SOLD

The Awakening

~~~

Izuku felt something soft beneath him.

And on top of him.

He could smell something floral, but not quite natural. Perhaps a chemical? From the limited botany knowledge that he had, he knew it was similar to the scent of an orchid. Detergent, maybe?

But the scent was nice. He liked it.

And he liked the fluffy blanket above him. It felt like the fur of a cat. Silky against his skin. Well, that was for sure the pillow he was sleeping on. He turns his head to the side, feeling the texture against his cheek.

His movements were sluggish.

How could the surface beneath him be so plush? He felt it sink beneath his weight, not quite like water. Maybe this was a mattress? An unimaginably soft bed, from that of his childhood, when he'd lived with his father. Somehow, he'd remembered that, and wouldn't have guessed it to be as luxury as to what he was sleeping on now. Maybe he was exaggerating, from his experience sleeping on gravel with a worn blanket covering him. God, when had he felt this warm?!

But then a voice plays in his head. A voice of the past.

"Your job is being my fucking slave."

The first thing he checks, once those words had sunk in, was for any pain in his nether regions. They were still bone-dry, his cocklet gone soft, and his privates didn't have any obvious aches. His heartrate settles, as does his anxiety, but only a bit. He tries sitting up, under the feeling that him having a comfortable bed was a trap, or that he was somehow bound down. However, his head was hit with the most overwhelming migraine, forcing him to adjust to the horrifically-bright morning.

He blinks a few times, eyes watering, but he soon adapts to his surroundings, the headache dulling to a manageable buzz. Only then did his mouth drop at the grand windows to his right, and the beautiful chandelier over his head.

Was he in Bakugo's room?!

He doubted it. The room didn't have his stench. Nor did the sheets. He's sure it would've if it were the Alpha's. Unless the sheets were washed regularly.

That meant this was the fucking guest suite.

He could tell when his eyes rest on the beverage machine on the foot of his bed, placed on one of the many tables there.

This bed was for sure king-sized, if not then bigger, a large canopy above his head draping red satin around him, embroidered with what he could only assume was gold. He felt so tiny, at least another five feet left between his legs and the foot of the mattress. The black curtains surrounding the windows were neatly tied back, the walls a pale grey. He was sure the floor was brown oak. Just as grand as the rest of the house.

He urges himself to roll out of bed, his movements still lethargic. His head is still catching up with the past events of him being tranquillised, and only then realising he was clothed in a long-sleeved, fluffy robe.

Fuck. Bakugo had seen him naked.

He walks to the beverage machine, attempting to read the illuminated options on the screen. He knew one option out of the eight there - hot water. The rest, he either had an educational guess on (just hot chocolate) or had no clue about. He definitely didn't remember coming across a 'cappuccino' in his mental dictionary. Nor a 'mocha'. Taking a shot in the dark, he goes for the first option - expresso - and watches as the liquid pours into the cup placed beneath it.

He regrets his choice upon the first sip.

Not only did the beverage burn his tongue almost completely, but the bitterness forced him to spit it out, just as a knock sounds at the door, and a person steps in.