The transition from the digital world of the computer screen back to the physical reality of his bedroom was jarring. Izuku stood in the center of the room, his mind a chaotic battlefield between twenty years of ingrained social modesty and the raw, pulsing memories of a world that didn't know the meaning of the word "taboo."
"Can I really do this?" he whispered, his eyes darting around the room. "Can I fulfill everything I ever dreamed of in a place like this?"
Despite the "Overwrite" in his brain, the old Izuku's inhibitions hadn't fully dissolved. He felt exposed, a lingering ghost of his past life screaming at him to cover up. He reached for his school uniform—the dark gakuran—and pulled it on. It felt strangely tight, the heavy fabric abrasive against his skin, which had grown accustomed to the cool air. He checked the clock.
"Shit, I'm late."
The mundane urgency of school provided a temporary shield against the overwhelming horniness of his new reality. He turned the doorknob and stepped out into the hallway, his heart thumping.
"Mom? I'm heading to school! Is breakfast ready?"
He rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead. The air in the room was warm, smelling of savory dashi and toasted rice, but Izuku's senses were instantly hijacked by the woman standing at the stove.
Inko Midoriya was a revelation. In the anime, she had been a kind, slightly plump, motherly figure. Here, she was a masterpiece of feminine fertility. She was taller, her curves more pronounced, her skin glowing with a healthy, radiant sheen. And she was wearing nothing but a short, frilly pale-green apron.
The view from behind was devastating. The apron's ties bit into her narrow waist, accentuating the massive, soft flare of her hips. Her legs were long and smooth, leading up to a pair of heavy, rounded butt cheeks that peeked out from the sides of the apron with every shift of her weight.
Izuku's mouth went dry. He felt a sudden, violent throb in his pants. This was his mother—the woman who had raised him—and yet, the "No-Shame" logic of this world was screaming that she was, first and foremost, a woman of incredible beauty.
Inko turned, hearing his footsteps. Her breasts, heavy and full, swayed dangerously behind the thin fabric of the apron. "Oh, Izuku! You're awake. But... why are you dressed so tightly?" She tilted her head, a confused but warm smile on her face. "Usually you go naked to school during the summer months. Is anything the matter? Are you feeling ill?"
Izuku felt the blood rush to his face. He quickly averted his eyes, focusing on a spot on the floor. "I... uh... just felt like wearing it today. It's fine."
"You're acting so shy today," she giggled, the sound like silver bells. She stepped closer, the scent of her skin—a mix of vanilla and warm milk—invading his lungs. "Well, if you're sure. I'll make you breakfast real quick. How about egg fried rice and some miso?"
"Yes," he managed to choke out. "That sounds great."
As she turned back to the stove, Izuku found himself unable to look away. The sight of her backside as she moved was hypnotic. Every time she reached for a spatula or shook the pan, her ass cheeks bounced and rippled with a mesmerizing, heavy fluidity. It was a visual feast that no anime could have ever prepared him for.
"Izuku, honey?" her voice called out, sweet and melodic. "Can you come here? I need a little help."
He walked into the small kitchen space, his body feeling like it was made of lead. He stood directly behind her, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her bare back.
"I can't quite reach that sugar can on the top shelf," she said, stretching upward.
The movement caused the apron to ride up even further. Her heels lifted off the floor, straining the muscles in her calves and causing her glutes to tighten and clench into two perfect, marble-like spheres. Izuku reached up, his arm brushing against her side. He grabbed the can and handed it to her, but his eyes were locked on the smooth, pale expanse of her rear.
The inhibition snapped. He couldn't help himself. He reached out and let his palm sink into the softness of her right cheek.
It was better than he imagined—warm, incredibly soft, and firm all at once. He gave it a slow, deep squeeze, his fingers disappearing into the plush flesh. He expected a slap, a scream, a look of horror.
Inko didn't even flinch. She just took the sugar can and began sprinkling it into the pan. "My, Izuku. Your hands are so warm this morning."
Encouraged by her lack of resistance, he moved his other hand, cupping her fully. He kneaded her like dough, feeling the weight of her. He felt like he could die right there. This was the freedom he had dreamed of—a world where his desires weren't a crime, but a shared experience.
"What's happened, Izuku?" she asked softly, turning her head slightly to look at him over her shoulder. "Do you want to play with my butt so much?" She let out a soft, teasing sigh. "Don't do it now, sweetie. Let me finish making the breakfast first, then you can play all you want while you eat."
Izuku reluctantly pulled his hands away, his skin tingling from the contact. "Okay," he whispered, his voice thick with arousal.
He sat down at the small table, his hard-on straining painfully against the fabric of his trousers. A few minutes later, Inko arrived with two steaming bowls. She sat down opposite him, letting the apron fall open. She sat completely naked, her legs spread slightly, her lush femininity on full display as she began to eat.
Izuku could barely focus on his food. He was staring at her, his mind racing.
"Ah, yes! I forgot the milk," Inko said, standing up. She didn't go to the fridge. Instead, she picked up a clean glass from the counter and sat back down.
She reached up, cupping one of her massive, pale breasts. Her nipple was large and pink, already beaded with moisture. She brought the glass close to her chest and began to massage the base of her breast. With a soft moan, a jet of creamy, white milk shot out, hitting the side of the glass with a rhythmic ting-ting-ting.
She milked herself with practiced ease, her eyes fluttering as she stimulated the flow. The trail of the jet caught the light, looking like liquid silk. When the glass was full, she leaned across the table, her heavy breasts resting on the wood, and pushed the warm glass toward him.
"Drink up, Izuku. You need your strength for school."
He took the glass, his hand shaking. He could see the pulse jumping in her neck. The sight of her, sitting there so casually after producing his drink, was the final straw. He reached out across the table, his fingers sinking into the underside of her breasts. He squeezed them together, watching her nipples harden even further.
Inko let out a long, low moan, her head falling back. "Oh... Izuku... you're so energetic today..."
He leaned in, his thumb brushing against her damp nipple, his mind screaming at him to just pull her onto the table and pin her down. He wanted to tear these stifling clothes off and show her exactly what he was thinking.
But then, Inko blinked, her eyes clearing as she looked at the clock on the wall.
"Oh! Izuku, look at the time!" she said, gently catching his wrists and pulling his hands away. "You have to go to school! You'll be late for the first bell!"
The spell was broken. The mundane reality of his new life reasserted itself. He had to go. He couldn't miss his first day in this world.
"I... yeah. You're right," he panted, standing up. His pants were so tight it was a miracle the buttons hadn't flown off.
"Have a good day, honey!" Inko called out, waving to him as she sat there in her naked glory, the light of the morning sun catching the stray drops of milk on her skin.
"Goodbye, Mom," he said, practically running for the door.