Izuku woke with the inside of his mouth tasting like copper and salt. He ran his tongue over his lips, still sleep-swollen, and the metallic tang deepened. What is that? He stared at the ceiling, the taste a ghost in his mouth, a residue from a dream he couldn’t remember.
Under the steaming shower spray, his hands moved over his freckled skin. He tried to conjure Yo—the pressure of his fingers in the bar booth, the crude promise of the hotel. But his mind flickered, unreliable. Yo’s face blurred, replaced by the intense crimson of a familiar gaze, the memory of a large, warm palm splayed possessively on his hip in the kitchen. Izuku’s breath hitched. His own fingers circled a puffy nipple, and it peaked instantly, sensitive. “Think of Yo,” he whispered to the tiles, voice lost in the water’s roar.
But his other hand drifted down, through the coarse curls, finding his clit already swollen and eager. He pressed the pad of his thumb against it, and a full-body shiver wracked him. A low moan escaped. The image wasn’t Yo’s smug smile. It was a spiky blond head bowed between his thighs, a broad shoulder under his gripping hand. “Kacchan,” the word left him in a gasp, not a scold, but a plea. His hips jerked into his own touch.
He came quickly, violently, back slamming against the cold shower wall as his knees buckled. The water washed over him, useless. Shame followed, hot and thick. He’d just fantasized about his son while trying to think of a date. “No,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to the tile. “It’s the loneliness. It’s just… confusion.”
Across the hall, Katsuki’s room was silent but for the soft click-clack of keys. His screen cast a hellish glow on his sharp features. On one monitor, a fabricated conversation bloomed: a doctored photo of Yo’s face pasted onto a shadowy figure, messages to a fake, underage profile. On another, anonymous social media posts began to spread. *Did you know about Yo Shindo?* *Proof he’s a predator.* The digital wildfire caught fast.
It was too easy. A couple of doctored photos, a few posts in the right groups. The comments flooded in within minutes: *Disgusting.* *Reported.* *Pedo.* Katsuki’s expression didn’t change. He watched the ruin unfold with the detached focus of a surgeon. A notification popped up—Yo’s employer’s page, a new review: *Fire the child groomer.* Katsuki’s thumb hovered, then clicked ‘submit’.
He leaned back, the leather chair groaning. His cock was hard, a persistent ache in his sweats, but it was a secondary thrum. This was the real release. Eliminating the threat. Cleaning the world for him. For Mom. His eyes drifted to his bedroom door, as if he could see through it to where he was, damp and soft and shamefully aroused from a sleep he’d orchestrated.
Izuku stood at the kitchen counter, fingers trembling slightly as he poured tea. His phone buzzed. A news alert: *Local Man Accused of Soliciting Minors Online.* The preview photo was unmistakably Yo. The mug slipped from his hand, shattering on the tile, hot liquid splashing his ankles.
“Mom?” Katsuki’s voice was at the kitchen entrance, too quick, too alert for the early hour. He was already dressed. His eyes took in the broken ceramic, the tea, the pale shock on Izuku’s face. “You okay?”
“It’s… it’s Yo,” Izuku stammered, pointing at the phone screen like it was a live thing. “The man I… from the app. They’re saying he…” He couldn’t finish. The taste of salt and copper was back in his throat.
Katsuki stepped over the mess, his movements deliberate. He picked up the phone, glanced at the screen, and snorted. “Looks like you dodged a grenade, huh?” He set the phone down, face first. His hand came up, cupping Izuku’s cheek, his thumb brushing away a fleck of tea. His touch was searing. “See? The world’s full of shitty men.”
His red eyes held Izuku’s, unwavering. “Good thing you’ve already got a man who’d never let anything touch you.” The statement hung, heavy and absolute, in the morning air. He didn’t smile. It wasn’t a joke. It was a law.
Izuku’s eyes dropped to Katsuki’s mouth, a forbidden thought flashing—what did that copper taste mean? Had he bitten his own lip in his sleep? The image of Katsuki’s teeth, sharp and white, ghosted through his mind.
Katsuki’s thumb was still on his cheek. He didn’t move it. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” Izuku whispered, but he wasn’t pulling away. The heat from Katsuki’s palm was the only solid thing in the room.
“No, you’re not. You’re scared.” Katsuki’s voice dropped, a low rumble meant only for him. “You should be. The world’s full of monsters, Mom. Good thing you’ve got me to hunt them.”
Izuku’s breath caught. The words were wrong, too violent, but the possessive certainty in them wrapped around his loneliness like a blanket. “Kacchan…”
“Tell me you understand.” Katsuki’s other hand came up, cradling Izuku’s face, holding him in place. “Tell me you see it now. No one else. Ever.”
Izuku’s heart hammered against his ribs. He should argue. He should parent. But the memory of his own climax in the shower, choked on his son’s name, flooded him with fresh shame. His gaze flicked again to Katsuki’s mouth. “I see it,” he breathed, the surrender bitter on his tongue.
A slow, dark satisfaction bloomed in Katsuki’s eyes. He leaned in, close enough for Izuku to feel the heat of his breath. “Good.” He released him suddenly, turning to kneel and gather the broken shards of the mug. “Go get dressed. You’re working today.”
Izuku stumbled back, the absence of his touch like a cold draft. He fled to his bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it. His clit throbbed, a traitorous pulse between his legs. He pressed the heel of his hand against it, through his sweatpants, and a sharp gasp tore from him.
“Stop it,” he hissed to himself. He pushed off the door and tore his clothes off, needing the shower again, needing to wash the feeling away. The water hit him, and his hands trembled as they soaped his skin.
He didn’t try to think of Yo. He didn’t try to think of anything. But his body remembered. His fingers brushed a nipple and it tightened, aching. He squeezed his eyes shut. The fantasy didn’t flash—it unfolded, full-color and vivid: Katsuki’s mouth, not on his cheek, but lower, on his throat, his chest, descending with a ruthless focus. The image of that spiky blond head between his thighs, the flat of a tongue dragging a slow, wet stripe over his clit.
“Fuck,” Izuku groaned, his head falling forward. His hand slid down, fingers slipping through his folds. He was already soaked. His own touch was too gentle, too hesitant. In the fantasy, it wasn’t. It was demanding. Consuming.
He imagined Katsuki’s voice, a hot growl against his inner thigh. *You taste like mine, Mommy.*
Izuku’s fingers circled his clit, faster now, his hips rocking into the pressure. The pleasure built, sharp and guilty, coiling tight in his gut. He was going to come again, thinking of his son, and the shame only made it more intense, a twisted fuel. His other hand gripped the shower rack, knuckles white.
Across the hall, Katsuki sat at his desk, the broken mug pieces in his trash. His phone buzzed. A notification from Izuku’s dating app, synced to his own device. A new message. From Hitoshi Shinso.
Katsuki opened it. *Looking forward to our date tomorrow, Izuku. Seven still good?*
His jaw tightened. A cold, clean fury settled over him. He switched screens, his fingers flying. The ruin of Yo Shindo was still trending. Now, for Hitoshi Shinso. A different approach. A cloned phone number. Texts to a colleague’s wife, doctored to sound illicit, desperate. A few keystrokes to access a private work server, planting a seed of data theft.
By the time Izuku stumbled out of the shower, skin flushed and raw, Katsuki had already sent the final command. A screenshot of the fabricated texts, sent anonymously to Shinso’s employer with the subject line: *A Problem You Need to See.*
In the steam-filled bathroom, Izuku avoided the mirror. He could still taste copper. He dressed mechanically. His phone chimed on the bed. He picked it up, water dripping from his hair onto the screen.
It was a message from Hitoshi Shinso. *Izuku, I’m so sorry. Something’s come up at work. An emergency. I have to cancel tomorrow. I’ll… I’ll explain later.*
Izuku stared at the words. The cold knot of loneliness tightened in his chest. He didn’t type a reply. He just let the phone fall back onto the rumpled sheets, where a single, long blonde hair clung to the pillowcase.
Night Three
The tea was bitter, but Izuku drank it anyway, smiling absently at his son over the rim. “Long day,” he murmured, already feeling the drowsy pull behind his eyes.
“Sleep well, Mom,” Katsuki said, taking the empty mug. His fingers brushed Izuku’s, a deliberate spark. He watched until the bedroom door clicked shut.
Midnight. The house was quiet. Katsuki stood over Izuku’s bed, watching the deep, even rise and fall of his chest. The sheet had slipped low, exposing the soft curve of a freckled breast, the puffy nipple dark in the gloom. Need was a live wire in his gut, coiled tight since the kitchen that morning. Since he’d tasted victory on Izuku’s surrender.
He didn’t hesitate. He peeled the sheet back, exposing all of him. The small, soft tits. The swell of his stomach. The thick thighs, parted slightly in sleep. Katsuki’s breath hitched. He knelt between them.
“Mine,” he whispered into the warm, quiet dark. He bent, his nose nudging through the coarse curls. The scent hit him first—sleep and salt and pure, aching Izuku. He groaned, low in his throat, and licked a slow, flat stripe from his hole to his clit.
Izuku stirred, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His hips twitched.
Katsuki’s hands clamped on his thighs, holding him open. “Shhh, Mommy,” he murmured against his soaked skin. “Just dreaming.” He did it again, longer this time, savoring the flavor. Musk and sweetness. He lapped at his entrance, drinking him in, before zeroing in on the swollen bud of his clit.
“Nnnh… Kacchan…?” The word was slurred, thick with sleep and drugs.
“Right here,” Katsuki growled, not stopping. He sucked the clit into his mouth, gentle then rough, flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak.
Izuku’s back arched off the bed. A weak hand came down, tangling in Katsuki’s spiky hair, not to push away, but to grip. “S-stop… dreaming…”
“It’s a good dream, isn’t it?” Katsuki pulled back, his lips glistening. He blew a cool stream of air over the wetness. Izuku shuddered violently. “Tell me it’s a good dream, Mommy.”
“Can’t… can’t…” Izuku panted, his head thrashing on the pillow. His other hand fisted the sheet. “Feels too… real…”
“It’s real,” Katsuki said, his voice a dark promise. He dove back in, eating him with a frantic, focused hunger. He licked and sucked, mapping every fold, worshipping the heat and wetness that was for him, only ever for him. The sounds were obscene—wet, sloppy, hungry.
Izuku’s hips began to rock, meeting the rhythm of his son’s tongue. Little broken cries fell from his lips. “Baby boy… please…”
The plea, the title, shot straight to Katsuki’s cock. He redoubled his efforts, circling his clit with a ruthless precision, pushing him higher, chasing the taste of his climax. He could feel the tension coiling in Izuku’s belly, the thighs trembling in his hands.
“Gonna come, Mommy?” he rasped, lifting his head for a second. His chin was slick. “Come on my tongue. Let me taste it.”
Izuku’s eyes flew open, glassy and unseeing in the dark, filled with a drugged, overwhelming want. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his body bowing tight as a wire.
The orgasm ripped through Izuku, violent and total. His back arched off the mattress, a choked scream tearing from his throat as he squirted, a hot gush of fluid flooding Katsuki’s mouth.
Katsuki drank it greedily, his tongue lapping at his pulsing hole, swallowing every drop. “Fuck, yes,” he groaned against him, the taste bitter and sweet and perfect. “All mine.”
Izuku collapsed, boneless and gasping, his eyes rolling back. Katsuki licked him clean, a slow, thorough pass from his ass to his throbbing clit, which still jumped under his tongue. He finally sat back on his heels, his own need a painful ache. He shoved his sweatpants down, freeing his cock, already leaking and rock-hard.
“Look at you,” Katsuki breathed, his hand fisting his length. He stroked himself, his gaze locked on Izuku’s glistening, used pussy. “So pretty when you come for me.”
Izuku whimpered, a weak, spent sound. His hand fluttered toward his stomach, but fell limply to the sheet.
“Gonna mark you, Mom,” Katsuki gritted out, his strokes turning frantic, rough. “Gonna make sure you remember.” His hips jerked. “Even in your sleep, you’ll feel me.”
He came with a harsh grunt, thick stripes of cum shooting across Izuku’s cunt, coating his folds and clit. He kept stroking, smearing it in, rubbing his spend into the sensitive skin until Izuku’s pussy was a slick, white mess.
Panting, Katsuki grabbed his phone from the floor. He leaned in, the head of his cock nudging Izuku’s swollen entrance. He snapped the picture: his flesh against his mother’s, both of them glistening, claimed. He tucked himself away.
He bent over, kissing Izuku’s slack, wet mouth. He could still taste himself on his mother’s lips. “Goodnight, Mommy,” he whispered.
He pulled the sheet back up, leaving the cooling cum to seep into Izuku’s skin. He paused at the door, looking back. Izuku sighed in his drugged sleep, one hand curling near his cheek.
Katsuki smiled. A dark, quiet thing. He left the door slightly ajar.