Izuku woke with a soreness deep in his body, a dull ache that made him shift carefully under the sheets. He pushed the confusion away, the faint echo of a bad dream dissolving under the bright, giddy excitement that he was going on a date tonight.
“It’s just nerves,” he whispered to his empty bedroom, throwing the covers off. He moved through his morning routine in a happy daze, choosing his clothes with more care than he had in years—a soft cashmere sweater that brought out the green in his eyes, dark trousers that hugged his curves.
The restaurant was all low lighting and velvet banquettes, a place where conversations stayed at the volume of a secret. Shoto was already waiting in a secluded booth at the back, rising as Izuku approached. “You look beautiful,” Shoto said, his heterochromia eyes warm.
“Thank you for this,” Izuku said, sliding in close. The booth was intimate, their thighs nearly touching from the start. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve done anything like this.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Shoto’s smile was gentle, genuine. They talked through the first course, Shoto listening intently as Izuku spoke about his illustrations, his son. The wine warmed Izuku’s blood, loosening the knot of anxiety in his chest.
Under the crisp white tablecloth, Shoto’s knee brushed his. A deliberate, gentle pressure. Izuku didn’t pull away. He felt his breath catch. “Shoto…”
“Is this okay?” Shoto’s voice was a low murmur, his scarred profile half in shadow.
Izuku nodded, wordless. He turned his face, and Shoto met him in a kiss. It was soft at first, exploratory. Then deeper. Izuku tasted the wine on Shoto’s tongue, felt the rough texture of the burn scar under his fingertips as he cupped Shoto’s face.
Shoto’s hand found Izuku’s thigh under the table, his palm hot through the thin wool. He squeezed, then began a slow, possessive glide upward. Izuku gasped into the kiss, his own hand fumbling for Shoto’s belt. He got it open, his fingers slipping past the waistband of his trousers.
“I want to feel you,” Izuku breathed, his fingers wrapping around Shoto’s cock. It was thick, already hard and leaking. He stroked, his thumb smearing the wetness over the head.
Shoto groaned, a rough, hungry sound. His own hand pushed past the waistband of Izuku’s trousers, past his underwear. His fingers slid through soft curls, then lower, finding Izuku’s pussy already slick and hot. “You’re soaking,” Shoto whispered against his neck.
Across the restaurant, partially obscured by a decorative screen, Katsuki Bakugou watched. He sat perfectly still, a half-finished beer forgotten in his hand. His red eyes were fixed on the shadowed booth, on the way his mother’s head tilted back in pleasure, on the stranger’s hand moving under the tablecloth where it didn’t belong. Every cell in his body screamed. The fork in his other hand bent, the metal groaning in his fist.
Shoto’s finger slid deeper into Izuku’s pussy, a slow, claiming push that made Izuku’s back arch off the vinyl. “Fuck,” Izuku gasped, breaking the kiss, his forehead falling against Shoto’s shoulder.
“You feel incredible,” Shoto murmured, his breath hot against Izuku’s ear. He added a second finger, stretching him, the wet sound obscene under the quiet din of the restaurant. “So tight. So ready.”
Izuku’s own hand moved faster on Shoto’s cock, his thumb pressing into the slit. “I want you to come,” he whispered, a desperate, hungry confession. “I want to feel it.”
“Not yet.” Shoto’s teeth grazed Izuku’s neck. He curled his fingers, searching, and Izuku cried out when he found the spot, a sharp, sweet shock that tightened every muscle. “There it is.”
Across the room, Katsuki’s vision tunneled. He saw the tear that tracked from the corner of his mother’s eye, the way his lips parted on a silent moan. He saw the stranger’s fingers moving, fucking into him. The beer bottle in his hand cracked, a hairline fracture spreading up the glass.
“Katsuki would kill me if he knew I was doing this,” Izuku moaned, the words tumbling out unbidden, laced with guilt and thrill.
Shoto stilled his fingers. “Do you want to stop?”
“No.” Izuku’s answer was immediate, raw. He ground down against Shoto’s hand. “God, no. Don’t stop. Please.”
Katsuki’s blood went cold at the plea. His mother was begging. For another man. He set the cracked bottle down with meticulous care, his hands trembling with the need to break something else. To break *him*.
“Then let me taste you,” Shoto said, his voice a dark promise. He began to withdraw his fingers.
Izuku’s hand clamped over Shoto’s wrist, keeping him there. “Not yet. I’m so close. Just like that.”
Shoto resumed his rhythm, his palm grinding against Izuku’s clit with every thrust. “Come for me, Izuku. Let me feel it.”
Izuku’s hips jerked, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. The orgasm built, a coiled spring in his gut, his thighs shaking around Shoto’s wrist. He was right there, trembling on the edge, the world narrowing to the heat of Shoto’s hand and the sound of his own begging.
Izuku came with a choked-off cry, his body seizing around Shoto’s fingers, wet heat flooding his thighs. He slumped against Shoto’s shoulder, trembling, but the emptiness returned almost instantly, a deeper, hungrier ache. “I need more,” he gasped into Shoto’s neck, the words raw and shameless. “I need your cock. Please.”
Shoto’s breath hitched. “Izuku—”
“I never do this,” Izuku babbled, clutching at Shoto’s shirt. “But I need you to take me to the bathroom and fuck me. Right now.”
Shoto didn’t hesitate. He withdrew his glistening fingers, wiped them on the napkin with a startling pragmatism, and stood, pulling Izuku up with him. “Come on.”
They moved through the nearly empty restaurant, a blur of low lights and hushed carpet. The single-occupancy bathroom was clean, smelling sharply of disinfectant. Shoto locked the door and turned, but Izuku was already sinking to his knees on the cold tile.
“Let me taste you first,” Izuku said, his hands fumbling with Shoto’s belt and zipper. He freed Shoto’s cock, thick and flushed, the head wet and eager. He didn’t tease. He took the length into his mouth in one slow, deep glide, his throat opening around it.
“Fuck,” Shoto groaned, his hands flying to Izuku’s curls. He looked down, his heterochromia eyes wide. “Izuku… how?”
Izuku pulled back, saliva stringing from his lips to the tip. He looked up, his green eyes glazed. “I’m full of surprises.” Then he took him deep again, his nose pressing into the coarse hair at the base, his throat working.
Shoto’s hips jerked forward, a shallow thrust. “You feel… incredible.” He watched, mesmerized, as Izuku bobbed his head, the wet sounds loud in the small room. Izuku’s own arousal dripped from his pussy onto the tile between his knees, a small, dark puddle.
Izuku pulled off with a wet pop, panting. “Now fuck me. I can’t wait.” He scrambled to his feet, turning to brace his hands against the sink. “Please, Shoto. I need to feel you inside me.”
Shoto pulls out a condom and slides it down his shaft. Shoto’s hands settled on Izuku’s hips, pulling him back. He guided his cock through Izuku’s slick folds, not entering, just painting him with the wetness. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Izuku pushed back, impaling himself on the first thick inch. They both groaned. “God, yes.”
Shoto sank into him slowly, a relentless, burning stretch that forced the air from Izuku’s lungs. He bottomed out, his hips flush against Izuku’s ass, his body curved over Izuku’s back. “You’re so tight,” he whispered, his lips against Izuku’s ear. “So perfect.”
He began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that had Izuku crying out with every thrust. The mirror rattled. Izuku watched their reflection—his own flushed, desperate face, Shoto’s scarred cheek pressed against his temple, Shoto’s big hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. “Harder,” Izuku begged. “I need to feel it tomorrow.”
Shoto obliged, his thrusts turning punishing, the slap of skin echoing off the tiles. Izuku’s pussy clung to him, dripping, every drag sparking a fresh wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. “You take me so well,” Shoto gritted out, his control fraying. “So good for me, Izuku.”
Izuku was unraveling, his vision spotting. “Kacchan would—” he started, a sob catching in his throat.
Shoto stilled, buried deep. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” Izuku shook his head wildly, pushing back against him. “Don’t you dare stop. Just… fuck me so I can’t think about anything else.”
Shoto resumed his pace, one hand sliding around to Izuku’s front, finding his clit. He rubbed tight, rough circles, matching the rhythm of his hips. “Come for me again,” he commanded, his voice rough.
The orgasm tore through Izuku, blinding, his body clamping down on Shoto’s cock in frantic pulses. He screamed, the sound muffled against his own arm. Shoto followed him over, a guttural groan ripped from his chest as he pulsed deep inside the condom, his thrusts turning jagged, possessive.
They stayed like that for a long moment, slumped together, breathing ragged in the sterile air. Shoto softened inside him, a slow, tender withdrawal. Tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash. He turned in Shoto’s arms, seeking his mouth, kissing him with a bruising, grateful intensity.
“I have to go home,” Izuku whispered against his lips, the real world crashing back in. “My son…”
Shoto nodded, his thumb wiping a smudge of lipstick from Izuku’s cheek. “I know.” He helped Izuku straighten his clothes, his touches now gentle, reverent. “Can I see you again?”
Izuku looked at their reflection—a disheveled, well-fucked man smiling softly back at him. “Yes.”
Izuku kissed Shoto one more time, a soft, lingering press of lips that tasted like hope, before he pulled back and unlocked the bathroom door. He opened it, a shy smile on his swollen mouth, and the smile died.
Katsuki filled the hallway, his back against the opposite wall, his arms crossed. His red eyes were flat, dead things. He wasn’t looking at Shoto. He was looking at Izuku, at the open collar of his shirt, at the fresh bruise on his neck. “Have fun, Mom?”
Izuku’s blood turned to ice. “Kacchan? What are you—how did you—”
“Heard everything.” Katsuki pushed off the wall, his movement liquid and predatory. “Every. Fucking. Word. Every beg. Every moan.” He stopped a foot away, his gaze finally cutting to Shoto. “You touched what’s mine.”
Shoto stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Izuku. “This is a private date. You need to leave.”
Katsuki’s laugh was a short, ugly sound. “Private. Right.” He looked past Shoto to Izuku. “You gonna tell him, Mom? Or should I?”
“Tell me what?” Shoto asked, his voice steady but wary.
“Kacchan, please,” Izuku whispered, his hand reaching for his son’s arm. “Let’s just go home. We can talk about this at home.”
Katsuki caught his wrist, his grip iron. He didn’t shake it off. He held it, his thumb stroking over Izuku’s frantic pulse. “He needs to know who he’s fucking with. Who he’s fucking.” He leaned closer to Shoto, his voice dropping to a confidential rasp. “He’s not just some lonely slut you found online. He’s my mother. And I don’t share.”
Shoto’s heterochromia eyes widened, flicking between them. “Your… mother?”
“He’s my son,” Izuku said, the words choked with shame. “Kacchan, let go.”
“See?” Katsuki said, his smile a razor cut. “Mommy knows her place eventually. She always comes home to her baby boy.” He yanked Izuku forward, pulling him against his chest, away from Shoto. “You’re done here. This ends now.”
“Izuku,” Shoto said, his hand outstretched. “You don’t have to go with him.”
Izuku was trembling, his face pressed into Katsuki’s shoulder. He smelled his son’s familiar scent—explosive powder and clean sweat—and it was a comfort and a cage. “I… I have to. He’s my son.”
“Smart,” Katsuki purred into his hair. He looked at Shoto over Izuku’s head. “You walk away. You forget his name, his face, where he lives. You forget you ever tasted him. Or I will make you forget.”
“Is that a threat?” Shoto’s voice cooled, his posture shifting into something ready.
“It’s a promise.” Katsuki’s free hand came up, his fingers tangling possessively in Izuku’s curls. “The last guy who didn’t listen… let’s just say he won’t be teaching any history classes anymore.”
Shoto went very still. “Shinso. That was you.”
“And the one before him. And the one before that.” Katsuki began walking backward, dragging Izuku with him down the hall. “My mom’s a romantic. He keeps hoping. But I’m a realist. I clean up his messes.” He stopped, his eyes burning into Shoto’s. “This is your only warning. The next time I see you, I won’t be talking.”
“Kacchan, stop,” Izuku pleaded, but his feet moved, compliant, following his son’s lead. “You’re scaring him.”
“Good,” Katsuki hissed, steering them around a corner toward the emergency exit. The cold night air hit Izuku’s heated skin as the door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the restaurant’s warmth, cutting off Shoto. Katsuki shoved him against the rough brick wall of the alley.
The drive home was silence so thick Izuku choked on it. Rain began to patter against the windshield, streaking the streetlights into neon tears. Katsuki drove with one hand on the wheel, the other clamped on Izuku’s thigh, his thumb pressing into the muscle through the fabric of his slacks. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at him. He just held on, a brand.
Izuku stared out his window, seeing nothing. The warmth of Shoto’s touch already a distant memory. The phantom sensation of Katsuki’s grip on his wrist pulsed like a bruise. “What did you do to them, Kacchan?” His voice was scraped raw. “To Yo. To Shinso.”
Katsuki’s thumb dug in harder. “What needed to be done.”
“Did you hurt them?”
“I protected you.”
“That’s not an answer!” Izuku twisted in his seat, the seatbelt cutting into his neck. “Tell me. Did you hurt them?”
Katsuki swung the car into their driveway, killing the engine with a jerk. The sudden quiet was deafening. He turned, his eyes glinting in the dark. “I ended them. I erased them. For you. Because you’re mine, and you keep forgetting.” He leaned in, his breath hot on Izuku’s face. “You let them put their hands on you. You let that icy-hot bastard fuck you in a bathroom. You screamed for him.”
“I’m allowed to!” Izuku’s shout cracked. “I’m a person, not a toy! I’m your mother, not your—”
“You’re MINE!” Katsuki roared, the car vibrating with it. He slammed his fist against the dashboard. “You have always been mine! Since the day that weak, pathetic sperm donor died and left you to me!”
Izuku flinched back, hitting the window. “Don’t talk about your father like that.”
Katsuki’s laugh was a harsh bark. He got out, slamming his door, and rounded the car to yank Izuku’s open. Cold rain misted in. “Get inside. Now.”
Izuku stumbled up the walk, fumbling with his keys. The familiar comfort of their home felt like a trap. The door clicked shut behind them, and Katsuki locked it, the deadbolt sliding home with a final, heavy thunk.
“Why are you doing this?” Izuku whispered, backing into the living room. “Why are you like this?”
“Because you make me like this!” Katsuki advanced, shedding his jacket. “You smile at them. You blush. You let them taste you.” He stopped a foot away, his chest heaving. “You came for him. I heard you. You came so hard you screamed. Do you scream for me, Mom? When I’m taking care of you at night?”
Ice water flooded Izuku’s veins. “What?”
Katsuki just stared, his expression a mask of furious possession. “You belong in this house. With me. You don’t need some extra to make you happy. I make you happy. I take care of you. I keep you safe.”
“This isn’t safety, Kacchan. This is a cage.” Tears finally spilled over, tracking through the smudged remains of his makeup. “You’re my baby boy. My son.”
The words hung in the air. Katsuki’s jaw tightened. For a second, something flickered in his eyes—something wounded, feral. Then it was gone, swallowed by the dark. “Go to your room.” His voice was low, controlled, and utterly terrifying. “Go to your room, Mom. Before I do something you’ll really regret.”
Izuku turned and fled up the stairs, his sobs echoing in the hallway. He closed his bedroom door, a flimsy barrier he knew meant nothing, and collapsed against it, sliding to the floor. He cried until his throat ached and his head pounded, until the house below was silent.
An hour later, a soft knock came at the door. Izuku flinched, wiping his face. He didn’t answer.
The knock came again, gentle. Persistent.
Slowly, Izuku stood, his body sore and heavy. He cracked open the door. No one was there. On the floor sat a steaming mug of chamomile tea, the one he always drank before bed. A small, folded note rested on the saucer. Izuku picked it up with trembling hands. The handwriting was Katsuki’s, sharp and angular: *I’m sorry Mommy.*
The tight knot in Izuku’s chest loosened, just a little. A fragile warmth bloomed there. His baby boy. He’d scared him, and now he was apologizing. He brought the mug to his nose, inhaling the familiar, soothing scent. He took a sip, then another, carrying it to his bedside. He drank it all, the heat spreading through his cold limbs, and climbed into bed. The last thing he felt before the drugged sleep dragged him under was that warmth, and the faint, guilty hope that things could be okay tomorrow.
Night Five
The bedroom door opened without a sound. Katsuki stood silhouetted in the hallway light, his breathing steady, his eyes fixed on the mound of blankets on the bed. He stepped inside and closed the door, plunging them back into the deep blue dark. The only sound was Izuku’s slow, drugged breath.
He stood over the bed for a long moment, just watching. Then his hands went to the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head. His pants followed, kicked aside. The moon through the window cut planes of silver across his chest, his stomach, the thick, heavy line of his cock, already hard and curving against his abdomen. He was fully erect, leaking.
“Gotta clean you up, Mommy,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp in the quiet. He peeled back the comforter. Izuku was curled on his side, wearing only the soft sleep shirt he’d put on after his shower. Katsuki’s hands were deft, clinical. He pushed the shirt up, baring Izuku’s stomach, the soft curve of his hips, the thatch of dark curls between his thighs. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of Izuku’s underwear and pulled them down, off, tossing them to the floor.
He knelt on the mattress between Izuku’s legs, spreading them. The scent hit him first—the clean soap from his shower, and beneath it, the faint, lingering musk of another man. Katsuki’s nostrils flared. “Mine,” he breathed, and bent his head.
His tongue was flat and hot, a slow, thorough swipe from her opening all the way up to the hood of his clit. Izuku’s body twitched in sleep, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Katsuki did it again, licking away the phantom touch, the memory of Shoto’s fingers, his cock. He lapped at him, his mouth sealing over his pussy, sucking gently, his tongue probing inside. He could taste him, just him, now. His. The wet, slick sound of his mouth on her filled the dark room.
Izuku moaned, a deep, unconscious sound. His hips shifted, pushing up into the heat of his son’s mouth. “Kacchan…”
The name, mumbled in sleep, went through Katsuki like a shock. He lifted his head, his lips glistening. “Yeah,” he growled. “It’s me. Only me.” He positioned himself, one hand guiding his cock to his entrance. The broad, leaking head pressed against him, nudging through the wetness his mouth had made. He pushed, just an inch, and stopped, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back. “You feel that? That’s me. I’m the only one who gets to be here.”
He sank into him, slow, a relentless, stretching invasion. Izuku’s back arched off the bed, a choked gasp caught in his throat. He was so tight, so hot, still loose from earlier but clenching instinctively around the new, thicker intrusion. Katsuki buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against Izuku’s ass, and stayed there, panting, letting them both feel the full, impossible depth of it. “Fuck. Fuck, Mommy. You take me so good.”
He began to move, a slow, grinding roll of his hips. Each drag out was a tease, each push back in a claiming. He leaned down, bracing himself on one arm, his other hand coming up to cradle Izuku’s face. He kissed him, deep and searching, his tongue pushing into his mother’s mouth just as his cock pushed into his cunt. Izuku kissed him back in his sleep, lips soft and pliant.
“Baby boy,” Izuku slurred against his mouth, the old endearment thick with sleep and tea.
Katsuki shuddered, his rhythm faltering. “That’s right,” he choked out. “Your baby boy. I’m right here.” He kissed him again, desperately, and his thumb found Izuku’s clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. “Come for me, Mommy. Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”
His pace increased, the slow grind building into proper, deep thrusts. The bed began to rock, the headboard tapping a soft, steady rhythm against the wall. Katsuki’s breath came in harsh grunts against Izuku’s neck. Izuku’s moans grew louder, more frantic, his body moving in a drowsy, eager rhythm against his son’s. “Kacchan… please…”
“I’ve got you,” Katsuki promised, his thumb working faster. He could feel him tightening around him, the flutter starting deep inside. “Let go. Come for me. Now.”
Izuku’s body bowed, a silent, straining arc, before he came with a broken cry, his cunt clamping down in a violent, fluttering rhythm around Katsuki’s cock. Then it happened—a hot, gushing release, soaking Katsuki’s thrusting length and the sheets beneath them with more than just come. It spilled out, a slick flood, and Katsuki felt it, the heat of it, the absolute surrender of it.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his hips stuttering. “Fuck, Mommy, look at you. Squirting all over my dick. Only I can make you do that. Only me.”
The sight, the feel, the proprietary pride of it tipped him over the edge. His control shattered. He drove into her one last time, hilting himself deep, and came. It wasn’t a normal release; it was a torrent, rope after thick rope pumping into him, flooding his already soaked channel, until he felt it leaking out around where they were joined. He shook with it, a full-body shiver, his forehead dropping to Izuku’s shoulder as he emptied himself completely inside his mother’s womb.
For a long minute, he just stayed there, buried to the balls, panting against his neck. He felt drunk, victorious. “Mine,” he slurred into his skin.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. The wet, obscene sound echoed in the room. He glanced down. Izuku’s pussy was glistening, swollen, overflowing with his cum. It dripped out onto the ruined sheets. Perfect.
Katsuki fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. He unlocked it, the screen bright in the dark, and angled the camera. He took three pictures: a close-up of his used, dripping cunt, a wider shot of his own softening cock resting against her thigh, smeared with both of them, and finally one of Izuku’s peaceful, sleeping face. He saved them to a locked folder labeled ‘Mine.’
He fetched a warm washcloth from the bathroom. He cleaned Izuku with a tenderness that contradicted everything he’d just done, wiping the sweat from his brow, the come from his stomach, meticulously dabbing between his thighs until he was clean, or as clean as he could be with his seed still deep inside him. He pulled his underwear and sleep shirt back into place, tucked the comforter around him.
He dressed in the dark, his eyes never leaving him. Before he left, he knelt by the bed. He brushed Izuku’s curls back from his forehead and leaned in, kissing his lips, soft and lingering. “I love you, Mommy,” he whispered against his mouth.
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut, leaving Izuku alone in the bed, deeply asleep, filled with his son, dreaming of nothing at all.