The heat in Katsuki’s bedroom is a living thing, a humid, syrupy pressure that wraps around him in the dark. He’s on his back, sheets tangled at his ankles, the dream already in progress. His cock is in his mother’s mouth, and the world has narrowed to that wet, searing heat. It’s not a memory. It’s sharper.

Izuku’s green curls brush his thighs. Katsuki can feel the scrape of teeth, the perfect, practiced suction. A low groan tears from his throat. “Fuck… Mommy…”

“Shh, baby boy,” Izuku murmurs, the vibration traveling straight up his spine. “Just let me take care of you.”

He does. He lets his head fall back, hands fisting the sheets as that mouth works him over, slow then fast, a rhythm that steals his breath. Then Izuku takes him deeper, the head of his cock hitting the back of his throat, and Katsuki’s hips jerk off the mattress. It’s too much. It’s everything. Izuku deep-throats him, holds him there, and Katsuki sees stars behind his eyelids, a blinding white pressure building at the base of his spine.

“I’m gonna—Mommy, I’m gonna cum—”

Izuku pulls off with a wet pop. The cold air on his slick cock is a shock. “Not yet, Kacchan.”

Katsuki blinks, vision swimming. Izuku is climbing over him, knees settling on either side of his hips. The moonlight from the window catches his skin. It’s streaked with red. Smeared across his freckled chest, his slender throat, painting his forearms like clumsy war paint.

“The hell…?” Katsuki rasps, the dream-logic struggling. “You’re… red.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Izuku whispers, leaning down. His breath is warm against Katsuki’s mouth. His eyes are dark pools, endless. “Worry about this.”

He sinks down. There’s no condom. The feeling is catastrophic. A tight, clutching, silken heat that sheathes him in one relentless, perfect slide. Katsuki shouts, back arching, every nerve ending firing at once. Izuku is so tight it’s dizzying, his body accepting all ten thick inches without hesitation, taking him to the hilt.

“See?” Izuku gasps, his voice trembling, his hands braced on Katsuki’s chest. His hips begin to move. “See how you fit Mommy? Just for you. Always just for you.”

Katsuki’s hands snap up from the sheets, his fingers digging into the soft give of Izuku’s hips. He can feel the bones beneath, the flex of muscle as Izuku rides him. He drives upward, a hard, possessive thrust that slams Izuku down onto him, punching a sharp cry from his mother’s throat.

“Fuck— Kacchan—!”

“You feel that?” Katsuki snarls, his voice ragged. He does it again, pistoning his hips up to meet the downward slam, the wet, solid sound of their bodies connecting filling the hot dark. “That’s you. Taking all of me. You wanted it.”

Izuku’s head falls back, his throat working. The red smears on his skin gleam under the moonlight, slick and dark. “Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, baby, I wanted it. I always want it.”

His rhythm breaks, becomes frantic, a desperate chase for friction. Katsuki takes over, his own hips moving in a brutal, pounding cadence, driving up into that impossibly tight, slick heat. The bedframe groans against the wall. Izuku’s small hands scramble for purchase on Katsuki’s sweat-slicked chest, his nails leaving faint, stinging trails.

“Say it,” Katsuki grunts, his vision blurring at the edges, everything reduced to the feeling of being buried inside his mother.

“My good boy,” Izuku moans, his body clenching around Katsuki’s cock like a vise. “My perfect boy. Only yours. Mommy’s only ever yours.”

The words sink into Katsuki’s skin, hotter than the friction. He hauls Izuku down harder, deeper, each thrust a claim. The red on Izuku’s chest smears against his own, a sticky, forgotten warning. Izuku’s breath comes in sobbing hitches, his eyes glassy and fixed on Katsuki’s face.

“I’m close,” Katsuki warns, the pressure coiling savagely in his gut.

“Wait,” Izuku pleads, his hips stuttering. “Wait for me, baby, please—”

Katsuki slows, just a fraction, grinding deep and holding there, making Izuku whimper. He feels the internal flutters, the frantic clenching around his length. “You gonna cum for me, Mommy?”

Izuku nods, a frantic little movement. His whole body is trembling. “With you. Need to feel you— inside when I—”

The sentence shatters. Izuku’s back arches violently, a silent scream on his lips as his pussy suddenly convulses, a rippling, milking pressure around Katsuki’s cock. The heat between them turns soaking wet, a gush of fluid that slicks Katsuki’s thighs and the sheets beneath them.

“Now,” Izuku chokes out, his eyes rolling back. “Now, Kacchan, fill me up—”

“Not yet,” Katsuki snarls, his voice thick and guttural. His hands are a vise on Izuku’s hips, halting his frantic movements. With a brutal, fluid roll of his own body, he flips them.

Izuku gasps as his back hits the sweat-damp sheets, Katsuki’s weight settling between his spread thighs, his cock still buried impossibly deep inside. The red on Izuku’s chest is a grotesque Rorschach blot between them.

“Kacchan—”

“I said not yet.” Katsuki braces himself on his forearms, caging his mother in. His face is inches away, his red eyes wild, pupils blown black with need. “You don’t get to decide when I’m done.”

He pulls out, slowly, the drag making Izuku shudder, then slams back in. It’s a piston stroke, devoid of tenderness, all driving force. The bedframe cracks against the wall.

“Need more,” Katsuki grunts, his hips setting a punishing rhythm. “So much more.”

Izuku’s head tips back, a broken moan torn from his throat. His fingers scramble at Katsuki’s sweat-slick shoulders, nails digging in. “Yes— like that— your Mommy needs it—”

"Harder," Izuku gasps, his voice shattered and sweet. His legs lock around Katsuki's waist, heels digging into the small of his back. "My boy's so deep. So good. Fuck your Mommy harder, Kacchan."

Katsuki snarls, a sound ripped from his chest. He braces himself, forearms cording with strain, and drives into that slick, clenching heat with everything he has. The slap of skin is obscenely loud, a wet, rhythmic punctuation to their ragged breathing. The red on Izuku's chest smears wider with each impact.

"You like that?" Katsuki grunts, his hips a relentless piston. "This what you dream about? Me fucking you stupid?"

"Yes," Izuku moans, his head thrashing side to side on the damp pillow. His green eyes are glazed, unfocused. "Every night. Only you. No one fucks me like my baby boy."

"Damn right." Katsuki leans down, his mouth hovering over Izuku's. He can taste his mother's breath, feel the heat of it. "Say it again."

"No one," Izuku whimpers, his body seizing around Katsuki's cock in another tight, fluttering wave. Fresh wetness soaks between them. "No one gets this. Only you get Mommy's pussy. It's yours. All yours."

The words are gasoline. Katsuki's vision tunnels, the world narrowing to the feel of Izuku beneath him, around him, the smell of sex and sweat and that coppery, forgotten red. He fucks into him with a brutality that shakes the bedframe, each thrust a claim staked deeper than the last.

"Gonna ruin you," Katsuki pants, sweat dripping from his chin onto Izuku's freckled chest. It cuts a pale trail through the red. "Gonna fuck you so full of me you'll feel it tomorrow. You'll walk around and remember."

"Please," Izuku begs, his hands clawing at Katsuki's back. His voice breaks on a sob. "Ruin me. Fill me up. I need it— need you to mark me inside—"

Katsuki feels the pressure building again, a white-hot coil tightening at the base of his spine. It's closer now, a tsunami gathering force. Izuku's body is milking him, that tight channel fluttering and gripping, trying to pull the climax from him.

"You close, Mommy?" Katsuki rasps, his rhythm becoming erratic, savage. "You gonna squirt all over my cock again?"

Izuku nods, frantic, his mouth open in a silent scream. His hips meet every brutal drive, taking it all, his smaller body yielding completely. "With you," he chokes out. "Only with you. Wait for me, baby, wait—"

Katsuki slows, just for a heartbeat, grinding deep and holding there, buried to the hilt. He feels the orgasm rippling through Izuku first, a violent, internal quake that makes his mother arch off the sheets, a gush of hot fluid flooding between them. The sensation is electric, a live wire straight to his core.

"Now," Izuku sobs, his body convulsing. "Now, Kacchan, cum for Mommy—"

The coil snaps.

Katsuki comes with a broken shout, his hips slamming forward one final, shuddering time as he empties himself deep inside his mother. The release is brutal, a hot flood that pulses from him in thick, claiming spurts, filling Izuku until he feels it, the impossible fullness, the searing heat of his son marking him from within.

Izuku sobs, his body clasping tight around Katsuki’s cock, milking out every last drop. “Yes— yes, baby— give it all to Mommy,” he keens, his fingers tangled in Katsuki’s sweat-damp hair. “So much. I can feel it.”

For a long moment, there is only the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet, intimate slide as Katsuki, still pulsing softly, collapses his weight onto Izuku. Their sweat-slick chests press together, the red substance between them now a warm, tacky glue.

Katsuki’s face is buried in the crook of Izuku’s neck. He breathes in the scent of his mother’s skin—green tea, sex, and that faint, metallic tang. “Fuck,” he mutters, the word muffled against freckled skin.

“My good boy,” Izuku whispers, his voice hoarse and wrecked. His hands stroke down Katsuki’s heaving back, possessive and tender. “You filled me up so perfect.”

Katsuki doesn’t move. The dream-feeling is still there, a thick, syrupy haze, but the physical sensation is hyper-real. The stickiness on his stomach. The ache in his hips. The way Izuku’s pussy still flutters weakly around his softening cock. “This a dream, Momma?”

“Just a dream, baby boy,” Izuku murmurs, his lips brushing Katsuki’s temple. His fingers card gently through the damp spikes of blond hair. “A good one, though. Wasn’t it?”

Katsuki grunts, a sound of profound dissatisfaction. He doesn’t lift his head from Izuku’s neck. His softening cock slips free with a wet, intimate sound, followed by a trickle of warmth onto the sheets between Izuku’s thighs. “Felt real.”

“The best ones do.” Izuku’s hand strokes down the tense line of Katsuki’s spine, over the crescent marks left by his own nails. “You’re all tired out. Need to sleep for real now, Kacchan.”

“Don’t wanna.” Katsuki’s voice is muffled, thick. He nuzzles deeper, inhaling. His nose brushes the sticky, drying red on Izuku’s chest. He goes still for a second. “The fuck is this? Paint?”

Izuku’s hand doesn’t falter in its rhythmic stroking. “Hmm? Oh, that. Must’ve been from my art project earlier. Got a little messy. Forgot to wash up.” His tone is light, dismissive. A soft kiss is pressed to Katsuki’s hair. “See? Just a dream. Your mind mixing things up.”

Katsuki exhales, a hot gust against Izuku’s skin. The coppery smell is faint, almost lost under the stronger scents of sex and sweat. His body is heavy, limbs leaden with spent exertion. “Stupid dream.”

“Not stupid,” Izuku chides softly. He shifts, wincing slightly at the internal ache, and gathers Katsuki closer. The boy doesn’t resist, his muscular frame going pliant as Izuku arranges them on their sides, facing each other on the ruined sheets. Izuku tucks Katsuki’s head under his chin. “My strong boy worked so hard. Made Mommy feel so good, even in a dream.”

“Love you, Mommy,” Katsuki mumbles into the hollow of Izuku’s throat. The words are slurred, half-swallowed by impending sleep.

Izuku’s breath catches. His arms tighten, a convulsive, possessive squeeze. “I love you more than anything, Kacchan,” he whispers, the raw truth of it vibrating in his chest. “More than the whole world. Now sleep. I’ve got you.”

Katsuki’s breathing deepens, slows. The last of the tension bleeds from his shoulders. One hand rests possessively on Izuku’s hip, fingers splayed over the curve of his ass.

The first thing Katsuki registers is the smell—clean linen and green tea, not sex and sweat. The second is the soft, familiar weight against his side.

He opens his eyes. The ceiling is wrong. This isn't his room. Morning light filters through white curtains, painting stripes across his mother’s sleeping face. Izuku is curled toward him, one hand clasping Katsuki’s own, their fingers loosely tangled on the pillow between them. They’re both fully dressed—Katsuki in a clean t-shirt and sweatpants, Izuku in a soft-looking sleep shirt.

Katsuki’s head pounds. His body aches with a deep, pleasant soreness that feels earned, but his skin is clean. No sticky residue. No coppery smell. “What the fuck,” he mutters, his voice a dry croak.

The movement rouses Izuku. His green eyes flutter open, soft and unfocused with sleep. A gentle smile touches his lips. “Morning, baby boy.” He gives Katsuki’s hand a sleepy squeeze. “You slept hard.”

“Why am I in your bed?” Katsuki pulls his hand back, sitting up. The sheets are crisp, untouched. No red paint. No wet spots. It makes the memory of the dream feel like a fever, hot and vivid and impossible. “Last thing I remember, I was in my room.”

“You were sleepwalking, Kacchan.” Izuku pushes himself up on one elbow, his sleep shirt slipping off a freckled shoulder. His tone is all soothing melody. “I heard you stumbling around in the hall around three a.m. You were mumbling. Led you right in here and you crashed. Didn’t have the heart to move you back.”

“Sleepwalking,” Katsuki repeats, flat. He looks down at his own hands. He remembers the feel of Izuku’s hips under his palms, the bite of nails into his back. The ache in his muscles is too specific for a dream. “Bullshit.”

“Language.” Izuku sits up fully, stretching. The movement pulls the thin fabric tight across his small chest. “You want breakfast? I was thinking pancakes.”

Katsuki’s eyes drop to Izuku’s neck. There’s no mark there. No bruise. Nothing. But he can still taste the phantom salt of his mother’s skin. “I had a dream,” he says, the words coming out before he can stop them.

“Oh?” Izuku’s expression doesn’t change. He reaches out and smooths a wild blond spike of Katsuki’s hair. His fingers are cool. “A good one?”

“Felt real.” Katsuki’s gaze is locked on Izuku’s face, searching for a crack. “You were in it.”

A soft, airy laugh escapes Izuku. It doesn’t touch his eyes. “Well, I am your mother. I’m in most of your dreams, I’d imagine.” He swings his legs off the bed, his bare feet touching the floor. “You were talking in your sleep, you know. Sounded… intense.”

A cold thread of unease winds through Katsuki’s gut. “What’d I say?”

Izuku stands, padding toward the bedroom door. He glances back over his shoulder, his green eyes calm as a forest pool. “Just my name, sweetheart. Over and over.” He smiles, a tender, maternal curve of his lips. “Now come on. Pancakes wait for no one, not even my sleepy boy.”

Katsuki doesn’t move. He stares at the empty space where Izuku just was, at the perfectly made bed, at his own clean hands. The dream is a living thing under his skin, a ghost of fullness and heat and possession. He looks at the doorway.

If only it wasn't a dream.