The teacher’s office at U.A. High smelled of old wood and coffee. Izuku sat stiffly in a chair beside his father, his uniform collar feeling too tight. Across the wide desk, his homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa, regarded them with his usual exhausted expression, though his dark eyes missed nothing.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Bakugou," Aizawa said, his voice a low monotone. "Given the… significant changes at home, the school wanted to check in."

Katsuki leaned back, one ankle resting on his opposite knee. He wore dark jeans and a tight black shirt under his leather jacket, hero gear conspicuously absent. "Izuku's fine. School's fine. What's to discuss?"

"His focus has been inconsistent this past week," Aizawa stated, flipping open a notebook. "Assignments turned in late. Distracted in class. It's a deviation from his standard."

"He's had a lot on his mind," Katsuki replied, his hand coming to rest on the back of Izuku's chair. His thumb brushed, just once, against the nape of Izuku's neck. The touch was casual, possessive. Izuku’s breath hitched.

Aizawa’s gaze flicked to the movement, then back to Katsuki’s face. "I'm aware. Which is why I'm asking. Izuku? How are you managing?"

Izuku’s mouth was dry. The spot where his father’s thumb had touched him burned. "I'm… I'm okay, Mr. Aizawa. Just adjusting. The new apartment is… big."

"He's safe. That's what matters," Katsuki cut in, his voice leaving no room for argument. His hand didn’t move from the chair. "His grades will stabilize."

There was a long pause. Aizawa watched them, his fingers steepled. The clock on the wall ticked. "The report from the guidance counselor notes you've become exceptionally… attached, Izuku. More than typical parental reliance following a trauma."

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. "He relies on me. I'm his parent. That's the job."

"It is," Aizawa conceded, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But the counselor described a dependency that borders on enmeshment. Izuku flinches when other adults get too close. He references your opinions as absolute fact. He mentioned you've taken over managing his… personal health routines."

The air in the room changed. Izuku felt a flush creep up his neck. *Personal health routines*. The vibrator. The wand. His father’s fingers in his pussy. The taste of him.

"His health is my business," Katsuki said, the words a low growl. His thumb pressed down, just a fraction, on Izuku’s neck. A silent command. *Stay still.* "His mother tried to deny him medical care. I won't. That includes all of it. So yeah, I'm involved."

Aizawa didn’t blink. "To what degree?"

"To the degree he needs."

Another silence, heavier this time. Izuku could feel his teacher’s suspicion like a physical weight. He stared at the grain of the wooden desk, trying to control his breathing, hyper-aware of the heat of his father’s hand so close to his skin, of the memory of that hand doing other, darker things.

"Izuku," Aizawa said, his tone softening imperceptibly. "Look at me."

Izuku forced his head up. His green eyes were wide, guilty.

"If there is anything… *untoward* happening. Anything that makes you uncomfortable, even if it comes from someone who is supposed to protect you… this office is a safe place to report it."

Katsuki’s chair scraped back as he stood up, the motion sudden and violent. "Are you accusing me of something, Aizawa?"

"I'm stating school policy," the teacher replied, unmoving. "We are mandatory reporters. Certain behaviors raise flags. Extreme attachment. Secretive behavior. A sudden, intense focus on a child's sexuality by a parent."

"He's eighteen."

"He's your student. And your child." Aizawa finally stood, meeting Katsuki’s furious crimson gaze. "The boundaries matter. I've seen what happens when they blur. It destroys people."

Katsuki took a step forward, his presence filling the room. Izuku could smell the faint, familiar scent of nitroglycerin on him, a sign his control was slipping. "You think you see something? You see a father protecting his son from a world that wants to break him. That's all."

"I hope that's all I see," Aizawa said, his voice grave. "For his sake."

Katsuki turned, his hand finally leaving the chair to pull Izuku to him, pulling him to his feet. The grip was firm, undeniable. "We're done here. Izuku's fine. I'm fine. We're going home."

Katsuki’s hand didn’t leave Izuku’s arm until they were through the school’s main doors, the cool afternoon air hitting them like a slap. Izuku clung to his father’s side, his fingers twisting in the leather of Katsuki’s jacket, breathing in the scent of smoke and anger.

"Daddy," he whispered, the word shaky.

Katsuki’s hand slid from Izuku’s arm to the small of his back, guiding him toward the sleek black SUV parked in the faculty lot. “Look at me,” he said, his voice low but firm once the school doors shut behind them.

Izuku turned, his green eyes wide and wet. “He knows something.”

“He knows nothing,” Katsuki corrected, his thumb brushing Izuku’s cheek. “He sees a scared kid and a pissed-off dad. That’s all he gets to see. You hear me? We’re okay.”

Izuku nodded, a shaky breath escaping him as he leaned into the touch. “Okay, Daddy.”

The drive started in silence, the tension from the office still thick in the air. Katsuki navigated the city streets with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Izuku’s thigh, a heavy, warm weight through the fabric of his uniform slacks. The possessive contact was a balm and a brand.

“He can’t touch us,” Katsuki said after a few minutes, his eyes on the road. “No one can. You’re mine. That’s the only fact that matters.”

Izuku’s heart hammered against his ribs. The words, the hand on his leg, the memory of Aizawa’s suspicious gaze—it all mixed into a confusing, electric cocktail in his blood. His own need, a constant hum since they’d left the couch last night, sharpened into a single, reckless point.

Without a word, Izuku unfastened his seatbelt. The click was loud in the quiet car.

Katsuki glanced over. “What’re you—”

Izuku was already sliding down in the passenger seat, his fingers fumbling with the button of Katsuki’s jeans. The denim was tight. He could feel the hard, thick line of his father’s cock straining against the fabric even before he got it open.

“Izuku.” Katsuki’s voice was a warning, but his hips lifted slightly off the seat to help.

The zipper came down. Izuku didn’t hesitate. He pushed the waistband of Katsuki’s briefs down, and his father’s cock sprang free, thick and heavy and already leaking against his stomach. The scent of him—musky, clean, intensely familiar—flooded Izuku’s senses. He leaned forward and took the head into his mouth.

Katsuki’s breath hissed between his teeth. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles white. “Fuck. Kid, the road—”

But Izuku was already sinking down, his lips stretching around the girth. He used his tongue, tracing the prominent vein on the underside the way he remembered from his dream, from last night. The taste of pre-come, salty and sharp, coated his tongue. He moaned around the shaft, the vibration pulling a ragged groan from his father.

“Alright,” Katsuki gritted out, his voice rough. “Alright. Just… keep your head down.”

He adjusted his grip on the wheel, his other hand coming down to cradle the back of Izuku’s head, not pushing, just holding. Guiding. Izuku obeyed, bobbing slowly, taking him deeper with each pass. The car weaved slightly before Katsuki corrected, a low curse escaping him. The danger of it, the public exposure, sent a jolt of pure heat straight to Izuku’s pussy. He was soaking through his uniform pants.

“That’s it,” Katsuki murmured, his fingers threading through green curls. “Use your tongue. Right there. Yeah.”

Izuku hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder, his own need a frantic pulse between his legs. He could feel Katsuki thickening in his mouth, getting harder, closer. The sounds were obscene—wet, sucking noises, Katsuki’s ragged breathing, the soft sound of Izuku’s slurping.

Izuku’s own need was a frantic, dripping ache. He pulled one hand from where it braced against Katsuki’s thigh and fumbled with his own uniform slacks, pushing them and his underwear down just enough to expose his pussy to the cool air of the car. He didn’t stop sucking, his mouth working in a desperate, wet rhythm, as he shoved two fingers inside himself. He was soaked. The slick sound of his own fingers fucking into his cunt mixed with the obscene noises from his mouth.

Katsuki’s groan was deep, approving. His grip tightened in Izuku’s hair. “That’s my boy. Taking care of yourself.” His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then to the side mirror. His body went very still for a second, a different kind of tension coiling through him. “Fuck.”

“Mmm?” Izuku hummed around his cock, not stopping.

“We’ve got company,” Katsuki said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. His thumb stroked Izuku’s scalp. “Don’t stop. Don’t look. Lane to our left. Black sedan. Keeping pace.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, but he obeyed, his fingers working faster inside himself. The danger, the exposure, sent a fresh flood of heat between his legs. He moaned, the vibration making Katsuki’s hips jerk.

“He’s watching,” Katsuki breathed, a dark, possessive smile in his voice. “Got a real good view. He’s not just watching, kid. He’s got his fucking hand in his lap. He’s jerking off to you.”

A shocked, electric thrill shot through Izuku. His back arched, pushing his ass higher, offering himself more completely to the unseen eyes.

“Show him,” Katsuki commanded, his voice rough with arousal and something darker. “Let him see what’s mine. Spread yourself open for him. Show him how wet you get for your Daddy.”

Izuku whimpered, pulling his fingers from his pussy with a wet pop. He reached down with his other hand, trembling, and hooked his fingers into his own folds, spreading himself wide. The cool air hit his exposed, swollen clit, making him shudder. He was dripping, glistening, completely exposed to the window, to the stranger in the next car.

“Good,” Katsuki growled. “Now fuck yourself with your fingers again. Slow. Let him see it all.”

Izuku obeyed, sliding two fingers back inside his soaking cunt, pumping them in and out with a deliberate, lewd slowness. His other hand stayed busy, spreading himself obscenely wide. He kept his mouth moving on Katsuki’s cock, his tongue swirling over the head with every upstroke.

Katsuki’s breathing was ragged, his control visibly fraying as he drove. “He’s getting off on it. Watching my son be such a good, filthy boy for me. He knows he can’t have this. He can only watch.”

“Daddy,” Izuku gasped, pulling off for a second, a string of saliva and pre-come connecting his lips to Katsuki’s throbbing cock. “I’m gonna… the way he’s looking…”

“I know,” Katsuki said, his hand pushing Izuku’s head back down. “Cum for him. Let him see you come all over your own fingers while you suck my dick. Do it.”

The command, the humiliation, the sheer violation of it tipped Izuku over the edge. His body seized, a silent scream against Katsuki’s shaft as his pussy clenched and then spasmed, a hard, sudden gush of wetness soaking his hand and the seat.

It squirted out of him with so much force it hit the car window with a sharp, wet slap.

The orgasm ripped through him, wave after wave of blinding, shameful pleasure, his hips jerking through each pulse until he was spent and shaking.

Katsuki cursed, his hips bucking up off the seat. “Now swallow,” he ordered, his voice breaking. “Take it. All of it.”

Izuku felt the hot, salty pulse against the back of his throat a second later. He swallowed desperately, greedily, as Katsuki came with a guttural groan, his fingers turning to fists in Izuku’s hair. The car swerved slightly before he righted it, his chest heaving.

Katsuki’s eyes, sharp and predatory even in the rearview mirror, watched the man in the black sedan finish. He saw the stranger’s head tip back, the rough jerk of his shoulders, the way his hand stilled in his lap. Aizawa. His son’s homeroom teacher. Coming in his car while watching Izuku suck his father’s cock.

The black sedan peeled away at the next intersection, disappearing into traffic. Katsuki didn’t speak. He guided the car with one hand, the other stroking Izuku’s hair as the boy cleaned him with slow, dazed licks. He waited until Izuku sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his uniform pants still pooled around his thighs, his pussy exposed and glistening on the leather seat.

“Get dressed,” Katsuki said, his voice flat. He zipped his own jeans, his movements efficient. He didn’t look at Izuku.

Izuku fumbled with his clothes, his fingers clumsy. “Who was that?”

“No one.” Katsuki turned into the underground parking garage of their building, the tires echoing on the concrete. His eyes scanned the shadows. The black sedan was already there, parked two rows over, lights off.

Izuku blinked, his mind still hazy and his body loose. He finished pulling up his uniform pants, the fabric sticking unpleasantly to his damp skin. He didn’t look toward the other car. “Okay.”

Katsuki leaned over, cupping his jaw, and pressed a quick, firm kiss to his mouth. It tasted like salt and them. “Go on up. I’ll be right behind you.”

“You’re coming up?” Izuku asked, his voice soft, trusting.

“Just need a minute. Go.”

Izuku nodded, grabbing his bag and slipping out of the car. He didn’t glance around the shadowy garage, didn’t see the silhouette in the driver’s seat of the sedan two rows over. He just walked toward the private elevator, his steps a little unsteady.

Katsuki watched him until the elevator doors closed. Then he got out of his own car, the sound of the door shutting echoing like a gunshot in the concrete cavern. He didn’t lock it. He walked toward the black sedan, his hands loose at his sides.

The driver’s side door opened. Shota Aizawa unfolded himself from the seat, his expression unreadable in the low light. He closed the door and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. He smelled like cheap car air freshener and stale coffee.

“We need to talk,” Aizawa said, his voice flat.