Trigger Warning:

- mention of rape

- mention of PTSD

Izuku booked a taxi on the public cab app.

A taxi large enough to accommodate a two-meter tall woman.

Given the crowds on the street, though, traffic was immense.

So while he waited for the nearest cab that was twenty minutes away to make its journey, he guided Kamiko to a bench and held her hand.

Finally, the taxi arrived. Sparing a moment to assure that Kamiko would be fine on her own for a few seconds, Izuku got up and walked toward the cab. The driver's face told him everything he needed to know. Another anti-mutant racist douchebag. Why was someone like him in this business if he resented mutants so much? Izuku was half-tempted to summon another ride, but then thought better of it. Another taxi would have taken just as long or even longer to come, and he did not have that kind of luxury right now. Besides, Izuku knew how to deal with people like him. All it took was resurfacing his memories of the time he fought the League of Villains and let the emotions manifest on his face. That usually served as enough of a warning to the recipient. It certainly got the message across: 'keep-your-filthy-thoughts-to-yourself.'

The driver swallowed audibly and gave one last sneer before schooling his features into nonchalance.

"Where to?" he asked carefully.

Izuku glanced behind at Kamiko. "One moment." He moved back toward her to tell her that their ride was here. Quietly, she got up and lagged toward the car. Without looking away from the ground once, she mumbled the address and thanked the driver before sitting inside the seat whose door Izuku opened for her.

The ride passed by in palpable tension. Save for Kamiko's occasional sniffles, it was utterly silent. Izuku was not sure what to do. He had gotten her to overcome the panic attack, but now what? How was he supposed to help her through the aftermath? His therapist certainly had not told him about that as he dealt with his own PTSD? Izuku imagined what he would like if he were in Kamiko's place. It could be called projection, but this was for her own benefit.

Her head was in Izuku's lap, feet curled up into a ball, eyes shut. The perfect position for him to test out his idea. Although Kamiko was technically breaking the law by not wearing a seatbelt, no one felt the need to point that out. Izuku began stroking her strawberry blonde locks. Slowly. Rhythmically. Once in a while, he broke the pattern to scratch her behind the ear. The one spot that instantly calmed her down. The motions seemed to work. She never opened her eyes, but her shoulders fell and the whimpers faded.

Some time later, their destination arrived. Izuku paid the fare. The driver could not leave soon enough. While Izuku supported Kamiko on the way to the front door, he got a good glimpse of the home. Single-family. Double-story. But enormous. The typical dimensions of a house multiplied by a factor of three. He supposed that made sense for a very tall woman. Kamiko rang the doorbell while Izuku admired the house a bit more.

He had just noticed the zinnia flowerbeds when something tugged at the hem of his shirt. He brushed it off initially, thinking it was a wayward breeze of wind. The tugging became more insistent.

Izuku looked ahead of him. No one.

"Down here," a woman's voice growled menacingly.

He listened to the command. Indeed, there was a woman with her fingers still pulling the hem. That was not the shocking part. It was the height difference. Izuku had presumed that since Kamiko was tall, her parents would be, too. But this woman – her mother, he presumed – was shorter than him. He had grown about ten centimeters since his first year at U.A., which put him at around one hundred and seventy-six centimeters. Kamiko's mother was about half a meter less than that. Perhaps even shorter.

Although the woman certainly made up for the height difference with her attitude. What is that stereotype? Short people are prone to outbursts because their bodies are not big enough to contain their anger? Izuku did not like to believe that, but with the way this cream-colored mutant fennec fox glared up at him with a mother's rage, he was scared. Even during his tenure of fighting the worst villains humanity had ever seen, he had never been this afraid.

After all, he was meeting his girlfriend's parents for the first time. Who would not be shivering on the inside like a rattlesnake?

"Who are you?" she demanded. "And why are you holding my daughter? Release her this instant!"

"Ma'am, I'm not-" Izuku started.

Kamiko also rose to his defense.

Her mother started sniffing him. He paused, completely surprised. Izuku had worn the kind of cologne that lingers all day. He could not possibly smell horrible, could he? Her long, triangular ears twitched.

Slowly, her fury seeped. Drooping ears, sagged tail, a huff of air. She made no effort to be subtle about it. Finally, she was not angry at him.

She sighed, "You didn't hurt my daughter. That's such a relief." Then she gave him the side eye. "You're not off the hook, either. Come inside."

Her tone left no room for argument. Izuku assisted Kamiko inside. He shucked off his shoes at the same foot mat that Kamiko did. Immediately, he was introduced to the third member of the family: Kamiko's father.

Kamiko's father moved forward to hold his daughter. Not once did he spare a glance toward Izuku. Great, Izuku thought to himself. First impressions are going so well. Thoroughly humbled by the mother and now ignored by the father, Izuku took a few steps back, letting the trio have their moment together.

It was sweet, though. A fennec fox mother; a coyote father; a red fox daughter. Amongst animals, that kind of interspecies breeding did not happen. But these people were mutants. Humans with some animal traits. Hence, it was not so much a question about species instead of race. And interracial marriages and children happened all the time.

Also, Izuku's earlier assumption about height was not unfounded. Kamiko's father was indeed very tall. Taller than him, shorter than his daughter. That did not mean Izuku could look at his face without craning his head.

Seeing their daughter's solemn demeanor, a hushed, rushed conversation ensued between the husband and wife. Izuku could not make out any words, but the mother took Kamiko's hand and ushered her upstairs. And finally, the father acknowledged Izuku's presence.

"Follow me, young man," he commanded, less emotionally than his wife but equally decisive. Like husband, like wife, Izuku once again thought. He had even seen that trait manifest in their daughter. So he did as was told.

Kamiko had changed her outer wear for a combination of cotton T-shirt and drawstring pajamas. After the ordeal earlier, she was exhausted. During the entire ride in the taxi, she had been resisting the temptation to fall asleep into a deep slumber. Now that she was in her own bed, curled up in a blanket from head to toe, it felt so much easier to give in. Still, she suppressed the feeling a little longer. Her mother wanted to talk to her.

Kamiko's short-statured mother pulled her daughter's desk chair and moved it beside the bed. "So …" she began as she took a seat. "That boy was very cute."

Too weak to give a response, Kamiko simply hummed and tugged the blanket closer. Her russet fur provided enough insulation against the cold, so she used thin bed covers to prevent herself from overheating. Of course, her mother's comment was producing too much heat. Of the other kind. The kind that sent blood rushing up her cheeks, turning red even redder.

At her daughter's silence, her mother continued. Dramatically crossing her legs, putting one elbow on her knee, and resting her chin in her palm, she stared off into a past only she could envision. "Were he born twenty or thirty years earlier, I would have gladly asked him out."

"Mom?" Kamiko called out, slowly regaining the strength to say something comprehensible.

"Or if he were twenty to thirty years older right now. I'd still ask."

Kamiko's eyes widened. "You love Dad!"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "That's obvious. I'm only saying that if I were single and looking for a new partner, that green-haired boy would not be a bad choice. He's got those innocent looks, too."

"He is my mate!" Kamiko shouted, at last having had enough embarrassment for the night. Immediately, she winced. The gleam in her mother's eyes told her that she had played right into her hands.

Kamiko's mother put her other arm up, cupping her face with both palms. "So … When, where, how did you meet him? And exactly when were you going to tell me?"

Izuku did not know what was happening upstairs, but while Kamiko's mother was grilling her daughter for details, Kamiko's father initiated his interrogation of Izuku.

"I would be a fool not to recognize your face," her dad said after beckoning him to take a seat. He had brought Izuku to the drawing room, where there were two sofas and four couches arranged in a rectangle around a central coffee table. Izuku glanced at the sofa her father had indicated. It was oversize just like the dimensions of the house. If he were told that the cushions would swallow him whole, he would not dismiss it completely as a lie.

However, he acquiesced to the order. Bakugou had asked him and Kamiko during lunch if they had introduced each other to their parents. Well, bless his luck! Hours later, here he was.

"Midoriya Izuku. Better known as Pro-Hero Deku. The future Symbol of Peace," Kamiko's father stated. He poured out two mugs of tea and passed one to Izuku.

Izuku nodded. "You can simply call me by my name. No formalities required." He accepted the mug. Barley tea.

The man raised an eyebrow. "I'm not so sure. As a citizen of Japan, thank you for your efforts during the wars, Deku-san. As a father of a girl, I must ask why you were my daughter's company. So tell me. What is your relationship with my daughter?"

This was one of the least ideal ways to announce his relationship with Kamiko, but lying or stalling it would do more harm. He took a deep breath and said, "I am her boyfriend; she is my girlfriend."

The dad's eyes narrowed just slightly. "When did you meet her? And how long has this relationship been going?"

Izuku told him about the rainy night a few years ago when he had become a vigilante. The mob, the frightened girl, the hero defusing the situation, and the umbrella. That was their first encounter. Brief and almost forgettable. But he had not totally forgotten about her. Then he described their second encounter. A starry night, a beach, and an accidental crash. They became friends, friends turned into something more … Now they were dating.

Kamiko's father listened to every word intently. Intermittently, he took a sip of his drink and ate a biscuit. So when he set down his empty mug and sighed, Izuku could instantly tell that he was much less suspicious of him.

He said, "Kamiko told us that you had rescued her from the gang that attempted to rape her. I was curious how you happened to be at the scene so quickly, but now I understand. Thank you for protecting her."

"Indeed," a third voice interrupted. Izuku's head whipped toward the source. Her mother had descended the stairs and was leaning against the railing pole that was taller than her. "In fact we should have expressed our gratitude a long time ago. Better late than never, though. Have some more biscuits!"

While he appreciated their sentiments greatly, he could not allow himself to revel in the joy fully. "You don't blame me? For what happened to her and is happening now?" Why were they not upset with him? Sure, he had gotten in there in the nick of time to prevent Kamiko from being assaulted, but the damage was already done. He still felt guilty. Even more so after the panic attack earlier.

"What do you mean now? Is there something bothering Kamiko?" her mother asked.

Oh, Izuku realized. She had not informed her parents of her PTSD. He debated with himself, deciding whether it was a good idea to divulge information about their daughter that she had not chosen to share. Then he shook off his hesitation. These people cared about their child. They were good parents. Of course, they deserved to know what was bothering Kamiko.

"Well," Izuku spoke. "You won't like what I have to say." And so revealed the nyctophobia, agoraphobia, panic attacks, and other traumatic responses Kamiko had displayed since that horrific night. The atmosphere he had just managed to ease suddenly tensed up again.

When he finished, the couple began muttering threats. "I'll break into prison and beat those scumbags to pulp," the dad hissed. Meanwhile, the mom was much more creative with her curses. "I'll peel the skin off their backs with a cleaver knife, boil it into stew, and feed it to the pigs at the butcher's slaughterhouse. No. I have a better idea. I will lather them with lemon juice and …" Izuku was glad that he was not on the receiving end of this woman's hatred anymore. Otherwise, he would be the one facing lemon juice torture. Just imagining it sent a shudder down his spine.

So when their vengeance vows become a little too crass, he interrupted, "They're all in prison. Life imprisonment. I promise you. Kamiko bit a huge chunk of flesh from an ankle, and I ensured that the rest would be incapable of walking normally ever again."

That seemed to assuage their temper just enough to stop the swearing.

Again, he marvelled at the mother's capacity for anger. Apparently, his staring caught the attention of the woman.

His cheeks burned scarlet. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to stare! It's just … your spouse is so tall. So is your daughter. I thought you would be, too."

Much to his immense relief, Kamiko's mom laughed it off. Having seemingly forgotten her previous rage, she poured him another mug of barley tea and explained, "You're not wrong to think that. Believe me, I still get many strange looks from others when I go out in the streets with my husband. I was around your height when I was younger, but then all of a sudden, I got afflicted with a skeletal disease. Similar to osteoporosis. My bones became weaker, breaking and collapsing. I lost plenty of decimeters. This happened a few years after I had Kamiko. Luckily I healed, but the doctors told me that Kamiko would be the only child I could conceive for the rest of my life."

Though she was very casual with her story, Izuku felt more regretful for making her narrate it. "I'm sorry."

She waved her hand. "Don't be. I've learned to feel ashamed of little as possible in this life when the entire world ridicules you."

He immediately understood what she was referring to. In a society where mutants were scorned, there were more pressing concerns to focus on rather than lamenting a past already done and a future that will never be attained.

"Say," she changed the topic. "Would you like a tour of the house?"

Izuku had lost track of time.

Maybe minutes or hours later, the tour was over.

Well, most of the tour.

Kamiko's mother had saved her daughter's room for last. "Go in yourself. When you and Kamiko feel ready, come down for dinner." Yet Izuku hesitated. It was proper to knock first, right? Let the person inside know that you were outside? Before he could make up his mind, the woman made it up for him. She opened the knob just slightly and swung her hips, jostling him inside.

He stumbled further into the room just as the door was closed from outside.

The ceiling light was on, illuminating everything inside the bedroom. Izuku spared a few moments to observe the place. Two words popped into his mind immediately: plushie factory. Literally, the room was stocked with animal plushies. Dolphins, turtles, lions, tigers, wolves, snakes, foxes. It reminded him of the gift shop of a zoo but ten times more adorable. After all, this was his girlfriend's bedroom. A physical manifestation of her personality. Why would he not find her obsession cute?

Speaking of his girlfriend …

Izuku a fox-shaped lump hiding under a sheet for a blanket on the bed. He sat on the edge carefully and remained quiet. Slowly, a reddish-brown snout peeped from the hem. Izuku lightly touched her nose. A single bop.

She giggled and hid under the dovers. A few seconds later, she reappeared. Again, he bopped her nose. More giggling. They played this little game of hide-and-seek when he felt a crick in his back and groaned.

Kamiko tossed the blanket aside and sat upright. "Is everything all right? Are you okay?"

Izuku laughed. Between chuckles, he said that he was supposed to be asking those questions. But Izuku liked that his welfare was being considered as well. "Backache," he replied. "Nothing much."

"Would you like a massage? I give pretty good massages," she offered.

Kamiko did not know what took control of her. This was so unlike her. She would have never suggested something so … so, intimate … Then she reconsidered. Already they had shared a few passionate kisses. What was this in comparison? Besides, her boyfriend had been an utter sweetheart the whole day. He took care of her and met her parents for the first time, unprepared. The least he deserved was a remedy for his back pain.

He consented.

"Okay. Turn around."

He did. With his back facing her, she became acutely aware of the planes and ridges that comprised it. She placed her hands on his shoulders. Soft, firm palms coated with a very thin layer of fur. The tactile features only heightened the sensation of hard muscle concealed with a jacket. They slid down until they reached his shoulder blades. "Here?" she asked. He shook his head. He told her to go a little down. Down, down, down. Finally, she reached the spot where the pain was the brightest: his lower back. Right where the lumbar vertebrae assembled.

Kamiko slipped her hands beneath his jacket but above his shirt. Immediately, she began pressing and kneading the area. She hoped she was doing a good job. Two minutes into the treatment, she got confirmation. Izuku threw his head back and sighed.

It was then that she got an idea. She had taken a teeny-tiny step out of her comfort zone just now. There should not have been much harm into taking a few more, right?

She whispered, "Squeezy. So very squeezy." And Kamiko continued to massage the area. It was a little marvelling that a hero in the making riddled with muscles would have such tender flesh. She could not stop murmuring that silly phrase and admiring the irony. When she noticed that Izuku was starting to fall asleep, she stopped. "Would you like me to keep going?" she asked, snapping him out of his dreamlike state.

"Huh? Oh, that's enough. Thank you very much. I feel a lot better now."

"That's good," Kamiko responded before retrieving a hairbrush. "It was the intended effect." She began brushing her tail. The hairs had stood up in some places from her outburst earlier and the subsequent mummification in the blanket. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Izuku entranced by the motions. Feeling a little courageous yet a little shy, she proffered the handle of the hairbrush to him. A silent invitation to take it and finish what she started.

The moment he held her tail, a thrill of electricity coursed up and down her body. The mate bond. Kamiko was always hypersensitive around Izuku. Even during their kisses, she felt excited. But this … with him literally holding the appendage that twitched every time she simply thought of the bond … oh, goodness, she could spontaneously combust.

Slowly, the brush caught the hairs, moving from russet red to dusty white. Rhythmically. Methodically. As though he had done this a hundred times. It was Kamiko's turn to be caught up in the magic of a pleasant waking dream.

She did not realize when she had shifted positions. One second, she had her back toward him. The next, she was lying stomach down on the mattress. No blanket to cover herself this time. Izuku never stopped combing her tail.

Kamiko fisted the pillow in her hands and purred. The more he continued, the louder her purrs of pleasure became. Eventually, it reached the point where she buried her face into the pillow to dampen them. Otherwise, her parents would have definitely charged up the stairs, furiously demanding the source for a lawn-mower-loud sounds. No need for them to think she was doing something scandalous.

The next stroke was particularly thrilling.

Metaphorically speaking, Kamiko died of happiness.

After a copious meal and equally bountiful jokes, Izuku took his leave.

Kamiko escorted him to the door and watched him put on his shoes. "Thank you for everything you did for me today," Kamiko said.

He smiled that angelic smile she adored. "Don't mention it."

Yet she felt it was wrong to let him go without a final sweet memory.

Her feet moved forward of their own accord, and her hands reached for him without her realizing it. She bent until she was at level and cupped his face. Not a moment later, her lips were on his. All she thought was that her boyfriend deserved more than a simple expression of gratitude for how amazing he was. After a second, she noticed that she had caught him off guard.

She started pulling back, but Izuku raised his arms and pulled her closer by the shoulders.

He angled his head, deepening the kiss.

Kamiko reciprocated.

"Good night, Kamiko," he whispered when they broke apart.

"Good night, Izuku."

Another kiss.

She murmured, "Text me when you get home."

A final kiss.

"Promise."