why am i so in love with fear?

But the way you're acting now—seems more concerning.

“Yeah,” is all he warrants as an answer. Though, he was curious as to yours as he begs the same question, “What about me?”

A smile graces your face then—there’s a comfort to it, a mild and affectionate one, unexaggerated, honest, as you smoothly swing your leg over his lap.

A look like that has no place on your face, especially when regarding him, and yet he finds himself hoping for more. He lays his book aside as you lean forward and doesn't stop you when you cup his face in both your palms.

“As far as I'm concerned, you’re not just the prettiest boy in the world—you're the only boy in the world.” You say it with a kiss, lips just as soft as the words leaving them. It shocks him, though he accepts and gives it back.

You close your eyes, laying your chest against his—he keeps his open to look at you. Observing and assessing.

You’ve truly become a whole other person altogether. A far cry from the tough hero you once were—the one who’d beat him within an inch of his life and leave him to choke on the blood.

“Will you stay with me today?” you ask against his lips—playing with his hair, looping the curly tresses around your fingers.

There’s a neediness to your voice, a certain desperation, a sadness—something lonely and something that reminds him all too much of himself. He feels both a strong urge to reject and soothe it all at the same time.

“No, I gotta go,” he says despite it. He had business.

You hide your face in his neck and continue with your tracing, now on the scrapes striping his throat where he’s raked his nails time and time again. “When will you come back?” Your tone comes out even sweeter, only a murmur mushed against his skin.

It nearly makes his heart twist. “It’s better I don’t answer that.”

It’s funny. Though the thought had struck him, he didn’t gauge any ill intentions. You could be asking, acting, plotting some escape based on the hours of his absence—yet somehow, with the way you nuzzle into him like that, as though you’re pouring your all-too-candid grief into him, he can't sense any other ulterior motive.

“Last time you left at this hour, you came back all beaten and bruised,” you mutter, now with a hint of bitterness—as if you’re cursing whoever hurt him under your breath.

It’s ironic. He sneers lazily, almost fondly, at the old memory. “You’re the one who used to beat and bruise me, remember?”

He’s truly curious if you do. Or if something’s spirited your past life away and left you like this—no longer an aspiring young hero, but something whose only value is warming his bed at night.

You arise, an appalled look of affront upon your face.

“No, that can’t be right,” you very nearly cry, as if the very thought was killing you. “I would never hurt you—I love you too much.”

Apparently, you don’t remember who you were at all.

“Love me?” he all but croaks. It’s a laughable prospect, and yet he doesn’t even smile. There’s something awful in his gut that prevents him. “Don't be stupid. You can't love me.”

Your face doesn’t drop its grimace, only further tears with forlorn outrage. “Of course, I love you!" you insist. "You’re my whole reason for living...”

You look so despaired—wrecked from his dismissal. The tears well quickly then slip down your face just as fast—and yet it isn’t the same crying as you used to. This time, it’s quiet—in wait or in dread as you beg the question, 

“Don't you love me?”

It’s an unexpected one, and it quickly proves to be an existential one—even more so than your unnerving confession. Despite not wanting to, it leaves him to dig through the muck in his head he’d long ignored, down in the dark where he’d tried burying the truth he'd felt oncoming. He'd wanted to deny it, reject it, amend it, simply because it confused him too much to acknowledge—complicated things—changed things he didn’t want or need changing.

He wonders if it’s somehow proof of fate—even though he despises such a concept. That, no matter how much you practice free will, no matter how many knots you make upon the red string, the world will pull and straighten it out, and you’re left to realize you’d brought it all on yourself.

First, he took your quirk, then he took your body—your mind shortly followed—and now it seems he’s managed to take your heart, too. 

There’s nothing left of you that isn’t his. 

There was a time he’d frolic at the thought of having reduced you to such a pathetic ghost in a shell—back then, he’d do anything to destroy you—he’d surely shatter you into a million little scattered pieces if presented with the chance, make sure you were broken for good. 

But that was the old him. Or rather, that was his dream for the old you—the hero he loathed down to his rotten core.

But the pretty misty-eyed thing looking down at him now, aching for his answer, wasn’t that person anymore.

And the truth is, the person you are now scares him more than that hero ever did. 

You were… well, you were the person who warms his bed at night, the person who traces his scars and plays with his hair—the person who wraps themselves around him and keeps him from falling apart when he stumbles through the door into the tiny little room he keeps you a prisoner in. You're his.

This time, his heart does twist. He’s never before spoken the words that dance on his tongue, or if he has, they’ve been long forgotten and come out as dust balls as he affirms them now, 

“Yes. I love you.”

There’s a flash of hope in your eyes, though it just as quickly diminishes—as if you don’t believe him.

Your lip warbles as you confirm it, “No, you don’t.”

More tears run silently down the tracks on your cheeks, gathering at the tip of your chin before dripping upon his chest—each one like a gunshot through something hollow.

“If you did, you wouldn’t go. You wouldn’t leave me here in this room, all alone.” Your nails curl into your palms where they rest atop him. You bow your head as though you can’t bear to look at him, as if it hurts. The next words come out beneath your breath, “How am I supposed to compete with the whole world?”

You’re making him feel like dying. The continuous twists of his heart feel as if you’re about to tear it right out of his chest.

He sits up and lifts your face. It’s strange, even with his two-finger gloves on. He doesn’t think he’s ever held you like this. Though, suppose it’s been a night of many firsts already. And here comes another,

“As far as I’m concerned, you are my world.”

There you are, the one thing he doesn’t wish to destroy.

Your sore eyes become round, then swell with different tears. There’s a hitch in your breath as you sigh through a shuddering sob, throwing your arms around his neck and clinging to him tightly—your body jostling while you rub your wet face into his neck, holding him close for comfort as if you're scared to ever let go.

He returns the gesture, though somewhat hesitantly, wrapping his arms around you and laying his head to rest against your shoulder.

And then, as he holds you—for the first time ever, fear of actually losing the fight ahead strikes him.

He hadn’t much cared about the outcome before. Either he’d destroy or be destroyed.

This wasn’t as simple. As said earlier, this complicated things.

But then again, it was even more of a reason to go.

“But I still have to leave.” 

You part from him—the betrayal in your tone demanding his justification, “Why?”

Suppose, in some ways, this actually made things simpler—as that was a question he had no problem answering.

“‘Cause there are monsters outside…” He rests his forehead upon yours, gazing back into those terribly glassy eyes looking back at him as he speaks to you about your dear old colleagues. “Monsters who want nothing but to take you away from me.”

If only they could see you now, they’d know… you no longer want to leave him.

“So I have to go out there and make sure they have no chance,” he explains, almost like a vow, “You’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who says otherwise to keep you that way.”

The way your eyes melt makes him feel all fuzzy. It’s a special type of glee, a victory before the battle even begins—to see you root for him—so deep in love with him that you’ve forgotten you’re celebrating the onset of death to all of your former friends.

They probably wouldn’t be able to take you away from him even if they somehow managed to invade this very room. You’d sooner die than betray him.

And that makes him feel all the more ready for the war ahead.

“So kiss me good luck, and I’ll come right back to you soon.”

Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away. 

He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.

Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.

“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”

You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all. 

“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with a not-so-unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.

You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static beneath your touch. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.

But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out another short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”

He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.

You stop breathing. A dark sinkhole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.

“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”

He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.

“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”

He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.

The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.

His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…

Nothing. There’s a large exhale.

“I can’t do it…” 

You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a fresh rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.

He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.

This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.

“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”

The pity’s for you.

“This is what having my heart feels like.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

It’s an odd thing to say, but his habit of making small talk right before a kill is something you’ve witnessed before.

For an act so human to be twisted like that used to make you stomach churn, now it just leaves you wanting him to speed it along. And so, you decide against indulging him with an answer.

Still, in your head, you give it a second. Thinking yes, you have, plenty of times, imagined just this. It’s a normal thing—to think about one’s death. Only the word he uses is a little ill-fitting. Sure, you’ve thought about it many times, though you wouldn't say it’s something you’ve dreamt about.

“I have,” he answers in your stead, unbothered by your silence as his fingertips press into your skin. “So many times.” 

It’s a weird feeling. Something within you or something encompassing you, you’re not sure, reacts to the touch. It’s your soul, you suppose—tremoring in suspense, in vivid dread of getting mangled into something unrecognizable.

“How I’d do it… How I’d touch you…”

It’s an awful ability. Something truly disgusting, and yet, the look on his face, he’s miles high like a child on Christmas morning, nearly innocent-looking while swallowing thickly beneath a heavy breath, eyes set on where he’s touching your soul and thinking about the possibilities of what to do with it now that it’s all his. 

It makes you want to vomit. But, strangely enough, your fear of it is nowhere. Instead, there’s this oddly comforting sense of acceptance draping you, keeping you warm in the moments before the coming cold, knowing it’s inevitable. This is fine, you think, and really believe it. You gave it your all, bled for it, and now you were going to die, leaving no regrets.

You close your eyes. Ready for the light.

“I’ve been curious about it…” he continues, and you fear he’s going to drag this out whether you indulge him or not. “You know… about humans and their need to be close.”

It gives you pause—unsure what he just said, unsure what he meant. And the confusion, fed uncomfortable conspiracies by the back of your head, makes your stomach fold abruptly.

Skin going cold, your eyes peel open, looking down at the curse before you with ears drawn back. He’s closer now—still keeping a keen glare at your core, looking through your flesh to the thing within it. His breath tickles the peachfuzz found there, making it shiver, and you swallow thickly while goosebumps break out on your nape, resulting in a shiver carving a path down your spine.

“It made me think about you…” he says, his voice low and unlike him with his hand flat, keeping calm on your stomach. “If you ever let someone close.”

Your skin prickles with a strange warmth—energetic—not entirely unlike the type you’ve felt when treated by Shoko. 

He’s healing you, you notice. Stitching your body back together with your soul as a conduit.

“I got a confession to make.” His gaze breaks from your torso as he looks up at you, still with his hand kept in place, now rubbing patterns into the fully healed flesh—eyes big. “I wanna be the one. The one you let close.”

You whimper then as a fear you’ve never felt the likes of festers in your chest, right beneath his godawful touch, and spreads with your beating heart in a rapid haste into every corner of your body.

And yet, despite your clear aversive dread, feeling you squirm before him, he presses on with his horrifying speech, “I wanna make you feel good.” Getting closer as his voice drops lower, just shy of frenzied. “I wanna hear you moan my name and beg me for more with pretty please on your tongue as I give your soul everything only I know it needs.” Rust shivering, he looks at your lips, then your neck, then the fast shutter of your winded chest. “Wanna make you need me… wanna make you incomplete without me.”

His other hand ascends—pointerfinger sharpening into something knifelike and used to slip under the remaining paths keeping your attire together before cutting them loose.

Your shirt falls to the floor once he’s done, leaving your upper body in your binder and your breath in your throat.

“I guess what I’m saying is… I’ve realized something new about my true nature.”

He presses his head against your chest, ear over your heart, listening to it patter with the shifty rise and fall of your lungs lulling him as he feels your soul swish about within you—such a reactive little thing. He can’t put his finger on when he started thinking it was cute. 

He holds your waist and nuzzles against you, mumbling under his breath that, “Hate and fear aren’t all that different from love.” Breath hot and dewy against your breast, he sighs—sinking further into you. “And I wanna know what yours will feel like.”

You’re trembling now, fully, violently. Feeling your chest cave at the weight of his head as the grim and dire distress leaves you mute, making you unable to form any other feelings except fear of the unthinkable.

“I can see it, you know?” His words are smeared against the fat of your tit, paying no regard to your struggle. “It’s all right here.” His cheek drags against your skin, turning his head until his lips are at your sternum, kissing the space with his words. “You haven’t had someone in a long time.”

He looks up at you, now with a smile, saying, “And how could you?” Making you whimper and shake your head, feeling his fingertips grace the skin of your midriff and slip beneath the band of your skirt. “When you’ve been so busy chasing me.”

He drags it down your hips, letting it drop atop your abandoned shirt.

“Don’t–” escapes from your lips. “Just–just kill me–”

“Don't start with that now,” he shakes his head. “We've done so much already. Don't tell me this is where you draw the line?”

His tongue rolls out, laying itself flat against your collar. You squeal through grit teeth, veering your head away from the assault, and cringing as you feel it drag itself up along your neck until finding your ear.

“Isn’t this natural, though?” he whispers. “All this time spent tussling with each other—don’t tell me you aren’t a little curious about me too?”

Again, his hands move—gently, trailing the brim of your boxers. 

“About what it would feel like…” he murmurs, the words hot inside your ear, inside your head as his fingers dip beyond the band and rake past it, and with the touch, drags them down. “To touch me…”

You whimper, barring your thighs together, trying to keep it from happening, but your underwear is removed regardless of the effort, and he continues, almost sweetly, “Be touched by me…”

The article drops down atop the other two before it, and although featherlight, you feel as though the crash creates an earthquake, making your head spin like a storm, only further spurred by his voice, “Feel me...”

His breath gets heavier as yours gets wilder, and he gives your earlobe a soft wet bite. “Be one together.”

It all puts your brain on ice. Or rather, pushes it out and replaces it with soaked cotton. Surreal, it no longer feels like your body hanging there. Overfull with all sorts of emotions, you don’t have the capacity to feel any one of them. You can’t think, can’t talk, can’t even move, can only wait—with a distant sense of being out of place, leaving you to hang there like dead meat as the coming events dawn on you like the happenings of someone far away, unrelated and unconcerning you.

Meanwhile, Mahito’s hand’s between your thighs with fingers tracing the lips found there, giving the slit tentative strokes.

“I've never done this before…” His voice shudders now—and caught in the dissociation, your troubled head is convinced this is all normal, as though you’re having drunk sex with someone you’ve known for a long time. “But I think I get the gist of it…” 

The reality of the situation lurks just behind the fantasy. Your mind suppresses it, protects you from it, and succeeds, even letting you moan when his finger pushes inside you. 

“Is that right?” he asks, sinking it in, down to the knuckle, before pulling it out to the tip again. “It’s wet…”

Voice in awe, he repeats the motion upon the discovery, moving quicker now—eagerly chasing your reactions as he collects them, feeling your insides, gummy and warm, tremoring just like your soul. It’s like nothing he’s ever done before.

“I get why you humans like this so much…”

Something in his pants wants the same attention. Something thick and equally warm, growing in size until it strains against it confines. He moans, almost whines at the feeling, rubbing it against your thigh for comfort as his hand reaches up to grab your face, cupping your chin. 

“Look at me” he very nearly begs, lips on your cheek, staring at you through halfmast eyes.

But your eyes remain shut. Knowing that if you open them now, you can no longer ignore what’s happening, no longer imagine something else, something more stomachable. 

“Come on, I’m bearing my soul here…” A light laugh escapes him at the sight of your face so close—not loud like his usual cackling, but airy, maybe even a little giddy, beholding the pretty dew on your cheeks as he insists, almost with a please, “Look at me.”

When you open your eyes, the tears slip free. Trekking down in thick rivers, reaching his mouth and tongue.

“Oh… you're breaking my heart,” he says—somewhat as a joke, and somewhat as something more honest as he sucks the salt of your cheek before humming with something ragged in his throat, “But that’s okay… As I said…”

Another finger joins the first down below as he angles your face towards his, ghosting your lips with his, speaking against them.

“There isn’t much difference between love and hate, anyway.”

But you suppose indifference is just what your mother's betrayal taught you. And for that, you’re grateful. Others would sooner use it as a source of blame and frustration. Or, at least, that’s the common trend among your fellow workers.

Out of the many, you might call just one of them an actual friend. Just like you, her mother also left her here to repay her debts—and perhaps that’s the only reason for your friendship. Solidarity. 

She likes to regard herself as thick-skinned, but you’re not so convinced, cocking a brow at her as she acknowledges how any day might be her last and swears she’s not afraid of it—brave-faced, behaving like every little thing is worth the fight because there wouldn't be anything left otherwise. 

You, on the other hand, dream of running away every single passing second just like your mother.

Though, unlike her, you let the dreams suffice. You’re more practical in that regard. You can only ever chase such things, never catch them. And so, your thoughts of escape are nothing you’d ever dare actually do. They’re just tiny nothings to pass the time.

Some might call that cowardly, but you’ve always had mixed feelings about the concept of courage. Some part of you admires it and wishes to have some of the same strength your friend has, but at the same time, you can’t help but think it’s foolish. After all, if you say you can handle worse, you’re basically inviting it to come.

Of course, she argues the same, that acting cowardly like you also acts as an invitation. That, either way, whatever a rabbit does, it’ll always be prey—and so, having dignity in the face of death is better.

You see her point, and yet you still don’t think you can agree. Act like prey and you’re just waiting for trouble to find you. Act brave, however, and you’re out there looking for it. There’s a difference in that. And you think that difference is important. And every day is only a matter of waiting for that difference to show its face.

And it turns out, this might just be the day.

She’d been extra mouthy with some guests. You’d come to her aid, not to fight, but to apologize for her like always. Usually, it ends with a free lap dance, maybe something more—a few bite marks and an aching back and a really long shower.

Only this time, she’d done worse than just talk back—a drink was spilled, the glass was broken, and her dull claws had somehow managed to draw blood straight across a customer's face.

You know it then and there, that was it. This is the day you die. Predators will be buying your flesh in the market tomorrow—if they don’t feast on you today—bones and all.

You’re taken upstairs to that part of the building where people go and rarely return from. 

It’s dark in the many turning hallways. You walk straight, and as you walk, you think about your short life, and how it was all coming to an end tonight. Spending your last moments treating the route like a dumb metaphor. How, maybe if you’d taken a different turn down another hallway, you might still be walking by this time tomorrow.

But it’s a silly thought, you decide. All hallways wind up at the same place in the end. And with that, you don’t regret trying to help your friend, despite it having pulled you into her mess. In all matters of eventuality, you might have been the one to fuck up with a customer today, and she the one coming to your aid. And so, you suppose, none of it really matters. It’s not as if you’d be losing all that much.

The room you enter is a little more lit. Not by much, but enough for you to see the wolfish pack members lining the walls. Even without it, you smell them. The air reeks of cigars and musk and blood and meat and other scents you’re more than used to. And yet, for some reason, it’s nearly enough to make you faint as you follow closely behind your friend, to the far end of the room, where, behind a red oak desk, death is sitting waiting.

There had been rumors going around down at the club recently, saying that the old boss had been killed by his juniors. You were never one to partake in such gossip—it didn’t concern you. But you could put the rumors to rest now, feeling the glare of the new leadership linger on you. Not one, but two.

Young wolves, both of them—brothers, by the looks of it—they couldn’t be that far off from your age if you had to guess. Still, they were full-grown with a strength that could rip you apart faster than you could blink.

You keep your eyes fixed on the ground instead of eyeing them. But your friend, brazen even now, looks on ahead, meeting their red gaze. How she approaches such things as a challenge instead of torture is beyond you. It’s so alien, you almost doubt you’re even the same species. 

You probably don’t even look remotely akin in the way her ears stand at attention while yours droop down, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

The wolves start talking, your friend talks back, and you swallow thickly, not listening to a word being said—too much blood pounding in your head to focus. But you don’t think it matters much. After all, you’re going to die, and there isn’t much more to it than that, and so that’s the only thing you can think about. The small talk is only a game, anyway, and your friend doesn’t seem to understand she isn’t a player, but a pawn. You know well how predators like playing with their food. And the more fun the food is, the longer they spend eating it. And while your friend insists on making herself interesting, you plan on being boring. Boring and quick.

You hadn’t noticed his approach, but suddenly a clawed finger curls under your chin, lifting your round gaze from your feet, up to look into a pair of crimson eyes. Stock-still, you don’t move a muscle—you don’t even blink. In fact, you don’t even dare draw breath while waiting to have your throat ripped out.

Though, unfortunately for you, and with no regard to your efforts of being boring, it seems he plans on enjoying himself after all. Granting you time in which, despite not feeling inclined to, your eyes skitter nonetheless, taking him in. 

His fur isn’t bristly like those other wolves you’d catered to down in the club, but fine-cut and kempt, and clean. The way he looks at you, you can’t see his fangs yet. It’s almost as if—well, you don’t know exactly, it wouldn’t be right to make assumptions—but it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to spook you just yet. Though you’re certain that’s only a fleeting objective. One soon to alter against your favor.

And still, his teeth remain hidden, even as he speaks. “This one is mine.” 

His voice is deep like a rumbling, and yet, soft—or as soft as he can make it. So are his eyes, though red and glaring, not hungry—not like those you see look at you through the cage while you dance. These eyes are refined and controlled—tame, if a wolf could be such a thing.

You don’t know why, but somehow, it’s more unsettling than anything you’ve ever seen before…

“Fine by me,” the other one answers in a rasp. Only then does your vision snap to see your friend bent over the red oak desk, struggling against the wolf at her back. He, contrary to the other, licks his canines with a grating laugh, full of growl and bark, “The feisty one’s more my type anyway.”

Funny enough, when all’s said and done, your friend is the one who screams. And for odder reasons still, you don’t voice a single sound. It’s as if the roles reverse for a moment. She, terrified and swivel-eyed, begging and pleading and apologizing. And you, taking a deep breath, calm, peaceful, smiling, saying, soft-toned, one last time, “See you soon,” before you’re both taken opposite ways.

You can still hear her screaming even as she disappears from view and you’re led somewhere even darker, a big paw placed on the small of your back, guiding you forward with a steady push you don’t even think to fight against.

The room you arrive at has a bed—but that was to be expected. You refrain from conjuring any images of your impending last night, insisting on holding onto this feeling of strange peace in knowing the very simple truth of your death.

“Are you listening?” the wolf says, possibly for a numbered time as he snaps his fingers before your eyes, holding your cheeks with black claws dipping into the fat.

You blink, and for the first time feel some of that never-had bravery appear within. It’s a pity this is where and how you use it, but better in your last moments than never at all, you think.

“I won’t struggle,” you announce. “So, you can just get it over with.”

You don’t look for his reaction. You don’t look for anything. You just wait for him to heed your offer and do just that—get it over with.

But he doesn’t seem inclined to. Rather, his tail piques behind him and starts ever-so-softly wafting from side to side—unfortunately still intrigued by your effort of being unintriguing. Smiling at you, when asking, “Get what over with exactly?” 

He then topples down in the plume of the bed, sitting there, widespread, inspecting you where you stand as if you’re some odd creature he’s never seen before. And you suppose you can’t blame him. You feel just as odd as you most likely seem, but right now, though you know you’re supposed to act like prey, you just can’t help but want to drop the theatrics and skip to the end.

You sigh, deeply, with a type of exhaustion like you haven’t ever had a proper rest. “Eating me, fucking me, whatever it is…”

He scoffs at that, offering a small laugh and a real smile where he finally flashes those great big teeth you’re sure are going to plant themselves in your neck some time tonight. 

“You’re funny, you know that?” You’re not sure if it’s meant as praise, but you also don’t care to think about it enough to find out before he keeps going, “I can tell you actually mean it. Your heart’s beating out of your chest, but it’s strangely calm.”

You don’t indulge him with an answer. You just continue waiting for it, knowing it could come at any moment. Even though you know it’s best to be oblivious when it finally happens, for some reason, you really don’t want to practice ignorance is bliss in your final moment. No, for your final moment, you want to be able to say that you faced it head on.

“Come, sit. Why don’t we talk a little first? It might help you feel a little more comfortable.”

If you were on the clock, you would thank him for the offer. And he’d get a good little rush thinking about what a hero he is, unknowing of how you really feel. But the truth is, out of all the guests you get in the club, his type is truly the worst. The nice ones. Gentle predators who dare talk to you as if you’re the same, who praise your intellect and charm, as if you’re anything but a toy to them.

But you’re not on the clock. So this time, you won’t be doing anyone any such favors, replying to him with a short and bitter, “No thanks.”

You expect him to try it again, coo at you for a little bit longer, see if he can’t persuade you into coming willingly into his clutches. But no. As if he can see his act isn’t fooling you, he decides to drop it just like that.

“Alright then. As you wish.” He removes his suit jacket, tossing it aside along with his tie shortly after as he cuts right to the chase, “Take off your clothes.” 

You do as prompted. Glad to finally be getting somewhere. You unclothe as unceremoniously as you would as if you were alone.

“Thought you were a stripper.” He complains at your lack of tact, a brow raised at your now naked body and the little heap of clothing at your feet.

But, as you thought you’d already made clear, you haven’t any desire to cater to the man. And so, withholding your apologies for once, all you say is, “You didn’t tell me to put on a show.” Hoping you’re making yourself better understood this time, wanting him to know that his disapproval means nothing to you, and hoping it incites a little more rage out of him.

However, instead of rage, this time he starts laughing. “Guess so.” 

He signals for you to come closer while the chuckles die down, and you obey, stepping up before him. 

“No matter…” His rough paws dwarf your hips when you get close enough, pulling you onto his lap. “I think I actually prefer you this way.” 

Regardless of how many times you’ve been in the exact position, instinctively, your fur poofs up under his claws anyway.

“Honest and raw,” he drawls. “I’ve never seen you quite like this before…”

Your brows curl at that. You didn't realize he was familiar with you.

“When you’re working the floor, you’re always so…” Smiling lazily, he looks you over with halfmast eyes of fondness. “Filtered, masked, polite to a fault. Like, you're somewhere else pulling your own strings.” 

He chuckles again, finding fun in his own impressions—like the very idea of you is a wonderful joke. 

“I already thought you were interesting then, but look at you know…” He licks his teeth and traces the outline of your body—a low growl in his chest, not threatening, but enjoying, like a purr. “For such a small thing, you’re full of surprises.”

You swallow thickly, even more disturbed now by his confessions. How long has he been watching you? 

Again, you have to remind yourself of how it doesn’t matter. This is what they do. They play games. Make you run in circles all for their amusement so that it feels extra good when they finally sink their teeth in.

“You’re not one for small talk, are you?” he says then following your silence.

And again, you just give him that unapologetic look of fuck you, saying, “You didn’t tell me to talk.”

He doesn't laugh this time, but grins. Scoffing “Tch–” as he takes your insolence like a challenge. “Let’s get right down to business then.”

His claws dig deeper in an instant, making you gasp as he lifts and tosses you down beneath him. And then his hand’s around your throat—not squeezing, not hard at least, but enough to keep you pinned as he bears on top, full face of fangs and all, now with that playful spark in his eyes that all nice guys get when riled up.

“Care for a little wager?” he rasps, knee between your thighs, hiking your leg over his hip while his paw presses down flat on your lower stomach. 

“All these years working here… and I’m willing to bet not a single guest has ever made you cum.”

You flinch once you realize what he’s up to, feeling his hand draw downward, cupping your cunt in a heated hold.

“I’m right aren’t I?” he raves on with another low snicker. “Some have tried, but you won’t give in to them. It’s your silent little rebellion.” 

His fingers part, leaving just the middle to curl up, nuzzling your entrance with the tip, dipping against it until forcing its way in, making you keen with a whine.

“Yeah–it’s defiance like that that I love. We don’t fuck you, you fuck us. Is that right?” 

Your hands circle around the one on your throat, and he watches on in delighted shudders while you struggle under his will.

Voice heated and raspy as he continues, “It’s so cute it makes my mouth water. Like you’re trying your best to be a carnivore. Hunting, chewing, and spitting us back out, and never letting anyone get a true taste of you in return.”

He pulls his digit back, maneuvering quicker than you can counter as he seizes both of your legs beneath the knees and folds you over—his clothed, fatted crotch rubbing against yours, as he hovers over you, wild haired and wild eyed.

“See, here’s what I’m thinking.” Bowing, he gets in close to your face—both of your breath’s heavy, caught in each other’s air as he lays forth the stakes, “If I get you to sing for me, you stay right here and be my cute little pet indefinitely.” 

His tail, now wagging relentlessly behind him, is already a tell-tale sign that this is going to be far from fair. 

“But…” he croons, continuing, “If you manage to hold out, I’m gonna let you leave the market with enough funds to set you up for life. Now, how’s that sound?”

Again, you swallow thick, getting caught up in the fantasy of it with eyes wide, before you’re reminded of what you know. Just another game… You wonder if this was the type your mother once played. Another awful game where they dangle hope in front of your eyes only to squeeze it free of life. Their idea of a fun time.

“Come on, what do you say?” he taunts—fangs practically dripping.

Still, you furl your brows and bite back with a, “Fuck you.”

And again, it only makes his grin broader. Simpering at you, “That’s what I like to hear.”

He’s on his knees in the next moment, before the bed, claws digging into the cake of your thighs, keeping them where he wants them as he lowers his mouth between them.

“Mmh, it's gonna feel so good to be the first one to ever make you truly yield.” 

You squirm under the warmth of his words.

He only coos, “Don’t worry,” tongue not even a whisker away as he speaks, “If I win, which I will, I’ll let you challenge me with the same odds anytime you want.”

♡ BNHA – Dabi ♡ JJK – Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Atsumu ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame ♡ GA – Tamsy, Enjin

You moaned when sucking them into your mouth. One at a time. Rolling them on your tongue, suckling them sweetly before letting go with a wet pop – cutely kissing them as you looked up at him with those coy doe-eyes – his cock leveled between them, heavy on your face.

He smiled down at you, purring in low hums, watching how you cutely kicked your feet in the air – keeping his hefty hand on your head, thick fingers tangled in your locks. Smoothly petting you in slow, encouraging strokes – guiding you up and down the lengthy shaft – making sure you didn’t miss a single spot. 

He loves it when you’re this obedient. Being Daddy’s good little baby and not making him get the ropes.

It feels nicer this way – when you pamper him instead of getting fussy.

Using your plush lips, you worshipped with wet and precious kisses peppered on every inch of his fat cock until wrapping your mouth around his head and sweetly started bobbing – one small soft hand fondling his weighty balls as the other worked the rest of him that didn't fit in your throat.

“Oh – good baby~” He rumbled, laxly moving his hand to the back of your head, gathering your hair while at it.

Pushing himself a little deeper every time you took him in. Moaning lazily at the pleasant feel of your warm mouth hugged around him, letting him fuck your submissive mouth with nothing more than a pretty mew. 

You were so sweet.

But no matter how eager you are to please him, you always need a little helping hand to get you all the way there.

But he doesn’t mind. Sliding his other hand beneath your chin, he held your jaw firmly, keeping you still to meet him when he began nudging in even deeper – this time without pulling out again – wanting you all the way down to the base.

Your hands clutched the edge of the bed, fingers whitening in their grip as you braced yourself – eyes squeezed shut at the feel of his fat cockhead kissing the back of your throat only to shove even deeper down it. 

You gagged around him, and he expressed a lovingly condescending awe. “That’s it, baby~ let Daddy bottom out~”

His smile curled, watching you blink away tears as your nose finally hit his pubes and his balls squeezed into your chin. Swallowed down to the hilt, he could feel it bulge beneath his fingers – holding your jaw and throat in check as your reflexes grew bold enough to make you try and jerk away for air.

“Relax, baby – relax that throat for Daddy.” He cooed, holding you steady for another greedy moment as he closed his eyes in bliss – feeling you try and wrench away while listening to you desperately choke for air around the size of him.

He chuckled fondly at your melodrama, taking his time to open his eyes again, then released you with a content sigh.

He stroked your head and rubbed his spit-slicked cock on your face – allowing you a moment to cough and heave all cutely while patiently waiting for you to drop your jaw open for him again. 

You winced, glancing up at him with a shivering breath – tears on your lashes and hurt in your brow with lips hesitantly parting – strings of saliva hanging between them.

“This time, don’t interrupt. Okay, sweetie?” He warned, smiling warmly down at you. Holding your open jaw and landing a fat blob of spit on your tongue before sliding himself back in – this time to give your throat a proper fuck.

Your eyes are puffy and red – humiliated when looking up at him as he slams into your throat on repeat – slobber flying, clinging to your chin, running down your neck, and settling on your chest.

You can only try to brace for it as he picks up the haste and pounds your face even harder.

You’re able to take it for a while without resisting, but it becomes hard to find ways to breathe, and soon, your lungs burn from the denial.

When you tried jerking away, he slouched over you with his arm locked around the back of your head, pushing your forehead into the belly chub of his swole muscles – keeping himself buried down to the balls, nuzzling your chin.

Your hands moved from clutching the bed to gripping his thighs, squeezing your eyes shut while feeling the plush tip of him run your poor throat through.

You’re eyes start to daze, rolling upward with thick tears welling your waterline – it’s dark and bright, and you feel thin like air, and your mind seems unable to grasp any thought but tries holding onto something you remember was important with a slipping release.

He felt you go slack and released you.

Letting you reel back with coughs and sore eager breaths while cooing at you in rusty words.

“Good baby, good job-” He stroked your cheek with slobber and cum before rearing you with his cock again, less patiently now, stroking it along the bloat of your wet lips. “Open up, sweet baby~ Open up wide for daddy~ It’s coming, and I don’t want you to miss a single drop~” 

He brushed a few sweaty strands of hair behind your ears – the veins in his cock wrangling him when watching you lower your jaw for him again, rolling your pink tongue out like a warm reception.

He tapped his weight on it and you moaned all dumbly around him, making him chuckle as he thumbed the tearstreaks away from your cheeks. You always get so dopey after a long choke – so cute.

“Daddy gave your poor throat a real workout, didn’t he, huh?” He babied, lazily jerking his length off into your open mouth that could only agree with a small nod and a soft aha. “But I'm gonna make it all better now and give you your reward. Are you ready, sweetie?” He cockered excitedly, cupping your cheek while eagerly looking down at you – lips parted wide open, waiting for a nice mouthful of his warm jizz to swallow.

“Yes, Daddy~” You blinked sweetly up at him, closing your mouth briefly to suck a chaste kiss onto his bulging tip, even scooting closer over the edge of the bed with a shimmy of your bum to feign the enthusiasm he wanted to see.

And he loved it – thrilled enough to make him shift his footing as he fapped faster with a groan.

“Oh, baby- it’s coming- it’s coming- take it-” He chanted, pushing halfway into your mouth before splurging. “Yes, baby-” Panting with hips stuttering where he held his cock steady, the other hand holding your head as rope after thick and heavy rope came spurting out, painting your tongue with a coat of warm seedy white.

You closed your eyes softly and received it like an angel, not letting a single drop spill – fluttering them open again to look up at him when feeling him rub out the last few clenches from his worn balls.

He backed out slowly with a thick swallow and a tightly squared jaw.

“Show Daddy, baby.” He huffed with a heavy breath – sweat dripping through the curls on his chest, running steamy down his swole muscles – cock kept lazily in hand.

And you raised your head obediently, parting your lips for him to see. 

“What a lucky baby~” He cheered, rubbing your cheek as though you’d just shown him your proudest accomplishment. “Taste good?” 

You nodded your head eagerly for him, trying your best to give him a happy smile while still showing off the load. 

He smiled at the view – eyes dark and drunken. 

“Swallow it up for me, baby.” Cooing, his voice now steady again, albeit with a tired tinge of satisfaction, making it sound oh-so-smug as he spoke.

Holding your chin, he felt your throat bob under his finger as you gulped his seed down with a cute and grateful smile – his eyes on your lips, watching how you licked them clean after you were done.

“Thank you, Daddy~” 

“You're welcome, sweetheart.” He chuckled softly, still holding your chin with his pointer while rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

He steered his slowly softening cock back to your lips.

“Wanna suck the rest off?” 

You watched more cum ooze from the slit of his mushroom, still with the foul taste of it on your tongue – your brows only barely tremored before you sucked it up and put your mask back on.

There wasn’t much else you could do but give him an enthusiastic, “Yes, please, Daddy~”

He thumbed your cheek as though to praise you for being so agreeing and good before putting his tip to your lips again.

“Be gentle now- it's sensitive.” He warned, watching you wrap his head with your lips oh-so-sweetly, giving his head a soft suckle as you tongued the dickhole – tenderly slurping the last drops out – smacking off with strings of spit keeping you connected.

Looking him in the eye, you gave it one final kiss.

"I love you, Daddy~"

BNHA – Enji, Kirishima Bakugou, Deku

“Leave you?” you mirror, eyes wide, feeling your heart drop down to the very pits of your stomach. “Who said anything about that!?”

Taking his face in your hands, you notice the heavy purple bags under his eyes—he must not have slept a wink. Or, actually, maybe that's not all… Judging by the looks of the red roots netting the white and the equally annoyed rouge of his cheeks, you suspect he'd been too busy crying to sleep.

He’s crying still, smothering his face back into your belly with his shoulders hunched up, voice breaking on a sob, whimpering loudly, “So you’re not leaving me?” 

You feel awful now. This isn't what you'd wanted. You just wanted to tell him off, just a bit, make him reflect on his actions a little, not torture himself.

“Of course I’m not leaving you!” you very nearly yell. “What are you talking about? I would never leave you–” You get down on your knees down alongside him, hugging him back tightly.

“So you forgive me?” he immediately whines into the cove of your neck, joined by tears smeared into your skin, pouring his overwhelming weight against you and very nearly making you fall backwards under the pressure.

“Yes, stupid, I forgive you!” you declare loudly from over his shoulder, feeling befuddled by the odd situation—unsure of what to do other than smoothing both your hands over his hunched back, as good as you could reach in any case, what with him nearly devouring you with his looming size and all. “It's okay, so, stop crying—everything’s alright—”

His head lifts, breaths hitchy and heavy, looking at you with enlarged puppy-dog eyes—the type you’d never think to see on him. “So you don’t hate me?”

You shake your head, both in disbelief and to negate the ridiculous question. “No! I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t hate you.”

His lip warbles, brows cinched, looking pathetic—and almost, to your utter guilt for even thinking it, a little comical—asking you further sillier questions with his voice in shambles, “So you still love me?”

You take his face back in your hands again, needing to hold it together now that the surprise and absurdity of it all were bordering on ridiculous enough to make you almost laugh against your will. You feel bad for it, of course, it's just... You didn't know he had this side to him. Heck, you haven't ever seen him with a single hair out of place, and now he's nothing short of all over the place.

“Yes, I still love you, I never stopped loving you,” you confirm, looking over his harrowed expression—sunken, swollen eyes looking at you in a weary and distant sort of way. “Jeez—you really need some sleep...”

“I can’t sleep without you.” He shakes his head, pouting. “I never can. I need you—without you I’m just a worthless mess—not an alpha—not even a man–”

A snort escapes you at that, needing to shake your head at his melodrama while suppressing a smile. You don't think he's aware of what he's saying, or at least not that he's admitting such things out loud.

Still, you deny it for him, “That’s not true–”

“Yes, it is,” he interrupts, insisting, with another almost theatrical whine.

“Don’t be silly—” You’re fully giggling now, though trying not to. You’d heard about getting high off of no sleep, but you’d never actually witnessed it—at least not to this degree. “Come, you’ll feel better once you eat. We’ll talk more after you’ve had a nap, alright? Everything’s going to be okay.”

He bites his lip, shutting his eyes with another sniffle, before conceding with a whisper, voice all hitched, “Okay…”

You help him eat and bring him along with you back to bed, letting him use you as a body pillow.

He’s out like a light faster than the bed settles. Fully exhausted, poor guy.

Stroking his head as he snores, you listen to him whir with little sleepy moans, holding you around the waist with his head drowned in your chest, drooling on you like a baby.

Your thoughts of him being upset with you and your stunt seem silly now.

It’s strange. All this time, you’ve thought of him as someone independent and unshakable. 

Never in your life would you think you’d ever get to see him, or any other Alpha for that matter, cry like that. You know it’s stigmatized, you know many would have you think it makes him less red-blooded. But honestly, if anything, it actually makes you feel kind of happy. 

Somehow, you don’t feel like you’re as different as you thought...

There’s a groan a few hours later, followed by a yawn coming from below, and you turn your head down to see his eyes, half-mast and dazed, slowly blinking the sleep off.

“Good morning,” you coo, smiling softly.

He immediately hides his face back in your chest with another apology getting muffled against your skin, “I’m sorry…”

You run a hand over his locks, stroking him sweetly. “It’s okay,” you repeat from earlier. “I didn’t mean for it to be such a big deal, it really wasn’t–”

“No,” he interrupts—head popping up and looking at you, eyes big and earnest, stating, “You have every right to be upset,” before continuing with another ramble, “I just barged in and pounced on you, I didn’t even ask first—it was late, and you were all ready to go to bed, trying to tell me something and I just completely ignored you like a fucking dickhead.” His head drops down again, burying itself in shame with another muffled utterance, “I’m the worst.”

“No, you’re not,” you deny, placing a kiss on the top of his head. Smiling as you give him credit, “Though… I’m glad you understand why I was upset.”

It’s quiet for a moment. He tugs your body closer, both arms snaked tight around your waist as though he was afraid you'd suddenly disappear somewhere, turning his head upward, he exposes his face to the air again, with his ear resting flat against your heart.

“There’s more to it, though... isn't there?” he mumbles, a little hesitantly—anxiously even. “Something you’re not telling me—something you wanted to talk about... Something that’s wrong–”

You shake your head, cutting him off, “No, no, nothing’s wrong—” You scooch down until your heads level, holding his face in both palms with eyes locked. “I promise, everything’s okay now—it wasn’t really that big a deal to begin with, just me in my head. Honestly, we can forget all about it now.”

“No,” He returns the gesture, layering his hands on top of yours, pulling them down and holding them between you. “Please, tell me.”

You bite your lip at that. Thinking it over once again.

During his nap, you’d actually decided it wasn’t all that necessary to talk after all. You’d been feeling bad because you weren’t sure whether you were being seen or heard, but this whole episode has proved those thoughts wrong.

Though… you suppose, things weren’t all resolved. 

“Well… it’s just,” you start, not feeling as prepared as you’d done yesterday. You’d written down what you’d wanted to say, and now it’s like you’ve forgotten every word. “I guess…” Though you suppose it wasn’t really all that complicated at the end of the day. “I just want you to talk to me more.” 

Because that’s really what this has been all about. Misunderstandings and whatnot.

You sigh, feeling good about having cleared that up, but catching his gaze, you realize it hadn’t been all that clear at all—a halfway cocked eyebrow raised expectantly over his eye, silently hoping for a little more context.

You go flushed then, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. Rushing to continue with half-though-out sentences, “Or, well, it’s not like you don’t talk to me—what I mean is—I want you to include me in, uhm… like… decision-making and stuff–” 

Feeling overheated with stupidity, the tops of your cheeks and tips of your ears both burn. You sigh again, needing to catch your breath and calm down, at least enough to slow your voice down before continuing, now more relaxed as you go, “I want you to confide in me with your thoughts and feelings and if, you know, you’re struggling with anything—even if it’s just work-related stuff, I just… want to help you like you help me.” 

You’re the one who wants to hide your face now. But even so, you steal yourself and look up at him through your lashes. “Is that okay?”

It catches him off guard, by the looks of his mouth opening and closing again with only a dumb “Uh,” leaving them. But he as well, manages to reel himself in enough to form an answer.

“Of course it is, yes, I—” he says, stumbling a bit as he thinks. “I guess I just always thought those things were an Alphas responsibility… To provide and protect you, and never burden you with anything–”

“And I love that about you,” you assure, giving his hands a squeeze where they in turn squeeze yours. “But I don't want that to mean protecting me from life.” You smile. “We’re supposed to be building it together, aren’t we? I want us to take those challenges on and figure them out side by side. Don’t you?”

He looks at you, staring, face a little unreadable. You feel a little anxious in the wait for his answer, but then it comes.

Resolute and resounding, “The only thing I want is to make you happy.”

He brushes your forehead with his, nuzzling closer until the tips of your noses touch.  “And if this’ll make you happy, then I’ll be relying on you from now on.” 

He kisses you then, softly.

He tastes like salt from before, but you don’t mind.

No, the opposite actually. When you part, it’s with confidence enough to finally say it, whispering it against his lips, “One more thing.”

And he whispers back, just as softly, “What?”

Biting your lip again, your heart flutters dramatically in your chest, just as eager as the rest of you. “I know we haven’t spoken about it, but…” 

You’d been so nervous about it before today, but now, all those doubts have been settled, and you can’t really feel or think of a single reason to wait even a single second longer.

“I wanna have a baby.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Shoto, Kirishima, Touya, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Atsumu, Osamu ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Yukimiya ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi, Genya ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame ♡ GA – Enjin, Zanka

Little busy-bee tiptoeing about in her worn-out skirt.

She’ll be that one soft thing he actually likes between flowers and other annoying yapping bratty princesses always pining for his attention. But she’s not exactly soft either, walking about the massive palace day in and day out, chore after chore, in those uncomfortable shoes that soles are nearly worn through, ugly ragged skirt allowing him to see her pretty petite ankles and those smooth calves when she bends over like she’s made for it, on her knees like it’s her rightful place, scrubbing the floors, struggling to reach the top shelves when  dusting, when reaching to pull the blinds from the massive windows she has in her care to keep clean and not smitten with soot from the fires he’ll so often start. 

She’ll be skittering about like a little mouse, gathering dirty laundry from his room once he’s out hunting, placing them neatly inside his closet again, careful to leave him his supper when he’s been called away by his mother the Queen, like she’s feeding some monster she cannot be caught alone with and not her future King. 

He’d heard she were the only one brave enough to actually enter his room, but if one asks him, he knows she actually just picked the short straw, seeing how she leaps around the corner once she see him coming, silly little thing thinking he can't hear her breathing like she’s being hunted. 

She’s cute though.

He knows it’s cruel to burden her with even more strain, but... she’s his servant, and what type of future King would he be if he didn't take what was rightfully his?

She looks too adorable standing against the cold stone wall, clutching onto the basket of dirty laundry until her dainty knuckles turn ashen, head bowed beneath Lord Bakugo’s searing red gaze as he towers above her delicate petite frame like a mighty dragon cornering prey. Heat radiating from him like a furnace as he leans in as close as he can with the basket separating the two of them, his large paw of a hand, clawed with talons, large enough to crack her skull open, raised to rub sandpaper fingertips against her jaw, caressing her little face and tilting her head up and up and up to meet his royal-red eyes.

“You’re not suited for this job.” He voiced, tone gruff as he thumbed her chin, his ash-blonde mane falling forward, casting a shadow over his eyes. “Tiny things like you shouldn't do labor work.” He added, tilting his head to the side as his eyes trailed up and down her smooth delicate features, lips cracking open to flash that crazed battle-grin, canines and all, the one that can swallow the sun and breath fire. “You’re much better off tied to my bed.”

He was never one for romance, but it would seem she isn't much of a lady by any means either, the way she kicked her heels into his abdomen once he hoisted her up over his shoulder, her tiny useless fists banging on his back like it would do anything but tickle him as he steadied her with one greedy paw placed on her ass, feeling up the plushie flesh like kneading dough, carrying her away to her new job of keeping him satisfied.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

All For One’s heir was a rare sight. She wasn't sure she’d ever even seen him before once she was assigned the role, being the Prince’s new chambermaid. All she knew, by the looks on all the other girls forlorn pitiful faces, was that she’d fallen prey to an unfortunate fate.

She’d heard things, whispers on scared faces, gossip about the cruel spoiled prince and his lack of charm both in the verbal and physical form. She’d heard he was born silent, drained and colorless sept for the blood-red in his eyes. She’d heard his hair was silver like starlit spiderwebs and his skin was in the same state of the moon, cratered and dusted. She’d heard his smile was as ruthless and bloodthirsty and crazed like that of a jackal, with a laugh just as deranged. That even death feared his touch.

The stories was enough to have her shivering outside his door, enough to have her breath hitch in her throat once she nudged the handle to have the door creek open, enough to have her knees weak as she stumbled inside the darkness of his room.

“You’re prettier than the last.” A rusty voice spoke from an unknown source, lost in the darkness of the large bedchamber. “Guess they learned.” It spoke again. “Good for them...” She heard something thud against the floor, whipping around to try spot any trace in the swallowing void, completely overcome by shadows once the door slid to a full close. “Though... they shouldn't have bothered with the nice dress. I don't care what you wear, it’s only gonna end up another thing for them to mop from the floor.”

Something emerged from the corner of the room, tall and lean and slender, like a shadow himself until the crack in the curtain cast a strip of light onto his face, eyes even bloodier than what she’d imagined, enough to have her spellbound to her spot on the floor.

“They didn't tell you why you’re here, did they?” He asked, quietly chuckling at her scared awkward stance on his floor, by his bed, completely unaware.

Adorable.

“Good, I like my prey clueless.” She stiffened as his hand ascended, long pale slender-knuckled fingers reaching towards her face, boney and dry as his fingertips scraped along her cheek. “Fed to the wolves weren't you, pretty?” He whispered, eyes looking down to her breasts, licking his lips in salute to how they glowed with healthy warmth like gold, before looking up to her face again, coarse finger dragging across her bottom lip. “Guess that's the price you pay for a face like this.” Chipped nails dug into the plush of her cheeks as he held her face still, his nose taking a large whiff as he nuzzled into her neck. “Mmh, you even smell good.” He moaned. “Pretty thing like you probably tastes good too.” He groaned. “If you want to keep your dress you should strip now, I’m not the most patient person.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled his hand back, standing there, mere inches apart from her, so very tall. “S-strip?” She stuttered, eyes blinking as she looked up at him, no crown on his head, though still looking every ounce worth of superior where no amount of silly gold could hold up to the dominance in his eyes.

She started pulling the strings to her bosom, undoing the laces while keeping eye-contact with the man. “Smart move, pretty.” He praised, looking at how she hurriedly ripped off the intricate layers, trying her very best to not upset him, happy with what he saw. “Now...” He started, taking in her amazing nude frame with a bite to his lip. “Get on your knees like an obedient well-behaved lawful servant.” She whimpered as she lowered herself, looking wide-eyed up at him. “That's a good slave.” She put her knees to the floor, and rested her ass on her heels, her dress pooled around her, as she stared up at the silhouette cast by the moon’s cold blue glow, breath shuddering as he swiped his thumb over her trembling bottom lip, eyes locked with each other. “Open up.” She did what she was told effortlessly, too scared into place to dare even think about refusing, letting her jaw drop, mouth open to receive his thumb pushing down on her tongue. “Fuck... so pretty.” He moaned. “You’ll definitely be my new favorite, I’ll be extra careful not to dust you.” She shuddered, tasting the salt of his thumb, her mouth watering at the same rate her eyes did.

Shigaraki licked his teeth as he grinned, eyes wild and erratic, cock straining against his pants, warm and heavy, throbbing at the sight of the perfect little naked offering on her knees at his feet.

“Come on, pretty, help your Master out of his robes.” He took her hands and pulled her up, where she quickly got to work on unbuttoning his pants, tits bouncing, nipples hard from the nippy air in his room. “You like taking orders, don't you, pretty thing?” She gave him an adorable nod, lashes fluttering at him meekly, big doe-eyes searching for further direction as if scared to move on her own. “You sure know you're place.” He smirked. “I like that.” His hand made an effort to keep his pinky raised, encircling her tiny wrist like a cuff, guiding her to the bed. “Come here.” Plopping down on the bed, he pulled her snug between his thighs, rubbing circles into the fine skin of her hips, tugging her up on his lap with a groan rumbling in his chest, eyes lush and lustful. “Look at this face...” His hand circled her neck this time. “Mmh, fuck, pretty, pretty, pretty.” He kissed her collarbone, giving it a slight bite, making her gasp and jolt a little bit on his lap, teasing the large long beast sitting between the two of them. “Soft too.” He added, kissing up her neck where his hand was holding her steady. “Mmh, you’re gonna be good for me, right?” He moaned. “I would hate to let my hand slip and fuck up your pretty little body.” He warned, adding slight pressure on her throat, his other hand snaking around to the small of her back, pulling her closer, still with the little thing whimpering so sweetly. “That won't happen if you just listen and obey, like a proper good fuck-slave.” She gave a moan once he bit the special soft spot on her neck, her hands instantly jumping to grip his shoulders, melting into his mouth and the throne of his lap. “Nod your head for me, pretty girl.” She moaned in response, tipping her head while leaning into the long-haired prince she’d been sacrificed to. “You want me to fuck you, don't you slave?”

Her eyes slid closed. “Mh, yes.”

“Yes?” He asked, holding her face between his palms, foreheads kissing, looking deep into her eyes as she kneeled on his lap like she was praying.

“Yes, please, M-Master.” She affirmed as her lips ghosted over his.

“Mmh, fuck, you’ve got manners too.” His eyes dazed, heavy-lidded, yet remaining strong, keeping her locked as he drew her in for a kiss. “Keep this up and we’ll get along nicely.”

TODOROKI SHOTO

Not many princes are good-hearted. Where most are spoiled rotten, others are consumed by their power. Prince Shoto is neither, he’s simply strictly lethal. And people in the castle did their best to avoid his steely attention.

Todoroki’s presence leaves the halls feeling chilly, goosebumps climbing up her legs where her skirt hangs in filthy tethers at the ends as she skips rather hurriedly though the corridors, fabric dragging across the stone tiles, scathing on the coarse flooring. She was an unlucky one, one not protected by the safety of working in the kitchens were one can go their entire employment without ever facing the royal family. Poor maid needed to trot along the battlefield of the palace, turning corners, ears on alert, listening to whatever approaching footsteps could be on a path her way.

But, today she had no time for caution, for she had already tested her luck enough as she was running rather dangerously late. She was supposed to be at Fuyumi’s chambers first thing in the morning, bright and shining, helping and guide the seamstresses in fitting the Princess’s dress for tonights event. And she would have been there if she hadn't been up yesterday picking crystal-roses from the garden for Fuyumis broach, where she’d haplessly caught a nasty cold that now had her nose red and stuffed and eyes watering, and even less fortunately bedridden.

She sneezed as she rushed down the hallway, head ducking, hands flying to cover up her nose as she stopped in her hurried pursuit, finding as she continued her strut, that her split-second break from being on watch had already managed to lead her into a world of trouble. Her short stature, elbows first, landing her in a chest of some unknown tall figure.

Focusing her blurry vision, she looked up to see dual-colored hair and eyes belonging to both the King and the Queen, one ice-cold and the other hard as rocks.

“I’m so- so sorry, my Prince.” She blurted out quickly, bowing her head to avoid staring at the unsightly scar covering the towering boy’s left eye. She swallowed thickly, nearly in tears already, knowing that the crown-prince was rather one that liked toying with the castle’s staff on days he hadn't the patience to read books and study, where he never practiced his sword-skills unless he had satisfactory targets.

His hand reached forward and her heart froze over, like a hand of death had taken ahold of it and her lungs seemed to seize, throat closing, making her dizzy at the feel of his grip on her chin, so dreadfully cold it had her teeth shattering.

“No, no, don't cry, it’s quite alright. Accidents happen after all.” His voice was as smooth and soft as it was steely, and it brought her no consolation as she was forced to look into his sharp unforgiving eyes. “Your name?” He demanded and she thought that the whimper which escaped her throat might just be the last sound she’d ever make before she withered like a flower in a blizzard.

“My name?” She couldn't hold back the tear that slipped down her cheek, gasping as the Prince caught it on his index-finger before it could drip down onto the floors.

She watched him take it to his lips, half-way surprised to see his tongue wasn't split through the middle as he licked the little droplet off his slender pale finger. “Yes, slave, your name.”

“T-Tundra, my Prince” She lied, thinking if she left the hallway still with her life that perhaps if he went looking he’d be searching for the wrong person.

The corner of his lips twitched slightly at her answer, forming a rather crooked eerie sort of smile. “Is that right?” He snickered, eyes never leaving hers, having her locked in place, un-allowed to look away. “Fitting you should bare a name such as that and still fall prey to measly little colds.” He stated.

“Irony is a watchful hound, your Highness.” She wanted to look down, anywhere but his searing gaze, thinking he might just turn her into ice only to thaw her into a mushy human being again, have her melt into an unfortunate pulp on the awful brimstone of the castle floors.

“That, she is.” He agreed, tilting his head to the side and looking at her as though he was observing, like he was looking for a flaw in her composure outside the obvious fear that scented the air. “You’re my sister’s handmaid aren't you?” Her blood ran white hot before dropping to a numbing freeze. “You should be with her, fitting her for her dress to this evening’s ball, shouldn't you? Tundra?”

He knows.

He knows she’s lying to him.

He knows who she is.

“I do look forward to seeing you by my sister’s side, you always look so... precious... up there on the podium. Perhaps you’ll agree to a dance?” He asked though demanded, and she swore her corset was cracking her ribs with how little it allowed her to breathe.

“I’d be honored, my Prince.” She felt like she could rake her skin off, drag it clean of the bone, like she was crumbling like some pastry in front of the young heir.

“Do make sure my sister looks stunning, she does love looking her best. And while you’re at it, throw together something for yourself.” He added, his eyes finally leaving hers to trail down her sorry dress. “I will rather have you go naked than in something as tragic as those robes.”

She couldn't say or do much more than nod, trying her best to keep her lip from quivering so violently. “Yes, my Prince.”

“Well...” He reached out his hand and she could feel the cold air flow like a winter’s breeze, nipping at her skin as he presented his palm to her, awaiting her smaller delicate hand to be offered. “I won't keep you any longer.” She did as she knew she had to, laying her breakable, frostbite-prone hand inside the comfort of Todoroki’s pretty porcelain paw, rings of power around his fingers sure to bite her skin with blisters, making her whimper so unfortunately loudly as she watched him press his freezing lips to her knuckles, the chill running through her veins and causing her head to still. “Run along now, wouldn't want you to fall behind on your chores. Such slacking requires punishment and I would just hate to have to whip you into shape, Tundra.”

Then I must say a street Keigo fits in here too, perhaps taken in by the Todoroki’s, being Dabi’s best mate... 

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA x  TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

The wayward son, falling short of meeting the expectations of his father the King, who always favored the youngest brother. In all rights as the firstborn, Touya was supposed to be King, but Enji respects strength above tradition and Shoto was assigned inheritance of the throne. And one can get a fair guess who the Dark Prince is going to take it all out on. 

Poor maid, just doing her job, though cruel fate always putting her in places she shouldn't be, at moments poorly timed, trapping her in inescapable dangerous situations. And perhaps she’d be able to avoid the Prince’s ice-blue steely gaze if it weren't for the other guy always being on her tail like a fucking Hawk. But, he knows better than anyone that nothing burns like the cold does, and he’ll do about anything to have that attention averted to someone else rather him, and she looks like their favorite type of distraction, one they can both enjoy.

“Lookie here, Touya.” His voice drawled in thrill, whistling a sharp chirp, trailing behind the busy maid as she hurried through the hallways to reach the kitchens, hoping they’d give her a break just this once.

“Well if it isn't our favorite toy.”

But it would seem Todoroki was in a mood, and by the sound of his voice and no doubt his words, he was looking for some relief. 

“Oh, sweetie, we’ve had such a boring day.” The prince’s pet slung his arm around her shoulders, playful golden eyes looking at her with a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “Mind helping us out?” 

She shook her head, cringing under the boy’s heavy brazen touches and how his breath blew hot against her neck. “My apologies, my lords, you must excuse me, I have chores that need me.” She blurted in the most respectful manner she knew how, trying to scurry off, but their legs were longer and therefor carried them faster than hers could ever hope to outrun, not to mention the weight of her skirt laid thick with cloth, dragging her already tired limbs down.

“Are you saying chores are of higher importance than your Prince?” Keigo quipped, tightening his embrace just a little which made the girl stumble up into his arms, hands bracing against his chest as she looked up at him.

“No!” She shook her head, correcting herself as she dragged her weight off of the ward’s chest. “Of course not, lord Takami.” He couldn't describe just how much he loved seeing her squirm like that, trying hard to save herself.

“We’ve gone over this, pretty...” He cooed, stroking a finger down her cheek before grabbing her chin gently, Touya smirking on the side, watching Keigo play with their prey. “Call me Keigo.”

“I’m sure you can leave your pesky duties for some other time.” Todoroki spoke, stalking closer to where Takami was keeping her still, spinning her around in his arms and locking her tight to his chest, her ass pressed firmly into his crotch as she was made to look up at Touya’s predatory approach, jarring facial features adorned with that gentle sinister smirk he always had plastered on his face.

“Right now, we require your full attention.” Takami whispered in her ear as she squirmed in his hug, trying to shake off his strong arms that were snaked around her waist.

“Better yet, how about I relieve you of all other duties.” Todoroki’s voice scathed like nails being dragged against a board. “That way, you serve us full-time.”

She couldn't help but whimper a little at the thought as the tall dark-haired Prince took calm and steady steps towards her until he was almost budding heads with Keigo who stood behind. “That’s very generous of you, but-” She tried.

“It’s settled then.” Todoroki stopped her with a finger to her mouth, tracing her trembling lips.

Keigo snickered behind her, his chest rumbling against her back. “Come on, we’ll escort you to your new home.” 

“Uhm-” She tried again to wiggle free from Keigo’s grip, but he wouldn't allow her to budge, not while Touya still was looking her up and down like a meal.

“Don't disobey us now.” Todoroki warned, to which Takami tightened his grip around her, holding her steady.

“Trust me, you don't want to anger your Prince, he doesn't play nice once you upset him.” The boy behind her spoke as though from experience, his voice breathy and strangely excited.

“Don’t scare her, Keigo.” The prince gave his dog a stern look, and she could feel something poking into her behind, Keigo’s ragged breaths hitting her neck.

“A little fear never hurt.” Takami whispered, breath unruly, his hand detaching from holding down her hip, raising it to grab ahold of her jaw, fingertips digging into the chubs of her cheeks. “Besides... just take a look at that face.” 

“You’re right, Keigo.” Todoroki tilted his head to the side, icy eyes looking at her scared little face, seemingly radiating with frost, chilling her very bones as she shivered in Takami’s embrace, which was ironic given she’d seen him burn entire crowds to mere charcoaled mangled mockeries of the human form, where not to mention the cruel singe-brands she spotted running along the forearms that held her steady. “I’m already forgetting whatever it was that upset me.”

Keigo gave another sinister chuckle, as he placed a soft teasing kiss to her collar, one that had her heart getting stuck in her throat. “That’s what I’m here for, your Highness.”