The phone screen glowed in the dark of Izuku’s bedroom, a single text from Kacchan. ‘Do it now. Two pills, crushed. Her nightly tea. Send proof.’ Izuku’s hands shook as he palmed the white powder from the mortar he’d stolen from the chemistry lab. Downstairs, his mother hummed in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.
“Izuku? Are you coming down for tea?” Inko called up.
“No, Mom! Just… finishing homework!” he called back, his voice cracking. He watched from the hallway shadow as she poured the steaming water into her favorite mug, the one with the chipped handle. He waited until she turned to the fridge for milk before he slipped in, the powder dissolving into the dark liquid with a quick, guilty stir. His phone camera clicked silently. Proof sent.
An hour later, Kacchan’s video call connected. Izuku’s screen showed only darkness, then the faint outline of Katsuki’s bare chest. “Is she out?”
“Yes, Kacchan. She’s asleep on the couch. Daddy… Carried her to bed.”
“Good. Go to their room. Now. Keep the call on. I want to see everything.”
The house was a tomb of silence. Izuku crept down the hall, the floorboards cold under his bare feet. The door to his parents’ room was ajar. Inside, the soft rhythm of two people breathing: one deep and drugged, the other lighter. Moonlight through the window lit the bed, outlining his stepfather’s sleeping form on his back, the blankets tented over his hips. Inko slept soundly beside him, turned away.
“Under the covers,” Katsuki’s voice was a low command in his ear. “Take him in your mouth. Don’t wake him. Do it.”
Izuku slid into the bed, the warmth and familiar smell of his parents a sickening contrast to the task. He moved with a trembling slowness, peeling back the duvet. Toshinori slept in soft cotton pajama pants. Izuku’s fingers found the waistband. He hooked his thumbs and pulled them down, just enough. His stepfather’s large soft cock lay against his thigh. Izuku leaned down, his breath hitching.
The first touch of his lips made Toshinori stir. A soft, sleepy groan. Izuku froze, his eyes wide, staring at the phone screen where he knew Katsuki was watching. “Don’t stop,” Katsuki whispered, the sound hungry. Izuku took him in, the flesh warming, thickening on his tongue as he suckled gently. It was different from Kacchan’s—a different taste, a different weight. A deep, confused sound rumbled in Toshinori’s chest, and his hand came down, not pushing away, but tangling in Izuku’s green curls.
Toshinori’s eyes flew open. He jerked, his body tensing. “Izuku?” His voice was thick with sleep and shock. He tried to sit up, to pull away, but Izuku followed, his mouth working, wet and desperate. The hand in his hair tightened, not to pull him off, but to hold him there. “What are you— oh, god.” Another groan, this one full of waking realization and a helpless, mounting arousal. His hips gave a shallow, involuntary thrust.
“That’s it,” Katsuki purred through the phone, a dark spectator. “Make him fuck your mouth. Let him.”
Toshinori’s breaths became ragged pants. He looked over at Inko’s still form, then back down at his stepson, his face a war of horror and need. “We can’t… your mother…” But his other hand was pulling the covers back, revealing Izuku’s kneeling form, his own cock now fully hard and leaking against Izuku’s tongue. “Why are you doing this?”
"I need it, Daddy," Izuku whispered, his lips brushing the hot, slick head of Toshinori's cock. His voice was a shameless, breathy plea. "Please. I need your cock."
Toshinori flinched at the name. "Don't—" he choked out, but his hips gave another shallow thrust, feeding more of his length into the wet heat of Izuku's mouth. "You shouldn't... call me that."
"But you are my Daddy," Izuku moaned, the vibration making Toshinori shudder. He pulled off, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening tip. He looked up, his big green eyes wide and lewd in the moonlight. "Fuck my throat, Daddy. I want to taste you all the way down."
"Izuku, for god's sake," Toshinori gasped, his hand fisting in the sheets. He looked desperately at Inko's sleeping back, her steady breath a quiet metronome of their betrayal. "This is sick. We have to stop."
"You don't want to stop," Izuku murmured, leaning down to lick a slow stripe from base to tip. He’d never spoken like this, words dripping with a filth he’d learned from another man. "I can feel how much you don't want to stop. Your cock is so hard for me, Daddy. It's dripping." He took him back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, sucking hard.
A ragged groan tore from Toshinori's chest. His resolve was a thin sheet of ice, and Izuku’s mouth was fire. His other hand came up to cradle the back of Izuku’s head, his touch trembling. "Why are you doing this?" he asked again, anguish in his voice, even as he guided Izuku deeper. "Who taught you to... to be like this?"
Izuku pulled off, gasping. "Does it matter?" He climbed up, straddling Toshinori's thin waist, his big clit straining against his pajama pants. He took Toshinori's hand and pressed it between his legs, over the damp fabric. "Feel how wet I am, Daddy. It's all for you. I'm your good boy, right? Your good, slutty boy."
"Christ," Toshinori whispered, his eyes screwed shut. His fingers curled, feeling the soaked cotton and the swollen heat beneath. When he opened his eyes, they were dark with a horrified, consuming need. "This is wrong. You're my son."
"Then be wrong with me," Izuku breathed, leaning down to capture his lips. The kiss was clumsy, desperate, nothing like Kacchan's controlled possession. It was all tongue and shared guilt. Izuku ground his pussy down against Toshinori's cock, the friction making them both gasp. "Fuck me, Daddy. Right here. While Mom sleeps. Please."
Toshinori broke the kiss, his breath coming in harsh pants. He looked from Izuku's wrecked, pleading face to his wife's unconscious form, then down to where their bodies were joined by nothing but thin layers of cloth. The war in his eyes died, smothered by a wave of pure, base hunger. With a sound that was half-sob, half-growl, he rolled them over, pinning Izuku beneath him on the bed.
The phone, propped on the nightstand, captured it all: Toshinori yanking Izuku's pajama pants down past his thick thighs, the gleam of slick on Izuku's inner skin, the way Izuku spread his legs and hooked his ankles around his stepfather's back. "Yes," Izuku hissed, arching. "Just like that. I'm your dirty little secret, Daddy."
Toshinori didn't speak. He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock nudging against Izuku's dripping entrance. He paused there, trembling, his jaw clenched. The last fragment of resistance. Izuku reached up, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. "It's okay," he whispered, the lie sweet and poisonous. "I want it. I need you to ruin me."
With a final, shattered breath, Toshinori pushed inside.
Toshinori pushed inside, a slow, devastating stretch that forced a choked gasp from Izuku’s throat. Izuku kept his legs hooked high, his knees pressed to the sides of his own head, holding himself obscenely open. “Look, Daddy,” he panted, his eyes wide and fixed on the joining of their bodies. “Look at your big cock disappearing inside me. It’s all the way. I can feel you in my stomach.”
“God, Izuku,” Toshinori groaned, his voice wrecked. He was buried to the hilt, his lean hips flush against Izuku’s round ass. The sight was undeniable: his own thick, cut cock sheathed in the slick, clenching heat of his stepson. “You’re so… open. So flexible. This is…”
“It’s what you wanted,” Izuku whispered, rolling his hips in a tiny, inviting circle. “You’ve always wanted it. I see how you look at me.”
“No, I haven’t, I would never—” Toshinori began, but his protest died as he pulled back and thrust in again, a hard, smooth stroke that made Izuku cry out. The wet sound of it was loud in the quiet room. Toshinori’s eyes flew to Inko. She slept on, her breathing deep and even. The shame crashed over him, cold and nauseating. “This is wrong. I’m your father. I raised you.”
“Then stop,” Izuku breathed, a challenge glinting in his wet eyes. He clenched his inner muscles, a tight, milking pressure around Toshinori’s shaft. “Pull out. Wake Mommy up and tell her.”
Toshinori didn’t move. He trembled, suspended, his cock throbbing inside the perfect, sinful heat. A low, animal sound escaped him. He fucked into Izuku again, harder this time, his hips finding a rhythm. “I can’t,” he gasped, the confession torn from him. “Your… your little pussy is too good. It’s sucking me right back in.”
“That’s it, Daddy,” Izuku moaned, his head tipping back into the pillow. He let go of one knee, reaching down to spread himself wider, fingers pulling his slick lips apart to show the dark, glistening stretch. “Fuck your son’s tight cunt. It’s all yours. Breed me right here in your bed.”
“Don’t say that,” Toshinori begged, even as he drove into him, his pace turning rough and desperate. The bedframe began a soft, rhythmic knock against the wall. “You’re my boy. My good boy. This is so sick.”
“I’m your slut,” Izuku corrected, his voice hitching with each deep thrust. He was so full, each impact jolting through him, lighting up nerves he didn’t know he had. He could see the phone’s faint glow from the nightstand, knew Kacchan was watching, and the thought made his pussy drip around his stepfather’s cock. “Your little boy slut. Say it.”
Toshinori shook his head, his blonde hair falling into his eyes. He was sweating, his lean muscles corded with the effort of his pounding. “I can’t.”
“Say it!” Izuku demanded, his own arousal spiking into something fierce. He wrapped his legs tighter around Toshinori’s back, pulling him deeper. “Tell me what I am, Daddy. While you’re fucking me next to Mommy.”
A sob broke from Toshinori’s chest. He buried his face in Izuku’s neck, his thrusts becoming erratic, brutal. “You’re my slut,” he whispered, hot and broken against Izuku’s skin. “My perfect, filthy little slut. Oh, god, forgive me.”
Toshinori’s rhythm shattered into something frantic, a wild, piston-like drive that had the headboard knocking a frantic beat against the wall. “So wrong,” he gasped, his voice a broken chant. “My son… my wife right here… so fucking wrong.” But his cock told a different story, plunging into the slick, clenching heat with a desperation that betrayed every word.
“It’s not wrong, Daddy,” Izuku moaned, his voice a filthy, breathy whine. He raked his nails down Toshinori’s bony back. “It’s perfect. Your cock is so perfect in my little boy-cunt. Fuck me harder. Ruin your slut.”
“Don’t— call it that,” Toshinori begged, but he obeyed, his thrusts turning brutal, the wet slap of skin echoing Inko’s steady breaths. His control was gone, replaced by a raw, animal hunger. He fucked like a man starving, his lean hips slamming forward, burying his thick length over and over into the impossibly tight, dripping heat.
Izuku could feel the coil in his own gut winding tighter, a pressure building low and deep. “Daddy, I’m gonna— I’m gonna—” he choked out, his words dissolving into a high, keening cry. The orgasm hit him like a seizure, his back arching off the mattress. A gush of clear fluid erupted from him, not a trickle but a hot, sudden flood that soaked his own stomach, Toshinori’s pelvis, and the sheets beneath them with a sound like a splash.
Toshinori froze, his cock buried to the hilt. He stared down, his bright blue eyes wide with shock. “What… what was that?” he breathed, his voice hushed with awe and horror. “Izuku?”
“I squirted, Daddy,” Izuku panted, his body still trembling with aftershocks. He was delirious, proud. “I’m your squirting little slut. Do you like it? Do you like how your son’s nasty cunt makes a mess for you?”
Before Toshinori could answer, Izuku’s hand darted between their bodies. His fingers found his own swollen, throbbing clit. He rubbed it in frantic, tight circles, his eyes rolling back. “It’s so sensitive, oh god, Daddy, look—” Another gush followed, less violent but just as wet, painting Toshinori’s stomach.
“Stop, you’ll— you’ll wake her,” Toshinori whispered, but he was transfixed. His own hand covered Izuku’s, his long fingers tangling with his stepson’s. He didn’t pull them away. He guided them, his thumb taking over, flicking over Izuku’s clit in a blur of motion.
Izuku screamed, a muffled, broken sound he shoved into Toshinori’s shoulder. His body bowed, another torrent of release soaking them. Toshinori didn’t let up. He flicked and rubbed, his touch relentless, a man possessed by the shocking, lewd reality of what his boy’s body could do. “Again,” Toshinori heard himself growl, the voice not his own. “Do it again.”
Izuku sobbed, overstimulated and mindless. He was a fountain, a broken toy, squirting in weak, continuous pulses each time Toshinori’s thumb circled his clit. “Daddy, Daddy, it’s too much, I can’t—” he begged, even as his hips ground up against the touch.
“You can,” Toshinori snarled, his own hips beginning to move again, fucking into the sopping, convulsing heat. The bed was a soaked ruin. “You’re my good boy. My perfect, filthy fountain. Look at the mess you’re making in my bed.” He was chanting now, lost to it. “My slut. My son. Mine.”
Izuku’s vision whited out. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, just took the pounding and the ruthless stimulation, his body convulsing in a silent, endless release. Through the haze, he saw the phone’s tiny red recording light, a single, unwavering eye in the dark. Kacchan was watching. He was being good.
"Look at her," Toshinori growled, his voice raw. He fisted a hand in Izuku's green curls and wrenched his head to the side. "Look at your mother while I fuck you."
Izuku's eyes, glazed with pleasure, focused on Inko's sleeping profile. Her chest rose and fell peacefully ten inches away. The streetlight caught the curve of her cheek. "Mommy," he breathed, the word a shocked exhale.
"That's right," Toshinori hissed, his thrusts becoming deeper, more deliberate. Each one jolted Izuku's gaze back to his mother's face. "She trusts me. She trusts you. And you're letting me ruin you in her bed."
"I'm not letting you," Izuku moaned, his hips pushing back to meet each stroke. "I'm begging you. Harder, Daddy. Please."
Toshinori released his hair, his long fingers instead wrapping around Izuku's throat, not squeezing, just holding. A claim. "You're a sickness," he whispered, his breath hot against Izuku's ear. "And I'm infected." He drove into him, the wet slap of their skin a counter-rhythm to Inko's sleep. "Tell her what you are."
Izuku's mouth fell open. He stared at his mother's closed eyelids. "Mommy," he gasped, each word punctuated by a thrust. "I'm... I'm Daddy's little cunt. He's fucking me so deep. I can feel him in my stomach."
A broken sound escaped Toshinori. He buried his face in Izuku's freckled shoulder, his hips pistoning. "Again."
"He's breeding me," Izuku cried, his voice climbing. "Right next to you. He's gonna come inside his son's pussy. Your bed is all wet with me."
Toshinori's control snapped. His thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming a frantic, pounding chase. "Gonna come," he grunted, the words muffled against skin. "Where do you want it, you filthy boy? Tell me."
"Inside!" Izuku begged, his own climax coiling again, triggered by the obscene confession and the relentless friction. "Fill me up, Daddy. Claim your slut."
Toshinori's whole body went rigid. A guttural, choked roar was stifled against Izuku's shoulder as he slammed home and held, his cock pulsing deep inside. Izuku felt the hot flood, and it tipped him over the edge. He came silently, his mouth a wide 'O', another gush of clear fluid soaking the already ruined sheets beneath him.
For a long minute, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the hum of the air conditioner. Toshinori went limp, his weight crushing Izuku into the mattress. Then, with a shudder, he pulled out. The loss made Izuku whimper. Toshinori rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, one hand over his eyes. "God. What have we done."
Izuku lay still, feeling the slow, shameful trickle of his stepfather's release leak out of him. His eyes found the phone. The red light was still on. A text notification buzzed silently on the screen. Kacchan's name.