He registered your approach long before you came into view. But before he could even begin his rehearsed plea for directions, you completely blew past his expectations.

The sudden, frantic crunch of boots cutting through fresh snow caught him off guard.

​"My goodness, what are you doing out here without a proper coat?" you scolded gently, breathing a plume of white mist into the freezing air.

Before he could understand how bold it was for you to be so close, you started to move. You began unbuttoning your heavy winter coat.

The instant the fabric parted, the biting wind tore through your thin scrubs, but you didn't even flinch. You slipped it off and held it out to him. "Take this."

"...Pardon?" 

​"Take it," you insisted. Stepping closer, you stood on your tiptoes to drape the warm fabric over his shoulders, stretching to ensure it covered him properly. "I'll be fine."

​A blatant lie.

He watched the tremor take hold of your jaw the moment the smallest wind hit you. Yet somehow that fact seemed less important to you than a stranger's comfort.

"No, no," he replied mildly, though he made no move to push the coat away. "I couldn't possibly—"

"Yes, you could, you're shivering violently," you chided, your hands brushing against his chest as you tucked the collar closer to his chin. Your fingers were cold. "The trains are delayed because of the blizzard, and you don't even have a scarf. Are you trying to catch hypothermia?"

You grabbed his large, gloveless hand—the very hand meant to steal your livelihood—and dragged him toward the glowing alcove of a nearby vending machine. You hastily punched in a few coins, dropping a hot can of sweet coffee into his palm, forcing his fingers to wrap around the metal.

​"Hold that. Keep your hands warm," you said, checking his face for signs of frostbite. "Do you live nearby? If you can make it to the station, I can walk with you."

You were still trying to help him, even now.

Even after giving away your scarf.

​All For One stared down at the hot can in his hand, then looked at your shivering form. He could have taken your Quirk right then. A single press of his palm to your face, and it would be over. His mind, usually ten steps ahead of every hero and villain in Japan, couldn’t help but study you carefully. Trying to find the motive, the hidden expectation. There had to be one; people always wanted something.

Yet, as you helplessly brush snow from your sleeves and begin worrying aloud about frostbite, he found nothing.

How unfortunate for you.

He had come here intending to steal your Quirk, leave your Quirkless shell behind and forget your face by morning. Now, for the first time all evening, he found himself genuinely looking at you.

He could steal a Quirk. But whatever it was that made you stop for a stranger in the snow without expecting anything in return—that was a spark he couldn't simply reach out and tear from your chest. And suddenly, he wanted it too. He was All For One, after all; there was nothing you could do to stop him. Yet, unlike your Quirk, he wasn't entirely sure how to take it.

"You're very kind," he remarked.

The compliment seemed to embarrass you.

"Oh," you glanced away, "I'm just doing what anyone would do. Besides, I'd be a pretty terrible medical professional if I just walked past you."

​No, you wouldn't, he thought, watching the puff of white condensation leave your lips.

That was becoming increasingly obvious. You genuinely believed everyone would stop and give away their coat. That reminds him terribly of his little brother, the exact same foolish, bleeding heart. Always weeping for the weak, never understanding that the world simply chews up people like you and spits out the bones.

"A medical professional?" he asked. He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours. "What is it you do?"

"I'm a nurse, " you replied. "I run the late-night triage at the community clinic a few blocks down. We get a lot of elderly patients who can't make it to the major hospitals, especially in weather like this."

A nurse as expected, his ledger had told him as much. Yet hearing it from your own mouth felt more personal. 

"That sounds difficult."

​"It has its moments," you admitted, checking the time on your phone. "Which reminds me—I actually need to keep moving. I have a home-care patient who lives right by the station. If the trains are delayed, she won't get her insulin check. I was on my way to her when I spotted you."

You stepped closer again, entirely unbothered by his intimidating height, and tapped the hot can of sweet coffee you had forced into his hand.

​"So, here's the plan," you said. "The trains are still running on a fifteen-minute delay, so if you head down that avenue, you'll catch the next one. Take care of yourself, alright? Don't let me catch you out here without a coat again."

There it was.

The moment he had intended from the beginning. His objective stood directly in front of him, within reach, a simple touch, then he would leave. You would become another tally mark in a century-long ledger. Another Quirk. Nothing more.

"Of course," his voice remained grateful. "I'll make sure to get straight to the station."

You smiled again, fully expecting to never see him again. What a tragic little shame.

​"You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble for a stranger," he said. "But thank you. Truly."

He wrapped his large fingers around yours, trapping the coffee can between your palms. It felt like a perfectly natural gesture of gratitude at first. 

​"Oh—it's really no problem," you stammered, a bit startled by the sudden proximity. You tried to gently pull back, but he didn't let go. Instead, he leaned down slightly, his breath pluming in the freezing air just inches from your face.

​"No, let me look at you," he whispered, a soft smile touching his lips. His thumb began to trace the back of your hand, watching your eyes widen in confusion.

​"Sir...?" your voice trembled, a faint instinct of danger finally sparking in your chest. "You're holding quite tight."

​"Am I?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes boring into yours.

​Then, he activated the power.

​Deep within your chest, the warmth of your healing Quirk fractured. He felt it break away from your soul, a heat flowing up through your neck, pouring past your cheek, and rushing straight into the palm of his hand.

​You violently yanked your hands out of his grip, stumbling backward until your boots slipped on the ice as your spine slammed hard against the brick wall of the alcove. You collapsed into yourself, panting violently, clutching at your chest. 

​"What..." you stared at him, your eyes wide with burgeoning horror. "What did you just do to me?"

He simply stood there in the falling snow, draped in your winter coat, turning the hot can of coffee over in his hands as the steaming liquid poured out, melting a black hole into the pristine white snow.

​He tossed the empty aluminum can aside. It clattered against the frozen pavement, completely forgotten before it even stopped rolling.

​"I took your Quirk," he answered.

For several seconds, you simply blinked at him, trying to decide whether he was joking or insane.

​"What?" you stammered, your hands frantically pressing against your own skin, searching for the familiar spark that was completely gone. "What does that even mean?"

​"Exactly what I said," he replied. "Your Quirk belongs to me now. Thank you for that, as well."

​"That's not... that's not possible." You shook your head, panic broke through your confusion. "Who are you? Give it back. Give it back to me! I need it! My patients—"

​"Your patients will find someone else," he interrupted, his tone remarkably gentle, as if he were explaining a simple truth to a child. "Or they won't. It hardly matters now."

​"You... you're a villain," you whispered, the reality finally settling into your bones, your kind eyes were now filled with tears of helplessness. "You're a monster."

​"Perhaps," All For One smiled, taking a step toward you, closing the distance you had just tried to create. "But I am an exceedingly grateful monster. You were so concerned that I might be left out in the blizzard alone, weren't you? Don't worry, dear. I fully intend to return the favor."

He reached out again, the rough pad of his thumb sweeping a stray tear from your cheek before the bitter air could freeze it. You tried to press yourself deeper into the brick, shrinking away until your knees trembled so violently they threatened to give out completely.

"Do you like blue?" 

You blinked, the conversation derailed so abruptly that your fear visibly stumbled over itself.

​"The color," he clarified. "Blue."

You continued staring. "I know what blue is..."

​"Good. I want to ensure you're comfortable," he said, seeming to be thinking aloud now. "I was debating between a soft blue or perhaps something a bit warmer for a bedroom. A cream, maybe? Though, I suppose it doesn't really matter right now. Blue can always be repainted."

"Wait, what room?" you whispered, a desperate surge of adrenaline making you push against his chest, though his massive frame didn't move an inch. 

He didn't get angry. He just looked down at your hands against his shirt with an indulgent gaze. Slowly, his hand came down, wrapping completely over both of your wrists and easing your weak resistance to a halt.

Your steel armor, once with the dignity of a knight, had instead been swapped out for a silly silver bikini—the shimmery fabric tacky and cheap, allowing your nipples to peak forth. Covering it was a top and a skirt made up of silver chains, which only further mocked the appearance of chainmail—looking more like the jewelry a stripper might wear.

He’d forgone your helmet, boots, and sword entirely. Truly, if it weren’t for the detailing of the pattern making the fabric vaguely resemble plated armor, it wouldn’t have been much different from any other set of lingerie.

And still, it’s just similar enough to make it sting.

“Look at you...” he jeers, his voice sodden with taunt—carmine stare faded and gleeful, thoroughly enjoying it. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He stands behind you in the mirror, holding you delicately by the hips, intimately close, dressed in another one of his black suits, fully clothed in devastating contrast to you. His smile curls as he roams your ill-covered body, kissed with the flush of chagrin, leering at you in the reflection—his voice slithering right by your ear.

“Though I can’t say I remember it being quite so revealing, can you?” he jokes, running his hands up and down your waist, fiddling some with the intricacies—metal daintily clinking and clangoring. “No, there’s something else that’s different...”

You feel so humiliated, so small—as if he could hold you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. It isn’t just a feeling—you’re well aware that he most likely could.

“Why yes, of course…” he hums with delayed realization—you know he’s faking for anticipation, chittering while wrapping his thick arms around your tiny midsection, giving you a firm squeeze. “You’ve lost all muscle.”

It’s a painful truth. You don’t know how many months it’s been. Perhaps a year has passed already, maybe even more. He keeps you well aware of his triumph in the outside world, but time still eludes you.

You’d tried maintaining it in the beginning, even after he’d taken your quirk. You’d been vigilant, keeping up your workout regimens just as religiously as before. But you couldn’t pick what you ate, nor when—and he’d only feed you cake. It wasn’t long before all your hard-earned muscles had melted away like popsicle syrup off the stick, licked and lapped right up by the man holding you.

“Mmh, yes…” he murmurs gratingly while swaying you back against him, lips pressing against your ear. “And it’s left you oh-so-soft.”

His bulbous crotch slots against your upper ass, resting there as it grows fatter and warm—a sign of his enjoyment. The weight of him makes you feel all but paper-thin.

His voice rasps now. “If I were to give you your quirk back, I wager you wouldn’t even be able to use it anymore—it would sooner rip your poor limbs apart.”

It’s beyond cruel to suggest—as if disgracing your old costume wasn’t enough torment already. You bite your lip, gnaw it harshly—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“Isn’t that just fascinating?” He gives your earlobe a gentle bite, and the whimper in your throat springs free like prey out of hiding.

A sniffle shortly followed—along the dribble of the night’s very first tears. Your diminished spirit has made you all too prone to cry as if there’s nothing else for you to do but indulge in the small comfort it gives.

“Oh, sweetie—don’t weep over prowess long since lost. It was never enough to challenge me anyway,” he coos, as if consoling you—swaying your smaller brittle body back against his looming chest, a cage that seemed to swallow you whole.

Steering your jaw, he holds your face still before the mirror, unable to look away as the tears dribble down your sorry cheeks—he smears them further with a kiss.

“The world would chew you up as you are now, fragile like glass.” The grin curling his lips makes you resemble prey caught on a predator’s teeth—you can’t help but shiver at the sight of it. You wish he wouldn’t toy with you like food and just kill you already. “Mark my words, hero—the belly of the beast would not grant you as much comfort as I do.”

His other hand slips down to cup your mound—firmly, with a squeeze that has you curl yourself back against him as he presses two tough fingerpads into your clothed clit, rubbing it tightly enough to make your thighs shake.

“You’re better off like this,” he grunts, snickers at how your weak hands clutch the sleeve of his suit, curling the fabric in your palms until your knuckles whiten—watching the furrow further crease between your cinched brows as you try and bite back your pathetic little sounds even as more tears come tumbling down your swollen cheeks. “Mh, my pretty plaything.”

He makes you continue to look at yourself as he simply slides the panty to the side of your cunt. Encouraging you to place your hands flat against the mirror as he bends you forward, then to step back and stand atop his dress shoes.

“Don’t be shy now,” he makes sure to tell you. “You’re as light and negligible as a feather.”

He parts his feet and yours along with them, spreading your thighs enough to accommodate the fat heat he soon slides between them. Rigid and veiny, it competes with the size of your forearm—so thick that when he slaps it up against your slit, your knees buckle from the impact.

His chuckles rumble across your body like an earthquake. You only realize how much it makes you shake when he encloses your hip in his big hand, steadying you. Holding you still as he drags his engorged cockhead through your lips, catching your clit before resting on your entrance.

You’re so sore from prior nights—countless hours locked in this room with his visits the only thing keeping you company—everything has yet to forgive you for the wreckage those visits leave behind. Your sorry little puss rues and dreads another defeat now as he sinks inside the comfort of your battered walls, one unyielding inch at a time. 

You wince and tense, shoulders bracing, and yet he pushes deeper, sliding you down his shaft until you rest at the hilt of his base, kneading the tip into your gummy womb, giving it a deep kiss that bulges out from your poor belly.

The sight in the mirror is morbid, even more so than the feeling—the way he molds your insides to fit him, to cater and house his length and size. 

“Ah—just perfect, isn’t it, hero?” he purrs, chest resting heavily upon your spine while dwarfing both your hips in a firm grip, chin-stubble scraping along your neck as his voice comes out hot against your ear, “Obedience suits you so well, don’t you agree?”

Your knees buckle once he starts the heavy pace—slowly pounding into you from behind, dragging out and pushing deep in womb-robbing thrusts. You pant from the toll of it, feeling your muscles give—too tired and too broken to continue acting tough. He’s the only reason you’re left upright on your feet—keeping you standing with just his hold on your haunches. It seems like nothing to him, though it feels like the weight of the world to you.

“It’s only a shame it had to come with all these scars.” He clicks his tongue, eyes raking across your body as it takes him, resting on each mark disrupting the otherwise milk-smooth skin. “If only you’d accepted your place sooner.”

The ember burning within you is all but a piece of cooling charcoal now. You feel it diminish every day, leaving you even thinner than before.

“But then again, I quite enjoy you like this—littered with my battle scars from your toes up to your crown. It’s rather intimate, isn’t it?” he hums with a smile. “Proof of all the times I could’ve quashed you beneath my foot like a pitiful bug but decided to spare you. Teach you how to worship like the weak ought to.”

There was a time when you still humored the thought of killing him, even with your quirk taken from you. You thought, in your foolishness, that being this close to him must garner an opportunity, any, however slim, just enough for you to take advantage and finish what you vowed to end so long ago.

Now, you almost don’t care anymore. The world had moved on without you, and there was nothing more you could do about it.

You realize your promise had been as cheap as this outfit.

“The greater the fall, the sweeter the surrender, isn’t that right?” he states. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally accept your place in the world, hero?”

You can only nod your head and agree.

All For One would casually molest you during a meeting. A hand on your thigh as he speaks to some poor subordinate, the hand rising higher and higher… poor you. You should’ve know that particularly subordinate’s eyes have been following you around, all while thinking All For One couldn’t see. One orgasm later, your lower half covered in sweat and cum, along with AFO’s hands. Only he knows how to please you, AFO showed him that. After proving that, AFO turns that lowly subordinate into a nomu. Honestly, death would’ve been better end for him.

You preferred when he kept you under his desk as he zoom called his subordinates. It was embarrassing with how loud your choking was, his thick cock going up and down your throat as he occasionally sipped on his wine.

“We have captured a new interest-“ *gagging sounds* “a new interesting q-“ *LOUD gagging*

“Spit it out already, I’d prefer to get back to *enjoying* my wine.” AFO would say as he guided your head up and down his shaft. He lifts your head up for you to catch a breath.

“Dear, make sure you clean me *completely*” You knew the drill and started licking at his balls.