The air in the Midoriya dining room was thick with the smell of roasted meat, garlic, and too many bodies. Platters passed hand over hand, laughter rolled in waves, and Izuku gripped his fork like an anchor.

“So, Shoto,” Denki chirped from across the table, his smile blinding. “First family holiday immersion. How’s the shock to the system?”

Shoto swallowed a bite of potato, his heterochromatic eyes calm. “The decibel level is notable. But the food is excellent.”

“See?” Denki nudged Hitoshi beside him. “He gets it. You just have to embrace the chaos.”

“I embrace a silent night,” Hitoshi muttered, but he was smiling, his arm draped over the back of Denki’s chair. Izuku watched them, a hollow ache in his chest. That was supposed to be him and Shoto. Easy. Open. Not sitting here with a secret screaming in his veins.

“He’s fitting right in,” Inko beamed, patting Shoto’s arm from his other side. “Such lovely manners.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Midoriya,” Shoto said, and Izuku felt the warmth of his boyfriend’s knee pressing against his own under the table. A steady point of contact. A lifeline.

Then Katsuki’s voice cut through, low and grating from further down. “Yeah, real prince charming.”

Izuku’s head snapped up. His uncle wasn’t looking at him. He was tearing a roll apart with his big, rough hands, his gaze fixed on his plate. Eijiro, beside him, laughed and knocked their shoulders together.

“Be nice, Kats. He’s way more polite than you were when you met my folks.”

“Whatever,” Katsuki grunted, but then his crimson eyes lifted. They found Izuku’s. Held. “Just saying. Appearances can be deceiving.”

The noise of the room faded. All Izuku heard was the hammer of his own heart. Katsuki’s stare was a physical weight, a brand. It traveled down Izuku’s face, to the collar of his too-big sweater, and Izuku burned. He knew what those eyes had heard in the dark. What those hands had done.

“Izuku?” Shoto’s voice was quiet, close to his ear. “You’ve barely eaten.”

“I’m okay,” Izuku whispered, but his voice cracked. He forced a smile, reaching for his water glass. His hand trembled. The ice cubes clinked a frantic rhythm.

Under the table, Katsuki shifted. His leg, muscular and firm in dark jeans, brushed against Izuku’s thigh. It wasn’t an accident. The pressure was deliberate, hot even through the layers of fabric. Izuku froze. A jolt of pure, shameful heat shot straight to his groin. He couldn’t move away. He was trapped between Shoto’s steady warmth on one side and his uncle’s claiming heat on the other.

Katsuki took a slow drink of his beer, his throat working. He didn’t break the contact. The denim was rough. Izuku’s thin jeans were no barrier at all. He felt every contour of Katsuki’s powerful thigh, the implicit dominance in that simple, relentless press.

“So, Shoto,” Toshinori’s kind voice boomed from the head of the table. “Izuku tells us you’re studying political science. What’s the plan after graduation?”

Izuku tried to listen. He tried to focus on Shoto’s measured, intelligent response about policy reform. But all his consciousness was centered on that six-inch line of contact. On the way Katsuki’s leg pushed just a little harder when Shoto mentioned a future timeline. When Shoto said the word “stable.”

Katsuki leaned back in his chair, his arm draping behind Eijiro. The movement made his thigh roll against Izuku’s. A slow, grinding suggestion. Izuku’s breath hitched. His fork clattered softly against his plate.

“You sure you’re okay, nerd?” Katsuki asked, his voice deceptively casual. Only Izuku heard the rough undertone. The challenge. “You look flushed.”

Every eye at the table turned to him. Izuku’s skin crawled with fire. “I’m fine,” he choked out. “Just… warm.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki said, his lips curving into something that wasn’t a smile. His leg finally, slowly, pulled away. The absence was a cold shock. “Must be.”

The conversation swelled again, but Izuku was shattered. He sat in the cacophony of his loving, oblivious family, his body humming with the phantom press of his uncle’s leg, his small, clean-shaven pussy aching with a traitorous, dripping wetness he didn’t dare acknowledge. Shoto’s hand found his under the table and laced their fingers together, a promise of a future Izuku suddenly couldn’t picture. All he could see was Katsuki’s sharp, knowing smirk from across the feast.

The clatter of dessert plates and the warm buzz of conversation faded to a distant hum in Izuku’s ears. His eyes swept the crowded living room again. Laughter from Denki. Shoto’s calm voice answering a question from his father. The empty space on the couch where Katsuki had been sitting.

He was gone.

A slow, insistent heat pulsed between Izuku’s legs, a traitorous echo of the pressure under the table. It wasn’t just arousal. It was a pull. A compulsion. His pussy felt swollen, slick, the thin fabric of his panties already damp.

“I’m just… going to the bathroom,” Izuku murmured, not looking at Shoto. He untangled their fingers and stood on unsteady legs.

The staircase seemed to stretch upward forever. Each step creaked under his weight, a betrayal. The noise of the family gathering receded, replaced by the frantic thud of his own heart. At the top of the stairs, the hallway was dim and quiet.

Then he heard it. A low, rhythmic sound from behind the closed door of the guest room. A soft, wet slap. A choked, guttural pant.

Izuku stopped breathing. Eijiro was downstairs. Katsuki was alone in there.

His hand, trembling violently, reached for the doorknob. It wasn’t latched. The door gave way with the faintest sigh, opening just a crack.

The sight stole the air from his lungs.

Katsuki stood leaning against the dresser, facing the door, his broad shoulders taut. He was shirtless, muscles coiled like springs under sweat-slicked skin. His jeans were shoved down just past the curve of his powerful ass. In one fist, he gripped his cock—a thick, ruddy length of flesh, uncut and glistening with pre-come. In his other hand, pressed against the weeping head, was a wad of pale green cotton.

Izuku’s panties. The ones from yesterday, with the little All Might print. The ones he’d stuffed at the bottom of his laundry bag.

Katsuki’s hips pumped, his fist sliding up and down his shaft in a brutal, frantic rhythm. The fabric was soaked, dark with sweat and something else. The wet, slick sounds filled the silent room. He groaned, a raw, broken noise, and dropped his forehead looking down at his cock.

“Fuck,” Katsuki rasped, his voice thick with need. “Izuku.”

The sound of his own name, torn from his uncle’s throat, was a lightning strike down Izuku’s spine. A flood of wetness soaked through his panties, hot and shameless. His own hand moved, acting without his permission, pressing hard against the denim over his aching cunt.

He couldn’t look away. He watched the powerful muscles of Katsuki’s pecs work. Watched the way his first clenched with every thrust. Watched his own underwear, violated and claimed, rubbing against the most intimate part of the man he was forbidden to want.

His fingers fumbled with his button. His zipper hissed down. He shoved his jeans and panties to his knees in one desperate motion. The cold air of the hallway hit his wet pussy, and he shuddered.

He didn’t tease. He plunged two fingers inside himself, a sharp, gasping intrusion. He was so wet they slid in to the knuckle without resistance, his inner muscles clenching around them instantly. A silent, open-mouthed cry shook his frame. His other hand found his clit, a hard, needy nub, and he rubbed frantic, tight circles.

Inside the room, Katsuki’s pace turned punishing. His breaths were ragged sobs. “God… that’s it… smell like you… fucking perfect…”

Izuku fucked himself on his own fingers, his hips stuttering against the doorframe. He matched the rhythm, a filthy, secret mirror. In. Out. The squelch of his own arousal was loud in his ears. His eyes were locked on the back of Katsuki’s head, on the way his blonde spikes were damp with sweat.

“Izuku,” Katsuki moaned again, lower, more desperate. “Come on, baby… wanna see you…”

Baby. The word unraveled him.

Izuku’s hips bucked, a silent, violent convulsion. A hot rush of fluid gushed from his pussy, soaking his fingers, his jeans, the wooden floorboards of the hallway. It wasn’t a trickle. It was a flood, a sudden release that left him gasping, his body trembling through the aftershocks.

Inside the room, Katsuki’s rhythm stuttered. A raw, choked shout tore from his throat. Izuku watched, dazed, as his uncle’s cock pulsed, thick ropes of white cum streaking across the pale green fabric of his stolen panties, dripping onto the floor and Katsuki’s clenched fist.

For a heavy second, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Then Katsuki’s head lifted. His crimson eyes, glazed with pleasure, found Izuku’s through the crack in the door.

They went wide. Shock. Panic. A flash of pure, unguarded shame.

“Izuku.” His voice was wrecked.

Izuku couldn’t move. He stood there with his jeans and panties around his knees, his pussy exposed and dripping, his fingers still buried inside himself, the evidence of his own climax pooling on the floor between his feet. He saw the exact moment Katsuki’s gaze dropped from his face.

Katsuki’s eyes tracked down Izuku’s trembling body, over the small, heaving chest, past the bunched denim, to the wet, glistening mess between his thighs. To the bare, shaved skin. To the slick openness.

The shame in Katsuki’s eyes vanished. It was incinerated by something hotter. Darker. His control shattered audibly in the quiet room.

He moved. Fast. He shoved his spent cock, still wet, back into his jeans, not even bothering to zip them. He dropped the soiled panties on the dresser and was at the door in three long strides.

Izuku tried to stumble back. His fingers slipped from inside him. He couldn’t.

Katsuki’s hand shot out, wrapping around Izuku’s bicep. The grip was iron. “Quiet,” he growled, and yanked him into the hallway.

“Uncle—!”

“Shut up.” Katsuki’s voice was low, a violent tremor running through it. He didn’t look at Izuku’s face. His eyes were locked on his nephew’s wet pussy, on the fluid still gleaming on his inner thighs. He hauled Izuku into the room one door over.

Izuku’s childhood bedroom. Katsuki shoved it open, pulled him inside, and kicked it shut behind them. The lock clicked. The sound was final.

He pushed Izuku backward. Izuku’s legs hit the edge of his old queen bed, and he collapsed onto it, the All Might comforter soft under his bare ass. He stared up, terrified, aroused, completely broken open.

Katsuki stood over him, his chest heaving. The room was dim, lit only by the streetlight outside the window. It painted his sharp features in harsh lines.

“Look at you,” Katsuki breathed, the words barely audible. He wasn’t talking to Izuku. He was talking to himself. To the reality in front of him.

His eyes devoured the sight. The small, perfect tits under Izuku’s sweater, the nipples hard points against the fabric. The trail of freckles down his belly. The thick thighs, forced apart by the jeans around his ankles. And there, in the center, completely bare, flushed pink and swollen and gleaming wet, his nephews beautiful pussy.

“Fuck,” Katsuki said, a prayer and a curse. He reached down, his hands rough, and ripped Izuku’s jeans and panties the rest of the way off his ankles, tossing them to the floor. “You shave it all off.”

It wasn’t a question. His thumb, calloused and huge, brushed over the smooth skin of Izuku’s mound. Izuku jerked, a sob catching in his throat.

“Yeah,” Izuku whispered, the word cracking. He couldn’t lie. Not now.

Katsuki’s thumb slid lower, through the slick folds, not entering, just feeling the wetness, the heat. Izuku’s back arched off the bed.

“You watched me,” Katsuki said, his voice dropping to a graveled whisper. He pressed the pad of his thumb against Izuku’s clit, a slow, circling pressure. “You stood out there and got yourself off watching your uncle jerk his cock into your dirty panties.”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku choked out, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. His hips lifted, chasing the contact. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop lying.” Katsuki’s other hand came down, pinning Izuku’s hip to the bed. “You’re not sorry. Look at this.” He dragged his thumb down, through the dripping slit, and pushed it inside, just the tip. Izuku cried out, his cunt clenching around the intrusion. “You’re fucking soaked for me.”

Katsuki pulled his thumb out, slick and shining, and brought it to his own mouth. His tongue swept over the pad, his eyes slamming shut for a second. A low, animal groan rumbled in his chest. “Tastes like you came harder than I did.”

He opened his eyes. The hunger in them was terrifying. Absolute. He fumbled with his own jeans, shoving them down his hips. His cock, still wet from his release, was already thickening again, rising heavy and full against his stomach. It was massive, uncut, the head flushed dark and peeking from the foreskin.

Izuku stared at it, his mouth dry. He’d never seen anything like it. It looked like it could break him.

“This what you wanted to see, Izuku?” Katsuki snarled, wrapping a fist around the base. He gave himself two rough, slick pulls, his eyes on Izuku’s face. “This what got your little cunt dripping in the hallway?”

“Yes,” Izuku sobbed, the truth torn out of him. He was shaking, his legs falling wider open in a silent, shameless invitation.

Katsuki moved then. He climbed onto the bed, knees caging Izuku’s hips, his weight making the old frame groan. He leaned down, one hand braced by Izuku’s head, the other guiding the thick, blunt head of his cock through Izuku’s wet folds.

“You tell anyone,” Katsuki whispered, his breath hot against Izuku’s ear. His cockhead pressed against Izuku’s entrance, a relentless, impossible pressure. “You tell Shoto, you tell your mother, anyone… and I’ll deny it. And they’ll believe me. You understand?”

Izuku nodded frantically, tears streaming into his hair. He understood. He was complicit. He was guilty. He wanted it.

“Now be quiet,” Katsuki said. And slammed his full cock inside.

The stretch was immediate, brutal, almost painful. Izuku’s mouth fell open in a soundless scream, his back bowing off the All Might comforter, his eyes rolling back into his head. A weak, hot jet of fluid spurted from him, soaking the backs of his thighs and the sheets beneath.

“Fuck,” Katsuki growled, his voice shredded. He didn’t pause. He pulled back and drove into him again, hard. The wet, messy slap of skin filled the room. “That’s it. Take it.”

Izuku sobbed, his hands scrabbling at Katsuki’s forearms. His cunt clenched wildly around the massive invasion, fluttering in shocked, shameful pleasure. “Uncle—!”

“Quiet,” Katsuki snarled, his hips setting a punishing rhythm. Each thrust buried him to the hilt, stretching Izuku impossibly wider. The bedframe knocked against the wall in a steady, damning thump. “You wanted this. You stood out there and begged for it.”

Izuku could only gasp, his vision blurring. Every drive punched a broken, choked sound from his throat. He was so full, so split open, the burning stretch melting into a deep, devastating ache that sang through his entire body.

Katsuki looked down at him, his red eyes glinting in the dim light. A cruel smirk twisted his mouth. “Look at you. My whore of a nephew. Soaking my cock.”

His large hand left the bed and wrapped around Izuku’s throat.

The pressure was sudden, absolute. It didn’t cut off his air completely, but it claimed it. Controlled it. Izuku’s eyes flew wide, meeting Katsuki’s gaze.

And his cunt gushed. A hard, pulsing rush of fluid this time, a second climax ripped from him by the shock of that dominant grip. He convulsed around Katsuki’s cock, his toes curling, a silent scream trembling on his lips.

Katsuki’s smirk widened. He leaned down, his breath hot against Izuku’s ear. “You like that? Being choked while your uncle fucks your brains out?”

He didn’t stop moving. He fucked him through the violent flutters of his orgasm, the rhythm never breaking, each deep stroke milking another weak pulse of slick from Izuku’s overwhelmed body.

“Answer me,” Katsuki demanded, his thumb pressing against the pulse hammering in Izuku’s throat.

“Y-yes,” Izuku whimpered, the word strangled. Tears ran freely down his temples. He was coming apart, and the hand on his throat was the only thing holding him together.

“Good.” Katsuki’s pace turned brutal, a relentless piston driving into the hot, clenching wetness. The sounds were obscene—the squelch of Izuku’s soaked cunt, the slap of Katsuki’s balls against his ass, the ragged gasps they both couldn’t contain. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt. Mark it. You’ll feel me for days.”

Izuku’s hands fell away from Katsuki’s arms, going limp at his sides. He was a vessel, overwhelmed, accepting every savage thrust. His small chest heaved, his hard nipples rubbing against the fabric of his sweater with each jolt.

Katsuki watched him, his own control a fraying wire. Sweat dripped from his brow onto Izuku’s face. “Never fucked a pussy this tight,” he grunted, his hips snapping forward. “Fucking virgin cunt.”

“Not… not a virgin,” Izuku gasped, the confession torn out by the next deep stroke.

Katsuki stilled for a fraction of a second, buried inside him. His grip on Izuku’s throat tightened. “What?”

“Shoto,” Izuku breathed, shame a hot wave through him. “I’m… with Shoto.”

Katsuki’s eyes darkened. A new, more possessive fury ignited in them. He pulled out almost completely, the head of his cock catching at Izuku’s stretched lips, then slammed back in with enough force to drive Izuku up the bed. “He doesn’t fuck you like this,” Katsuki snarled. “Does he?”

“N-no,” Izuku cried, his body arching.

“No,” Katsuki agreed, a low, vicious satisfaction in his voice. He resumed his punishing pace, each thrust aiming deeper, claiming more. “He doesn’t know what you need. What you really are.”

He leaned close again, his lips brushing the shell of Izuku’s ear. His voice dropped to a graveled whisper, the words just for them. “You’re mine, Izuku. You have been. This cunt?” He pushed in, deep, grinding against something that made Izuku see stars. “Mine.”

Izuku’s body went rigid, a silent, seizing scream trapped in his throat. His cunt clenched, then erupted, a hard, pulsing gush of fluid that soaked Katsuki’s cock and thighs and the All Might comforter beneath them. It wasn’t a trickle. It was a flood, a third devastating climax ripped from him by two words: You’re mine.

“Fuck,” Katsuki snarled, his hips stuttering as the hot, convulsive tightness milked him. “Look at that. You’re fucking ruined.”

Izuku could only sob, his vision whiting out at the edges. He’d never come like this. Not once. Not even with Shoto. His brain was dissolving into static, into heat, into the relentless, perfect stretch of his uncle’s cock. “Kacchan,” he whimpered, the childhood name a broken prayer. “Please. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

Katsuki’s cruel smirk returned, sharper now. He leaned down, his sweat dripping onto Izuku’s flushed cheeks. “Begging already? I’m not even close.”

“Please,” Izuku babbled, his hands rising to clutch at Katsuki’s shoulders, his nails digging into his skin. His hips rolled up, seeking more, his oversensitive cunt fluttering around the invasion. “Need it. Need you. Just… fuck me. Keep fucking me.”

“Disgusting,” Katsuki breathed, but he was moving again, a deep, rolling grind that made Izuku cry out. “My perfect nephew. A greedy little slut for his uncle’s cock.”

“Yes,” Izuku gasped, the admission freeing something dark and hungry inside him. He was. He was exactly that. The knowledge unspooled him further. “Only yours. Only ever—ah!—yours.”

Katsuki’s rhythm changed. It lost some of its brutal punishment, turning deeper, more possessive. Each thrust was a claiming, a measured reassertion of the words he’d whispered. He kept one hand braced by Izuku’s head, the other sliding down to grip the soft flesh of Izuku’s hip, holding him in place.

“You feel that?” Katsuki grunted, his own breath starting to fray. “How deep I am? Your pretty boyfriend ever get here?”

“No,” Izuku cried, the comparison a fresh bolt of shame and pleasure. “Never. Nobody—nobody but you.”

“Damn right.” Katsuki’s thrusts began to shorten, faster, his control visibly slipping. The wet slap of skin grew more frantic. “Gonna fill you up. Mark my property.”

Izuku’s head tossed side to side on the pillow. He was mindless, a creature of pure sensation. The ache, the fullness, the devastating friction. His own clit, hard and throbbing and ignored. “Do it,” he begged, his voice raw. “Please, Kacchan, I want it. Want you to.”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched. A low, guttural sound tore from his chest. He drove in one last, impossibly deep time and held, his entire body going taut as a bowstring. Izuku felt the hot, pulsing release inside him, a flood of wet heat that seemed to have no end.

Katsuki collapsed forward, catching his weight on his forearms, his forehead dropping to Izuku’s shoulder. His breath came in ragged, hot gusts against Izuku’s neck. For a long minute, there was only the sound of their panting, the faint, wet drip of their joining onto the sheets.

Izuku floated. His body was a used, boneless thing, throbbing and full. He could still feel Katsuki inside him, throbbing and present. A claim made physical.

Katsuki was the first to move. He pulled out slowly, and Izuku whimpered at the sudden, aching emptiness, at the feel of hot spend immediately leaking out of him. Katsuki looked down between them, at the mess on Izuku’s thighs and the sheets. His expression was unreadable.

He shifted off the bed, standing in the dim room. He tucked himself back into his jeans without a word, not bothering to clean up. He ran a hand through his spiky hair, his back to Izuku.

“Clean yourself up,” Katsuki said, his voice flat, all the heat gone from it. “Get back to your boyfriend.”

The words were a bucket of ice water. Izuku blinked, the fog of pleasure receding to reveal the wreckage beneath. Shoto. Downstairs. Unknowing. He pushed himself up on trembling arms, staring at Katsuki’s broad back. “Kacchan…”

“Don’t,” Katsuki cut him off, turning just enough to spear him with a crimson glare. It wasn’t possessive anymore. It was cold. Final. “It happened. It’s done. You go back out there and you be happy with your fucking prince.”

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. He didn’t look back. “And Izuku? You begged for it. Remember that.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Izuku sat alone in the silent, ruined bedroom, his uncle’s cum cooling on his thighs. The scent of sex and sweat and Katsuki hung heavy in the air. He felt split open. Hollowed out. Owned.

He slowly, painfully, got to his feet. His legs shook. He found his discarded panties on the floor, the lace damp. He didn't put them on. He couldn't. He used them to clumsily wipe between his legs, staring at the stark, visual proof of what he’d done.

From downstairs, a burst of laughter floated up the stairs. Hizashi’s loud, joyful boom. The sound of his family. Of Shoto.

Izuku pulled his jeans back on, wincing as the denim rubbed against his sore, sensitive flesh. He tucked the soiled panties deep into his pocket. He looked at himself in the dark window reflection—hair wild, eyes swollen, lips bitten red.

He had to go back down. He had to smile. He had to be Izuku again.

He wasn't sure he remembered how.