Thinking Of Milf!reader And Baby!sitter Eren,

Milk and Cookies

Pairing: DILF!Eren x Reader

Length: 3.4k

CW: some light role play, heavy on the food play, cum eating, fingering, cockwarming, daddy/baby/honey and other pet names used, explicit sex

A/N: A DILF!Eren smut for Christmas. I know from my taglist form more than half of you guys want DILF Eren so give this some love. Also this ones a little…um… just avoid if you don’t wanna read about playing with food…

“Eren, I really don’t get why the outfit is necessary.” You gestured towards his festive choice of clothing, a set of red pants and a red furry top, the edges lined with white fabric reminiscent of the symbol of christmas: Santa Claus. He even wore the goofy red hat, the hat topped off with a white cotton puff ball. He barely gave the outfit any effort, not bothering to wear a shirt underneath nor a fake white wig and beard. He looked less like Santa Claus and more like a holiday-themed male exotic dancer, but that was beside the point. The real question was why.

He opened the closet door, rummaging through the back of the closet to pull out the gifts you’d wrapped and hidden away, to shield from the prying eyes of your son and daughter.

“‘Cause if they wake up right now and see their mom and dad putting gifts under the tree they’ll be traumatized,” Eren said, his voice muffled as he spoke from inside the closet. He pulled out a few boxes and one by one set them outside of the closet door. You helped him arrange them neatly into an organized stack. “At least at first glance we can pass for Santa. And I don’t wanna be responsible for crushing their hopes and dreams. At least not yet, anyway,” he ended with a chuckle.

“But doesn’t Santa go alone? Why’d I have to dress up too?” You looked down to your ‘Mrs. Claus’ outfit, a red and white long sleeved top with way too much cleavage paired with a short red skirt. It was most definitely not the attire of Mrs. Claus and it made you roll your eyes when Eren suggested it.

“That was more for me,” he gave you a wink, before bending down to pick up the stack of boxes to set under the christmas tree. After he set the boxes down he turned around, his intention being to grab the last box he’d left behind, but when his eyes flickered to you he smirked.

“You done staring at me yet, princess? I could use some help.” He’d caught you staring at him – how could you not when his abs were right there? Sometimes you’d forget that your husband was built like a Greek god, but at times like these, when he was barely dressed on purpose to rile you up, his sculpted chest was always there to remind you of that fact.

Two could play at the teasing. You turned to bend down and pick up the box, exaggerating your movements so your skirt would ride up, teasing him with a glance at your panties. Before you could even stand up straight, box in your arms, Eren was behind you, his arms coming around to lift the box out of your arms and over your head, as his chest pressed against your back. He asked, his voice hushed, “The kids are right down the hall, you sure you wanna wake them up?”

“What are you talking about?” you asked innocently, though by the tone of his voice you already knew the answer.

He brought the box down into the crook of his arm and used his free hand to pinch your thigh. “You’re so cruel, been teasing me all day long.”

He wasn’t wrong – in a way you were. This morning when you made yourself a latte, you stared at him with bedroom eyes as you licked the foam away from your lips. And earlier today when you and the kids were baking cookies, you’d taken a finger-full of frosting and sucked on it, just a little too enthusiastically for it to be innocent. You’d been sending him signals all day, and now with the kids put to bed Eren was ready to take you up on your silent offers. But not without a taste of the silent torture you put him through today.

He dropped off the last box under the tree before taking a seat on the sofa, next to the table where you’d placed Santa's milk and cookies not too long ago before you put the kids to bed.

“Come sit on Santa's lap, naughty girl,” he teased as he patted his thigh, his eyes taking you in as you made your way over to him. They hungirly traversed your body, down your chest and back up your bare legs. Despite your best attempts at teasing, when it came down to it your confidence would always waiver. Eren always had that effect on you – to turn you into a flustered heap of goo, your legs wobbly, your voice shaky. But today you’d try your best not to be his prey.

You straddled your husband, the fabric of your lace panties flush against his red pants. Even through the fabric you could feel his arousal. His hands gripped your waist on either side as he placed a kiss to your chest, right above your cleavage. You rested your hands on the sides of his muscular chest.

“I was so right about this outfit,” he murmured against your chest, his lips brushing your skin.

“How so?” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing his face even closer to you.

“It makes your tits look incredible,” he said, his voice muffled as he spoke, before licking a stripe up the valley between your breasts. The contact made you shiver with anticipation.

He then kissed your neck, slow open mouth kisses that threatened to eat you up, as his hands came down to firmly grasp your ass beneath the red skirt.

When he finally reached the place he loved to kiss most, your lips, his kiss was rough and needy, nipping at your lips and full of tongue. He swallowed every moan that he pulled out of your body. Then Eren brushed a finger over your clothed cunt, the fabric practically drenched with your slick.

“Eren stop teasing me,” you whined, your voice low in his ear, as a thumb pressed on your clit over the fabric. He rubbed it in a slow circle, amusement clear in his viridian eyes.

“Mm, but you’ve been teasing me all day baby, it’s only fair,” his finger hooked onto the edge of your panties, setting the fabric aside, exposing your dripping cunt to him. His finger swiped up and down your folds, causing you to shudder on his lap.

“Don’t you think–” you paused to catch a breath, his thumb once again assaulting your clit in dangerously slow but firm circles. “ –maybe we should move to the, ah, bedroom?”

“But then who’s gonna eat all these cookies?” Eren picked up a cookie from the platter on the table, bringing the treat up to his mouth. You groaned as you were faced with a double assault — with one hand, Eren was licking the frosting off one of the sugar cookies, while the other continued to tease your clit, mirth dancing across his features as he teased you.

“Eren—“ his name came out as a moan as he stuffed a long finger inside you. He didn’t even break eye contact, purple frosting coating his sinful tongue as he watched you squirm.

“Try some, baby,” his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, leaving remnants of frosting in its wake. Your hips involuntarily grinded down on him as he fingered you at a languid pace, not nearly fast enough for what you craved.

“Please, Eren,” He could feel your walls clenching around his finger, but he wasn’t anywhere near satisfied, not yet.

“Please, what?” He blinked at you innocently as he brought the cookie into his mouth past his lips. He bit down and ate half, holding the other half in the air in front of your mouth. You could barely form words between his fingers brushing against your spongy walls and the way he teased you with the frosted cookie. “My lovely wife forgot how to speak tonight, hm?”

“I want you inside me,” you breathed out.

“I already am,” as if to make a point he pulled his finger out to the first knuckle before stuffing it back in.

You reached a hand down, looping a finger underneath the waistband of his pants, “you know what I meant,” you huffed, suppressing another moan. He slipped a second finger inside, then finished off the cookie in his other hand, making sure to suck off the frosting off the tips of his fingers. He felt your body stiffen at the sight.

His two fingers curled up against the spot he knew so well inside you.

“Eren!” You cried out his name as his fingers moved exactly the way he’d made you come undone so many times before.

“You gotta be a little more quiet, honey,” he chuckled, though his fingers showed no sign of stopping. You wanted to last longer, feeling pathetic that with just two fingers Eren could make you come undone, but he easily did just that. You felt that familiar feeling in your center, the high that you craved so badly, and Eren knew it was coming from the silent moans that escaped your parted lips in the form of heavy breaths. He watched in awe, a thumb coming up to rub against your clit to help you reach your peak, as he licked the traces of frosting off his lips.

“Fuck, Eren,” you tried your best to keep your voice low as you threw your head back, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Eren slowed down the movement of his fingers to a stop once he saw you were done, before pulling his fingers up to his lips. They were soaked with your essence and you watched as he lapped it up like a starved man downs a bottle of water, shooting you a cheeky grin.

“Can’t tell what’s sweeter, you or these cookies,” he said, his eyes trained on your hands as they came down to his waistband again. You tugged at the fabric, silently pleading at your husband with your eyes and a pout. He couldn’t help but smile, your want for him making his heart burst with affection. So many years together yet he’d still feel that feeling in his heart every time, the one where he couldn’t believe you wanted him in this way.

You moved back slightly, sitting on his knees. He lifted his hips slightly off the couch, just enough for you to pull down the fabric of his red pants and boxers to his mid thigh, freeing him from the confines of his clothing. His cock sprung free, the tip wet with his arousal. He watched with lidded eyes, biting his sugar-coated lips, as your hand moved up and down his shaft.

Eren stifled a groan. “Sit on Santa’s lap, baby.”

“Please stop calling yourself Santa, it’s weird,” you chuckled.

“Okay, how about sit on daddy’s lap?”

You could feel yourself clench around nothing, the way the word daddy came off his tongue sent shivers up your spine. You crawled up the short distance from his knees to his hips, your hands coming up to his shoulders, bunching up the red fabric as you gripped onto him for support. With his hands supporting your hips, you sunk down onto him, a sigh of pleasure leaving your parted lips. Before you could move your hips up, his hands on your hips firmly pushed you down, and he leaned in to give you a kiss.

“Not yet, baby,” he said as one hand let go of your hips to reach for another frosted cookie, “How about we finish these off first, hm?”

How could he even sit there so composed with his cock stuffing you so full? You were so frustrated, you just wanted to move. And he couldn't help but grin at your obvious predicament.

“Eren, baby, can we please go to the bedroom?” you tried your best to make your voice firm despite speaking in a hushed voice. He only chuckled.

“You spent the whole day teasing me like this,” he took his index finger and swiped down the center of a frosted cookie, picking up a hearty glob of frosting, before taking the frosting and drawing a stripe down his tongue. He made a show of sucking off his finger, his smoldering eyes meeting your heated gaze. “At least let me have a little fun.”

Before you could say anything else, he repeated the motion of picking up some frosting on his fingers – but this time instead of his tongue, his finger drew a line of frosting down the valley of your breasts. Your breath hitched in your throat as his hands came up to your shoulders and pulled down your top slightly. He felt your walls clench around him as he dipped his head down to suck off the sweet cream from your skin. Then he pulled down your top further down your arms until your breasts were exposed to him. Like an artist painting a canvas, he smirked as he covered your nipple with frosting.

“Eren, fuck can you, mmm, please–” you wanted to beg for him to stop, the teasing going way further than you imagined it would. His tongue swirled around your perked nipple, lapping off the saccharine cream, before he sucked at it, taking the last of the frosting into his mouth.

He took his fingers that were covered in frosting and tapped them onto your lips, a signal to open them. When you did, he placed his fingers onto your tongue. “Shhh, don’t wanna wake the kids do you?”

You shook your head no, before closing your lips around his fingers and sucking off the remaining frosting. You could feel his cock twitch inside you. He rutted his hips up, causing you to moan, though your mouth was closed around his fingers still. He brought the cookie to his lips, eating half, then he removed his fingers from your mouth and gave you the other half. They were soft and sweet, absolutely delicious. Even with most of the frosting removed.

Eren reached over for the glass of milk, taking a sip, watching in amusement as your patience was wearing down. There was one thing you could do, you realized as you watched him drink the white liquid.

You took the glass from out of his hand and took a sip, purposefully spilling a few drops from the corners of your lips. Immediately the imagery of white liquid on your lips brought his mind to not-so-innocent places, and you felt him stir below you. You stuck your tongue out, a faint white sheen coating your otherwise pink tongue, to lap up the drops of milk. You made sure to gaze at him the entire time, his mouth parted in surprise as he watched you.

This teasing was becoming too much, even for him.

“Fuck, hold on,” he tapped your thigh, his willpower gone. There was only so long he could take with you on his lap like that, in that sinful holiday outfit, drops of what could have been his essence trailing down your lips. You rose off his lap and he immediately moved up so that he was behind you, your body pressed down into the couch. In no time at all he slammed back into you, his hands gripping your hips so hard you’d probably wake up with bruises. But it didn’t matter, because all you could think of was how badly you wanted him.

“Please, daddy,” you begged, your head turned behind you to get a look at him. If you weren’t so turned on you’d almost laugh at his head-to-toe Santa get-up. But honestly he looked incredible even in an outfit as ridiculous as that one. His abs, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, glistened in the soft lights of the living room. His eyes were a deep muted green, sultry and full of his passion. His hands were so warm on your hips, somehow still sending tingles up your spine after all this time.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he rocked his hips just once, enough to kiss your cervix, before dragging back out.

“I want you to fuck me,” you asked, pushing your hips back up against him.

A hand came off your hip to squeeze the meat of your ass. He leaned down to your ear, “Yeah? Daddy 'll fuck you real good. Just keep quiet, sweetheart.”

He bunched up the fabric of your top and skirt around your waist, the sight of the red and white fabric making your actions almost even more sinful — to be fucking while dressed like mr. and mrs. Claus was not something he ever expected to do. But fuck if it wasn’t turning him on.

He pulled back before snapping his hips into you, the force pushing you further into the couch. You bit your lip and he repeated the motions over and over, his cock stretching you open and dragging along your tight walls. He watched as you took him in over and over, whispers of expletives tumbling out of his lips.

Normally Eren was quite vocal during sex, but tonight it was all muffled grunts and silent groans, a true effort to keep quiet. But you were another story.

His thrusts were becoming relentless, and when he reached the spot that had you seeing stars you sobbed.

“Shit, Eren, right there—yes,” you were so lost in it you didn’t realize the volume of your voice was increasing with every word.

He leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back, his fingers hooking into your mouth again.

“Naughty girl, what did I say?” He spoke into your ear again, his breath hot and his voice low, breathless due to his exertion.

“Ta thee quifettt,” you tried to speak but his fingers held your tongue down.

“Good girl,” he sighed in approval as he continued to slam his cock into you, “so so good, take me so perfectly baby,” his voice was soft in your ear still, his hands coming back down to cover the back of yours, his long fingers occupying the gaps between yours. He felt you clenching tight around him, your body sinking further into the couch. You were close.

“‘Ren I’m gonna—Fuck—I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered below him. You felt him plant a kiss on your shoulder.

“Then do it. Cum on me, baby,” he bit down on your shoulder to suppress a groan as his thrusts were deep, reaching a spot in you that would have had you screaming if you weren’t 10 feet away from your sleeping children.

To help you reach your peak Eren pressed a finger against your clit, teasing circles around the bud. You were a goner after that, your orgasm coming quickly as you cried out his name.

Eren was close behind thanks to the way you clenched so tightly around him.

Suddenly Eren had an idea.

“Can I cum on your mouth?” He asked, his thrusts slowing down as you descended from your high.

“Anywhere you want,” you were too fucked out to care.

He pulled out, gesturing for you to sit up on the couch as he stood up before you. You stuck out your tongue and he brought the head of his sensitive dick to your mouth. He was on the edge already, his hand pumping his shaft as you licked at his tip, coated with your previous release. With a few strokes he came, a guttural moan coming out of his mouth from the back of his throat. His cum shot out into your mouth, some of it dribbling down the sides and over your chin. He watched as you stuck out your tongue to lap up whatever you didn’t swallow.

However there was still some left around your mouth. Eren swiped it up with his fingers, before reaching over for another cookie. You watched, a mixture of surprise and (to your own surprise?) arousal, as he mixed his seed with the frosting on the tips of his fingers. He stuck his fingers into your mouth and you sucked them clean.

“Eren, you’re so ridiculous,” you finally said after lapping up the last of his salty cum and the sweet frosting.

He chuckled, landing a quick kiss to your purple-stained lips, “what, you don’t like a little milk with your cookies?”

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Antecedent 

tags: AFAB reader (referred to as ‘mama’), established (kinda toxic) relationship, canon divergence: secret family au (post arrest), spoilers for touya backstory and chapters 349 onwards, hurt/comfort, original child character (‘Kaiyo’; he is your shared biological child), no reference to readers quirk, mentions of canon attempted suicide and canon child abuse, themes of generational trauma, family feels, todoroki family centric, villain rehabilitation, dealing with trauma and recovery, second chances

wc: 16k+

You shouldn’t have come. 

There are crowds of press, packed so tightly that getting any closer would be futile, all of them a cacophony of questions and accusations. You’re standing atop a small brick wall encasing a flower bed of hyacinths outside of the hospital, a head above the sea of cameras, watching as a group of heroes — Endeavor and Shouto included — slowly lead Touya towards an armoured van. 

Relief floods through your system for a few precious seconds, overwhelming the hopelessness in your stomach. He was alive. 

One little rumour from a patient in your clinic, an unsure whisper of I heard they’re moving that Dabi kid from the ICU to villain corrections had led you here. It’d been two long, devastating weeks since the final battle. Two weeks with no word from him, two weeks of reading every article you could find about the ‘elusive first son of Endeavor’ and learning nothing. 

The media blackout that came thereafter was the only thing that kept you hoping that he was okay. The Todoroki family, though disastrous and complicated, held some influence in Japan. And though Touya would vehemently try to reject it, they could not allow their surviving first son to be fed to the wolves. 

And wolves they were; yelling obscenities and insults with spitting anger. Legal justice was one thing, but the court of public opinion was another thing in its entirety, a fragile and fickle thing that held the power to sway even government policy. 

Kaiyo stirs in your arms at the noise and you soothe him, rubbing your hand along his back until he quietens, then you tuck away the stray red hair that has fallen loose from beneath his hat. Truthfully you never intended to bring him here, but given recent events it has been hard for him to separate from you, cheeks still slightly pink from his earlier tantrum. 

It’d been damn near impossible to prevent the four year old from learning about the broadcast a few months prior, paired with the sudden less than frequent visits from his father, he knew something was deeply wrong and he didn’t understand it. 

Touya is scanning the crowds lazily, expression impassive to everyone but you. You could see was exhausted, more gaunt than you last remember, but his disinterest only fed into everyone’s fury. 

“Villain!” they’re bellowing at him, fingers pointed and words sharp, “don’t you care about the suffering you’ve caused?” 

He cares, you think, more than anyone could ever understand. 

You cannot look away as Shouto lingers by his brother, the other sidekicks giving them a wide berth. Endeavor is tucked away beside the van speaking with an armed officer, his shoulders hunched forwards in an uncharacteristic manner. He appeared to be ashamed. 

Good, the thought bitter and weighing heavily in your chest. 

Touya shuffles along obediently, wrists out and pressed together against his pelvis. Quirk suppressing cuffs, you assumed. They were bulky, and no doubt uncomfortable. You hold Kaiyo a little closer as you ache, distantly wondering if he’s cold without his quirk. 

After today it was entirely possible you’d never see him again, that your son would grow up without his father.

Nobody knew of your connection to him, something both of you doubled down on after your pregnancy came to light. There would be no way for you to visit or contact him now without suspicion being cast upon your little family. Law enforcement will without a doubt assume you were aware of his intentions, and worst case they would believe you to have played a part in them yourself. 

He couldn’t allow that to happen. And yet, here you were. 

You just needed one last look at him to know he was breathing, living flesh and blood, to know that the only thing you would have to mourn was your relationship. More than anything you needed him to be ok. And he does look different – better, in some ways. The new skin grafts hug his jawbone comfortably, and the rings that once kept him together are gone. 

Being alive meant he still had a chance. 

Touya tilts his chin up, squinting against the flare of the sun, and the corner of his mouth crooks into a smile. It’s the irony, you think, as your own lips twitch. The heavens should have opened by now, rain should be soaking your clothes to your skin, influenced by the utter misery flooding throughout your body. Instead, the day is bright.

As if he can feel it, he turns, and his gaze immediately falls on your figure in the distance. You’re close enough to see the abject fury flit across his features, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare back into your own. 

The hand you have rested against Kaiyo’s back slides up over his hat to cradle his head, his small fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your shirt, drawing Touya’s attention to the boy. 

To his son. 

The anger dissolves like sea foam, it washes away to give space for his grief. This was it, the final goodbye. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him for his choices, because it was something he had told you he’d do from the start. 

In hindsight, you can only curse your naivety. 

You’d met Touya a few months after your eighteenth birthday while shadowing one of the senior nurses in the clinic. The place was small, run down and barely funded, but it was valuable work and they were kind enough to give you the extra experience.

He’d been brought in unconscious by a concerned passerby. The skin of his arms has been rough, raised and pale pink, inflamed where they’d been burnt. Barely nineteen at the time, it was nothing compared to what he would do to himself years later. 

“Watch him until he wakes up,” they’d told you, and you did so dutifully until his eyes flew open in alarm. 

Back then his identity as Dabi was makeshift, fresh and unrefined. With the glue still wet between the cracks it was unsurprising that he would slip. Touya. That was how he introduced himself to you on that first day, under the hazy influence of painkillers.

The memory stuck with you throughout your relationship. You’d see it now and then — you’d see Touya plainly behind the veil. Sometimes you said his name as if it was a dare, and he’d hated it so much that he loved you. With you there was no need to exert effort in maintaining his bravado, he could just be. And that was dangerous, or so he’d insisted.

He would disappear for weeks at a time. He always had a myriad of excuses, from expressing concern for your safety to spitting that you were nothing but a good fuck. You could no longer count on one hand the amount of times you’d heard the ‘I’m a villain, you shouldn’t be with me’ speech. 

Touya would leave, and yet you’d still come home to a receipt on the counter, or to your clean sheets unmade. It was laughable, and you loved him. 

The pregnancy was… unexpected. Difficult. If his emotions were a switch on the wall, your growing baby was a finger flicking it up and down incessantly. Mornings full of nausea and nights full of reassurance. You offered him an out, a door that would always be left open, and he refused it. 

Stay and be a bad father. Leave and be a bad father. Those were the only options he thought existed for him. And maybe you should’ve believed him when he told you Kaiyo’s birth wouldn’t change a thing about the path he’d set for himself. 

But you couldn’t accept it. Not as he’d held your boy in his arms, not as the apprehension and fear in his eyes softened into love. Not as he’d laughed and told you, “guess I needed to give one good thing to the world before I die”. 

Sometimes the adoration would become overcast with anguish. There were days he couldn’t even look at Kaiyo because of how much he loved him, reminded only of how little he had been loved by his own family — but he never let Kaiyo see it. 

“Just because he’s too young to understand now doesn’t mean he won’t later”.

The only small mercy is that your son remains asleep, blissfully unaware of what he is losing, and unperturbed by the noise around him. His light, shallow breaths against the skin of your neck are a warm comfort. 

Touya can’t say anything for fear it will draw attention to you both, and you think that alone is punishment enough. 

Shouto stands beside him in silence, surveying the surroundings and eventually following Touya’s line of sight to you. Instinctively you step backwards into the soft soil of the flowerbed, your thoughts offering an apology to the hyacinth flattened beneath your shoe. 

With the realisation that his youngest brother has noticed you, Touya turns and lunges in Shouto’s direction with his teeth bared. It could almost be comical if not for the unpleasant murmurings of the crowd. In the short moment that Shouto is distracted, you jump down from the brick wall and slip away. 

You don’t look back. 

A small part of you had hoped your role in the story had ended, that you now might just move forward as best you can. Instead, you were shadowed by an overwhelming sense of dread everywhere you went. There was little to do besides work and walk, yet you couldn’t help but feel watched. The cashier at your local market, your neighbour, Kaiyo’s teacher, the food vendor on the corner; with just one look you can’t help but to think that they must know, that any day now this false peace will collapse onto you like a tonne of bricks. 

The anxiety keeps you up at night, counting the glowing stars stuck to the bedroom ceiling to pass the hours, tension threading itself into your muscle fibres. Kaiyo was warm where he laid curled at your side, but the loneliness — in all its violent emptiness — made the night colder. Despite it all, you missed Touya, your eyes still searching for him across the futon. 

Remnants of him are still scattered throughout the apartment. Should anyone come looking, there would be plenty of him to find. He’d hated having his picture taken, yet always gave in to you quickly, and you never needed to ask him for anything twice. There were photographs of his lips pressed to your hair, of his smile tucked against your neck, of his arms holding the baby; hand cradled around the crown of his head, his purpled scars a stark contrast to Kaiyo’s soft skin. 

He had treated fatherhood like he was a dying man, a clear red flag that you can only now see with hindsight. He had spoiled the two of you with his time and effort, no matter how uncomfortable it made him, because he knew any day might be his last. Touya was born with inherited wounds that were left to fester. To him, his failure was terminal, and no amount of love would undo that. 

The wood panels are cool beneath the soles of your feet as you pad your way through to the bedroom, bending at your knees to pick up stray toys and socks left throughout the hallway. There’s still an ache in your cheeks, the strain of smiling too long through all the tears and questions from your son that morning before school. You wish you had answers. 

Your shared room looks much emptier with the large futon hung over the balcony to dry. You find a small star in the centre of the room that has fallen from the ceiling. Held between your fingers in the daylight it is dull, a pale yellow, much different to the green glow it emits at night. Touya had bought them for Kaiyo after a series of bad dreams, lifting the boy onto his shoulders and letting him stick them wherever he pleased. 

Another piece of him. As you are slipping the star into your pant pocket, you hear a knock on the front door. You weren’t expecting anyone — rent had been paid, Kaiyo was with his sitter and your neighbours were at work. It sounds again, reverberating throughout the apartment, and the soft hair on your arm lifts in anticipation. 

There is a sense of embarrassment somewhere within you as you creep towards the entryway, keeping your body low and your steps light. You can hear muted, muffled voices through the cheap wood, fingertips carefully lifting the peep hole cover to look through. 

You hold your breath, stunned. There are two women just an arms length from you, both of them beautiful and horrifyingly familiar to you. Rei, Touya’s mother, stands with her head held high despite the nervous fiddling of her hands. Fuyumi, his sister, is clasping the strap of her shoulder bag with a white knuckled grip. 

“Mother, are you sure this is the place?” she asks, her eyes darting anxiously over the surroundings, “maybe Shouto made the wrong assumption”.

Rei is lovely, you think, even with the air of sadness  Her smile is gentle, and her expression softly determined. “The worst outcome to this is that he misunderstood the situation,” she replies, “but if this person is important to Touya then they’re important to me”. 

Fuyumi nods, shifting her weight between each foot. You inhale shakily through your nose, blinking back the dryness in your eye as you continue to watch through the lense. 

“He said… there was a child”. 

Your forehead bumps against the door as you startle, cursing under your breath, lungs tightening as the dread floods your system. The two women freeze alongside you, observing the door cautiously, glancing at one another in silent conversation. 

“If you’re there, we aren’t here to hurt you,” Rei lifts her hand, and rests it against the door in a show of reassurance, “I believe you know my eldest son. We only want to talk”. 

The push and pull of guilt, relief and fear forces the weight of your body to sink forward, drawn to the sincerity in her voice. There is no amount of time or distance that would dilute the loyalty you felt towards Touya. Letting them in would be a betrayal. 

“Please,” Fuyumi’s voice is wet, thickening with tears, “he’s my older brother. He’s refusing to talk about you or— or anything! We just want to—”

Rei turns to soothe her, and you’re reminded of your own parenthood. If something ever happened to Kaiyo you might just scorch the earth in your attempts to find him. It’s hard to swallow the swell in your throat as you watch his sister turn into the touch, seeking that comfort. 

Touya had loved his mother, a difficult thing for him to stomach but true all the same. He’d grieved the attention he never received from her, but you knew he didn’t blame her, and it is that which leads your hand to the door handle. 

Time feels like it’s in suspension. To see them standing so clearly before you without the film of dirt from the glass is still a shock to process. Behind you is a home filled to the brim with evidence of your own criminal involvement, the first photograph they’ll see hung in the hallway is of their grandson.

Kaiyo deserved his chance at having a family. 

“Please come in,” your fingers are trembling where they sit in your pocket, curled around the divots in the star. Please forgive me, you think. 

You step backwards to allow them through, both accepting with a short bow and a quiet thank you. It’s unnerving and tense, their stares lingering along the walls and shelves, the mother and daughter now hand in hand as they take a seat on your couch. 

“Would…” a blunt point of the star sinks into the thickest part of your palm, the sensation acting as your tether, “…can I get you anything to drink?” 

“Some tea would be wonderful,” Rei concedes, her voice full of earnest and so light it’s almost wistful. As you steep the leaves you can’t help but get the feeling she knew you needed more time.

The ceramic cups are old, stained with time and well loved. You fill them with hot water, tendrils of steam billowing warmth across your face, and place them atop the coffee table before kneeling onto the floor. 

Beneath your mug is a clumsily drawn cat, the marker permanently stained into the wood. There are others, too, little marks left by mistake. Faint lines of kanji where the ink had seeped through the paper, hearts and stick figures and stars. Rei reaches her hand out to trace a finger along them, lips pressed thinly in a sad smile. 

“I apologise for our unexpected intrusion,” she tells you, “I’m Himura Rei and this is my daughter, Todoroki Fuyumi".

“Believe it or not I’ve been waiting for someone to find us,” your hands wrap tightly around the hot cup, incognisant of the sting to your skin, “it was beginning to eat away at me a little bit”.

“Then Shouto was right,” Fuyumi mirrors you, keeping her voice soothing and calm as she speaks even as her eyes are tearful. You recall Touya telling you she was a teacher, and you can see why. 

“You did know him,” she says, “it looks like he spent… a lot of time here”.

You hear yourself laugh breathlessly at her tiptoeing of the subject, “he practically lived here until he decided to join the league. After that he stayed away for our safety, I suppose”. 

She nods, seeming to accept your answer, glancing then to her mother in a silent plea for assistance. “Could you tell us what he was like?” there’s a mellow, apologetic tone in Rei’s words, but to whom she was apologising you didn’t know.

“Could you tell us all the things we missed?”

So you sip your drink to smooth the dryness in your throat and it’s scalding against the roof of your tongue, and you tell them everything you know. 

After your first meeting you’d thought about him every day for a week, haunted by the intensity in his eyes and the marks on his skin. You had talked and talked and he had done nothing but listen. While you thought you'd never see him again it wasn’t long at all until he came back to your dingy clinic, this time of his own accord, in need of painkillers and suturing. 

He’d gone straight to you, rudely bypassing the doctors with any qualification in the ward, and shoved some money into the palm of your hand. He was still young, his attempts at carrying himself like a man seemed more like puppetry to you, but still you entertained it and attended to his wounds. 

“Since I’m still not fully trained you’ll need to sign this,” you remember holding out the clipboard to him, your supervisor lingering by the curtains, the impatient tap of her foot echoing in your ears. 

“Touya—” 

Back then his aversion to hearing that name was much greater. Every time it’d passed through your lips was as if you had pressed your thumb on a fresh bruise, and he’d lash out in kind. 

“Don’t call me that here!” 

“Why? Are you running from something?” 

He’d laughed at you with eyes that glittered like he was about to cry, but the tears never came, they never could. “Running implies that someone is looking for me,” his skin pulled uncomfortably taut as he smiled, “there’s no one to run from”.

“He dyed his hair black soon after that,” the mug held between your trembling hands grows cold, your tea mostly untouched and leaving a faint brown ring around the ceramic, “sometimes he would visit me all soaked with rain, and the colour would run down the back of his neck”. 

You pause every so often to offer them a chance to ask questions, but the two women remain quiet, listening raptly to your story. Their genuine trust and willingness to believe you bore a sense of unease, or perhaps guilt that you’d had him to yourself while they’d mourned. 

“Then things eventually progressed to… more,” even with the air of melancholy, you couldn’t help but take refuge in the normalcy of being timid around your partner's family, sheepish as you recount your relationship. 

“Did you love him?” Rei asks, and though not unkind, her question makes you feel unspeakably lonely. 

Loving Touya had felt nothing like a free fall, there was no moment in which you woke up and realised your feelings. It’d been no great feat to love him, no grand prize or climax at the end of a long battle; you saw all the worst parts of him and it didn’t change a thing. Even with all his flaws your feelings only deepened until they hollowed you out. 

Despite it all, you had walked into it knowingly, each step forward towards him a purposeful choice. 

You have only your own hunger to thank. Your eighteen year old self had been fiercely persistent, and however much he denied it, you knew he was drawn to your sympathy. Even though he was never entirely honest you pursued him with the small truths he did offer, motivated by the selfish wish to see him happy. 

“Yes,” in sickness and violence, in struggle and fear; you’d loved him through holidays and birthdays, through time spent apart and nights spent alone, “I love him”. 

“And the little boy, is he your son?”

Kaiyo. An unexpected yet happy accident. Named after forgiveness and the spitting image of his father, a red haired cherub, you both already knew the answer. “You can say it, Ms. Himura,” your smile strained as you run your thumb along the handle of your mug, “he’s our son. Mine and his”. 

Fuyumi exhales shakily, slumping forward like the fight left her body along with it. You can see the moment your confession truly registers, misty eyed and sparing a glance between one another. Turning on your knees, you reach into the shelves of the TV cabinet, grasping the framed photo of your son as an infant. 

Rei takes it from you delicately as you offer it to her with an outstretched hand and traces her fingers across the glass pane, circling the swell of Kaiyo’s pink cheek. It’s a personal favourite of yours — his arms are held above his head in triumph, the lower half slightly blurred from the excited kick of his feet. He’s grinning widely, so much so his eyes are squinted. 

Touya had been the one to take that photo, making ridiculous noises from behind the camera, the ghost of their intermingling laughter still ringing in your ears. 

“His name is Kaiyo and he’ll be turning four soon,” you watch warmly as Fuyumi leans over her mothers shoulder to get a better look, hand clutching at the fabric of her knit sweater, “the pregnancy was unexpected. We didn’t… I told Touya I would raise him myself, but he insisted on taking responsibility”. 

As you recall, the very notion that he wouldn’t stick around had offended him. He loved his son. He’d even cried over the baby scans, dry blood still smeared across black and white where they sit in your bedroom drawer. But you could see how the fear had eaten away at him throughout those nine months, restlessly doting on you and bringing home stolen things for the baby every few days but never being able to touch your growing bump. 

“Then, why did he join the league?” Fuyumi asks, but you were intuitive enough to see the real question between the lines. Why wasn’t any of this enough? Why did he leave this behind, too? 

You’d guessed from the beginning that his relationship with his family was, at best, a strained one. In reality it was worse than you could’ve imagined. The small pieces to his past that he let slip every now and then would always fill you with distress, at a loss for words. 

The reveal of who his father had been all you needed to understand the secrecy, of both his identity and of your relationship. 

“Stain,” you cross your arms over the surface of the coffee table, knees folded beneath it, and resist the urge to hide your face, “he continued to use his quirk so his condition was worsening, and his anger towards Endeavor had been festering for years”.

You ignore their plaintive wince at the mention of the pro, blunt nails curling into your inner wrists as you continue. “Touya felt his death didn’t matter. It didn’t change a thing,” and he had to watch his world move on without acknowledging it, “everything Endeavor did made him susceptible to Stain’s cause”.

Stain’s temporary reign of terror over Japan was the first time he’d ever heard anyone criticise hero society so blatantly. You remember the vengeful kindling in his eyes as he recited the vigilante’s words, your son sound asleep in his arms and none the wiser. 

It was that night, and every night that followed, that the stress had started to gnaw at your chest until you felt your lungs collapse under the weight. Panic gripped you each time he returned home with a new injury, the smell of smoke suffocating and clinging to the futon covers no matter how much you washed them. He carried a feral sense of excitement and restlessness that left you helpless — something had breathed new life into him, and it had not been you. 

Fighting had been pointless, your pleas like water to a ducks back. He loved you, he loved his son, and somehow he had rationalised that burning himself and the world would give rise to a better place.  

“He already died once,” your smile is tight but not as tight as your throat,  “and it did nothing. So this time he’d do it where it couldn’t be hidden, where everyone would have to look right at his self immolation and know their part in causing it”. 

It's then that Rei carefully places the photograph on the table as she lowers herself onto her knees, the frame remaining upright with the support of its stand. With her hands resting one atop the other, she leans forward into a full bow in front of you. 

You’re stunned with arms suspended in the air as you hesitate to reach for her, a swell of tears lining your eyes at her softly spoken apology. Your son watches over the exchange, his presence poignant even through an image. 

“Ms. Himura, please lift your head,” you shift towards her, close enough to thread your fingers over her own, feeling the peaks of her knuckles against your palm. 

“I failed him as his mother,” she says, overturning her hand to hold yours and squeezing, “it was those failures that led to your own suffering. I’m sorry”. 

In your peripheral you see Fuyumi as she moves to mirror her mother, sitting close beside you, fingers ghosting a chill along your forearm where she comes to entangle with the two of you. 

“Please don’t take responsibility for my pain. Besides, it wasn’t always terrible,” you stare at the knot of limbs, comforted by the gentle warmth of their touch, “I don’t think… I’ve ever met anyone who loves as much as your son does”. 

Rei’s eyes fall shut, a faint pinch between her brows, sorrowful as she replies: “I know”.  

Her expression is so full of regret it’s almost contagious, drawing you in and reminding you of your own mistakes. There’d been so many opportunities that you could’ve fought him, could’ve said something, but didn’t for fear of pushing him further away. 

“How did you find me?” 

Your voice cuts through the plaintive silence and you shrink under their gaze as their eyes lift. Fuyumi speaks in place of her mother, her thumb rubbing back and forth over your wrist. 

“Shouto saw you as Touya was being transferred, and in all honesty he didn’t think anything of it until Touya attacked him to keep the attention on himself,” she explains with an amused lilt, “he appeared to be very protective of you”.

Idiot, you think fondly. 

“I assure you he only told my mother,” Fuyumi squeezes your forearm once again as if to comfort you, “he was concerned and wasn’t sure if he just misunderstood. But we wanted to look for you to make sure”. 

“Then, the authorities aren’t aware?” 

“No,” Rei murmurs. 

You’re surprised by just how much you were being upheld by stress, shoulders sagging forward in relief, sinking your teeth into the soft inside of your cheek to withhold a whimper. 

“Thank you,” you say hoarsely, and you repeat it again and again until the two women have swaddled you in their arms, surrounded by the gentle scent of lavender and detergent. 

“You’re family to Touya, therefore you’re family to us,” Fuyumi reassures you, “you don’t have to do this alone anymore if you don’t want to”. 

Family. The prospect almost seemed too good to be true, an enticing offer laid out only to trap you at the end. You couldn’t risk Kaiyo’s safety or wellbeing, but their sincerity is so palpable it’s stifling. 

“How is he?” you ask instead, “is he safe?” 

“This knowledge isn’t available to the public, but he has been moved into a private villain corrections centre,” Rei looks at Kaiyo’s picture as she speaks, and you wonder if she sees Touya looking back.

“He will be undergoing rehabilitation with the hopes of one day joining us for a period of probation,” she continues, turning to you with a soft smile, “rest assured we have no intention of removing his autonomy. Touya consciously chose to carry out his actions and he should take responsibility for it…”

Her voice breaks, “… but we had our own part to play in his creation, and believe he deserves a second chance”. 

It’d sound like a perfect dream if you did not know Touya as intimately as you do. You’re unable to repress the grimace that crosses your expression. 

“He won’t be happy about that,” your eyes fall closed momentarily as you exhale, “he won’t see it your way. You already took his autonomy by removing his choice to die, that’s what he’ll think”. 

“You really do understand him, don’t you?” Fuyumi laughs mournfully, “he’s refusing to cooperate. He was relatively fine in police custody but since the transfer he’s become more hostile”.

The room grows a little smaller with every word. “Do you think it’s because I was there?” 

“Shouto asked twice who you were and Touya attacked him both times. It’s a big part of why he came to me about it, and why we knew we had to find you,” Rei says. 

It would make sense. Touya always smothered his anxiety with anger, a response that allowed him some control or imitation of power, and power meant safety. You knew he found common ground with his youngest brother, that being the reason he ultimately lost to him, but that didn’t mean he trusted Shouto. The thought of him restlessly wondering if you and Kaiyo were in danger causes your chest to tighten. 

“Maybe if you’re able to tell him we’re okay, he’ll start responding to treatment?” 

“Maybe,” Rei nods and then the apartment is veiled in heavy silence. It wasn’t unlike sitting at his wake. You wished he could bear witness to how much love you all felt for him. 

Suddenly, a muted beeping sounds from the thin, mint coloured watch clasped around Rei’s wrist. She sighs and pressed her lips into a thin, displeased line. “I’m sorry but we can’t stay longer. They still get a little nervous if I’m out too long,” she says. 

Right. She too had spent time locked away in a hospital. It must be difficult, you think, to have a mistake follow you wherever you went. A perfect recovery did not mean other people would forgive, or forget. 

Maybe one day, Touya would see that he and his mother are more similar than he realises. 

“That’s fine, Ms. Himura,” you bow forward towards her, and then again while addressing Fuyumi, “I’m grateful to you both for finding us”. 

“And we’re grateful you gave us a chance,” Fuyumi lifts her arms in an aborted motion as if to hug you, but decides against it, “we’d like to leave you with our contact information. If there’s anything you need or… if you’d like Kaiyo to visit, please don’t hesitate to call”. 

Their touch lingers long after they leave. The evening moves on, sun dipping below the seam of the horizon as it always does as if nothing had changed, an unintended reminder of how minuscule your problems really were. Kaiyo is returned home by his sitter, excitedly babbling about his day, rushing throughout the apartment with bare feet padding over the spot where his grandmother had been seated only hours before. 

You’re reminded of how intuitive he is when he curls himself around your thigh, asking you if you’re okay, if you were feeling sick or sad. There’s a guilt there that can only come with parenthood, your depression smothered like a wet blanket as you pull forward a smiling mask to wear, hoping it will placate his worry. 

“I’m okay baby,” you tell him with fingers combing through unkempt red hair, his eyes wide and bright and distinctly your own, “I’m just a little tired”.  

There is an anger that accompanies the insurmountable love you feel when you look at your son. It is difficult to accept his abandonment, to know you will have to be the one imparting that pain into him. So gentle, excitable and considerate of those around him, qualities taught to him by his supposedly villainous parents.

Despite his mistakes and doubts, Touya tried to be a good father, he’d wanted to be one. You suspected a lot of it came from a place of wishfulness, parenting his child in a way he’d wanted for himself, as painful as it might’ve been to realise just how little he’d mattered to his own. And you can see it now — Touya’s inherited wounds are steadily present on Kaiyo, a passing of the torch, and all you can do is try to stop the bleeding.

If you truly thought about it, you could say your whole relationship had carried a disquieting dark shadow beneath its skin, something of a spreading blood wheel. You overlooked it anytime he was callous and unruly, you’d cry and ache but it pleased you to know he still cared enough about himself to be angry. 

Soon after joining the league he’d gradually plateaued, urges satisfied, and you should’ve noticed. 

“Mama, look,” Kaiyo appears and lifts a thin sheet towards you, paper wrinkling under his chubby fingers, “I drawed dad!”

“Drew,” you warmly correct, cradling his cheeks as you duck to press a kiss to his forehead. The drawing is that of three stick figures, each one distinct with features. Touya’s figure has his black spiked hair, and across the lower half of its face is a purple shadow. His scars, you assume. 

It was all perfectly normal to Kaiyo; the sutures and rings, the burns, the ever present smell of smoke. From the moment he could open his eyes, they would follow his father with love and excitement. The admiration would sometimes unsettle Touya, too familiar, too much like looking into a reflection. 

“It’s brilliant, baby,” you tell him, gentle as you take it from his grasp, “shall we put it on the pinboard along with the others?”

He huffs, incensed by your request, “but I want to show my friends!”

Therein lies the dilemma. You wonder how often this problem will crop up in the years to come, how quickly you might run out of acceptable excuses as he becomes old enough to understand. Dabi was too easily recognised, even in your son's amateur rendition of him. 

“I really love this one though Kai, it has all of us,” you twist your lips into a cartoonish pout, pulling the sweet sound of a laugh from him, “please can I keep it?”

His childish glare withers as he fights a smile, the restrained happiness plain on his face and entirely contagious. “Ok mama, I guess,” he relents, innocent and forgiving, head tilted and cheeks pink under your praise. In moments like this, you can truly understand a parent's wish to freeze time. 

You recall Touya’s claim of putting good into the world before his death. You too could hardly believe that you’d raised such an unequivocally good little boy. But as you watch your son appraise his art with an excited wiggle, you’re reminded that children are not a tool for redemption. 

“I love you,” I promise I’ll be better for you, “and dad loves you too. How about we draw him another picture? I’ll do one aswell". 

“Okay!” he takes your hand and begins to pull you along the hallway towards his room, your back bent uncomfortably to lessen his reach. Halfway to his destination, Kaiyo pauses, pulling anxiously at the hem of his metallica shirt. 

“When… When is dad coming back from work?” 

That’s right. Work in Okinawa, you’d told him. A terribly flimsy excuse given in a moment of panic. At the time you just wanted him to have a reason to hold onto, to reassure himself with, but it was slowly coming back to bite you. 

“He still has a lot to do baby,” an understatement if you’d ever heard one, “it’ll be a little while. But we can be patient, can’t we?”

His lips purse into a pout, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he bravely nods, and the thought of Rei’s phone number waiting in your contacts lingers in the forefront of your mind. 

Truthfully it haunts you throughout the rest of your week, stomach lined thickly with guilt. You eat, you work, you walk Kaiyo to school with eyes on every corner. You sleep in Touya’s most recently worn hoodie and pretend it’s his skin, his hands, too attached to his scent to wash it. 

Kaiyo continues to draw, to write and create. He brings graded homework back from school to keep in one of your old folders along with his other keepsakes; just in case Touya comes back, just so he can show him. 

You were looking over some of the old home made cards the night you finally called Rei, reliving another time and wondering if it ever really had been better, or if it’d just been a figment of your imagination. 

It can be difficult to know when a memory has been altered by nostalgia. 

“What’s this?” Touya had said as Kaiyo handed him a Father’s Day card, the inside lined with confetti and star sequins that toppled into his lap when opened. 

“I— I made it for you,” Kaiyo had explained nervously with eyes wide, hands flexing at his sides, “see… that’s you and— and me!” 

“Those potato shaped things are us?” Kaiyo had visibly deflated even with Touya’s playful tone, “this is pretty fuckin’ cool if you ask me”. 

“Freakin’,” you’d gently chided, lacking any heat for it to sound truly scolding at the time, too pleased by Kaiyo’s excited dancing. You recall the relaxed smirk on Touya’s lips and how he’d pressed a kiss to your shoulder, a rare moment of him being truly at ease and present. 

“And the heart, why s’it blue and not red?” 

“Because of your fire, dad!” Kaiyo grinned as he lifted his arms, mimicking the pose of a hero, “I hope I have blue flames, just like you”. 

Fragile. You'd watched on as Touya’s expression became strained, closing the card and setting it on the table, “I guess we better keep it somewhere safe since you worked so hard on it”. 

Into the folder it went. 

You decide to make the leap the following morning, allowing Kaiyo to sleep a little longer while you sift through your shared wardrobe for a suitable outfit. Work had happily allowed you a day off — even though they were chronically short staffed, you didn’t often call in sick so they were glad to give it to you. 

Usually Kaiyo would be dropped off with his sitter, an older woman known in the neighbourhood for fostering children. She’d been around for a long time, had seen and worked with many a criminal, and she understood young people more than you could comprehend. You trusted her with your son, trusted that even if he unknowingly slipped up she wouldn’t say a thing. 

But today that wasn’t necessary. You feel the fabric of the small knitted sweater between your fingers, frowning at the aggravating itch. He wouldn’t wear this, too scratchy, but it was also the closest to nice clothing he had. 

It isn’t like you’re living in poverty, but one mistake and it could very well be a truth for you. Clothes were fine as long as they fit — Kaiyo loved the little band tees his father would bring him more than anything, he didn’t care much for formal wear. 

The unbidden image of Touya’s displeased scowl flashing through your thoughts is enough for you to put the sweater back. Forcing Kaiyo to conform for the sake of his wealthier relatives, indicating that your own reality was something lesser, is something you wouldn’t do. Something Touya would hate you for. 

A small lump curled up beneath the futon covers begins to move. Kaiyo stirs, almost as if he can feel your turmoil, sleep lined eyes searching for you. 

“Ma?” 

“Mornin’, handsome,” a smile pulls naturally at your lips and warmth unfurls in your chest when he reaches for you. Half of his hair is pressed flat to the side of his head where he’d laid. 

He blinks slowly from your lap, his fathers nose wrinkling as he surveys the clothes you’d been mulling over. It’s an unspoken question. 

“I have a surprise for you so I wanted to find something nice for you to wear,” you tell him, hand rubbing along the length of his back. He perks up noticeably, foot kicking out against the sweater you’d just been holding. 

“Don’t like that one,” he says. You laugh, eyes closing for a moment to silently send thanks to Touya, even if he had just been a fleeting piece of your imagination. 

“Thought so,” you murmur, leaning forward to move it aside, “pick something for yourself, then. Make sure it’s something you’ll feel good in, because we’re going to meet some new people today”. 

“Who?” he asks, mouth wet and shaped into an ‘o’ as he fists his hands into another one of his dark coloured t-shirts. 

“You know how a lot of your friends have more than just a mother and father?”

He mumbles a dejected ‘yes’. 

“Well, I know you’ve been missing dad so I thought we might be able to connect with him in a different way,” you explain, helping him lift his pyjama shirt over his head and refraining from pinching his belly. 

“What would you say if I told you… I was going to take you to see your grandma right now?” 

“Grandma?!” he squeaks from behind the clean shirt you loop over his head, frowning then as you help him push his arms through the sleeves, releasing a small noise of complaint. 

“That’s right, your dad's mother,” — your smile dims slightly while he insists on dressing himself, reminded of how quickly the time has passed, how much he was growing — “I guess he didn’t talk about his family a lot did he?”

Kaiyo shakes his head excitedly, bouncing on his toes as he struggles to tug his pants over his clean underwear. He relents and allows you to do up the fiddly top button of his trousers. 

“That’s not all…” 

“More?!”

“You have an auntie and two uncles,” you tell him, and his hands fly to cover his mouth as he begins to dance with excitement. His joy is contagious, you feel it fill you and spill over as you pull him back into your lap, holding him tightly. 

Rei and the siblings, that had been the deal. No Endeavor. Touya may forgive the former, but never the latter. You wouldn’t do that to him.

It isn’t strenuous getting him out the door, but it is taxing to get him to the station, hair once again tucked under a knitted beanie despite the day's warmth. He jumps over the cracks in the pavement, follows the pattern with his feet, stops to greet every stray he sees. 

And you let him. Because his happiness is your own, and you dread to imagine him without it. Maybe it was selfish for you to cover his ears to the cruelty around him. He knew of fear, pain and crime, he knew that people sometimes did bad things to others. But it had never been personal to him, not yet. 

Perhaps the biggest question as a parent was just that — at what point do you expose your children to what may hurt them? 

You had told Rei the cover story ahead of time, embarrassed by your own lies, but she’d been understanding. Gentle. Somehow it only left you more ashamed. 

You wanted to preserve the innocent lense in which he viewed the world, wanted to encase the image he held of his father in amber. Because when you’re a child, the power of those traumas stay with you, chemically alter you; they become the epicentre of your nightmares, they shape your convictions and morals, they fuel your will. Touya knew that more than anyone. 

You observe Kaiyo while he watches the surroundings change, clutching the backrest of his seat as he looks out the train window, propped up on his knees and ignorant of the glare from the elderly woman beside him. Folded on her lap is the morning newspaper, a grainy black and white photo of flames and the words ‘Where is Endeavor’s Villainous Son?’ printed across the front. 

You adjust the hat, his eyes fixed on the moving landscape. He’d never been this far out of the Kanagawa prefecture, Touya’s unease with regards to your safety always taking precedence over the freedom to explore, so you let him press his nose to the glass and laugh as his voice begins to vibrate with the train. 

“Do you remember the names I told you?”

“Yumi!”

“Fuyumi,” you emphasise, tucking the tag by his neck back into the confines of his shirt, “who else?”

He holds out his fist, fingers unfurling one by one as he counts, seeking your praises as he goes. “Fuyumi… Shouto… Natsu…o… Natsuo!”

The two hour journey passes in what feels like a minute. With one blink the train arrives in Shizuoka, slow as it pulls up to the second platform, the anticipation knotting thickly like yarn in your gut. Kaiyo, as perceptive as he can be, is bubbling with too much enthusiasm to notice your inner turmoil. 

You hold him on your hip, arms pressing him close into your chest as the sliding doors part, and step into the throngs of people waiting to board the train. As if you’d been in a soundproof bubble the noise of the city amplifies, a cacophony of voices and cries and whistles echoing uncomfortably in your ears. There are suits everywhere, hats tipped over eyes, too many unknowns in such a crowded space. 

The relief of stepping out onto the clear street almost buckles you. Kaiyo is squirming in complaint, wanting to be put back on the pavement but you hike him up a little higher. You couldn’t let him down, couldn’t let him out of reach, couldn’t let anyone take him. 

“Sorry baby, you can walk soon. I just need to find the car first—”

You’re interrupted then by a low, nasal voice, startling you to pivot on your feet. Behind you stands a large figure, bowler hat held politely to his chest as he bows forward. Kaiyo shrinks into the crook of your neck at the sight of a stranger, sensing your unease. The man repeats your name, the well groomed moustache sitting on his top lip moving as he speaks, curled into spirals at either end. He’s formally dressed, wearing a three piece suit and a large black topcoat. 

“That is you, correct?”

Grappling at your thoughts, you recall the riddle that you had given to Rei after her suggestion of having you picked up. She hadn’t wanted you to make your own way there, adamant that the family staff would drive the two of you to her home, and you gave in only at the promise of a safeword.

You inhale to steady yourself. “What is it that, given one, you’ll have either two or none?”

His eyes soften considerably but it does nothing to soothe the tension, only when he gives you the answer do you let yourself relax. “A choice,” he says, “my apologies. I should have been more considerate of your circumstances”. 

Circumstances. What a kind understatement. 

“My name is Ono Hiroki, I’m under the service of Ms. Himura and will be your driver,” he continues with a well meaning tilt to his head as he leans towards Kaiyo in greeting, “and what is the young master's name?”

You feel your son shift beneath your chin, presumably to look up at Hiroki, but he remains stubbornly quiet. “This is Kaiyo,” the grip he has on your shirt lessens at the sound of your voice, “we appreciate you coming out here to meet us but… please don’t refer to him with that title”. 

Touya would turn his nose up if he heard. You can almost imagine the shiver that may have run down his back just now, wherever he may be, and the thought forces you to hide a smile into Kaiyo’s knitted hat. 

“Of course,” Hiroki assents, and he begins to lead you towards the car. You cringe at how obviously it stands out amongst the more common models, clearly something owned by someone with great wealth and status. Even with having chosen your best outfit, the clothes on your back suddenly felt like straw, cheap and unfit for the occasion. 

The drive is smooth, though your sense of time becomes warped — had someone asked you how long it took to arrive, you wouldn’t have an answer for them. Kaiyo, just as he had done on the train, pressed his nose and fingers to the window; leaving behind murky smudges against the glass. 

As the car pulls to the curb you’re left feeling alienated by the neighbourhood. Worse, Hiroki steps out and speeds around to your door, opening it for you with a reflexive bow. 

It feels… uncomfortable. 

The property itself is walled off from the street and the building is large, though you’re sure that’s only in comparison to your own homes. You’re drawn in by the greenery that surrounds it, though the trees were likely put there for the sake of privacy the garden was clearly a labour of love. 

It appears to be a single story house, the roofs tiled dark brown with broad waves and an exterior hallway that frames around each room. You could picture Rei tending to her garden while her children sat on the veranda in the summer months. 

It was beautiful. 

Hiroki slowly leads you up the path, the gravel between each step crunching beneath your shoes. The pace can be attributed to Kaiyo’s adamance in standing on each individual stone, which the man kindly indulges. 

The entrance is made up of a large sliding door with plaster slitted windows. Hiroki pushes it across and moves aside to allow you into the house. You murmur in wonderment at the width of the genkan, the wall above the shoe cupboard  lined with traditional calligraphy. 

“Yes— it’s fine! I’ll bring them through…”

A sweet, familiar voice echoes throughout the entryway. Kaiyo tucks himself against the back of your knees as Fuyumi rounds the corner, socked feet slipping slightly on the wooden flooring in her excitement. 

Her lips part to greet you, the words caught in her throat as her gaze is drawn to the movement behind your legs. Typically Kaiyo could be quite rambunctious around others, loud and eager to befriend others. Here you can feel his anxiety, how small he must feel in this large, unfamiliar place. 

Fuyumi, too, is at a loss for words. A little pale, teary eyed as she blinks, visibly composing herself in front of you both.  “It’s good to see you again, Fuyumi,” you say as the silence stretches on, taking pity on her. 

Her demeanour lightens, and she appears grateful. Somehow her awkward loss of words and your son's hesitance lent you courage even if you, too, did not have your footing. 

“How about we take off our shoes and make proper introductions?” the question ends with a soft hum, a gentle verbal push, reaching back to pluck the hat from Kaiyo’s head. 

His hair is mussed, cowlicks pointed in all directions after being pressed beneath the yarn. You run your hand through it, wetting the pads of your fingers to flatten some of the more unruly curls down until they’re neat. The red is brighter in the sunlit genkan, and Fuyumi does well to conceal her sharp inhale. 

Kaiyo steps forward, nervously wringing out the material of his t-shirt, and Fuyumi lowers herself to his height as if approaching a cornered animal. Tender with her motions, she reaches out to still his anxious tic, ducking her head to smile where he can see it. A teacher, you remember. 

“It’s so wonderful to meet you Kaiyo. I’m your aunt Fuyumi,” she says. He turns over his wrist and takes three of her fingers into his fist, head nodding forward in what you know to be a bow. 

“Nice to meet you, aunt Fuyumi,” he replies. 

“Don’t worry about formalities, sweetheart,” she uses her free hand to straighten out the hem of the shirt, her eyes flickering over the logo with some recognition, “you can call me ‘Yumi. You are my nephew, after all”. 

Kaiyo straightens his back, overjoyed by the privilege, and looks up to share the feeling with you. If you could read his thoughts you’d guess it was something along the lines of told you her name was ‘Yumi, mama. 

“Natsuo isn’t here yet as he stayed overnight at his girlfriend's dorm,” Fuyumi continues as she rises to her feet, still keeping a firm hold of Kaiyo’s hand, “but mother and Shouto are in the tatami room. She likes having all the doors open on a day like this while we sit together, would you like to meet them?”

“Yes!”. In his excitement he pushes up onto the tip of his toes, shedding his timid attitude and grinning so wide his cheeks begin to pinken. It’s infectious, Fuyumi brightening considerably at his sudden comfort in her presence, and she begins to guide you both through the house. 

Soft spoken murmurings become louder as you approach the open sliding door into what you presume is the tatami room. Kaiyo pauses a few steps before, hidden behind the panel, waiting until you’re close enough for him to wrap an arm around your thigh. 

“You’re ok, baby,” you whisper warmly, “let’s go in together”. 

You enter the room with an awkward gait, slowed by the weight of your son against your leg, the matts firm beneath your feet. Immediately you are embraced by the scent of earth and autumn bellflower. Rei is seated on a pale green cushion across from Shouto, cross legged and holding a steaming cup of tea with both hands, on the table between them is a vase blooming purples and blues. You garner their attention, self-consciousness twisting uncomfortably in your chest as they appraise you and Kaiyo, a part of you always ready to jump to his defences. 

But the two, despite the cool air and unreadable expressions, only seem to thaw as their eyes fall to your son. 

The light knock of Shouto’s mug levelling atop the table surface brings you above water. “Greet your grandmother properly, sweetheart,” you step further into the space and lower to your knees, Kaiyo mirroring your actions with caution, facing Rei with his hands resting politely on his knees. 

You bow forward, thank you for having us Ms. Himura, and watch with fond exasperation as Kaiyo leans until his forehead is touching the tatami in your peripheral. “It’s nice to meet you, grandmother. It’s— it’s nice to meet you, uncle Shouto,” he recites, “my name is Kaiyo!”

You smile at the force behind the words, as if he’d practised them in his mind repeatedly before arriving. Rei appears to come to the same conclusion, returning the words and beckoning him to sit beside her, and Fuyumi ushers you to take a seat by Shouto.

In closing the distance Rei appears mystified, eyeline wet as she blinks back the tears, hands lifting to cradle your son's face in her palms. Kaiyo tenses for a moment on contact, shoulders relaxing as her thumbs graze over the swell of his cheeks. You wonder who she was truly seeing as she looked at Kaiyo, a little boy almost identical to her own. “My hands are a little cold, aren’t they?” her voice is soft, weak. There’s an intonation of grief, of regret, and an apology in her eyes. 

And your son, ever loving and perceptive, covers them with his own as if to tell her it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Then he shifts closer on his knees until he’s tucked against her chest, her chilled touch running along the length of his back as she holds him. At your side you feel Shouto exhale a short, hot breath of emotion. 

“Tea?”

You look to see Fuyumi has set out more cups, now with a pale cream teapot in her grip, unphased by the temperature as tendrils of steam wisp and dance from the spout. Along the curve of her jaw is a single tear, and she tilts to wipe it on her shoulder with a weak sniffle. You feel it too, pulling the sleeves of your shirt over your wrists to conceal the trembling, lifting your chin to keep the emotions behind your eyelids.

“That’d be great,” you nod, accepting the cup that Shouto slides towards you, “thank you”. 

You’re tempted to thank Fuyumi again as you bring the ceramic to your lips, a slight sting to the skin of your palms and your lower lip, breathing in the potent scent of green tea. This family must enjoy it a little stronger, steeping the leaves for longer, the bitterness heavy on your tongue. There is at least some respite in the distraction it provides — you could not talk if your mouth was busy. 

Kaiyo ignores the silences, leaving his grandmother's lap to squeeze himself next to Shouto. You try not to laugh, the youngest at a loss for what to do as your son looks up at him in wonderment and admiration, though it is hard to restrain yourself at the barrage of questions Kaiyo targets him with. 

“Are you really going to be a pro hero, uncle Shouto?”

“I am,” he replies solemnly, “I’ll be a hero that my family can rely on. Do you want to be a hero?”

“Hell no!” 

“Kaiyo—”

“I’m going to go to space,” he barrels on without a care, too wrapped up in his own passion to recognise the informality, but with Rei’s quiet laugh you realise there was no need to worry. As Kaiyo stumbles over his words about asteroids and comets, about how the sunset on mars is blue and isn’t that so cool, Shouto seems to relax even further. 

“He doesn’t think he’s good at talking to children,” Fuyumi whispers at your side, “believe me, Kaiyo is doing him a favour”. 

Even as the time passes Shouto’s tea remains steaming in his left hand while yours begins to cool, and Rei observes their back and forth with an autumn bellflower petal between her fingers, gently as she handles it like it were something precious. There’s no tension, any growing pains soothed as Kaiyo soaks up the attention, the beating heart of the room. 

“I’m gonna go to space an’ clean up all the junk,” he announces. A goal that you’d heard many a time, manifested in his fathers arms one evening as they’d sat together watching a pre-quirk era documentary about space travel. 

“Pro heroes came along and suddenly we forgot everything that used to be important to us,” Touya muttered, “going to space is—”

“—a hero's job in its own right,” Shouto says. 

You do well not to drop your drink as Kaiyo launches himself into Shouto’s lap, one of his arms outstretched to not spill his own while the other steadies the boy to his chest. Gleeful, childish laughter wells throughout the room, paired with the balmy sun and the whistle of a Japanese tit flitting through the gardens. 

“Dad told me that too,” you feel as the mother, the sister and the brother all hold their breath at the mention of Touya, the one topic they weren’t sure if they could even touch upon, “do you really think so, uncle Shouto?” 

“I do…” he shifts, hugging Kaiyo only after glancing at you for permission, “...and you don’t need to prefix my name with ‘uncle’ every time. You can be casual”. 

“Prefix?” 

“A word that comes before another,” you interject gently, “he means you can just call him Shouto, baby”. 

In that instance your back straightens at the sound of another voice ringing throughout the house, low and distant. “I’m home,” they shout with familiarity, “sorry I’m late!”.

Fuyumi jumps to her feet, leaving to meet the new arrival, and Kaiyo watches her go with a chubby fist curled into Shouto’s sweater. He pats his hand awkwardly to Kaiyo’s thigh in reassurance, “don’t worry, it’s just Natsuo. He’s my other older brother”. 

Kaiyo lessens his grip, tentative as he watches the open doorway, and you can’t help but to reflexively reach out to pinch his cheek. “It’ll be fine,” you murmur. 

Your first impression of Natsuo is that he’s much bigger than his siblings. He must’ve inherited his build from his father and his demeanour in spite of him, because even with the chill that he brings, his grin is refreshing. The type of person that sets you at ease and wordlessly invites you in, that actively wants you to feel welcomed. 

“Wow, you’re really here. You’re really…” Natsuo's throat bobs as he swallows his next words, silenced by Fuyumi’s encouraging touch. Rather, he hastily greets his mother with a kiss to the cheek, and then he settles down at the table facing Kaiyo. 

A litany of emotions flicker through his face, like he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. Even so, his smile doesn’t waver as he introduces himself to you, nervously rubbing his neck as he bows. 

“And you must be Kaiyo. I’m Natsuo, I guess that makes me your uncle,” he inhales deeply, chest expanding and falling, “you… you really do look like your dad”. 

He sounds mournful. Kaiyo senses the change in atmosphere, though he doesn’t understand it, and the anxiety settles into his restless fingers as they pick a thread loose from Shouto’s sweater. 

Fuyumi lightly swats at him: “Natsuo, you’re freaking them out!” 

He gives a wounded complaint, dramatic only in a way you can find with siblings as he clutches at his bicep, and Kaiyo laughs. Like it was called upon, the sun moves from behind a cloud and brightens the room. 

“Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to be awkward, I was just surprised,” he says. 

Kaiyo slides down from Shouto’s lap, the youngest briefly forlorn at the loss before schooling his expression once more. “It’s ok, mama said I look like dad too. That’s why I’m so handsome,” he grins triumphantly. 

Your chest knots tightly at the spotlight it shines on your relationship with Touya, thoughts running amok with assumptions of what they must think of you, whether they approve of how you have raised Kaiyo. But despite your inner conflict the family don’t flinch, in fact — they smile with him. 

“Touya was indeed a beautiful little boy,” Rei briefly looks at the purple petal still held between her fingers, “I have a lot of pictures here. Would you like to see?” 

Kaiyo scrambles, almost knocking the table as he stands, “yes please, grandmother!”

There’s an air of nostalgia as she leans down to take his smaller hand into her own, in the way he looks up with love, height falling just short of her hip. The last time she had seen her children this size had been before she was sent away. You can’t even begin to comprehend such a loss.

“Just 'grandma' is fine,” she assures, and Kaiyo bounces with each step as they leave to find the photographs. 

You realise, then, that you are left alone with the siblings. Fuyumi pours more tea, the sound of running water loud in your ears, Natsuo’s words barely audible to you. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, cup in hand with his thumb anxiously tapping the rim, “for being there for Touya when we couldn’t be. For bringing Kaiyo here even when you have every right to distrust us”. 

The words pick away at the composure you’d maintained throughout the morning, their gratitude, while completely genuine, feels undeserved. In the grand scheme of things your relationship to Touya had not changed much at all, perhaps he’d staved off his mission for a while to play house with you, but the outcome was the same. 

“It isn’t you that I distrust,” the ‘Endeavor’ goes unspoken, “I wanted Kaiyo to keep his connection to his father. And you don’t need to thank me, I didn’t…”

Didn’t help him. Didn’t save him. Didn’t stop him. You only loved him. You laid with him in darkness and thought if you held him tight enough that something might crack, that the light might get in. 

“What I did wasn’t enough,” you tell them, the words broken with your wet exhale, “it was your actions, your dedication to understanding him. It’s… it’s you I should thank, Shouto”.

“Still,” Fuyumi is tender as she speaks, her hand resting between your shoulder blades, “knowing that all that time he wasn’t alone, knowing that he had you, it means a great deal to us all”. 

Even if he hadn’t been alone for those few years, there was still a rotten past from before he met you that he wouldn’t touch. Touya, stone faced and eyes narrowed, watching you from beneath the sheets of his hospital bed as if he were a wounded animal. Your slow, telegraphed actions, promising respite. That’s why despite wanting to stay away from you, he couldn’t — because you saw who he was, and you still loved him. The burning flesh, the distended skin, the smoke and the blood. You saw the bodies on the news, you saw the flames across the city, and you still loved him. 

Maybe that was the only thing you got right; because there isn’t much else worse than someone loving the potential of who you could be, or loving someone you’re not. In the end, you think, we all want to be seen first and loved second. 

“I do think he’s worried about you,” Shouto interjects plainly, “ he’s not directly asking about your wellbeing because he doesn’t want to reveal your identity, but the staff say he’s restless”. 

“You can be quite perceptive, Shouto,” Fuyumi says. 

“A friend of mine has told me that before,” there’s a flicker of a smile pulling at his lips and it warms his expression. If you needed to attach a word to it you’d pick fond. 

“Though he also said I make all the wrong assumptions about what I’m seeing,” he exhales through his nose in what you think might be a laugh, “that’s why I went to my mother first. This seemed… too important to be wrong about”.

“I’m truly grateful for your discretion,” you wipe a tear along the heel of your hand, ignoring the sting in your sinuses, “and for your acceptance of us”.

“You’re our family now,” Natsuo’s grin widens, “and I can’t say I wasn’t curious ‘bout the kind of person my brother fell in love with”.

You knew what Touya would say to that. You're too good for me, I don’t want to hurt you. You should’ve seen through it then, with every premature apology. People only say those things when they know they’re going to hurt you. 

Over your thoughts you hear the siblings begin to talk again with affection, your eyes drawn to the empty end of the table. You should be here, you think, I wish you were here. 

Kaiyo returns excitedly with a large picture frame held to his chest, the paint worn and flaking, encasing an old school photograph of Touya. His uniform is buttoned to the top, face youthful and pale, not a scar to be seen. You recall his discomfort with high collared clothing, always irritable against his sutures. 

Following behind is Rei with an album of family pictures. Some of them have been awkwardly cut, some burnt along the edges, some faces notably scribbled over with a pen almost out of ink.

“Mama look, he really does look like me. And dad’s hair was white! Did he colour it like that, too?”

“No sweetheart,” you murmur with gaze fixed to the page as it turns in Rei’s lap, the siblings all gathered around to look, “remember, he told you he had red hair like yours, but it changed like magic”. 

“So cool,” he mumbles in awe under his breath, “dad is so cool”. 

Rei stiffens minutely. Maybe that, too, was uncomfortably familiar. 

The conversation continues into the late afternoon, moving only to sit beneath the clear skies and stretch your legs, Rei guiding you along her well loved flowerbeds. They tell Kaiyo stories of his father, diluted but true for the most part, their smiles tightening with the memories. It feels odd, wrong, mourning a man that is very much alive. You give them a piece of him and in exchange, they offer one back as the hours pass. You come to know another Touya — their Touya — and when you line him up aside your own you find that they aren’t all that different.  

As Kaiyo’s confidence grows with his newfound family he begins to wander. Natsuo lifts him into the air and he laughs joyfully, a sound you wish you could solidify and keep by your breast, and they take off to hide in the house with Fuyumi close behind. 

“Are you sure it’s ok for him to play indoors? I’d hate to leave any mess—”

Rei smiles. The light reflects against the crown of her head forming something of a white halo and Shouto is at her side, eyes softening at his mothers happiness. 

“I assure you it’s alright,” she says, “truthfully I think I’ve missed the mess”. 

You think of toys left astray, crayon smudging cheap wallpaper, juice rings staining the coffee table. Marks of your little boy left all around the apartment. Touya cursing as he steps on a building block, hopping on one leg theatrically to make Kaiyo laugh. Touya spilling the warm bottle of milk as he falls asleep and Kaiyo on his chest, exhausted from a day without rest. 

“I know what you mean,” you reply. 

Shouto only blinks. You couldn’t imagine that he was allowed to make much of a mess at all, and that thought alone makes you ache. His brow furrows then, and anticipation settles in your gut. 

“There was something we wanted to ask of you now Kaiyo is distracted,” he seeks Rei’s support as he talks, and she nods gently before turning to face you. 

“As we’ve told you… Touya is not being cooperative to treatment. In all honesty, we are getting anxious that he will be removed from the programme,” she says with regret, “you are free to refuse. But as you suggested when we first met, I thought he might benefit from knowing you’re safe”.

It feels as if the ground beneath your feet has steepened, a weightlessness flooding through your chest, and you reach for the closest pillar on the veranda to steady yourself. 

“You’ll let me visit him?” 

“Strings can be pulled to get you a visitor's pass,” Shouto confirms sagely, “typically it is for professionals or family. Which you now are”.

You hadn’t even let yourself entertain the idea of being able to see him again. The possibility of hearing his voice, of holding him again, felt too good to be true. 

“And Kaiyo? Where will he stay?” you ask, “I can’t take him with me, I don’t want him to see his father like that—” 

Approaching you from the house is the soft, pitter patter of socked feet. You feel a weight fall on your back, Kaiyo interrupting to wrap his limbs around your waist and neck, giggling into your nape. Natsuo lands unceremoniously on the tatami matts, leaning himself against the inside of the sliding door panels with pink blossoming on his cheeks, “damn, kid. You’ve got too much energy”.

“Your house is so big, grandma,” the words carrying a little embarrassment as Kaiyo says “ours is a lot smaller”.

“Sometimes houses are too big,” Natsuo reassures as he slumps forward to rest his chin against his fist, “you can get lost and feel lonely in a big house. I bet at your place, you can always find your mama, huh?” 

He nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet and rocking your body forward with the motions, “does that mean dad was lonely in the big house?” 

Rei’s hands wring tightly in her lap, the question pulling a forlorn atmosphere over the three, and you’re quick to try and rectify it. “Even if he was, he won’t be anymore because he has you,” you say as you twist your body to pull him into your arms, squirming as your touch curls against his ticklish stomach, “isn’t that right?” 

“Yes,” he stammers between deep inhales, giggles tumbling from his lips and ringing across the garden. Rei reaches to thread her fingers through his hair, the red stark against her skin.

“You are both free to sleep in my guestroom tonight,” she offers warmly in response to your earlier concern, “we will watch him while you’re busy tomorrow”. 

“We can have a sleepover!” Natsuo shouts, the excitement forcing him to sit straight and eyes gleaming. Kaiyo gasps, mirroring his uncles enthusiasm as he clings to your shoulders. Shouto, however, remains plain faced as his gaze flickers between the two. 

“Is it really that fun?” he asks. You hide your abrupt laugh into Kaiyo’s hair as Natsuo’s expression settles into disbelief. 

“What? You’ve never had a sleepover in the dorms?”

“We have a curfew,” Shouto shrugs, and Natsuo guffaws.

“What the f… heck is wrong with your school—”

As they bicker you observe contentment settle around Rei. A gentle breeze passes through the shrubbery and you hear the leaves rustling, light breaking through the canopy above and dancing along the grass. Fuyumi calls everyone back into the house as the scent of curry is coaxed out into the open, and you all make your way to the dining area. 

The night comes sooner than you expect. Kaiyo whines at the full feeling in his stomach, cheeks orange and smattered in sauce. Apparently Rei brought over all the childrens things during her move — everything, from toys to certificates to baby clothes, and you’re offered the hand me downs with a wistful smile. 

Aside from the red sleeves the shirt is white, a flame embroidered into the centre and the word fire written below it. Then you’re given an old blanket, slightly thread bare and clearly well loved. It is a light purple, faded after years of being washed, and dotted with stars. It’d belonged to Touya, she’d said, he always loved stars. Kaiyo clutches it tightly to his chest where he lay across from you on the guest futon. 

“Did you have fun today?”

The covers shift, a tell tale sign that he’s kicking his feet. “Yes mama,” he mumbles, nose wrinkling as he fights to keep his eyes open, “I feel really happy”. 

“I love you baby,” you hum fondly, leaning over to needlessly readjust the covers once more, if only for an excuse to kiss his forehead again, “are you sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone tomorrow?” 

Kaiyo nods, cheek turned against his pillow, jaw already slackening as he succumbs to sleep. It isn’t home, there’s no glowing iridescence on your bedroom ceiling tonight, but the space across from you feels empty as it always does. 

“Watching you two sleep soundly together was the happiest I’d ever been,” he’d said. You have no doubt in your mind that he had been telling you the truth. 

When you're pulled into consciousness it happens gently, the house so quiet that it’s unsettling. You were used to rousing with voices in the streets, car engines spluttering as they passed, thuds from the apartment above your own. Here it’s peaceful, a reality that you never thought you’d come close to, and for a moment you can hardly believe you’re awake. 

The staff offer to make the two of you breakfast but you politely refuse, a possessive twist in your stomach. Accepting help never came easily to you, a deeply buried seed of insecurity in your heart that first leapt to defensiveness. You could feed your son just fine on your own. 

Rei joins you soon after tending to her potted plants, Kaiyo pushing up onto the tip of his toes to kiss her cheek as she holds her dirtied hands away from his clean clothes, passing by you to wash the soil from between her fingers. “Grandma, will you have breakfast with us?”

“Of course,” she smiles. 

The rest of the family slowly trickles into the dining room with slow, sleep leaden movements. A full table, a full heart, a full stomach. Breakfast tastes all the better in their company, even Kaiyo seems to have soaked up the serene atmosphere as he quietly recounts a strange memory he had to Fuyumi. 

Still, the dread begins to settle, your knee bouncing restlessly and concealed by the table cloth. Hiroki enters the house with a deep bow and a lanyard around his wrist, your ID badge clipped securely to the end. “It’s best we leave now to avoid any run-ins with the press,” he tells you apologetically, “the likelihood is low. But I’d like to completely mitigate the chance, if possible”. 

Kaiyo lingers in the genkan, shifting on either foot, fiddling with the strings on his sleep shorts. “I’ll be back later, baby,” you hook your pinky around his and squeeze, “I promise”.

He presses a wet kiss to your cheek and you do not wipe it away, the morning air cooler on the skin where the imprint is left. An off duty officer waits by the curb to follow behind Hiroki’s vehicle — another safety precaution, they say — and he opens the side door on your behalf. 

“What will happen once we get there?” you ask, stare fixed on the streets as they speed past, flocks of people continuing with their days as normal. The thin, plastic card in your hands feels like lead. 

“Upon arrival the officer will escort you to the reception as I am not permitted to enter the building,” he explains while subtly adjusting the rear view mirror to watch you, “you will sign yourself in and then you’ll just have to wait. I’m afraid Master Touya isn’t aware that you are his visitor, so it’s entirely possible he’ll refuse to see you…”

Eventually the words become muffled, a disjointed hum in your ears, and your fingers tighten around the lanyard. You play out every hypothetical in your head, try to script questions in preparation, explanations and excuses. But you come up empty. 

Anything that you think of would be rendered useless as soon as you laid eyes on him. 

Pulling in, you survey the land. The facility is double fenced, double gated, and for all intents and purposes it looks to be a prison. There are patients spread out across the grounds, some lounging in the shade while others gathered under staff supervision. 

Surprisingly you are hesitant to part ways with Hiroki, the man bidding you goodbye with a bow and with promise to pick you up as soon as you’re done. The click of your shoes echoes throughout the building as you walk, the accompanying officer striding ahead of you and silent, beckoning you hastily through the security scanners.

A man stands incredibly tall behind the desktop screen situated atop the main desk, large auburn jackrabbit ears protruding from the crown of his head, paired with two large antlers. As you approach his nose wrinkles. 

“Pass?” he asks, interrupting any chance of you greeting him. You swallow the agitation in your chest and show him the ID card, to which he scans with a handheld device and waits until it beeps. Satisfied, he hands you a clipboard detailing a list of names and tells you to find yours. 

“Write your signature in the arrival slot, and when you leave write it in the departure slot. Wait to be called upon in the seating area”. 

You exhale shakily as you sink into your chair, taking in the room, unable to describe it as anything other than impersonal. You had spent a good deal of adulthood working in a clinical setting, and yet this place only seems to make you uneasy. No colourful posters, no informative leaflets, no magazines for people to read. No stickers by the doors, no colour in the staff uniform, guards posted at every entrance. 

Eventually a red light above the doors to the wards flashes red, a loud buzz cutting through the silence and startling you so harshly your chair scrapes against the tile. A doctor calls your name from the doorway, all eight of her beady eyes observing closely as you get to your feet. 

“The patient is being given forty milligrams of quirk suppressant every four hours while he acclimates to his skin grafts. So rest assured he will not burn you,” — you quickly smother your anger at her insinuation — “since you have a high ranking family pass, contact has been allowed, but if anything goes awry there are guards posted at the door”. 

You’re barely given time to process her explanation or the new information as she abruptly comes to a halt, almost stumbling into her back. All eight of her eyes blink at you expectantly as the door clicks open, inclining you to enter. 

“Thank you,” you mutter as you pass, flinching when the door once again clicks shut. You steel yourself with a deep inhale, lungs ballooning to expend the anxiety spiking throughout your chest, and lift your head. 

The air remains there, held in your mouth so as not to make a sound. Touya stands across the threshold with his back to you, facing the wide barred up windows and observing the other patients. He’s in a loose fitting t–shirt and pants, all white and blending into the rest of the room. Where the collar dips below his nape you can see pink, inflamed skin, and for a moment you are reminded of your first meeting. 

“Finally decided to come look your failure in the eye, did you?” his voice is harsh, like talking through gritted teeth and lilted with sarcasm. You’re frozen in place, muscles tensed as if you were bracing for impact, throat swelling just from hearing him speak again. 

“Hate to say it but there’s no cameras here,” he laughs, a hollow and dry sound as he begins to turn, “so you can drop the fuckin’ act—”

The anger dissipates as soon as he meets your gaze, his seething grin slipping until his jaw slacks in surprise. Even as your eyes sting you cannot blink for fear that he’ll disappear, a wishful figment of your imagination. He’s really here, a few feet from you, flesh and blood and breath. 

Closer now, you can clearly see there are lines of scarring where his previous body had been sutured together. No longer held by staples and rings, the patchwork skin fitting the curve of his cheeks without pulling taut and tearing. He doesn’t wince in discomfort as his expression contorts into disbelief, as his brows pinch and he starts toward you. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” 

Even with the obvious ire behind his words you aren’t frightened by him. Your legs carry you to meet him halfway, reflexively reaching out for him in all the ways you had longed to over the past few months, only for him to catch you by your wrists. His grip tightens in warning, answer me he snaps, but his demand goes ignored. You’re focused entirely on how cold he feels, sharp around your forearms, just like his tongue. 

“You’re freezing,” you whisper.

He huffs in exasperation, a sound you never knew you could miss. “I know,” he says, dropping your arms as his hold loosens and you silently mourn the loss, “it’s like this all the fuckin’ time now”. 

“Because you don’t have your quirk?” 

He nods curtly, lips twisting in disdain, the confusion in his eyes sinking through realisation and settling on betrayal. “You’ve been getting cosy with my family, haven't you? It’s the only way you would’ve been able to get in here,” he sneers.

You rub away the chill from your inner wrist, following him further into the room as he walks away from you, pleading with him to listen before he makes any assumptions. “Touya, it isn’t what you’re thinking—”

“Don’t call me that!”

Your own anger steers you then, frustrated by his refusal to hear you.  “Touya. Touya. Touya. Touya,” you repeat childishly until he spins on his heel to glare at you. I’m going to keep your name in my mouth until my last breath, you think.  Arguing, scowling, you’ll take anything in this moment as long as he keeps looking at you. 

“Your mother and sister tracked me down, I didn’t go looking for them—” your own fault, you shouldn’t have been there “—they wanted to help me. They wanted to look out for your son!”

He hums like he doesn't believe it, and the forced amusement in his smirk irritates you, crawling hot through your chest. “I bet you’ve been enjoying all that bastard's money, right? He’s got plenty to throw at you and keep you quiet”.

You almost forget to breathe with how his accusation takes you by the throat, the regret crossing his features being the only thing keeping you in the room. It’s hard to handle his vitriol when it is directed at you, hard to see him like this, so wounded and cornered. In his mind you have gone behind his back, you have sought help from the people who hurt him the most, and you are only here on their orders. 

It’s a cycle he cannot break from. He’s gone again, tethered still to the world, but they are all moving on without him. He’s gone again, tucked away where no one needs to look at him, and they are all better for it. 

“I have not met Endeavor and I have made it clear that Kaiyo will not meet him either,” you tell him firmly, “I have not, and will not, accept financial help from that man. You… I’d never do that to you”. 

He wilts then, partially limbless as he sinks back against the hospital bed frame tucked beneath the barred window, covers still spotless and unused. As you glance up at the star-less ceiling, you wonder if he manages to get any sleep at all. 

“Why are you here?” he asks again, no fight left in his words. Without the bravado to keep him up he looks exhausted, torpid. You join him cautiously, settling yourself on the edge of the mattress. 

“To reassure you that we’re okay. That we aren’t in any danger,” you murmur, splaying your hand out in the space between your bodies, “we’re worried about you, Touya. Why aren’t you talking to them?”

He rests his hand beside yours, stretching out his pinky to hook over your own; the one you’d linked with Kaiyo only two hours before. “What good would that do?” he says, “I’m defective and this is just a waste of taxpayers money. Why let me live in the first place?”

The worst part of it all is the grating monotony in his tone, the total disregard for his own life and wellbeing. “Don’t say things like that,” you rasp, “it isn’t true. You have a real chance to do better now”.

“Fuck you,” he snorts without malice, giving a light shake of his head as he continues, “I was always going to end up here. You knew the path I was going to take from the start”. 

“And so did you, Touya!” 

The words come hoarse as they catch in your throat, heavy where they press against your nerves. Around you the room becomes smaller, stifling, and yet he is still miles from your reach. You’d do anything if only it meant wiping that look of indifference from his face. 

“You knew, and you could have made the effort to change. Don’t act as if this was predestined for you, it was your own choices that led you here—” 

“This wouldn’t be happening if you just hadn’t come looking for me!”

“Of course I looked for you,” you pleaded with him, “what would you have had me tell Kaiyo?”

“That I was dead,” he replies plainly, “he would’ve been better off”.

“You…” fatigue floods your system and you feel yourself sink back against the bed frame “…you truly believe that”. 

You don't sob, don't let yourself whimper, you simply let the salty burn overtake your vision and clog your throat, thick and cloying. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, “you know I’m bad with crying”. 

“You’re crying too,” and he laughs humourlessly, eyes still dry. Amongst the quiet you can hear people outside talking, the window panel slightly ajar to let in a continuous breeze, carrying in the scent of spring. You shiver, and when his icy touch begins to move away you upturn your hand, interlocking your fingers together to keep him there. 

You can feel him watching you as you appraise his belongings. No character, no personality, everything looks brand new and unused. Compared to your stingy one bedroom apartment tucked away in the sparse Yokohama neighbourhoods, this place was completely lifeless. He must hate it here, waking up in yet another unfamiliar place against his will, treated as if he were something to fix.

Though after everything he’s been through, it must be a relief to do something bad and be punished for it, rather than to be punished for all the things you couldn’t do. 

“How is he?” he asks, ending the drawn out silence. 

“He knows something isn’t right,” you say, feeling the chill along your wet cheeks, “he wants to see you”.

He makes a sound of acknowledgement as he strokes his thumb along the back of your hand. You tighten your grip, still habitually cautious of the sutures that are no longer embedded into his skin. “What a kid wants isn’t always what’s good for them”.

“That’s priceless coming from you,” you huff, and he knocks his shoulder against yours in response. Bittersweet, you recall how you sat beside him on a hospital bed just like this five years ago, IV hooked into his veins to ward off infection. Hair white, skin mottled, growing accustomed to your freely given affections. 

You breathe, the exhale long, and lean your weight into his side. Your hands, still interwoven, rest together in your lap. “We just wanted to be closer to you,” you tell him, your apology unspoken, “Kaiyo misses you. I miss you. Even if I’m angry with you, don’t ever believe that we aren’t thinking of you”. 

The word sorry does not come naturally to Touya, it never has. Remorse was best shown through action, overbearing attention and unnecessary gift giving that only ever left you wondering who he’d stolen from. When he rests his cheek atop your head, nuzzling softly into your hair, you know he’s trying to apologise as well. 

So you recount everything that happened over the past two weeks. Of nightmares and paranoia, of old photographs and starless ceilings, of autumn bellflowers and cultural dissonance. You rush each story, unsure of how much time you would be allowed in this place, nor how often you would be able to visit. And he listens, slowly sagging against you the more you speak, your bodies two beams upheld by the other. 

“Oh, and the driver called him ‘young master’ at first,” a small grin pulls at your lips at his amused snort, the only sign that he was still awake, “I know. I told him right away not… not to call him that. I knew you’d hate that”.

His muscles tense then as an intrusive knock reverberates throughout the room, a white knuckled grip on your hand at the interruption. The doctor from before steps into the threshold and is followed closely by one of the guards, eight eyes blinking simultaneously as she takes in the scene, her expression unreadable. 

“Your allotted time for visitation is up,” she says, her voice softer than before and perhaps even tinted with regret, “I’ll give you a few moments to say goodbye and notify your driver”. 

A part of you wishes that the wordless goodbye you gave back at the hospital by the hyacinth beds had been your last, because this time around it is impossibly harder. If his expression is anything to go by you think, if he could, Touya would freeze your hands together in an eternal block of ice. 

“Touya,” he begrudgingly meets your gaze, “what happened to you was undoubtedly a tragedy. Still you— you hurt people, and you need to accept that. I’m not going to tell you to forgive anyone, you don’t have to, but…”

You lean forward, pressing your forward to his “…even if others can’t, I want you to forgive yourself”.

“For who I was or for who I wasn’t?” he mutters, so close you can see the stray white stripes in his eyelashes. The doctor clears her throat quietly where she lingers by the door, and so you get to your feet. His throat bobs as he swallows, expression suddenly pleading as you let him go, and you take his face between your hands. 

His cheeks are rough, the sore skin raised under the pads of your thumb. “For all of it,” you say. 

You’d always thought that love didn’t need to be so complicated. Sometimes it was as simple as I see you, and I understand you. Sometimes it was dirtying your hands to make their life a little easier. Sometimes it simply took the form of an illusion, and all you needed was for someone to point out the tangled lines, the true image irreversibly seen. 

“We love you. If that means anything to you, then take advantage of this second chance and let yourself be better”. 

Afraid of testing their patience, you step away from the bed, heading towards the door where your guide awaits. While only four strides, it feels like a lifetime, and you find yourself dragging your feet to stall for time. The thought of leaving him here made your stomach sink, an invisible magnetism tied to your spine and begging you to turn around. 

You startle as the guard suddenly steps forward, recounting Touya’s patient number with warning, but the doctor holds her hand out to settle him. You’re tugged back against a firm chest, familiar if not for the deathly temperature, arms circling firmly around your waist. 

Their presence falls away as he kisses you, and the sensation is new. No awkward angle, no need to be aware of his sutures, no copper tang left on your tongue as you pull back. Once, twice, and thrice — Touya kisses you without regard for time he was wasting, for the people who were waiting to take you home, and you give him every extra second you have. 

“Tell Kaiyo I’ll be out by the time he starts his training at JAXA,” he murmurs. You laugh wetly, finally forced to take your leave. 

“Better make that ten years sooner, you hear me?” 

The door begins to shut behind you and he’s crying again, eyes dry as he calls out to you.

“No promises!”

THE CABIN IN THE WOODS

Day 29. Incest

Pairing: dad!GojoSatoru x daughter!reader

Synopsis: Your dad meets your new boyfriend for the first time — who’s your daddy?

Warning: soft!Gojo, incest, daddy kink, nipple play, cunnilingus, dry humping, creampie, handjob

wc: + 1.5 k

Reblogs and interactions are appreciated

Kinktober m.list

Keep reading

𝗗𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 !

˖˚˳⊹ deepthroating feat. childe : scaramouche : dottore : pantalone : zhongli : diluc : arlecchino x fem! reader from the 5.5k event special

˖˚˳⊹ warnings: nsfw : deepthroating : strap-on (arlecchino)

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗗𝗘

that low rumbling chuckle that escaped childe’s throat was almost sinister if anything, followed by the sight of your mouth full of his heavy cock, shutting you up in an instant. His hands would interlock themselves with the soft strands of your hair and snapping forward where he wanted to have his tip prod on the most, your throat. It’s so warm and firm, —he figures—, the way you’re flexing your muscles around his tip made a shiver run down his spine, he needed, no had to feel more.

Soft noises snapped himself back to reality once you hiccuped against his length, his pace lazy but steadily, not wanting to hurt you in any way either, you’ve been so good to him after all! Letting him just plunge into your throat like that was a gift from the heavens if he’s being honest. "you’re always so good to me." He’s repeatedly chanting this sentence with every bounce of his cock buried deep inside your throat. You were so full too! saliva dribbling down your chin and from the corners of your mouth while you breathed heavily out of your nose, hands slowly drawing circles over his thighs to reassure him that it’s okay and you can still take it. Like mentioned before, he wouldn’t want to hurt you in any way, you’re his love after all. <3

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗘

the wet noises replacing the quietness of the room you were currently in with scaramouche. Body nestled in between his thighs while you were kneeling in front of him. He’s sputtering in between harsh sucks of your mouth, almost losing it whenever you hollow your cheeks to coax yet another deep groan out of him. He has got to change whatever was going on right now, more so he absolutely disliked not being in control of certain situations. His eyes locked gazes with your own, "you know how much I hate it when you tease me." he was careful with his words, barely a whisper if anything.

you, of course, weren’t able to answer because of being stuffed full with his cock, only nodding frantically before rolling your eyes back at the harsh snap of his hips inside of your wet mouth. Your throat would always grab him like a vice, —the feeling was to die for—. The saliva that pooled out of your mouth coating your face as you resorted to breathing through your nose due to the inability of doing it any other way. Scaramouche was happy now, "that’s better." he‘s cooeing that sentence with an almost pseudo friendly tone, slapping sounds of his pelvis remotely hitting you were now bouncing off the walls with great ease. Who knows, maybe if you were being extra obedient today, he’d return the favor to you.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗗𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗘

"just like that." dottore's rough voice was turned into a soft whimpering once he sheathed himself deep inside your warm mouth, "this is what you‘re made for." you were only able to hiccup against his length as a way to respond, bobbing your face up and down his heavy member while your hands found their way to his round balls, —that were eagerly waiting for some attention from you—. His features were almost heaven like: painfully intimidating eyes locking gazes with your own glassy ones. He was just way too big for your mouth to fit in, deperately trying to spread your lips further for his girth to fit but you still had some troubles.

dottore only laughed at your pathetic whimpering, thinking that all your hopeless attempts to satisfy you would come in handy somehow later. His hands were tired of your slow pace as they nestled in between your hair strands, grabbing a fistful of them and pushing you down on his length until you hit his pelvis, nostrils filled with the musky scent of him as you tried your best to breathe out without gagging around his girth. His dark and audible chuckle, —that was barely hearable to anyone—, brushing over your ears and making you shiver. He wouldn’t wait any longer and fuck your throat, lolling his head back whenever he’d feel you clench around his heavy cock. You weren’t exactly surprised by his harsh behavior but didnt complain either, far too turned on by the way he used you as his own personal cock sleeve. <3

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘

Truth be told pantalone was rock hard all day, could barely wait before he can finally push himself deep inside your wet mouth. You were always so happy to please him after all! The first grunts fell off his throat at the haste intrusion of his fat cock in your mouth, setting up a lazy pace in the beginning. He wasn’t in for doing a lot most days since it wasn’t his job to satisfy his needs, it was yours. Today was different though, blame it on him being so fucking horny all day long but the second you circled your tongue over his girth and brushed over that one particular throbbing vein of his, he figured this just wasn’t doing it for him right now.

his balls were straining, tensing up and begging to spill his seed deep inside your throat, so he did the only rational thing in that moment, meaning he grabbed a fistful of your hair to push you against his twitching length. The way you moaned at the sudden snap made you gag against his girth, the man above you almost seeing white if it wasn’t for his immense self control. You were eagerly bobbing his cock in and out of your mouth before he grinded himself deeper into you, holding you still while his swollen tip prodded against your throat.

You knew what was coming next, it was almost a bad habit of his but pantalone loved throat fucking you more than anything. "open up open up." He’s chanting lightly, —with that smile of his—, which always managed to make you shiver against his hold. The brutal pace he was going for now made your throat straincgreatly. You were trying to wrap your lips firmly against his girth while both his cum and your saliva dropped heavily down the floor, staining the carpet underneath you. He could feel his balls tighten as the knot from deep inside his gut finally broke, spilling his cum in thick spurts into your throat, the warm feeling of his seed calming you down as warm tears spread over your cheeks in the process.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗭𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗟𝗜

You know how thick his cock was, not to mention his heavy balls that would smack against you whenever he’d snap his hips forward into your warm mouth. The taste of his salty cum was coating both your tongue and throat, warmth filling your belly once it spilled down. Zhongli‘s eyes were scrunched shut, his cock heavily weeping inside of you and already making a mess while you eagerly played with his balls. It was almost unbearable for you to wait for him to cum deep inside your mouth and let you finally taste him! You couldn’t help it but grow addicted to his taste, it wasn’t too sweet but the saltiness was so easy on your tongue, dreaming about getting every last drop of the man that was hovering over you.

For a moment he pulled out and only left his tip in to retract himself to once more, —bury himself in your throat—. The quick movements were enough for you to get some taste of his salty pre-cum on your wet muscle, rolling your eyes back at it slowly covering your taste buds. "you‘re doing so good for me." biting that sentence out in an desperate tone, you did not know what made zhongli so riled up today but also didn‘t seem to care that he took it out on you. Truth be told you loved it whenever he was rough with you, —whenever he gritted his teeth when you circled your needy tongue over his girth—, that was way too big in the first place. Or whenever his body shivered and tightened once you shoot your eyes up at his gaze, watching him from under your lashes with all of his thick seed spilling out from the corners of your lips. Zhongli was sure he wouldn’t be that stressed after you were done with sucking him off so fucking nicely.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗗𝗜𝗟𝗨𝗖

Diluc was a busy man, as everyone knew by now. Yet even he had his needs that needed to be satisfied but none other than yourself. He was currently sitting on his leather chair that was located in his office. It was cold and the lights were dim yet here you were sheathed in between his thighs, sucking him off while kneading his balls with your warm hands. He missed that feeling so much, couldn’t remember the last time you went down on him like that. You breathed deeply from the man groaning above you, couldn’t help it but rub together your thighs too because of the sinful sounds he‘d always voice clearly from past his lips. "keep going." the lust in his voice was unable to be ignored, all he wanted was to spill his seed deep inside of you while also continuing to fuck you in a brutal pace.

Diluc bit back a moan before snapping his hips forward to meet your pace half way, finding refuge against your scalp to guide you over his cock now and haltering his movements once his pubic hair tickled your nose, musky scent filling your nostrils while you hiccuped from his girth. Everything felt so warm, so wet and sinful inside of your mouth, —he figured—, almost being reluctant to become addicted to the feeling you inflicted on him right now.

Your innocent eyes were watching him through underneath your brows, eyelashes stained with warm tears that ever so escaped your eyes, coating your cheeks in the process. It didn’t matter how often you’d suck him off, it’ll always strain your throat in the beginning, he was so fucking big it wasn’t fair. Your eyes squeezed shut as he continued to fuck your throat like a toy, throwing his head back to feel you clench around his swollen tip. Diluc was sure after he spilled this seed deep inside of you, he’d be able to work more efficiently later on … or maybe he’ll actually spread you on his desk to fuck you for being such a good baby for him, he still needs to decide but ultimately goes for the latter.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗘𝗖𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗢

If arlecchino decided to grace you with her body, she’d always go slow. Carefully exposing her figure for you, clothes dropping down the floor while she advanced towards your figure. For her, it wasn’t a choice, —but she needed to be in control—, wouldn’t want it any other way. It was always a matter of how you acted towards her as well though, not to mention that today in particular you weren’t obedient at all. Seemingly being bratty in front of her subordinates made her blood boil once she stood before you, a strap-on connected with her body which appeared sinfully and decorated her hips, reaching over to the soft curve of her ass. Archons, how you wanted to touch her right now, feel her up but arlecchino wasn’t in for it today.

Instead she advanced over to your face, prying open your mouth with her thumb to push herself inside of your warm mouth. It was way too big, you were desperately trying to spread your lips further before rolling your eyes back at the pleasure. "there isn’t a reason for me to play nice today." She’s calm with her voice, repeatedly prodding her tip over your throat to tease you, "right?" You groaned and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes, lashes fluttering innocently at her but she wasn’t showing any signs of actually being gentle with you now.

At this point you were looking like a mess, make-up smushed over your face while she was throat fucking you so sinfully with her strap on, couldn’t help it but focus on every little whine that escaped past your mouth, if something other than your saliva was able to escape in the first place. Arlecchino continued to fuck into you roughly, each time making sure she’d grind herself harder against your throat and not stopping until you were a whining begging mess for her, apologizing for being so fucking bratty earlier.

5.5k event special

do not! share, copy or repost my work. ✎ ©ANANTARU 2022

How Toji would literally Fuck

---

consider being sarada’s friend growing up and having the hots for her dad. turning 18 and getting bred by him just like how you wanted 🖤

he wouldn’t even pay attention to you at all in the beginning. he’s not necessarily a good husband but he has his fun outside the village so when he returns and he sees you there, he’s shocked at how much you’ve grown and he’s definitely into it.

he doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks at you even if sakura is there in the room. she obviously picks up on it and tries to get his attention but he only wants you.

it isn’t long before he’s bending you over the kitchen counter and fucking you fast and hard, knowing sarada and sakura could walk in at any moment and see you and he wants that. he wants to see the look on sakura’s face while he’s balls deep in a young 18 year old.

cw. they don’t fuck actually, breeding, size difference

werewolf!toji has been watching you for months. he watches you hidden among the trees and bushes as you wander into the woods each day in your red cape to carry a basket of sweets and medicine to your sick grandmother who lives across the mountain.

werewolf!toji has learned the path you walk from your home to your old granny’s. he has learned the nursery rhymes you hum to keep your mind busy when you walk through that forest surrounded by fierce beasts that hide in the dark but peer at you with their big green eyes. he has learned to recognize your intoxicating scent when you are most breedable.

werewolf!toji was always careful to hide in the shadows of the trees, content to watch you come and go up and down the mountain. from time to time his big cock throbbed and he felt the need to stroke it in his hand, coating his fingers with his thick, sticky seed until his fat balls stopped pulsing.

werewolf!toji can’t take it anymore though. not when he sees you walking around his forest in a skirt that barely covers your pretty ass, your legs wrapped in thigh-high socks, and that cape so clearly seen even as evening falls.

werewolf!toji desperately wants to breed you.

Keep reading

guilty pleasures

pairings: levi ackerman x fem!reader

summary: you absolutely despise your Captain. why? because you can't stop thinking about him

warnings: NSFW/smut content ahead, 18+ only! strong/vulgar language, blowjob, exhibitionism

word count: 2.1k

a/n: yikes.. i kinda got carried away on this one :D

"You're pulling your punches, brat. Get into better form!" The cold and commanding voice of your captain makes a scowl form on your face, and you readjust your already perfect stance. Jean comes lunging forward with raised fists, and you skillfully duck under his attack, grabbing one of his extended arms and throwing him to the ground with ease, trapping his body under yours and using your free hand to push his face angrily into the dirt. Physically, he's probably much stronger than you—but he's not agile or fast enough to outmaneuver your attacks. Cheers from your teammates erupt around you, and you help Jean up from the ground.

"WOAH that was so cool! Could you teach me how to do that?" Christa’s small voice is filled with awe, and you offer a heartwarming smile.

"I'd be glad to, as soon as we're done-" Your voice is cut off by your captain’s, and you try to resist the urge to rush over and punch him straight in his annoyingly perfect face.

"As soon as she's done fixing her sloppy form. You'll be practicing with Mikasa until she says you've done a good enough job. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Your voice is dripping with anger, and Mikasa glances at you with a nervous smile.

"The rest of you are dismissed." He walks away but you manage to shoot him a glare into his icy grey eyes before he turns. He remains expressionless, and continues on like you don't even exist.

"Fuck him." You curse under your breath, and Mikasa places a hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

“Don't mind him... remember, he's like this with everyone."

Yeah, like this with everyone.

You would beg to differ. There's some hate that the captain has towards you that's stronger than anyone else. It's not like you don't hate him back. But there’s something about him that draws you in—his calculating grey eyes that you get lost in when he’s talking, his lips that look so incredibly soft yet never smile for anyone, his perfect face, hardened by years of experience yet you know it’s capable of showing emotion.

But all that aside—you absolutely hate him.

“I don’t know what captain was talking about, y/n. Your form is basically perfect, better than anyone I’ve seen.” You help Mikasa up from the soft ground for the hundredth time, the moon already high in the sky. Rubbing your eyes and sore joints from the day's activities, the two of you say your goodbyes and you beeline for your room. Collapsing onto your bed into a heap, your eyes flutter closed and you slip into a deep slumber, letting the constantly present images of your captain drift in and out of your mind.

~

“Y/N!!!” Practically launching yourself out of bed at the loud and worried voice, you rub your eyes tiredly, sleep still fogging your thoughts.

“What is it…” you have to look hard to see the blonde standing in front of you. “…Armin?” He only grabs your hand, shoving your jacket in your face and dragging you out the door.

“You’re late. And captain’s pissed.” As you pass one of the many windows in the building, you see that it’s still dark outside.

“But it’s not even time for training yet!” Armin ignores you and keeps a firm grip on your hand as you walk down the stairs and outside into the cool air.

“I don’t know what he wants to do with us, but I don’t think it’s going to be easy.” Armin squeezes your hand lightly, and turns back, offering a sweet smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fine though, you’re pretty good at everything.” You can’t help the smile appearing on your face in return, despite the fact that you’re still half asleep.

“Thanks Armin, but you’re pretty amazing at things too, you don’t give yourself enough credit.” He pushes the doors open with a chuckle, and the cold night air sends a shiver down your spine. You’re thankful that Armin has a firm grip on your hand—he seems to be radiating heat, and warming you up in the process. You can faintly see the group up ahead, aside from a few people, who you assume are on their way.

“Armin! Y/n!” Your head turns at the sound of voices behind you, and Eren and Mikasa run up to the two of you. “Do you know what’s happening?” Armin shakes his head, and you speak up.

“Nope, we know as much as you guys. Apparently Levi’s pissed about something.” The four of you approach the group, and Levi is standing there, arms crossed, in front of the rest of the group. You notice his eyes flick down to yours and Armin’s joined hands, but he shows no emotion or reaction, but you do see his jaw tighten.

“Is that the last of you? Good.” You drop Armin’s hand and you all turn to face him. “I’ve noticed the utter lack of effort given during training recently. I understand we got back from an unsuccessful reconnaissance trip not that long ago and lost some soldiers, but that is no excuse. Usually I could care less about things like this, but we’re heading off on another trip soon, and I need all of you to be prepared.”

Your face falls when he gestures to the thick forest next to the small castle the Scouts use as your temporary headquarters.

“I want you to run through the forest three times, all the way to the other side. Moblit is waiting there and you need to check in with him. I don’t expect this to take more than an hour. Tick tock, Scouts.” Everyone lets out a groan and takes off into the forest. It takes Mikasa around 10 minutes to run to one side of the forest, but you could do it probably closer to five. And plus, you shouldn’t exert yourself physically without stretching first.

And there’s no way in hell I’m running for fun in these uniforms. I’ll probably cook to death.

Levi raises an eyebrow at you from where he's standing, wondering what you're doing. You shed your jacket, throwing it into the grass. The ODM gear around your chest comes off next, followed by your shirt, until you're left wearing just a sleeveless top. Since there's such strict rules about ODM gear, you slip it back on quickly. Looking up to see Levi staring at you, you give him a confused look before beginning to stretch. He continues to watch you, baffled, before speaking up.

“Quite cocky, aren't you, y/n?” You shrug, continuing to stretch out your legs, a small smirk playing on your lips. He approaches you, arms crossed over his chest, and leans down so his face is close to yours. “I’d get going if I were you.” You scoff at his remark, getting angrier by the second.

“How about you make me, captain.” Your heart stops at what you just said. You didn’t mean for that to come out of your mouth, that was supposed to stay in your head. Levi’s hand closes around your wrist and he pulls you towards the forest, but not where the other Scouts went in. When you’re far enough away that you can’t be seen from the path, Levi pushes you against a tree, and your heart skips a beat.

“You really piss me off, huh, y/n?” He leans forward and ghosts his lips over yours, and your knees go weak. “But there’s something about you that I can’t shake, and it’s driving me insane.” He finally lets his lips connect with yours, and you savour the moment, never wanting it to end. He picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, letting out a tiny gasp when the bulge in his pants presses into you.

“See y/n? Look what you to do me...” He growls in your ear and you drop down from his embrace, grabbing him by the collar. You flip him around so his back is now pressed into the tree, and let a tiny smirk sneak onto your lips.

“I think I can help fix that.” You drop to your knees and skillfully unclasp all the ODM gear around his waist, getting past the belt to the hem of his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling them down to his ankles, palming his erection through his boxers. The sigh that slips out of his lips makes your stomach turn flips, and you run your fingers along the skin just above where you know he needs you, and he reaches down and grips your wrists.

“Don’t be a little tease, y/n.” You smirk up at him but obey, pulling down his boxers, his length springing up. You notice it twitch when the cool outside air hits it, and that prompts you to take it in your hand, pumping it slowly, occasionally brushing your thumb over the sensitive tip.

You run your tongue along the bottom of his cock, relishing in the way he’s biting down on his lips to hold back the noises threatening to slip out of his pretty mouth. Wrapping your lips around his head, he begins to get impatient and grips onto your hair, pushing his length farther into your mouth. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes when you feel his tip hit the back of your throat, but it’s all worth it for the shaky groan that comes out of Levi’s mouth.

“F-fuck...” He bucks his hips upward into your mouth, picking up speed as he chases his high. Your breaths are quick through your nose, and you can feel the wetness pooling in your panties. Saliva drips down your bottom lip and onto the grass, and one of your hands clamps onto Levi’s thigh so you keep your balance. Your other hand flies down to your clothed cunt, stroking it through your pants. You moan on his cock, and Levi’s brain almost short-circuits, and he can feel his high just out of his reach. His heart is racing at a million miles an hour, and you’re the only think he can think of right now, and how pretty you look with his cock stuffed in your mouth.

The fire pooling in your core is spreading through your entire body, and your head feels all fuzzy. Your fingers press into the growing wet spot on your pants, desperate for any sort of friction. You can tell Levi’s close to his high, he’s becoming more and more vocal and the grip on your hair tightens.

“Ah- y/n...” His hips stutter and you feel his hot load shoot down your throat, a thousand curses tumbling out of his mouth. You force yourself to swallow before taking a breath, and he pulls his cock out of your mouth. Your lungs suck in air like you haven’t breathed in hours, and you sit back on your knees. Levi’s lips are on yours immediately, removing your jacket and fiddling with your belt. He runs kisses down your neck, sucking and biting on the soft skin, and tiny whimpers are sneaking out of your swollen lips. He finally gets your belt off and is about to move to the button on your pants when voices ring out in the night. Your eyes widen and so does your captain’s, and you both leap to your feet.

“Shit. They’re back already?” Levi says under his breath, and a small smile plays on your lips, butterflies returning to your stomach.

That means he wanted to spend more time with me.

You grab your jacket off the ground and pull it on, fixing your belt and the rest of your gear, and Levi does the same. You both sprint back towards the edge of the forest, just making it to the same spot as earlier before the group breaks from the trees. You’re sitting down, out of breath, and Levi’s standing a good distance away from you, trying to hide his own tiredness.

“We’re done, captain.” Armin catches his breath, and Levi waves them away.

“Head back to bed. We’re starting training the same time tomorrow. And don’t expect me to go easy on you.” The group starts to head back to the castle, all worn out, but you stand slowly, the fire still burning in your core.

“Y/n.” Levi calls out, and you turn back to see him walk up to you. “Come to my room tonight after everyone goes to bed.” You nod, and he turns and goes back towards the forest, probably to meet Moblit.

“Hey! Are you coming y/n?” Armin’s voice rings out, and you raise your head.

“Yeah!” You turn and take one last look at Levi before jogging ahead to the rest of the group.

unholy: tokyo revengers

Timeskip! Shiba Taiju

Bonten! Akaashi Takeomi

Bonten! Haitani Ran

Toman Timeslip! Hanma Shuji

unholy: jujutsu kaisen

Biker! Sukuna

Yakuza! Gojo

Au! Fushiguro Toji

dilf!jake loves jerking off while watching tonowari fuck you <33

you were on your wobbling arms and knees, back arched with your ass high in the air. tonowari’s thrusts were rough and fast, his large hands grappling onto your plush sides as he rutted into you mercilessly. “takin’ me so well, little one.” ‘wari grunted from behind, chuckling to himself when he heard you whimper from his praise.

jake was knelt down in front of you, a callous hand pumping firmly down his throbbing cock. his length glistened with a medley of saliva and pearlescent pre-cum, guttural moans thundering from his parted lips as he watched his sweet girl getting fucked like a whore.

“look at me, bun.” jake demanded. your neck craned upwards as his hand clasped onto your face, long fingers hollowing your cheeks with a harsh grasp. the way you gazed up at him with your fluttering, glassy eyes made his cock twitch in his palm — you were something out of a movie. “so beautiful.” he crooned, pushing his thumb into your warm mouth.

your poor moans were muffled as you suckled weakly on jake’s thumb. your body jolted as tonowari thrusted deeper inside you, his bulbous tip hitting the exact spot that made you lose control. “h-harder, ‘wari!” you cried, jaw dropping wide as you begged.

the two na’vi chuckled breathlessly at your desperation, sharing a smug glance with each other. tonowari’s grip on your hips was lethal, his nails digging so hard into your skin that you were sure they’d leave bright, red marks. “so needy, aren’t you?” ‘wari grits, his palm spanking your ass. you whimpered lewdly, the stinging sensation heightening your intense arousal.

“feels so good, up’pa.” you panted, your body shivering at the feeling of tonowari’s sloppy kisses down your spine.

jake was overwhelmed with desire, the crude slapping of your hot skin against tonowari and squelching of your sopping cunt were like heaven to him. his pace was fierce while he jerked his thick cock, rubbing his thumb over the wet slit as he massaged himself. his climax was building in the pit of his stomach, the erotic scene before him was weakening his limbs — your cries of pleasure rippling through him like a wave of heat.

he wanted nothing more than to fuck your pretty, wet mouth. to feel your throat contracting around his girth, hearing you gag salaciously while he thrusted himself unrelentingly in and out your mouth. you were so perfect — his most precious girl.

“doin’ so good, baby.” jake praised, cupping your flushed cheek. an exhausted smile grew on your lips, you melted whenever he admired you. “y’gonna let daddy cum all over that pretty face, yeah?”

you nodded eagerly, your breaths choked up in your throat as your own release quickly approached. tonowari moved his hand to your slick pussy, his fingers rubbing vigorous circles on your sensitive clit. “up’pa s’too much, fuck!” you shrieked, your legs turning into jelly as you thrashed against his digits. ‘wari couldn’t help himself, seeing you tremble beneath him as he coaxed out your sweet orgasm was exhilarating.

you felt his thrusts become sloppier, a string of vulgar obscenities falling from his mouth as his cock quivered inside you. “m’gonna cum, sweet girl.” he groaned, his licentious words made your gummy walls clench around him. tonowari’s ruts slowed down, grappling even tighter on your hips. “fuck!”

his warm release filled your tight pussy, the sensation sending you right over the edge. you pushed yourself against ‘wari as your climax overcame you, small hands gripping onto the mat below you as the wave of pleasure coursed through you. “yes, y-yes!” you screamed crassly, tail coiling around his muscular thigh as you came undone all over tonowari.

the olo’eyktan was a breathless mess behind you, soon leaning forward to press languid kisses over your sweaty shoulders. “mm, you did so well for up’pa, little one.” he cooed into your ear, keeping himself snug inside you as your bare chest pressed against the soft ground, body completely limp.

jake grabbed your face, tilting your face upwards to get you right in view of his twitching cock. “mouth open, doll.” he instructed, half-lidded eyes boring down on you as you struggled to keep yourself up. you laid your hands on his knees for balance, parting your bitten lips with your tongue stuck out. jake’s hips bucked forward, head falling back as ropes of his warm cum spurted from his swollen cock. “shit!” he hissed, biting harshly down on his bottom lip.

he painted your face white with his salty release, you swallowed every drop that dripped into your mouth. jake panted heavily as he slowly came down from his climax, smiling tiredly at the beautiful mess in front of him. “such a good fuckin’ girl.”