The lock turned just as Katsuki raised his hand to knock. The door swung open, and Inko’s face, soft and bright, filled the frame. She smelled of jasmine and warm sugar. “You’re early,” she breathed, a happy accusation, and pulled him inside by his tie.

Her mouth found his. The kiss was sweet, familiar, a promise of the life he’d signed up for. He let his briefcase thud to the floor and wrapped an arm around her waist, anchoring himself in her solid, curving warmth. This was the point. This was the center.

She broke the kiss, her forehead resting against his chin. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been talking about you all week. He’s so excited to finally meet you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Katsuki said, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. The apartment was cozy, book shelves full of old books and framed photos—a lifetime of a family that wasn’t his.

Inko took his hand, her fingers threading through his. “Izuku? Sweetheart, he’s here!”

Katsuki’s gaze followed the hallway past the bathroom, toward two closed doors. The air in the apartment felt suddenly still, charged.

One door opened.

He stepped into the living room like the first note of a song Katsuki didn’t want to hear. The tiny pink crop top left a strip of pale, freckled stomach bare. One spaghetti strap slipped down a smooth shoulder. The plaid skirt was an afterthought, the hem brushing high on his thick thighs. His lips were slick and pink, gloss catching the light from the window.

Izuku’s emerald eyes locked onto Katsuki’s and didn’t waver. A slow smile spread. “Nice to meet you, Kacchan.”

The name hit Katsuki like a low blow. Familiar. Intimate. Wrong. He felt Inko squeeze his hand, heard her gentle chiding. “Izuku, manners. This is Katsuki.”

“I know who he is,” Izuku said, his voice a light, playful thing that didn’t match the intensity in his gaze. He walked forward, the movement all loose-hipped grace. He stopped too close, well inside professional distance. Katsuki could see the delicate puff of his nipples through the thin fabric, the dusting of freckles across his collar bones. “Mom’s told me everything. The brilliant lawyer who saved her. Her knight in a tailored suit.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. He gave a single, curt nod. “Izuku.”

“You can call me anything you want,” Izuku said, his smile widening. He turned to his mother, the picture of innocent enthusiasm. “He’s even more handsome in person, Mom. You didn’t do him justice.”

Inko laughed, a warm, trusting sound that twisted in Katsuki’s gut. “Oh, stop. You’ll embarrass him. Katsuki, ignore him. He’s a terrible flirt with everyone.”

“Not with everyone,” Izuku murmured, his eyes dragging back to Katsuki’s. “Just the interesting ones.” He reached out, and before Katsuki could react, slender fingers brushed a non-existent piece of lint from the lapel of his suit jacket. The touch was a brand. “Nice fabric. It’s very… authoritative.”

Katsuki took a deliberate step back, breaking the contact. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, warning drum. Trouble. Deep, seductive, smiling trouble in a pink skirt. And he was going to live in his house.

“Come, sit,” Inko said, releasing Katsuki’s hand and gesturing to the crowded living room. A low coffee table held a tray with a ceramic teapot and three mismatched mugs. “I made tea. And those little butter cookies you like.” She settled into the room’s sole armchair, a floral-print nest, and smiled expectantly at the two of them.

Katsuki moved toward the sofa, a worn, deep-green thing. He intended to take the far end, putting the entire length of it between himself and whatever was about to happen. He didn’t get the chance.

Izuku flowed onto the cushions beside him, a sigh of jasmine and something sharper—peach gloss, maybe. He didn’t just sit close; he eliminated the distance. The outside of his bare thigh pressed flush against the fine wool of Katsuki’s suit pants. The heat was immediate, a brand through the fabric.

“Mom’s right,” Izuku said, his voice a confidential murmur meant only for Katsuki’s ear. “You should get comfortable.” He leaned forward to reach for the teapot, and the movement made his skirt ride higher. The soft, freckled skin of his outer thigh now rested fully against Katsuki’s. “Sugar, Kacchan?”

“Black,” Katsuki ground out. He didn’t move his leg. Moving would be an admission. It would make this a thing. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, on a framed photo of a younger Inko holding a gap-toothed child with wild green curls.

“Of course,” Izuku said, pouring. His shoulder bumped Katsuki’s arm as he set the pot down. “Strong. Straightforward. I like that.” He handed over the steaming mug, his fingers deliberately brushing against Katsuki’s. The contact was a second too long, a deliberate slip of skin on skin.

Inko beamed from her chair, sipping her own tea. “Isn’t this nice? My two favorite men, finally together.”

“It’s everything I dreamed of,” Izuku said, his tone sweet. He settled back, one arm stretching along the back of the couch behind Katsuki’s shoulders. Not touching. Just… claiming the air. He crossed his legs, a slow, deliberate swing that made the plaid skirt whisper against itself. “So, Kacchan. Mom says you’re a killer in court. That you eviscerated my sperm donor’s lawyer without even raising your voice.”

“I did my job.” Katsuki took a scalding gulp of tea. The liquid burned a clean path down his throat, a welcome counterpoint to the illicit heat seeping into his side.

“Modest,” Izuku purred. He shifted, a tiny, restless motion that pressed his thigh more firmly. Katsuki could feel the solid muscle beneath the softness. “I bet you’re not modest about everything.”

“Izuku,” Inko chided gently, but she was smiling, shaking her head. “He’s teasing you, Katsuki. It’s how he shows he likes someone.”

“Is it,” Katsuki said flatly. It wasn’t a question.

Izuku’s hand, which had been resting on his own knee, drifted. His pinky finger came to rest lightly against the sharp crease of Katsuki’s trousers, just above his knee. The touch was feather-light, catastrophic. “What do you do for fun, Kacchan? When you’re not… saving damsels in distress.”

Katsuki finally turned his head. Izuku was already looking up at him through dark, thick lashes. His green eyes were bright, challenging, and utterly focused. The strap of his crop top had slipped further. The swell of one small, perfect breast was nearly visible. Katsuki’s mouth went dry. “I box.”

“Mmm.” The sound was a low hum of pleasure. Izuku’s gaze dropped to Katsuki’s shoulders, his chest, as if visualizing the muscle beneath the suit. “Violent. I should have guessed. All that controlled power.” His pinky finger traced a tiny, invisible line on the wool. “Do you like winning, Kacchan?”

“Everyone likes winning.”

“Not the way I think you do.” Izuku’s smile was a wicked curve of glossy pink. “I think you like it messy. I think you like when they know they’re beaten.” He leaned in, his breath a warm, sweet ghost against Katsuki’s jaw. “I’d love to see you fight.”

Katsuki’s hand clenched around the mug. His knuckles ached. He could feel every point of contact: the thigh, the finger, the breath. A prison of gossamer and intent. From her chair, Inko sighed, content, completely blind to the seduction unfolding inches away.

“Well,” Inko said, setting her cup down with a soft click. “I should check on the rice. You two keep talking.” She rose, her smile enveloping them both, and padded toward the kitchen.

The air in the room thickened, charged and silent. Izuku didn’t move his hand. He didn’t increase the pressure. He just let it lie there, a claim staked. His eyes never left Katsuki’s face, watching, waiting for the crack.

“She’s happy,” Izuku said quietly, the playful lilt gone. His voice was suddenly pure, low heat. “You make her happy. That’s important to me.”

“Good,” Katsuki managed.

Izuku’s finger, still resting on Katsuki’s thigh, began a slow, deliberate ascent. It traced the sharp crease of his trousers upward, a whisper of pressure through the fine wool, moving from knee toward the forbidden territory of his inner thigh. Katsuki’s entire body went rigid. The air he breathed felt like glass.

“She’s happy,” Izuku repeated, his gaze locked on Katsuki’s profile. “But are you?”

“That’s a stupid question.” Katsuki’s voice was rough, stripped of its courtroom polish.

“Is it?” Izuku’s finger paused, a warm, pointed brand an inch from the seam of Katsuki’s pants. “You got the damsel. The happy ending. The big house. Everything the story promises.” He leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing the shell of Katsuki’s ear. “But stories are boring. I want to know what the monster feels like. The one they don’t write about.”

Katsuki turned his head. Their faces were too close. He could see the individual flecks of gold in Izuku’s green eyes, the wet gleam of his glossed lower lip. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’re hard right now.” Izuku’s words were a soft, hot exhale. “I can feel the heat of it. You’re trying so hard to be good for her. But your body’s telling me the truth, Kacchan.” His finger pressed down, a firm, undeniable point of contact. “It’s screaming it.”

Deep in Katsuki’s groin, his cock gave a vicious, aching throb. It was a traitorous pulse of want, thick and heavy against the constraint of his briefs and trousers. He felt the dampness of pre-come, a humiliating, visceral betrayal. He swallowed, his throat tight. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” Izuku’s smile was innocent, predatory. His finger didn’t move. “I’m not doing anything. We’re just talking. A son getting to know his new father.” He let the title hang, poisonous and sweet. “What do you want me to stop?”

"Stop," Katsuki whispered again, the word tight and frayed. "This is... inappropriate."

Izuku’s eyes widened, a picture of artful confusion. His finger remained, a burning point of contact. "Inappropriate? I'm just sitting with my new stepdad." His other hand came to rest casually on his own thigh, his pinky brushing the hem of his tiny skirt. "We're bonding."

Before Katsuki could form another denial, Izuku’s exploring finger shifted. It slid inward, a deliberate, devastating millimeter, and pressed directly against the thick, rigid line of Katsuki’s cock through the layers of wool and cotton. A full, aching length was outlined under that single fingertip.

Izuku’s breath hitched. His playful mask slipped for one raw second, his lips parting in genuine shock. "Oh," he gasped, the sound punched out of him. His green eyes flew up to meet Katsuki’s, blazing with triumph and hunger. "Oh, Kacchan. Daddy. You're... you're huge."

Katsuki jerked, a full-body flinch he couldn't suppress. The movement made Izuku’s finger press harder, rubbing the sensitive head through the fabric. A bolt of pure, shameful pleasure shot up his spine. He bit down on a groan, his teeth grinding together.

"Get your hand off me," Katsuki snarled, but it was a weak sound, choked by the pressure in his groin.

"I'm not doing anything," Izuku murmured, his gaze dropping back to Katsuki’s lap as if mesmerized. His finger began to move, not away, but in a slow, tortuous rub along the swollen length. Up the shaft, a teasing pressure, then back down. "It's just a fact. You're so big. How does mom...?" He trailed off, leaving the question filthy and unfinished. His touch grew bolder, his whole palm now cupping the heavy outline, weighing it. "You're throbbing and heavy."

From the kitchen, the faint sound of running water and Inko humming a tune. The domestic normalcy was a surreal counterpoint to the violation happening on her sofa. Katsuki was frozen, carved from shame and want. He could feel the damp spot on his briefs growing, the slick head of his cock leaking against the constraint. Izuku’s small hand felt like a brand.

"She'll be back any second," Katsuki forced out, every muscle in his body wire-tight.

"I know," Izuku said, his voice dreamy. He shifted his grip, his fingers curling to trace the thick ridge of the underside. "That's what makes it fun, right? The almost getting caught." He leaned in again, his glossed lips a hair's breadth from Katsuki’s ear. "You like it, too. Your body doesn't lie. It's so hard for me. It wants to be touched."

His palm pressed down in a firm, claiming circle. The friction was exquisite, devastating. Katsuki’s hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk upwards, seeking more. The betrayal was visceral. A low, helpless sound escaped his throat.

Izuku smiled, a slow, victorious thing. "See?" He gave one more deliberate squeeze, his thumb finding the blunt head through the fabric and rubbing a tight circle. "You're a terrible liar, Daddy."

The faucet shut off in the kitchen. Inko’s footsteps approached, soft on the linoleum.

In a fluid motion, Izuku withdrew his hand, settled back against the cushions, and recrossed his legs. The picture of casual ease. The only evidence was the faint, slick shine left on his lower lip from where he’d nervously licked it, and the dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes fixed on Katsuki’s ruined composure.

Katsuki sat perfectly still, his ten-inch cock aching and trapped, a secret screaming in the silent room as Inko walked back in.