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good boys (do what they're told)

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Keigo knows that he probably shouldn’t be doing this.

But the thing is, the Todoroki estate was on the way to UA, and Keigo has a meeting with Nezu in an hour, so he decided that he might as well make a surprise visit to his favorite hero beforehand. All of Enji’s kids moved out months ago, and as far as Keigo knows, Enji doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends, so he hadn’t thought that showing up unannounced would be a big deal.

Plus, he and Enji have sort of a thing going on. They’ve made out in dirty alleyways a couple times, usually after missions or when they’re stationed on patrol together. (However, they still have yet to go any further than dry humping and sloppy blowjobs.)

It should’ve been fine. He shouldn’t have had a problem, barging into Enji’s bedroom unannounced. As he crept into the hallway, he heard some quiet moans that were a little more high-pitched than expected, but that shouldn’t have been a problem either. Catching the number one hero, Endeavor, the object of Keigo’s affections since he was five, in the midst of an intense masturbation session? There’s nothing hotter than that. Keigo thought that maybe they could sneak in a quickie before he had to head off to his meeting with Nezu regarding his new position at UA. Maybe they could finally have time for something more than dirty alleyway dry humping. Enji is full of pent-up anger and sexual frustration, and Hawks is always more than willing to help.

But when he got close to the half-open door, he peeked into the master bedroom, and instantly forgot why he was even there in the first place.

The first thing Keigo saw was Shouto, one of his to-be students, naked and spread out across his father’s lap, Enji’s lap. Enji is fully clothed, and the stark contrast makes Keigo’s heart beat violently in his ears. The second thing Keigo saw was his life flash before his eyes.

The third? Enji’s palm spanking Shouto’s pale ass, leaving a hot burn and a painful-looking bruise. Shouto’s cock, pink and unbelievably hard, rubbed against his father’s thigh as he let out a soft whine, back arching beautifully, begging for more.

Only a couple moments have passed since the first spank—at least, the first spank that Keigo laid witness to—yet the winged hero feels like eternities have passed, him just standing outside the door, watching the scene before him through the crack of the door, watching Shouto get spanked to hell, watching Shouto try to get off without his dad realizing.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knows that he shouldn’t be doing this, but he just can’t take his eyes off the sight.

Shouto is pretty; everyone thinks he’s pretty. He hasn’t even officially debuted as a hero, but he already has so many supporters, many of them just because he’s pretty—he has a leg up on most of his classmates in that regard. Keigo didn’t really care about that; lithe and pretty was never really his type after all. However, Keigo might reconsider that. The kid’s face is blotchy-pink, wet with tears, and he’s outright gorgeous. His entire body is flushed and he looks tiny in comparison to his father.

His neck is littered with hickies, and Keigo wonders if Enji was the one to mark him up like that.

If it wasn’t so hot, Keigo would feel jealous.

“Dad, please, I said I was sorry—”

“What did I say, Shouto?” Enji asks, voice gravelly and rough. The sound of it makes Keigo’s knees buckle; he struggles to keep himself quiet, keep himself from gasping. “What did I tell you not to do?”

Shouto blinks, teary eyes big and wide as he turns to face his father. Keigo spots a line of drool run down the side of his mouth, his swollen lips parted dumbly. The kid looks adorable, as if he doesn’t have a single thought in his head. “You, um—” 

Enji grips his son’s ass harshly, his sixteen year old son, fingernails digging into flesh, and it makes Shouto whimper like a maimed animal. “I didn’t raise you to be this much of a stupid slut.

Keigo gasps quietly, blood rushing to his cock. What makes it worse is that Enji is right. Shouto does look like a slut: splayed out, attempting to subtly grind his cock against his father’s thigh. His eyes are glassy and dull, pupils blown wide, and Keigo has to wonder if Shouto is even lucid right now.

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember, I can’t—”

Another loud spank. Shouto wails.

“You can’t even remember what you’re sorry for?” Enji scoffs, flames tickling his shoulders in anger.

God, that’s hot, Keigo thinks. He knows that this is wrong, both the act of him watching, and the act of Enji spanking Shouto in a way that a normal father would never do to his son, but he finds himself palming his cock, biting his lower lip to keep himself quiet.

Shouto squirms, so Enji steadies his hips with two rough hands. “I, uh, I did something bad?” Shouto tries, his voice shaky and timid, sounding less and less like a promising UA student, more and more like a dumb whore. Keigo takes pity on him. Shouto really does look like he’s trying hard to remember what it is he did wrong.

Fuck, this is so fucked up, Keigo reminds himself internally, but he’s starting to lose his grip on what’s right and what’s wrong; he’s starting to lose his goddamn mind.

Enji clicks his tongue and throws Shouto to the side, starting to strip himself of all his clothes too. Keigo’s mouth waters when he sees Enji’s chest; his pecs look soft and squishy. Keigo wants to touch, more than anything he wants to touch, and he’s starting to realize that he probably isn’t any better than Shouto at the moment.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Shouto’s voice is frantic, fearful, as he backs up to the corner of the bed. Color returns to his eyes, like he’s starting to remember that there’s something incredibly wrong about him trying to get off on his father’s thigh, about him getting spanked and enjoying every moment of it. “You said you wouldn’t—I thought we—you can’t. You can’t—

“Can’t what, Shouto?” Enji mutters, pulling off his underwear to reveal his cock, large and veiny. Keigo can never resist the urge to put it in his mouth whenever he gets the chance to see it, but for now, he’ll have to try his hardest to keep still by the door. “I can do whatever I want with you.”

Shouto is shaking like a frightened animal, but Keigo can see that his cock is still hard by his stomach, so maybe this is still okay. But when was this ever okay?

“You said you would stop,” Shouto whispers, eyes shiny, pleading for mercy. But Enji is not a merciful man; Keigo knows that one for sure. “You said you wouldn’t anymore. You promised.” Bashfully, Shouto lowers his head, realizing how childish he sounds.

“I let you live in the dorms with one condition. I told you not to act like a goddamn whore, but here you are, hickies all over your neck and down your chest.”

Oh, Keigo realizes. That’s what it was. Shouto’s eyes widen too.

Poor kid, too far gone to even remember something like that on his own.

“Did he fuck you?”

“I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean to—”

That’s a yes.

“You didn’t mean to let Bakugou fuck you? Do you mean he forced you into it? Do you mean that you were weak enough not to stop it from happening?”

“Bakugou didn’t force me into it—” Shouto bites his tongue, the words slipping out before he even had the sense to keep the truth inside.

The mistake is costly. Fire returns to Enji’s eyes—though, it has Keigo wondering whether the flames even disappeared in the first place—and he pushes Shouto onto his front, grabs his hair and forces his son face first into the bed. Shouto pleads, or he sobs. Keigo can’t tell anymore. Not only is Keigo barely able to think straight, but Shouto isn’t coherent either, begging, whining for his father to stop, please stop, stop, don’t do this, please—

Next thing Keigo knows, Enji is on top of Shouto, caging his little body between his limbs. Shouto writhes as the heel of Enji’s heat-filled hand runs down his back, from his shoulder blades down to the curve of his back, fingers teasing at Shouto’s puckered, tight hole. Keigo unzips his pants and starts to jerk himself off sloppily; his dick is wet enough for any stimulation to be enough. His bottom lip starts to bleed with how much he’s struggling to keep himself quiet, struggling to keep himself sane.

This is Japan’s number one hero, the man that Keigo has admired since he was five, about to fuck his own son, and all Keigo can do is rub at his cock.

He can’t tell if he’s more jealous of Enji or of Shouto right now.

Just when Keigo thinks that Enji is going to finger Shouto dry, Enji’s fingers roam down to his taint, rubbing there until Shouto starts sobbing for real. Then, Enji grabs his inner thigh, fleshy and soft, from what Keigo can tell. He licks a stripe up Shouto’s neck, his tongue wet and hot against all those illicit hickies, hickies Shouto’s being punished for. Licks all the way up to his earlobe and bites. As he plays with the soft flesh of Shouto’s thigh, he growls into Shouto’s ear, “A part of me thinks that you’re acting up on purpose to get my attention. To get me to fuck you.”

“I’m not, dad, please, I’m not—I’m sorry—”  

Enji grabs Shouto’s cock, fingers curled around the base; Shouto looks so small like that, so pathetic and helpless. Keigo keeps having to remind himself how absolutely fucked up this is. He keeps forgetting. He keeps forgetting that this is wrong, that he shouldn’t find this hot, that he shouldn’t be fucking jerking off.

“You’re still hard. You got hard just from me spanking you. How am I not supposed to think that you want this?”

“Please, you said that if I was good, you’d stop, you’d stop—

Enji laughs, but he doesn’t sound happy at all. He lets go of Shouto’s cock and yanks his hair, tugs on it so hard that Shouto is forced to bare his neck and the many bruises that litter his skin. “But you haven’t been very good lately, have you?”

Shouto doesn’t say anything at that, too embarrassed, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears bright red.

“Fuyumi is always available to be a wet hole for you to fuck,” Enji hisses. “But it seems that all you want is to be fucked, huh?”

“I don’t—please don’t make me, not with Fuyumi, not with Natsuo, not again, please—”  

That is the breaking point for Keigo.

He doesn’t know why it’s this, doesn’t know why the reveal that Enji would make his kids fuck each other is the fucking breaking point for him, but it is. It causes him to let out the loudest, most humiliating whimper in the fucking world as he spills white all over his hand, coming in his own underwear. He slumps against the door, but he forgets that it’s been cracked open, and he stumbles inside the bedroom, barely regaining his balance enough to stay standing.

Well, fuck.


A minute passes where they’re all just staring at each other, Enji still trapping Shouto with that big body of his. Shouto doesn’t seem in any hurry to move, however, speechless and still.

“Hawks,” Enji utters quietly. Quiet is dangerous. Quiet is real.

Enji finally gets up, sits back on the bed, but Shouto stays there, hiding his face.

Keigo can barely hear anything over the sound of his own heart beating, loud in his eardrums. He feels like a mess. He is a mess, underwear sticky with cum, forehead matted with sweat, wings flapping behind him uncontrollably. Shit. Shit.

Enji looks furious, but at the same time that red-hot anger is tinged with something else, something Keigo can’t quite put his finger on. 

The part of him that’s in charge of his cocky, arrogant, hero facade wants to say something cheeky, wants to grin and laugh it off, but he can’t muster the courage to.

Shouto speaks up next, voice muffled by the sheets: “Were you—the entire time?”

Keigo gulps, closing the door behind him, leaning against it for support. His knees are about to give in. “Enough of it.”

“What—” The kid sits up, hides his body behind his thighs, knees pressed to his chest, and curls up into a little ball. Cute. Keigo is lucid enough to recognize that the youngest Todoroki is undeniably cute like that, trying to hide his cock when Keigo has already seen everything. “What are you doing here?”

Keigo looks back at Enji, his blue eyes burning like no fire ever could, and takes a deep breath. “Watching,” he says.

“Don’t be a fucking brat. I already have this one to deal with,” Enji spits out, gesturing over to Shouto, who’s trying to cover himself with the sheets. Enji doesn’t let him—he pulls the covers off of Shouto and pulls his legs apart, baring his cock and his naked body for Keigo to gawk at. He drags Shouto into his lap, back to his chest, and forces the boy’s legs apart.

Shouto looks back at his father, eyes wet and struck with fear, dread, horror. “Dad, what are you—”

Enji pays his son no mind. He looks straight into Keigo’s eyes, an incomprehensible look on his face, and says, “Hawks was watching. And enjoying it, it looks like. Let’s give him something to watch.”

Shouto’s eyes grow ridiculously wide. He thrashes and tries to escape, but Enji just holds him still. “No, no, please no—”

Keigo almost feels bad, but the way that Enji just holds Shouto down with ease makes his head feel more empty than it already was. God, he just came, but he feels the blood start to return to his flaccid cock.

So much about this is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.

“If you’re going to act like a dumb fucking slut, I’m going to treat you like one.” Enji yanks Shouto’s hair with one hand and reaches over to grab the lube on the bedside table with the other, uncapping the bottle with a flick of his thumb. He squirts a generous amount all over Shouto’s cock, enough that it drips down to his ass crack.

Shouto jumps in surprise; he moans and throws his head back when Enji strokes his cock a couple times, just to tease. When Enji’s fingers spread the lube down to his hole, Shouto’s skin starts to creep with frost and tickle with flame.

Then a wilder fire swirls all around them—Enji’s fire, not Shouto’s. When the flames go down, Enji digs the heel of his hand into Shouto’s spine and shoves him into the sheets again, face down, ass up.

“What did I say about using your quirk?” Enji shouts, his hand curling around the nape of Shouto’s neck as he spanks Shouto again and again. Harder each time, harder than before, until all the ice melts away.

“Don’t,” Shouto answers weakly, his father’s fingertips nearly cutting off his circulation.

Enji releases him after a couple more seconds, just enough to leave Shouto gasping for air once he’s free.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t—I won’t use my quirk. I promise, please, please, dad—”

Keigo knows that he should speak up, should do something to help the poor kid, but he doesn’t really want to. He doesn’t want to stop this at all. 

Enji manhandles Shouto so that his head is facing his dick. Shouto is lying chest first, head cradled on his father’s thigh, mouth only inches away from his father’s cock. Again, Shouto tries to escape, but Enji holds him by the nape of his neck, keeping him right where he wants him.

“This is what you wanted, right?” Enji hisses.

This is wrong, Keigo tells himself yet again. It’s wrong, the way that Enji forces Shouto closer until his lips touch his cock, a feather-light touch, but enough for Shouto’s lips to part on instinct, cheeks flushing once he realizes what he’s just done.

Christ, it’s like the kid was made for this. His eyes go glassy again, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like the prospect of having his father’s cock in his mouth makes him forget how much he didn’t want this.

“Fuck,” Keigo whispers, cock stirring in his pants again.

“No, I don’t—” Shouto whimpers, teary eyes trained on the cock in front of him. With each word he speaks, his lips rub against Enji’s head, and he only becomes more and more loose-brained. “Please, daddy, don’t make me, I don’t want to—” 

Keigo doesn’t believe him at all.

“You know what I think, Shouto?” Enji asks, his thumb pressing down on Shouto’s lower lip, wet with saliva and tears. Shouto’s mouth opens wide to welcome the digit; he starts sucking on it without even realizing it, burning with embarrassment. “I think you’re lying.

Enji slips his thumb out of Shouto’s mouth and feeds his cock inside, resting the head on Shouto’s tongue as the boy’s lips latch on around the girth. Shouto has a small mouth, and he struggles to fit all of it inside. But he tries. He tries, and there is no more fight—Enji doesn’t even need to force his head down for Shouto to try and take the entire thing, down to the base—which might be the hottest thing in the world.

No, with the way that the poor kid is gagging, choking, and slobbering all over his father’s cock, it definitely is the hottest thing in the world. 

“I meant what I said earlier. If you’re going to whore yourself out to your classmates, then I’ll treat you like a fucking whore. I won’t make you do anything, Shouto.”

At this point, all Enji has to do is keep his hand on the base of Shouto’s skull to keep him steady. Shouto’s doing everything on his own, bright red ass perched up, swollen cock dripping over all the sheets. God, the kid is a slut. Keigo can’t figure out if all that before was just an act, or if the mere show of his father’s cock was enough to remind Shouto of his place.

“Hawks, get over here.”

Dazed, Keigo finds himself obeying that command. He ambles over to the foot of the bed, eyes not leaving Shouto’s pert ass and the way his hole flutters open and shut, glistening with lube.

“You’re done watching,” Enji exhales, a low groan escaping his lips as Shouto’s head bobs up and down.

For a second, Keigo is afraid that the jig is up—he’ll be kicked out and sworn to secrecy, but Enji continues staring, gaze never leaving him. Keigo considers himself smart, crafty, even—it’s how he got this far in the world in first place. But it takes him a couple more seconds to realize what exactly Enji really meant.

“You mean—”

“I’ll let you fuck him,” Enji finishes, pulling Shouto off his cock. There’s a line of spit connecting Shouto’s lip and Enji’s dick. Shouto looks up at his father with wide, glossy eyes; the curve of his lower back is fucking obscene.

“Daddy—”

When did dad become daddy? Keigo asks himself.

“Would you like that, Shouto?” Enji asks. He shoves two fingers into Shouto’s mouth, tongue stuck out, lips pouted. He removes his fingers and wipes them dry on Shouto’s cheek. The kid merely takes it, everything. He’s helpless, eyes lost and languidly aching into whatever touch he can get.

“I, uh, um—”

“Use your words,” Enji growls, grabbing a handful of Shouto’s pert ass.

Shouto, drunk off his father’s cock and seemingly deep in subspace, is barely in any position to consent to anything, but Keigo listens intently, waiting for the words to come out of his mouth.

“I want Hawks-san to fuck me,” Shouto utters, face red-hot with tears, a hand reaching behind him, fingers dipping into his hole to spread himself open, whimpering at the stretch of his own fingertips inside of him. “P-Please.”

Keigo’s fingernails dig into his palm, just enough to make sure he doesn’t black out. 

“That’s all you’re good for anyways,” Enji scoffs, pushing Shouto back down onto his cock. Shouto takes it like he was born to. “And you,” Enji says, his attention back on Keigo, eyes dark and hungry, “strip.

Keigo takes off all his clothes as fast as he can, although his wings do get in the way. In the meantime, he watches as Shouto fingers himself loose, knuckle-deep as he sucks his father off, sloppy but eager. Once he’s done, he gets up onto the bed and positions himself between Shouto’s pliant thighs. He looks at Enji, hesitant to do anything without explicit permission—this is Shouto, after all. A kid. Enji’s kid. 

“Do whatever you want. Fuck him, finger him, eat him out, I don’t care,” Enji decides, grabbing Shouto’s hair to hold him still. He fucks Shouto’s mouth with forceful, violent thrusts. Shouto’s hard little cock drips with even more precum. There’s a damp spot on the bed, right where his cock is rubbing against.

Keigo has half a mind to take Shouto’s cock into his mouth, suck on the pretty thing until the boy cries for him to stop. Or maybe he could suck bruises into Shouto’s pale, milky thighs, mark him up like his father punished him for, but he knows that there’s a better use for his mouth than that.

He gets down onto his knees, red wings flapping in excitement, and shoves his face between Shouto’s ass cheeks. Shouto gasps in surprise, fingers slipping out as Keigo’s tongue slips in. With both his thumbs, he pulls Shouto apart so that he can go deeper, fuck him with his tongue and eat his ass like a champ. All the sexual frustration Keigo has felt the entire night just watching Enji take his own son apart he puts into this, and god does it turn Shouto into a sobbing wreck, ruined and defiled at both ends.

Keigo starts to play with Shouto’s cock, delicate, wet, and pink, just to feel the way he squirms and aches into whatever touch anyone will give him. When Shouto seems like he’s close to coming, Keigo squeezes the base of his cock with one hand and starts to finger him alongside his tongue with his other. Shouto is trying to get away, trying to avoid the overstimulation, but both Keigo and Enji keep him still like a ragdoll.

“He’s a brat,” Enji mutters, the bed shaking with the force of his thrusts. “But when you get a cock inside of him, he gets all obedient and stupid.”

Keigo comes up for air and looks at Shouto. He can’t argue with anything Enji said. No matter how much Shouto was begging for Enji to stop, begging for Enji to do anything but this, there is not a doubt in Keigo’s mind that Shouto wants this now. He wants this wholeheartedly, whether he’s in his right mind or not. And if he’s not, Keigo doesn’t really care.

Enji yanks Shouto off his cock and flips him over onto his back. Keigo gets a good look at how absolutely fucked-out the boy is: abs clenching, cock red, nipples hard. His jaw is slack, drool running down the sides of his chin, and he has a blissed expression on his face.

“The little one’s getting impatient. Better fill him up before he gets all whiny again,” Enji advises, caressing Shouto’s cheek, rubbing his tears away with his thumb. Shouto just blinks dumbly, like he hadn’t caught a word of what his father said.

Pathetic.

Keigo positions his dick at the boy’s puckered hole. He plays with the soft flesh of Shouto’s inner thighs as he pushes inside, fills Shouto up like he was made to be filled. Shouto gasps adorably, hands clutching the sheets in a poor attempt to ground himself. The sheets singe and frost a little, but Enji only lightly smacks Shouto’s cheek as a warning. Shouto calms down and his body temperature returns back to normal. When he’s taken Keigo to the hilt, Shouto wails helplessly. Without a cock down his throat to shut him up, there’s nothing quieting his moans.

More, more, ahh, mngh—” 

For such a quiet kid, he sure is loud.

Keigo himself isn’t much better though. With each shallow thrust, he lets out a soft, high-pitched sigh. He doesn’t top very often; he much rather prefers being on the bottom, but when Shouto is offering himself to him, when Shouto is begging to get fucked—there isn’t any other thing in the world Keigo would rather do. Shouto’s hole is stuffed with cock and wet with lube, clenching around Keigo, who’s holding onto the kid’s hips, his hands smoothing over old bruises. Breath hot against Shouto’s shoulder, Keigo fucks him with a vigor that would scare most people, fucks the teen so hard that he doesn’t notice that Enji is no longer by Shouto’s face, but behind him, a hand playing with his sensitive feathers, the other down where his cock is inside Shouto.

“What are you—”

Enji rests his chin on Keigo’s shoulder, chest pressed against his wings, as he inserts his fingers alongside his dick, fucking Shouto stupid, even more stupid than he already is.

Shouto squirms, sobs, and begs for his daddy to stop, but no one is listening. Keigo’s hips stutter, and he finds it so much harder to fuck Shouto when Enji is literally breathing down his neck, kissing down from his ear to the space between his wings. But Keigo tries to keep up the pace, even with Enji’s fingers snug inside Shouto, panting into the space above Shouto’s right shoulder.

In the blink of an eye, Enji removes his lube-slick fingers from Shouto only to bring them up to Keigo’s hole. Keigo’s breath stops; he looks back only to realize that Enji and Shouto are making out right next to him. Father and son.

Shouto, mouth open and pliant, tongue stuck out, lips barely keeping up with his father, makes these cute, muffled little moans, and it makes Keigo fuck into him even harder. Enji starts to finger Keigo seriously; he starts with one finger, then makes his way to two, then three, but Keigo hardly even notices with how tight Shouto is around his cock, with how sweet Shouto’s little noises are.

But when Enji pushes the head of his cock inside, Keigo completely falls apart; his arms give out, and he’s only lying on top of Shouto, weakly rocking his hips at best. Enji is big—Keigo doesn’t think he’s ever had a cock this monstrous inside him. With what little prep he got, Keigo struggles to take the entire girth. Enji’s dick isn’t just girthy, but it’s long too. Each second is agonizing. Agonizing in the good way—agonizing in a way that lets Keigo know that he’s going to be feeling this for days on end.

Keigo can’t move on his own anymore, sandwiched between the two Todorokis. Shouto starts to whimper, body writhing and begging to be fucked, but Keigo can’t manage that, can only take what Enji gives him.

“Tch,” Enji spits out once he’s buried to the hilt. He starts to pick up the pace, starts to fuck Keigo for real. “I let you fuck what’s mine, and you can’t even finish the job.”

All Keigo can do is let Enji fuck the both of them; he fucks Shouto with the force of Enji’s thrusts, achieving nothing on his own. Keigo angles his head and shifts over a little to the side so that he can watch Enji and Shouto make out, to watch the way Shouto gives up every inch of his body for his father to exploit, stupid with cock, like there isn’t a coherent thought in the poor kid’s brain.

Keigo feels like he’s being split open, pulled apart, and used like a toy. It’s too much—everything about this is too much. He can barely breathe, let alone think.

Burning with shame, Keigo blurts out, “Gonna, nngh, ahh, come, gonna come—”

Enji only fucks him harder, bruising and burning his skin everywhere he can touch. Keigo gets it now, gets why and how Shouto gave in so easily—there’s nothing Keigo can do other than take, other than let himself all apart in Enji’s hands. Enji sucks a love-bite on the back of Keigo’s neck, dirty and blooming with pain, as the winged hero cries into Shouto’s shoulder and comes into his ass.

But Enji keeps fucking him, fucks him through his orgasm and into overstimulation. It hurts, and every part of Keigo’s body is tingling, toes curled and eyes forced shut, but Enji doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all.

“Fuck, fuck, too m—ngh,” Keigo whimpers. He’s little more than a toy, just another one of Enji’s playthings. 

Would it be so wrong if that was all he was?

“Daddy, I wanna, wanna c-come too,” Shouto mewls, his cock impossibly hard against Keigo’s stomach as Keigo is thrust back and forth, sweaty body rubbing against the younger boy.

Enji hums, finally pulling out of Keigo, who whines, his hole fluttering around nothing, empty and used.

Keigo can’t see Enji from where he’s lying boneless on top of Shouto, but all of a sudden he’s yanked back, maneuvered so that his face is directly above Shouto’s cock, bright pink, a delicate thing.

“You heard the boy,” Enji mutters, his fingers wrapped around the nape of Keigo’s neck. “He wants to come too.”

Keigo looks up at the boy: his teary, pleading eyes, his pink nipples, and his squirming, blushing body. He wants to be good, and he wants to make Shouto come, so he stares into the teen’s eyes as he kisses the head of his cock and swallows him down, takes him all the way to the base. He uses his tongue as much as he can, swirling it around Shouto’s cock as he bobs his head up and down, and it doesn’t take long for Shouto to weep helplessly, little incoherent noises. Then he starts to thrust shallowly into Keigo’s mouth with jerkish, stuttered movements, his cock spurting with cum.

“Ahh, ahh, Ha-Hawks-sa—ahh—

Adorable. Keigo sucks on the head, swallows it all, and dips his tongue into Shouto’s slit—just to hear him whine a little more. Once Shouto’s let out everything and more, Keigo gives his dick one last kiss and lifts himself up. Heart beating loud, Keigo pants over Shouto’s cock, cum and saliva dribbling from his lips and from his tongue, and he eventually musters up the strength to roll over to the side, barely able to move.

“And what do good boys say when someone makes them come?”

A tiny whimper flutters from the back of Shouto’s throat. “Th-Thank you.”

“Nngh,” is all that Keigo is able to sound out, still seeing fuzzy black spots in his vision.

The next thing Keigo knows, Enji is no longer on top of Keigo: he has Shouto sitting in his lap, whining and trying to get away like before. He’s playing with Shouto’s hole, three thick fingers stuffing him full, plugging the cum inside. Keigo considers the possibility that he might have blacked out and just never noticed. He has no idea how that happened. Enji is biting Shouto’s neck hard enough to break skin—right where all the old hickies were—licking away the blood and shushing all his cries.

Keigo watches as Enji lifts Shouto up with ease, hands now on his thighs. A bit of cum leaks from his ass since nothing is plugging him up anymore, but it doesn’t take long for Enji to rectify that.

He sits Shouto right on his cock, hard as ever, splitting him open and filling him up to the brim, ignoring his cries for him to stop, that it’s too much, that it hurts. Shouto looks beautiful, Keigo thinks, like bouncing on his father’s cock was all that he was born to do.

With a few harsh, bed-shaking thrusts, Enji empties his load inside Shouto’s hole.

A true cumdump, through and through.


Keigo takes a scalding hot shower as soon as he regains enough strength in his legs to walk. His skin is bright red by the time he exits the shower, light burns and bruises everywhere, but it isn’t enough for him to feel any less dirty.

A hot shower isn’t enough to wash away whatever the hell the last hour of his life was.

Nonetheless, he borrows a robe from the cabinet and sneaks out the window, shedding a few red feathers on the way out. He’ll deal with the consequences of this later. It’s mid-March, and the air is still a bit chilly, but being cold is the least of Keigo’s worries.

Best case scenario, he’ll be able to reschedule his meeting with Nezu. Maybe he can come up with a convincing story about a villain attack or an emergency meeting with the Commission.

However, once he’s made his way out the window, thinking himself home free, he spots a familiar boy with red and white hair waiting for him in the snow.

Familiar might be an understatement.

“So,” Shouto says, his voice unbelievably casual, like Keigo hadn’t come inside his ass just twenty minutes ago, “what were you doing here in the first place? Just peeping?”

Keigo does a once-over of Shouto’s body. If you didn’t know that his own father had just fucked the life out of him, you really wouldn’t be able to tell—the kid carries himself like nothing even remotely eventful happened, black turtleneck covering up all his hickies, not a hair out of place.

Impressive.

Keigo wonders if this happens often.

“I had a meeting with your principal,” he replies truthfully. (Keigo hopes that Nezu isn’t going to retract that job offer; although, that might make things easier. Keigo doesn’t know if he’ll be able to look Shouto in the eye once he starts teaching at UA, knowing what he sounds like when he’s choking on cock.) “Your house was on the way, so I just wanted to say hi.”

“You did a lot more than say hi,” Shouto deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cheeky. Looks like he’s a brat all the time then, not just when he’s being fucked by his father. Keigo doesn’t know if it makes him like the kid more or less. Probably more.

“What about you?” Keigo retorts, staring at the single hickey that peeks out above Shouto’s collar. “You live in the dorms now. Your mom and the rest of your siblings have a new house. Why come back at all?”

Keigo still can’t figure it out, can’t figure out if it was all just an act on Shouto’s part, or if the fear, the cries, the begging, were all genuine. He can’t quite figure this kid out, and Keigo is able to figure everyone out.

A cold flame fills Shouto’s eyes, and Keigo has to ask himself if this is the same helpless kid from earlier, pleading for his father to fuck, pleading for Keigo to fuck him.

“You know what they say: old habits die hard.”

“And you’ve made it a habit to fuck your father?”

Shouto smirks. The kid likes him—Keigo can’t say that he feels any differently about Shouto either. “I had a rough childhood.”

Keigo’s heard the rumors; every pro-hero who’s made their way into top rankings knows about Endeavor’s past, but he doesn’t suppose that any of them have even an idea of how far the truth really goes.

“Even so, this is something you want?” Keigo finds himself asking, wanting to know for himself.

“Don’t lecture me on what’s right and what’s wrong,” Shouto sighs, walking around Keigo and back into the house. “We’re in this together now.”

With that, he leaves Keigo alone out in the snow, wearing nothing but a fluffy bathrobe and guilt of his own making.