Chapter 2: Day Life
The scent of bergamot hung heavy in the air, cut through by the quiet murmur of a documentary about deep-sea vents playing on the television. Shouta sat in his armchair, a half-read novel forgotten in his lap, eyes fixed unseeingly on the screen’s glowing blue abyss. Across the room, sprawled on the large, sunken plush sofa, Izuku lay curled against Hizashi. His head rested on Hizashi’s thigh, a throw blanket loosely tangled around his legs. He wore only thin cotton sleep shorts and one of Shouta’s oversized black t-shirts, the soft fabric draping over his chest. His bare feet were tucked under a cushion. Hizashi, similarly lounging, had one arm draped loosely around Izuku’s shoulders, his fingers idly playing with strands of Izuku’s dark green hair. Hizashi’s own faded band tee stretched over the generous swell of his DD-cup breasts, rising and falling with his relaxed breathing.
Izuku sighed, the sound contented and sleepy. Hizashi’s fingers trailed from Izuku’s hair down the slope of his neck, then over his shoulder. They dipped beneath the loose neckline of the t-shirt, tracing the curve where neck met collarbone. The touch was warm, familiar. Izuku shifted slightly, his own breasts shifting under the thin cotton. He felt the familiar, low hum of awareness in his belly, a response conditioned by years of such casual intimacy.
"Mmm, comfy, sweet pea?" Hizashi murmured, his voice a low rumble against the quiet drone of the TV. His fingers didn’t retreat. Instead, they slid lower, skimming over the fabric covering Izuku’s chest. The pad of Hizashi’s thumb brushed deliberately over the stiff peak of Izuku’s left nipple.
Izuku’s breath hitched softly. "Papa," he whispered, a faint blush warming his cheeks, though he didn’t pull away. The touch, while expected in their strange domestic dance, always sent a jolt through him. Embarrassment tangled with a deep-seated comfort and the undeniable spark of arousal. Shouta, from his armchair, shifted almost imperceptibly, his gaze flicking towards them for a brief second before returning to the screen, his expression unreadable but holding a familiar weight.
Hizashi chuckled, a low, warm sound. "Just appreciating the view," he said casually, his thumb circling Izuku’s nipple through the shirt now, applying a gentle, persistent pressure. "These beauties deserve appreciation, don’t they? Looking so soft right there." His other hand, resting on Izuku’s shoulder, slid slowly down Izuku’s arm. It skimmed over ribs, past the dip of his waist, and came to rest casually on Izuku’s hip, just above the waistband of his shorts. His fingers splayed possessively over the curve of bone and soft flesh.
The documentary droned on about bioluminescent shrimp. Izuku felt hyper-aware of the heat radiating from Hizashi’s body pressed against his side, the rhythmic circles on his nipple sending little shocks down his spine, and the heavy weight of Hizashi’s hand on his hip, perilously close to where his shorts hugged the swell of his ass. His own nipples were tight peaks beneath the cotton, and a familiar warmth was pooling low in his belly, radiating heat between his legs. He felt slickness gathering, an instinctive response to the casual, insistent touch. He squirmed minutely, trying to ease the sudden pressure building against the seam of his shorts.
Hizashi felt the small movement. His hand on Izuku’s hip slid lower, his fingers dipping beneath the elastic waistband of the shorts. They encountered warm skin, the curve of Izuku’s ass cheek. Hizashi’s touch was bold, unhesitating. His fingers traced the crease where thigh met buttock, a slow, deliberate exploration. "Shy?" he teased, his voice dropping to a husky whisper against Izuku’s ear, warm breath ghosting over his skin. "After all these years? After all the times I've shown you how good it feels?"
Izuku’s blush deepened, spreading down his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, the sensation of Hizashi’s calloused fingers sliding over his bare ass both intensely embarrassing and unbearably erotic. He could feel Hizashi’s own body heat intensify, the swell of his large breast pressing more firmly against Izuku's arm. "N-not shy," he managed, his voice thick. "Just… Daddy’s right there."
Shouta’s sigh was audible this time, a long, slow exhalation that spoke volumes of weary acceptance. He didn’t look away from the screen, but his knuckles were white around the spine of his book.
Hizashi just hummed, unbothered. His thumb on Izuku’s nipple pinched lightly, firmly, making Izuku gasp. "Daddy knows how it is," Hizashi murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. "He knows I like to appreciate my boy." His fingers beneath Izuku’s waistband continued their exploration, sliding further down, tracing the curve of Izuku’s ass towards the cleft. They brushed feather-light over the sensitive skin near his tailbone, then lower, skimming dangerously close to the damp seam of his shorts where they met his inner thigh.
Izuku’s breath came in shallow gasps now. The warmth in his belly was a molten coil, the slickness between his legs undeniable. He could feel the throb of his clit, swollen and insistent. Hizashi’s fingers were so close, teasing the very edge. "P-Papa…" he breathed, the word a plea and an admission.
Hizashi chuckled again, the sound vibrating against Izuku. His fingers retreated slightly from the cleft, but only to slide around Izuku’s hip, dipping lower at the front. They pushed beneath the waistband of the shorts once more, but this time aiming downwards, towards Izuku’s pelvis. His knuckles grazed the soft curls at the apex of Izuku’s thighs. "What, baby?" Hizashi breathed, his own breathing noticeably faster now, his chest heaving against Izuku. "Want Papa to touch you here?" His fingers brushed deliberately over the swell of Izuku’s mons pubis, finding the damp heat concentrated at the center. They traced the outer lips of Izuku’s cunt through the thin fabric of his panties – soft cotton, already soaked. "God, you’re already so fucking wet, aren't you?" Hizashi groaned, his voice rough. "Just from Papa touching your tits? From me feeling that sweet little ass?"
Izuku whimpered. The blunt pressure of Hizashi’s fingers against his covered pussy, the rasp of calloused fingertips over slick cotton, sent bolts of raw sensation straight to his core. His hips jerked involuntarily, pressing up into the touch. He could smell his own arousal mingling with Hizashi’s scent – vanilla and flour baked into skin, and something muskier, deeper.
Hizashi’s fingers pressed harder, rubbing firmly over the soaked cotton, directly over Izuku’s clit. Izuku cried out, a sharp, choked gasp escaping him. His back arched slightly off the sofa cushion. Hizashi’s other hand abandoned Izuku’s nipple, sliding down his chest and stomach. It pushed the loose t-shirt up, bunching it under Izuku’s breasts, exposing the smooth skin of his stomach and the curve of his lower ribs. His bare breasts, freed, bounced slightly with the movement, nipples hard and dark.
"Let Papa see," Hizashi murmured, his voice thick with lust. His hand on Izuku’s belly slid lower, joining the other. Both hands worked at the waistband of Izuku’s shorts and panties now, pushing them down over the swell of his hips. Izuku instinctively lifted his hips, allowing the fabric to be tugged down to mid-thigh. Cool air hit his exposed pussy, making him shiver, but the heat radiating from Hizashi and the intensity of the moment quickly overwhelmed it. Hizashi paused for a moment, his gaze raking hungrily over Izuku’s exposed cunt. The curls were dark, glistening with wetness. The outer lips were flushed pink and slightly parted, revealing the slick, deeper pink folds beneath. Izuku’s clit was visibly swollen, a hard little nub demanding attention. "Fuck, look at you," Hizashi breathed, almost reverently. "So fucking gorgeous. So ready."
Before Izuku could even process the exposure, Hizashi’s fingers were back. Not one, but two thick digits plunged down, bypassing the outer lips entirely and sinking straight into Izuku’s soaking wet cunt. They speared into him with no preamble, stretching him instantly. Izuku cried out again, louder this time, a sharp, ragged sound that echoed in the quiet room. His head thrashed back against Hizashi’s thigh. The sudden, deep penetration was overwhelming, filling him completely. Hizashi’s fingers were long, skilled, curling inside him, scraping over a spot that made stars burst behind Izuku’s closed eyelids.
"Oh god! Papa!" Izuku gasped, his body convulsing. Hizashi’s fingers pistoned in and out of him with rough, urgent strokes, the wet, obscene squelch of his entrance impossibly loud against the documentary's narration. Hizashi’s thumb found his clit, pressing hard against the swollen bundle of nerves and rubbing furious, tight circles. The dual assault was brutal, immediate, and devastatingly effective. Izuku’s thighs trembled violently. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the sofa cushions. He could feel his inner muscles clenching desperately around Hizashi’s invading fingers, trying to milk them, pull them deeper. The coil in his belly tightened impossibly, the pressure building with terrifying speed. He was hurtling towards the edge, completely at the mercy of Hizashi’s relentless touch.
"Fuck yes, take it," Hizashi growled, his own hips grinding unconsciously against the sofa cushion beneath him. He watched Izuku’s face twist in ecstasy, watched his tits bounce with the force of his body’s jerking. "Clench on Papa’s fingers like that. Gonna make you come, baby. Gonna make your sweet little cunt milk my fucking hand."
Izuku couldn’t speak. Guttural moans ripped from his throat with each deep thrust, each grinding circle on his clit. The room blurred. The sounds of the ocean depths vanished, replaced by the frantic pounding of his own blood and the slick, wet sounds of Hizashi fucking him with his hand. The pressure crested, a tsunami wave gathering force. He felt his entire body lock, every muscle straining. A high, keening wail tore from his lips as the orgasm slammed into him, violent and consuming. His back arched violently off the sofa. His cunt spasmed wildly around Hizashi’s fingers, gushing wetness that slicked Hizashi’s hand and thighs. White light exploded behind his eyes.
He collapsed back onto Hizashi’s lap, gasping, trembling uncontrollably, utterly spent. Hizashi’s fingers remained inside him, buried deep, slowly massaging his inner walls as the aftershocks shook him. Hizashi leaned down, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Izuku’s sweaty temple. "Good boy," he murmured, his voice rough and satisfied. "So fucking good for Papa."
Shouta stood up abruptly. The novel clattered to the floor. He didn’t look at them. His face was a mask, eyes shadowed and unreadable, jaw clenched tight. He turned on his heel and walked out of the living room, the sound of his retreating footsteps sharp in the sudden, heavy silence that followed the echo of Izuku’s cries. The only sounds left were Izuku’s ragged breathing, the wet sound as Hizashi slowly withdrew his glistening fingers from Izuku’s still-quivering cunt, and the television cheerfully discussing symbiotic relationships around hydrothermal vents. Izuku lay boneless, the blissful haze of orgasm already mixing uneasily with the cold dread coiling in his gut at the sound of the slammed bedroom door down the hall.