty. You’ll finish practice with my come dripping out of you later, but you won’t get a goddamn thing now.”

From across the field, Mina’s bubbly voice carried. “Coach! Are we doing box jumps next, or…”

Katsuki didn’t turn. His pace didn’t falter. His fingers pistoned in and out, the wet slap of skin on skin hidden under the buzz of the stadium light. “Tell her,” he commanded Izuku, his thumb circling his clit in a cruel, distracting rhythm.

Izuku’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners. He forced his voice to carry, sweet and shattered. “J-just a minute! Coach is… still assessing!”

“You hear that?” Katsuki whispered, leaning closer, his breath hot against Izuku’s ear. “They’re all waiting. And you’re just lying here with your father’s fingers buried in your slutty little hole.” He twisted his wrist, a deep, punishing corkscrew motion that made Izuku’s thighs tremble violently. “This is what you signed up for, you desperate bitch. This is your cheerleading.”

“It is,” Izuku sobbed, his hands fisting in the blanket. “It’s all for you, Daddy, all of it—”

“Damn right it is,” Katsuki said. His fingers plunged deeper, hitting a spot that made Izuku’s vision whiten. A gush of wetness coated Katsuki’s hand. “Fuck, you’re squirting already, you nasty thing. You’re making a puddle on my blanket. My son’s a little fountain.”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku whimpered, but his hips were fucking himself on Katsuki’s hand, chasing the sensation. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I can’t help it—”

“You love it,” Katsuki corrected him, his voice thick with a disgust he didn’t fully feel. “You love being my dirty secret. You love that I can’t stop.” He slowed his thrusts, drawing it out, letting Izuku feel every ridge of his knuckles. “You think about this when you’re in class? Think about my cock instead of your homework, you stupid slut?”

“Yes,” Izuku breathed, his confession a shattered thing. “All I think about… is your cock, Daddy. How bad I need it.”

Katsuki’s own arousal was a vicious ache, his cock straining against his zipper, heavy and desperate. He wanted to shove him into the wet heat he was fingering open. He stopped his hand, fingers buried to the knuckle, and held still. “You’re not getting it. Not today. Today, you just get my fingers. And you don’t get to come.” He withdrew his hand slowly, the obscene, wet sound of it loud in the cooling air.

Izuku cried out, a raw sound of loss, his body clenching around nothing. He was flushed, trembling, his cunt glistening and exposed, visibly throbbing. Katsuki stood up, wiping his wet hand casually on the thigh of his coaching pants. He looked down at his son, a ruined, panting mess on the blanket. “Get up. Wipe your face. Box jumps. Now.”

He turned his back, walking toward the equipment shed without another glance, leaving Izuku to scramble, shaky-legged and desperate, back to a world that had no idea what had just happened.

Izuku’s legs trembled as he approached the plyometric boxes, the cold air biting at the wetness between his thighs. He could feel it, a slick, shameful trickle with every step. He took a shaky breath and launched himself onto the first box, his skirt flaring.

“Higher, Bakugou!” Katsuki’s voice cracked like a whip from the sidelines. His hands were in his pockets, his expression one of bored, professional assessment. Only Izuku could see the violent promise in his red eyes. “You look weak. Pathetic.”

Izuku jumped again, the impact jolting up his spine. A fresh pulse of wetness escaped him, his pussy soaked. He bit his lip, willing his body to cooperate.

“Whoa, Izuku! Getting a real workout in, huh?” Mina called from where she was stretching with Yuga, her pink curls bouncing as she grinned. “You’re, like, super red!”

“He’s fine,” Katsuki snapped, cutting off any reply. “Focus on your own form, Ashido. Your landings are sloppy.”

Izuku jumped again. And again. Each landing was a small, private agony, his swollen clit rubbing against the damp fabric of his skirt. His breath came in ragged pants.

Ochako drifted closer, her brown eyes wide with concern. “Izu, your breathing is off. Do you need water?”

“He needs to push through,” Katsuki answered for him, his gaze locked on Izuku’s bouncing form. “He wanted on this team. He handles the conditioning or he quits. Isn’t that right, Izuku?”

“Y-yes, Coach,” Izuku gasped, landing hard. The impact made him whimper.

Himiko Toga skipped over, linking her arm with Ochako’s. Her golden eyes glittered with manic curiosity. “Ooh, he’s all shaky! Like a little rabbit! Did Coach Kacchan wear you out already, newbie?”

“Toga,” Ochako chided softly, but she was watching Izuku too, her cheerleader’s eye noting the unsteadiness.

“I’m okay,” Izuku forced out, launching for the next box. His vision swam. The world narrowed to the burn in his thighs and the aching, empty throb between them. He could smell his own arousal, mixed with the scent of cut grass and Katsuki’s cologne from where his father stood, unmoving.

The final whistle blew, sharp and dismissive. “Laps! Everyone, cool down! Then get the hell off my field!” Katsuki’s voice carried across the turf, scattering the exhausted cheer squad. As the team began their slow jog, he grabbed Izuku’s arm, his grip bruising, and yanked him close. His lips brushed the shell of Izuku’s sweat-damp ear. “Office. Five minutes. And you better not have fucking cum without my permission, you understand me?” He shoved him away toward the track.

Izuku stumbled, his legs like water. He fell into step behind Ochako and Mina, the cool-down jog a fresh torture. Every step made his skirt rub against his oversensitive, dripping flesh. He could feel the sticky evidence of his denied release coating his inner thighs, a secret everyone could probably smell.